#i hope it's ok that i made this lol :)

[luna-lovegreat]

'I've never been in a dungeon before' and 'Who's Ganon?' have literally made some of the BEST reaction panels in Lu I just-

They are very similar conversations- where a Link is pointing out/asking about something that the others have experienced and they haven't. Which is really cool to compare and contrast but they all just freak out about it

Genuinely some of the best conversations in Lu

The lesson here is that apparently the Links will always be freaked out when one of them has missed out on one of the Zelda Fundamentals™

.

Art by Jojo @linkeduniverse au :)

[bomedew]

i love u,, sam winchester,,,

[to-boldly-escape]

Data in Gold <3

Expand for higher qualityy

[a2zillustration]

I carried this thing for MONTHS with the EXPRESS PURPOSE of putting Raphael in it (knowing full well Larian wouldn't let me do that, mechanically) and I had one major miscalculation.

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[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[galedekarios]

°˖* ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ a certain measure of his personality

[bleedingoptimism]

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚

part 3 (NSFW | FtM Steve + Vampire Eddie)

As Eddie lets himself be dragged by Sunshine through the room he catches Jeff from the corner of his eye giving him a big thumbs up and smiles back, unbelieving of his luck.

Out of curiosity, he looks over at The Boss and Sparrow, who are looking at them intently. Sparrow is glaring at him, again. What is up with her?

He sees as The Boss takes Sparrow’s hand and kisses it, telling her something Eddie can’t hear but looks awfully like ‘he’s gonna be okay’ and the frown on Sparrow’s face instantly melts away as she nods.  

He has a second to wonder what the hell was that about before he’s rudely interrupted by Freak, the big bouncer guy, once more crushing face-first into his chest.

They are at the entrance of a hallway that leads to some stairs and Sunshine doesn't seem to notice Eddie’s been stopped until his hand slips out of his.

He turns around and chuckles at Freak and Eddie just staring at each other.

“He’s with me, Freak” Sunshine says, just like Jeff had at the beginning of the night. Only this time Freak is a little reluctant.

“Aren’t you a lucky one?” He asks Eddie, raising an eyebrow, and Eddie has to resist the urge to talk shit back at him. He doesn't want to be kicked out, not now. Not when he’s so close.

Sunshine scoffs and moves to push Freak out of the way, but he also leans in and kisses his cheek, “Be nice, baby” he coos at him and Eddie gets to witness in real time a big-ass grown man melt into a fucking puddle at their feet.

And he can’t really blame him.

The softness doesn’t last long, however. Because as he’s moving past Freak to follow Sunshine, the bouncer stops him again and he speaks to Sunshine, keeping his eyes fixed on Eddie the whole time, “I’ll be right down here if you need me, ok?”

“Ok, baby!” Sunshine answers back, barely paying attention as he takes Eddie’s hand again and takes them upstairs.

They move through a hallway lined with doors on both sides to a second hallway that’s a little more secluded and only has four doors, farther between them. Sunshine gets a key from an inside pocket of his jacket and they enter one of the rooms.

Once inside he lets go of Eddie’s hand and moves to lock the door while Eddie looks around, the place doesn't look like a motel room or hotel or anything like it.

It looks just like someone’s room. Like an ordinary, lived-in, comfy-looking room. And it’s full of stuff. There’re books littered all over a desk and a bookshelf with even more books, but mostly filled with table games.

The bed is unmade, and huge, looks like an antique too, all the furniture does which makes the table games, books, and the fucking basketball and the training weights under the desk chair look surreal. Eddie walks around the room, taps the dresser with his knuckles as he passes by, looking at what’s on top of it. There’re hair and skin care products, a soft-looking brush he resists the urge to grab and try, a small black kit with the words ‘self-made’ in bright pink stitched into it. 

And… There’s a fucking copy of the Dungeons Master’s guide on the desk. He moves towards it and grabs it, looking back at Sunshine who’s just been standing by the door, letting him roam around until now, with a huge smile on his face.

Sunshine chuckles, “That’s not even mine,” he mutters and then lifts an eyebrow at him, “Is that what you want to do while we’re here?” he asks him, cocking his head to the side cutely. Meanly, actually. It’s fucking sexy as hell. 

Lost for words Eddie shakes his head no and Sunshine giggles and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard in his entire life. He feels himself salivating at the thought of tasting everything about Sunshine, even his sounds.

“Why don’t you make yourself at home. I’m gonna slip into something a little more comfortable,” he tells Eddie and then moves to a door on the side that he hadn’t even noticed was there.

That phrase leaves him feeling a little dizzy, all his blood rushing down south. What the fuck, he’s pretty sure he’s heard pornos start that way before. He just sits at the bottom of the bed and lets his mind wonder about what that even means, imagining Sunshine walking out of the vanity wearing a robe with nothing underneath, like in the movies. Or a cute lingerie set with matching colors, or black lace panties and a garter belt. Shit! Maybe comfortable means wearing nothing at all…

And then the door opens and Sunshine walks out… barefoot and wearing a pair of pastel peach sweatpants and a black crop top. And it’s somehow worse than anything Eddie was picturing, or better, actually. Because Sunshine really just wanted to be comfortable with him. And he looks so cozy and soft and warm and fucking beautiful. The sweatpants rest low on his hips, and the crop top reaches just below his belly button, leaving the bones of his hips, his lean stomach, his happy trail, and so many, many moles on display.

Eddie makes grabby hands at him and Sunshine laughs and shakes his head but starts walking towards him, “You didn’t even take your jacket off,” he comments.

“Oh,” Eddie replies eloquently and just sits there as Sunshine steps between his legs and stands in front of him.

“May I?” He asks him, hovering his hands over Eddie’s shoulders. He nods and Sunshine just smiles sweetly at him, and doesn't move until Eddie swallows and says, 

“Yes, please.”

Then Sunshine grabs him by the shoulders of the jacket and slowly starts pulling it down his arms and off him. Shit. He’s never been undressed like this before, so tenderly. He feels completely disarmed.

Once the jacket is off, Sunshine throws it over his shoulder where it falls neatly over a loveseat in the corner of the room.

Eddie smirks, “Nice,” and Sunshine cocks his head to the side confused, and looks back not knowing what Eddie’s referring to, before laughing sweetly when he sees where the jacket landed.

“Let’s pretend I did that on purpose,” He jokes smiling at Eddie and he has to bite his own lips to stop himself from whimpering at the sight of Sunshine, standing between his legs and looking down at him with that smile.

“So…” Sunshine drawls, as his fingers walk along Eddie’s shoulders and pick at the collar of his shirt, “What would you like to do?” he asks.

Everything.

Anything.

Everything.

“Can I touch you?” It’s what Eddie settles with. 

He’s not expecting Sunshine to blush bright red and blink at him, so sure of himself as he seemed. But he does, and he looks delicious.

“Yeah, yes,” he whispers and lets his hands rest on Eddie’s shoulders, offering himself to Eddie’s hands.

So Eddie takes. He lifts his hands and starts slow, barely pressing, caressing the soft skin on Sunshine’s hips. Sees the trails of goosebumps his fingers leave in their wake.

He presses his palms to the warm skin of his sides and splays his fingers wide to encompass as much as he can and then pulls Sunshine gently closer before pressing his face against his stomach and taking a deep breath.

He does fucking smell like the warmth of the sun on a field full of flowers, the motherfucker. 

It’s the best thing he’s ever experienced, it’s addicting. It’s scary.

He feels Sunshine gasp as he ghosts his lips over his stomach and keeps moving his fingers, exploring, feeling the muscles move under his fingertips, the soft hair of his happy trail, following it up where it almost disappears completely before coming back with a vengeance just below his pecs. 

Sunshine’s breathing gets faster and a little louder as Eddie keeps kissing his abs and whatever part of him he can reach as his hands drift further up, fingers stroking over the scars that follow the outline of muscles and are adorned with chest hair. He keeps going, follows the lines of ribs, and goes to his back, goes up and down his spine, pulling him a little bit closer and kissing just below his sternum.

The hands on Eddie’s shoulders are shaking now, and Sunshine lets out a whimper that seems to surprise even himself, his fingers flexing and twisting the fabric of Eddie’s shirt.

“Strid- I-” He starts but stops and just moans instead. And Eddie gets it. It feels weird not hearing his name come out of those beautiful lips between the whimpers and sounds he’s getting out of him. He wants to hear his name, whispered, moaned, screamed by Sunshine. Fuck he wants to know Sunshine’s name.

“You smell so good, you taste so sweet, you feel so soft,” Eddie tells him, standing up and pushing the crop top up over his torso and off of him. 

He takes a moment to just look at him, they’re almost the same height, Sunshine maybe a hair taller than him. And Eddie lets his eyes dance from head to toe appreciatively, taking in how wonderfully debauched he looks. All muscle and hair and soft skin covered in freckles, flushed and hot and just so fucking-

“You are so beautiful.” 

Sunshine’s eyes light up and he huffs and combs his fingers through a lock of Eddie’s hair and looks at it instead of him. He seems overwhelmed so Eddie lets him have a moment, hides his face on Sunshine’s neck, and stays there a second, breathing him in, and kissing him softly.

The whole ‘Never took anyone upstairs before’ makes a little more sense now and it makes Eddie feel overwhelmed himself to know how truly fucking special it is to be in here alone with him.

He noses the strong line of Sunshine’s jaw and down his neck, eyes almost rolling to the back of his head just from his scent. He kisses and nips lightly from tendon to shoulder and back again as Sunshine wraps his arms around his neck and clings to him, one of his legs going up Eddie’s side like he’s trying to climb him. Like he needs to be closer.

Eddie wraps his hands around his waist and lifts him up an inch before sitting back down on the bed with Sunshine sitting on top of him, knees on either side of his legs.

He immediately dives back to Sunshine's neck because he can’t get enough of him, he can feel his teeth sharpening and he lets Sunshine feel them too. The moan and slow thrust of his hips are pretty fucking encouraging but Eddie wants this to last, can’t get to the main dish yet.

His hands go back to feeling every vertebra on Sunshine’s spine as Sunshine's slow thrusts start a rhythm that pairs wonderfully with the small musical gasps and moans he lets out.

He’s so fucking responsive, it’s driving Eddie completely insane. Sunshine is the most beautiful, sensual, perfect man he’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing, because he’s a fucking experience. And he’s never been so hard in his life, it’s almost too painful and he feels, he just knows, he’s going to come embarrassingly fast and probably before they even get their pants down and he honestly couldn’t care less right now.

Feeling like he’s about to overheat, Eddie leans back just enough to take his shirt off and he’s about to embrace the shivering angel on his lap again when Sunshine places his hands on Eddie’s chest. 

Eddie looks at him but Sunshine is staring somewhere below his neck and then down his chest and all over his torso. His hands move, touch him reverently and look at him as if Eddie was worth a shit. It makes his chest hurt, the way Sunshine looks at him.

He lets Sunshine caress his skin, trace his tattoos, and circle his nipples, flicking one of the piercings before cupping his peck, which makes Eddie chuckle getting a cute smile in return before Sunshine dives in and starts kissing Eddie’s neck, nipping, and licking like he’s the one who is actually hungry, like he’s the one who needs blood.

Eddie moves his hands to Sunshine’s waist and holds it strongly, fingers digging into the meat with purpose and encouraging the delicious rhythm of his hips to start anew. 

Both of them are breathing hard now, and Eddie grabs the waistband of Sunshines sweatpants and pulls them up, lifting him a little with the force of it, making him gasp and keen and then moves him and places him more firmly over his left thigh, so he can properly grind against him, use him to get off. 

Sunshine keeps moaning, breathless, “Ah, ah, ahs” he buries into Eddie’s hair where he’s grabbing and pulling at it. And Eddie places his leg more firmly on the floor and lifts his ankle a little, giving him more friction, actively holding Sunshine's waist and directing his movements as he fucks his thigh unrelentingly.

Sunshine’s knee is giving Eddie all the stimulation he needs right now. He’s close and he knows Sunshine is close too. He can feel it.

After a particularly hard thrust, Sunshine lifts his head upwards and gasps loudly like he’s coming out of the water for air. Eddie takes advantage of the angle and goes for his neck, returning the sweet kisses and licks but when he bites him back, he bites more meaningfully.

He groans with his teeth touching that beautiful skin almost hard enough to break it, questioning.

And Sunshine, with his hands still buried in Eddie’s hair pulls at it and pushes him closer to him,

“Yes, yes, do it. Taste me. Take me,” he chants.

And Eddie finally bites him and God. It’s delicious, indescribable, he’s never tasted anything like it.

Sunshine moans loudly as he comes and Eddie growls, his eyes going to the back of his head, his mouth full of blood, his senses full of Sunshine. The taste, the smell, the feeling of knowing Sunshine used him to satisfy himself, got off on him. It hits him like a train, and he comes too, and he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed from coming completely untouched.

The only thought in his head is:

Jeff was right. Sunshine does tastes like fucking orgasms.

He licks and kisses and mouths at where he bit him until the wound closes, the only evidence it happened is the big purple hickey left in its place and Sunshine leans on him, slowly getting his breathing back to normal.

He doesn't want to let go of him, Eddie thinks, and he unconsciously wraps his arms around his waist and holds him close.

But Sunshine isn't moving either, his arms are around Eddie’s neck, his body still occasionally shivering and he’s humming, sighing, moaning, making all kinds of cute, soft little sounds.

Fuck. He really doesn’t want to leave him.

He didn’t even get to see him completely naked. All that golden skin and moles and hair. He wants that, he wants to touch him. To taste the heat he felt on his thigh, see how wet he got, bite him all over.

It occurs to Eddie that he doesn’t even know his name and his heart breaks a little. He doesn’t even know what music he likes, or what his favorite food is. Fuck. He just wants to know his favorite color.

He’s completely fucked.

Desperate to do something before he just starts weeping, he sighs and leans back a little to look at Sunshine’s face,

“So what do you want to do now?”

Sunshine’s eyes go big and then a little sad and he bites his lips and Eddie shakes his head, backtracking a little,

“I’m not trying to get you to kick me out just so you know. I would actually love to stay,” he tells him and smiles gratefully when a small smirk appears on Sunshine’s lips. “I just wanna do whatever you want to do now,” he finishes.

“I want to kiss you,” Sunshine says, with no preamble, no hesitation, and a little desperate.

And that’s how Eddie kisses him, desperately, passionately and so fucking deep.

And after what’s definitely the best kiss of his life, Sunshine leans away and then back in to press their foreheads together and says, 

“Steve. My name is Steve.” 

“I’m Eddie.”

𝙚𝙣𝙙

part 1: 🍷

part 2: 👄

part 3: you are here

bonus content: ☀️

ao3: 🌙

art: 🦇

coffee?☕🥐💕

[crime-wives]

moodboard for @coalitiongirl's fic even if i die screaming

[pup-pee]

i just i jist i justi just i just i jsut i just ji jstu kji just i just

“kinda” a redraw of this but not rlly like @ all

[chickenndogg]

I can’t believe in the year 2024 we got a ‘Snap out of it!’ conclusion from Chee, I thought we were over this bad cliche guys… 😭

[mintypsii]

author x barista cafe au (sanji is competing against himself)

[luna-lovegreat]

XD Ok so imagine if Sky's smart mouth made him want to roast the heck out of Demise before he could even lay the curse

Like what if Sky, who even managed to roast Impa, has just nearly killed Demise and this goes down:

Demise: >:) So about the world's fate-

Sky: Did you know that your monstrous sealed form (a boss called The Imprisoned) looks like an avocado?

Demise: ?!?!

Sky: With teeth.

Sky: And I wielded the triforce and utterly destroyed you so you faded to dust- and the only reason you're alive (for the next few moments anyway lol) is your sword spirit Ghirahim went back in time? Huh? Did you?

Sky, laughing now: I mean what kind of God is outdone by his weapon and a student ami'right

Demise: *inhales*

Sky: Did you know that to fight you while imprisoned I popped your toes one by one through your pathetic little shockwaves you sent? Did you know that you were so weak that they popped like balloons?

Sky, cracking up: Did you know that your most helpful move when I was fighting you was to slither up the hill like an undignified walnut after I popped all your toes and you couldn't waddle anymore?

*Demise points at Sky and Sky points right back*

Sky: I landed on your head out of a catapult- your sealed form's flying technique was pathetic!

Demise: On you I lay this curse

Sky, yelling: Did you know that your monstrous form is almost as dumb and stupid looking as you are!!!!

Sky: And by the way. Nice hair

Demise: *screams in rage and fades away without the chance to lay the curse*

Like imagine you're a God who wants to lay a curse to doom the world but your opponent is a teenager with sass issues

[jup1tersparx]

reference sheet for 🌩️☠️🔥The Character🔥☠️🌩️ and polly apollyon i made to send to my friend :]

ft. more information about their designs than you would ever possibly need and also several text posts bc i needed to find one to fill up space and got carried away. um

[skunkes]

[sparky-is-spiders]

Jonelias Week Day 1 (Which is definitely today I swear), for the prompt "No Powers AU"

This one... maybe got away from me. This is actually only the first half of what I've written so far, and probably the first third overall! I do plan to post this to Ao3 at some point (although I suspect I'll need to do a lengthy round of editing first lmao). It's some very self-indulgent nonsense, which is a lot of what I write, but now it's getting put in the main tags of a ship during said ship's event week. So. It may also be a little bit "aromantic dude tries to figure out what having a crush is supposed to be like." Also a lot of "dude who took Principals of Accounting once pretending it knows what office work is like." Anyway, quick warning before we begin, and the rest will be under the read-more:

Stalking (played for laughs) for most of the fic.

Just. A weird amount of obsession.

Ok that should be it I think. Fic under the cut.

Jon's new boss was, quite possibly, the most boring man in the world. He wore the same outfit every day (pale dress shirt with dark unpatterned tie and gray slacks and matching suit jacket). The only personal effect in his entire office was a potted plant on the windowsill (some sort of succulent, and definitely fake). He always arrived to work exactly half an hour early and left exactly half an hour late. The only hobby he appeared to show any interest in was scheduling, which he seemed to find both deeply engaging and remarkably irritating. In fact, he was apparently so opposed to the idea of mixing his work with his personal life that he might as well not have existed beyond the walls of their office. Jon had never been more fascinated by anyone else in his entire life.

It stared with the transfer to the accounting department. Elias had met with him personally to get him acclimated to his new role. He had been blandly polite, and blandly handsome, and Jon had stopped listening to him about five minutes into their conversation. It was probably bad form, really. The software Elias was droning on and on about sounded like it was about to become a central feature of his days. He really should've been paying attention to it. Instead, he pretended to make eye contact while zeroing in on the top of Bouchard's forehead (a very useful trick, really) and became inordinately focused on the small lock of hair that had fallen across it. It was terribly distracting, and Jon had wondered how he hadn't noticed it. And then he wondered how it had come to be there. And then he had built up an entire story involving a murder, an illicit affair with the assistant director of marketing, and the potted succulent. And then he had noticed Bouchard eying him with what could've been suspicion or amusement or irritation or nothing whatsoever, and had been forced to rapidly pretend to care about their company's bad debt expense policy. Bouchard had indulged him, and had spoken with the calm authority of someone who knew what they were talking about, and had even managed to avoid being overtly condescending (a feat forever out of Jon's reach). At the end he had shaken Jon's hand (with a nice, firm grip), and had told him "I'm looking forward to working with you, I'm sure you'll make a wonderful member of our team." Jon had left that meeting with a mind shrouded in a fog of boredom and a faint sensation of warmth which he decided was best attributed to curiosity and left otherwise unexamined. Over the next few weeks, Jon had tried to subtly inquire into Bouchard's life. At the time, he had been naively under the impression that surely he must have let slip something about his life; some odd quirk or funny story or harmless bit of information which could justify Jon's blooming curiosity. Unfortunately; "He lives in Chelsea, I'm pretty sure?" (Sasha) "He's currently in a meeting. Honestly Jon, you'll be better off just sending an email. Now can I please get back to work?" (Rosie, probably lying about the meeting) "He actually lives here in the office. Set up a cozy little home away from home in one of the storage closets and sneaks out at night to raid the canteen. And he's having an affair with the assistant director of marketing." (Tim, definitely lying (but maybe a mind reader? Also, full of brilliant ideas for places Jon could maybe set up a cot whenever he needs to stay overnight)) Clearly, Jon would have to take matters into his own hands if he wanted answers. That was fine. It could be his own private little research project.

Jon liked to think that the entire thing had actually been quite reasonable, and that he had acted within the bounds of their pre-established relationship as employee and supervisor. Surely any rational person had to realize that nobody could possibly be that uninteresting. Anyone would be curious as to what dark secrets Bouchard his behind his well-tailored suits and polite, professional demeanor. … perhaps most rational persons would not meticulously record the movements, behavior, and daily appearance of their colleague in a discreet notebook (with annotations, color-coding, and graphs where appropriate), but Jon had always prided himself on his dedication to research and understanding. So far Jon had collected frustratingly little data. If Bouchard was hiding anything, it wasn't apparent from his schedule (see pages 8-13, figure 2.b), his eating habits (see page 22), or his lone plant (see page five, figure 1.c). His breaks did seem specially timed to avoid other people (and he appeared not to engage in many social behaviors generally), but he never acted irritated or otherwise unhappy to encounter one of his subordinates, so Jon wasn't entirely sure if it was deliberate avoidance or simple coincidence. Really, the only truly odd thing about him was his inexplicable interest in Jon. That very morning, for example, Bouchard had stopped by his cubicle for a fifteen minute discussion on the upcoming Annual Team Luncheon, an event Jon had never attended before (due to an annual migraine which coincidentally always happened to occur on the exact date of the luncheon), which Jon did not plan to attend, and which honestly sounded like some sort of violation of the Geneva Convention. The topic itself was not especially odd (small talk was an archaic tradition which had stubbornly clung on in every workplace Jon had ever set foot in), but Bouchard's low propensity for inter-office socialization combined with the fact that he had both chosen Jon specifically as his conversational partner was… highly suspicious. Most people who encountered Jon inevitably concluded that he was more effort than he was worth (an attitude Jon mostly appreciated).

And of course, there had also been their interaction two days ago, when Elias had paused briefly to inquire as to whether Jon would be staying late, and what he was working on, and if he might perhaps consider heading home soon because there was only so much overtime they could pay him. Or on Friday, when he had managed to hold two separate conversations with Jon where very little was said. Honestly, Jon somewhat suspected that Elias had spoken to him more in the past few weeks than he had spoken to any of their colleagues for the entire time Jon had been there to observe him. Most of Jon's notes were now dedicated to their interactions. From his cot in the unused storage room (which was indeed a good place to stay overnight, thank you Tim), he could jot down everything he recalled about their interaction; it had begun at 8:32 and had concluded at 8:47; the weather was warm and slightly humid, although the office interior remained at a comfortable 21 °C. Bouchard's shirt had been a nice, cool gray, which complemented the silver of his eyes. Jon (who had been busy digging for his favorite pen (the ink was a lovely deep green color, and it was usually kept on the left side of the top desk drawer, and Jon had no idea where else it could have possibly gone)) had settled on "irritation" as his tone, which Bouchard either had not noticed or had not cared enough to acknowledge. He had easily dominated the conversation, and Jon could admit in the sanctity of his research journal that his voice had been soothing enough to cool away some of Jon's annoyance. He wrote his conclusion: Subject behaved near-identically in tone, posture, body language, and apparent mood as he has in all previous communications. Subject displayed no strong thoughts or opinions on subject of discussion nor conversational partner. Interaction was pleasant but slightly dull, no new information discovered. It was almost exactly the same as every previous conclusion. Jon had to admit, so many months with so little progress was… discouraging. He shifted on the narrow mattress and winced when his movements aggravated his backache (which was surely unrelated to his frequent occupancy of the cot). It was becoming more and more apparent that the only possible solution was to do some actual, direct investigation. His first idea (break into Bouchard's office) seemed a tad far (also, he didn't know how to pick locks). His second idea (follow him home) seemed a stretch further than the previous one, and was perhaps best saved as a last resort. His third idea (something something computers? (perhaps "idea" was a bit generous)) would almost certainly require Sasha, who would have questions Jon couldn't answer. He flipped idly through his notes, half-skimming, half-thinking. It was only when his gaze landed on figure 2.b, Weekly Schedule of E. Bouchard, that he actually came up with something reasonable. Something actionable.

[stealingpotatoes]

I swear, Cal and Merrin are one of the few sane enough couples in Star Wars

AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[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