Junko-Kat

corporate retreat 2/4

Prev - Masterlist - Next - Picrew

"We're going to be performing your induction in one of the private rooms," Dr. Moon said. "Less distractions will help us gather better data. Besides, we had one free, and I always work better there."

"Sounds good," said Quinn, genuinely. If they had to undergo this procedure, they'd rather do it in a more private setting.

They were led into a small room that reminded Quinn of a particularly sinister dentist's office (which was saying something, considering Quinn thought all dentists were a bit sinister). The plush recliner was in the middle, surrounded by the usual array of screens and tools and drugs. A couple of department workers, lower ranked than Dr. Moon, were standing by. They both looked at Quinn expectantly, and they realized that they weren't really getting as much privacy as they had hoped.

"Have a seat, please, and we'll go over what your induction will be like," said Dr. Moon, gesturing to the chair.

Quinn only hesitated for a moment before sitting down in the imposing device. It was just as comfortable as they imagined it might be -- they'd never wanted to risk sitting in one just to see what it was like, lest it whir to life and trap them. They felt like they were sinking into the soft cushions, like it'd be hard to pull themselves out if they needed.

One of the assistants stuck a couple of electrodes on their forehead, which Quinn accepted without complaint. The other assistant picked up one of the restraining straps. "Is that necessary? I'm being compliant," said Quinn.

"You can be left unrestrained for now," said Dr. Moon. "But if you fight the procedure, we might need to strap you in for your own safety."

"Sure." They didn't have any real intention of fighting physically, at least.

"First, we're going to give you a few cognitive tests," Dr. Moon explained. "Then we'll begin administering a moderate sedative through this mask." She holds up a black rubber face mask. "This will make you feel very drowsy and soften your mind for the induction. We'll repeat the cognitive tests to see how you're responding. We'll be putting you in a state of twilight sleep where you'll be deeply sedated but still able to respond to stimuli. This gives us a chance to monitor your brainwaves and responses and tailor the procedure specifically to your brain."

"Okay," said Quinn, trying to push down their anxiety over being put helplessly to sleep.

"Once you're at the target level of sedation, we'll use an IV line to administer a mixture of sedation and our proprietary brainwashing formula. It's a very pleasant cocktail of medication, and very potent." 

"Lovely."

"Once the medication stabilizes, we'll wake you up enough to ease you into a deep hypnotic trance state. Then you'll be completely under our control, and you'll get to relax for a while in the chair watching a hypnotic program on the screen, one which you'll find intensely fascinating once we have you properly medicated. How does that sound?" 

"...Terrifying, mostly."

Dr. Moon laughed. "That's a common reaction, but believe me, you're going to be incredibly relaxed before long."

"Do you always tell your subjects what you're going to put them through?"

"Generally, yes. We find it increases the success rate of the procedure."

"That's fair enough, I guess."

"Oh, one more thing -- my assistant here is going to be taking audio notes on your condition as you progress through the stages. I hope you don't mind."

"Why would I mind someone commemorating this experience by recording down every embarrassing thing I do?"

"Great, I'm glad it's not a problem," said Dr. Moon, pointedly ignoring the sarcasm.

"Start record," says the assistant into a little silver gadget. "Begin initial induction of subject for brainwashing procedure H800. Administering cognitive tests."

"First, we need to check your initial responses. Watch the penlight with your eyes, please." She waved her penlight across Quinn's field of vision, up and down, side to side, in diagonals and circles. "Reaction time within normal parameters. Pupils slightly dilated. Subject displays signs of anxiety."

"I can't imagine why," Quinn commented.

Dr. Moon held up a large flash card with simple math problems on it. "Solve these problems, please."

"Three. Seventeen. Eight. Uh, negative four. Forty-one."

"Count backwards from one hundred by sevens, please."

"Ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-nine, seventy-two..."

"Subject is fully awake and alert," said the assistant. "Subject shows little hesitation in providing the correct answer to cognitive tests."

"We can start sedation, now," said Dr. Moon to the other assistant. "Put them on 50% Lullaby to start."

"Lullaby?" asked Quinn.

"We have code names for our drug formulations, so we don't reveal too much information about our methods to our subjects," Dr. Moon said. "We call it Lullaby because it slowly sings you to sleep. The effect will be subtle at first, but we'll have you nicely sedated in no time."

"...Great." Quinn tried not to flinch away as the assistant sealed the black rubber mask around their mouth and nose, securing it behind their head with a strap. The other assistant reclined the seat slightly so that they were laying comfortably at an angle.

"Beginning sedation of subject with 50% Lullaby. Subject is compliant and breathing normally. Heart rate is somewhat elevated."

"We'll give you a bit of oxygen before starting the drug, so just relax and take deep, even breaths, okay? The entire process takes a bit of time to make sure the subject is completely under, but just be patient and you'll be absolved of the need to think before you know it."

Quinn wondered if that was supposed to be comforting. They took a breath, and could smell something sweet, floral, a little chemical. So it was happening -- from here on out they'd be drugged and hypnotized and more than likely be the Brainwashing Department's plaything for a month at minimum. With any luck, they wouldn't be able to remember most of it.

Well, no use worrying about it now. They lay in the chair, trying to stay calm, wondering when the drug would kick in and watching the various monitors that they supposed must represent their brainwaves. They were colorful and rhythmic, and they had no idea what it all meant, but Dr. Moon was certainly interested.

Maybe they could just... take a nap...

Quinn shook themself, realizing they had fallen into a bit of a daze. Was that the sleeping gas starting to take effect? It was hard to say because they were pretty much always exhausted, but the urge to suddenly take a nap was unusual. Perhaps it was just their imagination, but their eyes did feel unusually tired. Like they'd feel better closed. The lights in the room were bright, and shutting their eyes would feel nice.

They yawned involuntarily and jerked themselves awake. They'd started to drift without even realizing how drowsy they'd become. The effects of the gas had crept up on them and made them so sleepy, their eyelids thick and heavy, their thoughts slowing. Now that the sedative was definitely working on them, they couldn't help the urge to fight against it, to try to keep themselves awake.

"Subject displaying signs of relaxation and sedation," said the assistant, as if to confirm Quinn's thoughts. "Heart rate has slowed. Breathing deep and even. Eyes are unfocused and glassy. Eyelids drooping involuntarily."

Quinn tried to open their eyes wider, but found them shutting down all by themselves a moment later. The gas really was putting them to sleep now. All they could think about was how tired they were, how much they'd like to go to sleep, the threat of brainwashing becoming more distant and hazy as their eyes slowly closed and their mind began to doze off.

"Can you open your eyes for me, please?"

They dutifully opened their eyes at the sound of the doctor's voice, blinking away the heavy weight of sleep. 

"Subject has clear difficulty with opening their eyes. Alertness greatly reduced. Subject still able to respond to sounds."

"Follow the penlight with your eyes for me."

They tried. The penlight seemed to leave trails behind it, and it was hard to keep up with the quick movements. Their eyes really wanted to shut down again. They yawned in a vain attempt to try and become more awake.

"Solve these problems, please."

It was another flashcard of simple, grade school math problems, but this time the numbers seemed to swim and dance before Quinn's eyes. The problems should've been easy, they should've been able to answer them quickly and get back to sleep, but their brain was refusing to focus. Ten minus three. They knew this. Ten minus three... ten minus three...

"...Seven," they finally said. "And the next one is... four. And then..."

Two two-digit numbers. That was too many digits. Forty-six plus twenty-one. They knew this. They knew this! But the numbers just wouldn't stay in their drowsy head long enough to produce an answer. Sleep... they were so, so sleepy... their eyelids were drooping shut again without their consent.

"Quinn? Can you solve the problem?"

Quinn struggled to get their eyes back open. They had almost fallen completely asleep for a second. They stared at the treacherous numbers, trying in vain to make their tired brain function.

"Subject is slow to produce answers to basic math problems," said the assistant. "Subject shows clear signs of severe cognitive impairment while sedated. Subject is frustrated but compliant. Subject's eyes keep closing even when the subject has been instructed to focus."

"Too sleepy for math, huh?" said Dr. Moon in a mocking tone. "That's fine. You're progressing very nicely. We'll be able to start the next phase soon."

Cognitive impairment... too sleepy for math... Quinn burned with embarrassment. They didn't like this, being too sedated to answer the simplest questions while being observed and teased. They didn't like having to fight their leaden eyelids so hard just to keep from falling back asleep. They didn't like the feeling of being so heavily drugged and drowsy and out of it. Was this what it would be like for the next month?

In a half-asleep haze, Quinn tried to reach for the mask over their face, the one pumping the artificially sweet sleeping gas into their system. If they could just get some fresh air... But their arm felt as impossibly heavy as their eyelids, and they could barely manage to clumsily paw at the mask.

"No, no, no resisting," said Dr. Moon, easily grabbing their wrist and pinning their arm down to the armrest. "Let's give the subject 30% Somnolence with the Lullaby. Shift their brain fully out of gear."

"No," Quinn protested weakly. That was exactly what they didn't want, but they were too drowsy to put up any meaningful resistance. They could smell something like lavender, which they assumed was the new drug mixing in. There was a strange tingling right at the base of their skull, and a few seconds later, they couldn't think. If the other gas was a Lullaby, this was more like a hammer to the brain. Any fight was instantly drained from them as they sank back into the chair, letting their heavy eyes close down and slipping away into slumber.

They weren't sure how long they spent drifting in and out of consciousness. Dr. Moon was talking, they thought, but they sounded so muffled and far away that it might have been a dream. It felt like they might sleep like this forever.

The voice grew louder, more insistent, and Quinn tried to focus on it. "Quinn? Quinn, are you with us?"

"Mmm," they said.

"Can you squeeze my hand? I'm holding your left hand right now."

Quinn furrowed their brow. They seemed so disconnected from their body that the task seemed impossible, but they tried, and found that they actually could feel a hand holding theirs.

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

Where they were... They did know that, but the answer floated away from them when they tried to grasp it. "...sleeping...?"

"Yes, you're in a state of twilight sleep right now. Not that you can probably understand that. Do you know where you are?"

"Work...?"

"That's right. And what department...?"

"I work in IT," they mumbled.

"Close enough. We'd better reduce the gas a little bit. We may have overshot."

Quinn was just glad that the interrogation had stopped and they could go back to floating in a sleepy fog. 

Prev - Masterlist - Next - Picrew

Hello are you into Abdl or sissy lifestyle

I'm into the Abdl lifestyle, but I'm a woman so I'm less into sissy play as degredation, if that makes sense

Aftercare should generally involve the opposite of the things a scene involved, it should balance the "negative" physical and psychological impact of the scene.

This is a fairly neat summation and simplification of a very complex and nuanced topic. But it's a good place to start if you're new and don't quite understand the concept of aftercare or if you're experienced and trying a new type of play. It's a simple framework to build upon as you learn more about your individual needs and the needs of your play partner(s).

So what are the physical and psychological impacts of a scene. (Do note we're specifically talking about those impacts we don't want to last past the end of a scene, puppies don't want to be told they're not puppies as aftercare)

I'm not going to separate these because what effects you psychologically is also going to effect you physically and vice versa. These things are not separate.

A good example on the more psychological side might be degradation which damages a submissive's self worth, self image, ego, etc. To balance this aftercare should focus on affirmation and rebuilding /healing those things. Similarly fear play damages a submissive's sense of safety/ wellbeing, aftercare for which should involve being made to feel safe, comfortable with their dominant, and st ease.

Having said that, a good example of this balance on the more physical side is replacing lost energy. Basically no matter what type if play you're engaging in you will burn a lot of energy, so to balance that you should replace that energy. I write about this in much more detail HERE.

Getting a little more complicated; sub drop. Coming 'down' from a submissive headspace, especially one that includes pain play, can be very unpleasant. The neurotransmitters released during a scene fade away, this feels something like the crash after an adrenaline spike, and can leave a submissive feeling lethargic, empty, sad, etc. To balance this aftercare should involve things the submissive enjoys to bring those neurotransmitter levels back up a little and alleviate some of the withdrawal symptoms. This can include but shouldn't be limited to; cuddles, kisses, warm snugly things like blankets and stuffies, their favourite snacks, their favourite movie or TV show, etc

"Top drop" is less a neurological thing and more of a social thing. Although the top headspace also includes it's own share of neurotransmitters which also drop off it's almost always to a much lesser extent. The most common major effect of top drop is guilt; hurting someone you care about is something deeply ingrained as bad and even if they like it, even if they're begging for it, it can still effect you really deeply. Aftercare for this should involve affirmation that the bottom isn't hurt beyond what they want to be, that they still care about and trust their dom, etc.

This is an infinitely nuanced topic, I could write until the character limit and still not cover all the ways that aftercare could go. But I have to draw a line in the sand somewhere so let me make one final point. Don't worry too much about getting this perfectly right the first few times, you'll figure out what you need and what your play partner(s) need. The most important part is the "care" half of "aftercare" show them you're willing yo put in the effort to make sure they're OK and you can't go to wrong

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper....

Reblog if you want to go deeper

cute idea: going on long walks together, holding hands! luckily it's cold out and we're wearing layers...so nobody can see the collar you have one isn't a regular one for people, it's for pets! i know because while we're "holding hands" i'm really holding the end of your leash~ we're so sneaky cuz we pulled the lead through your sweater sleeve. isn't that cute? nobody here but me knows what a dumb lil pet you are~ i'll keep your secret though, don't worry!

corporate retreat part 1 / 4

I went into a fugue state and wrote nine thousand words about an overworked corporate drone being brainwashed for their own good.

tw: brainwashing, conditioning, dehumanization, drugging, humiliation, hypnosis, restraints,  corporate culture, weight insecurity mentioned, a little kinky

"Welcome to the Brainwashing Department! You must be today's test subject. We're happy to have you!"

Quinn stared in disbelief at the receptionist's guileless and strangely familiar smile. "You're awfully cheerful about this, aren't you?"

"Well, I love my job," he said without the slightest trace of malevolence. "As I'm sure you know, the Brainwashing Department is critically important to the organization. Without us, we wouldn't have sleeper agents, puppet politicians, memory erasure... and it's interesting work, too. No two subjects are the same." He glanced at Quinn's badge and then at their face. "Say, I recognize you. You're from IT, aren't you? You're the one who always unlocks my laptop when I forget my password!"

Oh, shit, that's where they remembered this guy. Quinn wasn't sure what they found more mortifying: the fact that they'd been recognized, or the idea of letting a guy who obviously didn't know how to work a laptop be in charge of human minds. Maybe he'd been a test subject, and it affected his brain... although considering what Quinn had signed up for, that wasn't at all comforting.

"Yeah, I'm from IT," said Quinn. "Can we get started? I'd prefer to get this over with."

The receptionist laughed. "You seem like you could use a vacation. Good thing you're here. No better vacation than a vacation from your thoughts, right?" He pushed a button on his phone. "Dr. Moon, your test subject has arrived."

Quinn played with their phone and tried not to look like an anxious wreck as they waited for the doctor. This was such an awful idea, but they didn't have much of a choice. 

---

"You used to be my favorite minion. I hate to see your potential go down the drain, and I'd really, really hate to have to put you on a performance improvement plan," their boss had said. "You know, just because we're in the business of underground supervillainy doesn't mean we don't value our employees' mental health. You should take a vacation, recharge yourself."

"I'm out of PTO," said Quinn.

Their boss leaned over her desk with a frightening look in her eye. "Have you happened to see the fliers the Brainwashing Department has been posting?"

Oh, they didn't like where this was headed. "The ones looking for compliant test subjects? The ones promising a $5000 bonus and a month of PTO?"

"Exactly! Doesn't that solve your problem?"

"The month of PTO is just the month you spend as their brainwashed test subject."

"Details," she said with a handwave. "You get PTO and a chance to relax --"

"-- by being drugged and hypnotized out of my skull --"

"--and you'll come back refreshed and ready to work."

"Presumably because you'll get them to brainwash me to be a better employee."

"See, everyone wins!" she said. "I highly recommend that you volunteer."

And that was that. Quinn certainly didn't have the clout to argue, especially when they were at risk of being at the bottom of the stack ranking. You didn't want to get stack ranked in this organization. It usually involved poison in your cafeteria rations.

---

"Quinn? You're a volunteer for brainwashing testing, right?"

Quinn looked up to see a middle-aged woman wearing the aquamarine jumpsuit of the higher-status employees, along with a lab coat and a pair of enormous round glasses. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and she had a strangely warm smile given her profession. 

"I'm Quinn, and yeah."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Dr. Moon," she said, holding out her hand for a shake, and her hands felt warm as well. "Thank you for volunteering. It's critically important that we have adequate testing subjects for refining our process, before we have to use the techniques on important targets. So many employees are frightened of our department, even though our work is really quite pleasant. You don't have anything to worry about, though. I promise that your mind is good hands here."

"Good to know," they said. "Hopefully I can give you some good data." It really wasn't the competency of the Brainwashing Department that worried them -- they'd seen their results firsthand. If anything, they were perhaps a little too competent.

"I'm sure your data will be invaluable. Now, if you could follow me..." She turned and swiped her keycard at the double doors next to the reception desk, ushering Quinn inside.

They stood in a short, sterile, and blindingly white hallway with several doors on each side and another large set of double glass doors at the end. "Those doors lead to the primary brainwashing floor," Dr. Moon said, gesturing to the end of the hallway. "But first, I'm going to have you go into one of our prep rooms." 

She slid her keycard on one of the side doors, which opened up to a small room with some lockers, a shower, and a bench. "Put your uniform and any personal effects -- except your glasses and anything medically necessary -- in the locker. Then, take a shower using the provided soap and dress in the clothes you find in the locker. Make sure you clip your identification tag to the gown, so we don't lose you."

"Wouldn't want that to happen."

"When you're done, just press the button and I'll be back to guide you to the next phase," she said. "Take your time. We're in no hurry."

Quinn shut the door behind them. They stripped off their sneakers, a pair of socks adorned with little green alien heads, and the gray jumpsuit that marked their middling status in the organization. The hot water felt great as they stepped into the shower, and the soap was pleasantly scented with lavender. It would've been relaxing if the shower hadn't given them a chance to be alone with their own thoughts.

Were they really going through with this? They could've told their boss no, but that would've just ended badly. The terms of the test subject agreement guaranteed that the process would be reversed at the end, but it wasn't like they trusted that. They knew what the Brainwashing Department was capable of. They could wipe any memories they didn't want them to have, they could implant suggestions of being more loyal and eager to work, they could humiliate them in so many ways, they could simply leave them brainwashed permanently... 

Quinn sighed. This was absolutely going to suck, but there was no use worrying. It wasn't like they were going to turn back now.

The provided outfit was a soft blue cotton hospital gown and padded socks. They were quite comfortable, but made Quinn feel entirely too exposed and vulnerable without their familiar jumpsuit. The badge they clipped to the gown had their name, picture, subject number, and a series of codes designating the brainwashing procedures they were going to undergo. Quinn didn't know enough about the department's work to know what the codes meant.

They pressed the button.

A few minutes later, Dr. Moon entered the room. "I hope you had a nice shower. Let's get you into the other room to do a few necessary checks."

The next room was a bit like a doctor's office. "I'll need you to stand on that scale, please," said Quinn.

"Is that really necessary?" They fucking hated this part of the doctor's visit.

"It's not for judgement or shaming, really! We just need accurate weight to make sure the medication dosage is correct. It's for your own safety. You don't even need to look."

Somehow, even the idea of being weighed for brainwashing drugs was preferable to being shamed again. They didn't look as they stood on the scale, and Dr. Moon made no comment.

"Now, if you'll sit on the table for a minute, please," she said. "Let me just check your breathing... your eyes and ears..."

Quinn sat as still as they could as Dr. Moon pressed a stethoscope to their chest and shined a light in their eyes, but they couldn't keep their knee from bouncing.

"Any vision or hearing problems, other than your need for glasses?"

"No."

"Any disabilities we should be aware of? Here in the Brainwashing Department, we pride ourselves on our commitment to diversity. We'll adjust our procedures to accommodate any disability, mental or physical, to ensure that everyone can safely and easily fall under our control."

"Uh. Not that I know of." Quinn most certainly was not going to spill their mental health difficulties to this woman. She'd probably have access to all of Quinn's secrets soon enough... ugh, they'd rather not think about that.

"All right, then. If you're ready, I can lead you to the brainwashing floor and we can get started on your procedure."

"I'm not sure I can be any more ready than I am right now, so..."

"I know it must seem nerve-wracking, but trust me, once we get started you won't be worried at all."

"That doesn't especially ease my worries."

They followed Dr. Moon through the double doors and into the main brainwashing floor. Here, thirty of the organization's brainwashing devices were arranged in neat rows, big plush reclining chairs with restraints and screens and medical tools. They were all currently occupied by people of all ages and types undergoing procedures. Most of the people were half-asleep and watching hypnotic screens, mouthing words under their breath, hooked up to gas tanks and IV lines containing the drug cocktails that made them docile and malleable. Some were being induced, surrounded by staff monitoring their vitals as they went under. Others had a staff member drilling commands into their minds. One woman at the back was thrashing and fighting as the department staff wrangled her into restraints and into a mask.

Quinn had long been desensitized to the brainwashing floor. After all, when you worked for an organization like this one, morals flew out the window with your first paycheck. The work they did was necessary to keep the organization going, and honestly less messy and more humane than some of the other departments. Quinn had had to come here plenty of times to help troubleshoot problems with the machines, and had swiftly learned to tune out the droning hypnotic inductions and sounds of quiet struggle.

But it certainly hit differently now that Quinn knew they were destined for one of the devices. They couldn't help but imagine themselves in a chair, watching a hypnotic screen with a dazed smile and glassy eyes. The idea made their skin crawl with the fear they'd been shoving aside until now. They hated the idea of not being in control, and especially the idea of other people seeing them helpless and vulnerable. But that fate was now inevitable. They weren't kidding themselves about their ability to resist. Dr. Moon would probably turn them into a drooling, tranced-out mess by lunchtime.

At least they'd get some good sleep for a change. Chemically-induced sleep with a side of mind warping, sure, but sleep nonetheless.

Who enjoys the feeling of being conditioned?

Knowing that someone has worked to tweak and mold your malleable mind with every interaction you have. Knowing you've been primed and influenced to a point of no return. Knowing the simplicity of a word of action is enough for you to lose yourself completely.

Triggered by as little as a command phrase. Prodded into an unknown direction by latent pathways your mind has been railroaded on. The indescribable feeling of yourself attempting to resist, fighting with every fibre of your being, pushing to retain your free will. And yet, the impossibility of that task insurmountable, and behind every feable attempt made, the knowledge that you want this.

You want all pretence to fall away. You want to give in completely. You want your mind and body to sink into the clutches of your controller. You want to surrender and enjoy the delicious grip of conditioning.

Conversion/ The Box

In one hour, I will be put in The Box.

It has a much more complex and scientific name, of course. But those of us in the system for preparation for it simply call it that. 'The Box', like a device of torture that must not be named.

I've been on the list for some time now. Conscripted, analyzed, prepared, preplanned. While I'd expected something, I doubt I could ever be prepared enough.

We would comfort each other as much as possible. Talk over our worries, assure each other. It was tough to contact the ones post-op, but the ones who did helped explain the procedure.

We wouldn't be aware for most of it anyway. Surgery tended to work better when the patient was unconscious. We'd be put inside, The augments and cybernetics would be applied and attached, our minds would be scanned and be acclimatized to the systems. afterwards we would be in treatment for another 5 weeks as we adjusted to the systems connecting to our synapses and nerves.

Some of us worried of ego death. The ones we could talk to spoke about it like rebirth. Not that they were very vocal. Their handlers tended to translate for them where able, or willing.

And The Box would be where it happened. Keeping our vitals stable while keeping us unconscious, unaware, and deprived of all sensation.

I was scared for a while. Of course I'd be, when described like that. But after some time with those who came out after, the Mech Pilots, the Dolls, the Drones, I'm excited. I think I understand what they mean, if only somewhat.

That's likely part of why I was chosen for this in the first place. Freedom from burden, from worry of choice and blame. Freedom from my slowly breaking body. A chance to find happiness and fulfillment where I couldn't anywhere else. I'd be a weapon, a tool, and that was enough for me. whoever takes the role of my handler will manage the day to day, and if I don't like it (if I even can still dislike it), I could always do what I've heard the first few did. I will be a carefully honed weapon. A tool for greatness.

I will be in The Box soon. and while I'm nervous, I cannot wait for my rebirth.

cute idea: going on long walks together, holding hands! luckily it's cold out and we're wearing layers...so nobody can see the collar you have one isn't a regular one for people, it's for pets! i know because while we're "holding hands" i'm really holding the end of your leash~ we're so sneaky cuz we pulled the lead through your sweater sleeve. isn't that cute? nobody here but me knows what a dumb lil pet you are~ i'll keep your secret though, don't worry!

Reblog if you're fed up of performing this character people have forced you into and just want to be a doll on my lap with no stress or worries