Bi-donna You Moved Me

Sorry for infodumping about my special interest out of nowhere, you said a keyword and it activated my unskippable dialogue

(also for those curious, i'm a xaiver girl myself lol)

The rise in the popularity of Love and Deepspace (which, for brevity, I’ll be abbreviating to LADS) is incredibly interesting to me, particularly when we analyse it in conjunction with broad social trends within dating and relationships. I think that the uptick in AI Companionship and how women engage with it reflects a deeper set of issues pervading relationships and intimacy with women who experience attraction to men. Moreover, I think that this does speak to a generalised divestment - or, at the very least, re-examining - from previous views and approaches to heterosexual relationships. Personally, I believe that this is developing as a reaction to the broader uptick in misogyny.

While LADS is often dismissed as simply a ‘Gooner Game’ - that is, essentially, pornography for women - I think that such a dismissal is both inaccurate in terms of the game’s content as well as the motives and draw experience by its playerbase. It’s not entirely incorrect to point out that, yes, there is a degree of suggestive content in the game, particularly in the dating/relationship sides of the game, but LADS is much deeper than that. The game presents a self-directed approach to players: players interested in the story and universe of LADS can focus on that, whereas those players who wish to prioritise the ‘dating simulator’ aspects of the game are free to do so - while the dating aspect is, admittedly, much of the draw, presenting it as solely a dating game is, really, quite inaccurate.

Moreover, I think the way such a criticism is levelled is far more telling about the critics than the players; fundamentally, it suggests a refusal to engage with the game by simply writing it off as nothing more than just simple fluff met to titillate touch-starved players. Plus, the fact that this criticism has been, broadly, made by men is rather revealing. Firstly, it’s quite telling that a game that heavily targets, and is played primarily by, women receives these critiques, whereas arguably far more ‘explicit’ games that target men do not - or at least not from these same critics. Secondly, I think it’s rather telling that a game where the Love Interests are primarily approaching the player/main character through a lens of respectful attraction receives such heavy criticism from men.

But what truly fascinates me is the draw of LADS; as previously mentioned, I think that LADS represents a sort of ‘Heterosexual Idealism’ - that is, the idea of a heterosexual relationship where the man genuinely loves, respects, and cares for his girlfriend. And I think this speaks to a broader trend in society; we see more and more women turning to these types of ‘escapist’ content - such as LADS, CharacterAI, Dark Romance, and similar content - that, arguably, fulfills this Heterosexual idealism in response to the resurgence of misogyny in society, particularly in terms of dating.

To put it bluntly, as more and more men demonstrate themselves to be incapable of being a proper partner - often reacting with blatant misogyny when called out for such failings - I think we’ve seen a growing divestment from women. Relationships with men can be perilious, toxic, traumatising, and, unfortunately, too-often abusive. Naturally, it’s understandable that many women would choose to simply refocus their time and decentre men from their lives.

And this is where LADS comes in. LADS, and AI Boyfriends broadly, offers a sense of fulfillment for this desire for emotional intimacy with men while often avoiding the pitfalls that come with it. Women don’t have to worry about Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, nor Caleb abusing them, manipulating them, cheating on them, or anything else - they represent a simultaneously wish fulfillment of Heterosexual Idealism while also highlighting how, truly, low the bar is. Really, do the LADS boys truly represent an unattainable ideal, or do they simply represent the idea of a man who consistently goes above the bare minimum? It wouldn’t be impossible for a man to be what LADS players desire - sensitive, kind, emotionally intelligent, respectful, and supportive - it’d simply require consistent effort. But such a request is too often met with anger, resentment, mockery, or dismissal.

Which creates the question: if an AI Boyfriend can offer a sufficient simulacra of a relationship beyond what many men are willing to do, is it worth it? Is it worth letting oneself be wooed by the digital embrace of Artificial Intelligence?

It seems many women have, to some extent, answered yes.

But from this comes another question: how do we bridge the human desire for physical intimacy with the intangibility of AI? Currently, while AI has made admittedly shocking strides in advancement in terms of communication ability, memory, and realism, it is still bound by the limitations of the black mirror of computer screens.

as a knitter, you start to notice how rare it is for characters in tv shows and movies to knit correctly. from worst to best, it ranges from:

- laughably incorrect, just flinging yarn around

- knitting the most basic scarf incredibly slowly because the actor Learned How To Do It For The Role

- old lady actresses casually knitting an intricate lace pattern while doing a monologue

- gromit from wallace and gromit

Doctors should snark at each other more, be a bit mean. Not for no reason, mind you. But if five doctors blow me off about symptoms and doctor number six FINALLY runs actual tests and gets a diagnosis, I think it should be Doctor Six's right to call up the other five and tell them they're lazy pieces of shit. That should be socially encouraged. Those first five doctors clearly can't listen to patients, but maybe another doctor might finally get to them.

To the moon and back

you’ve been my girlfriend in my head since

٠࣪⭑ The first time we kissed ٠࣪⭑

Pairing : Xavier x fem!reader

cw : nsfw, smut , friends with benefits to lovers , slightly coworkers to lovers if you squint, fluffy , they’re madly in love with each other.

Xavier’s hands grip your hips , as he pistols into you from behind.

Your hands gripping the sofa for dear life trying to cling onto any consciousness you have left.

Rough hard thrusts mixed with sensual rolls of his hips, passionate intentionful movements.

That’s what you loved most about sex with Xavier that every movement felt intentional like he was always trying to convey something to you.

“your almost there star, doing so good for me, pussys clenching so hard trying to milk my cock huh you is that what you want my star girl”

“ please Xavier , cum inside me need all of you”

He nips at your ear letting out the most desperate moan you’ve ever heard. Sending you both over the edge

Your walls contract, pulsating and milking everything out he has to offer.

Xavier pulls out slowly , a string of his seed following catching his attention.

Running his fingers between your folds his cum slowly seeping out already , he pushes it back in you, leaving his two fingers in for a moment longer almost plugging you to make sure there was no other option but for you to be bred.

“pushing that come back in so hard you’d think you want third partner with us on our missions”

You chuckle, moaning when he wiggles his fingers inside you a bit.

“It wouldn’t be awful having another one of you to watch over during our missions” Xavier flops down on the bed leaning over and kissing your forehead in the process.

Sex with Xavier wasn’t one of those world wind stories you had always seen in the movies.

You two had been assigned partners on missions , clicking immediately your sassy nature and Xavier’s calm and collected demeanor. It had just been colleagues getting along at one point.

But then you started to notice overtime Xavier was everywhere, he wasn’t close with anyone else at work and he’d taken a liking into following you around. As soon as you’d walk in putting your bag on your desk, Xavier would have two coffees in hand one for you and one for him.

“ how’s your hand” Xavier examines the cut from afar

“eh, been better, that wander was real asshole hm” you giggle.

Xavier nods firmly a glint in his eyes that he agrees.

“ I have some cream I can drop off if you’d like”

You agree, mostly because you always see the serious side of Xavier it would be nice to see what this guy is really like outside of work.

a knock on your door comes at around 9 o’clock

You open the door, Xavier bag in hand with a cozy white oversized hoodie on appears.

“ sorry for dropping it off a little late , I overslept” he says apologetically sleepiness still in his eyes as he rubs them.

“ you’re completely fine Xavier you didn’t even have to do this in the first place, but isn’t it a little late I mean you still have to get back to your apartment .. you really didn’t have to come all the way over here”

“ I live next door” he smiles as if he’s dropping the most casual news.

“ WHAT”

And that’s when the lines started to blur, movie nights at your home, cooking lessons at his normal friendly activity, until one cooking lesson ended with you on the counter and him in between your legs. But it wasn’t like sex had taken over whatever relationship you two had going on. Xavier still came over to do mundane things like watch movies and etc, but you’d noticed him taking on more of a responsibility with you . If your trash was outside your apartment to be picked up. He’d take it down on the way with his. Or cleaning up around the house. But you’d just taken it as you two naturally getting more comfortable with each other.

“ alright princess , up up” Xavier had suddenly gotten off you lifting you bridal style heading towards the bathroom.

Sitting you on the toilet so you could go pee.

You look at him as he turns away face towards the corner.

The same man that had just blown your back out on the couch, was turned away to give you privacy as you peed ?

You giggle to yourself a bit he truly was the sweetest.

“ all done ?” He asks back still turned away.

“ yep” you reply

He then passes you by to turn on the water of the bath tub, after a couple seconds checking to make sure the temperature is right he gets in signaling for you to sit between his legs.

Between his legs you slightly turn your head up at him.

“ you know, you really don’t have to do this I know how hard being a hunter can be. we work the same job, I mean isn’t sex supposed to take the pressure and responsibility off a little, you don’t need to take care of me” you squeeze his hand

For a moment you see the wheels turning in his head trying to process everything you had said

He quietly replies

“ precious things need to be taken care of” squeezing your hand back.

Your heart flutters a little at his response was it bad to feel like maybe just maybe this could be more than friends.

Work had been extremely exhausting for you lately not just on your body but on your mind as well

You’d decided to take a day off just a mental health day feeling like you really needed it.

You planned to lay in the bed all day wrapped in blankets and a box of cookies watching your favorite dramas.

At around 8 am you hear your door unlocking, “that’s odd” you think to yourself. the only person who has the key is Xavier who should already be at work.

To lazy to get up and check you stay in bed it’s either Xavier or a serial killer and at this point if it’s a serial killer you’re just gonna accept your fate. From the bed you see Xavier peeking in at the door frame.

He’d brought your favorite cookies and an arcade plush the special addition pink alien you’d been wanting, which you knew had to have taken him ages since the claw machine wasn’t his forte.

He puts the bag next to your bed as he climbs under the sheets wrapping himself around you.

“so this is what happens when you have sex with the sleepy guy you go on missions with, you pick up his habits” he says jokingly

You giggle and then those giggles swiftly turn into soft sobs, sobs of exhaustion.

“ I know Angel , I know” Xavier says kissing the crown of your head.

“I want you to hold me like this forever” you whisper sleepy eyes in and out of consciousness finally closing shut.

Xavier’s eyes soften “you are my forever”

Your eyes flutter open, shifting in bed to wrap yourself tighter around Xavier.

Except, he isn’t there

You sit up slightly looking around, he’s in the living room cleaning up around your apartment

He spots you , quickly putting down the broom he walks quickly over to your room.

“do you need anything princess?”

His domestic nature making your pussy throb you reply.

“ just you”

“ anything for you princess” climbing onto the bed pulling you closer to him.

He works his way down your neck sucking and biting.

“ Xavier” you whimper his name foot teasing the draw string of the sweatpants he’s wearing trying to tug them down.

He groans into your ear , suddenly tugging the sweatpants off, sitting back on his hunches dick glossy with precum

“ you see what you do to me princess” he says pumping his cock

You pull off your sweat shorts you had been wearing to reveal your folds , hand in between them showing him how wet he had made you.

“ just from watching you clean the apartment” you utter small whimpers between your words.

“ my dirty girl” Xavier moves closer to you

You wrap your legs around him locking him into place

“ need you inside me Xavier, need your cock”

His hands gripping your hips he pushes inside your wet cunt.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of that initial entrance of his cock , your gummy walls contracting on his cock with how much your pussy wants to milk him but all at the same time your pussy is so tight it doesn’t want to let him in.

“ ohh— Xavier , oh my— holy shit” your head rolls back.

He’s in and out of your pussy at a rhythm that’s unrecognizable.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel your insides unraveling with every thrust.

Your orgasm so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

Oh— right there , I’m so close you moan

“gotta fill you up princess, show me how much you love it , show me how much you love this cock”

“ Fuck— Xavier .. I love you”

That’s all it takes for him, unexpectedly you feel his hips shutter

his body tenses up , his eyes go wide , a choked moan leaving his lips

He had came at you saying you loved him..

Spurt after spurt of warm seed fill your pussy, so much that you would’ve thought this man hadn’t cum in months even though you know for a fact he had.

Hips bucking naturally like aftershocks of what you had just done.

Your realization of what is happening is what takes you over the edge , pussy contracting on his cock that’s still actively spurting come. As you squirt all over his lower belly.

Xavier flops down on the bed next to you.

The room is filled with heavy breathing from the both of you.

Xavier reaches down caressing your hand although he’s trying gather himself as well his instincts always comes back to taking care of you

You both just lay like that for a while.

Until you look over at him thoughts of your relationship fill your head as well as what just happened.

“ Xavier , do you love me”

He turns his head to face yours

“ to the moon and back”

You squeeze his hand

“ are you in love with me” you quip

“madly”

You look at him through your eyelashes

“do you ever find it weird we have sex , you clean my apartment , you stay at my home more than at yours , you take my trash out , you know me more than I know myself but we arent dating”

“maybe to others , but you’ve been my girlfriend in my head since the first time we kissed”

Your eyes tear up

You smack his chest, as his eyes change looking like a worried puppy dog

You sniffle “ why didn’t you tell me that I was falling in love with you this whole time and I thought you thought we were friends with benefits.” you whine kicking your feet

He giggles rubbing your hand

“I wanted you to realize on your own, because even if you didn’t feel the same way I would rather live my life in a never ending circle of friends with benefits with you, than not have you in my life at all.”

“ should I ask you formally” he gleams

You nod excitedly

“ y/n will you be my girlfriend”

Epilogue

You and Xavier walk hand and hand into the arcade

Most likely scaring every child in there with your fierce aura.

Pointing at the newest addition of the alien now coming in blue color with embroidered flowers on him.

“ we’re not leaving here without him” you look at Xavier

You and Xavier now sit on the bench waiting for the bus you excitedly clutching the blue alien arm hooked to Xavier.

You’d been giving him smooches constantly after winning you the little blue alien, which took him 7 hours and countless tries.

“ your welcome baby” he kisses you back tiredly

“ but I do have something to say”

You turn your head smiling ready to listen

“how could you ever think we were friends with benefits, I mean I’ve never heard of a fuck buddy spending hours to get a pink alien from an arcade”

“the same way you came inside me countless times before we ever hit girlfriend boyfriend status” you retort quickly

“ fair point” he says kissing your cheek as you two walk hand and hand onto the bus.

Shout out to the autistic who’s abilities have regressed as they’ve gotten older.

“You didn’t used to be like this when you were a kid.” I know please don’t remind me

Which one?

LaDs Men Hexed to Their Kid Form

AN: ovaries are working overtime today.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader (Platonic ish)

Genre: Hurt and shit ton of comfort

TW: children being sad

Ingredients: 60% angst , 40% comfort

My Fav: All of them.

Background: The battle had been close, too close. The Wanderers swarmed, overwhelming you both. You fought back-to-back, every breath a struggle. Then the blast hit him, filling the entire field with dense, choking smoke. You staggered forward, coughing, vision blurred, and found him...Or rather, a child swimming in his too-large clothes. He looked up at you, wide-eyed and confused, the face of a five-year-old where your partner should have been.

And so you are stuck with the toddler version of your partner for the week it takes for the spell to wear off.

Xavier:

The moment you pick him up, he melts against you, tiny fingers clutching your shirt as his eyes flutter shut. Within seconds, the Crown Prince Xavier of Philos is softly snoring in your arms, his head nestled against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

He’s such a sweet kid. The kind who spends hours making flower potions, carefully plucking petals and crushing them into muddy brews in the garden.

He speaks in surprisingly proper sentences at the strangest times, his tiny frame somehow finding perfect, upright posture as he asks, “A sip of tea, if you please?” as if you have a silver tea set stashed in your cabinets.

He loves sparring with you, too. Will drag you out to the backyard, a twig clutched tightly in his little fist, his stance serious, his expression set. He takes his training so seriously, his tiny brows furrowed in concentration as he swipes at your legs, his feet shuffling through the grass clumsily.

You can’t bring yourself to break his little warrior heart, so you pretend to dodge his tiny, furious attacks, stumbling back dramatically as he strikes your shin with all the force of a gentle pat.

“Good form, Your Highness,” you say, clutching your side like you’ve been mortally wounded, and his eyes sparkle with pride.

He’s a model patient, too. Sits obediently through every check-up and magical test you arrange to break the curse, his little legs swinging off the edge of the examination table, his small hands gripping yours for comfort.

And when he finally turns back, Xavier hesitates, for a moment. He brushes his fingers over the dried flower petals still scattered on your windowsill, his expression distant, his posture just as straight and proper as ever.

“Thank you... for looking after me,” he says quietly, his voice softer, a little more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it.

He also becomes the unabashed source of months of baby fever to follow, because now you can’t unsee the tiny, mud-streaked prince who once demanded you fetch him grape juice like it was royal wine.

Rafayel:

He’s the tantrum kid. The one you hear before you see, little feet stomping, high-pitched wails echoing through the halls. He’ll thrash on the floor over the smallest inconvenience, his tiny fists pounding the carpet as if it personally offended him.

Give him a set of paints or a shallow pool, though, and he’s content, for a while. He needs attention, craves it like a plant craves sunlight. He soaks it up, demands it, his bright eyes watching you to make sure you’re still looking, still clapping, still there.

He’s a prankster, too. No better than a fae changeling. He whispers to empty corners at 10 p.m., tilts his head as if listening to something only he can hear, then giggles when you whirl around, heart racing. He lives to catch you off guard, to see the startled, exasperated look on your face.

“Rafayel!” you shout, splashing into a flooded bathroom, the tide already creeping into the living room carpet. And... is that a starfish clinging to your couch cushion?

You scoop him out of the mess, his wet, squirming body deposited onto the couch as you dash to stop the flood. He grins up at you, eyes bright with mischief, water still dripping from his curls, and you can’t help the exasperated laugh that escapes you.

But for all his noise and chaos, there are nights when you find him curled up in a corner, his little shoulders shaking, cheeks wet with silent tears.

It’s always the same question, whispered between hiccups: “Why can’t I feel it? Why can’t I hear them?”

He’s too young to understand, to process the strange, aching emptiness in his heart. The absence of Lemuria’s call, the gentle hum of the ocean he was born to rule.

And all you have to offer is a soothing lullaby, your voice soft in the darkness as you rock him in your arms. He clings to you, tiny fingers curled into your shirt, his face buried in your shoulder, and you can feel the wet warmth of his tears soaking into your skin.

Eventually, he falls asleep, his breathing slow and heavy, but his cheeks stay streaked with salt, his grief lingering even in his dreams.

And so, you hug him tightly to sleep. Even after he does turn back to his former self.

Zayne:

You love trolling this kid.

“Yeah, you grew up to be the world’s greatest circus master,” you say with a perfectly straight face, flipping through an old album to a picture of his older self, his monkey brother clinging to his shoulder.

To your absolute delight, you walk into the living room one day to find little Zayne standing on a stool, waving a stick like a magician commanding the elements. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line, his tiny hands cutting through the air as if casting a powerful, world-altering spell.

Despite the devastation of not becoming a doctor, Zayne doesn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea of performing. He takes to it with a quiet, intense focus, folding napkins like they’re spell scrolls, lining up marbles like enchanted stones.

And he’s such a good kid, too. He helps you clean up after dinner, carefully setting the table by standing on a chair, each fork and spoon. You often find him perched on the counter, munching on apple slices, watching you cook with wide, attentive eyes.

But you notice things.

He’s too careful for a child. Always on guard, his small shoulders tight, his movements measured, as if afraid of brushing against something that might break. He pulls away from any touch, flinches when you reach for him too quickly.

And then one night, when he’s fast asleep, you notice the tiny, fading scars on his arms. Old, white lines, barely visible, but unmistakable. The kind that still mark his mark his arms as an adult.

It breaks your heart.

He’s not just afraid of the world, he’s afraid of himself, of his evol, of the power that lies dormant in his tiny, trembling hands. He knows, even now, that one wrong move, one slip of control, could hurt the people he cares about.

When he finally turns back, you make it a point to hug him a little tighter, to reach for his hand without hesitation, to ruffle his hair whenever he’s within arm’s reach. You pull him into half-hugs when he least expects it, sling your arm around his shoulders, and lean into him as if the years of self-restraint never happened.

And though he huffs and grumbles, you notice he never pulls away. Not anymore.

Sylus:

He flinches. A lot.

It breaks your heart. Someone made him this way, turned this fierce, proud dragon into a child who startles at shadows and stiffens at loud noises. You don’t know who hurt him, who made him so wary, but the thought twists your chest with a slow, simmering anger.

You have to be so gentle with him. Move slowly, speak softly, give him space to retreat when he needs it. You learn to read his small, hesitant steps, the way his eyes dart to the door when voices get too loud, the way he freezes at sudden movements.

He befriends Mephisto first. The little mechanical crow hops around his feet, clicking and chirping in its strange, metallic voice, and Sylus’s eyes brighten, just a bit. You watch them from the doorway, relieved that this version of him has at least made a friend, even if it’s a tiny, clockwork bird.

You watch them talk for hours, Sylus’s small hands carefully cradling the crow, his head tilted as he whispers to it in a voice too soft for you to hear. You don’t interrupt. You wouldn’t dare.

One afternoon, you find him peeking into his grown self’s closet, wide eyes reflecting the glimmer of polished cufflinks, the dark sheen of leather, the sharp edges of perfectly pressed suits.

“Mine?” he asks, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

You sink to the floor beside him, your heart aching as you hold up a pair of sapphire-studded cufflinks..

“Yes, darling,” you whisper, voice catching as he inches closer, his tiny fingers brushing the cool metal. “All yours.”

He looks at you then, his eyes wide and wet, and you feel something in your chest crack, the sharp, aching pressure of a dam breaking.

In the week you spend with little Sylus, you make it a point to create the warmth he seems to have never known. You cook diamond-shaped waffles for breakfast, topping them with strawberries and whipped cream, watching his eyes go wide with every bite. You sit around the dinner table, the twins leaning in to ruffle his hair, to tell him stories, to praise every brave word that slips from his lips.

You help him taste test every jar in his precious jam collection, each spoonful a hesitant experiment. His small face lights up at the burst of different flavors. He eats so little otherwise.

When the spell finally breaks, and he returns to his grown self, you don’t ask him. You don’t push. You don’t demand to know who hurt him, or what he was so afraid of as a child.

But one night, as you lie together in the darkness, his head resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, he whispers it to you. He tells you of a past so tragic, so twisted in grief and betrayal, that by the end of it, you’re both sobbing softly, clinging to each other in the dark.

And when he finally falls silent, his breathing slow and even against your chest, you press a kiss to his hair and whisper, “You’re safe now. I promise.”

Caleb:

He is numb.

Worse than any chip.

Unlike any kid you’ve ever met.

He sits on the couch, knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly at the flickering TV. His eyes are hollow, his small hands limp in his lap, his breaths shallow and mechanical, as if his body has forgotten how to feel anything at all.

“Caleb,” you murmur, sinking down beside him. You reach out, your fingers carding gently through his dark, messy hair. “Please eat something.” You set a tray of cut fruit in front of him. He doesn’t even blink.

It’s only when you bring out the album that something flickers behind his eyes.

“Look,” you whisper, flipping through the worn, crinkled pages. “Both of us... we made it.”

His head turns slowly, his dark eyes focusing on the images, two kids, standing side by side with basket full of Halloween candy. With him dressed as a T-Rex and you as Pooh bear.

“It wasn’t easy,” you say, holding the book open so he can see, “and we got hurt, but we have our life. We’re happy.”

You feel his small fingers twitch, his gaze lingering on a faded, slightly torn photo of the two of you, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, chocolate stained cheeks.

You let him take it from your hands, his small fingers gripping the edges, the photo trembling slightly as he holds it close.

“You did good,” you whisper, gently patting his head.

For a long moment, his haunted eyes lock with yours, his small body trembling, caught between disbelief and desperate, aching hope. He doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to let the warmth in, doesn’t want to be swayed.

But he’s a kid.

And then, like a dam breaking, he lunges into your arms, clutching you tightly, his tiny frame shuddering against yours as the weight of it all crashes over him.

“You did so good,” you repeat, rocking him gently in your arms. “You were so brave, Caleb. I’m so proud of you.” You pat his small, shaking back, your own eyes stinging with tears, unable to bear his pain.

And for the first time in days, you feel him breathe.

When he returns to his old self, you make it a point to frame every single one of those photos. You hang them in the hallway, tuck them into his desk, slip them into his office drawers. You take so many more, catching him off guard, dragging him to photobooths, and fancy dress parties.

Because if that little Caleb ever returns to you, you want him to have more. More memories, more proof, more warmth. You want him to know, without a doubt, that he did make it. That he did good.

hi everyone!! your 5th favourite queer yapper on tumblr has excited news !!

if youre into abstract art, i have a portfolio ^-^ you can find it here

alsooo i'll be posting my first lookbook In The Soon™️ on my instagram so take a look if you wanna see ^-^

reblog if you’re one of them queers 💪💪💪