#[abandoned to the slime]

[slimeshade]

Felt like drawing my favorite guy again (it's been a long time)

[lihichi2808]

smiling baby slime🩵

[duplicitousfate]

This is a test post

The One Who Waits be like:

[propertyofkylar]

crazy night w the bestie

[ziastardust]

drew some night slimes from slime rancher. i didn't draw the moon face because i didn't want it to distract from the batty slime and i made the moon brighter for better contrast

[the-leech-lord]

🐇Withered Bonnie Stimboard🐇

🎸🎸🎸|🎸🎸🎸|🎸🎸🎸

Day 26 cringetember stimboard - Five Nights at Freddy’s

[deadboystims]

carl grimes w/ apocalyptic themes , guns & red slime for anon !

ᯓ★ x x x , x x x , x x x

[autistic-partisan]

e is for egg

[one] [two] [three] [four] [five] [six] [seven] [eight] [nine]

[existencebringsonlypain]

I'm sorry my roller main compatriots... I have forgone you for the Neo Sploosh-o-matic and am now leaving you guys in my dust 😔

[dndnpcinfo]

Slime Merchant by CM46

[fangirlwithasweettooth]

aghhhhh I want to yell about genloss to my friends but no one I know has watched it or even knows what it is so I’m stuck here yelling about it to myself alone in my room fhsjdhdh

[the-tzimisce]

Barber fucking ninjaed the goo onto my head. He's messing around at his counter for a minute which is no concern of mine and the next second he's got it in my hair already. And like I'm not saying anything bc it's my fault for not seeing what he's doing and saying no but I know I gave a socially inappropriate look of horror and betrayal like instinctually

[black-salt-cage]

I wonder how many people I make ugly cry because I post a gifset that gets popular

[propertyofkylar]

omg i just found the export file of my first ever dol save but it's so early in the save it's before i even did anything with her </3

[tanjir0se]

Ok BNHA is extremely mid at best but I’m fascinated by Bakugo and Midoriya’s dynamic so far.

Is he my FRIEND?? Fuck no, I fuckin hate that guy. Do I LIKE him? Absolutely not. Do we GET ALONG? Terribly. Hate his guts. Does he fill my every waking thought? Absolutely. Does his smile fill me with a profound longing? You bet. Do I dream about him every night and wake up wishing I could take back everything, take back the years of anger and resentment, to apologize and hear him laugh and smile at me like he used to? Obviously. But do I LIKE HIM??????

[ghostjelliess]

Philo wiped his hands over worn jeans and picked the dirt from his nails in the quiet morning light, sighing at the gravestone where his own name had once been. The weathered rock was hardly unique in the centuries-old graveyard, surrounded by equally decrepit thin markers sinking into the ground at odd angles like rotting teeth. The only intact memorial in the Olde Burial Ground was the uncanny mausoleum that crowned the hill, too ornate not to have a history, but far too old for the people of Belle’s Hollow to remember what it was. 

He waded through the overgrown yard and let himself into the crypt with a shudder. He still woke from nightmares of the horned demon, skeletal and monstrous, rising out of its slumber the way dead fish bobbed to the surface of lakes—picked apart and already ruined. He patted the plain sarcophagus goodbye with a hesitant hand and began chiseling a warning over the smooth stone, trying to imagine the creature’s voice against the tink of the hammer: a low rasping growl, a withered wheeze of final breath, or as honeyed and warm as it had once been. Philo ran a finger over the lacey edges of the largest green lichen sprawling over the marked stone with a smile. Ichabod had always liked trinkets, always peppered himself in decorations and added flourishes to his letters.

It wasn’t supposed to take this long. Philo was supposed to have answered by now—they were supposed to be together in the end. But the gods they’d prayed to weren’t the ones from their Bible, and despite all they’d studied and prepared, when their hubris grew desperate and the plague clawed through their town, they’d accepted the unremarkable offer of an answering devil. The plague had receded as promised, sparing all but Ichabod and, in many ways, Philo. He would wake soon, returning to stare into Philo’s soul and ask what needed asking. Philo might answer, might be the hero to slay the demon, save the people, return the world to right, balanced and untethered, freeing them both from their devil’s bargain. But not this time. 

He itched his beard and mopped the sweat from his face, then dusted off the cool cement and pressed a hand against it, as if the warmth might be reciprocated. He wiped his eyes, bent his old body in a long stretch, then stepped back into daylight and closed the mausoleum entrance with the satisfying shnick of a padlock. He stalked to his truck in the heat of the afternoon sun and wondered briefly how many monstrous men and women were rotted to bone beneath his feet as he passed—how many of them might have deserved Ichabod’s fate instead. He kicked at a faded campaign sign rattling in the wind, glaring at Alden Utmost’s foolish promise to refurbish the burial ground into a riverfront park. He left it with the dozen others lining the graveyard drive, slamming the door and starting the truck with another bone-weary sigh.

He knew warnings didn’t work forever, that they would answer eventually—someone always did. It was the way of the world: when something knocks, something answers. That something might be scavengers taking apart a fallen prey, neighbors come to help, an endless silence, or cruel gods coming to make a home for their crawling children. But always, something answers.  

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