#tw; drugging

[terrence-silver]

Old man Terry slipping lactation pills in beloved's drinks and food and relishing in the way her body changes and her breasts become heavier, fuller, sore, bigger. I think he would do it as a means to control beloved and to obviously drink from it daily, believing it has benefits or something. When she lactates for the first time and is so confused, he feigns concern and gives her pills that he makes her believe it's for her health but it's to keep her producing milk. His good little calf.

---

Of course it has benefits; mother's milk is the fountain of youth. Didn't you hear?

If Cleopatra could bathe in it, Terry Silver can drink it.

If it's good for a newborn, it's even better for an aging, power hungry Billionaire hellbent on quite literally latching unto and sucking dry whatever controlled and highly vetted source of health, longevity and strength he can like a vampire, and what a more fitting place for it to stem from than his very own beloved? Milk. It does a body good. A famous commercial from the 80's and 90's might come to Terry's mind as the idea occurs to him and of course the maintenance of a physique like his well into his sixth decade being alive doesn't come cheap (cheap, and not in the material sense, because Terry's more than willing to dish out cash) in fact, utilizing basic logic, it would be more and more complicated with each passing year; constant training, dedication, therapy, steam baths, devotion to the sport, very specific dietary choices. Yesterday, it was vegan screws and salads, but he so happens to find beloved's milk infinitely more appetizing, inviting and decadent to the degree he can and would induce their lactation through specific pills. Crushed in meals, crushed in beverages, crushed in a fine wine as they toast together over an intimate, romantic fine dinner for two. How very unassuming --- but he's here with an agenda. Terry Silver not only seeks rejuvenation because youth is the only thing money cant buy according to his own words, but he wants to consume in the general sense of the word. Consume beloved until they flow through his bloodstream, his organism, infused with his very bones; the things he breaks stone slabs with with such ease. The things he fights with. When he's in the midst of combat, it's like beloved's right there, alive and infused inside of his knuckles. You are what you eat, after all.

And of course, being Californian upper crust, he'd hear and see things.

He'd hear and see things for decades --- no doubt having participated too.

Celebrities eating their baby's placenta, Gwyneth Paltrow's beauty regimen that includes bee stings, Sandra Bullock's Hemorrhoid Eye Cream, Cate Blanchett's Foreskin Facials and Demi Moore's Leech Therapy. Hollywood's right next door. It would make Terry Silver's propensity for the strange and unusual almost seem commonplace; him drinking beloved's breast milk? Just another Wednesday in The Valley.

But, he cares. Of course he cares with every fiber of his being and his big, black heart. He tracks every change, every reaction, every sore and every bit of swelling surrounding beloved's body, perfectionist, control freak that he is. Their every complaint. Every bit of fluctuating transformation. Every bit of pain. Hell, he'd even bring in (a bribed off) doctor or ten to regularly check on beloved and quell any fears they might have by assuring them this is totally normal. It happens when someone's young and fertile; it is simply their concern he isn't truly surprised by because everything is going according to his plan and if he feigns anything, it's mostly innocence. But, Terry's far from innocent. This is him desiring to be one with beloved in every sense, consuming them, dominating them, wishing to take whatever he can from their youth and in equal measure, no doubt in mind it's a fetish too because the exchange simply turns him on. He is a dirty old man and he deliberately plays into it and just how very dirty and debauched he can be and that all by itself serves as a gleeful kink precisely because it's total filth. Total filth that totally amuses him. Perhaps even more so that he can expertly get beloved to actually allow him to drink from their breasts of their own volition to alleviate their pressure and pain they're feeling and have them thank him no less once it actually helps, perhaps utilizing a few well-learned massage moves of his as a gateway to everything that comes later. Oh, Terry the kindhearted saint, truly! What's best, beloved consented to everything of their own free will. Well, with some conditioning, white lies (in Terry's opinion) and slightly omitted details involved in the process, of course.

But, the ends justify the means.

Sooner or later, he'll sell the story to them in its entirety and have them agree to it regardless.

His good, perfect little calf indeed.

Not entirely out of the question he wont bottle samples and save them up behind a locked glass veneer in a specially refrigerated portion of his private wine cellar only he can drink from.

[shiroi---kumo]

Where does it ever end, o creature of tainted starlight?

The nature of a nightmare is its predetermined ending. No matter how one may struggle, how much one may wish to set things right, this had all happened already. There was no choice here, just as there had not been a choice back then. She made his choices, moved his muscles back then. The parasite in the pollen, or magic, or whatever wicked strings she had so gleefully attached to his puppet arms.

Bewitched, he played a symphony not of his own making. No, he was not the Maestro of the Massacre; The sword in his hand was no baton, but a mere instrument. Moving along to a predetermined tune, a carnival as old as the world: senseless slaughter.

A doll only obeyed its master, no? Or, perhaps, that was merely what he so desperately wished to believe. Alas, the inner workings of one's mind were often the very harshest of judges.

You know... this isn't true, right?

Pilvi.

My little Pilvi. Hiding behind an array of masks like the terrified princeling you are. So pristine, so holy, you cut yourself away from your hands. Your hands that you used to kill.

But they are your hands, my darling sweetie.

Are you afraid of them?

The ground parts, like a slavering maw of a sleeping beast. It shakes, it breathes, it cries out with all the voices of those that your hands have put down. The verdant witch's laughter ceases - drowned out by a chorus of low moans. Pained, pathetic things, and all their hands.

Clawing at your white fabrics. Clothes that have tasted blood, but we both know this is not about the corporeal, hm? It's all about that sniveling little princeling, still thinking he can hide away so deep the gore never stains him.

Mother's precious boy, oh, what would she think if she saw what you had become?

There is no ability to run, to fly, the ending is predetermined. The hands rise from the earth, peeling flesh on reddish bone. They clutch, and they claw, and they pull. Dragging, dragging you down, down, o demon of tainted starlight, so that you may never again see the sky against which you blasphemed. You crawl, but they strangle you, your claws were never strong enough to dig in. And so, they drag you on coarse rock until your nails break and the flesh tears from your belly. The Soil is here now, at the precipice of the hell you created - it beckons you in.

Cry, weep, scream, little princeling - the end arrives all the same. Bite your apple and lay to rest your wretched fairytale, Snow White, let the dust and dirt fill your lungs and the rot caress your skin. At the horizon of your blurring vison, His skeletal black wings part, painting the sky a deep vermilion. Maybe it should have been you who fell asleep.

White Devil, you fleeting fog, in lightless silence you will die like a dog.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He knows in his heart that it's only a matter of time before he comes for him.

He knows.

A voice he doesn't know is speaking to him. A deep voice that rumbles up from the cosmos themselves. Maybe it is one of Lord Bahamut's messengers. Maybe this is what the Dragon Lord himself sounded like. Maybe it is the voices of the soil calling out to him... because yes he can hear them too.

He couldn't always. Not when he was a child. He didn't know what to listen for. Not when he was a teenager. Still the voices had never spoken to him.... but when he was nearly a man - when the darkness came to swallow up Windaria just as it had Misterica before...

When the Great Dark came once more, and he watched his new found family shift to the form of glimmering sands only to take up the golden gun into his own hands. That was when he heard them. That was when he felt their power. He might not have been soilborne but his ears could certainly hear them.

Ever since he felt their force eat away at his very being. Ever since he felt his own blood mix with that of the demon gun itself. Black Wind's heart and his own thudding in time and he felt the flood of the soil within it rush into his form and he swore he could have suffocated on the sensation. It was all he could do just to pull the trigger of the Dragon Lord's cannon and feel the kickback almost sent him flying.

He couldn't hear them then but he can hear them now.

But as the voice continues he thinks he knows for sure who this celestial boom belongs to. It has to be Lord Bahamut. It has to be. Who else would call this vessel by such a name? Who else would refer to him in such a way that makes him feel so small? Who else but the Celestial Mother's only blood kin would know him by the name that was given to him by the eclipse themselves?

How else would he be recognized as a celestial?

Only the gods themselves could really see him for such a thing.

He knows what he is. He knows what he's done. He hasn't been able to sleep since. He knows the voices. He's felt the hands and it never gets any easier when those ghastly spirits rise from their graves to claim. They'll drag him down just as the voice says. They rip and claw at fabric and flesh alike while he hasn't even the breath to scream.

A cold hand of Ice Blue clamping down hard over his chin so that any cries from misty lips become that strained muffles. Beg and plead all he likes. They'll come for him. Lord Bahamut will send his kin to claim his sister's failed vessel. Lord Bahamut will come to claim himself.

He waits for the day that clawed hand reaches forward to carve out his heart.

Dark wings spread out before him. The sky stained in that of heat crimson. The bubbling boiling blood of the souls born to soil hue come to drag him into the depths below. Come to drag him home.

Fire Red hands to peel back flesh until he is stained the color of his bloodline and the imprints of his hericay are burned into his bones by every chromatic fingerprint of the Soil that is eager to consume the Mist.

His Mist.

There's no escaping them. There's no escape but he has to try. He can't just die like this. He can't just die because there is still work to be done. There is still work. He knows the depths have a feeling. He knows the depths have a name. A Mother Black darkness that will pull him deep into her void and to the place where it all began. The origin of it all.

That is why this was all predetermined, wasn't it? When his Mist finally fades into the soft Sky Blue then he can finally know rest but would the heavens still except his wretched soul when his one hue was no longer pure? White Clouds stained red.

His hands no longer pure but instead tarnished like silver that has been unkept over the years. It doesn't matter how much he claws or digs. They would drag him down. Drag him down the Burning Gold of his counterpart. Down past the only thing that's ever really mattered to him.

They'd be separated forever -

Jade eyes set up wide as misty breaths roll out of him in heavy pants. Where was - he was in his room ... in his own bed. He was... in the castle and His Excellency has allowed him time to rest?

He doesn't remember falling asleep.

He must have and as moonlit vision travels, it finds deep caverns dug into the mattress upon which he lay. He finds places where his hands clawed at reality while his dreams pulled him under. It was just a dream. A dream again of the souls that have fallen to the Maken's wrath.

Jade vision downcasts as he lets out a sigh. The entire room is completely fogged over and he can only imagine he was screaming in his sleep again. He can only be thankful that the other residents here don't quite have the same hearing as that of a Misterican.

He's only been here four years but it never gets any easier. Not with everything that's happened. Not with everyone who's died. Not with every life he's killed. Not with Rorahm still refusing to wake up.

It never gets any easier because now after everything, he can't escape the voices of the Soil.

[bprdmyers]

@thenightmareofyourdrems (jack)

chaos. everything had devolved into complete and utter chaos. agents moving in, voices on the screens, a horsemen hijacked show hijacked from the horsemen themselves. dylan exposed. spotlight upon jack, georgie standing next to him. she shouldn’t have been there, her quest to repair that which had been broken overriding any sense she may have held within her to refrain from such a blatant disregard for the so called law and order she should have stood for. she had once stood in her bedroom declaring to jack that her path had been set the moment she’d met him. perhaps, her words were truer than she had even realized, georgie finding herself in the worst possible spot, attention toward her just as much as him. though, there was the chance it could have been brushed off as her having been in the wrong place at the wrong time, if only jack hadn’t gripped her arm and pulled her along with him, toward the escape route, up the stairs, down the latter, to the shoot on the side of the building. at least it hadn’t been recorded, it will perhaps be the youngest myers’ only hope to remain in the shadows, to save her father embarrassment, to save her from becoming doomed to the same fate jack had always wanted to spare her from, turning her into a criminal like him. 

sounds. words. flashing. sleep. georgie’s experience is not the same as the horseman. she does not wake up with them in the kitchen of a restaurant in china. no, she had woken much earlier into her own distinct horror show.

‘it’s a pleasure to be working with you.’ mabry says, presenting himself to the horsemen like some kind of sick joke. he’s supposed to be dead, of this much henley recalls from their research, of this much jack points out after their group is shoved out of the elevator into walter mabry’s penthouse. mabry speaks of a world of surveillance where the only true freedom is not being seen. he speaks of his magic being technology and uses it as a launching pad to bring up real magic. ‘of course you, mr. wilder, would know all that about that wouldn’t you?’ he questions, transitioning away and leaving the comment held within the air. he begins to tell them how he got them there, shows them a video of pictures of which georgie remains unsettling out of. henley shifts uncomfortably when mabry sits between her and danny. and then, finally their lost companion is brought up, mabry circling back to jack as he rises from his seat and faces them. ‘i imagine you’re all wondering what happened to your agent friend, yes? and no, i don’t mean mr. rhodes whom, i’m fairly certain is having his own struggles back in the states. oh, that’s right. i don’t imagine mr. wilder told you he’s been sleeping with the enemy. let’s see. where’s the remote. ah, yes, here.’ he clicks a button and an image of georgie’s f.b.i. credentials display on the screen. danny emitting a rather loud expletive. ‘an fbi agent right under your noses this whole time. except-- she’s not an fbi agent at all, is she mr. wilder?’ the screen changes, showing her bprd badge and walter launches into a rather animated, yet short, speech about how the horsemen do tricks but there were things that go bump in the night. he tells them what the bprd stands for, says it’s remarkable what you can find on the internet if you knew what you were looking for. danny retorts that he’s crazy if he thinks they are going to believe what he’s saying is true, at least in respect to magic, danny’s fairly certain he believes they were lied to about georgie’s identity. it only seems to bring a smirk to walter mabry’s features. ‘ah yes, i didn’t think you’d believe. so lets see what your friend’s been up to while you lot were sleeping. yes?’

the screen changes again, this time to a video of a room where georgie appears to be waking up, stumbling as if she’s unbalanced. two armed men followed by a man in a lab coat appear to enter and georgie can be seen reaching out, the men thrust backward with an unseen force only for her to grip her head a moment later in pain. ‘i imagine he didn’t tell you about that either. quite disappointing really, dr. wang was supposed to be the best in his field here and yet he couldn’t get his drug cocktail right the first time. after all, couldn’t have your little girlfriend attacking my men, or me with her spooky powers now could i mr. wilder? as you can see, she very much had access to them though i imagine she felt a rather killer headache.’ it’s clear from the video that her attempt to use her powers again was hindered by the pain that she was feeling, the two men she’d thrown into the wall now coming toward her again and gripping her arms while the doctor moved about the room. a physical struggle is shown for georgie might usually use her powers in a fight but she was fully capable of defending herself the human way too. the struggle takes her and the men out of the frame for a moment, her sluggishly brought back into it a moment later as if she’d been struck or stunned before she’s given a shot of something that seemingly forces her to stop moving. he shuts off the screen and motions to his armed men. ‘as you can see, that was quickly remedied by a new cocktail. don’t ask me what’s in it, i’d rather not know.’ a pause as if for effect. then he speaks again. ‘i see no issue with allowing a little reunion. of course, if you refuse my preposition i can just as easily have her and you killed.’ he doesn’t tell them what his preposition is yet, instead seems to take enjoyment in watching as things play out in front of him. for the other horsemen’s part, they appear too stunned by what they’ve seen to be outwardly expressing outrage toward jack for secrets revealed, all attention turning toward the doors as georgie’s brought in, two men’s grips on her arms too tight for how sluggish she’s appearing. 

her skin is a shade too pale, sweat clinging to her features and a bruise appears on the side of her face from the fight she’d gotten into, in the same place she’d had one before after her fight with the spiked monster so many months ago. the lights are too bright for her and she squints, unfocused until she’s brought to a halt and shoved forward, stumbling. ‘speak of the agent and she shall appear.’ a play on words from mabry and georgie’s gaze shoots upward, anger, no, not quite anger but rage upon her features. her entire body feels as if it’s in a war with itself, the very fabric of it’s nature, the power within her cells being attacked from the inside out. her power unable to be reached and her body rebelling against it. she makes a move forward and it’s almost primal how angry she is, as if she’d be able to cross the distance and attack him right there where he stood, however, she’s forced down onto a knee a moment later by the same men that had brought her in, both of which look worse for ware, she’d gotten a few good moves in before she’d been subdued. she’d fought. she was anything if not a survivor. it’s then, she seems to become aware of the others in the room who stand up from the couch and she can see merritt’s hand grip onto jack’s arm as if he’s ready to stop him from taking some kind of action. jack. jack was there. her eyes trail upward, gaze connecting with his in relief, concern, fear, and something else, something not quite readable. she forces the men to let her stand up though she’s strained. it takes her more effort than it should. however, she stops fighting after a look is shared with mabry because she knows, even if she could manage to attempt some sort of action when they were surrounded by armed men, he has the power to hurt jack. and hurt the others. ‘you can let her go.’ mabry states, the men release their hold, shoving her forward again so she’s being propelled toward jack. and while mabry will give them a moment, he’s bored with this whole thing, so his preposition will not be far behind. 

[mostly-funnytwittertweets]

[eggdrawsthings]

It's the best decision I'll ever make

[boabel]

this is so shit i need [remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health] mouse bites to live

[wrentherainfall]

Look man, it was too perfect not to do, I was obligated to make this-

Anyways another drawing for my little series of dumb doodles, gotta keep the fandom well fed💪💪

[third-king-of-salmonids]

WORK HARD PARTY HARDER

[bamsara]

Concept comic for a scene I'm writing for Trod

Takes place in the before-Shamura and mass dissention arc. I think the menticide mushrooms would react horrifically combined with godhood. Instead of seeing things that aren't real, they see real things they're not supposed to

[secretidentie]

Tim for literally no reason: Hey Jason do yk where I can get some cocaine

Jason: Why tf do you need cocaine

Tim: I'm a teenage CEO why tf do you think I need cocaine

Jason: Fair enough. But I'm still not selling you cocaine

Tim: Why not? I just want to hang out with the other young finance bros

Jason: Hey dick head, tell your brother I'm not giving him cocaine

Dick: Tim are you okay? do you want to talk about this??

Tim: Uhg I'm fine. You're the one ones who said I should stop drinking coffee

Jason: and you thought this was a good alternative???

Tim: Come on I'll only do a little

Dick: Is this coz we spoiled the ending of wolf of Wallstreet

Tim: Why can't I just have some? You do!

Jason: No I don't

Tim: You're a crime lord

Dick: Yeah isn't it like part of the job

Jason: WHAT NO Stereotype much. I've never even seen cocaine up close

Tim: YOU'RE A CRIME LORD

Jason: Yeah not a drug dealer THERE'S A DIFFERENCE

Tim: I should have known your not cool enough to have drug dealer connections

Jason: OKAY YOU KNOW WHAT I'M GONNA BUY A FUCK TON OF COCAINE AND DO IT RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU JUST TO RUB IT IN

Dick: Woah woah that's enough both of you. No one in this house is doing drugs. If anyone talks about cocaine again I'll tell Bruce you said you want to start a new crack epidemic. He'll make you sit in at strangers AA meetings and read through old case files of ex dealers and their autopsies. Don't. TEST. me.

Tim: ............

Jason: ............

Tim: Can you sell me meth?

[terrence-silver]

Would Terry roofie someone if it served his goals or just for fun?

---

Terry Silver strikes me as the type of guy who'd slip stuff into people's drinks out at some club purely for the sake of it;

To gage their reactions, watch them stumble out of the bar, get sick on the dancefloor or on a corridor somewhere, perhaps while desperately queueing for the toilet, listen to what nonsense they'll spout under the influence of a drug, observe their forehead get slick and wet with sweat, their complexion turning pale, pretend to be the helping stranger with the best intentions at heart, possibly look on as they accuse everyone but him of roofing them and if they catch on and point their finger at him, then hey, he can have the pleasure of making his grand escape into the night before he's ever sighted and he'll do so laughing. He's Terry Silver. He can and will retreat into the palatial comforts of being a billionaire and shrug away from all responsibility (not that he feels any) and that fact tickles him immensely seeing as how I'm convinced he makes a habit out of going around LA and messing around with whoever he deems fit under the guise of just being some nobody right before he disappears, never to be caught.

Oh, the adrenaline rush of that. The petty sort of power trip.

It's people watching and that on it's own serves his goals.

He likes to see what someone does in the situation he deliberately put them into almost as a way to research individuals and know how to accurately manipulate someone later through meticulous and hands on practice, training his skills at toying with minds like he trains his muscles.

Notwithstanding that a man's a sadist.

People's suffering on it's own and the mischief it can bring about is as fun as fun gets.

And sometimes, all it takes is a tiny pill slipped into someone's booze.

That's where the entertainment begins.

[shiroi---kumo]

Dangers of the White Devil || Accepting

@wyrdify asked: 🗡️ + each alter's willingness to kill @musesofthemoon asked: 🗡️ What's his willingness to kill at, doc?

So let's do these in order:

Makenshi - ★★★☆☆

He actually isn't super willing to kill. He is the wall of the group. The protector. He's need made into a murderer, but just because he will kill doesn't mean he likes to do it and honestly he'll avoid it where he can.

The trick is Makenshi never wanted to do so in the first place but got put in a position where he saw it as a lesser of two evils. His first kills were due to getting drugged by Herba and forcibly control to do so. She stained his hands for him before he ever had a chance to do so himself.

If he's defending himself the willingness drops down to 2 stars and if Kaze is being threatened or in danger it will sky rocket up to a full 5 out of 5.

White Cloud - ★★★★☆

He knows he needs to get a job done and he will do the job to the end no matter what it takes. Does he like the idea? No. Will he do it? Absolutely. Even more so if the person in question is a Gaudium supporter or they're threatening Kaze or the Innocent.

This man will fall into a "purge the evil of the world" type mindset and his role as Salvation will corrupt his vision and point of view on things. He's bitter and angry about everything that's happened - probably more so than any of them and there is a small stream of vengeance running through his veins.

Gaudium lights his mind on fire and it tells him to take it out at any cost. He'll never forget the feeling of pulling the Maken out of his own stomach.

Seejvariil - ★★☆☆☆

He understands the concept of hunting and why they do it but he won't take another life like a Windarian or a Misterican. Even if they're threatening his own.

If the Rushing Stream incident taught us anything, it's that Seejvariil will let himself get taken to the ground trying to talk his assailant down before he strikes back. He almost lost his life that day because of it much to Rorahm and Raiya's dismay.

Even if Rorahm trained the boy how to fight and taught him how to kill, that doesn't mean he wants to do it and he certainly isn't willing. He will avoid it at all costs and only allows himself to do so during hunts because he knows Rorahm and Raiya-Vahree need to eat.

(Still will not consume meat even if he's the one who did the hunting, and he will apologize to and thank his kill when doing so. He's still Misterican to his core and will still show honor to the lives he takes.)

Kumo - ★★★☆☆

This man wears a smile and he would continue to do so after he pulls his blade out of whoever was threatening his friends, family, Kaze, the innocent. He doesn't want to kill but he will. He is the peacekeeper and if that means he needs to kill to do it. So be it. The worst thing you could ever do is test this man. If you put him in a situation where he believes that killing is the only way out of it, you best believe he'll do it. He won't like it, but he'll still do it. Protection is paramount. He'll do whatever it takes to save.

And that includes killing.

The Lamb - ★★★★★

The Lamb gets a special sort of 5 of 5. He won't kill anyone around him. He'd throw his sword straight to the ground and refuse to act but when it comes to throwing himself on the fire, he'll do it without a second thought. This man is the embodiment of 'Set myself on fire to keep others warm'. and he'll just keep doing it.

Over and over and over and over again.

He believes his life is disposable and he's just going to revive anyway due to the nature of his immortality, so he'll just keep throwing himself on the fire to protect everyone around him. So it's more that he will refuse to take any life but his own.

Little Cloud - ★☆☆☆☆

Little Cloud has had enough of death and killing. He won't kill anyone around him but he also doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to hurt and he doesn't want anyone else to hurt either. However after all he's gone through and all he's experienced if he has to choose who feels the pain, he'll pick himself every single time. So he's closer to The Lamb in the fact that he'll throw himself on the fire, he's just way less likely to do it. It's less willing and more so - no other choice.

Snow Cloud - ☆☆☆☆☆

This man is a gentle presence and he just wants everyone around him to be happy. There is is a way to solve this and he'll find it without anyone having to die for it. He will work through every possible option and do everything he can to keep the option of killing off the table. The Celestial Mother wouldn't want that and they shouldn't either.

Pilvi - ★★★★★

The True King and he will do whatever it takes to protect his kingdom. The thing about Pilvi is he was ready to take a life all the way back when he was just a teenager after finding out all the rotten things the Church had been doing to his family for centuries. Pilvi blind raged and was ready to strike Sumu down for his transgressions with his own hand. He cared about nothing else but punishing the man for all he and his family had done to the royal family for all those years.

Of all of Pilvi's alters, the True King is the most dangerous.

[krafterwrites]

You take the blue Eggman MDMA pill (158.4 mg), the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red Eggman MDMA pill (162.8 mg), you stay in Eggmanland, and I show you just how meddlesome that hedgehog is

[mostly-funnytwittertweets]

[hermthejewishwyrm]

Just a safety reminder to NEVER try shrooms or LSD if your family has any history of schizoaffective disorders.

[emotionaleating]

pls don’t flirt with me i want to be nonchalant so bad but i unfortunately crave connection so intensely that i will give you my entire soul and forgive you over and over until i’ve lost myself completely and feel like i’m drowning