"samu. dearest. love of my life. this bed was on the verge of breaking back when we were sixteen. time stops for nothing and no one. remember when you blew out your back last month when we—"
you choke on the rest of your sentence when osamu tugs you closer by your belt loops, making you stumble forward. between huffed out laughter and him murmuring your name like a prayer against your lips, you find yourself in the exact same position as many, many moons ago.
in the miya twins' bunk bed (the bottom one), on top and slotted between osamu's legs (who is not your next door crush anymore but your husband), captivated by the warmest pair of arms encircling you and urging you to come impossibly closer (the thought of leaving never crossed your mind).
"here? really?" you laugh between two kisses, as if your hands haven't already found their way under his shirt and towards his belt buckle. "for the memories?"
"mmm," osamu hums, only half-listening, too preoccupied with rolling you on your back without rolling you out of bed, all while his lips trail down from your jaw to the side of your neck. "sweet, sweet memories. not as sweet as you, though."
he nips at your earlobe when he finally manages to get you underneath him, broad shoulders and his chest filling your field of vision. you blink up at him and can't help but smile.
so different from the teenage boy who visibly trembled on top of you in the confined space of the bunk bed once, who buried his face in the crook of your neck and breathed out confessions that lingered unspopken between you for long time. the initials of your names are still carved in the brittle wood like a memento, vows you both made true a decade later.
"i swear, if atsumu bursts through that door again while i—"
osamu swallows the rest of your sentence in a slow, deep kiss that leaves you breathless, calloused hands cupping the sides of your face as he lowers his entire body weight on top of you. a comforting and familiar heat envelops you. the bunk bed creaks with each roll of his hips, accentuated by your laughter which slowly fades into soft moans.
"still as greedy," you murmur against his lips to which osamu laughs softly, his hungry eyes never straying away from your face. his big and calloused hands trail down your side towards your thighs, wrapping around them.
"you're one to talk," he replies before sitting up to lift you in his arms, his head hitting the top of the bunk bed with no grace and a soft thud. "ow, fuck—"
you wiggle yourself free and crawl in his lap, because obviously this is the best position to check if he hurt himself (he did not) and the second-best position to have your neck kissed (he does plenty), and maybe because it's muscle memory at this point; being held and loved and adored by osamu miya, husband and lover.
it all started here, in the bottom of a bunk bed, cramped and messy and tangled, two hearts crawling out of your ribcages towards another. the love you planted once has only grown ever since. it still manages to squeeze itself into the most confined spaces, soft as water and warm as light, always finding its way.
being anti ai is making me feel like in going insane. "you asked for thoughts about your characters backstory and i put it into chat gpt for ideas". studies have proven its making people dumber. "i asked ai to generate this meal plan". its causing water shortages where its data centers are built. "ill generate some pictures for the dnd campaign". its spreading misinformation. "meta, generate an image of this guy doing something stupid". its trained off stolen images, writing, video, audio. "i was talking with my snapchat ai-" theres no way to verify what its doing with the information it collects. "youtube is impletmenting ai based age verification". my work has an entire graphics media department and has still put ai generated motivational posters up everywhere. ai playlists. ai facial verification. google ai microsoft ai meta ai snapchat ai. everyone treats it as a novelty. every treats it as a mandatory part of life. am i the only one who sees it? am i paranoid? am i going insane? jesus fucking christ. if i have to hear one more "well at least-" "but it does-" "but you can-" im about to lose it. i shouldnt have to jump through hoops to avoid the evil machine. have you no principles? no goddamn spine? am i the weird one here?
As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.
my girl wiener is so hard right now??? grew a tail and it’s wagging fast as hell??? i hear meowing and it’s not coming from my mouth??? the fic ideas are already swirling in my head… you’re gonna be SICK OF ME!!!
"If the Israeli assault stopped today, and we decided to hold a funeral every single day for each Palestinian killed in the last eight months, it would take us 100 years to honor them all."
The Palestinian speaker at the UN Security Council highlights the devastating toll of casualties among Palestinians resulting from the Israeli genocide in Gaza.
kaledo-art
areudirty
dededos
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
