#just draw black blobs and lil face

[nicomoon69]

I did one of the comic ideas :3

[askfriskandcompany]

Hey, Emo Cat Anon here. Off anon so I can send the cat pictures. I’m kind of paranoid that someone else is gonna pretend to be me and send them so I’m sending them now 😅

Sorry for the weird white blobs, it’s hard to crop cats on a phone. These kitties come with their own lil lore!

The older brother Oreo (white one) is a curious and rebellious kitty who’s obsessed with tomato sauce

The younger sister Shadow (black one) is incredibly elusive* and mysterious (I personally have never actually met her. These photos were taken by my mom. She’s so sneaky that I’ve never once seen her during my visits. Such a shadow indeed)

And one last kitty I wanted to being up:

This is Dora. She died this past July. I just wanted to share her. She was a sassy queen who ran the world. She was incredibly stylish and absolutely refused to wear a collar unless it had a sufficient amount of sparkles on it. She’s not part of the emo band but I can see her as its manager or something. I just wanted to bring her up because I love her and miss her <3

I’d like to say thanks to literally anyone who wanted to see these kitties 😅 this idea came to me because that first photo at the top looks like an album cover and I’ve been thinking about it for ages

And thank u Trash Queen for actually offering to draw them (for a price)!

Okay! What I'm thinking is this...

Oreo is the lead singer / main guitar guy and most would consider him to be the face of the band. There are memes online about him loving tomato sauce, due to the lyrics of one of his songs.

Shadow is bass guitar / keyboard, and never speaks on camera or on stage, but is always there. Nobody knows anything about her personal life except that she's the lead singer's sister.

Dora is their manager / roadie wrangler. She may or may not be a second-cousin to Burgerpants.

They have an emo band. Their songs are about things such as 1) Love, 2) Heartbreak, 3) Injustice experienced by monsters on the surface, 4) How it's bullshit that it's not socially acceptable to drink marinara sauce in public like it's a smoothie.

-TQ

[itsgastertime]

You can really just draw Wingdings however you straight up like lil blob man? Just a guy in a sweater? Large black gooey mass? Tall evil scientist? Tall evil man in a sweater? This list goes on and no one will say anything like no one cares you just gonna do the face cracks and that’s it that’s the only rule

[iam93percentstardust]

Any kidfic recs where they have a lil kid but not a teenager? 🥰 Love ya!

Definitely! Kidfics tend to be very hit or miss for me since child development can be very hard to get right but the ones that I do like, i tend to positively love and frequently reread

You didn’t specify a ship so I went with Stevetony, Winteriron, and Stuckony, but I’ve separated them by ship so you can easily pick and choose which ones you want to read:

Stevetony

Of Strippers and Snow Shovels by @betheflame

Tony has some questions about what Peter's dad does for a living after Peter draws an ... interesting picture about why his dad is his hero.

Practically Perfect in Every Way by @betheflame and @hogwartstoalexandria

Tony Stark is a lot of things - billionaire, former playboy, professional philanthropist - but a few years back he added two more titles: widower and single father. As Peter keeps growing, Tony can't seem to keep a nanny. Thankfully, his employee James Barnes has a solution.

Art therapist Steve Rogers is really tired of living grant cycle to grant cycle, but is wary when he gets an opportunity from his best friend's boss to be his child's live-in caregiver. He hates Bucky's boss. But then he meets the kid and then he gets to know Tony and then...

And then they all live happily ever after.

Rockabye by @bladeofthenebula27

Cute alphas didn’t appear out of nowhere to help ruined omegas. That was a widely accepted fact.

Tony Stark had always known his life wouldn’t be easy as a genius omega in an alpha’s world. But not even he predicted getting knocked up and forced to move to a small town in the middle of nowhere.

Some things can’t be hidden by @s-horne

“What?” Peter sat up in the booth, suddenly alert. “Dad, what is it?” He followed Tony’s eyes right to a man in the doorway of the restaurant. A big, blond and young man that even Peter could admit was attractive.

“Is that him?” Peter asked. “He’s young.”

“He’s 32,” Tony argued, though he was still pale and didn’t shift his gaze.

“Have you actually seen proof of age? Because he looks young, Dad. Like not that much older than my age. Have you checked his ID? There are some good fakes out there, just warning you.”

“Will you be quiet?” Tony hissed, lifting his hand and waving to the man. “He is perfectly legal, thank you very much.”

Peter watched as the guy lit up as soon as he noticed Tony, awkwardly dodging the lunchtime crowds as he tried to make his way over to their table.

“Hi,” he said when he reached them, a beaming smile on his face. He made a motion to kiss Tony before his eyes flickered to Peter and he changed his course, pressing his lips to Tony’s cheek instead and stepping away quickly.

Adventures in Babysitting by @s-horne

Bucky babysits Peter for the first time on his own. There are cuddly toys, tears, cupcakes, and bedtime stories.

It Takes a Village (or a team of superheroes) by aven_garde

Three months after the Chitauri attack, Tony received a phone call that changed his life. (Or, the one in which a group of remarkable people come together and balance battling villains and raising a child).

In Trouble Deep by @festiveferret and @sirsapling

"Whoever did this has a reason, and Stark needs to be with someone who can protect him. He won’t exactly be able to protect himself like this.” Fury looked at the baby consideringly. “No, it’s you, Steve. Besides, he likes you. Suck it up, soldier, you’re stuck with him.”

Tony, Please by @festiveferret

Steve is doing just fine nursing a painful crush on his most captivating client. That is, until his babysitter has an emergency and drops Steve's six-year-old daughter off at his work. Somehow, everything goes off the rails.

like-like by nanasekei

Morgan doesn’t really know Captain America.

And honorable mention cause even though it’s just a pregnancy fic right now, I’m holding out hope for a sequel with a baby:

Baby’s Breath by @s-horne

Wow. Tony’s mind went blank when his eyes moved involuntarily and focused in on where Nurse Rogers was pointing something out on the computer screen. It was nothing, really. It was a blob roughly the size of a jelly bean. The picture wasn’t even clear. It was black and white and so ridiculously grainy that Tony couldn’t see clearly.

Oh. Actually, the reason he couldn’t see clearly was because of the tears in his eyes.

“Wow,” he said, voice breaking on the short words. “That’s…”

“Your baby. Right here.”

Tony fell silent again, just taking it all in. That was his baby. His child. A whole little person living inside of him, ready to grow and stretch and make his body do all kinds of weird things. Nine months of his baby inside of him and then eighteen years of them living in Tony’s house.

Somehow, it already didn’t seem like long enough. Seeing it on a screen wasn’t enough either. Tony wanted to reach out, to trace the tiny image with his fingers and try and feel what little extra he couldn’t inside of him.

After a long moment, he licked his lips. Shit. He was having a baby.

“Steve would love this,” he breathed out.

Winteriron

High Noon in Sandbridge (part of the Nights in Sandbridge series and does rely on some of the other works in the series, so make sure you read those first if you haven’t already) by @tisfan and @27dragons

Life is pretty good for Bucky and Tony these days. The restaurant is doing well, and they’re happy with their little family. Then Bucky’s sister meets an untimely end and Bucky and Tony are suddenly guardians to a niece they’ve only met a handful of times. Their attempts to make a home for the bereaved child are complicated by Tony's mother, Bucky’s ex-lover, and the man who claims to be Billie’s father. But whatever her parentage, Billie is a Barnes through and through -- stubborn and hot-tempered and not remotely interested in making a life in the one place that her mother had sworn never to return. Will she ever learn to call Dockside and Sandbridge home?

Place in Your Heart by potrix

They try to hide it, Bucky can see the effort they all put into making him more comfortable, but Bucky isn’t stupid, he knows they’d rather have him somewhere else, somewhere far away from their home, the place where they’re supposed to feel happy and safe.

The Long Way Round by potrix

“Maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore,” Tony blurts out in a rush. “It’s—I think it’s for the best. If we stop.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of the words to register, but when it does, Bucky turns cold, stomach sinking. “Are—are you breakin’ up with me? Tony—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Tony hurries to reassure, reading Bucky’s mind. “You were perfect, Bucky, I swear you were. Are. This. It’s not. It’s really not you,” he says with a small, humourless chuckle, “it’s me.”

Bucky looks at the tense line of Tony’s shoulders, at the sad set of his mouth, the defeat in his eyes, and he knows it’s the truth. Or, at least, what Tony believes to be true.

 Or; sometimes, people mean well, but that doesn't always mean they know best. Bucky and Tony, unfortunately, have to learn that the hard way.

Letters to a Soldier by CityofAngels

When Peter Stark, son of the famous tattoo artist Tony Stark, signed up for a program to write letters to a soldier, he didn't know what Bucky Barnes would change in his and his father's life...

Boys Will Be Boys by NotEvenCloseToStraight

When Peter and Harley can't stop fighting at school, Dad!Tony and Dad!Bucky meet up to try and figure out a way to keep the peace between their kiddos, but end up falling for each other instead.

Stuckony

‘Til the End of the Line by Avengers_Whore

“Steeeeeve!”

“There’s the lil devil now,” Bucky murmured fondly. “Lemme see ‘im.”

Steve laughed and nodded his head, walking out of the kitchen and heading towards the bedroom. He opened the door and sighed when their omega was nowhere in sight on the bed. He made his way towards their closet and opened the door, pointing his phone at the brunet curled up in all of the clothes.

Fennel Root & Super Soldiers by @betheflame

Peter hasn't stopped crying for weeks and Tony is nearly at his whit's end. Thankfully, Steve and Bucky have a plan.

Forging Bonds by Huntress79

Just when Tony thought that his relationship with Steve and Bucky is safe and stable, he learns of a son he apparently has. How will “his” soldiers react to the sudden addition to the household?

[daaziscoolbesties]

i yearn for one(1) thing only, and that is to have a nice, simplistic, cartoonish artstyle. an artstyle that doesnt rely on anatomy, but the "movement" of the drawing, if you get what i mean.

i dont want realistic proportions and traditional colors and basic poses and gradient shading, i want funky lil dudes in funky poses with funky styles littering my sketchbook :( but alas i havent figured out how to develop that kind of style yet, my brain wants anatomy to look nice but also i dont want to draw eyes. i dont want to take time out of my day to learn how to draw lips i want to draw a line that extends past the characters face. i dont want all my characters to have pointy chins with curved cheeks i want their heads to be round and friend-like or full of sharp edges depending on their personalities and styles. i want to give them all not-quite human ears, blob feet, simple faces, but at the same time i want enough detail to convey the story or emotion im trying to tell.

ive spent so much time recently agonizing over how to use 3d model websites, using real-life references and tracing over them for practice, color-picking from real images to try and do realism and failing miserably, but you know whats easier than that? funky little dudes. little dudes who do not care if their legs are too long or their hair is too bouncy. i dont want my characters to look human.

ive spent enough time on the artfight website to realize that most people who classify their characters as "human" have the most basic ass designs (no offense to people who like basic human designs its just not my thing) or its like dnd-medieval style outfits which i cant draw for the life of me (ive tried). again no offense to people who actively enjoy and draw characters like that. i just need my dudes to have that certain,,, off-ness to them. tails are cool. wings are swag (especially if they arent even like,, fully attached,, ), elf ears are so wonderful to me no matter how much theyre overused, horns are so much fun to draw, and colors!! i have no knowledge in the color theory department so this works great for me!! the only thing i really know is dont shade with black, other than that i just colorpick from references usually but i dont want to do that!! i want the colors to hurt people's eyes but in a satisfying way. like the character's design is so nice to look at that you dont mind your eyes hurting a bit. like how im enjoying writing this post even though its 2 am and the brightness on my computer wont go any lower.

and then another thing ive noticed from being on the artfight website is that a lot of people classify their characters that are anthro/have anthro features under humanoids/monsters. like i made a google form to find some people to attack and someone sent me in a character with some sort of animal (wolf? idk) arms and legs. like dude!! peak character design i love her. but me personally? i cant draw that shit, its so hard for me. i tried a while back and its just Not my thing. nothing against furries i just. cant. and i dont want to either.

and i got another submission that i accidentally deleted that was like full anthro/wolf-like like my comrade,,, i cannot draw animals what makes you think i can draw an animal who acts like a human lmao. i can do like. very basic tails, and also animal ears but i cant do the arms and legs and such i just dont know the anatomy, and i know i was talking about how i dont want to care about anatomy but i feel like for anthros you really do need to know at least basic animal anatomy so you know how the limbs look and shit and i dont have that knowledge and dont feel like gaining it.

and then there were some submissions that i absolutely adored. there was one that like, was vaguely human shaped but definitely was not a human. they had a dark-ish lavender colored skin and horns and tusks and like goat ears and a sorta fluffy tail with spikes on it and they had wings and such and they were such a pleasure to draw i love them. and they had a fairly simple outfit too, nothing too complicated. and then i also enjoy object head characters, theyre so neato to me. i got one of those and i really wish i had the motivation to work on it cause it looks so fun.

i want to make funky characters but id have nothing to do with them because the only book i ever tried writing (key word tried - never got past planning it out) had strictly human characters in it, and most of the books i read are humans/humans with powers in situations specific to them so id have no idea what lore to make with the dudes. assuming i have the motivation to make lore and backstory because honestly i just really enjoy character designing its super duper fun.

(side note a song about trucks doing the deed came on just now and its interrupted my flow, apologies).

i only have three actual characters right now. one is an original roleplay oc whos design is literally athletic shorts, an oversized long sleeved grey sweatshirt, long purple hair, and demon horns. the second one is my persona whos design some sorta medival knight outfit kinda thing? but not ugly it looks really cool (idk one of my friends designed it bc i won some contest from him but the drawing was on a super small scale so idrk the details,,,) with a plague doctor mask and crown, and shoulder length wavy brown hair, dyed bright pink at the end. and then my last one im not too comfortable using other places because theyre a character my friend is using in the story hes writing, and thats really the only place theyve been used. but theyre easily my favorite and im already writing a ton so ill talk about them too.

they're a sorta elf species thing from another planet, with pale green skin and pointed ears. they also have a tail, its like,, super thin, but with a feathery bit at the end. probably not the texture of a feather but i dont know how else to describe it. they have short, curly, almost-draco-malfoy-blonde hair that when it gets too long they can put in a man bun. their eyesight is kinda shitty so when they got to earth, they were exploring some supply closets around the airship. drop off area. thing. like airport but for rocketships and also fancier. yeah. they were exploring that area and found a nice big pair of round glasses with grey frames. and they also found a cowboy-style hat and a sharpie so they wrote their name on the underside of the brim of the hat and stole the hat and glasses (but left the sharpie in the supply closet).

yeah theyre my favorite, my absolute beloved, my child, so cool. i want more characters like them but with maybe a bit more snazzier designs. theyre super cool and all but they could have more pizzazz if they werent in a story where its too late to give them more pizzazz. i just want to be able to give my characters thigh-high boots with a bunch of buckles and fluffy hair with tons of accessories crammed in and abnormally large and long ears that can harbor many piercings and horns that can hold rings on them and special little details on their outfits like who knows what but i dont have any characters to do that too, so i have to make them from scratch, which is always hard especially when you have artblock.

and i also have like 17 characters i need to fully draw, line, and maybe color for artfight before august 1st. so i dont know. i have many things to do and plenty of time to do it but instead i spend my time halfway watching repetitive youtube videos that get boring or sleeping all damn day because i stay up too late doing things like this or i just do nothing at all and its tiring and frustrating but i also feel nothing about it like theres no consequence if i dont do it besides you know. not doing it, not gaining that experience, not making something i enjoy.

so i should do it but i dont for whatever reason, i think its called executive dysfunction but im not sure. this post started out very differently than it ended and i said somewhere up there that i was writing this at 2 am but now its almost 3. this is so many words why couldnt i have put this energy into something productive

[notsugarandspice]

get you out my mind

I....wrote it this morning. I couldn’t get it out of my head. so this is a thing that’s happening now. idk I love it so much just...read it if ya want. it’s gonna be a lil’ 3 chapter self-indulgent thing ♡

Not Rated, Meet-Cute, Skater! Eddie, Richie is in a private school & is #miserable, pretty Cali life, Bill is questioning things, Skater! Bill

Read it on AO3.

                                                    Chapter 1

Richie has always been one to get easily fascinated, and there were plenty of things around him to draw interest from, but that’s not what he wants right now. In fact, he’s trying to avoid any and all compelling things, trying not to fall into that daydreamy headspace. He came here to be alone, do his work and that’s about it.

He’s breathing the fresh air coming from the ocean, fascinated with how the dim sunlight glistens on the waves. There are plenty of surfers around, barefoot with nothing but swim trunks on, giggly and tan. And then there’s….Richie. Pale, freckly, still dressed in his uniform: blue polo and khakis, wishing he had a pack of cigarettes with him. Wishing he could actually smoke here.

Richie looks over to the side where people are skating on manmade hills, falling, giggling, happy. Richie doesn’t really have a reason to be upset or depressed over anything, but like most things, he doesn’t have a good excuse. That’s just the state he’s in.

The school has been difficult, exams have been kicking his ass, and he still doesn’t want to go to college even though he’s already been accepted to UCLA preemptively. But he still has a year of torture to endure. He’s been trying to be a good son, he’s been trying to make his parents proud. He just hopes it pays off.

There’s a particularly fascinating red-haired guy to Richie’s right side, one who seems to fall off too frequently for his own good. He laughs it off instantly, and he looks so young it’s painful because Richie can tell he’s definitely a high schooler and Richie doesn’t feel like one. He already feels shaped to be an adult, what with all the private school pressure and additional tutoring, endless soccer practice that recently ended, and that little voice in his head that always reminds him that he’s the only kid and he has an example of two hard-working parents who give him everything he wants. So there’s that.

The red-haired guy falls again after attempting some sort of a trick on the bend and starts whooping someone from the ground, someone who’s running from the parking lot. Richie should really be reading Lord of the Flies but his eyes fall on that boy who gets on the black board mid-run, skating down the slope smoothly, hangs on the top of the tall hill for several agonizing seconds and swoops back down with more grace that should be possible in this sort of thing, his lower body seemingly disconnected from the rest. Richie keeps watching the way his overgrown sandy hair flops from the wind and the corner of his mouth lifts when he notices knee socks with little red pills on them.

Richie looks away because he doesn’t want to stare - he could never skate, no matter how much he wanted - too tall and uncoordinated, and honestly no one to skate with even if he didn’t care about falling. His best friend Stan preferred to stay indoors and was disgusted by any mention of physical activity and Richie tried pressing, was even really good at it, but that was a thing about Stanley - he could never budge.

Richie turns to face the beach again, a little uncomfortable on the weird bench-like rock he’s been sitting on but instead of re-reading the same damn sentence he simply looks forward, reveling in the sound of laughter, crashing waves and the shifting of the sand. He zones out for a solid minute until a board comes smashing into his bench, making him jump a little. It’s the red-headed guy. Of course, it is.

He runs up to Richie with an ecstatic grin on his face, and Richie wants to take it and plant it on himself. He wants a smile that splits his face too. “Suh-suh-sorry, man.”

“All good here.” Richie wants to say something else, maybe make small talk which he’s usually good at but for some inexplicable reason he can’t get anything out of himself, and he bends down to look at the book again.

Richie miraculously reads a full page before he sees someone sprint in front of him, trying to catch up with their board. He realizes with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that it’s the knee socks kid - and he now clearly sees the red t-shirt, blue jean shorts, and a million dollar smile. Their eyes connect, and Richie’s heart speeds up faster than when he was on that terrifying Six Flags rollercoaster. It’s kind of nauseating, and he feels oddly nervous.

The boy huffs a laugh, cocking his hip to let the board sit there. “Sorry ‘bout that. My friend and I keep bugging you.”

“Like I told your friend - all good here. Skateparks aren’t exactly crowd-less.” Richie grins convincingly even though he’s starting to sweat for the first time since he sat down under the sun.

The guy smiles back, and his teeth are a stark contrast to the caramel tan. “What are you reading?”

“Um,” the name of the book flies right out of Richie’s head, along with his ability to coherently speak, apparently, “Lord of the Flies.”

The boy comes closer and puts the board down, balancing on it as he talks. “School? I think I read that Junior year or something.”

“You’ve been out of school for a while?” He doesn’t look like he even graduated and Richie doesn’t want to be rude, so he forces himself to stop talking before he inevitably offends the guy.

But he just smiles and squats on the board, somehow perfectly balanced, confidence unwavering. “Babyface, I know. Still in school though. Senior.” The boy looks over to the side and chuckles when his friend falls on his ass again, and Richie can’t help but smile when a small dimple appears under the boy’s pink cheek. “What about you?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” says Richie without thinking and he hopes his voice reflected the joking nature of it.

“I mean, you’re wearing a school uniform. Blue means…Junior year, yeah? Red is Seniors.”

“You don’t go to my school.”

The boy straightens again, skating around Richie’s bench. “Definitely not. One of my friends does.” He suddenly skates away, down the slope and quickly makes it all the way to the other side where he’s nothing but a red blob. Richie squints in his glasses but can’t make out the expression on the guy’s face.

He drops his head back down to the book with an uneasy feeling, hoping he didn’t do something to push the guy away. He strangely wants to talk to him more, and Richie is usually good at talking, joking, all that, but he’s kind of speechless around this particular person. It makes him nervous, and he simultaneously wants to run away and bravely grab someone’s board to make it to the other side.

Richie sits for five more minutes, skimming through a couple of pages and decides he can’t stay still anymore. He lies down on his back, putting his head on the half-empty backpack and manages to go through a whole chapter before the red-headed guy’s in front of him again, this time without a valid reason to be. He just stands there for a while on top of the board like the other guy did earlier and looks at the beach. Richie puts the book down on his tummy and cocks an eyebrow, awaiting a response.

“D-duh-do you skate?” asks the guy, his cheeks tinted pink, green eyes jumping everywhere.

Richie bends his arm to elevate his head a little as too many thoughts race around his head, starting with why is he talking to me? and ends somewhere around Richie’s observation on how much easier it is to talk to this dude. His heart isn’t jumping out of his chest, and he might be able to make this guy laugh which is all Richie lives for at the end of the day.

“Nah, too tall and gangly. Hence, ridiculously unbalanced. String bean. Whatever.” His shoulders go up to his ears, and the boy laughs. Richie smiles and feels the desire to keep this shit up like a lifeline.

“Wuh-wuh-what are you d-doing at a skate park, then?” The boy looks behind him and furrows his brows before turning to Richie again.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought no-one would bother me here.” Richie winks and the guy blushes more now, smiling bashfully.

He opens his mouth to respond, but they suddenly hear the approaching sound of a skateboard and look in the direction of the pit. Richie sees the smaller guy approaching, his hair caught in the wind, lip stuck under the top row of teeth. He instantly sits back up, suddenly too breathless to feel so relaxed. The guy smiles when their eyes connect and skates right into a sitting position on the bench, leaning on Richie heavily from the speed at which he landed on his ass. Richie’s hand somehow lands on the boy’s slightly sweaty lower back, and he yanks it away, his finger tingly, stomach churning.

The boy giggles and Richie’s heart stings slightly. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t calculate this landing properly.”

“It’s okay. It was cute,” says Richie without thinking, my stupid motormouth, fucking shit, and he can feel his cheeks heat up feverishly and his throat feels tight. He’s waiting for something like dude, what? but when he finally turns to look at the boy he’s smiling at him small and bashful, sitting on his hands, rocking back and forth. Adorable is the only word bouncing around Richie’s head.

“We should p-puh-probably get out of your h-hair,” says the green-eyed boy with an awkward smile, all ready to go with a board under his armpit.

His friend ignores the offer to leave and instead extends a hand to Richie, eyes sparkly with that light grey that seems to look straight into your soul. “I’m Eddie. This is Bill,” he bends his head in the direction of his friend without breaking eye contact with Richie.

“Richie.” He shakes the boy’s hand, and it’s a lot softer than he’s used to and it makes him look down, noticing how his thumb alone bends around all of Eddie’s knuckles, covering them completely. Richie can’t help but smile at the image, unsure of why it makes him feel all that.

“Like Richie Rich?”

Richie laughs earnestly dropping the hand, the irony of it all not lost on him. “Some ways more than others.”

“Right. Private school, big house, you probably do fencing or some shit.”

“Tried fencing and I was terrible at it. Like I told Bill here - I have the coordination of a newborn giraffe.”

Eddie searches Richie’s face for several agonizing seconds with a big smile on his face, his freckles hiding in the folds of the slightly crumpled nose. “Newborn giraffes are kind of cute.”

“Okay-“ mutters Bill and quickly skates away, miraculously making it the whole way to the pit without face-planting.

Eddie snickers into his fist and turns back to Richie, seemingly scooting closer, but that could just be the trick of the eyes. Richie’s mouth is apparently faster than his brain again. Or his brain is too fast. Doesn’t it answer for everything he says? “You come here often?”

The boy giggles and blushes slightly, cocking an eyebrow that leaves Richie’s heart stuttering. “Are you hitting on me with the most typical pickup line ever?”

Richie feels his heart drop on the ground and roll all the way to the ocean and down, down, down. “Oh, no, I- I mean- fuck,” he huffs a laugh quickly rubbing his steaming face, “do you actually hang out here often?”

Eddie keeps smiling sweetly, looking at Richie with unabashed interest. He seems to think the question over from a different perspective and looks towards the water when he answers. Richie notices the smooth bend of his nose and how pretty his skin looks under the sunset light. Richie feels like he ran the field three times back and forth, he’s so breathless.

“Yeah, I mean, this is the only place I like to hang out besides home. I don’t really go out.” There’s something oddly vulnerable in that admission even though Richie doesn’t necessarily think it’s such an odd thing to say.

“Me neither. If you don’t count all the times pops drags me to be his caddie to a golf club in Malibu. Love getting undressing stares from old white men.”

Eddie laughs and looks at Richie pitifully, scrunching up his face in a ridiculously cute way. “Ew. Don’t go there.”

“I try not to! I literally ran out of excuses at this point. Whatevs,” he says throwing an arm forward, laughing slightly. Talking to Eddie feels…nice. Nicer than he wants to think about.

“EDDIE!” they hear Bill scream with his hands around his mouth, waving for Eddie to make it to the other side, pointing at someone standing next to him.

“Oh!” exclaims Eddie, gesturing Bill a thumbs up. He bends down to see where his board is and they both look over to the left where it’s propped halfway on the grass. “I gotta go. My friend just got here.” Eddie jogs towards the board, neatly jumping on the side that was on the sidewalk, making the board do a 360 to get it on the ground again.

Richie feels ridiculously impressed even though skating never fascinated him enough to be that interested in it. He might be very interested now.

Eddie runs a hand through his hair as he rolls to balance in front of Richie and he notices a thin beady bracelet, many colors on it. Eddie smiles when their eyes connect, and Richie has the biggest desire to grab the boy’s hand and take him to the little café across the street, where they make the best strawberry cappuccinos and small chocolate croissants and what the actual FUCK, Rich, you want a date or something? Richie huffs an awkward laugh at his own thoughts, nervous that the boy would hear him, knowing well enough, though, that it’s not possible and he really needs to be less self-conscious.

“Don’t have too much fun without me, Eds,” says Richie, his mouth apparently desperate to make a lasting impression. His hands are slightly shaky where he’s wringing his fingers between the two of them.

Eddie groans and leans back a little in a dramatic manner that Richie thinks he’d imitate if he was less nervous to be around the guy. “No nicknames, for the love of God.”

“It’s not like you’re ever gonna hear it again.” Richie’s heart stings instantly when he says it, and he’s terrified there might be truth in that statement.

Eddie looks at him a little bug-eyed, a smile falling from his lips. “You’re not planning on coming here again?”

Richie considers it, looking past Eddie on the water, hearing the loud laughter, the sound of boards on the smooth surface, the wind rustling palm trees above him and then at Eddie’s face, framed by the pink and orange glow of the sunset behind them. He thinks he couldn’t stay away from this place even if he tried. “Dunno. Don’t live that close.” Right. I’ll probably die if I don’t see your face again.

“Okay. Well…I hope to see you soon.” Eddie’s voice is so small when he says that and his eyes are almost pleading. Richie doesn’t know why this kid would ever want to hang out with him, but he can’t replace the responsive feeling in his chest and all the hurricanes happening in his gut.

“Me too, Eds. See ya.” Eddie rolls his eyes and runs onto his board, sticking his tongue out and screams “Bye, Richie!” skating down the slope, towards his friends.

Richie follows him with his eyes languidly, wanting to run down the slope, tumbling head first into the guy’s arms. Whatever. He smiles at the distant image of Eddie’s red shirt and picks up his book to put it inside the backpack. He waits several seconds to see the Sun finally drown itself in the water and goes up to walk to the parking lot, backpack on one shoulder. He looks over at the pit one last time, hoping to catch Eddie’s eye but he’s skating back and forth, swift and skillful, and Richie grins sheepishly, unwilling to let the image exit his mind.

He texts Stanley on the red light, asking him to come over. He has to figure out an excuse to drag Stan with him next time. Not that it’s too weird to hang out at the beach for no apparent reason, drawn to a cute tan guy on a skateboard. Shit.

Perma Tag: @studpuffin @j0ys @d-nbroughs @tinyarmedtrex @constantreaderfool @its-stranger-than-you-think @aizeninlefox  (I’m removing some people who don’t interact - I’m not here to force my work on anyone, so no hard feelings. Let me know if you want to be removed/added to a perma list or a specific fic ♡)

[pika-ace]

*inhales* ITH Digimon Tamers AU

Welp, I got away with not making up Digimon in the ITH Digimon Adventure AU since that series was so long. But now, you have forced my hand.

In short, Sonny, Pete, and Vanessa are going to be our three main tamers, with the other barrio fam members perhaps all gaining their own Digimon as time goes on, and so, I have done it; I have created Digimon partners for Sonny, Pete, and Vanessa (and YES, they can ABSOLUTELY also carry over to the Digimon Adventure AU)

Anyway, PLOT!! The three meet their Digimon differently; Pete meets his with the whole drawing thing that Takuto does, Sonny met his wandering around the city, lost and alone, and Vanessa’s came to her after seeing how strong willed and independent she is when it comes to her love life and her life in general. I’m thinking that Kevin Rosario can be the leader of Hypnos, or rather, the leader of a branch in Washington Heights, making sure wild Digimon don’t escape to the real world. This can get Nina and Lincoln involved in the plot somehow, with them getting Digimon later.

Anyway, here are Sonny, Vanessa, and Pete’s Digimon as well as descriptions of their appearances since I can’t draw so I’ll leave it to your minds or your own pens and papers! Let us begin!!

Sonny’s Digimon - Huskymon, an ice based husky/dog digimon ;it’s bascially Chip as a Digimon, I kept my promise there ;)

Fresh - Chipmon: Cause he’s like a teeny microchip? Get it? Anyway, since he’s the baby, he’s basically a little ball of black and white fur with eyes, pointy ears and a small floofy tail.

In-Training - Perromon: A small little black pupper, kinda like Salamon from Digimon Adventure. Not even half a foot tall and doesn’t really have a whole lotta fur. 

Rookie - Huskymon: A husky that’s about half the size of a fully grown one. Black and white fur and a curly tail with more spiky fur; looks almost EXACTLY like a normal dog, except he can talk and kick ass of course. 

Champion - Tundramon: A big, pure white wolf, with red eyes, and large fangs and claws. Size wise, I’d say about the size of Ikkakumon in the show. Meaning, pretty freaking big.

Ultimate - Subzero Tundramon: Tundramon gets an ice armor upgrade and a power boost; that’s about it, cause honestly most Ultimate forms are just about the same only with metal or armor or something. XP

Mega - Blizzardmon: Like most Mega forms, he shrinks in size, but triples in power. Kinda looks like the Frost Giant in Wizard101 but he has legs, dons a royal blue cloak, and wields a large scepter that can make it colder than Mt. Everest. 

Vanessa’s Digimon - Vulpimon, a fire based fox digimon

Fresh - Kitmon: Mostly cause Viximon was already taken XP A teeny little red bouncy head with fox ears and a little tail; she’s a floofy fox babu X3

In-Training - Zorramon: Inspired by the word ‘zorra’ which is the feminine Spanish word for fox. A bigger red blob but with teeny little stub legs and a short little fox tail

Rookie - Vulpimon: Her appearance takes on a more cat-like form here. She has three tails as well with black on the ends and black ear tips and black paws. Her color is a deep scarlet as well. 

Champion - Kitsunemon: Viximon may have been taken, but this wasn’t! XD She comes about a nine foot tall fox creature with six tails and a circle of energy around her middle containing different fire symbols that gives her energy.

Ultimate - Kumihomon: Still has six tails, but she now has flame armor to boot and her energy circle disappears, but the symbols appear on her armor.

Mega - Infernomon: In this case, she becomes bi-pedal and humanoid-esque. She finally gets her nine tails and dons a red dress and cloak. She has a humanoid face and a head of long, flowing red hair, and her whole body is practically oozing flames, and she attacks as she dances X3

Pete’s Digimon - Dibumon, a kind of artist/paint based digimon and uses color-based and art-based attacks (as a result I had to take just about a BUNCH of art related inspiration XD)

Fresh - Scribblemon: Inspired by how scribbles are children’s first take on art. With that said, he’s a lil’ blob that’s white like a sheet of paper with little black dots like tiny scribbles.

In-Training - Premon: Inspired by the word pre-schematic, when children start to draw symbols and shapes. Goes from a little blob to a floofy rabbit babu that runs around on all fours; still white with black spots, but they’re a bit more refined.

Rookie - Dibumon: Inspired by the word ‘dibujo’ which means drawing in Spanish. Becomes bi-pedal and humanoid pretty early in the game. Kind of resembles a mouse, but also wears a snapback and scarf to hide it’s face, kinda reminiscent of Pete when he wears his bandanna when he does graffiti. Wears messy and paint-stained clothes as well.

Champion - Vantgardmon: Inspired by the word ‘avant garde’. Grows a LOT bigger and a bit less humanoid, with mouse claws and a long mouse tail. Wears a white smock with a few paint stains and still has a scarf to keep his face hidden (that’s kinda his thing). Wields a pallet and paintbrush as weapons but is also capable of running on all fours if needed

Ultimate - Obramon: Taken from the word ‘obra maestra’ which is Spanish for masterpiece. He basically gives himself a fresh coat of paint, literally, giving himself a few more weapons and maybe armor pieces that he’s painted on himself. 

Mega - Magnumon: Inspired by the word Magnum Opus. A tall figure wearing a white cloak and a beret, complete with a white scarf to hide his face. He also wields a pallet and brush, but has many other art tools tucked away in his cloak.  

Aaaaand that’s about it for now; if I feel up to it, maybe I’ll make Digital buds for Usnavi, Nina, and Benny too, and maybe Carla and Lincoln so Digimon Adventure AU can have more meat on it; we’ll see!

[velvet-apricots]

Springer/First Aid 0

How do they have a bean? (Include your headcanons!): Its totally a surprise. Springer wasn’t sure if he could even sire beans once he knew he was not really a cybertronian. but there they are.

Would they have one bean or more than one bean? If more, how many?: Three.

What’s the bean’s shape? Size?: All are just medium sized round blorps. its cute.

Is their bean an exceptionally cuddly squishy blob or no?: All the beans love to be held and cuddled. Especially by springer. he’s big enough to hold all of them at once.

Does their bean have basic protoform appendages (chevron, finials, wings, etc.) forming yet?: No. They are quite ‘naked’ minus the typical faces beans have (black screens and then eyes on them, you know, how everyone draws them). They end up looking like Ostaros, which explains the lack of any discernible features. It makes telling them apart kinda hard.

Is much is their bean dependent on them?: Very dependent.

Who does the bean take after more physically?: They don’t look anything like their parents. They have none of the same colors, and no discernible features. Though this is because they look like how Springer once did long ago.

Personality-wise, who is the bean more like?: One is a lot like springer. Very brave and willing to explore anywhere. They other two are like First aid, cautious, and crying when other people get hurt in front of them. 

How does their bean interact with other grown mechs?: They don’t like prowl that much, though thats a mutual thing. Generally tho they do like other adults. Especially bigger ones. (tarantulas sneaks in to be with them sometimes and they like how fuzzy he is). 

How does their bean interact with other protoforms?: They love playmates!

What sounds does their bean make? Are they quiet, make low booping, high beepings, or are they a wee lil screecher?:  Buzzing mostly, which everyone finds unusual.

How does their bean move about?: Bouncing!

Where and how often does their bean like to snooze?: Spriner’s chest is the go to space to sleep. And they sleep quite a bit.

[riyuyami]

Yami turning Yugi into a toon?

*drops to my knees in front of you*

Finally... a chance to write this scene.

In the Toon!Au, Yugi had seen the ink machine in action before, but his memory of his final days of work are foggy, and he mainly came back to the studio to find out what happened to him, as he lost contact with Seto when he left.

--

The switch was thrown and Yugi could hear the pipes flowing with ink. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and smiled, a bit proud of himself for getting that machine up and running, even if it was done in strange methods.

His smile died when he heard something, swearing he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

No, just his imagination...

He left the break room and began to make his way back to the Ink Machine room. The machine is up and running, spitting out globs of ink onto the floor and Yugi frowned, well... at least it worked. He remembered, faintly, of it having issues with spitting out too much ink, but his memory of the machine continued to remain foggy to him, even after seeing it up and running again.

“Quite the thing, ain’t it?”

“It sure is.” Yugi nodded, but tensed up, wait... who just said that?

Slowly, he turned to the right, seeing someone leaning against the chest of drawers in the corner, a certain someone he’s seen pictures and cutouts of all over the place.

Yami was there, in the room with him, but it was obvious the little guy wasn’t made of cardboard, nor was he was drawing on the wall. He was physical, smirking at Yugi, as he spun something flat, aqua-green in color, on the tip of his gloved finger.

“Y-Yami...?” How was this... but that fake body of Joey...? No, no, it was real, and Yami was real, cause here he is, smirking at Yugi.

“Ha! The lil’ guy still remembers my name! Guess you don’t forget everythin’ about your favorite creation after leavin’ him in the dust for twenty, long years...” Those pie-cut eyes narrowed and the smirk turned into a deep, toothy-frown.

Yami stepped away from the dresser, still spinning the strange thing on his finger. “You shouldn’t have come back...”

“Yami... how is this... how are you...?”

The dancing shadow stopped, and glared, his eyes shrinking slightly. “You don’t remember me? You seriously don’t?! Seto was right...” He growled, but the smirk started to return as he began to laugh.

It unsettled Yugi to his core, hearing it over the churning of the machine.

Yami’s laughter echoed in the room for a few moments after he stopped. “Oh, partner... guess we’re gonna have to remind ya of all that you left behind when you went rogue.”

Yugi didn’t see him coming, he moved too fast, until he saw the black, white, and gray cartoon appear in front of him, having jumped in the air. “Have a gift! From me to you!” 

The green disk turned solid black before Yami slapped it right against Yugi’s forehead. The animator screamed, feeling a searing pain in his skin, the scent of burning ink filled his nose as he stumbled back.

The Toon laughed, scurrying off. “He’ll be waitin’ for ya, if you can find the one you left behind!” He called out, running down the hall as the walls began to leak ink.

Yugi groaned, the pain started to subside a little, but the world spun around him. The Ink Machine groaned loudly, shaking, catching Yugi’s attention. He watched as the spout sputtered, blobs of ink flew out, before a large lump was forced out, allowing the backed up ink to continue flowing.

The lump begins to move in front of horrified, orchid eyes, rising up to take on a strange, humanoid shape. Features began to appear, large spikes of dripping black, white streaks falling onto what could be a face, giving the terrifying grin that appeared after a white and black hand swiped at the ink on the bottom of the thing’s face.

The pendant that Yami always wore pushed itself out of the thing’s chest, along with a rope.

It turned to Yugi, grinning, before it screamed.

Yugi gasped, covering his ears as the machine went nuts, spitting out way too much ink! The pipes around him started to burst and the walls spilled nothing but ink. Yugi stumbled back, almost falling in his dizzy state from the burning and screaming, but somehow he got himself turned around and began to run away.

The door! He had to get to the front door...!

He was so close, seeing it just ahead, his fingers just brushing the knob, before he fell.

The floor collapsed under him and Yugi screamed all the way down, until he landed in a thick, deep liquid It was ink! He landed in a room full of ink!

He swallowed some by accident, coughing and gagging as he tried to spit it out. He spotted a valve, almost submerged in the liquid, and he made his way to it, turning with all his might.

To his luck, the ink drained quickly, and he was safe. But... for how long... he had to get out of here, get away from the monster, he didn’t want to know what Seto wanted him to see, he didn’t want to know what happened that day twenty years ago, he didn’t even want to know why Yami and Joey were real!

He had to get out of this place.

Exploring allowed him to find an axe, but it didn’t help him with the burning under his skin, and the strange feeling he felt in his stomach. He hoped that the ink didn’t poison him...

After finding a door, Yugi was shocked for find a pentagram painted on the floor of a room, it looked just like the one Yami had slapped against his forehead.

... He slapped a pentagram to Yugi’s forehead...

He stepped into the room as it started to shake, hearing crashes behind him. The heat inside of him felt like he was inside of an oven and he called out for help as ink dripped out of his mouth. He stumbled, dropping his axe as he fell into the room, landing on the circle, the world spinning around him as he blacked out.

The last thing he heard was a familiar laugh, and a voice.

“Welcome to Toon World.”

[rememberthe4th]

Ticks

This lil beauty is something I whipped-up for the Scary Stories Told in the Dark podcast.  I thought I’d share it with you as well, so that we may cross our fingers together!  I hope you enjoy my rendition on a classic-style, and PLEASE support them and their other projects at  https://www.simplyscarypodcast.com

Deer-season had finally arrived, and Matthew couldn’t wait to lose himself in the thrill of the hunt.   This was his fourteenth year in the stand, but only his third without his father beside him.  Before his dad had passed, Matthew vowed to keep their tradition, and bring the family a winter’s worth of venison.  Having asked-off months before anyone else, he was in the woods on that first weekend.

Despite his preparation, Matthew’s hours in the tree-stand were wasted.  Not even a doe wandered into view, much less anything worth taking a shot at.  When the Sunday morning threatened to turn to noon, his frustration overtook his practiced patience.  Taking the stand from its perch, and packing his truck, he headed home.  

Matthew, to his relief, wasn’t the only hunter having trouble this year.  Most folks in the county seemed to be complaining about the lack of game.  Fish weren’t biting, ducks weren’t landing, and the deer seemed to have headed for safer pastures.  Knowing he wasn’t alone in failure offered Matthew some cold-comfort, but the fear of breaking that long-standing-tradition was unbearable.  So, when the next weekend came around, he was back on the hunt.  

That first week set the tone for the two which followed.  The woods were empty of prey, and the hunter was at his wit’s end.  Matthew knew his usual spot wouldn’t suffice this year, so he started thinking outside the box.  A solution rose pretty quickly, and the boy mentally-beat himself for not coming-up with it sooner.  He’d ask Paw for advice.

Now Paw wasn’t of any blood-relation to Matthew, but a friend of his father’s.  The old-man lived alone on a lovely slice of 60-odd acres.  The woods there had grown with wild-abandon as Paw became too tired to keep so much land clean.  If he couldn’t offer Matthew any wisdom or trick to attract the deer, he could ask if Paw would let him hunt there.  Half the county knew the old-man kept his woods free of hunters, so surely there was deer a-plenty.  

After enduring several anecdotes from years gone-by, Matthew got to the point.  The answer was the same one Paw gave whenever someone asked that same question.  Matthew knew it was coming before he finished his plea, just by the scowl on the old-man’s face.  “You don’t crap where you craft, boy.  Same goes for hunting where you call home.”  But to Matthew’s surprise, Paw continued with an even more ludicrous excuse, “Besides, can’t go out there right now.  Ticks are bad this year.”

Matthew left shortly thereafter, wondering if Paw even knew it was winter.  Surely he would have offered a rational defense if it wasn’t for his dementia.  Their conversation did nothing to dissuade Matthew, and even as he let the screen-door close behind him, he was already piecing together his plan.  By the time his trusty pick-up brought him home, his plan was ready.  

Matthew would readily admit it wasn’t the most ingenious plan he’d ever devised, but he’d then argue more wasn’t necessary to outwit a demented senior.  That Friday, an hour before the sun even peeked over the horizon, he was setting-up his stand.  Paw had taken to waking-up later and later as time passed, so the earlier, the better for Matthew.  In-case this precaution wasn’t enough, he’d also chosen the furthest corner from Paw’s little farmhouse.  Even if the old-man was awake for some reason, his hearing was lost in the war.  He’d never hear the gunshot from this distance.

Dawn found Matthew waiting in his stand, some 10-feet off the frosty forest floor.  Rifle at the ready, he kept still, waiting for something to move in the pines and oaks around him.  From the moment he’d stepped foot onto Paw’s property, he’d know this was the right move.  Even the air here felt more alive than that of his usual spot.  

It wasn’t long before something caught his eye.  Moving cautiously despite his pounding heart, he lifted the scope to get a closer look.  Sure enough, two-hind legs poked from behind a curtain of shrubs and briars.  He felt a smile creep across his covered-face as the tail between them flicked, flashing a little strip of white underneath.  He kept watch while it wandered from his sight, obscured by the flora.  Shifting no-faster than a branch bending in the wind, Matthew aimed at the other-side of the brush.  

Each second his prey spent out-of-sight spanned hours for Matthew.  Surely it was long-gone by this point.  It had noticed the foolish boy, and vanished from sight.  It probably took all the others with it.

Before his confidence could completely collapse, antlers dipped into view of his scope.  They bobbed and swayed, their owner still hidden.  Pushing his heart back into its proper place, Matthew tried his best to count the points.  Certain it would be a trophy rack, but unable to get a precise count with the animal’s erratic-movements, he steadied his aim.  

A head followed the antlers, and when a neck followed that, Matthew took the shot.  The thunderous-report from his rifle broke the forest’s silence, tossing birds into the open sky.  A shot that would make his father proud, it felled the beast instantly.  Shaking, the rush of the kill flooding his mind, Matthew departed from his perch.  His rifle hardly had the time to settle on his back before he was mantling down the shoddy, steel ladder.  

The distance between them wasn’t great; certainly not worthy of bragging about.  He crossed the frost-coated forest with a fevered-pace.  It wasn’t until his prey came into full-view that he so much as paused.  

Beyond the thicket and pines, the young buck lay motionless on the cold ground.  Its jaw hung open, tongue limp against its teeth.  The alluring-antlers forced its neck into an unnatural angle, allowing its eye to stare blindly towards Matthew.

This wasn’t what caused the hunter’s hesitation, though it served to make the scene before him all-the-more bizarre.  Sacks of brown-stained grey hung from the deer’s coat.  There had to be over a dozen sprouting along its ribs.  They varied in size; some just a hair smaller than Matthew’s fist, others could feasibly be used as basketballs.

Hoping the strange growths were just patches of snow playing tricks on his mind, Matthew ventured to the deer’s side.  Despite his best attempts at blinking them away, the masses remained, along with a growing certainty within his gut that something wasn’t right.  When he he stood above the body, he struggled to accept what lay there.  The thought of it turned his blood colder than the frost beneath them.

With the steel-toed tip of his boot, Matthew struck one of the masses.  Even through the thick-leather around his foot, he felt its fleshy-surface give under his weight.  With the sound of a wet magazine being torn in two, the blob fell free.  Several banded legs, each ending in a sharp hook, clawed at the sky as it plopped to the earth.  

That unease which festered in Matthew’s gut blossomed into a nauseating terror.  Eyes flicked from the squirming wad, and back to the corpse he’d knocked it from.  A portion of his mind recognized what was writhing there, but the rest refused to accept it.

After another moment of struggle, the tick managed to flip onto it legs.  Nonplussed despite having its meal so rudely interrupted, it turned to face Matthew.  Several eyes of black-glass, set between the folds, watched him without emotion.  A scream broke from his stomach as the tick skittered towards him; as he heard sound of its breakfast sloshing inside with each movement.  

Another gunshot echoed through the morning, this one fired in desperation rather than hope.  Again, Matthew’s aim was true.  As the bullet tore through the tick’s thin, sack-like skin, its bloody bounty cascaded across the frosty forest-floor.  

Still shaking, Matthew watched steam rise from where the buck’s life stained the ground.  As he began to collect his wits, others began dropping off the carcass.   Unlike the first, they landed with grace. Most were already ambling closer by the time he began to stumble backwards.  Fear fought his every move as Matthew fired again and again, blasting away at the swarm.  Each successful shot was rewarded with another brilliant burst of hot blood.  With a spare-clip in his pocket and each bullet hitting its mark, he was making quick work of the monsters.  As the ninth shot brought forth the ninth geyser of gore, a spark of pain pierced Matthew’s focus.  Embers, growing by the second, burned beneath his camo-pants.   A groan slipped from chapped-lips when his eyes found a noticeable bulge at the inside of his left-thigh, a few inches above the calf.  

Their prey distracted, the diminished swarm closed-in.

Screaming with abandon, Matthew slammed the rifle-butt against his own leg.  Roaring from the fresh-agony he’d caused, he glanced down again to find the others were already scaling his boots.  Kicking wildly, Matthew stumbled backwards only to slip on one which was preparing for its climb.  Cleated-soles skating across the slick surface and several extra pounds weighing on his legs, Matthew toppled to the earth.  To his credit, two or three burst beneath him, but he was unable to savor such a small victory.  

Stopping the flurry of kicks only to draw his skinning-knife, Matthew lashed-out as their weight drove him further into the dirt.  His left leg, no-longer feeling like apart of him, was cold and weak.  He screamed as they burrowed into the space where jacket met pants, slipping under the layers to find his quivering belly.  Hungry mouths peeled flesh and probed with serrated-tongues.  Each new bite brought a chorus of cries from their host.

More crawled from the forest, excited by the sounds of breakfast.  They piled and poured over him, pinning Matthew as they explored each and every entrance beyond his clothing.  Razor-like legs raked his bare skin, painful precursors to the agony their teeth would bring.  He thrashed in-spite of the certainty that he was dying.  His legs refused his pleas to fight, the weight of empty-skin too great to overcome.  His arms had vanished beneath the fattening tide of grey and red.

When at last he stopped fighting; when the morning sun was blocked by bulbous sacs growing with his very life, Pa’s words returned to Matthew.  As pain dwindled to the cold darkness, the old man repeated himself.  His tone changed as they echoed, as if he was speaking through a gritted-sneer, “Ticks are bad this year.”