ERM. I THINK I MAY BE CRAZY.

🫀 I'm not the dad that stepped up, I'm the father that fucking FORGOT [Family]:

✂ @elwifeguy (Mariana) - #my bitch wife ♡ [GET YOUR OWN!!]

✂ @bulletflips (Juanaflippa) - #my daughter flippita ♡

✂ @tazeredmike (Mike) - #brother from another gunker

✂ @duckduckquackity (Quackity) - #paraschlocial much

✂ @witheredlilacs (Tilín) - #girlfreak two

✂ @goo-amalgamation (Gegg) - #smaller sludger

🫁 Love is in the air? WRONG. GAS LEAK. [Quesadilla Island]:

✂ @catboyarg (Cellbit) - #pussy out? erm yea

✂ Residents will be re-added, once connections are re-established

🦴 Reminder: Do NOT fucking click or even MOVE. [Eggs/Kids]:

✂ @inventorswag (Ramón) - #derailing your fucking train

✂ Residents will be re-added, once connections are re-established

👁 WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE [Entities]:

✂ Residents will be re-added, once connections are re-established

Charlie wakes up where air doesn't reach him. It's uncomfortable, with undiscernable debris digging into his flesh. It's too dark to see, why couldn't his unknown most likely dead ancestors develop night-vision?

The first thing he does is move, shimmying his limbs to try and distinguish where he is right now. The space is crumbling, yet packed. It feels like dirt. It might be dirt, considering the taste and the way his body wholly rejected clumps seeping into the slime of his skin. Okay, don't panic. Clearly buried underneath the fucking ground. No, no, it's fine,

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" He screams, as his second course of action.

Then, turning back to moving his body, he focuses on his arms, trying to push the dirt ceiling upwards for more breathing room. Christ, he'd think he'd be okay with this, considering the brief history introduction. The dirt doesn't budge a fucking inch, and he wheezes out in despair.

Okay, cool. Cool, cool, cool.

It's not like - anything he hasn't been in before. It's just a fucking hole. A convienient Slimecicle shaped hole. As if having your life be shaped by a teenager over and over, to have your life be reshaped AGAIN by some rather handsome mysterious apple shopkeep, to then move away from all that to settle down and have an unplanned marriage and child, and to now be suddenly entrapped in his own burial, is just something Charlie can just get over with right?

"Hey, HEY!" He screams, to whoever put him in this space. "LET ME OUT! WHAT- WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!"

His palms push against the walls, anywhere, legs kicking as well to truly demonstrate how panicked he is to all of this. He shouldn't be here. He- He should be at home, with his Mariana, his Flippa. He should be exploring, and talking with his friends.

Charlie should be outside.

Time begins to cease. He goes into a loop; scream, push, get tired, rest, repeat. His throat feels sore, slimy flesh looking like jello with every push of his lungs to cry for help. It's maddening, to be inside this confined dirt hole. He should be okay with this. He should be okay.

Charlie's fists are muddied with a murky color of brown and green. His clothes and shoes are caked in dirt and all of his slime starts collecting debris like twigs and rocks. Tears well up in his eyes as he yells.

"FUCKING LET ME OUT ALREADY! PLEASE!" His voice starts to waver, almost tapping into wet gurgles of his eldritch form. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I DID OR- OR EVEN WHO YOU THE FUCK ARE, BUT I SHOULDN'T EVEN BE HERE!!"

"TELL ME WHAT AND WHO THE FUCK LANDED ME IN DIRT SHIT PRISON!!"

"Why you did,"

Hands raise from the ground, covering his mouth and restraining him to the bottom of the crevice. His words sound unconprehensible, he's under slime. These hands, the ones holding him down, are like his own, green and translucent in all the right places. There's no fake flesh on them, and there's definitely way more than the two he has right now. What the absolute fuck.

A weight appears next to his shoulder, right under his head. Hot breath with a hint of a smile speaks in his voice. Charlie feels a shiver go down his spine.

"Don't you remember anything?" It- he? asks himself, as Charlie struggles against clamping hands. "You got yourself in this situation, you silly funny thing, you!"

His cheek gets pinched and pulled, pain drawing from the pressure, but all he could think about is what, or why, or most importantly how. Charlie tries to talk back, thinking aloud and muffled.

"How," is all he could muster to say beneath the hand. The second him laughs almost too sweet, almost too perfect, almost too him. It would've been an exact copy, if it didn't waver in odd noises at every other "ha!".

This shouldn't feel real, but it fucking does look like it right about now.

Slime, he calls the other him for now, slithers its tongues against the walls of the hole. It's him if he was in his true form, eldritch with hundreds of tendrils spilling out of his slimy body. There's just a problem with this doppelganger however, and it's that Charlie doesn't have any black gunk mixed with his sickened green. He also doesn't think he'd twitch and jitter as much as this one does. A tendril slips under his chin like a hand.

"Oh, you poor poor sweet summer Slimecicle!" It exclaims, wriggling his chin. He keeps struggling. "Do you really want to know?" The tendrils slips away with a gross trail, alarming black sludge getting dissolved into his own slime. He feels light-headed. "Or would you rather pass out and let this happen?"

Charlie bites on the hand that silences him, slime entering his mouth, as sharp fangs cut through. "SHUT UP!" He replies, "Fuck off, you- you fucking slimepostor son of a bitch!

"I didn't- I didn't fucking bury myself in this hole, at least not this cramped and fucking underground of all places!"

Slime cackles at his struggles, squeezing his body tight enough that it illicits a dry wheeze. More pounds of slime cover over him like a thick blanket, forcing him to be stuck against the floor. The dirt has long left him, in a way that he didn't even notice as his back is now pressed against more slime.

"No, I suppose not. But you still got yourself here, buddy!

"I don't think living people get sent six feet under!" It chirps. "Don't you think so, corpse-o?" Slime moves Charlie's head to mimic a nod, "Of course you do, corpse-o! Oh you!"

Charlie jerks his head back, "Fuck you." He spits. "I- What am I even doing here? What do you want with me? Where the- Where the fuck even am I?"

He turns his head, expecting to face Slime fully, but the head leaning on his shoulder isn't there anymore. His body feels lighter even. In the rush of being free, he turns back to the ceiling, only to find Slime in front instead. Its hands stretched out like an angel, caressing his face as if it was. The tight space squeezes against his body.

"You're me." It says, body paralleling his on the ceiling. "Well, more accurately, I'm you.

"And no worries, I'm just taking over for you while you sleep in here." Slime pats the side of the left over dirt walls. "All your memories, all your thoughts, your appearance and entire life is slowly being transferred over to me overtime. So don't worry about waking up a little less like you each time.

"I'm making this as painless as possible for the dead guy."

Horror flashes in Charlie's eyes, widening at the sudden shock of the confirmation of his death. He shouldn't be surprised, he was fucking called corpse-o of all fucking things, and it was said in such manner that the other him truly was him. He needs to say something. "I-

"How are you doing this?" He questions. "I- the mimicking, the- the fucking hole! The teleporting??" He laughs nervously. "If- If I was like- actually dead, I wouldn't even be talking."

Slime thinks about this for a moment, extra hands acting apart of his expression, placing themselves under his chin with a finger pointing at his crainium. His own hands pat his origin's cheeks. "Well, I'm just showing you what I want you to see.

"Like obviously, you wouldn't be seeing and feeling this if you were actually dead, but physically? In the real world out there?"

His hands pull at Cicle's slimy cheeks.

"You're as dead as a fucking um, well dead guy." He laughs. "Yeah, no, right now? I'm using your body as we speak. We're laying in bed, as your wife's curling up against us. He's warm.

"Do you even remember her name? Do you even remember your own?"

Cicle opens his mouth, trying to process everything while finding an answer to the question. There's nothing in there. He doesn't remember anything. He goes quiet, instead, face falling to truly comprehend the horrors of being replaced. Dying isn't even what's the most shocking to him, it's that he's being drained of everything he is, and all of that is being transferred to a fucking joke of a double.

He doesn't even know his name.

"...Hey, cheer up, man."

Their chin gets lifted up to Charlie smiling sweetly at them, the blackened slime mixing into theirs. A tendril drags itself across their face, mushing their glasses to the side. Charlie laughs, voice pitching in intervals. For a brief second, his face looked like a shadow, with piercing green eyes and flickering neon scales. But it's Charlie, Charlie Slimecicle with tanned flesh and green goo, brown hair and glasses over forest green eyes. Dark mucus dotting in his sludge.

Cicle smiles, unintentionally, like an uncontrolled habit from seeing themself in the mirror. And Charlie's lips open,

"I'll remember it for you." He whispers.

Then he moves, lunging from where he lays onto Slimecicle, mushing their faces and melding their bodies together into an amalgamation of gunk and life. Limbs of varying discernity fly up and around like a brawl as the monster takes its shape. The world shakes in a tidal wave with the slimebeast as its gravity, spinning and turning surroundings into a mesh of confusion as they are the focus of everything.

It feels like a nightmare, then a hazy dream, then the morning where he creaks his eyes open again.

He turns to his side, expecting another him to show up, but he gets greeted with a sleeping beauty. His hand brushes against Mariana's hair, moving a couple stray bangs just to see him fully.

In the back of his eyes, Charlie lights up in a soft adoring glow, while the front seems to be staring too intently. As if he wasn't looking at Mariana at all, but rather the air before her.

Slime lifts himself up, hand continuing to comb through his wife's head. While Charlie screams in muffled cries, buried deep below in the recesses of his mind, slowly being eaten away by the parasite that's claimed him.