Dressed in newborn-skin pink, he sashayed across the floor, his clothing scraping softly across the floor. Dream-starved black rolled back to bloody-red muscle in gut-wrenching exhaustion. Frayed waves of ink swept coolly across near ovoid bone, hard plates scraping through them with skin-peeling force. The tick of the reaper's bony fingers rung four times, then twice, then five. Casually, cruelly, he brought the end of something stimulating every time.
Tempting. Sounds better than 8 hours sitting in a desk + 2 hours of transit, the rest being filled with sleep and existential dread.
Of course! At the blood farms we are always working to improve human conditions! Why, we do have some cabins with free internet, and all you can consume video games! The only problem is a few costumer complaints about decision overload. Too many video game choices!
@Sleds truly dastardly!
@FleecedSheep Wonderfully terrifying! An existential nightmare to consider under the Stars to boot!
@Sola-sama Dang...
@TsumiHokiro ??? Confusion???
@DemonOppai absolutely lovely! I enjoy the metaphors in particular and how they can apply to smut really easily if you look at it from the right angle. Might just be this puppet overthinking, but it's really easy to apply all of them to being the f***ed person. And an interesting twist. SCP creature here enslaved to writing smut to continue existing!? I would love that!!! *heart-button eyes*
When it is fully drained?...
