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Gallery Folders

Humanlike Angels - digital
A Fallen Angel Rises by superspecialzanzma

Mature Content

Definitely Isn't Possessed Angel is Staring at You by superspecialzanzma
Angel Who Definitely Isn't Possessed is Being Smug by superspecialzanzma
Definitely Isn't Possessed Angel Admiring Her Body by superspecialzanzma
Humanlike Angels - traditional
Happy Valentine's Day~ !!! by UchihaSama224
angels pijama party comission by terraaremar
OPERATION-2024-Shamsiel and Leliel by daichikawacemi
2023-Operation by daichikawacemi
Animallike Angels
Traveling Seraph by lizardseraphim
RRRBLL OC-16 by RRRBLL
Little  sea otter angels ~ by UchihaSama224
Adopt Angelic dragon AUCTION CLOSED by RiavaCornelia
Other Angels
Adam by GhostFreak-Artz
Biblically Accurate Angel Food Cake by TheRabbitFollower
Inktober 2023 Day 16, Angel (Elemental pixar) by Wolfmarian
Celestial Snow Angel I by Sol89
Humanlike Demons - digital
Into the Trash by Seyumei
Tail and Toru by LoriannaArt
Tail by LoriannaArt

Mature Content

Happy Valentines 2024 by Animefanka
Humanlike Demons - traditional
_Happy_World_  - chapter 05  page 13 by UchihaSama224
Main characters  ( 2 / 2  ) by UchihaSama224
Summon a demon they said.... by UchihaSama224
Main characters  ( 1 / 2  ) by UchihaSama224
Animallike Demons
I don't feel like doing stuff.... by UchihaSama224
Adopt auction - Hellhounds (OPEN 4\4) by RRRBLL
The New Dog by GhostFreak-Artz
Adoptable demonic dragon OPEN by RiavaCornelia
Monsterlike Demons
Midnight Gargoyle by Velmozha
30 Years of DOOM by Lukac2002
20231026 Bel and Rei by Bronzewinged
New Era Flashback Omega Shark by dead82
Other Demons
Vox by GhostFreak-Artz
Nurse-chan and Patient 224 by UchihaSama224
_Merry_Crisis_ by UchihaSama224
Metanoia by IntoTheFire12
Angels+Demons
HB: Lets Make Our Music Last Forever by HaraaJubilee
Halfangels + -Demons, Hybrids
HB: Step Right Up by HaraaJubilee
Photography- both races- original
Demoness by WonderErika
Photomanipulations - both races
Na'amah by Lvcifera
3D-Artworks - both races

Mature Content

Draft Graphic Novel: Color Palettes by QueenNephilim
Literature
LITTLE PILL Pt 02-01 (M/F dark vore-romance)3 Days. 1 Night. 1 Beautifully Tragic Consumption. And Everything Changes. Part 2 of Little Pill. An extreme bridge piece between books, that moves sideways, before moving forward. This is an extreme body of work introducing the layered narrative and canon construction. Read each disclaimer.Infinitely She Twirls, Glass Ballerina1Infinite MovementPrevious: Swallow Me, Like Your Little PillX-Rated Here: Glass BallerinaRead Ahead Here: Glass BallerinaContinue from Little Pill.Warning/Promise: haunting elegance; prevore; sexual sadism; coerced handjob; chilling; psychological carousel; loreYou need not be familiar with Swallow Me, Like Your Little Pill to enjoy this piece. Let your intuition and imagination guide you.Haunting Elegance | Recursive Riot | Sexual HorrorShe dances. He watches. Urges grow. In this liminal space, this tincture between timelines, in the singular protraction of one violent evening, woman and vorarephilic demon merge more than bodies. And everything changes.,The BallerinaCradled by wooden planks and dust motes, she moves. Through moon beams, she is liquid. In a flagrant flick, she streams her arms above her head, pivoting.She leaps.She lands. Not even a wrinkle of fabric whispers.It is a silence that has density to it, as though honeyed, as though able to carry the fleet feet sounds of her body moving through space. And time.Like a quantum ballerina.Her black hair banners behind her. The specular gaze of the moon shines onto her. Her white skin flickers dove-soft, peeking shyly from around the seams of her leotard.Movement whisks through her, and she traipses from end to end of the dance studio in tightly-bound springy pirouettes that twine around, and around, unraveling her, like velvet lace, until she is threadbare and unspooling beautifully to her knees, onto muscular athletic legs that flicker mare-like as she lifts from her shins, to the balls of her feet, in a seamless undulation.In here, she is untouchable. In here, she moves like baroque poetry. In here, she is unaffected, untouched, unbothered.Not even the trill vibrato of her cell phone, that pangs like a cymbal crash, disrupts the moon-silvered silence as she dances. She ignores it.But she would be unwise to do this.Because she would not continue to be an idle audience of one.Even the moon knows this. It turns its countenance to gravely witness the black sickle of a vehicle that slices into the parking lot: it rolls throatily forward. Low-slung to the ground, twin beams winking, cones of light lance through the windows, illuminating the space, so, through the needle-point etching of her eyelashes, the dance studio looks - briefly - like a warehouse.And something imprints behind her retinas, like a muzzle flash, but she shakes her head, clearing it away.As though conspiring with her thoughts, the vehicle rolls slowly around the corner. Then, it moves forward with more intent, picking up speed with a low vibrato. The gears downshift, trilling out a change in the transmission before it skims to a gravel-scraping stop. For a moment, it almost feels in lock-step, as though moving in coordination with her.Heather ignores it. She is in moving meditation. Bounding through time, space; inverting the edges of her universe through a tight visual contraction as the wall space beautifully blurs, vanishing, as she sweeps through a bouquet of twirls; twirl after twirl after -and slamming. Something is suddenly there smashing into her.The ballerina gasped, cantering backward. The kinetics of their collision sparked over her, robbing her of her spatial acuity because for a brief - very brief - moment, the figure silently joining, feathered by shadows, looked like.... Whatever she had hit, perhaps a wall, perhaps a support structure, perhaps --But, it creaked forward. The shadows peeled back to reveal the haunting specter of something that — Heather blinked her eyes — that materialized. But she could not get her thoughts, in the construction of her mind, to behave.Because how was he standing there.She had never heard the car door open; never heard it close; never heard his foot fall; never heard the studio door open; never heard him as he crept —"Crept?" He said with mock-injury."Sorry - what?" Heather gasped. His naked expression was too congruent with her naked thought. And, worse: somehow he had finished it with her.Coincidence, she thought to herself.Her pulse: rushing, thrushing, funneled through her ear. In cardiac competition, her hearing faded for but a moment, but then it clipped in. His voice was washing over her in a pleasant down-inflection; it had sound, it had meaning, it had sentience. He was speaking."Kept," he amended. "You weren't listenin', obviously. What I said was: you kept me waiting. I waited outside for a bit. Texted you: said I was here. You were in a good flow, so I didn't want to bother you; I let myself in. An' parked myself here and watched."She rubbed the back of her head. Instinctively, she was in disagreement. Suspiciously, "For how long?"Heather looked at the parking lot; to the door; to him. The contours of that hallway of movement did not make sense; it did not comport. Her father had always taught her to never, ever turn her back on the possibility of an egress; that she was to always have a wide, sweeping, expansive view of her environment.So, to not see him enter it: was chilling."How long, what?""How long were you standing there like a fuckin' bump on a log." And why didn't the door jingle.He shrugged expansively. "I'unno. Four, five minutes tops?"Heather bit her lip. She banked her head over her shoulder. First to the left; then to the right to investigate their liminal space. She swiveled her gaze toward her exit —But he caught it, almost palpably, fingers sliding silently around her jaw, to redirect her back to him. "You ok, pretty kitty? You're a little jumpy. "Pretty kitty, have you seen my phone? I can't find it at the gate.Heather spasmed backward. Her mental voice, normally linear, focused, and direct, folded back on itself, needlessly filling in additional gap-words that were - alarmingly - not random, and instead, created a comprehensive thought; one that did not feel entirely her own. "I - I think I have the spins. It..." Her sight began to separate, and for one brief flicker of moonlight, there were two of him; but then with a willful toss of her head she willed back the cohesion of her gaze, and he merged."It... it happens when you over-do practice, y'know? You just lose sense of time; space; direction. Proprioception goes out the window. Simone Biles talked about it at a press conference, once.""Looked pretty good from where I was standing."Something tickled at her. "....'pretty kitty?' Um. You've never called me that before — that's new."He made a noncommittal sound. "You move like a cat."Off her look (because she could not understand how he could be standing there, still, without having disturbed the seams of her environment) : "When you dance. You move like a cat. I like it."Heather pinched her lips into a thin line. "Dude, Danny, if - if you can, like, phase through walls. Just let me know, ok?"He swept an arm around her, conspired her step to his own, and walked them out in tandem. She felt small, compact under his arm. "Nah. But I'm workin' on it." He kissed her temple, lingered, then the silvery tinkle of the bell sailed overhead as he ushered them into the arms of midnight. " 'Sides, I've got better tricks up my sleeve." He disengaged; she reached for him, but he was already out of the range of her fingertips. "Wait there. I'll get the car."Heather nodded dutifully. She wrapped her arms around herself. He left the cold in his wake; she felt small, vulnerable. Separating from him always felt painful. It always felt like she was peeling away anatomical flesh. She wanted to bask in his warmth.But she had not the luxury to meditate on this when a coarse scrape announced lateral movement. The car pulled up alongside the sidewalk, sliding immaculately into the shoulder. A cool, springy fear whisked through her as she listened to it idle. The engine was low, throaty; predatory. Evil all day long. Black on black on black. She felt like his car could eat her, too.Whoa, that's a weird thought.In telepathic whiplash the door flung open."Get in."Without looking at him, she got in. He reached over and shut the door, sealing her inside.He cut the wheel, pulled away from the curb and went into the night as silently as a snake over wet grass.Heather resigned herself to peaceful study. She watched the outside world flip flip flip by in abstract, through the smoked-out tint of the passenger window. The halo of city lights receded in broad diffusive strokes like a painting.She traced her fingers over the supple leather, marveling at its rich yachting mahogany undertone, which offset the black and silver carbon fiber trim. The dashboard itself was a wonder: empaneled by more leather, and softly illuminated by black-light that had thematic reprisal underfoot, the iridescent purples and whites echoing themselves in replication by the door panels.It was all terribly seductive. It was like being spangled in cosmic dust, moonbeams. The black-light illumination shifted purple at the edges like the glint of tundra lights. Heather felt that if she stuck her tongue out she could taste their atmosphere.The car was masterful. It made her feel enveloped in a private, singular existence. It extinguished all outside sound. This created an acoustic contrast, amplifying everything inside of it. She was a musical note; lilting. Everything around her was a symphony.She looked at her silent companion. He was so appealing. So dangerously appealing.Heather could feel a pang move through her. She opened her mouth as though to say something; but stopped. He had reached over in a practiced movement (eyes never leaving the road), to grab a coffee cup, and knock back his head.Heather watched, secretly, from the corners of her lashes. She could -and could not- stop staring at him. He was in profile to her. And she could see the features that formed the striking contours of his face, the strong lines of his jaw, and the shapes in his neck. And those shapes moved as he swallowed. There was something just off about it to make it feel prohibitively erotic.If pressed: she could envision him transposed onto the ivory-white marble of a stoic statue; an effigy with trace vestiges of nobility. A veristic sculpt made under the crafted care of an ancient Hellenic hand. He was an inducement of silver: understated in a suit-jacket that glittered in darker ombre whorls. The darkness offset a single tendril of steam that curled around his pale eyes. He looked - for a brief moment - as though he had exhaled smoke. Like an allegorical devil.Each thick, draining swallow punctuated the silence. It made her teeth come together in concern.And she wasn't sure why.Unbidden, she could feel them catch speed as her body jerked backward with a (not) unpleasant flip to her belly. They joined traffic with a little more character, a little more verve. Her safe passage no longer felt smooth and contained. There was a detectable urgency with the way the tires gripped the road —"You're driving me crazy, dressed like that.""Good crazy, or bad crazy?" She tipped a playful look at him."Hungry-crazy."Her voice was raw, throaty; and in its projection, an erotic playfulness emerged: "You probably want to eat me alive."The coffee cup imploded in his hand. It cracked; it crumpled like dead leaves. It had lost all structural integrity, sagging. She made a quick study of him: his gaze was focused, directed on the road ahead as the tires hummed in a lulling cyclical exertion over the seamless asphalt. A line, nearest his mouth, jumped; he continued to squeeze. She could see a tendon stand out in his knuckles. What is he fighting? Anxiety pricked her.In the silence, her mouth opened with a wet click."Cawfee so late?"He rolled an elegant shrug, one hand still on the leather enameled wheel. He seemed to pause, considering something, then flicked a glance at her: " 'S a good appetite suppressant.""Watching your girlish figure?""Watching your girlish figure." His hand sprung open; the mangled coffee cup slid free. It landed near the center console.Heather bit at her lip. Always get a good read on people, pumpkin. She could hear her father say, in great projection, in her head. He doesn't let me look at exits, daddy. She returned, silently. And he crushes people; things. Heather stared at the discarded carcass of the Styrofoam cup, and seeing herself in its mangled state, blurted: "Ishouldgohome. I want to go home. It's late; I'm tired. I wan —His eyes never left the road. "Oh," he exclaimed. "I thought we'd go back to my place."Abruptly, he reached through the void, seeking her out as though casting a line, and found her. He slid his fingers through hers, and insinuated her hand into his lap. Under his ministration, he guided her fingertips down the front of his jeans. He pressed her soft palm down. In slow, graduated increments, against the denim fabric, she felt him harden. His erection pelted her hand. She made the muscular engagement to withdraw; he held her. She tried again; he yanked her back.Then, bending her under his will, he guided her fingers down the length of him; back up. Heather swallowed painfully. She tried to disengage; he pulled her back."Stroke my dick," he said softly. Or else you'll stroke my fucking insides."You're driving.""And you're driving me crazy. My dick," he said hoarsely, "Stroke it," he peeled her fingers apart, manipulating them, sliding them under his waistband so he could catch each beautiful, feminine finger around himself.Normally, she would have loved to stroke her allegorical devil. She fantasized about it; she fantasized about it often — but it was not this."No -They slammed to a stop. In the kinetics of the sudden, gripping inertia, she flicked her hand back. The traffic light shined a bolus of red light into the car. The luminance caught, captured, and crawled languidly across his face. It pooled into his eyes so when he swiveled his head - to track her - his sclera was -for one haunting moment- an embryonic white: pallid, and cracking. The blood vessels architected through his eyes erupted like crimson webbing.The traffic light shifted green. The red retreated to the edges of him - briefly lingering around his pupil in a maroon superimposition - then vanishedBut they did not move.Heather instinctively leaned against the door, away from the red-eyed man. Her arms went up around herself - and her leotard - in an atavistic gesture. "The light: it's green," she said softly. "You can go."He was studying her."Dann -"We don't do this; I don't do this."Exasperated, "Do what? Danny the fucking light -"I don't do any of that I'm tired nonsense. Or, I have a headache. Or.. it's too fucking late," he slammed his hand against the dashboard.Heather flinched.They sat; idling. She said nothing. He turned in a jerk: "DID YOU HEAR ME?""Yes, I heard you loud and fucking clear. Thanks for letting me know you're a fucking rapist at six weeks, instead of six months." With a whiff of disdain, she turned her head."I don't play that game, Heather. I have a very high prey- " he caught himself; stopped. "Sex-drive. And if this is gonna work..."I'm not prey."He howled a laugh. Heather flicked a look over at him. She tried to make natural the gesture of sliding her hand toward the keys in the cupholder."Right, right, I get it. You're not prey, never will be, prey is a mindset. Yup. Got it. Memorized it when you said it, trust me. Took a note."She did not, in fact, ever say that. So, she ignored him. Resolved, she continued to reach. He caught her gesture with a preternatural flick of his eye. But he pretended not to notice. He did not comment, instead he said: "So you heard that, huh." He shook his head in mock admonishment at himself. "Man, that was one hell of a Freudian slip."(Heather cast a sober look at him)."Mm, Heather. Mm. If you only knew."She leaned forward, to obscure his sightline, as her fingers found, clutched, and curled around the keys, stealthily sliding them into the palm of her hand.His mouth quirked to the side in amusement. You're good, honey. But, I'm better. Some lazy slob woulda gotten one hell of a rude awakening.Projecting insolence, she camouflaged the retrieval of her keys under the pretense of crossing her arms in a crisp, defiant gesture. Her breasts, pinched by the movement, pooled forward over the top of her arms in a sudden visual upswell.His vagal nerve jumped. Jesus fuck."I'm not prey, Danny. I'm not. I'm not easy pickings. I'm not a fucking victim.""Of course," he drolled.Heather ticked her head around. How was it that they were sitting at the green light this long without the eruption of an abrasive car horn? More: why hadn't it changed to yellow, or red? Why was it —As though in conspirative tandem, his fingers flicked outward. The traffic light shifted red. He made natural the gesture of resting his fingers back against his temple as though giving reason for the movement. As though to make it organic."Better?"Heather's eyes widened. This, too, she thought, was elaborate coincidence."Better?" He repeated. "Do you feel better now that you've had your little tantrum?"She, in fact, did not. "Danny," she whispered, "Take me home."He skimmed his hand against her shoulder. He loved the feel of the velveteen leotard. And the soft, supple flicker of her muscle as her shoulder shuddered instinctively against the predator. shiver for me baby. He dragged his finger tips down the swell of her breasts — Heather choked a sound — and detoured to her arms. He grazed his thumb against her wrist. Flick.Simultaneous to this: his dark gift roused, shifting; the tendon of it flexing. He abstained. I'm going to love crumpling you up. I can't wait to make you small; so fucking small.She tried to assemble her face into blandness. Did he know? Did he know she had the keys tucked against her breast?Unsure how to repair them, he pivoted. "Nah, not your thing?""What?""Too much?"Heather swiveled to face him. "What the fuck are you going on about.""I was just playing, Heather. Role-play. Heard of it?" He withdrew his hand and turned back to the steering wheel. With an articulation of movement, he brought the car back into gear. It roared to life. In a subtle jerk, it slipstreamed into traffic, passing under the traffic light. Heather couldn't recall what color it was."IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING ROAD?!" She shook her head. "No; this. No. Take me home. I don't want to do this - take me. Please. Just." A sad, languid sensation went up the back of her throat. She felt so trapped. Movement, desire, acceleration, held her in place. If she flung herself out the door, she'd shatter against the road.Better that, than shattering against his teethHeather winced. That was a strange thought.But, instead, her ears popped. Alarmed, she jerked around to look out the window. They were climbing. They were ascending. They were going up the road of Black Heart. The rich, remote community so-called because, from the seat of a wide aerial view, the community looked like a black artery snaking through featureless backdrop of land. Irregular dottings of mansions, elaborate homes fringed her periphery as they clipped by in a sedate fwip fwip fwip.Heather jerked upward from her seat. They were advancing up the incline. The vehicle rolled sedately forward, up the coils of the driveway that - in heaving optical illusion - seemed to unravel, materializing from the vanishing point of the horizon, suddenly, abruptly terminating to reveal the striking emergence of his home. It appeared to rise up from the ground like a hellion bastion. Necessarily, it became level as they pulled into the horse-shoe shaped driveway. But the stabilization of their sightline, despite a welcomed transition, did little to relax the shudder inside herself that felt his behaviors bring the tiniest wobble to her soul.The skeletal clank of the garage door.It lifted open like a mouth; the black within leaping forward as the car - with a sudden low-throated rumble - pulled into the annexed space. In the confines it thunderously roared.The clank as the garage door closed behind, sealing them.No no no no. Fuck, no. This is bad. this is...The engine cut. And so did her thoughts.Heather leaned one shoulder against the door. She would need stability. She skimmed her hand down the architecture; felt the coolness of the handle slip into her fingers. She curled them."I said," she lowed. "To take me home."He turned to face her. He mirrored her: leaning against the door; wedging an insolent elbow against the arm rest, his fingers fanned against his temple. His body language reported to her he was a cool cup of water; relaxed.A sudden abrasive click click. The doors locked.Heather jerked in alarm. Instinctively she pulled on the handle. She pulled. She vainly pulled. She clickclickclickclicked it. She thrust her shoulder against it; her arm. "DANNY THE FUCKING DOOR."He slid his hand down his abdomen; paused, lingering, as though enjoying a secret little caress against his stomach, then continued down to his groin. Heather watched in mortification as the denim of his jeans — stretching over the rise of his knuckles — undulated as he began to stroke himself."Yeah," he murmured, "This is doin' it for me.""Unlock the fucking door."His eyes glassed over. "I think it's the fuckin' leotard.""Unlock it. Unlock the fucking door.""Normally I have a leetle bit more self-control...""Unlock the fuck -"Lemme tell ya. I was not ready to learn I like this."She could hear the soft slippery sounds of his masturbation. It was the only sound.Mortified she turned her head.And, the abrasive snap of a button being undone.The sound splintered over her skin."C'mere," he coached. He crooked a finger. Her fingers tightened around the keys."C'mere," he repeated. He shifted his hips apart in brazen presentation. "Come on, Swan Lake. C'mere." And, he looked up at her. With his black hair wildly tousled, pale eyes glinting, lips parting, tongue curled, white teeth winking - he was the wolf turned brazenly on his back, beckoning his bitch.The tension in her began to flake away. If he intended to rape her, then his behavior did not comport. Perhaps it was role-play after all? And if so, then, that meant his desire for her - that so palpably pulsed from him - was something she could wilt under, that could be used to make her feel pliant, malleable; to buckle, that he could lord over her in slow, patient - painful - ecstasy: his need.Heather looked at him."I mean," he barked a laugh," You can watch. But I rather have you join."Extend that illusion of control to her.He drew down the zipper on his jeans (and the crinkle of sound hummed over her skin) to release more of himself. She was suddenly, vividly, aware of how the leotard gathered around her. She knew this because she felt the tiny tug of fabric. He was aware, too. His eyes skimmed across the luscious imprint of her sex."Jesus, fuck Danny. You're as crazy as a loon." She knew him enough to know - even in the scant six weeks of their whirlwind courtship - he was impulsive - compulsive - and uninhibited. Thoroughly possessed of a peculiar oral fixation, but one she did not (in all honesty) mind, because it translated to achingly delicious oral sex between her legs. He was a whirlwind of desires, of darkness and complexity that had never, not once, chased her; her allegorical devil had only pursued.And he was never, not once, ever boring.At least he has that going for him she thought crossly.Besides, she still had her demon-slaying knife; she still had the keys.But her world erupted into animation.He surged over her.And it was the monster that drove Heather down.But it was the man that cupped her cheek, looking at her with a desire that made her breath catch. "Please, God, Heather. I'm dying here. I just wanna make love. From the moment I watched you doing yo' little number in the dance studio, that's all I could think about. I liked how into it you were. You moved like.. like a fairy. Like you weren't even real.""Role-play?" she whispered, her voice creaking, as though from disuse. "That was all role-play?" She turned her head in protest as he motioned his lips closer in the pantomime of a kiss. It had to, it must have been role play. It absolutely must. She could not permit herself to believe otherwise. But, his confession did not harmonize with her instinct. "I told you I wanted to go home.""No you didn't," he breathed.She stared stiffly at him. "I did.""You didn't want to go home. We both know that.""I -Did she? Had she wanted to go home? She dare not digress down that mental corridor.It all felt so far away now; distant.She shuddered with desire and disgust. And in a pantomime of running - you'll never catch me, Danny, bet I can run faster than you - she pedaled her legs, and looped one around his waist. Her hips rolled in an act of defiance reporting her frustration, but also, her unconscious need for him. It was - she knew - her downfall, and his winning hand. She could never resist him.With a throaty murmur, she pressed herself to him. His hips bucked downward, and he rutted against her like a wild dog. He twisted his head away; back, lowing a sound. The tiniest stitchings had grabbed at his glans giving it a fractious rub. Precum weeped and stained the front of her outfit as though his erection had salivated, tasting her. He rested his stiffened penis on the sliver of skin that emerged, so-teasingly, from the edge of her leotard."Let's take this upstairs.""...only if you eat me," she whispered.His face whiplashed in shock. Then, the tonality of her voice settled across him, and recognition dawned in absolution. He unconsciously licked his back premolar that had, as though in nigh-sentient agreement, having heard her plea, lengthened in response; sharpening. The better to eat you with, my dear."Yes," he breathed.AFTERWORDX-Rated Here: Glass BallerinaRead Ahead Here: Glass BallerinaAuthor Note: Little Pill continues. But, first, we must go sideways before we can move forward.Story Note: References are made to Little Pill Chapter 5, and Chapter 6. You will learn why.Revelations 2023 ADA dark romance series with an injection of vore-kink, size-kink, legend and lore. A modernized re-telling of apocrypha. Written as a professional multi-volume novel, and parlayed into a graphic novel.>>More... My Universe is a multimedia one. Read it: ManuscriptSee it: Draft Graphic NovelSee More: Patreon Page,Draft Graphic Novel Main PageFebruary 3, 2024My Universe is a multimedia one Manuscript 🔷
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Go check this new one out!
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I just got the password for 2 NSFW albums. Check out the description. Quality free stuff, enjoy! :happybounce: 

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2 Free NSFW Albums by tarabodej
  
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