#if x were your y

[pparacxosm]

hello ether ! remember me ?

i was the girl posting taylor russell fics to the void and the if x were your y stuff and waxing ad nauseam about challengers, i was the stream of green girl ! the one who made that thinkpiece calling art donaldson a poisonous little viper ! and now i’m in counselling so i’m back and remember me?? remember me!! do i still glean with light in the tender harp of your mind ?;; anyways may upload some stuff. may reupload some of my old stuff. remember me.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

sometimes katsuki gets really dramatic (but let’s be fr when isn’t he) and acts like you ghosted him when you don’t respond to his texts in thirty minutes. not in a creepy way, just in a dramatic, needy way.

he’s not worried or anything, he checks his phone every few minutes to see if any texts from you have come in. it’s a force of habit, because you usually respond pretty quickly but after a while it gets a little weird. and then he sends you a text and another one and unconsciously he starts spamming you a bit. again, not in a creepy way. just an annoying needy whiny dramatic baby, way.

“what’s up, bakubro ? you keep checking your phone.” katsuki doesn’t look at kirishima, eyes glued to his phone when he just grunts out an ��‘m fine.”

and then kaminari just has to open his big mouth. his voice playful as he speaks “uh oh, trouble in paradiseee~?” katsuki scoffs, telling the blonde to fuck off.

and he isn’t worried..not at all. until he thinks about it and maybe there was trouble in paradise ?? were you maybe ignoring him ? what’d he do ?

you look up from your notebook at the sound of your phone vibrating. oh, it’s katsuki ! you smile just seeing his contact pop up.

“hi, katsu !”

silence, no response. you try again.

“…hello ?”

you hear a scoff from the other end, and some shuffling before your boyfriend graces you with an answer. “look at your phone, you idiot.”

“hello, katsu.” you snort. “yeah, yeah. hi.” you can practically hear the roll of his eyes through the phone, you giggle and your boyfriend huffs through the speaker.

it’s then that you see the wall of texts from him “oh, did you text me ? my bad i was studying.”

there’s a faint sigh of relief “‘s fine.”

“were you worried ?” you tease.

“fuck no. just—“ a sudden pause then katsuki grumbles “answer my texts next time, moron. bye. don’t overdo it while studying or i’ll kill you.”

“meanie !” you giggle, and when he hangs up you send him a text.

we can study together next time, just so you don’t flip out again 💗😚

katsuki scoffs a mean laugh, then sends you a middle finger.

[mydearchoso]

sukuna who's about to go insane after a long day, needing to feel you.

sukuna who start's taking off your lounge wear. shirt first, before leaning in to kiss you as his hands go to the hem on your waist.

sukuna who starts pulling your shorts down before they get stuck over your hips, groaning in frustration.

sukuna who is fighting every urge to rip them off as he asks, "how'd you get these damned things on, brat?"

sukuna who is about at his wits end as they finally slide down, underwear in tow.

sukuna who all but moans in relief as they do, relishing in the sight before him. of course only after he victoriously flings his now most hated pair of shorts across the house. never wishing to see them again.

[aennasan]

Soap forgetting to buy you a Christmas present and so during opening the presents, he asked you to close your eyes and wait for his "gift".

Turns out his gift was just him wearing nothing but a red bow.

The surprise would have worked if you didn't laugh and asked him again, "Seriously, Soap, where is my gift?". After all, you went to a lot of trouble finding his.

Let's just say someone slept on the couch throughout the night. Bothering 141 through a video call on how to make it up to you before you wake up.

[donnieisaprettyboy]

“baby gays treat queerness like some kind of exclusive club they’re always arguing about slur discourse and they refuse to learn their own history-“ SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

YOU ARE LITERALLY SEEING A SELECT HANDFUL OF BAD OPINIONS IN THE BRAINROT TRENCHES OF TIKTOK AND ASSUMING AN ENTIRE GENERATION OF QUEER KIDS DESERVE HATE FOR IT

JUST BECAUSE YOU CRITICIZE A SPECIFIC “TYPE” OF GAY DOES NOT MAKE IT ANY LESS HOMOPHOBIC

LEAVE THEM ALONE

[literaila]

do you ever think reader would storm out of the house after a fight between her & satoru? (referring to ur keeping secrets fic.) i feel like part of her wouldn’t bc she’s also thinking about the kids and she just can’t leave them, but she also seems a lot more grounded than satoru in general. i think the other part of her would also need a minute to step out for a bit bc i just know satoru drives her to insanity. i don’t knoww, satoru’s reaction to her storming out just infects my brain, but i know she couldn’t do that to megumi and tsumiki </3 i’m such a sucker for your hurt/comfort fics

“where are you going?”

“not sure,” satoru says, barely mumbling. “i didn’t ask.”

“you didn’t ask?”

he looks at you, just a glimmer of teasing in his eyes. but the rest of him is apprehensive—he knows what you’re thinking.

he always does.

but he looks back down, shoving shirts into a suitcase in the worst possible way.

“does it matter?” he asks, dryly. “it’s just another work trip.”

“how long are you going to be gone?”

“however long it takes to—“

“can i come with you?”

satoru pauses, and his eyes trail to you.

to you, where you’re standing in the doorway. you only know he’s leaving because of the suitcase, you only know that you can’t deal with him being gone again because of that feeling.

it’s reminiscent of packing your own bag at fifteen. of never returning home.

“you want to come?” satoru’s voice is too smooth, too unserious. “you hate planes. and what about work? you want to take your students too?”

“how long are you going to be gone?”

satoru sighs. he finally relents, walking over to you. his smile is a little irritated, tired. “it won’t take long,” he says, rubbing your shoulders. “you’ll get the bed all to yourself.”

“this is the fourth trip in the last three months.”

he tilts his head. “it’s the same amount as always.”

“it’s—“ you stop.

it’s different.

and your heart is racing, because you’re used to this feeling.

really, satoru has taken regular work trips for as long as you’ve known him. his passport is well used, his suitcase replaced almost once a year.

but it’s different.

because it used to be you, satoru, and the kids. it used to be you and the kids waiting at the door, talking about him behind his back, going to the airport to pick him up.

and even if you missed him, you knew that tsumiki missed him just as much. you knew that megumi was waiting for him to come back just the same—getting restless without someone there to mess with constantly.

it used to be you and the kids, when satoru was gone.

but now…

megumi is at school all week—and even when he comes home, it’s only to keep you happy. so that he can take a break from jujutsu, and sleeping in a dorm right next to yuji’s.

and tsumiki—

you stop thinking about that almost immediately.

it’s just not worth it.

when satoru leaves, you’re all alone.

“i wish you could come. you know how the higher ups are about—“

“why don’t you tell them no?”

satoru is wearing his blindfold, so you can’t see his eyes. but you see it as he leans back, looking at you curiously. “what?”

“tell them no. they’re scared of you, aren’t they? they’re not going to make you—“

“what other special grade sorcerer are they going to send?” he asks, shaking his head. “i hate them too, but if they need me—“

“i need you.”

satoru stops. you want to see his eyes—you want him to stay here.

you don’t want to walk around the house and chat with ghosts. you don’t want to be the only one left behind—the only one who has nothing else.

what about you? what’s supposed to happen to you when satoru leaves you behind?

he’s done it before, and he’ll do it again.

“what?”

“i don’t understand why you have to go,” you say, and you’re angry now. “i’m tired of your work trips, and i hate that you don’t even care, and i hate being in the house all alone—“

“what? what do you mean i don’t care?”

you pull away from him. just to do it first. “you don’t even try to get someone else to do it, you just leave—“

“why are you blaming me? i didn’t ask for this.”

“because you’re always gone! and i’m always alone, and you haven’t even asked me how i feel about it—“

“it’s not like i enjoy doing it,” he says, frowning. “i don’t like leaving you or the kids, it’s just work—“

“i think you do enjoy it,” you spit. and you know that you shouldn’t but, “you like being the only one that they can call. being the strongest. that’s why you haven’t told them no, that’s why—“

“what?”

“is it fun to leave the house? to escape for a week or two while i’m here to take care of everything?”

satoru scoffs. “are you kidding?”

“what? you can admit it. go on and leave. you’ve done it before, satoru.”

his jaw clenches. “if you don’t like being here,” he says, so soft—but you can feel it. the impending blow. “then go somewhere else.”

immediately, your body flinches back. you fall inwards, wanting nothing more than to fall back against him.

but it’s too late.

“i can’t help that im the strongest, i don’t enjoy leaving you—but ill do it because it’s my job. if you hate being alone, then find something else. go see megumi, or nanami, or—“

you take a step back, almost stumbling into the wall.

“you’re putting words in my mouth and i—“

but you don’t hear the rest of that sentence.

and maybe this is your fault. you shouldn’t have picked a fight, you shouldn’t have even said anything.

satoru isn’t to blame for your loneliness. he isn’t to blame for anything.

you turn around. and you walk out the door with shaking hands.

go somewhere else, he said.

and you will.

[foursaints]

no more infighting the diversity of taste in marauders fandom is my favorite thing about being here… just saw barty hate describing him as a creepy arrogant coward with emotional regulation issues probably hunched over a desk doodling dead animals and my instinctual response was 🥰🥰 hell yes he is….. that’s my boy 💞💞…… at the same time i love the marauders but it’s the most hilariously fruitless thing ever when i see someone trying to explain to me that the gryffindors MUST be more likable as characters because they are “kind” and “brave” and “not incredibly morally reprehensible”…… what if i like the spineless terrorist torturer character. what if i want him carnally. what if i’m saying he did nothing wrong and lovingly readjusting his house arrest ankle bracelet. where does that leave us now

[etirabys]

something that peeves me in fiction – in a setting where society that hasn't mostly eliminated scarcity, anyway – is when someone really kindhearted takes in a near stranger in need (e.g. orphan, ex slave) and that person is their only project to whom they can give a lot of care. irl I feel like everyone who's exceptionally nice, or at least bad at drawing a line for their own health, has a full case load and is close to burnout

I don't mind this at all when there's a good plot reason for why X should be helping Y in particular and isn't already overbooked; I feel some ugh when X is depicted as someone who'd always help people in Y's shoes but has mysteriously evaded all other supplicants.

I'm pro-fantasy but this kind of moral fantasy strikes me as a bit uglier than the others: you can be a nurturing figure who gives unconditional help without running something so unphotogenic as a vetting interview or cost/benefit analysis, but you'll never be overwhelmed, either

[miguelswifey04]

hi darling could u do a miguel x chubby reader one? i love that theres that headcanon that he likes bigger girls coz it feels like there isnt a space for that in most fandoms and self-insert fics thank you so so much xxxx

YEAH OF COURSE!! THAT IS TRUE :p

🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱

miguel was never one to care much about looks but when it came to you—god he could never get enough of you. he loved the way your plush thighs felt against his big calloused hands as he kneaded the fat of your thighs gently, maybe even nibbling on them if you were comfortable with it. he praised you and would always say you were more perfect than aphrodite, herself.

he would casually call you his aphrodite—you were beautiful to him, and to everyone else. he saw your curves as works of art, deserving of admiration and love. every time he laid eyes on them, his heart swelled with adoration and desire. he left a trail of kisses along your neck, collarbone, and down to the gentle arcs of your breasts, where his lips worshiped their fullness. he delighted in the way your skin tingled beneath his touch, the way you responded to his adoring kisses and caresses.

with gentle hands, miguel explored the softness of the your body, tracing the curves and edges that defined your unique beauty. his movements were filled with reverence and tenderness as he peppered their skin with kisses, leaving a trail of adoration in his wake.

“you are exquisite, mi amor," miguel murmured against your warm skin, his voice husky with desire. "your curves drive me wild, each one a testament to your sensuality and beauty." his lips pressed against the softness of your stomach, raining kisses upon it, as he whispered sweet words of appreciation.

his hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with a touch that whispered adoration. he kissed your full, plush lips with a fervor that spoke of his desire to worship every part of you. "you are perfect just as you are," he assured them, his voice filled with conviction. "your body holds a beauty that deserves to be celebrated and cherished."

as the passion ignited, miguel continued to lavish attention upon the your beauty full figure, his touch becoming more fervent and hungry. with every caress, every heated gaze, he conveyed his love and attraction. he explored your body with gentle reverence, ensuring that every inch of you felt desired and adored.

he knew that your curves were a source of empowerment and sensuality something everyone should embrace.

[lunarw0rks]

wait wait lemme cook, firefighter!soap & baker!reader…because y/n will never be boring!!

there was a fire at the bakery, you’re pretty sure the owner burned it down for insure and you got caught in the middle of it.

johnny has saved dozens of people before but has the urge to visit you at the hospital everyday and he doesn’t know why (we all know why).

after you’re healed, you start swinging by every so often to deliver fresh donuts to him and his team and they all start teasing him, saying stuff like, “there goes your girl, johnny”

imagine firefighter!soap visiting you in the hospital and being so sweet :(( and not accepting praise for how he literally pulled you from the flames.

you're not seriously injured, aside from some scrapes, bruises, and a few fractures. if soap hadn't been so quick on his feet, he wouldn't have spotted you before the burning bakery collapsed. it was the definition of a close call.

and then, you let it slip that you believe the fire was all a scam. the owner has always been greedy, not allowing you tips, cutting corners, etc. and soap knows that his captain has already voiced the same suspicions to the arson investigators — so it's not an empty lie.

you shouldn't be moving much at all, let alone having him talk your ear off — so he dismisses himself, insisting that you get some sleep, that he'll see visit you sometime soon, etc.

...

immediately goes to the hospital room next door, where the shitty owner of the bakery is. slightly mangled by flames, barely conscious from whatever drugs they're pumping through him.

firefighter!soap leaning over the owner, gripping his jaw and whispering the vilest threats in his ear so none of the nurses/visitors can hear.

how you could've died because of your boss' scam, and it has johnny SEETHING !!! probably more than he should be, considering it's his job to save, not to get involved. soap thinking 'should've let the bastard burn' as he speeds down the hall.

and he's probably not even supposed to be visiting you.

but he'll be back tomorrow. with a card and flowers as if he wasn't on the brink of committing a felony for you.

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Valentine’s Day prompt 💝

For Dazai x Reader 🔞: it’s Valentine’s Day & Dazai tells Reader how romantic it would be to die together today & Reader replies “how about we fuck instead?”

A Little Death (Dark Era; aged up/18+; NSFW) Mafia!Dazai x Reader  1706 words Tw: sui ideation, choking

It was a secluded scene, shrouded in silence. No one dared to cross the boundary of the hotel’s grounds; to do so was a privilege only afforded to a select few. Its air of secrecy was such that it rendered the half a dozen armed guards who brooded over the tower like ravens, quite superfluous. Port Mafia territory. For a scarce number, its walls knew their secrets but whispered none. For the rest, it was simply impenetrable. 

The hotel room was neither luxurious nor homely. Thin gauze blinds let in little moonlight. Outside, the starless sky was streaked with storm clouds. Even the fluorescence which defined Yokohama’s horizon and kept the city in artificial daylight did not reach this dark corner of the prefecture. Rain pattered relentlessly, the deluge so intense that entire waves were dashed at the rattling windows. Thin branches scraped against glass. You glanced above your head, half-expecting the flaked plaster to cave in at any moment. 

Quieter than the storm came the clicking of the heating unit. A stale smell lingered about the plain, whitewashed walls. A black suit jacket thrown over a chair. Unfinished business. Sake bottles cluttered the side table. A low electric light. Crumpled bed sheets and the scent of sex. 

You felt too cold to remain in the doorway. Shrugging your coat off, you hung it on a wall-mounted hook beside his. Its belt dripped rainwater onto the matting beside your discarded Louboutins. As you crossed into the room his silhouette came into view. Dazai sat cross legged on the floor, arms in his lap, his back against the end of a double, Western-style bed. He made no sign at your approach. His gestures, or lack of, were as inscrutable as ever. No one had ever sifted the murky depths which submerged his heart. You only knew that he played games. And, if his intention was to set you on edge, then you would just have to make yourself comfortable.

“I know I kept you waiting…”

The bed gave a small creak as you knelt upon it. Removing the tie from your hair, you allowed it to tumble down, sodden and tangled, past your waist. Then, with a sound of relative contentment, you flung yourself on your back and stretched out your legs luxuriously upon the pillows. Dazai was motionless; the back of his head remained against the foot of the bed. Dark, brown tufts stood up, unruly. You let your head hang down beside his so that your rain-flecked skin brushed against his face. His cotton bandage wrapping grazed your cheek. You felt his jaw tighten. Upside down, the cracks in the floor appeared more fragile than the ceiling. Either one could give way at any moment.

A hand reached into your hair. 

“If you remember, you did promise me romance…” Dazai’s tone was as soft as silk. With a turn of his head, the tip of his nose brushed your own. His breath, sweet with sake, clouded you. Threatened to pull you under. Only the initiating thread of conversation and he was already reeling you in.

Slowly his fingers stroked loose strands from your face, until he was cradling the back of your head. There was something so gentle, so loving in the subtle press of his fingertips that you closed your eyes. 

“I know…” Your words bore the weight of remorse, even if you didn’t feel it.

Rain lashed violently at the window. Dazai gathered your damp hair around his fingers, weaving a braid like a coil of rope. Playful. If his patience was worn then the lithe movements of his hands did not suggest it. 

“How beautiful…” he mused to himself, wrapping the twisted knots like a noose around his knuckles. Watchful, you lay still. In the gloom the pale skin of your neck shone silver.

“What is?”

Wet hair tickled your throat.

“...why, the thought of dying with you tonight. What else?”

Dazai’s voice was thick with desire, quite at odds with such a fatalistic notion. The weight of your corded braid was draped across your neck. With a rustling movement, he had risen to his knees.

“...that’s why you came here, after all.” Dazai poured his whisper into your ear. Liquid black. 

Unkempt hair brushed your skin. A pale face; his scars half-hidden beneath wrappings. Dazai’s exposed eye gazed down at you with lust. Its colour was as dark as earth whilst the iris gleamed like molten gold at its centre. His words, his gestures, his games; who could look beyond the endless depths into Dazai’s heart? No; to meet his eye was to stare down into the core of the world itself.

A pull upon the end of your hair; the vine wound itself tighter. You smiled up at him, despite the pink blotches forming on your skin. 

“Actually -” you managed, your breath stuttering, “- what I proposed - was a little death.” 

Your scalp burned where strands were almost yanked from the roots. Ignoring your hold upon his sleeve, Dazai twisted your hair around his fingers. As ever, he wove his little designs only for you to fall, ensnared in his trap. Not that you minded. If you had any intention of survival, then you would never have accepted his invitation here tonight. Easy prey. What was the point in the struggle when Dazai could so easily devour you whole?

Then the twisted cord collapsed. Your chest heaved in the quiet room. The long ribbon of your hair was still gathered in Dazai’s grip. Fiercely, he jerked your head backwards. 

“Is that all you can manage?” Warm breath curled over the shell of your ear. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your lobe. Bloodlust rose to the surface.

You let out a shiver of breath, rolling your head back against the covers. Dazai’s shadow fell; rippled down your chest as he leaned over the edge of the bed. His black tie swung loose; draped over your ribcage. With a brush of cool air he drew your collar away. Languorous in his movements, he enjoyed the sight of you like this. His nose grazed your bare shoulder, breath ghosting over your skin. Then - a gentle drop of his lips.

“Find out for yourself, Osamu…” 

Dazai pressed his kiss to the base of your throat like a knife. 

Hands gathered in his hair, you sighed as Dazai trailed slow, hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your jawline. Your legs writhed against the pillows. Purple wounds nicked into your skin; each mark counted and tossed on the mound of his sins. They said that only darkness flowed through his veins. Mafia black. Doomed to love as dangerously as he lived.

Dazai tasted your jaw; lingered over your cheek, his breath coming quicker. Threading his fingers through your own, he drew your arms beneath him. A feather-light touch to the pale skin of your wrists, his fingertips wandered your limbs. A tuft of dark fringe swept your chin as Dazai kissed your lower lip. Thighs clenched together, you gave another airless sigh. Your mouth chased his, body arching beneath his caress. Head turning against his own, you felt his tongue glide over the back of your teeth. 

With a creak of mattress springs, the weight upon the bed shifted. Dazai’s knee sank into the covers beside your head. Bandaged hands smoothed the hem of your dress as his mouth nipped languidly at your bottom lip.  The material was bunched together in his fist, and then he slowly drew it up over your hips. 

You gasped as Dazai broke away from your mouth. Fingertips stroked your upper leg. A thumb dipped into the waistline of your underwear. 

“La petite mort… the brief state of unconsciousness.” Dazai’s breath warmed the inside of your leg. “Only those consumed by death or desire know it…”

With one hook of his finger he had drawn the lace down around your ankles. Teeth grazed your thigh. Your chest rose and fell as he pressed a kiss to your soft, warm skin. Inching closer, closer… until he was right above where you wanted him. Your hands slipped down Dazai’s lower back. Then, the first brush of his tongue. A low moan bled from your throat. His crumpled shirt almost tore under your nails.

Dazai teased, tasted your clit; his subtle toying sent heat flaring. But one taste had provoked a deeper craving within him. Tongue flattened against you, Dazai indulged himself. His grasp upon your legs tightened until his knuckles blanched. The swill of his tongue set your tender flesh aflame. Your mouth dropped open, back curved away from the bed. Beads of sweat broke out over your forehead as you gripped the bedsheets in your fists. All you wanted was to feel his movements inside you.

As Dazai leaned over you, the fabric of his suit brushed your ear. Self-serving, of course he never gave without taking. All that mattered was the price you paid. In this position, he had you exactly where he wanted you. Reaching out, your hand brushed the rigid pleat in his trousers. Hastily, you unclasped his belt; slung down the material; drew him out. With a firm grasp you guided his rock hard cock down to your open mouth. 

Lips closed around him. Tight. With a shudder, his hips thrust forward. Dazai’s bandaged hands lifted your legs, splayed you open to swallow you whole. Fingertips buried themselves in your skin. Oh how he longed to grip them in your hair whilst he rubbed himself against your lips. Your nerves were humming; shivers shot through your limbs like electricity. The first syllable of his name collapsed into a moan which sent vibrations down his cock. He scraped the roof of your mouth over and over, until his rhythm began to stutter.

“Fuck…” you heard him choke. “...fuck… no one else can take me like you do.”

He gripped your legs higher, pulled you to him, drank you down. Insatiable. You were burning alive. Helpless, your body melted on his tongue. With a choked gasp, you clenched your thighs around his neck. 

“...wanna die happy…” Dazai’s voice was weak as he wiped his mouth on the inside of your thigh. “...so let me die between these legs, Beautiful...”

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

motorcycle sketch featuring cross!! >:)

[metathemeta-art]

specifically for any other celiac dca enjoyers because. look. we gotta cope somehow!! but also this can apply to anyone who has food stuff going on. I think Moon would be super gross about it but he would also not let a single thing poison you ever. special robot sensors or something

[navstuffs]

one of the biggest mistakes capcom has ever made was literally not making ada wong bisexual. she deserves a big badass woman at her side, joining her and letting ada do whatever she wants, cause she knows eventually ada will always come back to her. which brings me to the second part of my thought:

"And who is this exactly?"

Leon turns around, startled to watch you come close. He didn't even notice you before, so focused that he was on Ada. You wear a spandex dark suit that shows off all your curves. You don't look too excited to see him, crossing your arms, somewhat bored.

"Leon Kennedy. The one I told you about, from Raccoon City."

"Oh, I see."

You analyze Leon up and down, a smile on your lips. Ada has told you all about him, and you want Leon to know. Leon tries to ignore the small stupid pain in his heart as you approach them, the heels in your boots loud against the floor. He ignores the pain again as Ada seems to gravitate at your side, you two sharing a secret look and smile. It was like seeing a secret side from Ada: Leon had never seen her eyes glow like that or that soft smile on her lips. Like she was in love.

It shouldn't hurt as much, but it did.

"I thought Ada Wong worked alone," Leon's voice has a tiny hint of sourness. Or jealousy. Your smile got bigger, sighing.

"It seems there are many things you don't know about her, Kennedy."

You leave the room before he can answer, too bored with this overall conversation. Ada watches you leave, discreetly looking at your ass.

"Your girlfriend doesn't seem to like me," Ada smiles because she knows exactly what he means about the word girlfriend.

"Well. My girlfriend doesn't react very well to the good guys. See you later, Leon."

Ada smiles one more time before joining you. Leon was a somewhat forgotten thought since Ada met you. You were vibrant, ready to meet her snarky comments, and unafraid to cross the lines. Ada would never admit she fell in love, but she didn't have to. Not to you. You see it in her eyes as soon as she joins you.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I can be."

[orquideazs]

ok i really REALLY need patrick zweig inside of me rn like i really do

[echoofawind]

People are really out here signing AI artwork like it's their own work. No, it's not "your edit" if you fed words into an AI art generator. I don't care if you changed the lighting on the ai generated image. That AI generator was still built off of other uncompensated artists work and you're now trying to push it off as your own.

Now, if you want to copy the Mona Lisa in your own hand, then go for it. That's art. Art isn't the final product. Art is something you can productize. Art is the act of creation.