Raw LLM Responses

I'm not an "artist," but I do write. I write cause, honestly, I found it easier than drawing. And looking back at my old stuff, I SUCKED at writing. It wasn't "easier" it just wasn't as obviously bad to me. But now I only sometimes suck at writing, and sometimes I'm kinda good at writing. Making good stories isn't easy, but every so often I'll make something and think, "Damn, that's good." It's taken me years and tons of practice to get even this far. But it's so rewarding. Not the instant gratification of what ai slop can produce, no. It's truly gratifying. And just to show what I mean, here's an excerpt from something I'm working on. Still early on in the writing process, and even this small part took lots of iterations. But I'm so happy with how it's shaping up and can't wait to see how it unfolds. TW: Implied SA The cool evening air was soothing in a way that contrasted nicely with the coarse blanket we were lying on. His hand was intertwined with mine as we stargazed, his grip tight and comforting. The air of early spring was at that right level between not too hot and not too cold. The sounds of chittering insects were interspersed with Marcus pointing out constellations, but I much more enjoyed watching his face light up as he explained them to me. I could almost see the stars reflected in his brown eyes as the wind blew his long hair in the breeze. My eyes wandered down to his sculpted arms that tore through his sleeveless shirt. The jock and the punk. It felt cliché, but Marcus didn’t care, and when we were here, I didn't either. The top of this hill was our own little hideout. A place where we could be together, and the worries of society and the world were a universe away. After a few moments, he seemed to notice my distracted state, and turned to look at me. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” he asked with a knowing smirk across that chiseled face. I made a sound somewhere between a snort and a chuckle, and I could feel my face blushing as he called me out. “Maybe I saw something nicer than Alpha Centauri?” I retorted, anxiously avoiding eye contact while my fingers curled through my spiked out hair. “And what’s that?” he asked in a knowing tone. His hand reached out to cup my cheek and he turned my head to face his as he leaned in to kiss me. I closed my eyes and our lips touched; the sparks from our first time still present. I could feel butterflies in my stomach and a warmth in my chest as my arms wrapped around him. At that moment, we were just two passionate teenagers without a care in the world. He pulled me close and, pretty soon, his hand would wander down, and we could have our usual fun. But instead of wandering hands, I felt a shift in our position. He rolled over on top of me, breaking our kiss to whisper something in my ear. “Why don’t we try something else tonight?” he asked. I suddenly found myself on my front and I could feel him pulling at the hem of my jeans. That warmth in my chest turned into a cold pounding. “Do we have to?” I asked, fists clenched and body frozen. But I was unable to move from underneath him. Bound by a desire to please and a fear of saying no. “C’mon, babe. I need this.”