2021.12.08 01:29 Zestyclose_Pen_2901 Sooo… Any good vampire GL’s?
2021.12.08 01:29 AV-0w0- Ok… I haven’t drawn in a long time so when I doodle all I can draw is eyes lol! Does anyone else have this issue?
|submitted by AV-0w0- to doodles [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 Zereeious I think I messed my p80 up I don't its suppose to be like this and also imsee metal where the back pins go so the won't fit in
|submitted by Zereeious to p80 [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 duckyduckymomo Stanford arts supplement???? Help!
I’m planning on submitting one, but I have no idea if my portfolio falls under 2D or 3D. I have some of all of it, and all of it is important to me. However I saw “mixed media” was included under 3D, which I found confusing because some of my mixed media is flat/barely raised from the surface. I tried emailing them but they haven’t responded. It also says “mixed portfolios are permitted but not recommended” ??? Like…. They don’t want well-rounded artists?? Can I include one print in a 3D portfolio and that’s ok? But I still don’t know if my mixed media pieces even count as 2D or 3D…. Someone who has submitted/knows please help.
submitted by duckyduckymomo to ApplyingToCollege [link] [comments]
2021.12.08 01:29 peetss Vaccines Work - for Smallpox and Measles
|submitted by peetss to DebateVaccines [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 softlittledeer A simple wish for all your spoods!
submitted by softlittledeer to tarantulas [link] [comments]
2021.12.08 01:29 purity_and_beans Red
"I'll be back soon" he says, stepping into the cage, winking at his captors. His certainty put a few of the younger ones on edge, but the rest dismiss it. There is no coming back. Not ever.
Yyv throws a switch after everyone has stepped back. Holds for a few seconds, flips the one next to it as he releases the initial. And it is done.
The cage is empty.
Samson found himself in the cage when he woke up. Everything seemed off, just left of being perceptably so, but just so very unsettlingly off. The room felt too large and too small all the same, and as the lights in the room so bravely turned themselves on, he understood why. When the lights ate their way through the bars and found him, he felt.
And oh he felt. A memory flashed through his head, one that was to be remembered, and his heart thundered and his eyes teared - as much as they could - and then he saw it in front of him. Saw it taking place in the very room his captors had occupied a minute before, the very room that he now saw was empty, he saw himself down on one knee. Offering his sword, his ring, to someone. Someone now eaten by light, his sword, his ring. His sign of commitment, of fealty, of compassion, of love.
"No." was the gasp, echoing, unnatural and hoarse and reminiscent of the teachers of his youth who had chalkboards and nails, and as he surged forward to reclaim it before the memory left his mind, he lost those memories too. To the light. The burning light.
Yyv stepped back, turning around to head back into the termination ward to collect the deceased's box of possessions. Being an executioner had its perks. And it made it so much easier to indulge in those perks with the rose-tinted lense of justice lowered over his eyes.
He'd seen something shimmering, glittering in the box. Small, ovular, on a thin, equally shiny string, and a spring was in his step as they crossed the threshold of the bay doors to the room. It was vacated, understandably so, and the box was where it'd been left, the glitter concealed by the garments pulled off the man in his final moments.
As he squatted down, all legs bending to allow his head and thorax to approach the box's contents, he could barely hear it. But it was there, he was sure of it. A whisper.
Samson cowered. The corner of the cage opposite the floodlights was dark. Warm. It soothed. Something was missing, something not quite important, but something significant. He lived, so it couldn't be something to mourn. But it wasn't there. Not anymore. And beads of something flowed down his face as he knew he would never know it again.
He would never know again.
Yyv must have held there for what must have been a quarter hour, give or take a bit, hands over the box, waiting for something else. Some other indication of presence. But there wasn't, and he had other things to commit to, other things to occupy himself with, to kill time before the ship went back to sleep on its interstellar journey.
So he lifted his box, forgot about the words, and left for his quarters.
The lights turned themselves off behind him.
They wouldn't be turned on again.
Heaven seemed to have split mercifully open after a while. The doors to the room had opened at one point in the past, and a shadow crossed the floor to a box Samson was sure he'd seen his locket in. They hadn't let him keep that, not even in his final moments remember -
his final moments remember -
What was so important to grieve that locket? Why was it significant? The shadows closed, the lights faded, the box was gone, he was safe.
He was free.
Yyv checked that the other prisoners set for extermination were in their freeze pods before heading up to his own. Some were workers, like him, unlike him in the fact that they were aiding the red queen. Her spawn, her garbage. He found himself deriding them for their misplaced loyalty. They had no more choice than he did in the question, yeah, but of course they were in the wrong. They dared to exist. One was a Lancer who'd torn three soldiers to pieces in a matter of moments on an ambassadorial trip a few months ago. The Praetorian who took him down refused to partake in his flesh - as had been earned, as would be considered an honorable death in combat, but had sentenced the poor thing to separation. To banishment. To the world without light. And nothing honorable was to be made of it.
Other races were represented in the hold as well, their populaces living in a tenuous game of limbo, praying the queens would always have opposition. Diplomacy was only something they could skirt around, after all, and when no more queens existed, when a singular true race - the white queen's spawn - would be free in the stars, they would be picked off.
But Yyv had never seen those tiny little tan things before. Spindly, soft, their biology made no sense. The brain of the one they captured was supposedly up to par with the Praetorians', but was contained behind a wall of what seemed to be at its thickest the width of a youngling's antenna. It accepted microchip embedment with a strange level of resistance, its immune system would decay the chips within minutes of implanting so he supposed it had some level of self-defense, but they never managed to communicate with it. All they achieved was deciphering enough of its language over a long enough period of time that it was deemed unsafe to keep around, courtesy of its apparent lack of thought-regulation (It held no loyalty to any, it seemed, it served itself. Itself!).
But its eyes made the least sense of all. Small, beady, piercing, almost as if someone had given him a harvest-time necklace and he'd popped two of the layered beads off and stuck them far too deeply in the thing's skull.
It didn't make sense. He was sure of that much.
But it didn't matter, eventually they'd find its world. They'd cowl its populace and neglect it as the holy war called for the lesser race's extermination after, and only after, a race was cemented as the dominant. And if they couldn't, well, nobody would miss a few atomics from the arsenal.
Samson had lost his name to the light along with that first memory, but he still knew his past. He thought he did. He was a kid, he had friends, he had education, activity, he was sure of it. He was so sure of it. He'd just gotten out of school, enlisted, was deployed - exploratory - and now he was here. Sitting in a space that felt.
He could feel its fingers, too. The shadows push in and prod, pull. His hand was encompassed in them, and vaguely in his vision, he could see them around his nose. They bled in. Called no attention to themselves. He didn't feel they needed to, they were right. They were correct. They filled the spaces he thought were in his memory so completely that accepting their presence just. Was. Just like his other hand. More than his other hand, he thought, it looked weird. Thin, scraggly in the shadows, like it was old. An old hand with skin loose on its bones and muscles withered and sagging ligaments. It felt fine, but he knew it wasn't. He remembered that his right had gained shadows when exposed to the light, and it had hurt a great deal.
But he thought it worth the pain.
Thought it worth the experience.
And effortlessly, with that one hand, he pulled the bars till they fractured in shards of freezing metal, and slipped out into the silent, empty space of the extermination ward.
Yyv paused, the squealing of the cleaning droids had seemed especially harsh for a second, and dismissed it. He reached back with his leg, tapping the service screen so it would be sure to stop by maintenance before returning to its bay, and then continued on his way, pulling the locket out of the box as he went.
It was very beautiful, he decided. So very beautiful. He fumbled with a little protrusion on the side for a few seconds before it depressed and sprung open in his hands, showing pictures of more of that same odd species. An image of someone with a decidedly more appealing facial shape than the blocky one their subject had possessed but equally disgusting long, curling, tumbling fur occupied the left face of the inner surface, and small - almost indistinguishable - figures occupied the right, vaguely enough of the right shape to ensure that "yes, these are probably the same species".
He pressed the sides together again, seeing them hinge closed, and then too far. A snap, a very sharp, very satisfying snap later, and it was closed again. Secrets hid from the world.
He would keep it, he decided. It was beautiful on the outside, and if anyone argued he should give it to them, he'd just show them the inside and explain they wouldn't want it.
But he would keep it, he decided.
Yes. He would keep it.
The doors had been closed, but shadow was versatile. Samson slipped through the crack, knowing he could, and then stopped.
Or alternatively, he was stopped. His arm, stuck in the door, still solid, and his leg, suffering the same affliction.
And he felt fury. Anger. Gouging the metal with his forehead, his teeth, his talons, it burned black in the cold, cracked and twisted, but it was enough. It was more than enough. His hand came through, then his foot. But when he looked at them, he knew they were less. His skin came around the bones and joints like a skinsuit, hugging each valley and ridge. He knew it withered, and he knew it wouldn't last. He needed to burn it away, burn it in the light.
Maybe he'd forget about that locket in the process. Maybe it would cease pestering his mind. Pestering his peace.
He'd know soon enough.
He glided through the halls, finding them silent. Finding them empty. Doors were shut, but the concourses echoed with movement somewhere.
Somewhere, Yyv moved about, testing his vitals in the med bay before his freeze. In mostly good health - he was approaching the end of his days, as much as that meant to anyone who had at least 50 years left to live - he relaxed. He thought about his life every time before he climbed in the pod, a way to cope with his interminable fear of the cold. The numb. The silence. Most queenlings welcomed the cold, it was said, but he didn't buy it. He'd see the hesitancy of workers to climb into their pods, the propensity for Lancers and soldiers and Praetorians alike to drink to a stupor before going in, he knew they all feared it. And this was his way of coping, he thought.
Everyone has their own way of dealing with the unknown. The cold.
Yyv thought he'd had a good life. It was a nice affirmation. He was an open supporter of the white queen, he'd fought under a soldier in her rising to power centuries ago as they overthrew the last red one, and as the black had faded to obscurity. If he thought back enough, he could even remember that soldier's name. He'd been a good friend, a good commander, loyal to the end. But he couldn't now, and it puzzled him as to why. Maybe age was catching up to him, turning him senile. Maybe.
But he'd lived well! His career had been good! A combatant, a rebuilder, a student, a researcher, a teacher, a bureaucrat, and now an executioner. He'd made many good friends - most of whom were dead now, regrettably enough - he'd been spared the quarantine by sheer luck, out of his homestead at just the right time, it seemed. He'd been spared the exodus and ensuing genocide of his hometown, all the same spawngroup, at the hands of the dying fanatics of the black queen. He was old, and he'd lived very well.
And as he placed the newly acquired locket - the box forgotten in some wastebin along the route - in his personal locker, as he climbed into his pod, closing it, submitting to the freezing cold, he didn't notice the shadow on the floor, eating the light.
Samson found the sound. Easily, well and truly easily. A room somewhere all the halls seemed to converge (not that he walked them all, there were just a lot heading in the same direction that seemed, from this spot, to culminate here.). It didn't have much of a door, a pulse-screen that tingled along his skin as he passed through. The lights had been off the entire route here, but there was one on now, over an opening capsule, whose red tint already burned his arm.
He struggled forward under the gradually mounting pain, those same tears-that-were-not-tears streaming down his shadow-eaten face as his remaining life was eaten from him. Friends became faces became blank slates became nothing and he remembered only why it was so painful when it was too late to go back. He'd bought this. Bought it in its entirety.
His hand became shadow, eating the red, eating the light, and his foot did the same. He was shadow and he was one thing. Curious.
That same nagging thought that lurked beneath the surface came again.
It was all that was left. It was all that he had thought of. All that he took notice of. All that was there.
And it called to him, as the shadow of something vanished into the closing pod unnoticed, it called to him from the drawer underneath and he went.
Slipped between the pieces. between the parts, into the box.
And he settled on the locket, surrounding it, encompassing it, remembering it, embedding in it.
He became it.
Became the faces within, the tooled silver without, the chain.
And nothing was answered.
But it was him, and he was it.
And as he slept, he forgot. And remembered. And forgot again.
And he grew.
Ship log: Day 204
Unidentified electrical pulse disabled aft cryogenic pods <20-140>
Power short automatically disabled aft cryogenic pods <1-18>
>> Crew Disabled ...
>> >> Automatic Deactivation - Mid Cryo Pods <1-100>
>> Life signs ...
>> >> 2
>> >> >> 1: unidentified (
>> Purgeable: ...
>> False -
>> >> >> 2: aft Cryogenic pod 19 resident (
Personel: Yyv - 639 yrs.
>> Valuable: ...
>> True - purge.
>> >> Purging....
>> >> Complete.
Manual input required ... ... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
... ... ... ...
Something beeped as it hit the hull, sound dissipating well before making it through the bulwark, unheard through the void. But it beeped, or tried to, at the least.
The afflicted ship was asleep, supposedly untraceable at its present speed.
Ber tittered to himself as the Red Queen stood on the bridge. The whites were too slow. Too grounded in convention. Sure, they might have a pass, the ship was likely crewed only by workers, maybe a soldier or two, and god knows they're slow - but to send an executioner's ship into this space? They must be dense. His mandibles clacked together in amusement, broadcasting his glee to the other, equally gleeful Praetorians on board.
The docking clamps stuck and sealed themselves to the surface of the executioner's vessel, the colossal sword-shaped ship now dragging something almost as large, and unmistakably foreign. Something that should raise alarm, something that most certainly would - were anyone awake.
Ber had the privilege of leading a boarding party. The wonderful, wonderful privilege. He'd get to convert them, have underlings. They'd serve his queen. Not that they had too much a choice. It was either breathe, which they couldn't control, and change their disposition to something that just. Made sense, or they could die. By their own hand. That was the only choice they would be allowed. And - as has been stated - seeing as the vassals of this vessel were actively asleep, it's not like they would be given that opportunity.
Ber was sure of it.
At some point, it's safe to say that Samson was no longer Samson. In a world where tears were not tears, where light fled from the shadows and not the other way around, it seems an inevitability. That one might lose themselves.
And although only partially unrelated, eventually, they-who-were-not-Samson woke.
The shadows were light and the lights were off. The locket was embedded in their chest, winking, slowly, and they stretched.
Well, as well as one can stretch when in a box.
Eventually one of the surfaces shattered and fresh shadow surged in - stronger now, for... some reason.
Or could they feel it better? They didn't know.
But they surged forth, strong, into the open space. Into darkness, and immediately felt called back. Called to look above where they'd been, called…
So they stepped back, towards the pod, seeing the corpse within. Where something under the aging carapace called to them, called them something, called them… called them Red.
And Red found they could eat that voice. Eat it as it came from the body, larger and larger bites, ripping it from itself, ripping it open, consuming, filling, strengthening, changing.
As Red ate, memories tickled just below the conscious surface. A faded, friendly face, curls, younger faces, laughing, and the locket snapped shut. A soldier, crawling, three of his legs liberated, reaching an explosive to save his unit. A lab, chemicals, a repulsive reek that smelled successful. They kept coming, stronger and stronger, more and more, until they were noticed.
They were not theirs. Red knew that. Not Red's, someone's, someone's.
Did Red have memories?
What were they?
When were they?
For a brief second, Red felt empty. Felt loss. Something missing, something vital. Something hungered for substance, and substance wasn't there.
And then the shadows found that emptiness, too.
And ate it.
And no matter how much more Red consumed, they felt nothing.
Ber led a few soldiers down the ramp into the concourse hallway of the vessel, expecting - and receiving - no resistance. Commands were given, individuals paired up and spread through, and before too long, Ber found himself at the freeze-pod hangar in the rear of the ship.
Stepping through the containment field into the room, filled with banks of pods, his mandibles clicked, scissored, clicked, slowed, and then stopped.
The pods were broken.
Every single one, up and down the rows, was rended from the top of the viewing pane to the bottom, savagely, irregularly.
Every one, Ber checked. Their occupants' abdomens had been split open following the glass, painting the off-white carapaces with green and red and black ichors, organs had been pulverized, and then left to rot.
And rot they were, all manner of fungi were sprouting, it seemed. Mushrooms, in cases, others had creeping molds, one - almost unrecognizable after the carnage - had become almost soupish in his pod, and some variant of algae now resided in the tank.
It was deeply unsettling, to see nature prevail - even in the void of space. It didn't belong in these halls, this ship of death.
And here it was, the decomposer.
He pulled out the com unit and to signal to mother that something was on board, sending footage to accompany the report. But in that space between opening the link and speaking, something crunched.
And Ber fell dead to the ship's floor.
The Red Queen heard something before Ber's link switched off. Like the sound made when you bite into the shell of a feast snail, hard, cracking, softened by the flesh on the inside.
And in that moment, she felt fear.
Red had heard them enter, was able to see them disperse through the dark. Red had substance now, they thought, no longer able to slip through the gaps in things, instead rending them open to pass through. It was certainly annoying to have to stop every time they wanted to go somewhere new, but it took little to no effort, and what was done once was done indefinitely.
So Red followed, scared and hungry, as these things skittered through the halls. And as Red observed and hungered, patterns became recognizable, blind spots became apparent, and the hunt began.
It was cautious at first. Of course it was. Red didn't know what weapons were had, or what even the physical abilities these…. buggish things possessed, Red didn't even know what pain felt like, at this point in their redevelopment. But some loose instinct advised that it was unpleasant, so caution was advisable.
The shadows were everywhere, and footsteps made no sound, so acting with stealth was without issue. But as these things scrambled forwards, Red hungered more and more in the shadows and knew.
Red knew they would die, and that Red would be the cause.
And Red pounced.
Tir was complacent. Not that it wasn't warranted, the ship was well and truly asleep. But protocol was protocol, so to canvass its entirety was a necessity.
Tir found himself wishing though, as Nep's abdomen blew forwards next to him and some creature of shadow, horned, writhing, seething with cold appeared amongst the debris, that he'd acted with a little less complacency. Just this once.
But, well, what's done is done, he thought, as this bipedal thing's hand cut through his own abdomen like butter, scooping out the insides like he used to do with the gourds back home for festival lanterns.
Red feasted on that same thing there, amongst the dying bodies, and failed to notice the shadows they were made of change. Failed to notice them become flesh in places, hard, taut. Red remembered more things that weren't theirs to remember, too, but at the end, when the memories were gone and Red had lived two more lives and felt what they felt and seen what they'd seen and known, Red remembered one of the faces in the locket. And Red saw her, laughing, holding his hand. And those same non-tears began tumbling to the floor, puddling shadows, and he wept.
It was a good day. A cold one, the leaves were falling like rusted flakes of metal from the sky, like what you'd find if you went to New Washington or Constantinople during a windstorm, what with the iron roof of the understory being uncared for. As long as it stood, as long as it sustained, it didn't matter to those above.
But you could see the sky, and the leaves were leaves, as far as leaves go.
And she was there. Laughing, long, brown curls bouncing as she pranced backwards and away, and I chased, slowly, walking forwards up the hill, wending between the old trees.
She was beautiful, then. Carefree, joyous. A fever dream.
She was everything.
Red heaved, vomiting some of his namesake to the floor, seeing the last of it turn black before he was done. The shadows didn't eat this. Didn't consume this. This was his. His to live for, his to chase.
But oh, Red hungered so, hungered for food, hungered for memory.
Red hungered so very, very, strongly, and he thought, he knew that there were more living aboard.
There was more food to be had.
So Red began to hunt again.
As the comlink shivered out of existence, as Ber's corpse fell to the floor with a sonata of hard clacks and meaty slaps, Red stood above him. Lithe, defined, most of him had skin. His hands were cruel, his feet were hooves, his face was sharper than it had been - aided in its angularity by a crown of antlers that had always been there.
But he was incomplete. He knew so. So very, very incomplete. And as he hungered, he knew, feasting would not sate him. Drinking the memories, the lives of others, would not make him content. He had consumed so much, and the drive had not diminished, and he was still as lost as he always had been.
He still didn't know who he was, beyond that one glimpse.
That one face.
And so he would drift, he decided. In and out of time, in and out of consciousness, in and out of shadow. Until he was discovered, recovered. Until he found something that would mean something.
Till then, he would sit.
And he would eat whatever came, on the off chance that it would shed some light, that the memories they brought would spur him towards rediscovering his own.
Until he knew, he would be Red.
submitted by purity_and_beans to humansarespaceorcs [link] [comments]
2021.12.08 01:29 wilmerproman How to find opponents higher rated?
Hi! When reading articles on chess improvement, many strong players suggest playing against higher rated opponents. But it seems hard to find them, since most people want to also play higher rated players? Where can I find people willing to play lower rated players? I am 2170 lichess atm of writing. Thankful for all responses!
submitted by wilmerproman to chess [link] [comments]
2021.12.08 01:29 Royal-Message-8582 $WBEV is the thing
|submitted by Royal-Message-8582 to StockMarket [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 Jstash0254 Plug told me it's FIRE CBD. legit no pesticides. What yall think? 🤣
|submitted by Jstash0254 to fakecartridges [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 davetenhave More than 300 scientists have told Mark Zuckerberg they want access to Meta's internal research on child and teen mental health because it doesn't meet scientific standards
|submitted by davetenhave to AntiFANG [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 roatch32 Recent progress pic rate the physique
|submitted by roatch32 to teenagers [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 rivarias Me after practicing for hours and still can’t get it right
|submitted by rivarias to lingling40hrs [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 iordanos877 Is that a Radical Edward patch that Miles has on his vest?
|submitted by iordanos877 to cowboybebop [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 bananajc My favorite past time
2021.12.08 01:29 AlwaysBi Miles Morales of the Raimi-Verse [OC]
2021.12.08 01:29 Imhabibi someone rp for me
2021.12.08 01:29 Medic7816 Doing work with my 2018 JKU
2021.12.08 01:29 Dr_Singularity Lenovo and LG announced today that they are collaborating on new medical imaging solutions to aid the radiology community
|submitted by Dr_Singularity to ChinaInnovation [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 Investigate311 Finding joy in playing
Hey everybody, bit of a different sort of post. To get this out of the way, I have depression and am on medication for it. But, one of the longest lasting effects of my depression is playing music doesn't seem to make me very happy anymore. It's not just classical guitar either. I used to play a lot of steel string but over the past few years it just doesn't feel the same anymore.
After playing, I never feel like I've done anything. Or I feel like I can't ever sound right. I seem to enjoy playing with other people more than alone, but not always. After getting a master's degree in classical music, having this happen just makes me feel like I'm losing so much of myself. I want to like playing music again and I don't want to just feel empty or angry whenever I play.
For any of you who have overcome this, do you have any tips? For any of you who haven't, I feel you. Thank you.
submitted by Investigate311 to classicalguitar [link] [comments]
2021.12.08 01:29 shadowattic [Solid State Physics (2nd year Engineering)] Exam Help URGENT!! NEED MINIMUM A [TAKING OFFERS w/ Paypal]
Subject: Solid state physics exam 2nd year university level
Date: December 8 12pm to 2pm EST.
Exam:16 questions, multiple-choice as well as quantitative. Three of the questions are full solution question.
Covering chapters: Electrostatics, Photoelectric Effect, Introduction to semi-conductors Holes as charge carries, Current, Conductivity, Resistivity, and Ohm's Law, Hall Effect, Bohr's Model of the atom, Doping in Semiconductor, Band structure in solids, Fermi-Dirac Statistics, Fermi Energy Level Position, Introduction to pn-Junction, pn-jnunction - Electric Field and Width, Forward/Reverse Bias and Capacitance of the p-n Junction, Stored Charge Effects, Optoelectronic devices, MOSFET, MOS Operating Modes, Charge and Energy Level Diagrams, MOSFET Operation (Current and Voltage), CMOS, MOSFET Surface potential
Payment method: PayPal Business account
Communication: Discord: C.I.A#7087
submitted by shadowattic to Exams [link] [comments]
2021.12.08 01:29 Curious_Tie_9397 Would Rutgers students use an app that beats procrastination and academic anxiety?
I’m a London-based Master’s student who currently finds it difficult concentrating for longer periods of time and finding daily motivation. I’m normally very organised, have the will to learn and the desire to achieve good grades (scored a 1st/5.0 GPA in my BSc). But the remote-learning environment due to COVID-19 decreases my accountability, productivity and makes me feel socially isolated.
The idea would be to:
2021.12.08 01:29 DojaCats_TinyChat I run a porn sub with about 200 members
2021.12.08 01:29 thediamondconqueror Krista (krista_t)
|submitted by thediamondconqueror to EliteFemale [link] [comments]|
2021.12.08 01:29 Zestyclose-Cow8654 Can I have some karma pls :))