#little thumbling

[adarkrainbow]

I was reading this article about French paintings of fairytales, and I decided to share some of them with you! Because while France has a long and rich history of fairytale illustrations (the peak of the iceberg being Gustave Doré's illustrations of Perrault's fairytales), it also has several famous fairytale paintings. Some of these include...

Jean-Louis Demarne's "Little Thumbling" (Petit Poucet ; Hop o' my thumb)

And Fleury François Richard's Little Red Riding Hood:

But we also have an entire series of fairytale paintings created by a same artist, Jean-Antoine Laurent. Unfortunately a lot of these fairytale paintings were lost (we know he did a "Fairy Urgèle" and a "Little Red Riding Hood" lost today) but we have preserved some. Including his "Cinderella trying the glass slipper"...

... his "Cinderella" (sometimes called "Cinderella with the cat" to differentiate it from the painting above)...

... and his "Donkey skin".

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

Today's "Retelling Fairytales Badly": Hop O My Thumb/Thumbling. As usual, done all in one take without referencing the source material.

Despite what you'd think by the title, this story has nothing to do with Tom Thumb or Thumbelina.

(Heads up, some TW in this one. TW for abandonment and death)

Okay yes, the protagonist is said to have been no bigger than a man's thumb at birth, but considering he spends the rest of the story only slightly smaller than his six brothers, it was probably shorthand for "this kid was born premature and we're not used to babies that small". And the kid is just kind of short but also very clever.

But no, this isn't a Thumbelina variation. It's actually more of a Hansel and Gretel plot archetype.

See, Thumbling's parents are not what we'd call the Parents of the Year.

First of all, they named their youngest child Thumbling.

Secondly, after raising seven sons -- seven -- to be roughly between six and ten years old (guessing several were twins or triplets) they just decided "Nah, parenting is too hard. Times are scarce so we'll just dump ALL SEVEN of them in the WOLF INFESTED FOREST because our comfort and whims are much more important than theirs."

Just like Hansel and Gretel (suggesting perhaps an older oral folktale both became conflated with), Thumbling is like "Forget that, hey boys, help me lay a trail of white pebbles to follow home."

And just like Hansel and Gretel, the Worst Parents Ever decide next time they just have to try harder and make sure there's no pesky rocks to lead their victims home. This time the boys only have breadcrumbs, which is a bad idea in the forest where there are many things that eat breadcrumbs.

Ants, for instance. Or birds. Maybe squirrels. Possibly a Gingerbread Witch who's down on her luck and needs ingredients to make a house.

Thumbling and company decide to climb some trees, just in case of wolves, which is actually quite sensible. While they're up there, one of them spots a house and Thumbling climbs higher to get a better look.

The good news is the house is not gingerbread or inhabited by a witch with anthropophagous tendencies.

The bad news is the house is inhabited by two ogres with anthropophagous tendencies.

The worse news is that the boys can't discern the ogres' dietary inclinations just from squinting at them out of a tree.

Either Thumbling (I can't keep typing that, y'all. We're calling him Tee from now on) wasn't there the night they were telling cautionary tales like Red Riding Hood, or he wasn't listening, because he convinces his older brothers that the house is the safer option compared to sleeping in a tree. So down they go and knock at this ogre couple's door. To the ogres, this was, I presume, about like having a box of McNuggets knock on your door right after dinner. But they're not going to look a gift McNugget in the mouth, not when they have seven little ogres of their own to feed.

Alright, fair warning: this is where it gets messed-up. Because while Tee and his brothers are in a story about not trusting strangers and surviving by your wits, the ogres are in a story more akin to Greek myths, where betraying the laws of hospitality has horrific consequences. TW under the cut.

(TW child death. Always hated this part as a kid)

The ogre and his wife decide to put the boys up for the night in their kids' room. Inexplicably, wee ogres are about the same size as human kids. I guess they hit their growth spurt later. Most likely it was just narrative convenience to explain away the ogre's really terrible night vision.

Mrs. Ogre puts the boys in seven little sleeping bonnets to distinguish them from the ogrelets, who all have seven little crowns. That doesn't seem comfortable to sleep in, but granted, they are ogres. Their idea of comfort is probably different than a human’s. They plan to sneak in while the kids are all sleeping and bludgeon the boys.

Tee doesn't trust the ogres as far as he can throw them, which is smart. He doesn't know what's up with the crowns and bonnets, but he figures if he swaps everyone's hats, it'll at least buy them some time to run if anything goes down. Unfortunately, he's right, and his childish solution has tragic side effects. Ogre comes in later with his complete lack of night vision and feels around for who has crowns and who has bonnets.

Because apparently he can't even remember who got put in what bed.

Tee and his brothers wake up when the ogre bludgeons the wrong set of seven. They make their horrified escape just as the ogre and his wife realize their terrible mistake.

Never thought that was fair as a child. The seven ogrelets didn't even know Thumbling and Company existed! It wasn't their fault.

You know what? No. Heck that. I'm the narrator and what I say goes. Nobody dies in this retelling!

Ogrelets have to be made of sturdy stuff considering how gnarly growth spurts must be for them. So we'll just say the seven tots were COMPLETELY FINE but also VERY TICKED OFF at their old dad, who has some explaining to do.

To escape a very annoyed wife who's like "why didn't you take a lamp?! We literally have them all over the house! HOW DO YOU FORGET WHICH BED YOU PUT WHICH KIDS IN?" And his seven ogrelets with ice packs and grudges, Ogre puts on his magical Seven League Boots and goes chasing after Tee and The Boys.

The Boys have found a cave in the meantime, that is much too small for Ogre to even see into. One can only hope it's also too small for wolves, because those didn't go away, they still live in the woods. Regardless, the Boys camp out in there like "Well I guess we have crown theft and assault and battery on our consciences now".

Tee, being like, six or seven, has a more Peter Pan mentality of "Well that was an intense game! What should we do next?"

Ogre is out all night looking for Tee's gang, and conveniently decides to sleep outdoors next to the cave.

Given how justifiably mad his wife is, I do understand why he's choosing to sleep outside, but right next to the cave? That's "suddenly a hunter walked by Red Riding Grandma's house" levels of Convenient. But it's a fairytale so we'll just pretend there's nothing weird about that.

Tee gets a idea: Ogre can't chase them nearly as quickly without those Seven League Boots. So he tells his brothers to run for home -- ignoring the fact that they're here because home was not a safe place to be in the first place -- because he has Another Idea.

"Tee no," We hope the eldest brothers said.

"Tee yes," we resignedly know Thumbling responded.

So once his brothers tiptoe past the snoring Ogre, Tee somehow manages to pry the Seven League Boots off of him. Nobody ever explains how. This dude is roughly the size of an elephant and this tiny kid just yoinks his boots off without waking him up. And these boots, being magic, just automatically resize themselves to Tee's tiny feet, which is decidedly useful if you need to share shoes with six siblings.

The kid decides "hey I could use these shoes to get rich!" And just leaves the ogre there.

How a tiny kid with magic boots gets rich, I don't know. But eventually he comes home with money and his Terrible Parents have to live with the knowledge that the kids they tried to abandon could turn on them at any moment and they'd only have themselves to blame. The kids, on the other hand, live happily ever after.

And the ogrelets will never let their dad live this down. Never.

[lexa-griffins]

I love how we went full pentagram with incubus Clarke from horny to happy ending 😌 Their menace demon baby reminds me of farm Madi

See and you guys say im an angst demon when o always give you guys horny moments and happy endings 😌

The demon baby is farm Madi if you took how her lovable demeanor, grabbed Clarke's grumpiness, Lexa's no feelings attitude and then put it in a little guman with baby horns who will only smile at their moms 😌

[tmt-sketch-a-day]

Sketch a Day 2465- A Thimble- 9/13/22    

Could be used as a hat

[cmonbartender]

Little Tom (1922) - Otakar Štáfl

[an-au-blog]

Buggy accidentally detaching body parts around Shanks to be closer to him tough without him even noticing he’s doing it.

Imagining Teen Shanks getting up at night and untangling himself from his friends octopus wrap „Lemme go… I gotta piss.“ „Mnnng“. Making his way towards the bathroom and relieving himself groggily, thumbling towards the old washbasin to clean his hands off. Raises his head to look at his exhausted face in the mirror, eyes still small and full of sleep, hair mussed up on one side and the imprint of the pillow still on his face, a little cut on his face he got from his first attempt at trying to shave last week, a ghostly detached hand that clings to his shoulder, clinging harder to the fabric of his shirt as it starts to loose its grip for a second-

Shanks gets teased for waking up the entire crew with his screaming even months after that night.

Ahahaha yes! I love this concept!

Also after waking up, Buggy not wanting to get up, so Shanks is dragging his arms around, whether wrapped around him or hanging from him. It becomes a normal thing for the crew but every so often, whenever they get invaded or someone new comes on the ship it scares the shit out of them. Just some kid with a pair of dismantled limbs around his torso.

I can also see Buggy acting mad at Shanks (when he's not actually that angry) and trying to storm off but only hid upper half moves and his feet just stay there, betraying him.

This, however, could potentially be bad for him in battle when he's scared and feels frozen.

Imagine,

They're fighting someone and he's there petrified. Some guy cuts him in half through the stomach. Buggy falls down and tries to crawl away because his legs don't work. Everything is in slow motion and he can't breath. He's panicking. He doesn't know what to do, even if he did it would be too late - the guy who cut him is already swinging again. He closes his eyes and protects his face with his hands. But the blow never comes.

When he opens his eyes he sees Shanks has started fighting the guy who attacked him.

This often leads to conversations like

Buggy: I can fend for myself, you know!

Shanks: Well it didn't seem like it. I was just trying to help why are you mad at me?

Buggy: It's not like they could kill me by chopping me, remember? Plus what do you care?

Shanks: Why do I care for my best friend?

Buggy never thinking they were regular friends, not to mention best friends: ... wtf is wrong with you *storming off because he doesn't know how to genuine affection*

(his feet are still in the room and the arm Shanks was holding is also)

[darkdevasofdestruction]

hello! if you’re still taking requests for gangsta could i get some hcs of nic with a hard of hearing s/o? kinda like how they would’ve met, how they interact, that kind stuff. ����👉👈 thank you so much!

 Oh yes, I get you with the hard of hearing thing, my senses are so poor it’s become a joke now xD

Though you’re not deaf, your hearing is literal shit, to the point that it’s become a thing you joke about a lot with your friends.

Whenever you’re not fully paying attention to someone speaking, you have to ask them to repeat what they were saying since you barely picked up a thing or two about what they were trying to say.

Still, you’re very easy going and chill about the whole situation, and though you hope it doesn’t bother your friends much, you’re not bothered by it either way.

Whether you know what caused your hearing to diminish from the normal parameters, it didn’t even matter anymore.

You first met Nicolas when him and Worick were chasing after a criminal, and the blond called out to you to get out of the way, but you were listening to music on your earbuds so of course you had no idea what was going on behind you - Until the Japanese man bumped into your side roughly, making you fall to the ground with a great thud.

Not only that, but he got off balance and thumbled too, leaving only the Gigolo chasing after that guy while Nic was recovering from the fall.

 The man, now on top of you, got up quickly and extended his hand to you - Which you took - And he started mumbling something.

And you just looked up at him and blinked in confusion.

Which made him look at you weirdly, as to why weren’t you sketching any reaction at all.

“Can you say that again, please?”

And the man repeated the small word - But you didn’t pick it up this time, but in your defense, it sounded like gibberish altogether and you had no idea why he was speaking so unclearly.

Still, you tried to decipher in your head what he tried to say, and then, with a Eureka expression on your face, you let out an ‘Ohhh!’ sound.

“Oh, you apologised! Don’t worry about it, it happens!” your chill, innocent smile surprised him, but at the same time, he thought it was absolutely beautiful.

And what a coincidence, you though he was very attractive too, and seeing how he was just standing there, smiling awkwardly, you asked if he wanted to go for a coffee, to which he immediately agreed, forgetting all about his mission or his partner.

That was your first date.

Sure, he got a lot of shit from Worick after outright deserting him in the middle of a mission, but at the end of the day, he finally got such a nice date!

A date that’s tragic at the basic function of hearing, just like him.

Worick would tease the both of you a LOT. Just because he can.

But he’s very supportive of the two of you, especially since Nic is finally happy.

Speaking of Nic-...

Though he’s not outright speaking about you, he’s always thinking about you, and whenever he does, he has that dreamy smile on his face like he’s drunk in love.

He’s literally the sweetest man in the world, and though a bit clumsy, he’s such a gentleman.

Always brings you flowers or little trinkets, always finds new stories to gossip about with you, and has the best hungs in the world.

This man is so touch starved that if you start petting his hair, he’ll have a kitten grin and outright melt in your touch, even going as far as to cuddle in your arms.

He always wants to impress you, and the best way to do that is with his strength - So as often as he can, even as a surprise, he’ll pick you up bridal style, or as a piggy back ride and walk with you around as much as you like.

And don’t even get me started on how he jumps around with you from the roof of the buildings and laugh merrily with you because you’re having so much fun and he loves making you happy.

He’s absolutely the best boyfriend in the world, bless his soul, and if anyone dares even look at you the wrong way, they will become sashimi.

Overall, the best thing about your relationship is that you don’t have to worry about not hearing what Nic is saying, because you speak in sign language -

But there are some things that he’s forcing himself to speak out loud, and those are his short love confessions.

Whether he says ‘I love you’, ‘You’re beautiful’ or ‘You make me happy’, he will always, without fail, speak it out, and make sure he has your face cupped in  his hands and share a tender eye contact so he knows his feelings are properly shared.

[mlmxreader]

Tell Me One Thing | Holland March x gn!reader

anonymous asked: hello hello i hope you’re doing as well as you can :) i was wondering if i could request some holland march x gn!reader with the prompts: “hey, hey, look at me c’mon” and “for what it’s worth, i’m proud of you”. where basically holland’s on a case and someone recognises him as the reader’s boyfriend but they have some very strong opinions about them being together and say kinda nasty things. he gets home before the reader and the latter finds him curled in upon himself like overthinking and stuff and comforts him. thank you! :)

summary: March has a habit of letting certain things get under his skin a bit too much, but thankfully, his partner comforts him when he needs it.

tws: swearing, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of injury, mentions of alcoholism

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

It seemed like a normal enough day.

Healy was chatting to people in the busy street while Holland waited by the car and smoked; they were just looking for some old lady's lost dog, but money was money, and private investigators like Healy and March couldn't afford to turn down a job.

Holland did think, though, that he might be able to escape to the nearest payphone and call you; Holly was at school - hopefully - by now, which meant that the chances were, you were at home for a little while before your shift started.

He debated it, and when he saw that Healy was still chatting, he made his mind up; his bandaged fingers thumbled with the numbers, but he got there in the end and lit another cigarette.

But as it was ringing, someone knocked on the booth. Figuring that they probably just wanted to use it, he opened the door, and clenched his jaw.

"Can't you fucking see it's in use?"

The stranger looked him up and down for a moment. "Aren't you dating the person that used to live on Foxtrot Street?"

Holland quirked a brow. "Y/N?"

"Yeah," they nodded. "You're the new boyfriend, right?"

Holland shrugged as he scoffed. "The fuck do you wanna know for? Go on, get lost, pal."

The stranger didn't budge, folding their arms across their chest. "Y'know, I think it's absolutely sickening. A nice person like that, with scum like you - it's a surprise they haven't crawled into the bottom of a bottle, as well."

He rolled his eyes, attempting to close the door on them, but they put their hand on the frame. "Just fucking let me make a call."

"Please," they huffed. "Leave them alone. They deserve better than some P.I who drinks too much to even care about his own kid. You're gonna fuck them over, just like you fuck everybody else over. Leave them alone."

They only backed off once Healy approached, and although he wanted to talk about it, Holland couldn't find the energy to do so; he got in the car, hardly spoke but swigged from his flask like there was no tomorrow.

When Healy dropped him off, Holland had only one thing in mind: bed.

He flopped down onto the soft mattress, face buried against the pillows as he closed his eyes; maybe they were right. They did have a point, but he had been working on his drinking. But he was also useless - he fell off of several balconies that day, all on the ground floor at least unlike last time.

Maybe he would fuck you over. He didn't want to, but maybe he would. He spent what felt like eternity laid there, but eventually moved onto his side, cuddling into a pillow as he brought his knees to his chest, staring out at nothing.

He hoped Holly wouldn't be home any time soon, she didn't need to see her father worrying so badly about something that a stranger had said.

But Holly didn't come home first.

Holland knew it wasn't her when he heard the door lock from the inside, a muttering voice listing out all the chores to do throughout the house; familiar footprints slowly approaching along with the scent of his cologne, like the wearer had stolen one of his shirts.

He usually smiled, but not today. He just sighed and cuddled into the pillow even more.

"Hey, baby," you hummed, not thinking much at first as you shrugged your jacket off and hung it up on the corner of the wardrobe. Sweat trickling down your back and clinging to your forehead. "How was your day?"

Holland grumbled. "Why are you still here?"

You furrowed your brows as you turned around, shoving your hands into your pockets. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just gonna fuck you up," he sighed. "I fuck everything up and you… deserve better."

"Oh, Holland," you sighed, squatting down so that your eyes were on the same level as his. "Holland, Holland, Holland… you're not gonna fuck me up. I mean, you do give me really bad fright every time you go out, but that's because I know you - I know you're not exactly great with balconies."

Holland sighed.

But you wouldn't relent. "Hey, hey, look at me, c'mon… atta boy. Listen to me, baby - do you really think I'd leave?"

He shrugged. "You should."

"I'm not going to," you said softly. "No one, and I mean no one, has made me laugh as much as you can. You think I'd give all that up?"

"I make you laugh?"

"Yes," you leaned forward, gently kissing his forehead. "And that means everything to me, you know that… you wanna tell me what happened?"

"Someone approached me while we were working," he said quietly. "Said some pretty shitty things."

"And you let them get under your skin," you hummed, nodding. "Y'know, this is only like the window incident."

Usually, he smiled at the reminder.

When he had been playfully bickering with you at a party and he had thought that a window was shut, only to lean back and fall right through it, landing on a buffet table crowded by people.You laughed the entire way to the hospital, and he had never heard something so wonderful.

But he had allowed one of the doctors comments about you to get under his skin, just as he had now.

"Y'know, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you," you told him. "I really am."

Slowly, Holland dared to sit upright, spreading his legs so that you were between them, looking up at him with your head leaning on his thigh, a small smile on your lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirmed, gently pushing him back until his back hit the mattress, straddling his waist. "You gonna let go of the pillow?"

He threw it, and ignored whatever went crashing down with it as he eagerly gripped at your sides. "Better?"

"Much," you nodded. laughing loudly when he moved to pin you onto your back beneath him, your wrists in his hands as he pinned them above your head. "Don't start something that you can't finish, mind, March."

"I can finish it," he murmured. "Just… tell me one thing."

"Anything."

"Tell me you love me."

[rreskk]

Hi, Trevor fingerfuck the reader until she squirts, a little overstimulation maybe... can you?

A/N: Absolutely! Thank you for the request <3

Summary: He hates being awake when you're asleep, so he does something about it.

TW: -Smut

Word count: 1680

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

He was lied on his bed, boredom completely frying his brain as well as the profanity of drugs he had taken the hours beforehand. You were crashed out beside him – legs tangled, clothes off; stripped naked from the nightly activities. It was early morning (6am) and he was woken up by his insufferable insomnia. Trevor just wanted to sleep peacefully. He’d glance at your exposed chest with eager eyes, but you were fast asleep. He doesn’t blame you, not at all. You experienced it rough and raw, with pleasure, and with love (from Trevor himself).

“When the fuck you gonna wake up, huh?” He’d huff at your sleepy frame, his fingers tingling for some action. His high sex drive had led you into becoming his ultimate obsession, his complete favourite person, favourite girl – His girl.

 “I’m getting’ so… Horny, baby.”

Yet you remained breathing heavily asleep. A sigh left his lips and he slumped back against the pillows. Waking up to the sight of your breasts and frame had led him no justice. He was yearning and struggling to cope with it. Too much of him is throbbing; hands, boner, lips, tongue.

God… Trevor needed to taste you. He wonders if you taste or react differently when asleep… He wonders if you’d love it as much as you were awake.

Struggling to settle back down, he clicked his tongue and stared up to the ceiling. Every time he stares at the tile patterns, there’s always something new to see. For years he’s been making shapes out of the ceilings material. He hoped to find something worth his curiosity, going through the efforts of rotating and tilting his head.

“I swear I saw an outline of tits last week…” Trevor murmured and squinted at the ceiling.

But there was too many shapes to count. His drug-fuelled brain couldn’t handle the pressure and he immediately sulked back against the mattress, in a bitter mood with himself for feeling bored and alone. You were right there, within arm reach, within hand reach… He’d shake you awake with a rough, passionate kiss – Why doesn’t he?

He observed your sleepy face and found it incredibly endearing and divine. The urge to cradle and toy with your sensitive areas was quite frankly huge. Trevor stared at your sleepiness and shuffled closer so his bare crotch was subtly buried between your ass and curves. He grunted. The warmth wasn’t enough.

“C’mon… I’m starvin’ for you, baby. Wake up, for me? Yeah?” He’d whisper against your absent ears, slowly entrancing his arms around your waist. Trevor possessively clenched your stomach – his hands greeting each other and captivating you into his embrace.

Resting his chin upon your shoulder, his eyes remained fixated on your unconscious face as his fingers slowly trickled down your stomach, thumbling under the covers and reintroducing himself with your sex. His thumb gracefully caresses your folds and aching for some more coverage. There was no response from your sleepy figure yet; a sign to carry on experimenting.

“Wakey wakey…”

Trevor added pressure to his thumb that migrated from your outer area, routing through your privacy and groaning at how warm, but also wet you were, already… He cackled, that horrific breath penetrating your earlobes as he had a natural response from your body. With the wetness seeping quickly, his thumb was able to access your sex deeper until it was fully applied – earning a breathy gasp from your departed lips.

His eyes met your closed ones. You were still asleep, cutely.

“You’re killin’ me, sugar… I miss you. Wake up, c’mon… I’ll treat you real nice,” There was desperation behind his pleads. He cradled your body, his thumb still exploring through your throbbing pussy. The Adams apple based in his neck quivered in torment – “I love you, I love your cunt, I love your fuckin’ tits, babe. Lemme love you, I want you awake.”

He acutely leaned down, biting your shoulder with this hand continuing the hard-labour under the stained sheets. Trevor’s tongue tasted the salty sweat from your skin as his teeth grazed the surface.

“Wake up…”

Your body arched into Trevor’s hips. Whether this was self-projected, he whined and panted like a loose dog. He couldn’t hold himself back. You were practically pulsing around his thumb, something told him you were crying for more. He knew you wouldn’t mind… This wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence, but it has happened before; more than once. Trevor had found himself drooling over your exhaustion (some evenings ago) and “helped” wake you up, spiritually.

This occurrence though? He was eager, almost dying for you to wake up and whisper pleads.

“I wanna make you squirt so hard…” His hands carried on smoothing your sex as he gasped for some dignity, chin dug into the nuzzle of your neck.

Adding a second finger to support his thumb, Trevor cruelly molested your clit. His wrist was circulating at great pace. He kept his sights on you, noticing slight disturbance in your peace and grinning. He loved you faster until his arm was using all it’s muscles to contract some pleasure and aggression.

“C’mon…”

Your lips would twitch and your nostrils flared.

“Wake up, [y/n].”

Your tongue slithered through your cracked lips in anticipation.

“That’s right…” Trevor watched your eyes flutter open lazily, “There’s my girl.”

The welcome invitation of his fingers groping your cunt had roused your consciousness and comprehension. You rotated your head and exhaled as he stared back at you, breathing heavily and his saliva painfully falling from the side of his monstrous mouth.

“Trevor…” You gravely moaned and opened your legs wider.

He nodded frantically; “I know, I know. Lemme love you, c’mon. Squirt for me, girl.”

You gaped your maw and your gob was silenced by the offering of his gnarly fingers that crookedly overstimulated your pussy. The beating and bashing rapidly made you gamble out his name.

“Trevor! Fuck!”

His boredom had been replaced momentarily with determination and thrill of your soft voice. He pressed soft kisses behind your ear, one hand grasping your stomach while the other perverted your cunt into proceeding blissful donations of your seeping attraction, the wetness submerging into a wider mess. It had you pivoting around your own world.

“You’re so hot,” Trevor giggled, indirectly talking, “Keep moaning, babe, keep doing it… You like this? C’mon, say it… You love this, don’t cha?”

“Yes, yes… Oh! Oh, please! I can’t…”

“You can.”

“Trevor – “

He found ultimate joy in your pretty little struggles, “You make me so fuckin’ happy, [y/n]. Keep taking in my finger with your sexy cunt, yeah? I’ll fuck your tits next, isn’t that right babe?”

Words had failed to apprehend his playful Baptism of your sex. You were left whispering inaudible cries; something along the lines of – “Please” and “Oh fuck.” But it barely made it out of your throat without the affects of his mannerism. Trevor had found his morning enjoyments with this, giddy as life, and he is never giddy about waking up.

“I love you so fuckin’ bad, you know that? You saint, you Goddess, my God…” His fingers sped up, squelching and substituting your inner warmth, “I want you… Shit, I-I need you. I can’t live without your pussy, babe. Shittt, I need to fuck you after this, hm? C’mon, you want the good old Trevor lovin’?”

“Please, p-please!”

Your back had fully arched into Trevor’s chest, grinding for some friction and warmth between the skin-to-skin contact. You were still barely awake, but it didn’t matter since he was working for it, the hard-labour and mobility behind his criminal hand making you feel so unlawfully lucky. Trevor may have killed with his hands – it only makes it more exciting and “naughty.”

He loves a bit of naughtiness;

Touching without your word.

Whining for your attention.

Tormenting your peace.

Then using his raging sex-addicted body to defuse any deprived tension.

He loved it all. And you did.

“You’re so wet.”

He fingered and fingered as you whinged and wailed his name. The continuous art of his fingers had probably caused internal bruising in your cunt for the next few days, especially after his repeated visit with his cock and tongue. The days straight of intimacy never outgrew as boring. Instead, it grew boring without having each other’s spit and semen buried within each other. It was his affection and it was your love confession.

“I’m gonna – “ You were instantly shut up when he nibbled your earlobe again. Trevor grunted and creepily traced his name with his fingertip upon your stomach. You could tell considering he was heaving out the letters. He imagined tattooing and permanently marking you with his name all over your used body, so immensely beautiful to his fantasies.

“Trevor, please…” You croaked.

“Trevor, please…” He mocked heavily before kissing your cheek and relentlessly loving your pussy.

“Mhm, no. M’no, stop. I need to cu – Baby! Please, don’t stop.”

“Almost there…”

“Trevor! TREVOR!”

He fingered through your climax. Trevor gasped in delight when you outspread your legs and a raging rampage of your fluids squirting out, wetting the mattress and duvets.

“FUCK!” Cried your tainted and shattered voice. It felt like an intense wave of relief washing over your stomach and chest. Butterflies had lilted from your heart to your throat, moaning sweet lullabies to his ears while you continued squirting out the remainder of your cum.

“That’s right, baby. That’s so fuckin’ hot.”

Trevor felt you dumbly sink into the pillows after you had managed to climax every ounce of your sexual depravity. He smothered your neck with sloppy kisses and praises.

“[y/n], fuck me, girl! That was so sexy, you fuckin’ tiger, ay?” His tone uplifted childishly.

“Trevor, fuck…”

“I know, baby, I know,” A hand caressed your collarbone and shoulder, “Still needy? Still horny for more? How ‘bout my cock, huh? You want me to fuck the life outta your tits and cunt, [y/n]?”

You nodded pathetically.

“Please, yes, yes.”

He giggled and massaged your jaw.

“Alright. Wake up, baby. Uncle T is now fuckin’ coming.”

[adarkrainbow]

My grandmother owned a French fairytale book published by the collection "La Bibliothèque rose illustrée" (The Illustrated Pink Library). Her edition was of 1863 - but I recently found a website ith high-resolution pictures of some illustrations taken from a 1920 edition. So I thought of sharing them. Note that this "Fairy Tales" book is actually a compilation of the works of the three most famous literary authors of fairytales: Charles Perrault, madame d'Aulnoy and madame Leprince de Beaumont.

Perrault's Little Thumbling:

Perrault's Bluebeard:

Perrault's Little Red Riding Hood:

Perrault's Sleeping Beauty:

Perrault's Puss in Boots:

Perrault's Riquet with the Tuft:

Madame d'Aulnoy's The Beauty with Golden Hair:

Madame d'Aulnoy's The White Cat:

Madame Leprince de Beaumont's Prince Chéri (Prince Dear/Prince Darling):

Madame Leprince de Beaumont's Beauty and the Beast:

[fairytalemovies]

Le Petit Poucet, 1972

[legacyshenanigans]

To the anon that asked for an Ominis version of "Thoughts of you" Here you go.

Thoughts of you💚

Ominis edition, Mature, Masturbation, character of age, Just a short to the point drabble of Ominis having a private moment.

Ominis and you had sat together all of potions class, you were particularly flirty and touchy with him today, which he enjoyed a little too much truth be told.

Once class had finished he quickly took himself off to one of the toilets, after making sure nobody was in there first, he entered the cubicle and locked the door behind him, leaning his back and head against it "Fuck" he whispered under his breath, thumbling with the button of his pants to release his cock, he took himself in his hand and began stroking, his clouded eye's looking up towards the ceiling as he thought about how your touch and voice made him feel. Small breathless moans escaping. He bit his bottom lip and furrowed his brows as he tugged harder, the slick sound of his eager stroking filling the cubicle, he leant forward, now with one hand on the back wall, and the other continuing to pleasure himself, his head suddenly felt hot, he could still hear your voice in his head, he was loosing it, with a final half suppressed groan it happend, he panted and rode out his release for a moment while he gathered his thoughts, If this is how potions class is going to be from now on, he'd better get use to moments like this.

[mask131]

Seasonal theme: Magical summer (beginning)

This summer will be a season of wonders and enchantments, of spells and wizards - a magical summer!

Here is a list of beings, entities, objects and concepts you can check out if you want to add some magic to your summer:

In the myths, legends and so-called “real” world...

In the Arthurian literature: Merlin the enchanter, most famous of all wizards, derived from the legendary Welsh figure of Myrddin. Morgan le Fay, the ever-so-ambiguous enchantress of Arthurian mythos. Excalibur, the greatest and most iconic of all magical swords.

In Greek mythology: Hecate, the goddess of magic and witches. Circe, the divine enchantress of the Odyssey. Medea, the most frightening sorceress of the Greek legends. Lamia, a Greco-Roman bogeywoman that medieval times assimilated with various monsters and witches.

In Norse mythology: seidr, the old Norse magic, and its patron goddess Freya. Loki, expert shapeshifter and trickster supreme.

Christian legends, myths and beliefs: the Malleus Maleficarum, the unfamous manual used by many witch-hunters during the great witch hunts throughout Europe - a manual which was not accepted by the Church, unlike what many people believe. The Ars Goetia, both the art of invoking demons and the grimoire containing the secrets of said art. Astaroth, a demon often associated today with witchcraft. The famous witches sabbath, that was the great terror and fantasy of devil-fearing men of the Middle-Ages and the Renaissance. The paintings of Goya, which illustrated the various superstitions and beliefs surrounding witches in Spain.

The folklore of the British Isles: the British Grimalkin, with its cousins the English King of Cats and the Celtic Cat-sith. Lugh, the Irish Celtic god that mastered all of the arts, including magic.

Vaïnämöinen, the great bard-enchanter of Finland, and one of the sorcerer-heroes of the Kalevala alongside the magical blacksmith Ilmarinen, all fighting against the evil witch-queen Louhi.

In fairytales: the fairytales of the brothers Grimm brought many of the famous fairytale witches, from the evil queen with her magic mirror in Snow-White to the witch living in a house of bread and sugar in Hansel and Gretel. In Slavic fairytales, the great and iconic witch is the dreaded Baba Yaga. The French fairytales also brought the archetype of the fairy godmother: Cinderella, Toads and Diamonds, Donkeyskin, Cunning Cinders, The Hind in the Woods/The White Doe, Prince Marcassin... And let’s not forget Carabosse, the wicked fairy of the fairytale Princess Mayblossom, that became thanks to Tchaïkovsky’s ballet the old antagonistic fairy of Sleeping Beauty. Plus: the seven-league boots, one of the most famous magical items of French fairytales, appearing in Little Thumbling or The Orange Tree and the Bee.

The world of alchemy: the famous philosopher’s stone, elixir of life, and panacea that formed the ultimate goals of alchemists. Hermes Trismegistus, the mythological patron and ancestor of all alchemists (himself a mix of the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Thoth). Nicolas Flamel, the 14th century book-seller everybody believed to be the discovered of the philosopher’s stone.

Some famous grimoires of our world: The Book of Abramelin, a tome of sacred Jewish magic. The Lesser Key of Solomon, a demonology grimoire of the 17th century inspired by the older book of sacred spells known as The Key of Solomon. The very famous duo of French grimoires known as the Grand Albert and Petit Albert. The Book of Shadows, a type of grimoire originally part of the Wicca religion, and that became popularized in America media thanks to the television series Charmed.

Principles, beliefs, personalities and practices of our world (which, as you will note, frequently mix magic with religion and folk-healing): Nostradamus, the great French prophet. The magi of Persia, Zoroastrian priests and astronomers that gave birth to the concept of the “mage” as we know it today. The original mana - not the video game mechanic, but the supernatural force of Oceanian beliefs. The Celtic druids and the most famous of their sacred sites: Stonehenge. The marabout, a type of Muslim holy man from Africa to whom was attributed some magical powers in folk-belief. The shamans of Siberia, the ones from which the very principle of “shamanism” was codified in the West. The medecine people of the First Nations in Northern America. The sangomas of Southern Africa, one of the most famous types of African “witch-doctors”. The Haitian Vodou and the Louisiana/New-Orleans Voodoo, folk-religions and magic beliefs deriving from the Vodun religion of West Africa (not to be confused with their various “cousins”, such as the Vodu of Cuba, the Jejé of Brazil or the Hoodoo).

More general magic tropes and concepts: the magic potion. The flying broomstick. The magic wand, or its variation the wizard’s staff. The familiar of the witch. The trope of the wizard duel, which, despite its prominence in modern literature and contemporary folk songs, has roots in ancient mythological fights and legendary magic hunts. The tempestarii, or the belief in weather-influencing, weather-changing sorcerers.

[jihef03]

There’s one underrated thing about Woody and Buzz as a duo, especially in the first movie that I really want to point out.

So we all know Buzz’s whole deal in the first is that he’s a toy that thinks he is an actual space ranger, right ? He thinks is the real Buzz Lightyear, and act like heroic space cop would : stern, altruistic,dare-devil, etc. Even after he realizes he’s a toy, he still keeps to the space hero persona, using sci-fi lingo and such.

Meanwhile, Woody has the opposite problem : he knows he’s a toy, but he doesn’t react like a cowboy would.

I grew up watching Steve McQueen movies and reading Lucky-Luke and Blueberry  comics, so i think got a rather clear-ideaof how a coyboy hero acts : a Cowboy Hero is brave, an one-army, quiet but quick-witted, calm under pressure, rough-and-thumble but still a bit classy, doesn’t show a whole of emotion. Cowboy heroes of old are like the Epitome of American Masculinity.

And oh boy Woody doesnt fit the description at allt. He’s wimpy, he yells, he whines, he cries, and he’s a motor-mouth.

Part of it might be that behind the scenes, Woody was thought up as random ventriloquist dummy first and the cowboy persona came much later in the process. He first role is to be the Everyman. Another explanation would be that unlike Buzz, who came up with his own backstory and univers written on his toybox, Woody was just seen and saw himself as a random cowboy doll. In the first movie, Woody being a cowboy is a cosmetic thing, he could have looked like a Mayor, or a Fire-fighter or anything else, what mattered is that he was Andy’s favourite toy.

There is something really funny about Pixar putting the role of Manly Man Cowpoke into an insecure ragdoll (a type of toy mostly  destined to little girls btw) who can’t even stand on its own.

And even when Woody becomes braver and adventurous at the end of Toy Story 1, it’s only during 2 that he starts to really lean into his cowboy persona, mainly because this time, we meet the Roundup’s gang and got a clearer look at Woody’s history. This is the movie where Woody starts acting a cowboy of old, riding his stead, lassoing objects and saving the girl.

All culiminates in 3 where Woody keeps in the role of Cowboy Hero -while still true to his own self, qualities and flaws-

So when Andy describes him as “brave, smart, like a cowboy should be” we believe him.

[cmonbartender]

Little Tom (1922) - Otakar Štáfl