#cw: confinement

[stale-trash]

ᯓ★. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ вαяк ƒσя ωєℓтιє ᯓ★. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

ᴄᴡ: ᴘᴇᴛ-ᴘʟᴀʏ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ᴄᴏɴꜰɪɴᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴍɪɴᴅ-ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ, ɪɴꜰᴀɴᴛɪʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴛ ʏᴀɴɢ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ! ᴀ/ɴ: @mini-ism ɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ!!

Mr. Yang was knowledgeable - someone who had answers to almost everything. He always knew what was best for you, knowing that girls like you need to be leashed for their own safety.

Mr. Yang was reliable -  someone you could depend on no matter what. He was always there whenever you needed him, from when your entire body burned with unending desire, cunt weeping in distress, to massaging your sore muscles after a hearty exercise. 

Mr. Yang was kind - someone who always forgave you no matter how rude and unruly you acted. He always looked past your tantrums, past the furniture you damaged, past the clothes you shredded, to see your troubled eyes. He’d cusp your face gently and wipe your tears away, large, callused hands rubbing circles onto your back. 

Mr. Yang was gentle - someone who’d embrace you at the dead of night, carefully rutting into you as you moan for more. He’d softly wring out orgasm after orgasm out of you until all you can do is lay there in his warm embrace. He’d always praise you whenever he thrusted into you; you were his good girl, pride and joy - his pretty puppy. 

Mr. Yang was strict - someone who’d never bend the rules, even for you. His burly arms would wrap around your body, firmly pinning you in place. Like his arms, his scent envelopes you like a second, more comforting embrace - the heat emanating from his chest permating your own skin. His thick fingers would roam your exposed skin, occasionally stopping to trace meaningless symbols. He’d always question you, asking whether or not you were truly his good girl, what mistake you made today, and if you were ready for the consequences. Depending on your sin that day, you’d either be flipped onto your stomach and spanked or forced to sit in the dark all alone until you learned your lesson.

Mr. Yang was strong - someone capable of protecting you with ease. Sometimes, girls like you need protecting from themselves. Whenever you claw the door, begging for freedom that you didn’t deserve, he’d clasp your arms within his own, ceasing your movements. Your crass words would seemingly slide off the amicable man with no effect. Sometimes he’d laugh, other times he’d smile, but occasionally, he’d simply stare at you. In those times, his eyes are filled with a mix of unknown emotions, face set in conviction. The only noise filling the small room would always be your own erratictic insults, but soon, even that would fall away as thick fingers are stuffed into your mouth, yanking your tongue out. Bites and groans do nothing as a hand massages your throat, occasionally ceasing at your Adam’s apple. Sometimes, his mouth would rest next to your ear, whispering threats like “good girls don’t bark at their master,” or “don’t make me yank this out.” A chuckle would be the response to your whimpers. 

Mr. Yang was scary - someone who wasn't above breaking your legs to teach a lesson. He always looms over you, staring you down with those brown eyes with the rest of his face eerily blank. The deed would be finished before you could even comprehend what was happening and you’d’ awaken sobbing as you rested on his lap. His fingers would wipe away your tears, yet no comfort would never accompany the action.

Mr. Yang was perverted - someone who'd dress you up in skimpy outfits for their own pleasure.  Often, they’d be babydoll dresses that showed more than they covered. Whenever you were donned in these clothes, you weren’t just expected to sit all pretty and take his unyielding attention. You had to earn it - nothing was free after all. Worship his cock, bury your face in his balls, or suffocate in his tits - whatever you do, it must be done with passion that rivals his own. Once you were slobbering all over him is when he’d finally return the love. You’d be kissed, groped, and fondled til you couldn’t remember your own name - not that you typically could. Like his good dog, you were to bark when commanded, roll over and spread your legs when told, or raise your ass when directed. Too bad that your outfits always end up damaged beyond repair at the end.

Mr. Yang was decisive -  someone able to make hard decisions. He’d always analyze the facts and determine what must be done. The truth was, you were simply too fragile, too weak, to live by yourself. It was only a matter of time before your reckless actions would doom you to a fate worse than death. You were simply too young - too naive - to understand the depth of danger surrounding you.  What you needed was someone to protect and guide you, and he was willing to take up this insurmountable responsibility. 

Good girls like you need a strong master. A good girl like you needs Welt Yang. 

[piroulinewafers]

Would you consider colonel caleb has mc under arrest/interrogation (like his intro) and doesn’t want to let her go 👀👀👀

Ur mind is so good I’d love to see what u come up with 😏

𝐚/𝐧: it's definitely not canon-complaint, i strayed away from why mc was there in the first place so you can take this as is and consider canon or consider it as is. i wasn't sure what to. not really sure what to tag this but i imagine his love for mc is so overwhelming it teeters on downright obsession. i'm so bad at tagging sigh.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: caleb x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: forced confinement, emotional manipulation, yandere/obsessive behaviour idk. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the room was dim, sterile, the hum of the overhead lights the only sound save for the frantic thrum of her heart in her ears. she sat tied to the cold metal char, wrists behind her, tethered so tightly together the rope bit at her skin. her pulse jumped when the door creaked open.

boots, polished perfectly, struck the floor as the figure entered. she barely dated to lift her head, but some desperate, trembling part of her needed to. needed to know.

and then he was there, stepping into the weak halo of light.

caleb.

her breath hitched painfully in her chest.

she was more than certain it was him, even with his hat partially obscuring his face. he looked the same, and yet nothing like the boy she remembered. the brow hair, the sharp purple eyes, the broad shoulders that had once carried her across flooded fields without complaint were all still there. the faint freckles that dusted over his cheeks, the slight cut above his eyebrow that was barely visible under you knew where to look… 

but now, there was a stiffness in his frame, a veiled violence barely restrained by the dark military uniform stretched across his body. his jaw was set hard, his gaze carved from stone. and when he smiled, it wasn’t kind— it was cold.

alive. caleb was alive. after all this time thinking he’d died… she couldn’t even summon the words. only a soft, broken sound escaped her lips. 

alive in a way that made her chest tighten painfully, made her stomach knot into something ugly and sick. he moved like a shadow, his tall figure cutting a sharp silhouette. the silver insignia on his chest gleamed coldly, catching the light as he stepped forward. 

the way her name fell past his lips sounded just like the last time he’d said it, warm and intense, but it was almost like it hurt him to say her name. his boots thudded with slow steps across the floor, drawing closer. “you look… just like i remember.” 

her voice cracked as she rasped, “you’re supposed to be dead.”

the words felt thin. pointless. because caleb— this caleb— didn’t flinch. didn’t falter. he only smiled, a slow, almost pitying thing, as he stood in front of her. 

“did you want that?” he questioned, his head tilting as he studied her— the way she trembled, the way she refused to properly meet his eyes. slowly, he lifted his hand, tapping a finger against the insignia pinned to his dark uniform jacket. 

“i wonder…” he began slowly. “is it the uniform? or perhaps you still can’t reconcile the man i’ve become with the boy you used to know?”

she lashed out before she could think, trying to shove him away with her foot, trying to get even a fraction of distance between them. panic rose sharp and hot in her throat. 

in a flash, an invisible force— his evol— slammed down against her leg, pinning it ruthlessly to the chair. she whimpered, trying to wrench it free, but it was like trying to move a mountain as she squirmed helplessly.

“don’t,” caleb said softly, his voice a low warning. his gloved hand slid up the side of her calf, lingering there in a way that made her entire body seize. 

“if you try that again, i’ll tie your ankles together too. i don’t want to do that.”

the threat wasn’t loud, wasn’t even cruelly spoken. it was worse, soft.

her gaze darted around the room, upwards, to the corner— to the camera she knew as supposed to be recording. but in its place was a twisted, distorted piece of metal— lens crushed inward, metal housing twisted like paper. wrecked. 

her breathing came faster now, shallow and panicked. her wrists strained uselessly against the binds behind her back. caleb simply watched her squirm, head tilting slightly, his expression almost… fascinated. as if she was some small, helpless thing he was studying. 

one hand reached out, and without any resistance, he pushed a strand of hair away from her damp forehead, his touch almost… reverent. 

he looked like caleb.

he sounded like caleb.

but every time he touched her, every time she flinched and he didn’t flinch back— she knew. this wasn’t him.

tears welled hot in her eyes, blurring the cruel, handsome face that hovered too close. her voice cracked under the weight of the words she choked out. “you killed him.”

caleb went very still.

she squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks, wracking her trembling chest.

“you killed my caleb,” she whispered, voice breaking on a sob. “you— you took him away..”

for a moment, the only sound in the room was the high, desperate whine of her breathing. 

caleb exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound dark and heavy. his gloved hands tightened around the arms of the chair, the metal frame groaning in protest under the pressure of his evol.

“you think…” he said quietly, dangerously, “that i’m not him?”

she shook her head miserably, her legs trembling against the force that held them pinned together and prevented her from kicking them out at him.

“you’re not,” she rasped. “you’re not him. caleb would never— “

“never what?” he cut her off sharply, his voice like a whip crack in the silence. his eyes gleamed with something volatile, something wounded. “never fight to keep you safe? never protect you from people who would use you, abandon you, hurt you?”

his evol flexed again, the suffocating pressure locking her down harder, as if the very air had turned to iron around her.

“you don’t understand,” he snarled, leaning in until his forehead pressed against hers, trapping her, caging her like a little bird. “i died for you. i burned away everything that was weak, everything that would’ve let you slip through my fingers again. and you still think he’s dead?”

he pulled back just far enough to look at her, wild and furious and so desperately, heartbreakingly hers.

“i’m still here,” he insisted, his hand moving to press against her heart. “or did you just forget me, is that it?”

she shook her head helplessly, hating the sob that tore itself from her throat. “no, no, you’re not. caleb would have— he would’ve— “

that made him smile— a horrible, broken smile full of something twisted and hurt at her attempts to form a coherent sentence. 

“maybe that’s why he had to die,” caleb murmured, almost to himself. “because he was stupid enough to think you could survive without him.” 

his gloved hand slid down the side of her face, thumb wiping away a tear she couldn’t stop, his touch disturbingly tender against the brutal strength of his evol holding her legs down.

“but me,” he breathed, voice sinking into a hoarse, desperate whisper. “me— i’ll never let you go.”

she felt the bonds tighten once more, biting into her skin like invisible chains. 

the ruined camera in the corner still hung limp from its crushed mount. no one was coming. no one was watching.

it was just the both of them. alone.

his thumb stroked absently along the curve of her jaw, as if he could soothe the terror out of her by touch alone. as if he could convince her body before he convinced her mind.

“i know,” he murmured, his voice low, hoars, raw with something deeper than anger. “I know it’s hard to see me like this. to accept things are a little different now.”

“but you will,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against hers again, his words ghosted against her lips, too close, too consuming. “you will.”

she whimpered weakly, trying to pull back, but he simply forced her to face him. his gloved fingers dug into her jaw.

“don’t,” he breathed against her mouth, his hand slipping down to her throat, not squeezing, just holding. his fingers splayed over the frantic pounding of her pulse. “don’t pull away from me. not again.”

“you’re hurting me,” she whispered, broken and small, her voice shaking as much as her body.

at that, caleb finally flinched— a sharp twist of pain flashing across his face— but he didn’t loosen his grip. if anything, he shifted closer, caging her tighter, as if terrified she might slip through his fingers if he even blinked.

“i’ll never hurt you,” he said, the words almost a prayer. “not in any way that matters.”

“you already have,” she sobbed, shuddering. “you already did the moment you— you killed him.” she couldn’t even bare to say his name anymore.

caleb’s hand around her throat trembled, barely, before he leaned in, so close that his next words were breathing directly into her mouth. 

“then kill me too,” he murmured, reckless and raw. “hate me. break me. i don’t care. just stay, stay where i can keep you safe.”

it wasn’t like she had a choice. 

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I think Color is a very good storyteller and making stories up on the spot. This what he and Gaster often did to try and stay sane in the Void, and keep their minds active.

They also tried to retell past memories, to try and remember who they are and not forget, but it got harder with time; details kept getting changed and forgotten, and these moments often made Color’s paranoia worse—and of course he’d lash out and take out on Gaster.

[gene-ceo]

coming out as a ddlc fan… yuri doodle sheet i finished recently

[dreamytfw]

Using one of @bardicious's tags as an excuse to nerd out about one of my favorite critiques ❤️

So late-stage SPN has a BIG problem with telling and not showing. It's ESPECIALLY bad in the Dabb-era, and Dean telling Mary that solitary was worse than Hell is THE example for this.

Let's start out by establishing that solitary confinement is a form of torture. Humans are a social species above all else and we tend to suffer A LOT of adverse effects if we're completely cut off from any and all social interaction. I am by no means an expert in this - I'm a just a nerdy information junky - so I'm going to leave a TedX talk here that describes what happens to prisoners who go through solitary confinement

I knew all of this before the episode aired, so I had no problem believing Dean when he said that being in solitary was worse than Hell. So I was genuinely shocked when most people walked away from that line going "pft, yeah right. Dean's tougher than that!"

So I went back and rewatched the scene. That's when I realized that the show does a fuck awful job at communicating what solitary confinement does to someone. Like, seriously. I would include a clip here, but I couldn't find it on youtube, so go and rewatch it again or look at a gif set if you need a refresher, I guess.

Their first mistake was breaking up the scenes of Sam and Dean in solitary. I don't know whose decision this was (probably Singer since he was director, but I don't know for sure), but it's a very bad one because it breaks up the mind-numbing tedium of solitary that the scenes should have been communicating. The first thing they do with the solitary scenes is have the anti-terrorism guy whose name I can't be bothered to look up tell Sam, Dean, and the audience that they're going to lose their minds before they get locked in. Dean counts the days with a loose screw (HAHA GET IT??? 'CAUSE HE HAS A SCREW LOOSE!! I hate you Andrew Dabb), Sam and Dean's different reactions to the prison food, them pacing their much too large for solitary cells, Sam working out a couple of times, and... that's it. Also who the FUCK decided Dean would have a razor in solitary that man would NOT have a razor jfc. A good chunk of the shots are wide shots of the cells, too, so the scenes don't even get across a sense of claustrophobia. The only thing they communicate is boredom. Probably because Singer himself was bored because he's a boring director who makes the most boring directorial choices 9 times out of 10.

I know what they were trying to do, though. They were going for that scene in that one Law and Order SVU episode where Elliot Stabler voluntarily gets locked in solitary for 3 days and starts to lose his mind from 2009.

I want y'all to pay attention to the choices made in both the SPN and SVU scenes. The solitary scenes in SPN are brightly lit with warm colors, they have a lot of wide shots, they have a guard talk when he delivers their meals, and the music wouldn't be out of place in an action movie. Hell, these whole scenes wouldn't feel out of place in an action movie.

Meanwhile, the SVU scene is dark and lit with green (green lighting isn't something that tends to occur naturally IRL, so a lot of the time green lighting in film is used to denote that something is wrong), the cell is A LOT smaller and more accurate to solitary cells in real life, the overwhelming majority of shots are TIGHT on Elliot's face to communicate the claustrophobia he's feeling, the shots that show all of the cell are shot through a grate to show how caged he feels, and the music is dissonant and off-putting with hallucination murmurs (I've had a couple of episodes of psychosis before, and SVU fucking NAILED what minor auditory hallucinations sound like). The SVU scene is shot like a horror movie.

I'd also like to look at the acting choices (or lack thereof. J2 stans, if this section bothers you, log off and go hug your pet or smth idk). imo Jared makes better choices than Jensen in the solitary scenes. Sam at least looks stressed and on edge. While Dean just... I'm sorry, but the man is blue steel-ing all over the place and it just makes him look bored and mildly annoyed 😭 Meanwhile, Chris Meloni goes from mildly bored when he first gets locked in, to actively stressed, to completely terrified by the end of the scene. This is not me saying that Chris Meloni is a better actor even though he is fuck you fight me. I don't know how many choices came down to the actors and how many came down to the directors. For all I know, Jared and Jensen would have also made similar choices to Meloni if they'd had a director who wasn't scared of doing anything interesting and could be bothered to collaborate with his actors like directors are supposed to do.

What I am saying (or trying to, at least) is that, in-universe, 6 weeks of solitary likely was worse than Hell for Sam and Dean. Like, at least Dean had some semblance of sensory input and got to interact with other people while he was being carved up. The problem is late stage SPN is incredibly lazy and can't be bothered to communicate that to its audience by showing us. Dabb and Singer just expected us to hear "you're going to lose your minds" before the solitary scenes, then hear "this was worse than Hell" after the solitary scenes, and expected us to just nod along and smile, no thoughts, head empty. Unfortunately for them, we're not stupid and SPN is a TV show, so if you don't show the audience, what you tell them is going to ring incredibly hollow. And that's exactly what happened for the overwhelming majority of fans.

TLDR: solitary confinement is torture, late stage SPN is bad at its job of showing and not telling, and we should abolish the American penal system in its entirety.

[elationeffect]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEEE MORE YANDERE REAPER! ILL BEGGG

I just started playing overwatch again LOL so this hits. Reminder, my requests are open!

cw: stalking, death/murder, confinement

— Reaper, to me, is such a scary yandere not because of what he'd do to you per say but what he would so willingly do to others. But he's a careful man, trained to be unseen and observant. He can take his time so long as the end result is the same.

— Stalking is a skill that works on more than one person. While he uses his stealth to peacefully, lustfully, watch as you sleep the same cannot be said for those who would gather around you like ants at a sugar cube. All of this is to say, he would absolutely terrify men, women, and other people who display even the slightest bit of attraction toward you. Their hands, corporal but filthy, would need to be taken.

— For example, the guy you were paired with to work on a project would suddenly have a freak car accident. One moment he's on the highway going 70mph and the next he's stopped; his brakes having failed to stop him from colliding with the barrier. Never mind the black smoke that trails along the exhaust pipe. He was due for a car repair anyway.

— Or take into consideration the girl who asked for your number in the bar. Her eyelashes flapping at you as though she were the spider and not the fly trapped in the web. She was so enamored by your laughter that she hadn't considered the drink she ordered had something extra in it to induce a heart attack.

— Every moment he is that vicious cloud of black mist is agony, but it's a pain made bearable by you. To think of anyone else with their hands wrapped around yours, or their mouth moving against your own...it could drive a person crazy if they weren't already.

— He doesn't want to frighten you, doesn't want you to come in contact with death for violence's sake, and that is why he doesn't kill the unworthy with his shotgun. To do so would leave a trail that could be traced back to you and he can't bear to imagine a life with you trapped behind bars that aren't his own.

[fictionkinfessions]

[ * cw i suppose for isolation, child abuse, implied child death[? they werent really alive in the first place more just child corpseish things]. also some existential stuff. sorry if i dont pick up something that needed to be tw'd here ^^' ] [ * man fuck WD. i dont care if the whole 'you dont choose who you are in this world' was helpful storywise ya didnt have ta fuck up and like ] [ * yk. make me sapient before discarding me. ] [ * the same story had happened so many times. so many futures and past and whatever the sideways version of time is versions of me. ] [ * all individual yet so the same. ] [ * i was essentially a child. my body and its ability to function? teenager, but my knowledge was limited. ] [ * i still remember when i first learned i could speak. i didnt even think about it, i had a deep fall after tripping on one of the corpse-trash-dusty other-time mes and yelped. i remember how it rang in my ears and felt far. far too loud. ] [ * the discarded place was so. so so quiet. ] [ * yk you couldn't even see the ground. it was just soulless bodies. ] [ * nobody told me they were like me but i knew they were like me. ] [ * also it wasn't cold or anything. or warm. but that didnt mean it was comfortable or anything, everything just felt so horribly still. ] [ * it felt like i had to keep moving and making footstep sounds or else the quiet would eat me alive. ] [ * i still dont like quiet now but the quiet thats in the overworlds is normally far far louder then the ones in the discarded place. ] [ * sorry for the long post, wanted to complain about the place that i spent the majority of my time in source in. ] [ * - The Discarded Vessel, from Deltarune. [cy/key/netty if you wish to refer to me.] [please tag as fictive!] ]

✉

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Do we think color has ever been put (back) into solitary confinement as punishment or for safety reasons during his stays in a ward (or wards) before

[originemesis]

"When you suck my cock~ it's like a slurpy prayer!

You're down on your knees- it's getting in your HAIR."

[littlelambramblings]

A Wonderful, Awful idea

A/N: Theodore right now:

CW: Non-con drugging, conditioning, parental whumper, signs of grief, bad grammer.

Jace stared up at his ceiling. Who knew so much boredom came with being kidnapped? Jace huffed, pushing himself out of his bed. He stomped out of his room, looking for Theodore. 

Standing in front of the locked office door, he tentatively knocked and waited. “Yes~,” Theodore drawled as he swung out of his office, his eyes wild with excitement. 

“Can we watch a movie or something?” Jace replied, feeling a sense of disgust building inside him. He used to love binging stupid TV series, but now he had to ask for permission to simply watch TV. And if that wasn’t enough, he had to be supervised during it. 

Theodore placed a hand over his chest, “Awww, you want to spend time with your dad?” He carded a hand through Jace’s hair, ignoring the flinch as he did so. “I would love to. Meet me in the living room?”

Jace nodded, skedaddling as quickly as he could before Theo demanded something in return. He settled down on the coach, wrapping a blanket around himself tightly to try to self-soothe the unease skyrocketing in his chest. 

A heavy weight settled down next to him and thick arms pulled him close. Jace looked up, seeing Theodore holding the remote in one hand as he parsed through movie options. Annoyingly, they were all kids movies. 

Jace was always more of a cheap horror fan. 

“Sooo, what are we feeling? Tangled, Shrek, orrr we could watch a series? How do you feel about She-ra?” “Sure, sounds great,” Jace sighed. Anything would be better than listening to his kidnapper talk. A couple episodes in, Jace started sinking and out of sleep, leaning more and more onto Theo’s chest. Eventually, he went completely slack, seemingly asleep. 

Theo waited a couple minutes, enjoying the intimacy of hearing Jace’s heartbeat pumping through him. He put a finger underneath Jace’s nose, checking his breathing, relaxing as he felt the steady inhale and out of Jace’s breathing. The quiet moment reminded Theo of the time he was robbed with Mary. They used to curl up on the couch together, watching movie after movie…Theo’s chest tightened. 

Mary would have loved Jace…

Reaching into his pocket, Theo pulled out a packet. 

A packet of nicotine patches. 

After Jace responded so favorably to the … medicine, he started thinking of how he could use this to his advantage. Which then led him to buying nicotine patches late at night from a nicotine store while Jace was asleep. 

Theo then decided that everytime Jace spent time with him, he would give him a nicotine patch. Eventually Jace would start feeling withdrawal effects if he refused to spend time with his poor dad. Plus, Jace would start associating Theo with feeling good. Voilá! Problem solved. Jace would get a safe, happy home and Theo would have something to give all his love to. 

He carefully peeled one patch out of its container and pressed it into Jace’s shoulder, smiling in anticipation.   Theodore leaned his head against Jace, inhaling his scent. He could hardly wait.

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername

[wanderingandfound]

In my sixteen or so years of having periods I am pretty sure I have never ever been confronted with so much blood at once.

[wisteriasymphony]

Chat Errant [tied up to a chair like a hostage]: You know, I wouldn't really consider it a paraphilia, but I think there's something attractive about girls who haven't showered in a while. Something about being raised in an environment where hygiene was so strictly enforced that it was practically second nature; I think that's why a girl who kind of neglects that feels almost like a taboo, and it's kind of hot. When her hair is slick with grease and knotted up in all those tangles, her skin is oily and she's wearing clothes for the fifth day in a row, that's all what really gets me going, if you know what I mean.

Truth: I

Truth: I haven't even. What.

Chat Errant [not even paying attention]: I guess there's something kind of... animalistic about it too, y'know? Makes her seem kind of rugged, even wild in a way. That's also pretty attractive. I don't really get why it's not more sought after in women--Or maybe the fact that it isn't is why I find it hot in the first place? I'm not sure. And this isn't to say I find showering to be a turn-off, of course, that would be ridiculous. I just think girls who are a little on the grungier side deserve a little more [bites lip] appreciation, you know?

Truth [To Hawkmoth]: I fucking quit. I'm not listening to this guy anymore.

[chestersbraincell]

Look, I promise I'll try to only eat once a day and stay in bed as long as I possibly can all day once October is over, just want to have my little halloween game marathon :(((

Please stop punishing me I'll make up for my happiness with suffering I swear

[howlsofbloodhounds]

do yall think when color was fresh out the Void he’d have a panic attack or a meltdown if he tried to take a shower too quickly (and alone) due to the overwhelming painful sights, sensations, and sounds (especially if it hits his broken skull and it hurts and he worries his flames will extinguish and his skull will finally finish cracking) but he also puts himself through it sometimes when it’s too quiet and still

did he have a fear of the shower for awhile

did delta and/or epic have to sit outside the shower on the floor or cabinet for color to even go near it himself because color couldn’t even stand being physically touched for too long without breaking down even if he also was crying tears of relief and joy

[jaxyza]

Hospital pals