#FUCKIN EENSY

[thelemonsnek]

VIBRATES!!! Sticker sheet collab hosted by @cecilioque came in so ofc I HAD to start using them >:)) they all came out so nicely, I had such a hard time picking and choosing which ones should go on my computer ^^'' unfortunately had to cut quite a few of my favorites to leave room for future stickers :( but the rest are going on my binders, so it works out!

[image id: a photo of a laptop lid covered in stickers. Many of them are pokemon, with many other miscellaneous stickers too, including possums amongst other animals, bugs and insects, and several stars, suns and moons. Several stickers are starting to overlap from how many there are. End id]

[joxaren-ebelyn]

purble

new amethyst oc, shes my Baby now

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

Mickey’s on house arrest for an eensy teensy crime (a total misunderstanding obviously - Mickey would never.)

At first he thinks he’s gonna go level ten batshit cooped up in their apartment. It’s not that he doesn’t like the home they’ve made for themselves, it’s just he’s a man who needs enrichment in his enclosure and everyone knows it.

Ian finds himself “breaking” things on the downlow so he can subtly float a “hey could you look at the ___ today? I think it’s busted” over their morning coffee. He's not coddling him, he just likes knowing Mickey will have something to do while he’s at work besides pace the halls and make trouble for himself out of sheer boredom.

The first week is rough. But by the next week, things have evened out considerably for Mickey. He’s clearly found a passion in something, because Ian will come home and Mickey’ll be outside on the balcony, more or less where he left him that morning. And he’s pretty sure it’s not the tomatoes he’s got potted out there.

Ian doesn’t wanna pry, especially since Mickey’s found something that works for him. But he’s a curious being. So when he comes home the next day, he decides to follow after the sound of his beautiful house-arrest husband on the balcony.

“Ha… Dumbass…”

“Who is?”

Mickey quickly turns to him as Ian steps out, joining him at the rail for a welcome home kiss.

Or…rather, Ian is kissing and Mickey is grumbling against it. “No one…”

“Mm?”

“Home early.”

“Yeah,” Ian smiles, glancing curiously at the green-space that the balcony overlooks, “got done pretty quick today.” There’s no one there. Just a couple squirrels darting around by the bushes.

Mickey nods, taking a long drag from his cigarette. 

He’s clamming up. 

Ian definitely struck something.

Silence floats between them, Ian taking the cig for himself. And he almost lets it go until it happens - movement, Mickey’s eyes darting to it down below.

Ian follows it. Hears himself huff a laugh as he watches a squirrel tear at lightning speed to the bush across the way. “Fast little fucker.”

“Gonzales…”

“Huh?” Ian turns to him. 

But Mickey refuses to meet his gaze. “Speedy Gonzales,” he says. Very cryptically.

And Ian…doesn’t know what to do with that. He chuckles, teasing, “What, you out here namin’ the squirrels, Mick?”

Another handful of seconds float by them in complete silence. Avoided eye contact.

…oh.

Wait.

Holy fuck, he’s out here naming the squirrels.

“You got somethin’ to say, wise guy-”

“No!” Wow - no - Ian doesn’t-… It’s just how the hell is he supposed to process something this endearing in such a short time span? “No, baby - nothin’ wrong with it.” Oh no, his house-arrest husband is cute?? “I mean, Speedy Gonzales - you really nailed it, ya know?”

Beside him, Mickey’s shoulders are starting to deflate from where they’ve ratcheted up in defense mode. Not all the way, but starting at least. Ian thinks they should probably leave it at that for now, but then miraculously, he’s talking again. “Got no fuckin attention span… Been lookin’ for the same shit he buried since Monday.”

Ian takes it in with a carefully constructed expression, “Oh yeah?” no smile to misconstrue or anything. “Where’s it at?”

Because Mickey knows, doesn’t he?

“Big tree,” he nods to it, “right side.”

Holy fuck, Ian is so in love with this man.

“Almost got it before you came out.”

“You think I scared him off?”

“Nah, he’s a real dumbass. Probably woulda dug two times and then ran off somewhere else.” And then, like he didn’t just make Ian’s heart absolutely rock hard, he turns to the door. “Fuckin’ starvin’ - you bring anything home?”

They have sandwiches and potato chips and Ian practically has to eat his hands to stop himself from asking more questions about his husband’s squirrels.

On Saturday morning, Ian joins him outside to water his tomatoes and then lingers, eager for any tidbits Mickey might drop on his own. 

In the grass below, a squirrel clambers over a pile of dirt and then begins a session of quick digging, bringing a smile of recognition to Ian’s face. “Hi Speedy.”

“That’s Rat Tail,” Mickey corrects from his chair.

Oh. Right. “How can you tell?” Ian asks stupidly. Because all it takes is one look with his own eyeballs to note the thinning end of this particular squirrel’s tail. “Ah.” Rat Tail. Got it.

And so begins the introductions, the two of them sipping coffee as Mickey leisurely explains the lore to him. Ian didn’t realize squirrels lead such a rich, fulfilling life, honestly. Who could’ve known? 

Mickey, of course, his feet propped up on the railing and his ankle monitor blinking away while he points out new characters seemingly every morning.

“That’s Scratch.” and “That’s Little Bitch.” and “Damn, I thoughtchya kicked the bucket, Rabies.”

Each name takes its place on Ian’s mental list.

“That one’s Allen,” Mickey says once.

To which Ian simply has to ask, the fact that he shares a name with their neighbor surely no coincidence. “What? Why?”

“He’s short ‘n ugly.”

“Got it.”

By the start of the next week, Ian feels caught up on the ins and outs of the squirrel lore. But just like with his husband, there’s always something to learn.

“Hey Mick, is that one new?”

Mickey flicks his eyes up from his phone, identifying the squirrel on the fly. “Nah, just hasn’t shown up for you yet.” Ah. “That’s Little Fucker.”

Ian nods. Interesting. “Are Little Fucker and Little Bitch related?”

“I dunno. Think they’re bangin’ each other, though.”

“Of course.”

Ian sees himself and Mickey in Little Bitch and Little Fucker.

Week Four hits, and Mickey is starting to wonder why he ever dreaded house arrest so much. It’s really not all that bad, especially when he’s got a caring husband who gives a shit about his-

“MICKEY!” comes Ian’s voice, fucking tearing through the apartment and launching Mickey into a startled fumble and ‘the fuck’ with his wet towel. “MICK GET THE HELL OUT HERE - QUICK!”

He’s dripping wet and ten seconds away from making a b-line to the gun drawer, but when he sees his husband’s face practically pressed up against the screen door, his look of sheer excitement is contagious.

“The fuck?” Mickey snaps, keeping the towel around his waist, “The hell are you out here-”

“It’s Speedy, Mick!” Ian beams, opening the door for him and pointing dramatically toward the green-space. “He’s getting it! He’s gonna get it, finally!”

Mickey shuffles over to the rail, the history that’s being made making his blood run hot when he sees it with his own two eyes, Speedy Gonzales digging frantically at the exact spot that he’s been too much of a dumbass to check for a whole month.

He and Ian grow deathly still. Wait with bated breath. 

And then…finally…after weeks of anticipation…

“Oh my god,” Ian grins, both of them watching Speedy Gonzales stuff the acorn into his mouth and then dart for cover under the bushes.

“Well whaddaya know - stupid fucker actually did it.” About damn time.

Beside him, Ian wrangles Mickey wetly into his side, processing the moment proudly. Silence may float between them, but it’s positively electric. Fiery. And when Ian glances down with him, Mickey knows the exact look in his eyes.

“You bricked up right now?”

Ian nods, swallowing thickly.

Speedy Gonzales is left to eat in peace as the two of them push their way inside, eager to celebrate the rush Little Bitch and Little Fucker-style.

[dystopyx-blog]

yandere slashers

FORMAT

Name: slasher personality type — slasher type — yandere type — slasher inspiration/s

THE YANDERES

Spencer: Cold and Calculated — mortal — manipulative — Ghostface

Definitely wears a mask and one of those little half cloak thingies -- with the hood -- basically a poncho but like edgy ig. Also mans is a serial killer, ofc hes manipulative. Hes a charmer.

Leonard/Lenny: Strong and Silent — above mortal — protective — leather face, Michael myers.

LEAVE ME ALONE I LIKE BIG STRONG SILENT PROTECTIVE TYPES this is MY yandere slasher harem, let me have this

Arficer: Parasitic — supernatural — possessive — pinhead, Freddy Krueger (vomits a little)

Your slightly Parasitic supernatural yandere firmly believes you belong to him and no one else <3 ain't that cute? your the cute lil human he's attached to, you belong to him as much as he belongs to you <3 (okay but maybe you belong to him an eensy bit more)

Eddie: Unhinged — revenant — obsessive — Billy lens, Brahms heelshire

AFGAFHXRTY I LIKE EM DERANGED. 10000% the type to sit on your counter like a fuckin cat 🫵🫵

Happy (or Dizzy? Still undecided): Animalistic — demonic — delusional 1 — pennywise, art the clown

I love clowns <3 even when they're absolutely fuckin unhinged. Maybe especially idk. This one's the type to wrap an inhumanly long tongue around your entire fucking head and neck and tell you taste delicious, and in his mind it is highest praise, especially since he'd never ever eat you!! (Unless you die, he'd totally eat your corpse, but he'd never kill you!!!) He just loves you so much 🥺 you're his pookie ❤️

Glen: Mad Scientist — inhuman — delusional 2 — Herbert West

genuinely just full heartedly believes you two are in a relationship. Youre his house spouse. While he works in his lab in the basement, youre being his cute house spouse upstairs! Hrs truly blessed and loves you dearly <3

Hey wait a second... how'd you end up with this harem in the first place?!

Silly you, it's on you for buying the suspiciously cheap mansion on the very outskirts of town and the edge of the forest! Eddie, Arficer, Happy, and Lenny basically came with the house. Glen's lab is in the basement. And Spencie used it as an emergency hideout looking before you moved in. Man, maybe they're right to feel entitled to you? (They're not, they're literally yandere slashers.)

[ilcantodelsoleil]

a little eensie weensie part of a gratuitous explicit sugusato Thing that i'm writing below the break. nsft pwp as always ....

Geto swallows down each and every single curse that rolls off of Gojo's pretty pink tongue as he strokes at him, wanting deliriously to laugh at the irony of it all but only being able to pant his pleasure instead.

This is what I was made for, he thinks. I've been eating up the wrong curses my entire life, it seems.

Sweet. He drinks the coarse words down like the cherry cola floats Satoru loves so much, and the ease of their subsumption into his very being is something he can usually only dream of. The slick sound of Geto's tight fist pumping at Gojo's flushed cock seems to ripple through the air like the heatwaves outside of their little dorm room sanctuary, the buzzing of cicadas complementary to the dizziness in his head.

“Fuck, Suguru,” Satoru slurs, bucking against the tunnel of his hand, “fuckin’ faster, you goddamn prude–”

-----

idk how much of my klance readerbase collides w satosugu stans but here u go HEHAHAH. i wonder if i will continue this

[gravyhoney]

Making a partner for my doll

I haven't decided what kind of partner(friend, buddy, girlfriend, boyfriend, lover, etc-)

but he needs a friend that's not a golem, a tree spirit, a fish or a fox

Th fuckin eensy.

[pesterloglog]

Gamzee Makara, Vriska Serket, Vrissy Maryam-Lalonde

Candy, page 35

GAMZEE: HeY (vRiSkA) mY bOoTyLiCiOuS bAbY bItCh.

GAMZEE: YoUr BaD bOnE dAdDy Is GeTtIn To Be A cHiLlY mOtHeRfUcKeR fRoM tHiS dAnK sUmMeR bReEzE.

GAMZEE: hOw AbOuT wE gEt OuR wIcKeD sNuGgLe On DoWn At ThIs GrAsS wE jUsT mAdE aLl NaStY iN. :o)

GAMZEE: HeY bEaUtIfUl. :O)

GAMZEE: iS sOmEtHiNg MoThEr FuCkIn ThE mAtTeR?

GAMZEE: We CaN tAlK aLl OpEn At EaCh OtHeR aBoUt ThE sAd NoIsE hApPeNiNg In OuR bOsOm NoW tHaT wE aLl MaDe ThE sOrDiD pLeDgE tO pRaCtIcE tHe WiCkEd InTiMaCy On ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN rEgUlAr.

(VRISKA): Gamzee...

(VRISKA): Can you just

(VRISKA): Not talk?

(VRISKA): For just a little while, so I can...

GAMZEE: :o)

(VRISKA): So I can...

(VRISKA): I don’t know.

(VRISKA): Just.

(VRISKA): 8e quiet.

GAMZEE: HONK!

(VRISKA): Did you hear what I F8CKING said????????

GAMZEE: Aw MoThEr FuCk SuGaRpUsS. :o(

GAMZEE: mY nAnNa NeCtAr!!!

(VRISKA): You 8etter fucking listen up, Makara.

(VRISKA): I don’t know what you may have thought... THIS was. Whatever the fuck it was that just happened here.

(VRISKA): 8ut let me clue you in.

(VRISKA): It was NOTHING.

(VRISKA): Nothing happened here.

(VRISKA): Do we understand each other, you reprehensi8le, malodorous PIECE OF SHIT?

GAMZEE: honk. :o)

(VRISKA): What the fuck do you think you’re doing????????

GAMZEE: I gOtS tO fUcKiN tElL mY nUmBeR oNe InVeRtEbRoThEr AbOuT aLl WhAt JuSt GoT dId.

GAMZEE: hE aNd I aReN’t As TiGhT aS tHe BoYs We UsEd To RoLl As, BuT hE sHoUlD gEt HiS kIcK oN aBoUt WhAt A hIgHlY uNaNtIcIpAtEd YeT bItChIn PiEcE oF hOt N hEaVy HoRsEpLaY i WaS jUsT mAdE tO pArToOk.

(VRISKA): You were just “made” to... ?!

(VRISKA): Why you FUCKING...

(VRISKA): You’re not telling Karkat a8out this!!!!!!!!

(VRISKA): You’re n8t telling ANY8NE. Do you hear me, cl8wn????????

GAMZEE: LoL.

GAMZEE: mOtHeRfUcKiN sHaMe On Me, FoR fAiLiNg To ReCoGnIzE uP sOoNeR fOr HoW cUtE yOu ArE wHeN yOu’Re AnGrY. :o)

(VRISKA): AAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!

GAMZEE: NoW wHy DoN’t YoU cOmE aLl SeTtLe YoUr WoRkEd Up WiGgLeR aSs DoWn HeRe WiTh YoUr SaLtY nEw RuMpUs UnClE sO i CaN sNaP sOmE mOtHeRfUcKiN sElFiEs, My FiRm YeT sLiPpErY lItTlE pAsSiOn PeAcH.

(VRISKA): GIVE ME TH8T!

(VRISKA): No selfies, no texts, no N8THING!

(VRISKA): Which fucking part of “you’re not telling anyone” is so hard to understand?!

(VRISKA): This NEVER HAPPENED.

(VRISKA): Not a single fucking word of this is EVER going to 8e 8reathed, whispered, or honked to ANY8ODY.

(VRISKA): LEAST of all any insinuation that this is something I “made” you do. You GET me, fuckface??

(VRISKA): I didn’t MAKE you do anything.

(VRISKA): You were slo88ering all over my FUCKING foot, while I was 8eating the SHIT out of you.

(VRISKA): I SAW that look on your face.

(VRISKA): I saw your how your codpiece was, like...

(VRISKA): Ok, never mind that.

(VRISKA): I mean, once we were actually... you were totally into... don’t even try to convince me you weren’t, like...

(VRISKA): UGH!!!!!!!!

(VRISKA): Why am I even TALKING a8out this??

(VRISKA): I DON’T NEED TO JUSTIFY MYSELF TO A DISGUSTING, HORNY PIECE OF FILTH LIKE YOU!

GAMZEE: I dOn’T kNoW aBoUt AlL tHe BuSiNeSs YoU sAiD, hOnEyNiPs.

GAMZEE: i’Ve GoT tO fEeLiNg ThAt WoNdEr In My HeArT wHiCh SaYs MaYbE i GoT eRoTiCaLlY bUsHwAcKeD hErE.

GAMZEE: i’M sO cOnFuSeD... i DoN’t HaRdLy KnOw At WhIcH wAy Is Up AnYmOrE, aBoUt My OrIgInAl WaNtInGs FoR tHe NaStY dAnCe We JuSt DiD.

GAMZEE: MaYbE tHe TrUtH oF tHe ShIt Is MoRe LiKe...

GAMZEE: I gOt ThE aDvAnTaGe TaKeN oF mE.

(VRISKA): You son of a 8itch.

(VRISKA): This was C8NSENSUAL!

(VRISKA): If ANYONE didn’t consent to this horror show it was ME, RETRO8CTIVELY!!!!!!!!

GAMZEE: :o(

GAMZEE: VrIsKa, I...

GAMZEE: gOt To MoThEr FuCkInG sAy.

GAMZEE: tHiS wHoLe ExPeRiEnCe HaS lEfT a MoThErFuCkEr FeElInG a LiL bIt UnCoMfY.

GAMZEE: uNcOmFy, UnReSpEcTeD, uSeD, aNd MaYbE aLsO,

GAMZEE: JuSt An EeNsY wEeNsY iTtY lItTlE bIt...

GAMZEE: uNsAfE. :o(

(VRISKA): I don’t care if you feel “unsafe”!!!!!!!!

(VRISKA): You’re a lying, disingenuous puddle of sideshow puke, and I don’t 8elieve for a SECOND you meant ANY of that!

(VRISKA): The 8NLY thing that matters here is that you keep your F8CKING MOUTH SHUT A8OUT WH8T WE JUST D8D!!!!!!!!

GAMZEE: (VrIsKa), My MeAn QuEeN sQuEeZe, AnD bOrDeRlInE sExUaL vIlLaIn,

GAMZEE: i GoTs ReAsOnS oF sElF pRoTeCtIoN aGaInSt YoUr PrObLeMaTiC hOlLeRs ThAt I sHoUlD kEeP tHe WiCkEd ShIt ZiPpEd, JuSt LiKe YoU sAy.

GAMZEE: TeLl It To Me FuCkIn StRaIgHt, TuRbO tUsH...

GAMZEE: dO tHeSe LoOk LiKe LoOsE lIpS tO yOu?

(VRISKA): NO ONE IS GOING TO FIND OUT A8OUT THIS YOU FUCKING 8ASTARD.

(VRISKA): NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW, SO HELP ME G8D.

Vriska: (Eep!)

Vriska: Um...

Vriska: Hey.

(Vriska): Sup.

[pokemonshelterstories]

why are tynamo so eensy. baby fuckin pokemon

why arent YOU so eensy. ever think of that

but really it's because they're a larval stage. absolute baby moments.

[nominalnebula]

I'm just - the tiniest eensy weensiest of little miracles, not even a full miracle, half a miracle easy so small nobody'll ever notice - and just the slightest of hand gestures when doing it - and it was such a big fuckin power draw you could have seen it halfway across the universe. also heaven has a fuckin red alert I'm YELLING

[normystical]

bro fuck being emotionally unstable. one tiny eensie weensie minor inconvenience, like not even noteworthy at all, and my brain just goes "damn i gotta literally slit my fuckin wrists open for this shit fr bruh 💀"

[catboyclarity]

More Whumptober. This one was fun for reasons of POV. Who doesn't love a violent, deranged nepo baby?

Whumptober Day 4: Hiding An Injury. TW: Knife wounds, violence

Characters: Violet (she/her), Jude (he/they), Rosarian (they/them)

Violet winced as she took her place on the dais. She’d cleaned and bandaged the cut on her side when she staggered home the previous morning, made sure that no one could smell any blood on her, and it hadn’t bled anymore. It ached, sure, but she could deal with it, and nobody would have even noticed, except of course that her brother was right there next to her and he had to be annoying.

“Vi.” He leaned his shoulder against her, which jostled her injury, and she winced again. “Are you okay?”

“Shut up.” She glared at him. “People are about to come in. We can’t look weak, dipshit.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t come in hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.” Not even really a lie. One eensy tiny knife wound could not put a stop to Violet fucking Stephens. Jude opened his mouth to object, but Rosarian rapped the arm of their throne and people filed into the room. 

It wasn’t like not coming in was even an option. Well, maybe it was, Pop used to stay home all the time if his bones were aching. But Dad never did, and Violet would always be her father’s daughter. 

She never really listened while Rosarian gave speeches. During the brief time when both she and Pop had been seconds together, he always got on her case about that, but what the old broad was saying didn’t matter so much. If it was important, Jude would handle it. That was his part to play. She did her part by watching the crowd gathered beside the dais. 

There was one particular character—some chick, a puppy—that seemed shifty and familiar, until Violet put it together why. She’d  been the one with the knife. Violet glared at her. The chick gave a toothy grin and twirled something in her hand. 

“Hey!” Violet lunged and grabbed her, leaning down off the dais to yank the puppy’s wrist. The motion sent a hot stab of pain up her arm and she fought back a cry. When she spoke again, her voice trembled. “No…no fuckin’ weapons in here, get it?”

“It’s a fucking pen,” the chick said, holding it up for the crowd to see. It was, in fact, a fucking pen. A nice, shiny one. Looked like it would make a satisfying click.  Violet didn’t let go of her wrist, could feel her own hand shake. “You good, babe?”

“I’m fi—” Violet’s snarl was interrupted by Rosarian standing up from their seat.

“My second is well,” They said, their cold voice rough and flat. “Although she would do better remembering her duties.” They turned away from the crowd to look at Violet and she winced again, knew they were comparing her to Dad, and unfavorably. “I appreciate your concern, Violet, but should the matter come to that, I can defend myself from a pen.”

Humiliated, Violet let go of the woman and stood behind the throne again. Even worse, the smell of her own blood started to creep out from under her clothes. Every wolf in the room would smell it. Rosarian would smell it. They’d all know someone got the drop on her. Jude gave her a sympathetic look. It made her want to punch him.

[sweetandsoursaws]

[Yes, they're capped, keeps him from drawing blood by mistake. Meant he could jab Miles with it without hurting him.

He looked down at the phone, instantly torn. Take the phone and get Stuff. But also lose his one line of communication? Fuckin. Rude.]

Hey, I'm a grower. Ain't you?

[Still not taking the phone yet. Not THAT one, anyways. Because now that he's this close to Miles and one of Miles' hands is occupied, it's a great time for Lark to grab Miles by the shirt and try snaking his other hand into Miles' pockets to try and steal his REAL phone.

That's Lark, king of making tiny, eensy weensy, incremental moves. Like stealing your phone so he can put himself in your contacts.]

[ Oh? Miles hadn't registered that Lark was wearing claw caps, he had thought they were just painted!

He would crane his neck to lean closer without pressing into the claw, smiling smugly as he held the phone out. ] Tell you what, keep it and enjoy what I've left on it, hm?

[ Blinked but, after a beat, would bark out a laugh. Ohoho! Was Lark trying to be threatening? Kitty cat man really was adorable. ]

I didn't see any dick in that pic...

And I already told you what I want. It's not my fault you're too chicken shit to make a move on me.

[starryevermore]

ever after: spun gold and kept promises (6) ✧ robert pronge

ever after ✧ a fairy tale anthology | ao3

pairing: rumpelstiltskin!robert pronge x miller’s daughter!reader

summary: in which you are the miller’s daughter and robert pronge is rumpelstiltskin.

word count: 1,135

warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark fic, smut, noncon, loss of virginity, forced breeding, daddy kink, spitting, slapping, name-calling (cockslut/bitch), not proofread

ONCE UPON A TIME, there was a land far far away where a young woman made a terrible mistake. You should’ve never made a deal with that man. Not when the price was so steep. Not when it would ruin you. You just...never expected it to end up like this. 

You were born the daughter of a miller. Your family had struggled your entire life, and it only got harder when your mama died. It was just you and your papa from there on out, trying to make it by. But the older you got, the harder it was. Your father couldn’t pull his weight quite like he had before when he was younger, and now you were faced with the pressure of getting married when you both knew that you didn’t have enough to pay your dowry. You’d be lucky if anyone married you. 

And that’s when things started to go horribly wrong. 

You couldn’t stop yourself. You told one eensy weensy lie about learning how to spin straw into gold, and it spiraled far out of your control. Soon, the king heard of your alleged abilities. And you were confronted with your lie. 

He locked you away in the tallest tower in his castle, telling you to spin straw into gold or else you’d lose your head. And, as you laid crying in the straw, a man appeared from thin appear, saying he’d use magic to turn the straw into gold for the price of your necklace. You accepted. 

Then you were locked away again, with more straw to turn to gold. And he came back, and promised to do his trick again if you gave him your ring. You accepted.

You were locked away a third time, with an entire dungeon filled with straw to turn to gold and, should you be successful, he’d marry you.. But when the man came, you had nothing left to give. Until he said he would do it for the price of your firstborn child. And, not wanting to die, you agreed. 

The king was more than impressed when he came down the next morning to see the dungeon filled with gold. Proposed to you right then and there, until you let slip that it had been done by magic. You weren’t sure how he thought the straw had turned to gold, but it turned out that the king had an abhorrent dislike of magic. He turned you away, saying that he would never, ever marry you.

The man who’d done the trick found you easily after that, and he didn’t seem happy. Stole you, took you away to his home high in the mountains, a snarl curled across his face as he shoved you onto the floor.

“I-I can find someone else to marry, I promise! Just give me some time—”

“Don’t bother. I’m going to make sure you hold up your end of the fuckin’ bargain,” he growled. With a quick flick of the wrist, your hands were bound behind your back, your clothes disappearing. “Gonna make sure you’re so stuffed full of my cum that there’s no way the seed won’t take.”

He climbed onto top of you, his own clothes disappearing. You whimpered as you felt his hardened cock press against your thigh. How the hell was he so big? Were all men this big? Holy shit, how was it going to fit?

“You’re gonna fuckin’ call me daddy,” he said, his breath hot and heavy as he leaned in close to your face. 

You winced, trying to move away, but he grabbed at your jaw, forcing you to look back at him. He pressed his lips against yours, his tongue easily sliding past your lips. You tried to move away again, but he was too strong, holding you in place. 

Finally, finally, he pulled away, a nasty smirk on his face as looked down at you, before rearing back and a glob of spit hit your face. Your mouth fell open as you tried to protest, but your words died in your throat as he spat on you again, this time the glob landing right on your tongue. His rough, calloused hands slid down your body, groping at your breasts, squeezing and flicking at your nipples, snickering as you squealed. 

“Gonna fuckin’ break you in, gonna make you my fuckin’ cockslut. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” 

When you didn’t say anything, he removed one hand from your breast, pulling back and hitting you across the face so hard, you tasted blood.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter, bitch?”

“W-Would love to be your cockslut, daddy,” you stuttered, the words feeling wrong as they left your mouth. 

“Damn fuckin’ right you would.”

He reached down, gripping his cock in one hand, running it along your folds, his smirk only growing as he felt how wet you were growing. Shit, why were you wet? Your married friends said that only happens when you liked what was happening. Did you like what was happening? How could you like this?

“W-Wait, I’ve never—”

He pushed the head of his cock in, moving slowly as he was met with resistant. You squealed and screamed, trying to move away from him, but he only gripped at your hips, slamming his hips against yours until he was fully sheathed inside you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunted, pulling back and then slamming back in again. “Gonna take a while to break you in. Oh, but don’t you worry. This fuckin’ cunt is mine, and I’m gonna make sure she can take every fuckin’ inch.”

You sobbed, screwing your eyes shut, trying to distance yourself from what was happening. Maybe you didn’t screw everything up, maybe the king married you. He’d probably be gentler. Not too gentle, your married friends said that men were rarely gentle. But it would be better than this, and you certainly wouldn’t feel so bad about what was happening.

He didn’t last long, growling about how your cunt was strangling him as he released his load. He pulled out, stroking his cock as he watched as his spend leaked out. Then he collected it with his finger, pushing it back in.

“Don’t wanna waste a single fuckin’ drop,” he winked. He let go of his cock to grab at your hips, flipping you over so your ass was in the air and your face pressed against the dirty floor. “Ready for round two, bitch?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

And he did it again.

And again.

And again.

And again, what felt like a thousand times over, until he couldn’t anymore, leaving you a mess on the floor while he went off to bed, the cycle to begin again in the morning.

And so, YOU NEVER, EVER LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

[gravyhoney]

who do you consider your least traumatized OC, and what horrors do you plan to put them through next?

Oh I love this a lot. And I had to think about it soooo much bc all of my ocs are traumatized in one wild way or another, and a lot of characters who literally DONT KNOW EACH OTHER have a collective trauma from a world destruction event.

However, I think at the beginning of where his story starts, my least traumatized oc is August.

Trust, he WILL be traumatized but up until said traumatizing event, he’s pretty normal. He’s basically a trainee for a guardian position that he feels obligated to do. He’s never really known anything else, and he doesn’t know he has the choice to say no. He meets some fuckin guy (/pos) who is like ‘🫴 let’s go travel the world together’ and he realizes he doesn’t want to stay there forever. But said guy is a member of Previously Mentioned Collective Trauma Club and she inadvertently leads someone to him that absolutely fucks up his shit and shows him and everyone he was supposed to defend that he’s eensy and also terrible at his job so he loses his sense of self, gets stabbed and shot a few times, watches a few of his friends die horribly, and yeah. He’s gonna have a super fun time. Hi August, bye August 🫶

[therealvalkyrie]

okay so I go to pick up dog food today right? and obvi since im already there I need to go to the consignment antique store next door. I go in look at some chairs look at a mirror find a ring for my mom and!!!! right there on the second floor I find a pair of vintage levi 550s IN MY SIZE for twenty bucks, bamskerdoo im out the door and going to buy some pillows at the tj maxx. i get home, laze around waiting for my mom to get off work so I can drop off my grandma’s car and she can pick me up on the way home so I don’t have to walk a mile home through the snow (bc the other day it was 60 fuckin degrees but now it’s whiter than kim k’s house outside?????? anyway), have a teensy eensy wittle bitty mental health…thing, ignore my problems and watch tiktoks for like 3 hours, finally drive over to my grandma’s at 10:30 pm jamming to American Pie by Don McLean because my mom had to talk to the night shift people at her work unexpectedly, leave the car keys just inside the back door and hitch a ride with mother dearest home. So we get home, fend off the rabid beasties, and I can FINALLY put on my PJs and look over my spoils of the day. and WAHT do I see on my twenty dollar vintage levi 550 lightwash jeans? a. fucking. TEAR!!!!! right in the crotch. not patchable without looking butt ugly. so now I’m sitting here at midnight on a wednesday ordering embroidery floss online bc michael’s doesn’t have the decency to be open for emergencies at midnight on a Wednesday in March so that I can embroider an ENTIRE LEG of these fucking PANTS just to cover the crotch hole. but my girl scout lemon-up cookie said I’m creative, so. wish me FUCKING luck I guess

[jess-themess05]

what a mother fuckin tiny lad right there

literal eensy weensy spider

Pls can has uppies?