My second account @kaylaz-world-00 THIS ACCOUNT WILL BE FOR ME TO ONLY PUBLISH MY BULLFROG FICS. So if you want you can go follow it. (If you are bothered or can't find my fics in peace with all the other things I am posting there) Ask requests from there also.
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I make (draw/write) various content. You can see my rules AND my comission infos from here
CURRENTLY CLOSED DUE TO MY EXAMS
-MDNI-
≛ I prefer scribbling Sonic characters
≛ I'm the creator of TIAD (Tails Is A Dad?!)┊ Chip┊ Reflection ┊ Operation Crimson ┊Merge In
➠ASKs are always OPEN; hoping the way I write the crew won’t be ooc)
#─INFO DUMP.
★ Do Reblog But Don't Repost; Give credit!
★ With what's going on with my life. I'm kinda in a writer's block. Bear with me here a little guys 💦
➠𝐆𝐍! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 | 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
★ You can review my stories in more detail; Wattpad!
★ You can view my drawings better; Deviantart!
★ More about me here!
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I would be really happy if you guys give my other accs a FOLLOW!
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IMPORTANT
Shout out to Anons! I don't know if you'll like it, but it would be great if you could choose an emoji while sending your asks and stay with it so I can tell you apart. For example, it would be great if one of you could use this emoji to indicate who you are 🍪! Thanks!
Anons: 🍔, 🌾, 🔥, 🥐, 🔧, 💎, 🌸, 🪼, 🌻,🦷, 💗, 💟 , 🍬, ✨, 🐋 love you anons 🥺
┊If anyone wants to join our discord server they can message me :⁾ Here is my discord for you guys: kaylagreen00 (𝐊𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐚 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧#1055) I would love to make more friends and discuss things lol
Hello, I haven't heard from you in a while. Just wanted to make sure you're doing okay. We miss you and your writing and I really hope you'll start posting again.
Hope you have a good day or night wherever you are. 🤗
Thanks a lot I had been in art and writing block and been more active on twitter lately because I start to write and draw more on Poppy playtime fandom for Smiling/Nightmare Critters
If you guys interested you can go follow me there. I am writing and shaoing a whole world there and will post animations
MY TWITTER
Also I opened a Tumblr for my writing and art for Poppy Playtime too @artcheloiss
Content warnings: Accidental injury / accident, Suffocation / breathing difficulty, Medical emergency, Body horror / transformation, Bloodless gore imagery, Strong language, Intense panic / fear
Summery: A late-night art studio hangout spirals into disaster when Icky Licky, accidentally spills a bucket of oil-based paint over himself. Since frogs breathe through their skin, the paint nearly suffocates him before Kayla, Simon, Maggie, Poe and Rabie manage to scrub it off with soap and warm water.
By morning, however, the accident reveals something stranger: Icky begins shedding his skin in dramatic sheets, unveiling a new form marked with black swirls and jagged stripes, as if the paint had imprinted itself into his very biology.
It started as nothing more than a dumb competition.
Kayla had been cleaning up the art studio after her late-night session, half-listening as Simon bragged about how he could paint better “if he wanted to,” while Rabie kept snapping selfies in front of the half-done canvases. Icky, restless as always, bounced around the room like a kid in a candy store, poking at brushes, dipping his fingers into leftover paint cups, smearing streaks onto spare scraps of paper.
“Don’t touch that,” Kayla warned, half-smiling as she lugged a bucket toward the sink. “That’s oil-based. It won’t come off your skin easy.”
Icky only grinned, his gold-striped fingertips already dotted with bright red.
“Pfft. C’mon, Kayla, I am art.” He spread his hands like he was showing off. “Living, breathing masterpiece.”
“Living and breathing through your skin, dumbass,” Poe muttered darkly from the corner, flipping through a book. They didn’t even look up, but there was sharpness in their voice. “Keep playing, and you’ll suffocate yourself.”
Icky rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue at them.
That’s when it happened. He tried to swing himself up onto a high stool, feet slipping on a splatter of paint water left on the floor. The stool tipped, and in his flailing attempt to catch himself, his hand slammed against the edge of a large paint bucket left open.
The whole thing went.
Thick black paint — glossy, tar-like acrylic meant for murals — cascaded forward in a wave and splashed up his body, drenching his chest, arms, and half his face.
The sound that ripped out of Icky wasn’t his usual playful squawk. It was a strangled, panicked wheeze.
“Shit!” Kayla dropped the bucket she was carrying, rushing to him. “Oh god—oh god no—”
Simon stood frozen for a beat, his bravado knocked out of him at the sight. Then he barked orders like he was on autopilot. “Don’t just stand there! Get water—NOW!”
Icky clawed at his skin, nails scraping uselessly against the thick paint. His chest heaved in shallow gasps, each breath tighter than the last. Frogs didn’t just breathe with lungs—they needed their skin free to absorb oxygen. Now that skin was sealed under a suffocating layer of synthetic plastic.
“Get it off me!” Icky choked, voice breaking. His movements turned frantic, dangerous, like he might tear at his own skin if it meant breathing again.
Poe was already moving, their usual cold detachment slipping just enough to show urgency. They grabbed the nearest jug of clean water and dumped it over Icky’s head, but the paint just streaked, smearing instead of rinsing away.
“Oil-based!” Kayla gasped, grabbing towels. “Water won’t—won’t work—” Her voice shook. She knew enough chemistry to recognize the problem: this wasn’t water-soluble paint.
Maggie shoved past the others, surprisingly steady. “Soap. Dish soap—anything that cuts oil.” She barreled toward the sink, ripping open cabinets.
Meanwhile, Icky’s breaths were turning into ragged gasps, his hands flailing blindly at the air as if he could claw oxygen from it. His bright eyes bulged, wild and wet.
“Stay with me, hermano!” Rabie cried, gripping his arm even as he thrashed. She was pale, panicked, her usual gossiping replaced by raw fear. “Don’t close your eyes, don’t you dare—”
Simon crouched down, trying to pin Icky’s arms so he wouldn’t hurt himself. His voice broke through the chaos like a whip: “LOOK AT ME. Breathe with your lungs, you hear me? Slow. In through your mouth. You’ve got lungs too. Use them!”
But Icky only shook his head violently, chest spasming as if his body refused to believe him.
Kayla was back with bottles of dish soap, slamming them on the floor and pouring straight onto Icky’s chest. Her small hands rubbed furiously, creating froth that loosened the slick black coating. Maggie returned with a bucket of warm water, dousing him again. Little by little, the thick paint broke into streaks, sliding away in greasy rivers.
The room smelled sharp—detergent, wet paint, fear-sweat.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Icky’s gasps slowed. His chest heaved with deep, desperate inhales. His body sagged against Simon’s arms, utterly spent.
Rabie slapped his shoulder with trembling hands. “Not funny, cabrón! You almost died!”
Poe exhaled shakily, running a hand over their face. “Idiot.” It came out softer than usual, almost… protective.
Kayla wiped her forehead, her hands streaked with suds and black stains. She looked like she’d just fought a war. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Icky leaned back against Simon’s chest, eyelids fluttering. “Mmm… not… my best idea…” His voice was faint, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a ghost of his usual grin.
Simon’s hand stayed on Icky’s shoulder longer than necessary. His jaw was tight, his usual arrogance cracked open just enough to show what was underneath: fear he’d almost lost one of his crew.
“Next time,” Simon muttered, voice rough, “you listen when someone tells you to stop screwing around.”
Icky just gave a weak thumbs-up before passing out, exhausted but alive.
For hours after the accident, Icky slept on the studio couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of detergent and turpentine. His breathing had steadied, though every exhale rattled like damp paper. The others hovered nearby, too shaken to leave. Kayla kept rinsing black-streaked rags in the sink until her fingers were raw, while Simon paced the floor in tight, controlled strides, pretending he wasn’t checking Icky’s chest rise every few seconds.
It wasn’t until the next morning that the real change began.
Kayla was the first to notice. She’d stayed behind on the beanbag chair with a sketchbook in her lap, dozing and scribbling in turns. When Icky stirred, she reached instinctively for his arm — and froze.
The skin along his forearm looked… wrong.
At first, she thought it was leftover paint. But when she rubbed gently with her thumb, the blackened patch lifted, curling away like a thin film.
“Icky,” she whispered, her voice edged with unease. “Wake up. Something’s—something’s happening.”
He groaned, blinking groggily. “Mmm? Wha—” He tried to sit up, and that was when the skin on his shoulder cracked open in a jagged line.
The peeling spread quickly. Large flakes sloughed off, curling at the edges like dried glue. Beneath the dead layer, fresh skin gleamed damply. It wasn’t the smooth golden yellow they all knew. This time, bold black swirls and jagged stripes cut across the new surface, twisting over his collarbone, spiraling around his biceps, like ink poured straight into his body.
“¡Madre de Dios!” Rabie gasped, stumbling backward with wide eyes. “He’s—he’s molting.”
Poe leaned in, feathered brow furrowing. “Not just molting. Changing.” Their voice was low, skeptical, but tinged with fascination.
Icky sat there stunned, running his fingers over the flaking sheets on his chest. They came away with brittle fragments of old skin, paper-thin and weightless. His expression shifted from fear to awe, then to something like pride.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, a grin spreading. “I look badass.”
“Badass?” Simon’s voice was sharp, but it cracked under strain. He crouched in front of Icky, eyes locked on the raw patches still shedding. “You almost stopped breathing yesterday. And now—now your skin’s falling off like you’re a damn reptile!”
“Frogs shed,” Icky said defensively, but his tone wavered. He tugged a chunk free from his jawline and flicked it aside. “It’s normal.”
“Not like this,” Maggie cut in, arms crossed. Her sharp teeth worried her lower lip as she stared. “Patterns don’t just… rewrite themselves overnight.”
Kayla swallowed hard. Her artist’s mind couldn’t help but catalogue it: the jagged black slashes against gold, almost like tribal markings. They seemed to pulse faintly in the studio light, alive in a way paint could never be.
“Does it hurt?” she asked softly.
Icky shook his head, though his shoulders trembled. “Feels… weird. Like itching from the inside out.” He peeled another sheet off his chest, revealing a fresh streak of black spiraling over his sternum. His grin returned, wobbly but sincere. “Guess I’m… remixing myself.”
Rabie laughed nervously, but her eyes were wet. “Remixing? Idiota, you scared me so bad I thought I’d have to plan your funeral.”
Simon’s hand shot out, grabbing Icky’s wrist before he could peel more. His claws pressed just enough to stop him. “Don’t touch it. Not until we know if it’s safe.” His tone was commanding, but his grip shook faintly.
The room went quiet. Everyone watched as Icky’s old skin continued to slough off in curling sheets, littering the couch and floor. Beneath it, the golden-yellow frog they knew was gone, replaced by something darker, sharper, marked by black stripes and blotches like smoke scars.
Kayla finally whispered what they were all thinking:
“You’re… different now.”
Icky blinked at her, then spread his arms like he was presenting a masterpiece again — but his usual cocky grin faltered under the weight of the moment.
“Yeah,” he said, voice softer. “Guess I am.”
For the first time in his life, he didn’t sound like he was joking.
The afternoon was lazy, sunlight leaking in through the wide windows and painting the living room floor in golden shapes. Kayla was curled up in the corner of the couch with a bowl of mixed nuts on her lap. She cracked a pistachio with casual precision, popped it in her mouth, then absentmindedly grabbed a walnut to work on next. Her pencil and sketchpad rested nearby, half-forgotten.
Across from her, Simon sprawled in his usual dramatic way — his long legs dangling over the edge of the couch, tail lazily flicking against the rug, one arm draped over the backrest as if it was his personal throne. His phone was in his hand, scrolling through notifications with the faintest curl of irritation on his lips.
Kayla popped another almond in her mouth, then glanced at him. “You know,” she said around her chewing, “I’ve never seen you eat these.”
She held up the bowl and rattled it lightly, the sound of nuts clinking against glass. “These. Nuts, berries, grapes — little snack stuff. You never touch them. Not once.”
For a beat, Simon looked like he might come up with some grand, pretentious answer. Something like I’m above such peasant food or my refined palate only craves feasts fit for a king. His ego twitched in his grin. But instead, he groaned, dragging a hand down his face like she’d just called him out in front of millions.
“It’s not that I don’t like them,” he muttered finally. “It’s just…” His claws flexed against the cushion, sharp tips catching on the fabric. “…They’re too damn small.”
Kayla blinked, confused, then let out a laugh. “Too small?”
Simon sat up straighter now, defensive but leaning into it. “Look at these things, Kayla!” He jabbed a claw toward her bowl. “They’re pathetic. Tiny little rocks. I need, like—” he held his massive hands apart, fingers stretching — “a whole mountain of them before I even taste anything. Otherwise, I look like an idiot trying to pick up a pea with construction equipment.”
Kayla bit her lip to hold back her giggle as he pantomimed clumsy grabbing motions with his claws. “So, what, you’re saying almonds are beneath you?”
“I’m saying,” Simon growled, voice dropping into that pompous register he used on stream, “if the universe wanted me to eat almonds, it would’ve made them the size of apples. Or, I don’t know, engineered a pistachio the size of a steak. Then we’d be talking.”
Kayla laughed outright this time, tossing a peanut at his chest. It bounced off and fell into his lap. “Or maybe the universe just didn’t design snacks for ten-foot dragon boys.”
"It's twelve, thank you very much." He looked down at the lone peanut like it had personally insulted him. Slowly, he picked it up between two claws, exaggerating the effort. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, focused as if this was the most delicate operation of his life.
Simon scowled, then finally got it close enough to his mouth. He snapped it up, chewing with exaggerated gusto, then leaned back smugly. “See? Nailed it. Graceful as hell.”
Kayla raised an eyebrow. “Congrats. You ate… one peanut.”
“That’s all I needed,” Simon shot back, wiping his claws like he’d just slain a beast. “Proof of dominance. I win.”
Kayla laughed again, shaking her head. She popped a cashew into her mouth and nudged the bowl toward him. “You know, I could just make you a pile. Like a dragon hoard. A mountain of almonds. Then maybe it would be worth it for you.”
Simon’s grin sharpened, his pride instantly fed. “Now you’re talking my language. A proper feast. Bowls overflowing, like in those medieval paintings.” He leaned in closer, eyes glittering. “But only if you feed me. Otherwise, I’m not touching that pathetic little squirrel food.”
Kayla rolled her eyes, but her smile softened. She plucked another peanut, carefully balanced it on his lower lip like she was feeding a zoo animal, and waited.
Simon smirked, then snapped it up again with a quick flash of his teeth, sitting back with mock elegance. “Mmm. Delicious. Truly, you’ve outdone yourself, sweetheart.”
Kayla shook her head, laughing under her breath. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Simon stretched back out across the couch, folding his arms behind his head with smug satisfaction, “you love me.”
Kayla just kept eating her nuts, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But her smile gave her away, and Simon, as always, caught it.
edit; Okkey I didn't expect this to catch so much fire actually!! And uh, my original plan was to slowly start posting each of the drawings Im working on for the playlist after all have been finished (10 more to go oof) but I suppose i could put the actual png of this one out right now!!
Hey what if in the third movie, Sonic instinctively tries to reach out to Shadow as his super form is fading, but the blast sends him careening toward Earth even faster and that's the explanation for why Sonic couldn't save him
