#n u d e s

[pintsofguinnesmakeyoustrong]

NPMD best line deliveries

oh shit! oh fuck!! i didnt think thered be a skele'uhn here ?!? im so fucking scared of skele'uhnz!!!

dont frighten him pokey you nasssssty boy

were going to jail...and with my luck no one will even B O T H E R making me their bitch...

🐦 heyus the thing about a bãrbĕqüe...it brings folks together...from awl wawlks of laife...theyres a storhé behand everyh burrghurr...everyh kehbahhb...

but I...called God a sonofa B word...who am iaieEUGHAHuhuuuh...

[actressposts]

[colinfirth]

I used to be just like you. Someone else’s shoes on my feet, shivering myself to sleep at night, nobody in the world to care about me. So the only question is: what are you willing to do to change it? THE SERPENT QUEEN (2022) — S01

[andy-clutterbuck]

requested by Anonymous

[clownsuu]

I have been having a strong urge to make another puppet oc, so alas, take this pain iv made-

When I mean pain, I literally mean it- JDHHFHDH I got so stressed out trying to color him that my adrenaline spiked and now I’m trying to relax LMAOOOO

but anyway, here’s Robbie (not to be confused with Robert), a Howdy family member oc, cause who am I as a howdy supremacy supporter if I didn’t have SOMEBODY related to him smhh. He’s kinda an smartass/asshole (being a 3 horned rhinoceros beetle) but when ya get to know the bastard he’s a nerdy lil goof who’ll never shut up about literally anything he’s done. How many crimes has he committed? He lost count smh.

he’s a little bit more of a serious character-? But he’s kinda still in the same playing field as Dr.Stone is where they are a “guest character”. Also unlike Dr.Stone who has a set occupation, Robbie hops from job to job, one day he’s working at your local seven eleven, the other day he’s a astronaut going to space (don’t ask how he the hell he even got in- he’s too crafty for his own good-)

[tagerrkix]

[azenzeph]

Day 18 - Glaceon

[forgettable-au]

How are Wingdings’ cooking skills?

They're okay, he's usually good at following the recipe

But if the instructions aren't specific enough then it will go wrong...

He finds cooking a little stressful, so he would rather not

He doesn't have time for that stuff anyway

[luxmoogle]

Your bio says you can be bribed with lux, but what about 13 postcards I found randomly? Would you take those?

..THIRTEEN????

[jae-in-a-trenchcoat]

Soft broppy? Soft broppy

[buttercup-barf]

Headspace Kel would definitely bite Pizzahead's face off.

Agree?

"LET BASIL GO, YOU JERK!"

"My, my, aren't'cha a rowdy one!"

"Kel, be careful!"

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

[aoitakumi8148]

𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓤𝓹 𝓐𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝓢𝓸𝓷... 𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓖𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓤𝓹𝓸𝓷 𝓞𝓷𝓮, 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷...

𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃-𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝑒 ‹𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓅› 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃? 𝐼𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 ‹𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃› 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝑔𝑜?

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to dull the edge of it is what I have been doing since v.1. As if something has indeed been fragmented & this is the pain of my conscious life. And every time I travel the melodious/glamorous path of frenzy, every time I complete it, I am going to experience the same precious pain intensity, purity of pain/ecstasy. I am going to be eventually bound to this inmost/overwhelming awe, this vehement impulse to feel/fondle/kiss what is loved, to kneel down before it, to cuddle up to its heart, to recompense bliss with bliss... More and more. Neither the good boy nor I are free. I do not want to be free... free from... These bare feelings are ‹clawing› at the reconstructed interpretation of the organ inside me. The great minds will not know what they have done, neither will Anthony... It speaks louder-truer than anything, but the sounds are not obvious... Words. All I possess, this rich but poor instrument for... And you always do end up in the point where...

The aesthetic masterwork, perfused with the golden brilliance of authentic ideality x pierced with the darkest blade of bitter-salty inaccessibility, inevitability, impossibility.

Excruciation, pleasure, euphoria, art. Blended together. Find yourself... or lose yourself on this journey. Emotionally. Totally. An unparalleled effect... and the lulling sparkle the vessel has never actually had. Something in this body x mind has died, and I do not know if there is a way to accept it, to recover it. I have described the lesson of unprecedentedness I have learned, not the expected story of ‹insult-betrayal-contempt›. No one will ever f-g hear it. Not from me, not in this lifetime. / Loving extraordinary is merciless a priori, დ/დ become telepathic... & the severest trial ~ the unhealable wound ~ is to be a 𝓟 son without the cause to be... *If I have to detest many donkeys for a chance to protect one venerated Father figure, I will go for it.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝓀𝑒𝓅𝓉... 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐵𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒸𝑒, '𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝓉𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊... 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈... 𝒮𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹. 𝒮𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈...

While I am willing to imbibe all the anguish of the human I love, to ease his suffering, the loss of us is taking its toll on me irretrievably. I see him. I see what is inside him... & I am incapable of safeguarding it, saving it truly.

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to put up with this gift is what I have been doing since v.1. The chest is ‹cut open› too deep, the fragility of the organ is exposed... Would you allow me to grow more flowers? I wanna do it... Because it is you, It has always been you. The one who has given us everything, endued me to the brim with the intimate fatherly affection that this organ never remembered. My eternal wish & exuberant price for humanity, the misunderstood nature. *What an odious irony. / I do not know if there is a way to recover what is gone.

I would sacrifice the lot to be with the human that needs me, needs to be healed, heals me. I would rip my core out but I cannot, the limitation of freedom. *Tell me that the ‹strings of abuse/child neglect/lies› are finally cut. Tell me to ‹celebrate›. Tell me that both 𝓟inocchio/I are wrong x naive, ‹fix› me. You have no f-g clue about it. / When it is written that your starving heart must be left half-empty & helpless... No freedom is scarier than this.

Affording harmony to the sapphire star that is going to fall away... The sentiment it deserves. All I have ever hankered for. & I am terrified of that my grandest instinct x fear will not grant any lasting peace to me.

Death will do our Sun-hugged family apart ~ but I will still be yours, for ever. The core has never felt as good x feverish as it does when with you... as astray x anxious as it does when deprived of you. I am not lying to you, I hold no resentment... Let me ‹feed on› the emotions of your heart... Even if it means your pain x my love turn the vessel inside-out & your love x my pain do the same. Not blurred, always remember. Always. If a masterpiece could be made into a masterpiece, I would prefer to share this fate. My bona fide mission, however, is not allow anything to be in vain... Even if it hurts. ~ The atrophied ability to express love verbally has been ‹roused› again, in a fervidly devoted but preciously righteous way... The ‹lash› of despair, compulsion, dream, reality.

𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝒷𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓃... 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈. 𝐿𝒪𝒫 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝟙/𝓂𝓊𝓁𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝓊𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇.

...Take the whole meaning of this, its flavorful, pathetic, shameless, lonesome taste. Take it all, for it is all that is absolute. Teach me how to ‹merge› with it, the mortal desire of a puppet child, a human Mastro x a faceless observer like myself ~ & when the desire full of unexploited majesty is cutting off the oxygen to the lungs... True geniuses of any kind are among the silent. These eyeballs will not dry up, never fully. I have tried so many times to resist it, but why live if you repel what puts your ‹dehydrated› pieces together? I would spare no effort to keep them hot and uncurb what is being restrained... Nothing affects self-perception and ‹unmasks› the unconscious like sensation, nothing genuinely matters without it. / Shivering with cold, this body is burning. My atrophied reality in exchange for a moment of irrepressible happiness, agony, guiltless x not bottled up impulses ~ just a moment. It keeps consuming me without reserve. I do not need God. ✒

[csyakult]

✻ ⌣ 🦦 ˚ 𖤛

[dr-demi-bee]

Day 8--------------------Read on AO3--------------------------

Pairing: Raphael/Tav Prompt: Orgasm delay/denial Continuation from Day 7, dubcon, rough, overstimulation, NSFW!!

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tav’s lost track of how long she’s been here. Minutes or hours, perhaps even days? A sickening swirl of red and gold - stained darker still with blood, sweat, tears...

Her skin is raw and aching in so many places - breasts, thighs, hips, sides - and the bitemarks at her neck and shoulders throb hotly. Yet he doesn’t seem satisfied.

And none of it - none of it - compares to the sharp pleasure-pain of the way Raphael endlessly teases and works her up only to snatch victory away from her at the last moment. The cambion seems intent on not only having her body, but prying away her mind and very soul too in the process.

For perhaps the third time, Raphael is dragging her to that rejuvenating pool. Dissatisfied with the way she looks covered in his possessive claw marks or her flagging fatigue she isn’t sure. Whatever the reason he takes a wicked delight in dunking her beneath the waters and letting her up, gasping for air, only when her lungs start to scream. And each time her body is perversely refreshed - free of injury to flesh.

Yet as he pulls her up from the water by her hair and she splutters a gasping breath, nothing - truly nothing - aches as keenly as the desperate throbbing of her core. Tav’s legs tremble with the force of it as he pushes her up the steps from the pool.

Raphael snaps his fingers and she is dry once more. Aside from the obvious slick that runs coats her inner thighs.

“On the bed, little mouse,” he drawls in that deep, menacing growl. And at this point she knows better than to disobey or fight back. Tav stumbles her way back to the large opulent bed, clambering on.

She scoots her way backward back into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed he’s been insisting on. Tav’s hands ache to touch herself - anything to ease this desperate aching. But he will just pry her hands away and make it worse. She’s already experienced this too many times. All she can do is hope he will actually take some kind of mercy as she watches him prowl across the room towards her.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Raphael croons with a wicked smirk. He practically preens as he approaches, eager to show off his form. “You look frightened.”

“I’m not,” she huffs back breathlessly.

“No,” he agrees almost mockingly, “Of course not. The would-be-hero would certainly never be afraid of a devil like me.”

Yet she still squeals when he grasps her by the ankles and yanks - dragging her down to the middle of the bed and closer to him.

“Have you learned your lesson yet, little mouse?”

At her perplexed look, trying to sort through the haze of her need and fear, Raphael tuts a disappointed sound against his teeth.

“Clearly not,” he muses, leaning over her. “And I’ve worked so hard to teach you. Truly, the depths of your ingratitude are astounding.”

His patronizing smile thins, quickly replaced with a menacing sneer. He pries Tav’s legs apart with large hands against her thighs and she gasps out a moaning cry.

“You’re supposed to apologize for breaking into my home uninvited,” Raphael instructs, as if reading the simple details of a contract, “And thank me for my gracious hospitality and ample kindness for forgiving your intrusion.”

Tav cries out sharply as his claws dig into the meat of her thighs. She whines when he shifts her so that her hips lay beneath his and the frightening length of him presses against her aching core. When she tries to move, to rock against him for any kind of relief, he growls and digs his claws in a little deeper.

“None of those sounds are correct, little mouse,” the cambion sneers. He leans in close, his tail lashing against the bed and his wings splaying as his mouth hovers close to her neck. When he speaks again it’s lower, near purring, “Care to try again?”

The feel of his breath ghosting over her skin and the echo of sensation from his last sharp bites makes her shiver with a soft whimper. Torturously, as she gathers her wits to speak, Raphael rolls his hips against hers, dragging the textured length of him against her oversensitive flesh.

“I-I’m sorry,” she breathes, fighting through whines, “T-thank you-”

The sound cuts off with a ragged moan as Raphael sheathes himself in her in one quick thrust. Tav throws her head back with a sharp keen.

“More specific, mouse,” he grits, their hips slapping together between each word. If she were any less aroused she knows it would hurt. Be he’s turned her into a quivering mess, and every snap of his hips throws sparks up her spine and her every breath is laced with a whimper or moan. “Why are you sorry?”

“S-sneaking!”

“And?” His pace is relentless and Tav feels nearly dizzy, barely able to pull her thoughts together.

“Lying!”

“Good girl,” Raphael growls. His hands shift, one set of clawed digits moving to play with a breast, and the other pressing against her mound. His own breathing grows labored as he continues, “What else, little mouse?”

“T-thank you-” Tav pants.

Raphael lets out a low growl of satisfaction as he continues his relentless thrusts. His thumb moves to press, just barely, against her clit. “Why, little mouse? What are you thanking me for?”

Tav’s keening, the touch too-little and too-much. Her body desperately needs relief, yet that abused bundle of nerves is too sensitive and she can’t decide if it’s excruciating or intoxicating.

“For-” Tav struggles, moaning as Raphael deliberately increases his pace and the pressure of his thumb as she tries to speak. “For fucking me-”

She’s so close. Her muscles are already starting to bunch and quiver, her toes curling. Just a little more, just a few more thrusts and flick of his thumb and she will-

“Wrong again, little mouse,” Raphael tuts. All at once the sensations stop again and she’s left cold and writing on the bed. Tears stream down her cheeks as another climax is snatched away from her.

“Such a slow learner,” he murmurs with a curling smile torn between wicked amusement and disdain. “Hard to believe you’ll ever make it out of this room, let alone to removing that little worm in your skull.”

“But perhaps that’s the problem, hm? Worm’s ruined that pretty little mind of yours?” He lets out a deep, self-satisfied laugh. Raphael catches her face in one large hand, swiping away at her tears with a perverse delight. Tav whines and cries out as his other hand explores her skin greedily, pulling none too gently and allowing his claws to leave scratches behind. “I suppose we’ll just have to keep trying until something sticks.”

@lanafofana @lastlight-inn @waterdeep-weavemoss

@crimson-and-lavender @feedthepheasants @spooky-lil-bee

[inkskinned]

it's not always going to make sense, and it's going to be hard, and the way that you feel her push through your ribs will make the rest of you ravenous. you will be standing in your tiny kitchen looking down at your feet and the loneliness will spray in buckshot over your whole life until you are a crimescene and you will still have to remember to get groceries. you will think about her hair, the wheat, how she has stained your life in yellow, and how before her you were almost-happy but now somehow you are starving. you will think of her weight in your hands and over your skin and her impossible grin. you will want to force your entire fist into your hand and bite down, but you won't, because you're an adult, and you only cry at funerals. so much of her reminds you of fire; the shock of her hair and the swordblade of her laughter - so you sigh and drink water instead. you have emails to send around the shape of her. you have chores to do that avoid remembering the last time she held you. you have to take the trash out and avoid the sensation that she is hanging in the air, all that desire in the back of your throat. you will have to apologize to your dog. i promise. i'm trying. the way you want her is almost reverent, an amber crescent. she has annexed the whole apartment, has made her way under your fingernails. and yet you still have to pay rent. you still have to pay bills.