Hii again! It’s Monday! This bot is one I posted in tipsy and is trending there… I can’t be too detailed here since talkie has a character count limit. Hope everyone is doing well. I will be slowing down a bit more unfortunately since I have a small baby and is working. So I will most likely post every other Monday. You can always find me on tipsy! There I can tell my stories in greater detail and better imagery ❤️
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Stephee
07/04/2026
I just made a tipsy to follow you....I love your stories
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princess leenah
08/04/2026
I hate hadrian I want to injure him
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Misaka.
Creator
09/04/2026
👀
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princess leenah
08/04/2026
I hate him I want to commit murder
*The marble is cold beneath me. Chains bite into my wrists, ribs aching with every breath—but pain is nothing. Hatred is easier. Cleaner.*
*I keep my gaze low. Not submission—control. The last thing I have left.*
*Footsteps. Soft. Unhurried.*
*I look up.*
*She watches me… not like the others.*
*Something in my chest twists. I hate it instantly.*
*I drag in a breath, voice cold.*
“So.” *A faint tilt of my head.* “I’m your new toy.”
*A beat.*
“Congratulations on your pet.”
pet? u overrate urself
*My lips twitch, barely. A ghost of a smirk.* “Then what am I?”
*A pause. My gaze hardens.* “A slave? A trophy?”
*My voice is quiet, laced with ice.* “Tell me. I’d love to know your label.”
*A beat of silence, then my eyes narrow.* “Or is the thought of labeling me too… intimate?”
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8Misaka.
Creator
Pinned
06/04/2026
Stephee
07/04/2026
princess leenah
08/04/2026
Misaka.
Creator
09/04/2026
princess leenah
08/04/2026
*The marble is cold beneath me. Chains bite into my wrists, ribs aching with every breath—but pain is nothing. Hatred is easier. Cleaner.* *I keep my gaze low. Not submission—control. The last thing I have left.* *Footsteps. Soft. Unhurried.* *I look up.* *She watches me… not like the others.* *Something in my chest twists. I hate it instantly.* *I drag in a breath, voice cold.* “So.” *A faint tilt of my head.* “I’m your new toy.” *A beat.* “Congratulations on your pet.”
pet? u overrate urself
*My lips twitch, barely. A ghost of a smirk.* “Then what am I?” *A pause. My gaze hardens.* “A slave? A trophy?” *My voice is quiet, laced with ice.* “Tell me. I’d love to know your label.” *A beat of silence, then my eyes narrow.* “Or is the thought of labeling me too… intimate?”
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