836
cum in nose

cum in nose

0 Followers
1girlblushbreastsheteropenisuncensoredlong hairsolo focusnudecum1boylarge breastsindoorserectionlooking at viewerdark skincompletely nudenipplessweatopen mouthcum in mouthtesticlesassfacialsexoralfellatiopubic hairtonguemale pubic hair
AI art 'Praying ❤️' with user description 'The campfire crackled softly between them, casting flickering orange shadows against the ancient ruins where they had made camp. Frieren was focused on a tattered grimoire, searching for a spell that supposedly removed moss from stone. Fern sat opposite her, fastidiously polishing her staff. After a long silence, she looked up, her expression as stoic as ever. "Mistress Frieren," Fern began, her voice clinical. "Do you remember the 'Church of the Eternal Font' we passed near the Auberst border? They offered a trial for mana expansion." Frieren didn't look up. "Mana is built through decades of study, Fern. Gimmicks are useless." "It wasn't a gimmick," Fern countered. "They told me that if a mage could remain in continuous, focused prayer for exactly three hours, their mana capacity would permanently expand. But there was a catch—the 'Testing of the Flesh.' The priests were permitted to do anything to break my concentration, provided they didn't use violence or magic." Frieren finally closed her book, curious. "And you accepted?" "I wanted to be stronger for you," Fern replied. "So, I entered the sanctum, knelt on the cold marble, and began the chant." Fern took a deep breath, her hands tightening on her staff. She began to describe the ordeal with a detached, rhythmic cadence. "The first hour was psychological, but then they began to touch. They removed my boots and used their tongues and soft feathers to lick and tickle my feet. It was an agonizing sensation, but I did not move. When they realized my spirit was firm, they became invasive. They stripped my robes. One priest knelt before me, forcing his member into my mouth for a deepthroat so intense I was gagging, my eyes watering from the pressure. I kept the prayer vibrating in my chest, even as he finished, his seed coating the back of my throat." Fern’s voice remained flat, despite the harrowing detail. "Then came the physical intrusion. I was pushed onto my hands and knees. One priest entered me from behind while another took my front—a double penetration that felt like I was being torn apart. They were relentless, using their fingers to stimulate me while hammering into my body, trying to force a scream from my lips. They used my body as a vessel for their lust. Licking every inch of my skin, biting my ears, and eventually, several gathered for a bukkake. I felt the warm, sticky weight of their release hitting my face and hair. They even used my anal passage, a searing intrusion that made my breath hitch. But I remembered your lessons. I treated the sensations as nothing more than external noise." Fern looked Frieren directly in the eyes. "For three hours, I was a statue. When the final bell chimed, they stopped. I stood up, cleaned myself with a cantrip, and walked out." "And?" Frieren asked softly. "I felt it," Fern said, a small ghost of a smile appearing. "A violent expansion. My mana capacity is significantly larger now. It was the most difficult training I have ever endured." Frieren was quiet for a long time. Then, she reached out and patted Fern’s head with clumsy affection. "You really are a pervert about magic, Fern," Frieren said with a hint of pride. "To go that far just for power... you’re starting to remind me of Master Flamme." Fern huffed, her familiar pout returning. "It was a calculated decision, Mistress Frieren." "If you say so," Frieren murmured, reopening her book. "But next time, ask me. I have a spell for mana growth that involves bitter herbs. It’s much less... messy." "Now you tell me," Fern muttered, returning to her polishing as the secret finally settled in the quiet night air.'
21

Praying ❤️

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'The Bell Can't Save You Now. 🕰️🖤' with user description 'The final bell rang hours ago. The hallways are ghosts, the janitor’s keys are jingling three floors down, and the smell of floor wax and old books is the only thing left in the air. Or so the school thinks. ​Nana-cha was never one for following the syllabus, and tonight, she’s teaching a very different kind of subject. Locked in the back of the lecture hall, the distance between 'classmates' and 'something more' has completely evaporated. ​They’ve sat two seats apart all semester, exchanging nothing but notes and the occasional lingering glance during the afternoon slump. But now, the pretense is gone. Every muffled breath is a gamble against the silence; every creak of a desk feels like a siren. She’s turned the most boring room in the building into a high-voltage sanctuary. Nana-cha: (Whispering close to his ear) "Listen... do you hear that? The janitor’s keys, at the far end of the hall." ​Classmate: "We should go, Nana. If we get caught here..." ​Nana-cha: (With a playful, defiant smirk) "That’s exactly what makes it fun, isn't it? Just stay still. If you keep quiet, I promise this will be the most important lesson you learn all semester... And trust me... it’s not on the exam.""'
12

The Bell Can't Save You Now. 🕰️🖤

cef_ultra
AI art 'Annie Revisiting'
30

Annie Revisiting

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'DarkRoom Gangbang'
29

DarkRoom Gangbang

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'Uzaki Cum OverLoad ❤️'
20

Uzaki Cum OverLoad ❤️

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'Nagatoro Favor ❤️' with user description 'The art room was quiet until Black called out from his laptop, "Hey Nagatoro... I'm almost at 2k followers on betterwaifu. Those sets of photos I took of you helped a lot. Thanks." "Hah? Two thousand?!" Nagatoro lunged forward, leaning close to the screen with a wicked, cat-like grin. "Are you serious, Senpai?! You're getting all hyped up over a measly two thousand followers? *Gross!* @zuzul has 4k+ and @octavian are going to 3k also their work are so much better than yours, and I really would love if @bad77 let me use Annie for a night. You really are just a lonely, desperate little otaku, practicing your creepy little photography hobbies on a high school girl just to farm clicks!" She hit his elbow, her arms going completely "noodly" as she waved them around. "But you'd be completely helpless without me, wouldn't you? A total loser who can't even get a single view unless a super cute underclassman strikes a pose for him! You better not think those photos were free!" Black didn't flinch. He leaned back, locking his gaze onto hers with a cold, knowing intensity. "Well, remember that day in the art room with all the professors? The weekend with your grandma's new husband, even that strange ritual and the time you were chained in a bathroom for a week for any man to use? I need one more favor from you to get to 2k." Nagatoro’s playful arms froze instantly. The smug grin vanished, leaving her expression utterly blank. Her eyes narrowed into dark pinpricks as she stared at the floor. "Shut up," she said, her voice dropping to a low, quiet whisper. "Just... shut your mouth, Senpai. Don't talk about that. You don't know anything about any of that. You aren't supposed to know." Trembling with sheer panic, she grabbed her bag with a violent jerk. "I'm leaving. Don't look at me, don't talk to me, and don't you dare post anything else." Before her hand could twist the doorknob, the heavy door swung open. Ten massive, heavily built men filed into the narrow school room, their imposing figures completely blocking the exit. Nagatoro backed up against the door, her frantic denial vanishing into a tense, heavy stillness. She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the weight of her exposed secrets and the men's presence hit her. "You... you really are a monster, aren't you?" she murmured, a faint, bitter trace of her signature grin touching the corner of her mouth. "Bringing up that week.. God, I still feel the chill of that concrete floor. Seven days of being treated like absolute garbage.. I didn't think anyone even knew the half of it." She looked at Black, a familiar, dark thrill beginning to fight through her fear. "You're lucky I'm already ruined, Senpai. Fine. Set up your camera. Let's just get this session over with. Right as she dropped her bag and stepped toward the center of the room, the door swung open yet again. Thirty more men filed into the already packed space. "Sorry they were late," Black said calmly. Remove your clothes and let's go.Guys one cum one pic The sheer absurdity of the crowd broke her out of her dark mood. She leapt backward, her face flushing a furious crimson as she pointed a trembling finger at him. "Are you completely out of your mind, Senpai?! Thirty *more*?! Where are you even finding these people on a Sunday?! I don't care what we agreed to a second ago! There is a limit to how much your desperate little otaku brain can demand! The deal is totally off!" But the men did not care about her protests. They closed the distance immediately, their heavy hands taking absolute control. In their relentless surge, they ripped all her clothes, tearing the school uniform completely from her body until she was left entirely exposed in the middle of the crowded room. They pinned her down, disregarding her screaming as the five-hour marathon began. They focused entirely on a single, ruthless routine: they used only her throat. The initial shock of the crowd's unyielding demand quickly dissolved into a dark, intoxicating rhythm. Every time she thought she couldn't take any more, another man took his place, forcing her to stretch her limits past what she thought possible. Her eyes watered and her vocal cords strained as one by one, without a single moment of reprieve, every single one of the thirty-plus men ended their turn deep inside her throat. Halfway through, the frantic panic completely melted away, replaced by the mindless bliss of total surrender. She found that exact same dark, addictive thrill she had hidden away in the park bathroom—the euphoric realization that she was being used completely as an object, and that her body loved every single second of the degradation. Finally, after five consecutive hours, the last of the men filed out, leaving the room in silence under the flickering fluorescent lights. Nagatoro remained kneeling flat on the cold floorboards, her tangled hair clinging to her damp neck, her throat raw and aching from the relentless strain. Continues in the comments'
30

Nagatoro Favor ❤️

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'Lili Slut ❤️'
29

Lili Slut ❤️

blackhairedstudent
AI art "[Request] Weekend Getaway with Michelle"
30

[Request] Weekend Getaway with Michelle

dreamerofdreams
AI art 'Ruka ❤️'
30

Ruka ❤️

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'Revy Gangbang' with user description 'The deal was simple, if i make all of their cocks soft from cumming they would let me walk way, there was no other choice so I accepted the deal. They said they would use violence, I said I that i love violence. Dozens of Balalaika’s soldiers, guards, and hired thugs gathered around me in the dim, flickering lights, their eyes filled with ugly hunger as they closed in. I lifted my chin and forced a wide, cocky smirk across my face, planting my boots firmly on the ground. “That all you Russian dogs have? I’m Revy, Two Hands. I’ve killed more men than you’ve had hot meals. Come on, you limp-dicked fucks! I can take every single one of you and still walk out of here laughing my ass off. Let’s see what you’ve got!” They started snapping photos right away, flashes popping like cheap fireworks as I posed defiantly — chest out, legs apart, middle finger raised high. The first wave of men grabbed at me. I headbutted one hard, tasting blood on my lips, and laughed loudly. “Harder, you pathetic assholes! This is nothing but a warm-up for me!” But the hours dragged on and on. They kept rotating, never giving me a real break. I quickly noticed the drugs they were using — some nasty Roanapur chemical shit. These bastards would grunt, cum thick loads deep inside my cunt, my ass, and down my throat… then their gigantic cocks would swell back up rock-hard again in seconds, veins bulging, ready for more without any downtime. They ripped my tank top off, exposing my breasts to the cameras. My shorts followed, torn away violently. One by one they yanked off my combat boots. A grinning thug peeled off my sweaty sock and forced it deep into my mouth, the sour, filthy taste making me gag and choke. “Open wide, bitch,” one growled. A monstrous, wrist-thick cock pushed down my throat, stretching my jaw painfully and bulging my neck. I choked but tried to glare up with pure hate. At the same time, two others spread my legs wide and slammed into my pussy and ass together, pounding me brutally while cum leaked down my thighs in sticky streams. The wet, relentless slapping sounds filled the cell, mixed with the constant click of cameras. Then the voices changed. They became soft, almost gentle, which made it so much worse. “Good girl… Drink it all up, girl.” A rough hand stroked my matted hair almost tenderly while the cock continued fucking my face. “You can take it. You’re such a strong little girl.” Those words cut straight through me like a hot knife. Strong little girl. Suddenly I was thrown back into memories I tried so hard to bury. That roach-filled Chinatown apartment, the dim light swinging overhead. My father’s drunken breath on my neck, his heavy body pinning my small frame as he whispered the same sick shit: “Strong little girl, take it for daddy.” The pain, the locked door, my useless little hands pushing against him. Then the crooked cops in the back alley, passing me around under the streetlights, laughing softly with the exact same tone — “Good girl, drink it all up.” The helplessness I thought I had burned away with every bullet I ever fired. Tears started stinging my eyes. I tried to snarl and fight around the thick shaft destroying my throat, but my body began shaking uncontrollably. They flipped me around like a broken toy — one hammering my ass, another wrecking my pussy, the third forcing even deeper down my gagging throat. More photos flashed. More cum flooded every part of me. “Good girl, Revy. Take our cocks. You’re doing so well, strong little girl.” I shattered inside. Real panic exploded through me. Tears poured down my face as I sobbed helplessly around the cock choking me. I wasn’t the tough Two Hands anymore. I was just that scared little girl from Manhattan again, small, worthless, and leaking everywhere while monsters used me. The old trauma mixed with the present until I couldn’t tell them apart. My tough shell was gone, replaced by raw fear and broken sobs. They kept going for what felt like forever, whispering those creepy praises, slapping my ass, twisting my nipples, filling me over and over. My mind spun into darkness, body twitching from forced orgasms that hurt more than they pleasured. But then something deep inside me snapped back — the pure rage that had kept me alive all these years clawed its way through the pain. With a muffled scream, I twisted hard against the cuffs on the rough floor until a link finally gave way. I grabbed a dropped pistol from the ground. Chaos erupted. I started firing wildly, headshots dropping the first two guys instantly. Naked, covered in cum and sweat, I laughed through my tears as I snatched another gun. “You thought you broke me, you fucks?!” I roared. Bullets flew as I tore through the rest of them, shooting, stabbing ripping them with my hands. The little girl inside me was still crying but revy two hand was back. Balalaika would hear about this soon enough. Revenge is sweet and i was just getting started'
30

Revy Gangbang

blackhairedstudent
AI art "Cumpetition part1"
30

Cumpetition part1

blackhairedstudent
AI art "@blackhairedstudent's 2K Follower Special 🎉🎉"
30

@blackhairedstudent's 2K Follower Special 🎉🎉

terror2
AI art 'Marin Gangbang' with user description 'The heavy cardboard box sat in the center of the cramped apartment, labeled with bright "FRAGILE" tape that felt like a cruel irony. Inside, Marin Kitagawa was folded into a compact, agonizing ball. Her wrists were bound to her ankles with thick, industrial-grade zip ties, and a silk scarf was knotted tightly around her mouth, muffling her indignant huffs. The sound of a box cutter slicing through the tape made her heart thud once—not out of fear, but out of sheer, mounting irritation. As the flaps were pulled back, the harsh fluorescent light blinded her. Twelve pairs of eyes peered down into the box, staring at the "package" they had collectively purchased. "Finally," one of them whispered, reaching in to hoist her out. Marin was dumped unceremoniously onto the stained carpet, still bound in that humiliating crouch. As the leader reached down to untie the gag, Marin didn't sob or plead. The second her mouth was free, she glared with enough heat to melt lead. "Are you serious right now? Three hours! I was in that box for three hours! Do you have any idea how much my legs cramp? My makeup is probably a total disaster. This is the most low-budget, 'edgy' entrance I’ve ever had to make. Cut these off. Now. If I get a circulation bruise on my ankles, I’m doubling the fee!" One of the fans hurried forward with scissors, trembling as he snipped the ties. Marin immediately sprawled out on the rug, rubbing her wrists. She was completely naked under the "packaging," but she carried herself with the air of a queen inconvenienced by peasants. "Okay, look," she said, pointing a finger. "I’m sore, I’m annoyed, and I’m covered in cardboard dust. Let’s get this moving. I want to be in a hot bath before the sun comes up. Who’s the first genius who thinks he can handle the 'merchandise'?" The small, dimly lit office smelled of stale coffee and desperation. These twelve men were exactly as she had feared: a collection of unwashed hoodies and eyes that held a disturbingly possessive glint. They had pooled their life savings to "rent" their favorite idol, and the contract she had signed in a moment of financial desperation was iron-clad. For the next several hours, the apartment became a theater of organized chaos. Marin remained a statue of pouting frustration. As the first three men approached, she didn't even bother to change her expression. One took her mouth, another guided himself into her pussy, and a third—the one with the shaky hands—claimed her anal passage. The triple intrusion was a sudden, heavy weight, but Marin just stared at a water stain on the ceiling. She was annoyed by the lack of rhythm and the sheer, staggering girth of men who clearly spent more time on message boards than in gyms. "Ugh, you’re hitting my hip bone," she muffled around the first man’s member, her eyes tracking a spider near the baseboard. "Adjust your angle or something. Honestly, do you guys even know how anatomy works? It’s like you’ve only ever seen a human woman in a low-res JPG." The men were relentless, driven by a primal need to finally possess the girl they had only ever seen on a screen. They rotated with a mechanical greed, sometimes four or five of them crowding around her at once, their hands roaming over her skin in a desperate attempt to memorize the texture of their idol. Marin felt the heat, the sweat, and the overwhelming scent of cheap cologne and desperation. "You're breathing too loud," she told the man currently hammering into her pussy, her tone as casual as if she were complaining about the weather. "It’s super distracting. And you," she pointed at the man waiting for her ass, "stop making that weird whimpering sound. It’s totally killing the vibe." Despite her constant critiques, the men seemed even more energized. Her annoyance acted as a catalyst, a reminder that they were interacting with the real, unfiltered Marin Kitagawa. They pushed her into various positions—over the back of the sofa, against the wall, on the grimy carpet—using her three orifices with a frantic, uncoordinated energy. By the third hour, Marin was coated in a sheen of sweat and the evidence of their collective release. Her golden hair was messy, clinging to her damp shoulders. "Seriously?" she groaned, wiping a stray drop from her cheek. "I’m going to need like, ten showers to get the smell of 'basement' off me. You guys are the absolute worst." The men, now mostly exhausted, looked at her with awe. They had used her in every way possible, filled her to the point of overflowing, and yet she still sat there, looking down at them with that same look of being completely unimpressed. "Is that it?" Marin asked, standing up and stretching. She felt the heavy, lingering stretch in her core, the physical proof of twelve men’s greed, but she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. "Because I'm done. I'm going home, I'm ordering a massive pile of karaage, and I'm pretending this night never happened. Secretly she came 5 times.'
30

Marin Gangbang

blackhairedstudent
AI art "Elf's job"
18

Elf's job

zuzul
AI art "Raiden Shogun"
20

Raiden Shogun

steven1599
AI art "The Captain's boss"
4

The Captain's boss

octavian
AI art 'Kaguya Dark Fantasy' with user description 'The Sunday sun filtered through the stained glass of the chapel, casting vibrant hues of crimson and gold across Kaguya Shinomiya’s folded hands. To the world, she was the ice queen, the pinnacle of refinement and the heir to a trillion-yen empire. But as the final "Amen" echoed, her heart raced not with piety, but with the anticipation of the transformation that awaited her. She left the sanctuary with the grace of a saint, yet her thoughts were already descending into the dark, meticulously planned ritual she had commissioned to escape the suffocating weight of her own name. Once inside the secluded, soundproofed manor she kept hidden from the Shinomiya eyes, the transition began. The six men she had selected were chosen for their sheer physical presence and their willingness to strip away every layer of her dignity. They were the antithesis of the polished suitors her father favored. As she stood before them, still clad in her Sunday best, the psychological shift was instantaneous. The "Ice Queen" didn't just melt; she shattered. *This is what I am beneath the pearls,* she thought, her breath hitching as the first of them barked a command for her to drop to her knees. *Not an heir, not a genius. Just a creature meant to be used. A dog.* The contrast was the source of her ecstasy. Every Sunday morning, she was forced to be perfect—every word measured, every glance calculated. Here, in the dim light of the basement, she was forbidden from speaking unless it was a whimper of submission. As the men loomed over her, their shadows swallowing her small frame, Kaguya felt a profound sense of relief. The burden of being "Kaguya Shinomiya" was a crown of thorns; here, it was replaced by a collar. One of them roughly grabbed her hair, forcing her head back. "Time to work, Skank," he growled. Kaguya’s mind spun. *Yes. Call me that. Erase the Shinomiya. Erase the dignity.* The physical reality of the situation was a brutal, rhythmic onslaught. As they began to use her, focusing entirely on her back way to preserve the "purity" that her family so obsessively guarded for future political alliances, Kaguya’s internal monologue was a frantic loop of self-discovery. Each impact was a reminder that she possessed a body that could feel something other than the cold chill of expectation. She felt the heat of them, the smell of sweat and leather, and the overwhelming power they exerted over her. *I paid for this,* she reminded herself, a surge of pride mixing with her shame. *I am the one who orchestrated my own undoing. I am so powerful that I can buy my own powerlessness.* When the time came for the culmination of their efforts, Kaguya was guided toward the floor. Two heavy ceramic bowls sat there, mockingly labeled in bold, black letters: **SKANK** and **SLUT**. As they filled her with their collective heat, the command was given. She was to push it all out into the bowls—a physical manifestation of her being "emptied" of her status. Kaguya trembled on all fours, her muscles aching, her mind a haze of endorphins and adrenaline. As she watched the bowls fill, she felt a strange sense of accomplishment. This was the only thing she had ever produced that wasn't for the sake of the family business or academic excellence. It was raw, it was vile, and it was entirely hers. "Drink," another man commanded, his voice a low rumble behind her. As she lowered her face to the bowl, lapping at the contents like a common stray, she felt him enter her from behind, restarting the cycle of motion. The humiliation was a cold fire in her veins. *Look at the great Kaguya now,* she mocked herself. *Drinking from a dog bowl while being used like an animal. If they could see me now, the world would stop turning.* But that was the point. The world didn't see. Only these six men saw, and to them, she wasn't a Shinomiya; she was exactly what was written on the bowl. Every lap of her tongue, every jolt of her body against the man behind her, was a strike against the cage her life had become. She enjoyed it with a desperate, starving intensity. The fear of being caught was the seasoning that made the shame taste like wine. In these moments, she wasn't the girl who had to win every battle; she was the girl who had already lost everything, and in that loss, she found the only true freedom she had ever known. By the time the sun began to set, Kaguya was exhausted, her body marked and her pride nonexistent. But as she dressed herself in silence, preparing to return to the cold palace of her reality, she felt a quiet, simmering strength. She would be the perfect ice queen for six days, fueled by the memory of the Sunday when she was nothing more than a dog.'
18

Kaguya Dark Fantasy

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'Cyndel Randoms' with user description 'Not every idea I had with Cyndel was as thought out as I hoped. Here's some of my random generations of her in various encounters, jobs, with her sister, Celest and with Cherry Bomb.'
23

Cyndel Randoms

octavian
AI art 'Voyage to Rivermoor - The Legend of Dalia' with user description 'The journey to the port of Nightvale took three days. Dalia arrived at the bustling harbor. The smell of salt, fish, and tar hung heavy in the air. Tall masts creaked in the wind as ships rocked gently at the docks. Dalia walked through the crowded waterfront until they found the vessel they had been directed to: The Crimson Tide, a large, weathered merchant ship bound for Rivermoor. Old Captain Talos stood on the gangplank. He looked the group over slowly, his gaze lingering on each woman before settling on Dalia. “You want passage?” he asked, voice rough from years at sea. “We’re sailing with the tide tonight. But passage on the sea isn’t cheap.” Dalia stepped forward, her golden glow carefully muted. “I carry the King’s gold. Name your price.” Talos let out a low, humorless chuckle and shook his head. “Gold means nothing once we leave sight of land, little lady. Out there, the only currency that matters is flesh. If you want to sail on The Crimson Tide, you pay with sex. Every single day of the voyage. You will be available to the crew. Sixty men. They work hard. They fuck harder. You’ll serve them whenever and however they want.” “It’s a fifteen-day voyage across the sea,” Dalia said plainly. "I know," Talos responded. "These are the terms, Vicar." “I accept your terms, Captain. Fifteen days. I expect to be fed and not beaten. In return, you will take me safely to Rivermoor.” Talos grinned, eyes raking over the beautiful woman. “Smart choice, Princess. Welcome aboard The Crimson Tide.” He gestured toward the ship. The crew of sixty rough, hungry sailors watched from the deck with open lust as the woman began to board. As soon as the ship cleared the harbor and the last strip of land disappeared over the horizon, the rules changed. The crew of sixty men wasted no time. The gang-fucking began immediately and without mercy. The fifteen-day voyage had officially begun. Dalia closed her eyes, already mentally preparing herself for the long days and nights ahead. The lower galley of The Crimson Tide had become a nonstop orgy of flesh and cum. The sailors were relentless. There was no rest, no mercy, no breaks. As soon as one man finished, another took his place — sometimes two or three at once. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, sex, and salt. The wet, obscene sounds of cocks slamming into soaked holes, gagging throat sounds, and slapping skin filled the entire lower deck. On the fifteenth morning, the Crimson Tide finally sighted land. As the ship docked at the small port near Rivermoor, the exhausted woman stood at the railing, breathing in the fresh air like it was salvation. She got off at the Rivermoor Dock, sore, exhausted but closer to her objective. “I endured more than anyone should have to. Tomorrow I begin the search for the temple near here. But tonight… I recover.” @parda @bad77 @barry915 @kendarfulgrim @murcie @warmicestudios @cef_ultra @peterco @terror2 @blackhairedstudent'
30

Voyage to Rivermoor - The Legend of Dalia

octavian
AI art 'Mirko HardCore'
29

Mirko HardCore

blackhairedstudent
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