mmmilkita
mmmilkita
my little brba diary ❤︎
19 posts
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ spilled mmmilk. my sketches -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ inky mmmilk. my written works -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ mmmilky cites. collected quotes -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ filmmmilky. my edits
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mmmilkita · 2 days ago
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thank you Bucky for letting me add something to your pretty piece..
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“Hey, Walter’s ruthless. He’ll do just about anything to protect his interest. I agree. Except when it comes to you. He cares about you, can’t you see?”
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mmmilkita · 3 days ago
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sooo bisexuals are inherently evil...
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i <3 gay
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mmmilkita · 8 days ago
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𝘞𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘺.
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mmmilkita · 18 days ago
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he sleeps with guys
just for fun
and drugs
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mmmilkita · 19 days ago
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I hope my dad was scared of his only daughter petting the TV cause there was a battered white boy in a cage.
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mmmilkita · 1 month ago
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𝙰 (𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘) 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘. 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎.
𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚔𝚜, 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏.
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𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚣 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐:
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mmmilkita · 2 months ago
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𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭.
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mmmilkita · 4 months ago
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just a 2000's A.P. attempt
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mmmilkita · 5 months ago
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𝐌𝐫. 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭'𝐬 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥
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mmmilkita · 5 months ago
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But in my arms she was always...
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mmmilkita · 6 months ago
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my first WJ fic.
Tags: Painter+Religious+Demented Walter White, Muse Jesse Pinkman, Alternate Universe, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Necrophilia
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The great Heisenberg had fallen a long time ago.
The man regains hope in the form of a young deer.
Motion by mmmilkita
An observer is always true to his words.
No cuts, no poetry, no twisting of terms. A straight line and little to no curves. Accurateness, limited to what the eyes can see, a man’s memory, his system of beliefs. A good liar is also observant; however, he lies. He lacks context, purposely twists the truth and covers the ugly or deepens the wound. This kind of man is untrustworthy yet artful in his ways. I am both, I am what you call; an artist. I have an honest heart but lying hands.
Even now as my fingers confine the wooden brush, arms dancing to the lines and shape of my muse, I contort what’s in front of me. A mirage of flesh and bones, pigments sinking into a pool of illusion. It’s almost as if I possess the power of the sovereign himself, except I am incapable of creation out of nothing. I have no other choice but to gather the finest materials, as a devotee of God.
Now while I confess that I was not one to worship or even grovel at anyone’s feet, miracles do change a man. Like so many of the others, I was but a lost soul searching for answers, the faintest light to guide me. Wandering the darkest of streets, as if a stray dog limping towards nothing at all. Carrying on with but an empty yet swollen stomach full of hungry worms, entangled and curled into a ball from their incessant writhing. They protested in language of rabid hunger, consuming whatever was left of me inside and perhaps, a fool stood no chance fleeing a scythe that was buried in the deepest well that is himself.
Angels were but a foolish concept to me until one walked on earth. The night when the heavens graciously opened its curtains to me, a hand fair as gentle snow reached out. The divine offering a gesture of forgiveness. Soft, slender fingers circled the tip of the protruding weapon and freed me of agony. As if it were King Arthur liberating the stone to claim his rightful throne. Darkness turned to day, bestowing upon me a blinding sight. It was not a King who brought me salvation, but a sweet Prince.
And in return, I have betrayed His kindness. Sacrilege. A sin of high price to pay.
Oh, jury of the winged, if you were to believe a folly, I do admit to one thing. It was the messenger to blame. Warmth radiated from every inch of his blessedness; it is simply justified that a famished mutt felt compelled to lie beside crackling firewood. Not a word of objection was heard, only the ringing of church bells in midst of pleasured cries. You see, my desecration was but to bathe away befouled spirit. If I had not done what I did, I would have simply perished.
“We are at your merciful palms.
May our pollution become a lesson.
For all I know, redeeming oneself is through sincere expression of regret.
What more could I possibly offer than an unclouded picture of thy gospel?”
Reciting my prayer, I am reminded of the disturbance growing in my chest. Creating the perfect piece is nearly unattainable, the pressure never fails to weigh me down. Mentors have praised me for having impeccable taste. How I stood among mankind much like the Christ. You know how it goes. Resurrection. Then followed by a fallout in my fruitless career which humbled a fragile ego. However, my punishment was undeniably well deserved, I had lacked intention to save anyone but myself. Selfish wishes equal to loneliness. And I was truly and utterly alone.
That is why I must repent, along with the fallen. Sickness runs in mortal veins. The desire to create is a relentless piece of us. To be sheltered in another’s flesh and vitality. How repulsive our nature is. How stubborn our hearts beat. How we break our words so effortlessly once the devil speaks.
Take a bite.
Listen to the sound of youth. Breathe.
In the garden of Eden, the forbidden tree calls out to me. From its fresh green to its healthy red seeds, I follow the hissing. My alluring Eve, betrayal is your forte. As you are not the detestable creature, I have read in my mother’s book but you are twice as mesmerizing. The cheap canvas which I replicate your beauty in shames your existence. And yet it is swarmed with overgrown flies buzzing ceaselessly. Because I continue to sully your figure, no matter the distance.
Just merely observing you inebriate my senses. Sending waves of virulent thrills stirred within a pot of boiling guilt, cruel pulsations threatening to overflow. Fragments of our shared passion flashed in a lazy, prolonged motion. Fervent haze and echoed vibrations harmonized the double visioned memory. A vivid recollection, replaying heavenly tenderness. Damp walls crafted of finest silk welcomed the dry and weary, laying out rivers of glistening sap, supple blanket overlapping my entirety. Electric blue gleamed and blazed. Those twin orbs the coldest of flames. Contrasting the gentleness of an embrace. Royal velvet lips bled against mine, crimson rose coating our teeth with a hint of metallic taste. In that moment, we were savages ardently marking each other. Sucking, biting, exchanging scents like animals. Revolting.
Albeit, it was the most pristine I’ve ever felt.
Breathless, indulging the past, the feverish rush plunging me closer to nirvana finally breaks. The face of purity watched me from across the dingy room without a trace of surprise nor disgust. I am relieved. Only innocence painted his gentle doe eyes, still and fixed on my disgrace.
A spare regret to pile into my mountain of vices. Temptation is certainly not an easy foe. The path to redemption is a rugged journey and a sinner walks barefoot. I digress. The hammering intrusion is giving me a headache.
Sauntering from my seat to the dust filled windows, I push the curtains to the side. Icy air knocked on my cheeks before enveloping my somber cabin, sweeping around powdery articles in the process. The bitter afternoon breeze encourages the flimsy fabric to sway. Flaxen, its color, the same shade as his delicate strands. I turn to him. And my, what a spectacle to behold. Not even the scenic overlook of the icebound mountain could compare to the image of a sleeping dove. Dainty and motionless. He is such a doll. Saturated hues tinted his pale complexion, revealing an angelic glow.
Breathtaking is purely an understatement. Every presented detail screamed perfection.
I promptly return, lifted and frantic, sitting on the stiff chair. Recording his ravishing figure mingling with euphoric radiance. I beamed upon witnessing a biblical history unfold. Surely, adding a second art piece is warranted by the gracious Himself, especially of this holy grandeur. Occupied of the newly found inspiration, the pounding disruption grew feeble. And the inexplicable, violating stench fades into the background at last. Bringing tranquility to the disturbed sheep, with a hopeful yearning to be forgiven.
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mmmilkita · 6 months ago
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“Lamento della Ninfa” (The Nymph's Lament) by Claudio Monteverdi
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mmmilkita · 7 months ago
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In her little pink wedding dress...
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mmmilkita · 8 months ago
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"I was a constant, faithful wife" from The Bear by William Walton (1967)
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mmmilkita · 8 months ago
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the goodest boy !!
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mmmilkita · 8 months ago
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Listen to me, Jesse.. We need to kiss because I love you like a son.
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mmmilkita · 8 months ago
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official wj theme
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