#bye *shrug*

[vcrnons]

SEVENTEEN + the MOGU MOGU plushie.

[residentmara]

full body idea, the first outfit youd see him in before whatever happens.

i have an idea for his new story? but again im still taking feed back/ criticism because im def not the biggest "the before" expert or anything

i have a loose idea that icarus would just be an aimless soul (heh) getting by until he becomes friends with FIF!jash , then meeting his two brothers along the way and then icarus becomes like. the fourth brother /silly but thats just a loose bastardization because icarus is Not a Good Person, or atleast at first.

he struggles with codependency, abandonment and negligence, but at the same time is harsh , apathetic and destructive. icarus doesnt want to push anyone away, he just wants a stable relationship with someone, Anyone, but hes self aware. he knows his flaws, and as a defense mechanism to "protect" himself from everyone, he isolates himself. and yeah, it's bad, but thats all hes ever known. hes never met someone like the solo brothers, where they actually give him room to improve and take the time of day to help him out any way they can, because thats what friends do.

so he also tries helping them, doing small gestures in return. he doesnt understand that their (platonic) love is unconditional, so because he doesnt want to feel like a burden, he tries understanding and also mirroring their patterns.

[todayisafridaynight]

[moeblob]

son boy raccoon trash can man suffering in a dnd au as a cleric bc his warlock will not stop committing murders and he has to keep coming up with reasons murder is valid to convince the gm its fine and under control

[spookythesillyfella]

here's a little luna related art dump because i love my sick brother @chamom1le-t3a and everything he makes :33

i love how luna n hv tony canonically non-canonically interact X3

i am uhhh .... 70-ish % sure i haven't posted these two . if i have you can smite me tho

+ an extra doodle of @the-trash-phrog 's phos . cuz i rlly rlly love their design :333

★ [they're listening to this huehehe :3]

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[thatfailedpokemontrainer]

sometimes I wanna talk about my identity and struggles to discover myself and stuff on here but I remember how everyone is constantly being assigned labels and it feels so suffocating I'd rather use the move self destruct

[mantarobin]

it was just hunting season. nothing you could do.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

Dancing with the devil...

@estelletheskeleton forgot to add this here but here you go >:Dc

[tappuman]

[persephoneggsy]

I’m obsessed with Lae’zel x Gale and I recently found out you can give the githyanki egg to Lae’zel and she raises it as her own so

The hatchling, that Lae’zel names Xan, grows up with a very supportive family. His mom and dad raise him to make his own decisions and be his own man. Inspired by his mother’s battle prowess and his father’s magical aptitude, Xan becomes an Eldritch Knight with a few dips into Evocation Wizard, and he becomes a famous adventurer in his own right.

Though of course, he’s not as famous as “Xan”, the mysterious adventurer who helped his parents (and aunts and uncles) defeat the Absolute years ago, and the man for whom Xan is named. But Xan has never known him, for he disappeared shortly after the Absolute threat was defeated. All he knows is that he was a githyanki, and skilled with magic and blade in equal measure. And Gale has mentioned that “Xan the Elder” resembles him; if he hadn’t seen Lae’zel take his egg with his own eyes, he’d almost have suspected he was Xan-the-Younger’s true father.

All of this occurs to Xan-the-Younger in startling clarity when he is on an adventure and suddenly thrust back in time. He wakes up on a mind flayer ship, just like the one Uncle Wyll always described in his retellings of their old group’s adventures.

And then… he meets his mother. Several years younger and pointing a blade in his face.

Xan-the-Younger realizes he was Xan-the-Elder all along. Now he must save Faerun from the Absolute — an ordeal that, even with foreknowledge, is a difficult task (his family didn’t share EVERY detail, and even so, his memory isn't perfect and he’s forgotten a few things).

He also needs to make sure his mother grabs his egg from the crèche, while also ensuring that she turns against Vlaakith and frees Orpheus, AND that his father doesn’t blow himself up or try to ascend to godhood.

And it would be nice if he could also ensure they end up together. It’s frankly quite uncomfortable that they’ve both flirted with him.

[dantoru]

hello i posted a new fic 😊

🎈🌟 1/4 chapters (to be updated daily)

[averlym]

character designs for podcast musical (musical podcast?) @perfecttimeseleven // notes on the designs below the cut

hello there! usually i put commentary in the tags but i had too much to write this time.. thank you for clicking. have this uncoloured version as tribute. for ease of presentation i have once again made pptx slides :)

links for context: hcs and edits by CC @litanyofthemartyrs // scheherazade, [cc's px11 fic, incredible] // visual research sheets (under the cut) by me // the official art by @elliotly, which you can probably find on his tumblr(but is in too many posts for me to bother linking). enjoy!

[seasononesam]

I assume you'll want to drive.

[caressthosecheekbones]

"Why are you so wet?" "Bro, I'm in love with you." Taylor furrowed his brows and tried to keep a sopping Nick from falling forward into his chest again. "What? That doesn't even make sense. Nicky, what the fuck?" Nick tried to open his eyes as the gravity of what he'd just said sank into the depth of his alcoholically challenged consciousness. "I -umm..." he held himself upright with both hands against Taylor's broad chest, his clouded gaze zeroing in on the beauty mark on the man's left tit, which peeked through the wide open gap of his half unbuttoned shirt. "thirsty." was all he had to say in his defence. Hoarsely. Taylor sighed, poking his cheek, "Okay, "Mate", let's get you some water." He chuckled. "Freak." With one arm slung around his friend's shoulders, they continued their slow journey down the wet side walk. After a few minutes of silence in which Nick tried to calculate the odds of Taylor not remembering his verbal malfunction the next day, he almost jumped at the quiet words that fit so well into the calm, dark night surrounding them. "I love you too, ok." Nick's broad smile, the toothy one, directed at his feet to avoid stumbling into another puddle, wouldn't leave his face for the next hour at least.

sorry, this is it... for now(?)

inpired by this post.

[clannfearrunt]

random annoying Thresher fact is that bc they play turf purely for their own personal entertainment and exercise they’re not concerned with much of anything else like winning, or making sure anyone else is having fun, or “sportsmanship”(????) or what ever,

Which isn’t normally a problem bc they’re not particularly an asshole player either but if they get matched against like, a really good charger or something, that completely shuts down any attempt to play the game normally, or something to that effect where they are not having any fun at all they’ll just disconnect mid match. Usually not even early enough to stop the entire match because they’ll initially give it a whirl you know to see if they can’t turn things around. But then if they can’t they’ll just unplug some part of the safety equipment to trigger a “disconnect” and leave everyone else to fend for themselves. They don’t care about the time out afterwards. They have better things to do than get repeatedly spawncamped by an E-Liter thank u. Is there a problem. They’re going to get a sandwich.