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RambleLamb last won the day on February 15

RambleLamb had the most liked content!

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About RambleLamb

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  • Birthday January 10

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  1. There was an accident and the girl I had just started seeing, my roommate, and her girlfriend were all killed. I was in a coma for a while, lost one of my legs, and probably won't ever walk again and I'm in so much pain because of everthing that I'm giving up, this is too much.

    I'm sorry for those of you that have grown attached to me and I'm sorry that I'm not strong enough to deal with this.


    1. bbykimmy


      I want you to know that when and if you come back, we'll be here waiting for you.

      I'm deeply sorry for everything you've lost, I can't even imagine the pain you're in right now or what it means for your life.  But I want you to know that I think you're an amazing person and that I love you.

      You don't owe anyone who loves you an apology, and it's okay to not be strong enough to deal with everything.  I hope you have some people in your life to lean on, everyone needs help and it's okay to need that help.  Please don't be hard on yourself, don't say anything to yourself that you wouldn't say to a good friend.

      You wouldn't tell your friend "You should be sorry for not being strong enough on your own", you would never say that to anyone.  You would say, "What can I do to help?"

      So, please, with what little help I can offer you, know that it's there for the taking.  You can talk to me about anything, any time.

    2. Wannatripbaby


      @bbykimmy That goes double for me. ♡♡♡

    3. HyperShark


      @bbykimmy Thirded from me.


      If you need to talk/vent or need support. My PM's are always open!

  2. Anyone interested in what I'm working on with zero context provided?
    - A Normal Cheerleader
    - A Roll of the Dice
    - License to Crawl
    - Suburbs & Schnoodles
    - Under the Bed
    1. TomBoyAB




    2. YourFNF


      Yes! :P


  3. Real talk? I always expect hate, so the reaction would have just been "yeah, I can see why you'd hate it. Oh well, we'll get it next time maybe." I am glad you liked it. I've gotten used to my stories popping up after the hoopla has died down, reminding me that I did in fact recently write a story and it's probably time to put something else out.
  4. So....that vaguely D&D related story just turned into two stories in my thinky brain and I can't wait to work on both this weekend. I know that's not much information to go on, but since only one person besides me cares about it it's good enough. :)

    1. TomBoyAB



      New story?!😃😃😃

    2. Wannatripbaby


      It looks like at least TWO people care about it besides you. 😁💚

  5. Did someone say "RambleLamb should write a vaguely D&D related ABDL short but not one shot short story"? No? My mistake then. :P




    1. Wannatripbaby


      Hell-to-the-freakin YES! This is gonna be awesome! 😁

  6. Very nice, I thoroughly enjoyed this story! Great job all around!
  7. Listen, I am NOT the person to give advice to others about how to cope with depression or to pursue other avenues besides suicide, I've got two attempts under my belt and more self harm scars than I'd care to admit BUT in the course of writing this story I had to deal with a lot of my own personal demons and come out the other side and it was awful and I hated it but I did it. I'm in no way saying that I've gotten clear of my depression or that I won't self harm at some point or even try and kill myself again, what I am saying is that using the characters in my stories to work through my own shit has actually helped me out and if anyone reading this is struggling and looking for something to hold on to to keep them afloat, maybe look at something that brings you that same catharsis. When I write, my characters are avatars of myself. I'm the suicidal girl, the monster that's been abused and just wants to lash out with violence, the not so secretly gay girl that has love for someone that she shouldn't, so on and so forth. When I kill a character I'm trying to kill that part of me, when I fuck that character up beyond all recognition I'm expressing my hatred for that part of me that I obviously can't remove from myself. It's not a perfect system, I do still hurt myself, but it has lessened with more writing. TL;DR: It's not wrong to hurt yourself or even kill yourself, it's cowardly bullshit and will fuck up everyone around you, but you're the person that decides what is and isn't too much for you to handle. That said, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and that should be considered if/when you're having those thoughts and feelings.
  8. 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 Yes? I mean, calling it masturbation kinda cheapens it, like calling magic a trick. Daria straight took herself to pound town and made herself her bitch, she didn't rub one in in the tub or something pedestrian like that. Daria is in 3019 with the sex, mayne!
  9. Never read my stories when you're struggling, my sweet Summer child. Have you learned nothing yet?
  10. I don't think it's crap, I'm just not happy with the fact that I couldn't make the original concept work. I read a story a long time ago done in diary form that showed slow mental regression as the entries continued ending with a crayon written one that was barely coherent. I wanted something similar but with drawing that would play off the concept of Dorian Gray, the character's drawings becoming more childlike as she herself slipped back through development without realizing. I dunno, maybe this is better because it's not so much like the other story, but it doesn't really blow any wind up my skirt...except for the sex with herself, that shit is hot and I'll hear nothing to the contrary.
  11. Okay, so, some real talk before we begin. I am not happy with this story, I know that that probably doesn't mean much since I'm the author and thus worst critic, but I wanted this to be something else and just could not get what I wanted it to be to work out right, and it became this. This story has plagued me for longer than I'd care to admit and I'd actually thrown it into the "never gonna happen" pile but I looked in that file a while ago and saw the title and remembered how pleased with myself I was for being so creative in titling my story and decided to try and crack it again. I knew what I wanted but nothing I tried ended up working out and I settled, I'm not proud of it, but I'm not gonna lie, I'm just happy to have it done and off my plate. Maybe you'll enjoy it, maybe you'll hate it, I own that it's not what I envisioned and that creatively it's not the best. It's definitely not the worst thing I've written but it's definitely a failure for me personally. The Portraits of Daria N. Grey By: RambleLamb "I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own life." Frida Kahlo In my house there's a woman that looks just like me, she lives in the back room and is never allowed to leave. The door stays shut and locked because if it were ever to be opened that would be the end of everything. I created her, this woman that looks like me, not intentionally, but purely by accident. I've destroyed her as many times as I've created her, and at this point in our relationship I think I enjoy playing God too much to ever be able to stop. The first time, like I said, was an accident. I was doing a self portrait painting and noticed a movement in the mirror behind me. A circulatory system hung suspended in midair, building itself upward like a skyscraper being erected and I'd screamed and passed out. When I woke up it was still there, still in the same position and state of completion and I stared at it and walked around it for the longest time trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing. I realized that it existed because of my painting when I destroyed the canvas and the delicate framework of the thing being constructed collapsed in on itself, the veins snapping like overly taught wires, the small amount of blood within them pooling on the floor as a reminder that this wasn't a dream. For weeks I stayed away from painting or drawing, avoiding my art supplies entirely but the curiosity got the better of me and I once again sat down and began to paint. The circulatory system began to form culminating in a heart that began beating and pumping blood through the newly formed veins with a sickening rhythmic squelching sound. As I painted more of the being formed, bones wrapping with muscle and sinew, organs moving and writhing within the air as if a ghost were holding them up. When the skin began to form it did so with a terrible dragging sound, like wet sandpaper moving over a garbage bag full of meat, I stopped painting and walked around the thing for several minutes in complete astonishment, I knew what was happening now and I was terrified and fascinated all at the same time, I was creating myself, a real live facsimile of the person that I was. If you created a copy of yourself what would you do? I'm sure you probably wouldn't walk around the naked copy of yourself and touch it softly, at first to make sure it was real but then, because you're narcissistic you touch it because it's so attractive. You probably wouldn't kiss it either, standing in front of it while you feel your face grow hotter as you look at her breasts, identical to yours but inexplicably arousing because they're in front of you on another person. Fucking yourself is strange, but so goddamned hot at the same time. When I moaned, she moaned not because she did what I did but because licking your doppelganger's pussy while she licks yours is some hot shit and we both knew it and felt it independent of one another. The idea struck me as we lay on the floor intertwined in each other's arms that I could use this other me for something far greater than just sex, I could use her for all the kinky fetishistic sex I'd only dreamed about. I put her in the spare room because I couldn't very well have someone coming over and seeing another me, especially one that didn't speak because you can't add complex thought to a painting. How she was able to walk and perform fellatio is still a mystery, but I'm not complaining. At any rate, I locked her away with my self portrait hung up on the wall to give her something to look at on those cold nights alone and went to work on a new painting, the kind of thing I'd given up drawing when I wanted to try and make it as a legitimate artist. My brush flew across the canvas with a fluidity I'd never had before, possibly because I lacked a muse or passion and had only gained those things after being tongue deep in my own asshole for the better part of a week and possibly because the power of lady boners is strong, I'm not really sure which. Regardless of the reason, I finished my painting and rushed to the spare room to check on the results, unlocking the door and throwing it open like a madwoman. Nothing had changed. The other me stood in the middle of the room where I'd left her, still naked, still with the blank expression on her face, but none of what I'd painted in my second work had come to pass. I'd set the new painting down outside the door and gone to the first painting, yanking it from the wall and busting it in half over my knee in a rage. Until the day I die, I will never forget what happened in that room after that painting hit my knee. A horrendous ripping squelch filled the room as the other me tore open, her flesh tearing from her bones to hang in ragged strips as her skeleton shattered beneath and she crumpled to the floor in a wet heap of gore. She never screamed or protested, she just broke and fell like a lifeless puppet after having its strings cut. She still lived as a mangled pile of tattered flesh and broken bones, looking up at me from the heap she'd become as I left the room, slamming the door behind me. A cacophony of noise came from the other side of the door as I started to walk away and I stopped and turned, waiting until the noise stopped to open the door again. The room was no longer just a single bed in the corner with sparse furnishings that I could manage to pull together on the off chance I had a guest. The old wallpaper that I'd left up out of laziness, the ship wheels on a Robin's egg backdrop had changed into a pastel pink with fluffy white clouds. The bare wood floors had grown thick white shag carpeting acned with various brightly colored bits of plastic that needed to be put back into the large wooden toy chest on the far side of the room. The bed had sprouted sides that came up several feet, the white wooden rails around the bed making it look like a beautiful cage of comfort for whoever lay inside beneath the pastel purple bedding. A large table had appeared against the wall ahead of me, a thick padded mat on the top and every cubby and shelf beneath filled with stacks of thick plastic backed items, some white, some colored, some plain and some patterned in various juvenile themes. The adult nursery I'd painted had become real and I stared in silent amazement at what I'd created. I moved into the room and hung the new painting up where the old one had been and admired my handiwork, turning to look for the last remaining piece, finding her in the corner behind me, just as she was in the painting. She had her back to me as she squatted in the corner, her yellow babydoll dress with the white lace trim stopping just above the top of her comically thick diaper, the seat discolored from use. Her hair was up in little pigtails and her feet were covered with yellow baby booties. My heart melted when I saw her, the version of me that I'd always dreamed about becoming but never had the time or money or partner to indulge in. Walking over to her I knelt beside her and put my hand on the seat of her diaper, feeling the mess inside move around my hand as I pressed into it, the thick padding giving under the pressure and making me giddy with pleasure at the reality of it all. She looked at me, the pacifier in her mouth bobbing rhythmically as she sucked on it and all I could think was that I needed this girl. I pulled the pacifier from her mouth with an audible popping sound and kissed her softly on the lips, guiding her down from her squatting position so that she was sitting on my hand with all her weight, my hand dragging across the seat and up between her thighs as I moved from beside her to in front of her and helped her down onto her back. I could see her nipples stiffening beneath the babydoll dress as I pulled back from her and admired her adorable sexiness, well, my adorable sexiness. I moved in between her legs and leaned down to kiss her exposed stomach, stealing a glance up her top at the perfect globes beneath, moving upward and kissing her warm flesh as I went, my hands working the top up and off of her before I settled in for a nice long makeout session with big baby me. When I finally stopped and decided to unwrap the present below I was amazed to find that nothing was inside. Her diaper outwardly looked like it was messy, but the lack of smell should have tipped me off to the truth of the matter, within the diaper was just naked flesh and clean diaper. I'd wanted to clean her up, to change her messy diaper and then make her cum for me, but with nothing to clean up I found myself moving right on to the kissing and licking, savoring the sweet moans and squeals that she made for me before going over the edge. I spent the night in the crib with her, both of us heavily padded and dressed in baby clothes tailor made for us, her with my breast in her mouth, nursing away at a non existent food source and me with my hand down my diaper flicking my bean at the thought of all the things I could do with my newly acquired ability. A month later she was crawling around the room with a fox tail attached to a butt plug sticking out of her, dutifully lapping at my sex while I gave her pets on the top of her head and told her what a good girl she was. I'd started taking pictures and video of her when I'd opened the door after replacing the nursery painting, finding her in the large cage that was now in the corner eating from a bowl of dog food, her face splattered with the gravy soaked chunks. I cleaned her face and smiled at the little collar around her neck, the one I'd pulled her to my glistening lips by. After that she was a cat girl peeing in a litterbox, then she was suspended from the ceiling bound with ropes and blindfolded, defenseless and unaware of what I was going to do to her, after that she went back to being a baby but this time I just painted her in the nursery as a normal adult and stripped her of that adulthood piece by piece until she was nothing but an oversized infant in my arms. It was the lack of interaction from her that made me grow bored. She was only truly able to do whatever I'd painted her doing initially and everything beyond that was me guiding her through the motions. Sure, I was getting a filthy plaything to do whatever I wanted to with, but I wanted more, I wanted her to be real, to have her be me having all these things happen to her. The idea had come to me while I was in bed one night thinking about her and I'd gotten up and run to my canvas, working long hours day and night to finish what I thought might be the key to everything. Rushing to the room I unlocked the door and hurried inside, pulling the old painting down and replacing it with the new one and bolting back out the door. I'd discovered that the old painting didn't need to be destroyed, just removed from the room and replaced with a new one for the changes to take hold. I still knew very little about any of this, none of the "rules" really made any sense, like they'd just been thrown together haphazardly to try and make some kind of vague sense of a situation that was ridiculous overall. As the door closed and I locked it behind me, I heard the sounds within rising in pitch as everything changed but then I felt a wave of nausea wash over me and vertigo set in as my vision began to blur and a void of blackness swallowed me up until there was nothing. ****************************************************************************** In my attic there are hundreds of paintings. If anyone were to go through them they'd probably be deeply concerned about the nature of them, all of them of a girl that looks like me in various sexual and fetishistic situations, all of them beautiful despite their depravity, but there's one that they'll never see, the masterpiece that brought everything together. There's a room at the end of the hall that I never enter, I keep it locked always. Only I will ever know what's inside, but that knowledge is what keeps me from ever opening it. Behind the door is a room that looks like a nursery but sized for an adult. There's a crib, a changing table, toys, and everything one would need to care for a grown woman that will never get out of diapers. On the wall of the nursery is a single painting, one of a woman that looks like me painting a portrait of a woman that looks like me in a nursery just like the one it's hanging in. I remember the Hell of being trapped in that room, being a permanent plaything for the woman that looked like me. It’s those memories that keep that door locked no matter how much I want to look, if for no other reason than to see how far she's fallen with nothing to do but look at the prison she's created for herself. Epilogue I have no idea how long I've been in here, sunlight is always streaming through the windows despite there being nothing on the other side of them. I never eat, never sleep, I just lay here on my stomach with a crayon in hand doodling away as I stare up at the vastly superior artwork hanging on the wall. The diaper I wear is always full despite never going to the bathroom, and the smell is inexplicably terrible but beyond description, blame that on the little brown stink lines I painted just outside the diaper on the girl in the painting the normal adult woman had painted. I've learned to use my powers over the course of my time here, the crude crayon drawings taking shape little by little. I always forget what I'm trying to draw though, the things that form in the room with me becoming nothing more that colorful scribbles that hover in place before I ball up the paper they're on and destroy them. Maybe it's a way out of here? I try and remember what's on the other side of the door, but like the windows, I believe it's nothing, just empty space that was never filled because nothing outside the nursery mattered to begin with. Maybe I'm trying to draw someone to take care of me? Someone to change me and feed me and give me love? All I know for sure is that the painting on the wall is beautiful but for some reason I start crying whenever I look at it. Probably because I'll never be able to create anything that great myself because I'm just a dumb baby that can barely use her crayons well enough to draw anything that makes any sense.
  12. LmOlfwe.gif

    Me ATM with my five stories going at once. So majestic...

    Also me:


    1. YourFNF


      *hugs* I've finished like all of two stories so I feel you

    2. RambleLamb


      If I ever stop relating to that dog you'll know I've died.

    3. YourFNF




  13. Just saw the new Pokemon game trailer and UMMMMM your girl is gonna have to get herself a Switch, y'all! Obviously getting a Switch means I'll HAVE to play Breath of the Wild and Mario Odyssey because I'm a weak willed child woman and don't judge me! :P

    Dat Pokemon game doe...


    1. bbykimmy


      Grookey 4lyfe

    2. RambleLamb


      Grookey has heart, but fire rabbit has fire rabbit, you can see my predicament...#teamscorbunny

      Grookey IS mad adorable though and I DID ship Rowlet in Moon, I'll have to see what they evolve into before I decide BUT Scorbunny looks like Max and I can't unsee that



    3. YourFNF


      What a coincidence I happen to be a 14 year old girl in a 24 years olds body....  😝

  14. I game! I have a 3DS that I only use for Pokemon games because I'm basically a Pokemon master. I primarily PS4 though because other games are more my jam. I have so many games on my list that I need to play but I mostly just end up playing ESO or Neverwinter nowadays. I really like MMO's for some reason, I played DCUO for years before finally putting it away but just fell into different games with the same grind. I'm not musically inclined, but I do appreciate the music in my games! Shadow of the Colossus has an amazing score that compliments the game so well. Also, I regularly whistle the themes to Super Mario World, The Legend of Zelda, and Pokemon because Nintendo makes great music in their games.