#magic mushroom

[mush-womb]

[nebula-muse]

In The Land of Magic Mushrooms✨That little dude is enjoying a very otherworldly smoke

Acrylic on canvas, 50x40 cm, 2024

[thatcharmboatnancyallen]

Nancy Allen, circa 1972

[misatokitten]

Shrooms Day

[jessicawarrickart]

A rare glimpse into the life of a common slug the moment he blasts off into the ethereal realms of mushroom-induced enlightenment. (A print of mine from a few years ago.)

An Evolved Slug… A rare glimpse into the life of a common slug the moment he blasts off into the ethereal realms of mushroom-induced enligh

[vexxedoutt]

Denji ♰ CSM ( it’s a shroom fic and I’m not sorry ΦωΦ)

The walls are breathing.

He swears they are. The whole damn room pulses like a lung, slow and steady, and the sound of it—this wet, quiet hum—gets into his ears and won’t leave. He’s slouched against the wall, hands pressed to his knees, staring at the air like it’s water.

The mushrooms hit harder than he thought they would. Everything’s bending, moving, alive. The TV’s glow isn’t white anymore—it’s a deep, buzzing red that throbs every time he breathes. He feels like he’s inside the pulse of something too big to name.

And then he looks at you.

You’re sitting across from him on the floor, knees drawn up, head tilted just slightly toward the window light. You’re not doing anything—just breathing. And that’s enough to stop him cold.

Because your skin is glowing.

Not the kind of glow people fake with lights or filters. This is real, alive, fluorescent. The color’s shifting like there’s something underneath your skin that can’t stay still—gold bleeding into pink, pink into blue, blue into soft white that almost hurts to look at.

Denji forgets how to breathe.

You’re just sitting there, eyes half-lidded, a faint smile on your lips, and he can’t understand how you’re so calm when the world’s dripping off its hinges. The light rolls off you, across the floor, into the corners of his room like water finding cracks. It hits his shoes and spills up his legs, and he feels it—warmth.

It shouldn’t feel like that.

Nothing ever feels like that.

He wants to touch you. God, he wants to. Just one fingertip on your arm, to see if it’s heat or magic or something he’s making up. But he doesn’t move. His hand just hovers in the air, inches away from you, trembling.

Because what if he ruins it?

What if your light fades the second he touches it?

He’s touched a lot of things in his life—blood, metal, oil, filth—and every single one turned into something worse.

He looks down at his hands. They don’t even look like hands anymore. The lines are crawling, alive, black veins twisting under his skin. Like dirt that’s soaked too deep to wash out. He hides them, pressing them against his jeans until they sting.

You shift, just barely, and the glow around you flares. It fills the whole room for a second, bright enough that he sees dust motes hanging in the air like tiny galaxies. He thinks he hears a sound—your heartbeat, maybe? Or his. It doesn’t matter.

You don’t see what he sees. You don’t know how you look right now—like something holy, like something no one should get to look at for free.

He feels it then, that old ache. The one that lives under his ribs. The one that whispers you don’t deserve this.

He’s never been good enough for anything soft. Never been trusted with things that shine. He breaks everything he touches, and still—still—he wants to reach for you.

You’re glowing brighter now, light leaking through the cracks of his shitty room, dripping over the walls that are still breathing slow and heavy. And for a second, just a heartbeat of a second, he swears you’re looking right back at him.

Not through him. Not past him.

At him.

And it feels like forgiveness.

Like you see every piece of him that’s cracked and sharp and wrong, and you’re still sitting there—lit up, calm, real—and not pulling away.

The glow rolls toward him again, gentle, steady, wrapping around his legs, his chest, his throat. It doesn’t burn. It just hums. He swallows hard, eyes wet, and tells himself not to blink, not to move, not to ruin it.

Because right now, you’re everything he’s ever wanted to believe in.

And if he touches you, it might all disappear.

So he stays there, shaking, staring, breathing the same air you’re breathing, watching your glow bleed into the dark until he can’t tell where you end and the world begins.

And for the first time in his life, Denji feels quiet inside.

Like maybe the light doesn’t mind shining on him after all.

[euphorictruths]

Mushie Twilight- Snowkittenmeow