#cw: mold

[indiestsnake]

Earth, cover my limbs now and Mold, thrive on my skin…

I only have three art styles. Scug, totally not horrifying animals, and hand in precarious situation

Inspired by Song of the Cedars by Cosmo Sheldrake. Coloring ain’t perfect but I like how the hand turned out :3

[silly-gizmo]

Don't ask why yesterday (Aug 28) at 4:00 AM at night I was singing about eating moss and mold while in my bed as well as singing/humming some Mad World and I'm Worried About Ray

Sep 15 - Before anyone worries no I did not eat anything strange that day I just decided to sing that because of a post I saw and because of Deltarune I'm not weird I swear 😭

[ifearifearifear]

Company.

Springtrap gets a visitor.

Contains: Vivid descriptions of musty, gross surroundings. Rot. Gore (not actively gore-ing, but referenced in high detail). Rodents. Isolation??? This may also qualify as angst, I'm not completely sure.

It’s spring again. He can feel it in the air. The stiflingly, suffocatingly humid air. If he still had to breathe, he might have found himself struggling between the vivid scent of must filling the air, and the condensation collecting on his decayed flesh. But as it stands, the only inconvenience it brings is the ever-worsening rust corroding his joints. And the maddening reminder that the world outside of this room is still moving forward without him.

The weather is worse than normal, he thinks. Though, he can’t be certain. He had long learned to tune out the sound of rainwater dripping from the ceiling and hitting the filthy, mouldy tiles. For all he knew, a tornado could have ripped through the town and knocked down everything but the crumbling, rotting tomb he remains trapped in. He didn’t care much to pay his surroundings any mind. Not after so long stuck in this dark, dreary room. The only thing that ever changed was the number of mouseholes lined the edges of the floor, and how far the mildew stretched across the walls.

How long had he been trapped here? He had lost track. Twenty years? Twenty-five? Maybe longer. He couldn’t tell. The obsessive counting of minutes and hours that he’d done early on had only served to drive him further into the margins of insanity. He’d stopped thinking about it, for the most part. If only to preserve what little of his lucidity remains. Very few things drew him from his thoughts, nowadays.

A rat pads up to him, squeaking, sniffing at the dried, blackened flakes of blood around his feet. He slowly shifts, sitting up from his slouched position against the wall. The rat startles at the unexpected movement, quickly darting under his leg.

A painful, creaky noise crackles from the shredded remains of his throat. Something broken, roughly approximating a laugh. It’s funny, seeing something scared of him in this state. Granted, that’s probably the most appropriate reaction to seeing an old, rotten animatronic, filled with the gore and carnage of its creator.

He tilts his head, spotting the beady black eyes of the rodent cowering under his leg.

Early on, he’d found the small creatures a pest. Insolent little menaces that often crawled up to him, nipping at the vestiges of the man he once was. But as the years wore on, and they became less keen on eating him, he found them… less insufferable.

He holds out his hand before the rat, and after a moment, it quietly emerges from under his leg. Its head cranes upwards, its whiskers twitching as it sniffs the decaying fur of the thing looming over it. Slowly, it creeps forwards, sniffing and poking at his hand with its blunt, slant snout. It climbs onto his fingers as it investigates, its short, sharp claws scratching at the bared metal of his endoskeleton.

It's hard to tell in the darkness of the room, but from the weight, he’d say it’s a juvenile. Were it not for his current condition, he might see the humor in a young soul finding him in this sorry state. But as he is, he finds no such insight in the interaction.

It’s a cold comfort. He remains trapped in the unwelcoming clutch of the dark, dank saferoom. Met with the presence of a creature perfectly capable of leaving whenever it pleases. A puny, filthy creature. Endowed with all of the freedom he could never again have.

The furred critter crawls along his hand, its claws digging into the ruined, rough felt covering the plastic and foam shell. He turns his hand over, and the rat skitters over his knuckles, squeaking as it’s raised from the floor. He holds the tiny creature before him, staring at the thing’s dust and grime-covered face. It stares back, crawling to the tips of his fingers to sniff at his 'face'.

The thing has no idea of the horrors he has committed. The pain and heartache he has put so many through. The suffering he has, himself, experienced.

It is oblivious to the mistakes of the world.

An innocent being. Unable to comprehend or commit such atrocities.

...

He supposes it could be worse.

At least with the company, he doesn’t feel quite so alone.

[blackwood-library]

Night Of: 7/8/24

Dream Type: Nightmare

Subject: My Childhood Home, Hoarding, Mold

Warnings: Implied Abuse and Neglect

⊹₊ ㆍ✿ㆍ

⊹₊ ㆍ✿ㆍ

⊹₊ ㆍ✿ㆍ

⊹₊ ㆍ✿ㆍ

⊹₊ ㆍ✿ㆍ

I am fourteen, sitting alone in my bedroom. I have just climbed in through my bedroom window after a late night shift at the convenience store I work in. My mother locks the door at eight every night, and I do not have keys to the house.

I learned to leave my bedroom window cracked early on.

My bedroom in the house is the only room that is safe from the acrid stench of rot. I don’t know what has saved me from it- the meticulous cleaning or the ever-open window, but I am grateful.

It is still crowded- despite my best efforts, but I can see the floor. That has to be enough for me.

It is close to two in the morning. I know I should find something to eat before I go to bed. The thought makes my stomach churn, but I silently creep to my bedroom door anyway.

I turn the handle and it clicks open. The sound makes me wince. I stand completely still, my shoulders tense, and I listen.

I do not hear the grating sound of her voice, so I push the door open as much as I can, trembling as the smell of decay and rot hits my nose. I am trembling as I leave the bedroom.

I close the door tightly behind me, picking my way through the mess of things coating the floor in the house, squeezing myself through narrow, crowded pathways as I make my way to the kitchen.

The scent when I step through the threshold is overpowering, and it takes everything in me not to throw up. The air tastes of sour milk and sulfur.

I look around for anything packaged on the counter- anything clean and safe and untouched by mold and rot. There is nothing.

I step further into the kitchen, my breathing heavy as I kick an old takeaway container that has been left to fester on the ground.

Instead of searching for a meal, I find myself grabbing a box of trash bags, frantic as I shake one open and start throwing anything I can reach into it.

I can feel my panicked heartbeat in my chest as I move, the mold and filth clinging to my hands as I grab handful after handful of clutter and garbage. I don’t know how many bags I have filled and taken out to the bins in the alley by the time I finally crumble to the ground in the kitchen again.

I can see the floor, but the smell is still so strong, but there is nothing more I can do. My body hurts, I am exhausted, and I can hear the angry rustling of sheets.

My mother hobbles into the kitchen. I hear her before I see her. She knows immediately what I have done, and I vaguely register her screaming at me.

I hear the thunk if her cane angrily against the wall, I do not open my eyes. I hear her shouting. I hear her approaching me.

I wake up.

[thefloatingstone]

My friend posted this to the group chat and I laughed at it for like 5 minutes straight

[widows-gleek]

now he’s/

dying slowly, in his sleep/

thats that’s me asbestos

[apollos-boyfriend]

lunchly having mold problems is bad enough for their image but giving ro a first-hand account of the mold is possibly the worst possible scenario for them. ro kill

[creepyfluffywritting]

Fog

All I can see is where I stand. I feel cold yet warm. I feel existing and nonexistent. I can tell I'm not alone in my own body.

This fog is so soothing. I can hear television static around me. The feeling of grass on my feet. Everything without seeing what lays ahead of me. Am I really one person?

Who am I?

What happened?

I can only remember so little. My past.

Smoke, ash, trays, glass bottles, the stenches of mold. It's all just a blurry, static screaming, fleeting memory.

Am I supposed to feel this way?

I'm I insane?

No, I know who I am.

I'm the fog.

[pepperpepi]

// MOLD , PETRI DISH

.

.

HA HA HA!

[whyeverr]

After two days of almost nonstop cleaning, this house is clean — some grime and mildew wall decals notwithstanding. 😉

Now that the general state of things has been dealt with the mold challenge chaos seems to be drastically slowing down. I don't know whether to keep it on indefinitely or take it off sooner than later? maybe after they remove or replace the nasty ass carpet lol

Definitely turning off the dust system before I bother removing the lot challenge — at least the floor doesn't sparkle when it's mold-free.

[godslush]

I really wish defeating Spore Mother didn’t cause Laughing Mold to disappear... it really was a fungi to have around, and the only member of the mold community who wasn’t morelly bankrupt.

Patch 1.03 Edit: YAaAAaaYyYyYY!!!!!!!!

[fivevotesdown]

been stricken by the beauty of the grotesque lately. consider this a love letter to @quezify btw

[grubscouts]

black mold

[zer0ghostz]

dirty

[maggotinfestedwound]

[orchidbreezefc]

yall ever think about how fucking lucky we are that mold that affects our food is Bright Fucking Blue and easy to spot. thank an organism with warning coloration for their service today