#pristine

[orofeaiel]

Avalanche Lake, WA

[fairy-3vil]

🩷✨

[jasmine7031]

Porridge tastes delicious the morning after drinking too much alcohol the night before.

[lordtonic]

pristinneeee

[nenan]

Halloumi_hunty007 photographed by Melanie Lehmann for Pristine

[rars]

busts of pristine and hollow :)

[lasynthese]

[dachmanarts]

Alpine lake

[stilesinwonderland]

another possibly shootable offense—I preferred jokezo’s (hidden agenda’s) kissing style to fadelstyle’s

[elliotdeflateme]

pristine adam theory

this is part 3 to adam theories, if youve never heard of pristine adam you arent alone.. he is a niche and underground adam that i found searching the deep dark web.

there is not much uncovered lore for pristine adam but after analyzing him for hours i think ive come to a conclusion. In every image of this adam, he earned the 'pristine' name based on his baby butt like skin, soft and youthful. but as i looked at the time these photos are dated to i realized they were decades and even centuries apart but he still hadnt aged..

i think this alternate universe adam found his own 'fountain of youth' or some kind of unique property that kept him young and mogging forever.

comment your thoughts.

[harmlessmessages]

WARNING: SMUT

Careless by harmlessmessages. All rights reserved by the author. 

“Careless” tells the story of two strangers who meet at an open mic in Manhattan. She’s a vibrant musician determined to perform even as her body resists her every move. He’s a mysterious young man weighed down by debilitating, chronic pain and a secret as dark as the mask that hides his face. 

Through alternating perspectives, their chance encounter evolves into a night of raw connection and unguarded intimacy. As their stories intertwine, their personal struggles and unexpected likeness surface, revealing the solace and heartbreak of finding hope and relief in one another, even if for one night.

Each scene is paired with a song, making “Careless” an immersive experience where music mirrors the characters’ journeys and the poignancy of their bond.

Song: Pristine, Snail Mail

11/41 “I’m sorry… for bumping into you earlier.” The girl brought herself closer to him, the curves of her cleavage becoming more pronounced, tempting him to glance down as he felt beads of sweat form under his layers. Her knees grazed his — she was timid, not unsure of herself, necessarily, but unsure if he wanted this.  

He tried to keep his eyes forward, focusing on the small details. Like the soft creases that carried her eyes, telling him she was older, probably around his own age. He tried to overlook the sultry that inhabited her stare. He tried to ignore her lips, parting, as if she were making space for him, inviting him to enter. 

Fuck — it was happening. He was getting hard, so hard, and it hurt. He hasn’t been able to get hard without a fucking stabbing pain down there in years. 

He grimaced. He didn’t want to show it. But fuck, it stung — his cock pushing against the rough fabric of his crotch, demanding to be let out. He anchored himself, hands on his upper thighs, leaning forward so much that his knees bumped sloppily against hers, leaving no space between them. 

She didn’t pull back. Instead, she wedged herself further into him, so their legs were nearly cradling each other. 

His body trembled. He needed to stand, or the pain would build. Sweat rolled down his forehead, caught by his brows — he could not endure this too much longer. He wanted this, her. He wanted her even though it pained him.

“I — I, um.” He stuttered, completely absorbed by the bow of her lips, leaning further into their pull. God, he wanted to taste them. He wanted to taste her. He has wanted this for so long, for months. He tried to ignore temptations, to look away, to hide from his own desire. He told himself for months that he could not have this, he wasn’t allowed to have this anymore.

“You okay?” Her lips pouted, her face so close that he could feel her warm, wet exhale touch and tingle his uncovered skin.

Fuck, that feels good. Fuck.

He fell into her.  

She started giggling, pulling back before his face could reach hers. 

“Take off your mask, silly.” She tilted her head, clearly amused. 

“Shit.” He backed up, blood rushing to his face. First, he felt stupid, then he felt scared.

He almost forgot — this is not a game. “How are you going to kiss me with that on?” She leaned backwards to take him in wholly. He felt she could see right through him, under his hood, his mask, into his head. 

Now is the time to leave. Right now, he should go. He needed an alibi, sure, but he could end it here, while it was safe.

“Why are you wearing that mask, by the way?” She pressed. 

He anticipated this. He wasn’t stupid. He was smart. His whole life, he had been smart. That’s what he thought, that’s what everyone said. The pandemic was over. It was cold outside, sure, but they were inside. He knew this was going to happen. If he got too close to someone, they were going to ask. And he had slipped, he was slipping. He wasn’t supposed to have gone this far.

“It’s part of the look.” He stumbled, trying to find his words. 

“What look? School shooter?” She laughed loudly, the same laugh that had kept him here for this long. He should have left the moment he felt her approaching him at the bar. He should have left when he heard her sing.

“Ha-ha. What if I were deformed? Would you be laughing then?” His eyes narrowed at her, trying to throw her off. 

12/41 She did not have to look down, she felt the heat of his body approaching her. Between their banter, their knees pushing and pulling, he rose and expanded, as if asking her to move closer. It was undeniable, she was sure now, she thought — this kinetic effect building between them, waiting for one of them to break.

“Come on, Joker. Show me your smile.” She winked, arching her back, the wetness between her legs sliding and tingling. She decided in this moment that she did not care if he was not what she imagined. Because whatever this was made her horny, made her want to fuck, to be fucked. She hadn’t been fucked in a long, long time. 

She leaned into him once more. He had inched away in what seemed to be embarrassment, but his breathing was hard, so ragged that his warm exhale pushed through his mask and reached her, stood right in front of her. He rose his eyes to her own, lingering for just a moment before moving down to her lips, then her breasts.

“As much as I would love to indulge you…” He cleared his throat. “I have to go, actually.”

“Wait — what?” She shook her head, immediately sobering up, eyes widening as the light of the bar became brighter and the volume of the world around them increased, rushing into the space between them like high tide.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I have to wake up early.” He pulled his legs away from her, taking the searing tension away with him. His eyes were pained, almost sorrowful, like he was pitying her. Did she cross a line? Had she said something wrong? No, no, he said he’s sorry — believe him. It’s not because of anything you did. She would not allow herself to think that way. She had to stay positive, sure of herself. It’s the only reason she has made it this far. “Okay.” Her lips pursed into a downward smile. “Okay, thanks for, um, talking with me.” She leaned backwards, running her hands through her hair and locking them behind her head. 

He looked away from her, sliding his drink in her direction like some consolation prize. “I owe you one. I didn’t touch it — go for it.” “Okay.” She forced a smile, laughing through her teeth. How absurd, she thought. To finally take off her mask for someone who would not take off their own, quite literally. She then released a heavy sigh — of course, she was disappointed. But more present in her body was a carnal frustration that she tried to push away, far away, squeezing her thighs and clenching the soft muscle between them. 

She pulled his drink towards her, only strengthening her grip around the cold glass once it was out of his arm’s reach, like she were worried he might take it back, that he might change his mind about this, too.

She was unable to meet his eyes because her own suddenly felt heavy, a dampness forming around them. “It was nice meeting you.” She tried to keep her smile, something nice to punctuate this confusing interaction. ‘You, too.” He stood up, hurried, briskly readjusting his crotch above his pants. He looked to her one last time, his eyes shaped like a sad smile.

He was tall. At least six feet. She turned her head further up to where he now stood.

“Bye.” She managed to keep it together as their eyes met one last time. She waved to him, and he waved back before he turned and walked out the bar door, giving way to a bursting, chill draft that reminded her how cold it was supposed to be this time of year. 

Her stare lingered at the entrance. It was too good to be true, then. That’s okay, right? She’s been here before. This is what she writes about, anyway. She’ll just write another song, like she always does.

Yet in her hands an old pain returned home. Not the endless storm, not the stiffness triggered by the cold wind that blew and blew, but a yearning, sinking ache, a desolation that lived somewhere between her muscles and her bones and made her doubt herself for just long enough that she allowed the dampness around her eyes to build.

But before any tear could fall, she wiped her face with the end of her sleeves. Then, she let out a quick, hard breath through her nose and stepped off the stool.

[fairy-3vil]

🩷✨

[lordtonic]

what if the shamwow guy was full of hate and a love for capitalism and would eat your hand if it’s too close to your face

[nenan]

Anu Tumenjargal photographed by Melanie Lehmann for Pristine

[rars]

she's just a little guy!

[alifafauziar]

Paisupok Lake, Central Sulawesi, Indonesia