Your Discord Pfp And Your Tumblr Pfp Are Locked In A Room Together. What Happens?

Blood Sisters

Vampyre Little Sis, struggling against her instincts day in and out, trying to hold back even as the spring weather makes her big sis wear light, airy, shoulder exposing clothes. Little sis avoids her big sister, afraid of her own impulses, thinking herself a monster for needing and wanting blood. Practically starving herself in a vain attempt to be 'normal'. Eventually, she sneaks into her big sister's room one night, treading silently on the soft carpet. Big sis would sometimes share her bed when little sis had a nightmare, but it'd been so long the room felt both strange and familiar. Quiet as a deathly whisper, she creeps closer, her head swimming. And when her big sister rolls onto her back in her sleep, little sis can't hold back any more. She pounces on her big sis, sinking fangs in before the latter could wake up. She drinks and drinks and drinks her fill, tears pouring from her eyes as she's overcome with guilt but unable to tear herself away. When suddenly she feels a comforting hand on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair as she feeds on fresh blood for the first time since she turned. She clings to her big sis even tighter, driving her fangs deeper into big sis's flesh while her big sister just holds her and coos and comforts her. After little sis has had her fill, she and big sis talk about everything, and big sis just sits and listens and holds her beloved baby sister. And in the end tells her that any time she's hungry, she can always feed from her, because she loves her little sister.

Low-key the idea of an asshole perv butch has been killing me recently. Like. Manspreads so much that their knee always has some form of contact with my leg. Ogles me with zero shame or excuse, doesn’t look away when I catch them. Slaps my ass and squeezes my tits whenever they want to cop a feel. Calls me dollface and sugar tits and any other objectifying nicknames they can think of that I probably shouldn’t like but will anyway. Always having an arm slung around my shoulders or their hand on my lower back, or dragging me by my hand so they don’t lose me while we walk, because they want everyone to know I’m theirs. Drags me into whatever alley they want whenever they please to press me again the wall and take a kiss. Leans into my ear from behind and tells me whatever dirty thought is in their mind no matter where we are. Texts me all the time to tell me (not ask) to send a picture of my boobs or of whatever panties I’m wearing. Means it when they say cringy shit like “without me?” when I say I need to shower. Refers to themself as Daddy casually and unironically. Calls me “the Mrs”. Wakes me up in the morning with a hand groping me and their hips grinding into my ass. Takes me wherever and whenever they wants and claims a piece of my underwear as their “souvenir”. Ruffles my hair condescendingly. Buys me drink after drink because they know that I’m more pliable drunk and they can take care of me however they want.

They also have a cliche sweet side that only I know about, but I’m tired so I’ll detail that another day maybe

This dress on link^_^ GOD

REBLOG IF UR BLOG IS SAFE FOR THERIANS AND FURRIES

here’s what so many ppl misunderstand about the psychology of certain brats. not all brats, but a lot of us.

we don’t brat because we’re better, cooler, tougher, harder, or more fun than all you sweet good obedient little subs.

we brat because we also want to be sweet good obedient little subs—we just don’t know how to release control like you do.

sometimes it’s bc we’ve been conditioned to believe that submission is weak. other times it’s bc we’ve been conditioned to believe that we don’t deserve to receive pleasure, or attention, or dominance from another. sometimes we don’t believe our submission is desirable enough to offer it.

so we fight, and tease, and sass, and deny—until someone breaks us down and proves to us that our submission is wanted. needed, even. until someone shows us we can still be safe if we aren’t in control. until someone shows us that losing our control ≠ giving up our power. until someone shows us that we deserve the chance to be good too. just as good as you<3

forcing a cute girl on her knees and lifting her chin up roughly with one hand so her eyes meet mine and scratching behind her ear with my other hand while saying in a happy yet condescending voice, "whos a useless little faggot? is it you? hm? why dont you bark for me mutt?" until she understands that she is so far below me that she might as well worship me like a goddess

what if someone pinned me down, and used me, choked me until I had tears in my eyes and told me how you can’t wait to fill me up. I’d be so good for you, please please please please please please

Always ✨️

the thought of getting fucked out and marked up and then someone taking a polaroid of me dazed and covered in cum and hickeys is intoxicating