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Call me a forest ranger

the way Im putting a fire out in her bush

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Feeling like shit today :)

and its pretty much entirely my fault, as usual

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pleeeeaase

Fucking your throat until you cum :3

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woof!!!

Cute names for dumb little petgirls!

Cock sock.

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@//////@

Insane feeling being over at someone's house, standing around doing FA when without warning or word you're approached and a tape measure wrapped around your neck. "14 inches" like it's the most casual thing in the world.

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t-the pretty doll lady knows how to use guns @////@

Guy at the firing range triple-checked my card because I "look 12."

The world of adults is actively rejecting me and it's not even in a ableist way.

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You're over at her house. The best sanctuary you've got right now. Housing with your family's been pretty miserable. But she cares lots, insists on taking care of every need possible need. She makes sure you're hydrated, comfortable, happy, that you're not ignoring your sensory issues, even helps get you food. You'd just had dinner together, out in public. Through your dysphoria you ate rather light.

You're in the shower right now. She insisted on following you in, towering tall over you and asking if she could handle washing you. It's demeaning, but frankly with how bad your body feels it's kind of a blessing. Her hands are electric on your skin. She tells you to lean your head back to keep the soap out of your eyes as she runs shampoo on her fingers through your hair. Something's off about this scene, your brain's fuzzy though you've barely realized it yet. Not enough to be an issue but enough that when you try to react or complain the words come out half-formed and clumsy. Timid whining where should otherwise be assertive refusal.

You step out first. Wrap yourself in a standard size towel that's a bit too big for you. When you open the door to the hallway your stomach drops. The hallway is uncanny, alien in that way all places were when you were very young. You're caught there like a frozen computer application, processing the unprovable mysticism in a banal view. You feel so small.

You're in the bedroom now. Your head's on straight enough you recall walking here from the bathroom; that's not always a given. You crash landed on the pile of soft blankets and stuffed animals she left out specifically for you. Staring at your phone without actually processing the videos, indulging yourself in the sensory hotsprings of swirling colors and words without meaning. You don't absorb a thing, it just washes over you.

When she comes in you finally admit you feel a bit strange. Her smile's so warm when she tells you "That would be because I drugged you. I spiked your drink at dinner." You're not sure when she even had the chance. Even if you hadn't been looking surely someone else would have noticed, would have said something. You hadn't even tasted anything off. "I thought I had used plenty, but clearly you need more next time." Sprawled out on the bedspread you realize you're prey. Your brain's reeling from a chemical punch you never noticed was thrown but you're husky enough you're only dazed when you're supposed to be on the floor.

She pulls your head into her lap and starts stroking it like a pet, cooing and giggling. In your stupor your body wants to do nothing but melt into her arms. You hug a plushie for dear life when she pushes a needle through your skin, refueling your supply of hormones to give you another week of life. You keep clinging to it when she begins to read you a bed-time story, each word so powerful against your slurred grey matter it feels real. You don't realize what's happening when you finally fall asleep.

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Meeting your partner on tumblr, getting together and then only using it to send each other perverted posts you want to do together next time you see them is peak lesbianism

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After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

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Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

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First post after being a long time lurker. Heavily inspired by @designdoll, even though I'm not nearly as pretty >.<

Spent all day today dollifying all my joints. Not sure how best to show them off though, suggestions (and teasing) encouraged :3

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heya!! listened to the pinned post audio files, and it's more than happy to be an offering!!

it can be called Amethyst, but feel free to pick another name for it, it's happy to be of service, even if it isn't on tumblr all too often :3c

awwwwww

a sparkling new gem for my collection!

happy to have you Amethyst

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Literally threatening us with a good time?

I like all the fleshlights that follow me :3

You're all so cute (threat) and I appreciate you (danger) :3

/but also sincere/

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reblog to squeeze prev's ass

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can i come over and intentionally make you painfully hard while i act like i have no idea what i'm doing to you

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is it normal to get hard when someone calls you “dork” “geek” or “loser” or am i just little sister coded for life???

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ARF!

Reblog this to totally BARK at your moots!