#i am ready to actually cry

[iaxsl]

HOW AM I MEANT TO GO ON AFTER THIS?????

KUMAAAAAAAA

[sysig]

They’re both so cute, what’s up with that (Patreon)

[baeshijima]

if anyone asks

tell them ive ascended to heaven

[calmlb]

this brand of skk >>>

source

[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 

[boxwinebaddie]

my time in kindergarten has cursed me with the knowledge that kyle is def the tiny 'erm, actually!' kid in big ass fishbowl glasses who tries to answer questions that i haven't even finished asking yet, is reading books at third grade reading level like 6 y/o megamind, all of which is Great except that little fkn einstein is constantly TRYING ME by attempting to undermine my authority by staging a literal Coup in my class over who should clean up the magnetiles and ‘start shit’ aka intense philosophical debates abt BLUEY during Quiet Time.

and conversely, stan is the kid who almost gets hit by a car during pick up trying to pick a fkn ROLLYPOLY out of the gd street, needs to be told 25/8 to stop playing in the planters/stop building complex worm terrariums out of sticks and mud everyday at recess, cries anytime i have to raise my voice above a whisper, is super adhd, gets extremely overstimulated by EVERYTHING, blurts Constantly abt things he did over the weekend and drew a...Very Frightening ‘my family portrait’ of his dad yelling, mom crying, sister in devil horns and him frowning...

...In Big, Blue, Lopsided Crayon.

[bluuish-skies]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN NORAGAMI IS GOING TO BE MENTIONED AT ANIME EXPO THIS YEAR????!

[sora-irl]

I WON? I FINALLY WON?

[buddiedaydreamer911]

13 minutes away. my heart is having palpitations. #nervous

[raisans-art]

Every day I get closer to posting April 24th and every day I have another heart attack

[wiseatom]

every time i feel normal and dare i say even Good i do simply orchestrate a way to ruin that

[tamagotchikgs]

realizing that for the first time ever being w my bf has given me the chance to actually just , kinda be myself without it feeling So wrong. like i am a nervous lil freak n me not being anything else is somehow ok. and not just used as a joke or like yeah thats the freak dont talk to them dont worry about them like my friends irl always did w me. even my therapist likes to ignore core parts of me, whenever i try to bring it up she always shuts me down with the "im sorry u feel that way" and changes the subject. and like i still want to be better n i still have support for changing n growing but it's like for the first time i can actually plant myself down in the ground instead of stretch myself thin trying to fit into everything im not. so maybe i do have a chance. maybe this is where i was always going wrong maybe this is what i could never reach

[baeshijima]

"let's go, rin."

what if this is where i met my end? what then?

[unexpectedbrickattack]

your pepstavo is literally the best thing in the entire world ur recent post sent me to heaven….I love ur hcs for their intimacy it’s EXACTLY how i see it too!!!

i think peppino struggles extremely with intimacy to the point where he’ll just end up crying before anything can start, which gus never minds and he’s always there for him to hold him and remind him he’ll always wait for him for when he’s ready…😢😢RAGGHH ilovethememmm…..

Thank yuuuu 😭💖💖💖💖 its prob out of the blue bc 98% of all of my hcs are just rotating in my head but i think about them sooo much. Peppino is a scared but ANGRY man and hes fun to work w bc i see him as both incredibly expressive and also extremely emotionally constipated; wants intimacy, cannot understand WHY it sucks so bad when he gets invited to partake in it. He is frustrated and anxious and he has like 400 million thoughts conflicting w each other and it ends up w him being angry and pissy wo knowing WHY hes angry and pissy.

And Gus is a saint but he is also a VERY stubborn little man and is probably the only person in the world stubborn enough to tolerate this messy, messy man. He doesnt treat peppino as a fixer-up; he treats him as someone he KNOWS has hang ups about Everything. The thing is, Gus has been interested in peppino even when he was in the throes of being in his literal Lowest Point of his life; Gus was ride or die from jump and he knew he would have to have the patience to deal w peppino and his attitude.

And its kind of funny (sweet) to Gus bc now he (and rlly everyone now) gets to see what peppino looks like when hes not BEYOND stressed, and Gus sees that hes in fact soft and kind of a silly man ! He likes any and ALL displays of affection, he likes being pampered and he likes being coddled a lil and he likes existing in Gustavos space :) Hes REALLY coy and equally playful and hes a bit (alot) of a brat; it makes Gus wish he got to see Peppino when he was younger (bc peppino will show him pics from when he was young and he mentions that he used to be a BRAT w these older men lmao) like theres more to this (at first glance) grumpy man, but hes like more than happy to have the peppino he knows rn 🧡

[thedreadvampy]

The thing is I am definitely not happy or chill in the Immediate Sense lately but I am, big picture, so fucking happy with the person I am.

It's like. My brain was made by and for consistent trauma and since that trauma stopped about 5-7 years ago, it is incredible what the amount of resilience and cleverness and flexibility and thoughtfulness I developed to survive can do when it's not being all spent on surviving. like I had a hundred ton weight on me so I had to get REALLY STRONG to stay in the same place and not get 100% crushed, and when that weight came off I found I can use the strength it used to take to stand up and I can leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I was talking to my mum the other day and she said, "you've got the 'fuck it' energy at 30 that most women don't find until their fifties at least" and I'm like yeah man. Imagine how unstoppable I'll be in 20 years.

[qcomicsy]

Listen I like Tim and Steph but I don't go there, however.

Sometimes I remember that one monologue from the Diane of Bojack Horseman when her ex-husband got another girlfriend and think about Steph wondering how did she not have a mental breakdown regarding her and Tim breakup until today.

Because if Red Robin is still cannon and I was her I would have very much a mental breakdown eventually.

Monologue under the cut

"You accidentally see your soon-to-be-ex-husband kiss someone else. At first you think, oh, it's a fing. Whatever. They're drunk. It's a party. But then he puts his hand on the small of her back exactly the way he used to do to you. It means, "I got you." And when he did it to you, it made you feel safe. And you realize he will never do that to you again. And it breaks your heart again. After you thought your heart was so broken that it could never get any more broken. You thought it was safe. But it somehow finds a new way to break. Because even though you're the one who asked for this, now that you've got it you are completely adrift. With no compass, or map"