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hannarorz:

The lawnrings are empty. Blood skims the voids in your porous cranial plates, as if grazing the hollow of a threshed stem, or say, an abandoned cocoon. A sour note is produced. It’s the one Agitation plays to make its audience squirm. 

It is your sixth wriggling day, and as with all five preceding it blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. 

 happy wriggling day you poor kid

saccharinesylph:

ceruleancynic:

secretarybird:

Eridan: Become an Orphaner, because someone’s got to feed Gl’bgolyb, and Feferi’s new culling rules mean you can’t just leave the wigglers to die. Consequently Eridan is covered in grubs forever. He talks to them a lot when he gets lonely (i.e. always). They’re not too hard to take care of, just toss ‘em a carcass every so often so they don’t eat each other.

(His adult title: Trolldad)

(The fat yellow one is named Bitey. Bitey doesn’t get rides.)

more of this sort of thing

More like orphanage, right?

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