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sevenop · 6 months ago

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Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: I'm your Ilo, will you Milo?

A/n: Preferring the original source in the person of Billie herself, you ask her a question one day about one of her old songs.

"Wait, what did you just say...?"

Eilish's face is a continuous bewilderment, woven from many details. By asking just one question, you were able to hit the best possible jackpot in LA: soft lips parted in surprise (you even manage to catch a silver glint of grillz), eyebrows that shot almost to the ceiling of your parents' house and dumbfounded eyes that resemble white jade in the light of the sun with their translucency. You, on the other hand, are a total embarrassment - a smile that rides on a slope, a nervous chuckle you let out more by reflex than consciously and, the cherry on the cake - a hand rubbing your neck in slight embarrassment.

"Can you explain to me what ilomilo is, please?", - you duplicate again, and Billie almost has an Internet connection loss icon on her forehead from the ridiculousness of the question, so you tactfully clarify, - "I just decided to ask you right away, as the author of your own song, and not to prowl in on the Internet."

A couple of seconds of immutability, and then Eilish bursts into laughter, reminding you of a geyser with its suddenness and loudness. Whether you feel even more interested after this "maneuver" or a little more embarrassed is still unclear. Billie stops talking, returning to her former state of harmony, and gestures for you to sit down next to her. She crosses her legs and rests the elbow of her left arm on the soft back of the sofa, propping her head on the same arm. Being as close to you as possible, Eilish now looks like she wants to tell you her most important secret.

"It's more correct to call them separatly" - Billie chuckles, her right hand stroking your knee lightly, - "The song itself is about a man losing someone he loves and trying to find them again. We wrote it with Finn, based on the game of the same name."

Even though Billie was wiggling her foot unobtrusively and lazily to the beat of the music coming from the kitchen, the dreamy smile on her face suggested that she was slowly drifting into a special nostalgia. Blue eyes looks at you affectionately and trustingly - she certainly likes your interest. You smile, conspiratorially moving even a little closer. Billie's hand on your knee begins to lovingly "draw" spirals. A lover of tactile contact, what can you do.

"I used to play ilomilo a lot. I loved ilomilo, it was my favorite game in the world. It's the kind of game where there are these two little creatures - one called Ilo and the other called Milo. It's kind of an anti-gravity world where there are all these little blocks, and they start off separate from each other. The idea is that you just make your way towards each other, and when they get close to each other, they just hug and there's no prize. The whole idea of the game is to just lose a loved one and then find them again."

Billie stops using your knee as a canvas, a small silver sparkle in her eyes. Gently cupping her palms around your face, she whispers childishly and mysteriously into your ear with a sly grin:

"You didn't play ilomilo, did you?"

Just one negative nod and you're already securely grabbed by the arm for a speedy trip up the stairs to the second floor, straight to her former room.

×××

Thinking in six planes at once is difficult. Two-colored sweet couple sticks to steep surfaces, crawls on the ceiling and walls, and the whole stage at such moments is turned upside down and back. The first few levels are all kind of simple and without nerves, there are almost no problems with finding the right path, but further on the real brainteaser begins.

While your blue Ilo hangs upside down on the plush cube waiting for you, you furtively glance at Eilish: extremely focused face and neat glasses slowly sliding down to the tip of her nose (the effect of a long night sitting in front of the screen). Milo quickly shuffles his short, plush legs, changed planes, and along with him puffs O'Connell herself, but not tiredly, but irritated. At stake for the singer is not the conquest of the world, but something more serious - to show how good she is at the game of her childhood.

"That's fucking impossible!" - The Xbox joystick slumps to the soft carpet, and Billie throws her head up and growls in anger at the "failure" that had befallen her.

"Do you give up, Eilish?" - Not teasing her verbally now equals the truest crime, and you're a law-abiding girl, aren't you?

The two whipping blue lightning bolts that flickered from her eyes toward you and a raised middle finger are more eloquent than any possible words. Trying to hold back, you only chuckle even louder, and Billie gets angrier and angrier.

"Fuck you, bitch!"

She deftly snatches the second joystick out of your hands, shoving you in the side, which is already sore from laughing. A couple of movements of the stick and your little blue Ilo dies, returning to the same checkpoint from tothe finish line, at which you spent a good half an hour. Eilish pouts and retreats to the old bed with a red curtain from Louis Vuitton (of course, she demonstratively loudly drapes it), and you only gasp from a new attack of laughter, your back falling on the carpet from helplessness.

When you can finally take a full and free breath of air, your gaze lazily moves from the white ceiling of the room to the window - the sun is slowly beginning to roll over the horizon, taking its warm and blinding orange rays with it. The dark blue curtain, stretched halfway out, sways in the flow of the wind, as if anticipating its imminent uselessness with the appearance of darkness. Dark blue... A sudden idea shoots into your head.

"Billie?" - you quickly roll over from back to stomach, gazing expectantly into her hiding place. Except to no avail. The queen of the scarlet "fort" maintains her surprisingly deafening silence. Well, it looks like you'll have to go it alone.

The plastic hinges on the curtain rod barely audibly knock against each other while you remove the thick fabric from them, you stubbornly standing on toes. A chair standing in the opposite corner of the room is unnecessary attention and noise, you don't need it now. A minute, and the cherished fabric is already in your hands, a few more seconds and it is already on your shoulders. It seems that now you are ready to try to talk to your Queen again.

"Billie-e-e!" - You stretch your vowels deliberately, a playful smile on your lips. Getting into the 'fort' doesn't quite work yet - Eilish is on the other side with her hands holding onto the edges of the red canopy, blocking the passage you're creating. - "Please, my love."

The last word seemed to be some sort of magic spell that made the canopy immediately freeze, losing all tension. You easily scramble onto the bed, dragging the blue curtain dragging across the floor with you. Success! Her lips immediately twitch into a smile when she sees your homely, disheveled appearance and your blue "outfit". The only thing that helps her hold it together is the experience of many red carpets. Her smile immediately fades to indifference and her blue eyes catch up with the blizzard.

"Why do you need a curtain?" - coldly and indifferently. It's as fake and unnatural as possible, which both of you admit. If she wasn't interested, Eilish wouldn't have asked at all.

"So that you and I can win," - scratch your nose on purpose, grabbing a corner of the fabric for comicality. The lips opposite are trembling again in a restrained smile.

"And how will Mom's dusty curtain help us with this?"

"You... Will you be my Milo?

And no matter how much Billie bites her lip, she eventually bursts into laughter, looking at you with a gaze so trusting and loving that your heart flutters in your chest. The blue eyes are the calmest lake in the world, devoid of any resentment. You help her remove half of the canopy from its fasteners and she hurriedly wraps herself in it, "dressed" in red.

"Are you ready to complete this last level?"

"Where did you go? I should know, but it's cold..." - instead of answering, you hum, looking expectantly at your Milo. Billie is a raking scarlet embrace that immediately envelops you.

"And I don't wanna be lonely, was hoping you'd come home." - her soft soprano response. All you have to do is smile and bury your nose in her collarbone, breathing in her favorite scent. No words are needed now.

Ilo and Milo embrace. The level is passed.

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish

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lushrue · 6 months ago

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cold beer on a friday night

heard "a little bit of chicken fried" in a white people anthems compilation the other day and i immediately started thinking of everyone’s favorite southern boy, phillip graves! so have some good ol’ cowboy smut for your weekend! (also did not expect this to be almost 4k words, but here we are)

afab!reader (she/her pronouns used), nsfw, minors dni!!

cw: drinking, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, creampie, heavy praise kink

the bar was pretty packed, but you expected that it would be.

living in a military town, you’d learned when the busy times were. weekends, most evenings after 8 PM, and holidays. this one was the biggest one of all in your community, fourth of july looming around the corner and bringing star-spangled festivity with it. the bar itself was adorned with an american flag banner that people would occasionally toast to before taking a shot. the string lights above the patio had been changed from their pale yellow to shine red, white, and blue. occasionally, as you sat there drinking your cheap beer, someone would break out in a drunken rendition of the star-spangled banner, causing everyone to either sing along or raise their glass in solidarity.

it was entertaining for you, if nothing else. watching men who’d made their country their whole lives celebrate it was its own brand of inspiring. the town felt the same around memorial day and veteran’s day too. you’d been pretty staunchly anti-military for most of your adult life, holding the belief in world peace that only someone who hadn’t experienced war could. but seeing these men who wouldn’t have known each other if not for their brotherhood of service expressing their love for their country, it almost made you want to believe in their cause. still, despite the atmosphere, patriotism wasn’t the foremost thing in your mind tonight.

you weren’t expecting to find the love of your life, not in a place like this. it was hardly the fairytale castle you’d envisioned as a little girl and the men here were certainly no prince charming. all you could ask for was someone to treat you right for a night. focus on you a little bit, take his time. if you got real lucky, maybe he’d even make you cum. the proverbial bar wasn’t in hell, but it was close enough to feel the flames. it’d been months since your deadbeat of an ex-boyfriend dumped you, and despite how bad of an idea your friends had told you it was, you were looking for a rebound. nothing serious or long-term, just a good fuck to set you right and then you could be on your way. it was hard to get anywhere in the dating scene with this insatiable ache between your legs.

you nursed your budweiser, the condensation leaking between your fingertips as you took a drink from the bottle. it tasted like piss, but like everyone always says, you don’t drink for the taste. weary eyes scan the bar and its patrons, looking for anyone who isn’t already fall-on-their-face drunk. it was slim pickins; almost everyone here had started their evening of debauchery hours ago with no signs of stopping. the sober ones were mostly grizzled veterans, watching the younger soldiers with a glint of something akin to nostalgia. you supposed that must have been them once, disregarding their livers for a night of fun with buddies that they could lose in an instant. they certainly wouldn’t be scratching your itch for you anytime soon, so your gaze moved on.

finally, your eyes settled on a blond man sitting by himself at a high top. you’d seen him here before a couple of times. he was always alone, on the fringes of whatever drunken activity was going on. you’d never seen him so much as stumble while he was here, downing his couple of whiskeys in peace before closing out and heading home. he was handsome, you supposed. older than you, but not enough to make anyone clutch their pearls. muscular, scar on his cheek. still clearly military, but a bit more weathered than the twenty-somethings throwing back jaegerbombs.

little did you know, he’d seen you too. he’d seen how you came every weekend, like clockwork, looking like you were begging for company. it was sweet, he thought, how desperate you were for attention. you were like a puppy with those doe eyes of yours. just begging to be noticed, to be taken into someone’s arms and loved proper. he was sure you tasted as sweet as you looked. just as your eyes met his, you looked away with a blush. had he caught you staring? you couldn’t be sure. you cursed yourself for your bashfulness, clutching the neck of your beer bottle a little tighter. how were you ever going to get laid if you didn’t go for it?

luckily, your military man wasn’t one to wait around. he got up from his table, sauntering towards you with a confidence that was completely innate. this wasn’t born of liquid courage. no, he knew he had something you wanted. you clear your throat and look up as he lays his hand on the chair across from you. “this seat taken?” he asked, his voice slow and easy like he wasn’t in a hurry. nobody was around here, you supposed. you shake your head no and he takes it as an invitation. the chair pulled out with a squeaking noise drowned out by someone breaking out into “my country 'tis of thee.”

you take another swig of beer to loosen your tongue and give you some charisma that you wouldn’t have sober. the man held his hand out to you, his tumbler full of amber in the other. “i’m phillip. you can call me phil.” you take his hand without a second thought, shaking politely. god, how bad off were you if touching a man’s hand made you practically feral? you give your name in reply, withdrawing your hand before your mind runs off with unsavory images. the last thing you needed was to scare off the one eligible bachelor in the bar who’d seen fit to approach you. a cursory glance at his left hand revealed no wedding ring. you weren’t looking to add “homewrecker” to your long list of accomplishments.

“what’s a lovely lady like you doin’ all by herself?” he asked in a charming southern drawl that made your blood pump a little faster. it reminded you of those cheap cowboy romance novels that you sometimes indulged in. everyone had their guilty pleasures, after all. “enjoyin’ the atmosphere,” you quip back, sarcasm dripping from your words. you take another drink of beer. phil leans forward, his weight shifting to his muscular forearms. your eyes drop down, struggling not to salivate at the sight. it really had been too long. he tips a finger under your chin, guiding your gaze back up to him. “i think the atmosphere’d be better someplace else,” he said, his voice low so as not to be overheard. maybe it was just how pent up you were, but you could swear there was desire undercutting his words. “whaddya say, darlin’? how ‘bout you and me get on outta here?”

you have to stop yourself from replying too quickly. you didn’t want to show your hand and reveal your desperation just yet. he smirked when you nodded slowly, your muscles tense with the effort of holding back your excitement. didn’t you know he could smell it on you from across the bar? ever the gentleman, phil closed out both your tabs. there wasn’t much on yours anyways, just a couple of budweisers and one vodka cranberry that you’d stopped drinking halfway through. as you stood beside him at the bar, watching the bartender run his card, he wrapped his arm around your waist. his fingers dug into the plush of your hip with a subtle possessiveness meant to ward off any other interested parties. it sent a thrill through you, your panties getting more uncomfortable the longer you stood there.

thankfully, the cool night air outside the bar leveled your head a bit. not enough to make you think deeply about your decision to get into a strange man’s truck, but enough to keep you from jumping his bones the moment the door shut. you climbed up into the passenger seat, feeling for your pepper spray in your purse. just in case, you told yourself. handsome men could be creeps too. you barely noticed him getting into the driver’s seat, turning the engine over and pulling out of the gravel parking lot.

you two make it maybe five miles down the road before you have to stop. you keep throwing glances at phil, watching his concentration while he drives. you’ve never been able to explain it, but there’s something so sexy about a man with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. he keeps kneading into the fat, fingertips brushing the muscle underneath with how hard he’s squeezing. you’re soft, he thinks. plush, pliant, perfect. the air is charged, the silence comfortable but tinged with the anticipation of what’s to come. it’s when he feels your thighs clench together that he pulls off onto a little dirt road, the tires kicking up dust. on some level, you’re grateful for his lack of restraint. you weren’t sure you were going to last much longer either.

you clamber into his backseat, careful not to mar the leather with your stiletto heels. he climbs back there with you, settling into the seat and patting his thigh. “c’mere, pretty girl,” he says sweetly, and you maneuver yourself to straddle his lap. the heat of your cunt is right against him now and his hands clench around your hips. he can practically smell how needy you are. you bite your lip to stifle a whine, the firmness of him through his jeans providing delicious pressure on your clit. suddenly, you’re thanking god for little red dresses. phillip’s eyes flutter shut as he bucks his hips, pressing his erection against you a little harder. that elicits the sound he wanted and he chuckles, his laugh like rolling thunder.

“it’s been too long since that pretty pussy’s had any attention, huh, sweetheart?” he asks. you can hear a tone of condescension, but you don’t care. not when there is a warm body beneath you about to soothe the ache that’s been there since your ex moved out. you nod in response and he hums, tugging the straps of your dress down. “in a minute, darlin’. i’ll get to her later. there’s other parts of you i’d like to get acquainted with first.” you’re putty in his hands, mindlessly nodding along with everything he says. he could tell you he’s taking you out in the woods to kill you and you’d be fine with it as long as he fucked you first. the top half of your dress falls away as he tugs at the zipper, pulling it down just enough to reveal your chest. you’d made a good choice of bra that night at least: your favorite black push-up with lace all over and a pretty bow in the center. he sucks air in through his teeth as he stares at you. he likes it too.

“as pretty as this little number is, i don’t wanna ruin it,” he says, his fingers ghosting down your spine to the clasp of your bra. your back arches, pushing your breasts forward. he smiles and unhooks it with practiced ease, sliding the straps all the way down your arms and easing them over your hands. fire blazes a trail down your skin behind his touch, your face flushing a pretty shade of pink. the bra hits the leather seat to the left of you, but you don’t have time to see where it went. phillip’s hands are on your chest, kneading into your tits the same way he did your thigh. you moan, your head falling back as you lose yourself in the euphoria of being touched. “that’s it, baby. god, these tits are so perfect. fit in my hands so nicely.” he brushes his thumb over one of your nipples, making it stiffen. your nose scrunches, the thrill from the contact going straight between your legs.

before you can say anything in reply, the warmth of his mouth is latched around your breast, his tongue teasing at the hardened bud in the center. you swear you could cry as relief washes over you. you’d found what you were looking for, finally. god was real, and he came in the form of phillip graves. while he sucked at one nipple, he teased the other with his fingers, rolling it and giving it the occasional flick. already you could feel the pleasure tightening in your core, threatening to push you over the edge if you thought too hard about everything he was doing. your hips start to rock of their own accord, chasing friction against his lap. one of his large hands moves down to hold you in place, his mouth releasing your breast with a pop. “all in due time, sweetness. you’re not in a rush, now, are ya?” you shake your head, eyes wide as you stare back at him.

“good. ‘cause i intend to take my time and enjoy ya.” thankfully, he moves on from your breasts to other, more neglected areas of your body. he unzips your dress like he’s unwrapping god’s gift to earth, reverent as his eyes rake across every inch of exposed flesh. the glint in his eyes is primal, animalistic. he’d devour you if given the chance. despite the awkwardness, you shimmy your dress off, your heels falling off your feet with it. it all falls to the floor in a heap, leaving you in nothing but your panties. always one for fairness, phillip unbuttons his shirt, tossing it to the side before catching your lips. his hand snakes up your back to hold your head in place, the other winding around your waist to pull you impossibly closer. your chest presses against his and he moans into your mouth at the feeling.

slowly, that hand around your waist starts to sneak down, edging closer to the waistband of your underwear. you don’t notice, too enraptured by the taste of whiskey on his tongue. you feel it when his hand slides against you, though. the kiss is broken by your gasp, the simple proximity of his fingers enough to make your hips roll down in search of pleasure. the thunder in his chest rumbles again, the hand on the back of your head tightening. “that’s what you really wanted tonight, isn’t it? someone to give this pretty cunt what it’s been achin’ for.” words don’t come. your mind is too preoccupied with the warmth of his skin to string together syntax. phillip’s fingers wind around your hair, tugging at it roughly. your head jerks back and you whine. that shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. “gotta use your words, baby girl. gotta tell me what you want or i’m gonna stop.” no, you didn’t want that. “t-touch me,” you manage to stutter out, your neck bent at an awkward angle by the force of his hand. he lets go, rubbing his thumb over the scalp he’d irritated. “good girl. you follow orders well.”

his fingers run along your slit, gathering your wetness on his digits. he smiles, his voice dropping a register as he leans in closer to you. “so desperate, baby. i can feel how needy you are. just a bitch in heat, ain’tcha?” you keen, your head nodding of its own accord. deep in your subconscious, you knew he was right. some part of you wanted to be ashamed, but it wasn’t strong enough to fight to the forefront. all you felt was burning need coursing through your veins and leaking out between your legs. he pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices off of them. the sight of his face made you moan. he looked like a man enjoying his last meal, eyes shut and a content smile on his face. “delicious,” he said softly, bringing that same hand up to your face. he cups your cheek and runs his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling the softness of your skin under his calloused hand.

phillip guides your mouth towards his, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. it’s all tongues and teeth, desperate, messy. you can taste yourself on him, the salty remnants of you left behind on his tongue. while he has you distracted with his mouth, he lowers his hand between your legs, tugging your panties to the side. black and lacy, just like the bra. he liked a girl with a sense of style. without warning, two of his fingers thrust into you, making you see stars. you moan into his mouth as he scissors you open, preparing you for him. his mouth leaves yours, leaning to the side to whisper in your ear. “gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you, baby? gonna take it like the whore you are. so fuckin’ needy.”

his words made you blush, heat rushing to your core. he starts pumping his fingers in and out, holding you in place by the scruff of your neck. you writhe as much as you’re able, your body overwhelmed by all the sensations he was providing you. he chuckles lowly in your ear, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “i know you will, darlin’. i know you will. that pretty cunt is just swallowin’ my fingers. she’s a greedy little thing, ain’t she?” you couldn’t respond. it was hard enough for your brain to convert the sounds into meaningful words, let alone formulate a response. you were practically mute, save for the whimpers and mewls that flowed unbidden. he picks up the pace and your eyes screw shut, pressure building in your belly. “phil! ‘m gonna-” he cuts you off with another brutal kiss, his tongue bullying its way into your mouth.

all the while, you’re rocking your hips, letting the pleasure build. he pulls away, tilting your head down so that you’re looking into his eyes. “i’m gonna make you come on my fingers, then you’re gonna come on my cock like a good girl. understand?” his tone was forceful enough that you registered the command and you nodded along. you’d do anything he wanted if it meant he didn’t stop. he nodded back and focused in on you, his fingers curling right against that spongy spot deep inside you. “c’mon, baby. give it to me,” he said, his voice ragged as he watched your face. he knew you’d look so pretty falling apart on his lap. and you really did. the pressure released, setting your whole body trembling. you cried out, back arching. your mouth fell open, moaning as you rode out the wave of pleasure. as soon as you’d caught your breath, he yanked his fingers away, leaving you empty and dripping all over the seat. you whined at the loss, but you weren’t empty long.

he freed himself from his jeans and underwear, giving himself a couple pumps before guiding his leaking cockhead to your warmth. you whine as he taps it against your clit, his ragged breathing the only reply. when you open your eyes and look at him, he looks just as debauched as you feel. feeling you clench around his fingers, watching your face, it had done something to him. without another word, he pushes himself inside. just a little bit at first, and you’re thankful for it. the tip of him is already stretching you wider than your biggest toy. he holds your chin in his thumb and forefinger, guiding your eyes down to his. “you’re doing so good, you pretty thing. need ya to give me one more. think you can do that for me?” you nod, letting gravity sink you a little further down on his cock. he hisses through clenched teeth, cheeks burning red.

phillip’s hands on your hips are steadying, easing you down until he’s bottomed out inside you. the moan you let out is a sound you’re wholly unfamiliar with. wanton, crass, loud to boot. he groans alongside you, his fingers digging into the plush of your ass. you give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness. he’s not longer than you can handle, but he’s thick, stretching your walls as much as they can take. the burn fades into something warmer, something softer, and that’s when you know you can give him another. you start to bounce up and down, slowly at first before picking up the pace. his head leans back against the seat, reveling in the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him. “fuck, baby! you take me so well, knew you would. this pussy’s so good, so wet. all for me, all fuckin’ mine.”

his words are slurred, his tongue heavy in his mouth as he lets himself get drunk on the pleasure. you’re not far behind, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot every time you sink down onto his lap. he presses his hips into yours, thrusting into you to shove himself deeper. you moan into his ear, bracing yourself as your shaking thighs try desperately to keep up. that’s when he starts helping, lifting you up and spearing you on his cock over and over. your eyes roll back in your head and the pressure builds again before you even know what’s happening. all of a sudden, you’re hovering right over the edge, breath heavy and head fuzzy. you must have tightened around him because phil makes an absolutely unholy noise, his head falling back against the seat.

“god damn,” he breathes out, a hand leaving your hip to tug at your hair. it was so attractive, the way he lifted you on his lap like you weighed nothing. your head falls back as he yanks at the roots of your hair, the jolt of pain threatening to push you over the edge. he’s moaning right alongside you, watching the way your tits bounce and your body jiggles as you bounce on his cock. “need you to come again, sweetness,” he says, tilting your head so you’re looking at him. “look me in the eye, don’t you stop lookin’ at me.” you obey, letting the pleasure build in you as he pushes himself impossibly deeper. his gaze is intense, unwavering. the pressure, the fullness is all too much and you tip over, your walls gripping him in a vice as you come.

that turns him into an animal, rutting into you with abandon as you ride out your orgasm. just when it gets to be too much, when you’re about to tap out, the warmth of his spend floods into you. you whine at the sensation, too lost in your own head to relish in the sounds he made. some men liked to talk through it, mumble out some incoherent praise or compliments. not phil. no, he moaned. the sounds fell from his lips as his hips stuttered, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. the hand in your hair tightens as well, causing you to hiss in pain. he doesn’t even register the sound, too lost in his own pleasure.

when his eyes finally meet yours again, they look much like your own. blissed out blues meet your cumdrunk gaze. his chest heaves as he slides himself out of you, pulling you down to lay against him. his spend drips out of you and you begin to protest, but he shushes you. “‘s alright, darlin’. i’m gettin’ the truck detailed tomorrow.” you settle, catching your breath as your ear presses against his chest. you can hear his heart thundering in his chest, threatening to beat right out of his skin. “you did so good for me,” he says, raking his fingers through your hair. “such a good, obedient girl.”

you smile at the praise, his words warming something deep within you. “same time next week?” he asks, and you nod. finally, you’d found what you were looking for.

#this is so self indulgent oh my god #i think if he called me “darlin” i would melt #call of duty #call of duty smut #cod #cod mw2 #cod smut #cod fic #reader insert #phillip graves #commander graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves smut

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gingerteafairy · 7 days ago

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𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆 (𝒌𝒂𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

You’re preparing to tell Kai you want to leave the cult, assuming he’s unaware of your intentions. Little do you know. His uncanny perceptiveness is unsettling—far beyond what feels humanly or even legally possible

tags: angst, anxiety, health problems, might be triggering, manipulation, established relationship, validation. Words: 1.4k

Joining the Cult was something else.

You never wanted to be there. Never wanted to be part of it. Where people obeyed his orders like mindless puppets, terrified of punishment from either Kai or God himself. Only He knew what hell it was to exist in that place.

Anxiety gnawed at you constantly, your eyes darting around, desperate to leave the moment the door opened. The air was thick with unease. Taking anti-anxiety pills was like an anesthetic, dulling the growing pain of being trapped in this nightmare. You wanted out—yes, more than anything. So why couldn’t you leave?

Was it the praises? The applause? The validation for your talent? No, you had all that back in college or the pub where you sang jazzy songs to make money. Was it the convenience? Having everything you could ever want—luxurious food, jewelry, revenge for the wicked society? No, it was worse.

Kai Anderson.

Cult leader. Fear impersonated. Hot. Your man—or better yet, your fiancé. You hated how pathetic you felt, whining and obeying his every command, just wanting to be good for him, validated by him. You’d do anything—anything—to see that beautiful face smile at you, to hear the sweet words, Good girl. Yet your altered electrocardiogram screamed for relief, just like your blood tests and mixed-up hormones.

“Kai,” you called weakly from behind him, fingers trembling as they curled around his black sweatshirt.

He turned slowly, his blue hair catching the light like a red signal for your nerves to short-circuit. A damn 3D glasses on a slash-horror movie. “What d’you want, suga?”

You swallowed hard, legs turning to jelly. His pet names always weakened you. “I’m tired, Kai…” Your voice sounded pathetic, a mere whisper.

He smiled, cupping your face with a gentle touch of his thumb, his caress both a warning and a comfort. Kai never did anything without hidden intention—every touch was calculated. “I know, doll. You look like a crushed kitten. It’s so sad.”

Your throat tightened, a twisted mix of emotions bubbling up. “Crushed kitten? What does that even mean? Do I look that ugly?”

“No,” he said, his voice a smooth melody. “You never look ugly to me. You're perfect.” His praise was like honey, dripping from his lips. “You look ravishing, even with those dark bags under your eyes and stress wrinkles. So hardworking.”

His thumb froze against your skin, a cold silence settling between you. His eyes darkened, sharp and calculating, as he examined you with a look that made you feel like you were laid bare before him. He wasn’t oblivious—Kai was far from that. He saw everything, sensed everything. It was unsettling, how perceptive he was. More than anyone legally or humanly should be.

“Kai…” You couldn't hold it back anymore. “I’m tired. I can’t take it anymore.” Your words rushed out before you could stop them. You knew if you let him charm you again, you wouldn’t be able to escape. “It’s the cult. I don’t want to be part of it anymore. It’s exhausting. I’m having panic attacks, I can’t sleep…”

“You want out?” he asked softly, and you knew it wasn’t a simple question.

“I…yes,” you whispered, shivering. “I’ll die if i stay here. All I do is take pills and drown myself in TV shows so I can forget where I am. Where I… where you put me.” The words tumbled out in a rush, but the dread in your chest only deepened.

Kai looked at you, his gaze piercing, as if he were reading the very essence of your soul. His proximity was suffocating, his breath warm on your face as he leaned in, keeping that damn eye contact that always made you feel like you couldn’t breathe.

“And where exactly d’you plan to go?” His voice was velvet, threading through your mind like a shot of blue lagoon, extra vodka and lemons. “Jonestown? Heaven’s Gate? Gonna be a little missionary for the damn Mormons?”

“I… don’t know…” you muttered, surrendering to the intoxicating sensation of his kisses on your face. You were weak, helpless. “I just don’t want to be here… I don't… I want…”

“Just tell me what you want, doll,” he whispered, pulling you closer, his strong arms wrapping around you like a bondage. Intense, carnal, caring. “I’ll do anything you want. You know I always take care of you, don't you?”

“I know you do, love.” You couldn’t stop yourself from melting into him, his eyes holding you captive, making you feel small and precious all at once.

“Then why do you want to leave?” His voice was quiet now, almost gentle, as he kissed the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Drunk in blue freezie in summer. “Why do you want to leave me?”

The question hit like a blow, but you couldn’t ignore the tug of his warmth. “I don’t want to leave you… I…”

“Then don’t.” His insistence was soft, yet his gaze hardened, and for a fleeting moment, something like sadness flashed in his chocolate eyes. It was subtle, hidden beneath layers of manipulation, but it was there. And it seemed to consume him as a poison, the defenseless of love.“Do you remember what you said when I proposed?”

Oh, you did remember. You could never forget. The way he made all your dreams come true on that day, how he made love that night. Leading you to that table with his pinky raised—no kneeling, no humiliating gestures. No. He was the one standing, while you sat, holding his pinky in a bond that would never be broken.

He was the one who started the vow, taking your hand on his heart. “Same bond, same faith. Flesh and bones till the grave. I'll give you my life, because you're the one that I crave”

You blushed, taking his hand to your heart as you completed the little spell. “Go where you’re going. Dream the same dreams. Eat what you eat. Do what you do. You’re the head, and I’ll be there for you.”

His grin was knowing, and he kissed both of your cheeks before returning his gaze to yours. “Yes. And now you’re going to break that contract we made? The one you promised me, wearing that pretty blue silk dress I gave you?”

“No…” you murmured, lowering your head, defeated. “I can’t…”

“Hey,” he said, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Are you sad to be with me? Is it a sacrifice?”

“No,” you whispered, grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him closer. “It’s not a sacrifice. You’re the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. I'm grateful for having you, to be the one you chose for being yours.”

“I'm the one who is grateful… I don’t deserve you.” His smile was bittersweet, his hand smoothing your hair before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You’re my angel.”

“And you’re my savior, Kai.” You nestled into him, a tear slipping down your cheek as he massaged your shoulders. “’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, honey.” His voice was low, soothing, as his hands worked along the length of your back. “You’re just tired. Sleep a little, okay? You need rest.”

You pulled away slightly, but only enough to meet his gaze. “But what about the—”

“I’ll take care of everything.” His words were firm, cutting off any further concern. “Don’t worry about anything in that pretty little head of yours. Just focus on being beautiful and happy for our last act. Do you still have that dress I gave you? The one from the proposal?”

You smiled, nodding. “Yeah, it’s in my drawer, right next to the Colt you gave me on my birthday.”

“Good girl,” he said, his grin widening as he ruffled your hair, giggling when you smiled like a puppy. The words you needed to hear. “I’m so proud of you.”

He squeezed your arms in a comforting manner, and in that moment, you felt like everything might be okay. “I love you, babe.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

Crazy things we do for love. Even the things that consume us. But in the end, he would take care of you—even if it meant holding onto you as you decomposed, because you were his princess, his wonderwall, the one thing he would be proud to fight for. His one and only perfect muse.

taglist: @ikkyfics

dividers @junabuggy

#x reader #reader insert #fanfic #imagine #evan peters #ahs #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x you #kai anderson x y/n #kai anderson x you #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson #ahs cult #ahs fic #ahs fanfiction #ahs fandom

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renatogpadilla · 15 days ago

Text

How Lux Met Jinx:

The locals called her "Isha, the Witch"...

Luxanna Crownguard, calls her "Firework". But it didn't start like that.

It had just been another day. That's what she referred to them now. "Another day". Another day of hiding who she was. Of hoping against hope she had enough Petricide Potion to keep her powers in check another day...

She needed a break. She needed to GO. So when she rode her beloved horse Starfire to a little village on the outskirts of Demacia to clear her head and heard about a Witch in the woods that even the Mageseekers were scared to go after? She cursed her own curiosity and immediately went to see who or what this being was. A distraction, she thought, to take the edge off. To meet a fellow Mage, and one that didn't fear the strict anti-magic sentiment the kingdom held for their kind at that! Lux was ecstatic...

It took her the full afternoon to find the little hut. A pretty, ramshackled thing. One story, made of what looked like straw and some gleaming bits of metal on the frames, like it had been cobbled together by someone who CLEARLY didn't know anything about architecture. She found it quaint. Cute.

And then, the next thing she knew, there was a sound, like a giggle, and she was hanging upside-down. She felt her foot hit something metallic right before... A trap, obviously. "The Mageseekers fear this woman. Why would there NOT be traps?", she thought, feeling the blood rush to her brain.

And then there was another sound, a soft click and then a hum, like a very large bug taking flight, followed by a voice that put her on edge immediately.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to wander the woods at night...?"

Oh, there was some CATSCRATCH in that voice. Lux felt her hands growing hotter by the second. If she lit up now...

"So, tell me. What's the name of the person who seeks me out today? And what is it you want? Curse a family? An enemy? A glimpse into the future?" The voice was getting louder and closer, the humming as well... "Not now." Lux thought. "PLEASE, not now!"

The figure came closer, finally moving around so Lux could get a clear look at her. "'Cause I'm warning you. I'm not that kind of Witch".

She was hooded, with a strange, cape-like jacket that looked like it had teeth on the top rim of her hood. A falling shock of blue hair made it look like her hoodie was sticking out its tongue at her. She was also really pale, and she had these... Unnerving eyes. Not purple, no. Violet. That was the color. She was also holding the source of the humming: A little metal contraption, with what looked like a trigger, like a crossbow, and a glass... cage? that hummed melodically and glowed blue, so that her face was lit up by it.

A twitch in her facial features assured Lux of one thing: This woman could only be who she had been looking for. She looked like someone who didn't care what the Mageseekers, if anyone, thought or tried.

"Isha the Witch?", Lux asked. A dumb question, she though, like it wasn't obvious. "My name is Luxanna Crownguard. I mean you absolutely no harm, but I need you to let me down from here!"

At the mention of the name, she seemed to twitch again. A sarcastic, half-cocked smile that didn't reach her eyes formed for a second.

"Crownguard? Ha! I did not know my humble abode warranted the presence of nobles!" She did a very exaggerated and sarcastic bow as she said this and a long braid fell from under her hood with a light thud against the forest floor. "I was convinced people were too chicken to try to come push me out... Is that why you're here?"

At that last line, her voice changed. No longer mocking, but dead serious. She was dangerously close now, the little humming device pressed up against Lux's forehead, hanging lazily from Isha's hand. She was getting nervous... Too nervous. Keep it in check, keep it in check, keep it in check...!

"Please, no, I have no desire to hurt you! That's not why I'm here! I-I just got curious! I swear, please let me down, I'm begging you! I don't want to hurt you!" She was squirming against the trap now. Isha thought she looked like a very enthusiastic fish outta water.

"You don't want to hurt me?" Isha said. The catscratch was back... Was she enjoying this? "It's cute that you think you could."

"LET ME DOWN NOW!" Lux demanded.

Too late.

Like it always did, it started with her hands. She felt the light come through like the warm summer sun. In any other situation, the sensation might have been comforting. Not like this. The feeling moved up her torso, down her legs, the glow penetrating every fiber of her being until her eyes, her hair, her entire self was a glowing, resplandecent, magical sign that said "Mage here! Come imprison me!" in big, bold letters... The Witch got half a "What the fu-" out before Lux couldn't hold on any longer

The light burst forth, blasting from her body, breaking the wires of the snare trap she found herself in, blasting Isha away and dropping Lux on the ground. She heard the scream the Witch let out and immediately started to concentrate again. Breathe, Luxanna, BREATHE! Dim down, dim down!

Until, eventually, almost as quickly as it had come, the light was gone.

She saw Isha with her hands on her eyes. Twisting on the floor, a second braid now fallen from her hood. The weirdest part was that Lux couldn't tell if the woman was in pain or if she was... Gods, was she giggling?! Lux suddenly felt REALLY uncomfortable.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I swear I didn't mean to hurt you! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Lux crawled to her and sure enough, she was giggling. Like the initial scream of pain had given way to some twisted joke she found absolutely hilarious...

Isha sat up as she slowly regained her sight, the first thing she saw were Lux's huge baby-blue eyes staring at her. She looked close to tears, the poor thing!

"Damn, Flashlight!" Isha's scratchy voice said, maybe a little too loud, between giggles. "I stand corrected! You pack a punch!"

"You're not... Hurt?"

"Oh, it stings like a BITCH!" She wheezed. "But the joke of it all is so much more entertaining... A Mage noble? In DEMACIA?! Who ever heard of THAT before?"

Every single danger warning in Lux's body went off at once. She knew now. She couldn't know! She couldn't let anyone know! This could kill her. It could kill her whole family! Her brother knew, and that was problem enough! This could-

The Witch spoke again. "Alright. I'm too curious now. Come inside, girlie, let's see what ails you." Mockingly, that last line was spoken, and lazily, like a ragdoll, the witch of the woods got up.

"You can't tell anyone! Not a SOUL can know! Please, miss Isha, I know I have no right but you must understand! If someone were to find out...!"

The Witch turned on her heel, and curved a finger towards the young Mage. Then she walked towards her ramshackle hut and opened the door...

"Trust me, Flashlight. I won't tell anyone. Besides, if YOU got made, that probably means people wouldn't leave me alone for not bringing you in, right? Come on. I don't get a lot of visitors and you're not a baby or anything, so I promise not to eat you. Mind the traps! There's like three more on the ground over there."

Lux saw the logic in it... And besides, if she ratted her out, she'd be screwed as well, right? She could afford to be welcoming. Isha held all the cards... And Lux supposed, if the absolute worst outcome happened, she could just let go and incinerate the hut and the witch with it, but she really hoped it didn't come to that.

She made her way, carefully avoiding the traps laid out in front of her, now uncovered by the blast. She wondered how Isha could hide them so well while they were painted with such vibrant colors... She made it to the door.

"Come in, come in!" Said the witch, gently tapping Lux's shoulder inside, like they were friends or something. "Tell me everything!"

Jinx had left for Demacia so no more magic could hurt her. So she could be at peace knowing no HexTech or any other insane, arcane invention could put her in danger. She'd left to be safe. She'd left to be left alone...

But now? She had that buzz between her ears again... And something told her that she was about to have a lot of fun with this one.

#lightcannon #lightcanon #Luxanna Crownguard #Lux LoL #Jinx #Jinx Arcane #Jinx LoL #Arcane #adjacent?#Lux #How Lux Met Jinx #Let me know what y'all think!

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ex-dyke-straight-girl · 7 days ago

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Welcome to Harmony Vale

The town of Harmony Vale sat nestled in a serene valley, its pastel-painted houses reflecting sunlight like pearls under an endless blue sky. Birds sang year-round, children laughed in immaculate parks, and neighbors greeted one another with wide, genuine smiles. It was a utopia, a place where anger, discontent, and bitterness didn’t seem to exist.

Everyone knew the truth: this perfection was carefully cultivated.

At the center of Harmony Vale stood the Equinox Chamber, a sleek, cylindrical building of glass and steel, and the heart of the town’s transformation process. Within its walls lay the Harmony Process, a procedure that reshaped its applicants in both body and mind.

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t hidden. The volunteers came willingly, after years on the waiting list, drawn to the promise of a perfect life, Free of their worst flaws and imbued with kindness, patience, and beauty. They would still be themselves, but better.

“This is it,” said Claire, standing beside Ethan at the Chamber’s entrance. They were young, both in their mid-twenties, and both had waited nearly three years for their turn.

Claire glanced nervously at her reflection in the polished door. She brushed her hand through her chestnut hair, her eyes flicking to Ethan. “How do you think we’ll look? You think you’ll still recognize me?”

Ethan grinned, slipping his hand into hers. “Of course. You’ll still be Claire. You’ll just be… more Claire. Perfect Claire.”

That was the promise, after all. The Process didn’t erase memories or rewrite identities. People still loved the same things, had the same passions and talents.

But the Chamber reached deep into the mind and body, like a master sculptor sanding away sharp edges and imperfections: anger, stubbornness, jealousy, insecurity. Every anti-social behavior or intrusive thought smoothed away. The body, too, was perfected, healthier, fitter, a vision of natural beauty. And all of it consensual.

“You’re not nervous?” Claire asked.

Ethan hesitated, but only for a moment. “Of course I am. But we’re doing this for us, right? You’ve said it yourself: no more stupid fights. No more self-doubt. We’ll be happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

She smiled softly and squeezed his hand. “Yeah. Happy.”

A guide greeted them in the Chamber’s lobby. She wore a lavender dress that matched her serene expression and spoke with the practiced calm of someone who had long shed the weight of discontent. Her name tag read Madeline.

“Welcome to your first day of Harmony,” Madeline said warmly. “You’ll enter the Chamber separately, but the results will speak for themselves. Remember, the Process only enhances what’s already there. You’ll feel lighter. Freer. It’s like meeting your best self, and you deserve that.”

Claire swallowed hard as Madeline led them down a gleaming hallway to a set of doors. Claire’s to the left, Ethan’s to the right.

“See you soon,” Ethan said softly, giving Claire’s hand one final squeeze.

Inside her room, Claire found the machine, a reclining chair beneath a halo of soft, golden light. Screens projected words around the room: peace, love, kindness, trust. She could hear faint music — a soothing hum that felt like a lullaby. Her nerves began to ease. She lay down and closed her eyes.

The machine purred to life. A voice, soft and warm, whispered inside her head.

“Claire Thompson. You have chosen Harmony.”

Colors swirled behind her eyelids, soft greens and blues, melting into one another. She felt a warmth spreading through her chest, a sense of deep release, as if someone were gently lifting heavy weights from her soul.

The voice continued. “We will nurture your kindness. We will soothe your anxieties. Your patience, your love, your joy. These will flourish. The burdens you carry, resentment, fear, anger will no longer trouble you. You will be free.”

For a moment, Claire thought of her flaws, the sharp words spoken in arguments, the way she let jealousy twist her stomach, the nights spent crying over her imperfections.

And then… they were gone. Like whispers carried away by the wind.

She felt herself smiling.

Hours later, Claire stood outside the Chamber with Ethan. They looked at each other in awe.

Claire’s features were softer now, her skin smooth and glowing, her posture poised yet relaxed. Ethan’s shoulders were broader, his face more symmetrical, his eyes clear and bright. And yet, they were undeniably themselves.

Ethan smiled at her, tears glistening in his eyes. “You’re beautiful.” Claire touched his cheek, a bubbling joy rising within her. She could feel the love she’d always had for him, only now it was unclouded.

Pure.

“So are you,” she said softly.

They walked hand-in-hand out of the Chamber, greeted by cheers from the town. Friends they hadn’t met yet waved to them from immaculate lawns. Somewhere in the distance, music played.

A plaque at the edge of the square caught Claire’s eye. It read:

“In Harmony Vale, we become who we were always meant to be.”

Claire breathed in the fragrant air of the valley. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel the heaviness of her flaws weighing her down. There were no dark whispers in her mind. No fear of the future.

She looked at Ethan and smiled.

“Welcome home,” he said.

And in that perfect town, under that perfect sky, Claire knew he was right.

#Harmony Vale #microfiction #fantasy #unreality #ARG #mind conditioning #brainwashing

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deadboy-edwin · 6 months ago

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I have this idea for payneland:

Both of them get hit with some kind of spell of sorts that makes them "human" for 24 hours (basically like when they were alive: people can see them, hear them, touch them, they can taste and feel things again, the works)

What do you think they'd do in that time? Maybe taste their fav foods again?

So please bear with me as this will be more of brainrot than an actual fic because I just want to yap- but in my head, it would be kinda funny if the gang was able to get Tragic Mick to turn back into a walrus. The goddess Sedna would then "punish" the boys for daring to defy her- since she had said that Mick would never return to the sea if he chose to leave.

I feel like Sedna would lowkey have a soft spot for abused children, and would also see Mick's love for the sea, and on the inside not really be that mad tbh. Hence the "punishment". She'd "curse" Edwin and Charles to be alive once more.

They don't really know if it's permanent or whatever, but can you imagine the hilarity of Edwin being so used to phasing through walls and doors, then him just walking straight into a door and smacking into it because he's solid- Crystal would have a field day ribbing him for it.

I think, them being human would make them quite unable to take on cases, since admittedly them being regular humans (not everyone can be Crystal Palace Surname Von Hoverkraft okay) makes them vulnerable to beings like demons. So they'd have some downtime. That gives Charles time to think.

Being fully corporeal also allows Crystal to hang out with them like she would with living people. It also allows Crystal to notice things about them that would not have been possible when they were ghosts- like Charles blushing when Edwin adjusts his collar so it's up. Or how the two boys are so tactile. Sure, they'd always been tactile, but why does it seem Charles is extra touchy, now that both boys can feel physical touch?

I think Edwin, bitchy little nerd that he is (and we love him for it) would have a field day with Google. He'd struggle with whatever the fuck a laptop is, and how LED screens strain his poor eyes, and probs get those anti-blue light glasses, and Charles would have a bisexual awakening because Edwin in glasses???

Charles, on the other hand. I feel like boy would want to party. He strikes me as the kind of guy who would be fun at parties, and he'd probably drag the gang to a nightclub after spending the entire day eating different kinds of food (I think he'd enjoy cookie dough ice cream- but that's just me projecting my own cravings).

At the club, Charles might be a bit sulky because Edwin had spent a lot of the day on Crystal's laptop, despite them switching restaurants so that they could try everything- and he's thankful that the laptop is not present at the club.

Unfortunately, Edwin is Edwin, and his brand of anti-rizz also works on the living. You have living people coming up to him left and right, and Charles wonders why this hasn't happened much in death.

Crystal is fast to point out that it's because ghosts are invisible to regular humans. Edwin is not a ghost at the moment, so he's not invisible. She also makes it a point to tell Charles about exactly how many people had simped for Edwin in the afterlife (Monty, the Cat King, hello????)

I think Charles would then get drunk. One, because he's been a ghost for some thirty-odd years. Dude has no fucking clue what his alcohol tolerance levels are. Two, because he gets annoyed that Edwin is getting hit on so much.

There is a third reason that comes to mind once he's fully inebriated, and it's the fact that the following thoughts aren't exactly heterosexual

Getting pouty when your best mate isn't paying attention to you while you are having a meal together

Staring and practically drooling when your best mate is wearing glasses

Getting upset when guys and girls (despite Edwin's lack of interest in the latter) keep flirting with Edwin

Wanting to feel Edwin's touch while he has all his senses at full blast

The plot twist here is that since Edwin is also alive and fully corporeal, our repressed Edwardian boy has actually been icing Charles out because as a human, he does not have the luxury of willing erections away.

I think though, because it seems like immortal beings in the DBDA universe have a sense of humor (hi, Cat King and Esther- wicked as her sense of humor is), when Charles finally makes a move and pulls Edwin away from the admittedly gorgeous guy that had been chatting him up with a "He's in love with me, and vice versa, I'm afraid" and kissing Edwin in the middle of the dance floor, is when they turn back into ghosts.

Even though they're now invisible to most humans once more, Edwin is still quick to berate Charles on the PDA- though there's a softness to his berating.

They end up discovering that as ghosts, they can still feel physical sensations if there's enough emotion involved.

That is a fortunate discovery for all parties involved, especially for our girl Crystal Palace Surname Von Hoverkraft, who walks into the office a few days after the club debacle, and sees Edwin pressing Charles up against a bookcase, snogging him with a fervor, his thigh working its way in between Charles' legs---

"Hot," Crystal comments with a smirk, causing the two boys to jump apart with matching sheepish grins on their faces. "If I'd known Edwin kissed like that, I would've gotten it on with him instead."

#j writes #charles rowland #dbda #dead boy detective agency #edwin x charles #payneland #edwin paine #edwin payne #payneland fic #j speaks #asks #j's brainrot

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bright-side20 · 8 months ago

Text

Antis Logic

Do you guys remember acofas special edition where Elain is holding a tulips bouquet?

Or remember when her sister feyre painted tulips on Elain's drawer:

I slung off my outer clothes onto the sagging dresser—frowning at the violets and roses I’d painted around the knobs of Elain’s drawer.

Or Remember when Elain was compared to a tulip bloom :

But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon … She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses.

Do you remember when she missed flowers, and her father, with whom she was close, out of all the species, carved her a wooden tulip? Yeah, I remember:

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

But wait, can you imagine what Azriel gifted her?

It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

A tulip necklace. Yes, he doesn't know Elain well, he doesn't even know her favorite flower.

which is a rose because one time she heard about a roses field in the continent and wanted to visit it with Feyre :

“These bulbs,” Elain said, pointing with a gloved hand to a cluster of purple-and-white flowers, “came all the way from the tulip fields of the continent. Father promised that next spring he’ll take me to see them."

They sound like this 🙂

#pro elriel #elriel #pro elain #elain archeron #elriel supremacy #anti elucien #anti gwynriel

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the-hydroxian-artblog · 9 months ago

Note

I love your animatronic toy OC guys so much, they have so much personality to them and their colours are really good (especially umbra)

Thank you! The funny thing about Umbra's design was that while I was developing it about two years ago and had some colors in mind, I described in text what I already came up with to an image generator for fun (shitty unconvincing old kind, vs now where it looks like shit but in a somewhat more convincing way) and it produced something so silly that I made her design better than what I would've settled with out of spite.

More details of my process and anti-AI ranting below the cut, so the examples given won't show up on search results. Google Images is getting polluted too much with slop to begin with.

Let's begin.

In 2022 I was drafting up Umbra's design with mostly concrete details. At this time image generators were newer and much less convincing, and I was a bit less aware of just how unethical they were, so I fed one a text description of what I had drafted for her design out of curiosity. Something along the lines of, "doll of an anthropomorphic owl librarian in glasses, blazer/suit jacket, skirt, corset, high heels, sitting on a bookshelf" and probably a few more terms. Really specific, lengthy prompt.

I try to be open-minded and give new things a shot, but the results were Not Great. Ideally, I'd want to not share the AI pictures at all on-principle, but I feel like it's useful, transparent, and necessary to show them. Both as a means of not hiding anything, but also just to appreciate where the design is at in spite of it.

Outside of this particular collage of Weird Owls, no other pictures on this blog are AI-generated. AI Image Generation is harmful, and I am against its usage.

But hey, two of the generated pictures look close, right? The top left is the closest, and bottom right is second.

That's because they started out worse, and I had to actually erase chunks of them and have the generator fill in the blanks to get anything remotely close to what I wanted. Misshapen limbs, unrecognizable anatomy, fever-dream clothing details, etc. They didn't even have a corset or proper legs until I slapped the generator in the face enough times to make it produce them. I was just using it to photobash, which was such an annoying process, I just went "this is dumb" and stopped. They're literally posed like that because I kept erasing and regnerating their limbs until they looked vaguely in-character. It literally only looks passable thanks to STRANGLING it with human input.

Before I used the image generator, I already drafted her to be night-themed with yellow eyes and something like purple, dark blue, or sky-blue as her main color; the generator making one owl yellow-eyed and purple was a happy coincidence, and the only thing the generative AI "came up with" that I didn't already have in mind or included in the prompt was the light blue shirt, which I did adapt into her cyan shirt and stockings/socks as well. That was a good call. You get One Point, Mr. AI.

...Which still meant that at its absolute best, it was a largely redundant step in the creative process if its contribution was worse than what a randomized palette generator or character creator could come up with.

That's already putting the ethics of it aside, like carbon emissions, data pollution, using artists' and photographers' work without credit or permission, the incentive to plagiarize, flooding sites like deviantart with slop, Willy Wonka Shit, etc etc etc. When people say "you can use AI as a tool though", this ordeal was enough to convince me that it's more trouble than its worth, even in its most ethical usage. I feel gross for having even tried. I wish I knew what sources went into the creation of those Weird Owls. It'd be better for research if the right people could be credited.

Nothing else on this blog is AI-generated or ever will be. The art below is purely my own (2022 vs a few weeks ago)):

Actually drawing Umbra and solidifying her design was far more rewarding than having an image generator vaguely approximate my own ideas. I wanted her to look really special, so I used a black cape and pants, gold highlights and buttons, and blue undertones to make something more distinct. Also, neck floof. Very important. I wanted the head in particular to look distinct and original, going with bold black streaks to really help her look distinguished.

I also have certain inevitable Hydroisms for Fancy characters like her; most apparent in these designs for Chasey and Kaita from even longer ago, which were more of an influence than anything else. (Old art of mine from like 2021, Kaita ref looks wonky but Chasey still holds up nicely):

Most of Umbra's other design elements were already commonly used with established ocs like Kaita, like her shape language, corset, skirt, heels, etc. It was my previous work with Chasey that inspired the use of gold buttons and highlights.

Umbra is also now a bluer shade of purple partly to distance the current design from that ordeal. All things considered, I'll probably make her more indigo next time. I already wanted her to have a wide color range from the get-go (Featured below is, again, purely my art from 2022:)

I may use a different colored shirt and stockings in the future. I like to think she has many different shirts and clothes based on the different stages of the night sky, from dusk to dawn, and the painting I made in the top right there was an exploration of her range in different lighting.

All in all, it's frustrating. I'm proud of her design, but explaining all of this is annoying, because it's technically all relevant to showing how her colors were picked and how the design was made. I still technically have AI to """Thank""", in the way you thank a bad experience for encouraging you to make things better out of spite.

#Umbra Beatrix

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edibleartsncraftz · 5 months ago

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orange characters in media ilysm

Also just thought i'd share some stuff abt the design I came up for her here;

- She has eyebags bc of my hc of Cilantro usually staying up late to make the training scenarios back when she was under G.I Moe

- The glasses Cilantro wears has anti blue light properties due to her old job (again) but now that shes a (star)field agent she just wears them just bc + she feels weird going out without them on

- Her hair is supposed to represent both her tail nd crest!! the ponytail being the tail (duh) and the bangs being her crest

( shares >>> likes )

#glue art posting #investigators #investigators book #cilantro investigators #you guys had no idea how hard it was to make her look less like lois griffin.#anyways!! cilantro!!!!!<33 i love her sm i just bought AoS book 2 just bc i saw that she had multiple appearances/cameos (?) in it

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undertale-fic-librarby · 3 months ago

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Howdy! As second place Error propaganda, I have prepared a list of fics that should be mostly focused on Error!

At Their Mercy by Devcipher (Teen And Up, Complete)

The multiverse had been perfectly balanced when the seven higher beings weaved it together. Through countless interferences, however, the balance has begun to tip, and stability is threatened. Fate's creation has been unresponsive to their warnings, and thus a solution must be made. While feuding with Destiny over a monster to be Ink's counterpart, Karma intervenes. Inspiration from Harrish6's Forced God of Destruction universe, but a unique alternate multiverse/universe of my own. Discord is constantly breaking the link for the ATM discord but: https://discord.gg/DgHWGnMNrs *EDIT: My server got raided twice please message me for a link lol* Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/devtemrys

Wayward by Queer_Sleep_Demon (Mature, Incomplete)

Error had always been in control of his teleporting abilities. He knew the ins and outs of world-hopping like the back of his hand. The joke was on him, though, because the multiverse didn't play by anybody's rules. An impulsive decision to teach Nightmare a lesson in respect went horribly wrong. As a result, Error and Nightmare become stranded in a foreign and hostile dimension. Finding a way out was easier said than done.

It's All Just Training, Right? by atomiCherry, Souldew_UT (Explicit, Complete)

Hopping from universe to universe after his own Anti-Void no longer suffices as a safe place from the chains of Fate, Error winds up in Nightmare’s Castle with none other than the God of Negativity himself, who’s far too pleased with the Destroyer’s presence. Unaware of Nightmare’s true intentions, Error finds himself taken aback by a suspicious yet remarkable deal that very few people have the courage to propose. It was meant to be a simple session, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but then the both of them find out that there might be more to their meeting than meets the eye… - updates every Tuesday and Friday

A Long Week For A Tiny Error by Sosa_Star (Teen And Up, Complete)

A cruel trick by Nightmare leaves Error in a Huge predicament. Will he return to normal? What's a tiny destroyer to do? Survive, that's what.

Against the Remembered Many by StrelitziaMystery1097 (Not Rated, Incomplete)

Dream stared at the endless white and shuddered against how oppressive this place was. His eye lights focused on the only thing here. There was a skeleton on the ground with his hands over where his ears would be. Most of the skeleton had turned dark with glitches and the occasional error but part of his face and some of his left arm and torso was still white. He wore the typical Sans hoodie but with different colours and red glasses. He was muttering to himself. "Are you okay?" A.k.a: What if Dream had met Error before he completely went crazy? (This fic is inspired by For the Forgotten Ones.)

Temporal Difficulties by Tigercoolyeet (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

On a random night in Outertale, Error and Blue are attacked by Ink and sent tumbling off a cliff. Destiny, one of the seven deities, saves them from their Fated fall into the Void and whisks them away to the Astral Plane: the place where the deities live and watch over the multiverse. Due to Fate’s magic blocking Destiny from sending Error and Blue back, the deity enlists Time to slowly reintegrate them back into the multiverse’s code through time loops. However, from there, things get a little… interesting. Especially when the loops start affecting more than the two skeletons. Fate’s sure going to have a fit when they get back. Or, The crack-treated-seriously, Error & Blue-centered time loop fic that no one asked for. (Or or, I’ve been wanting to do a time loop fanfic for one of my fandoms and I’ve finally found the solution.) NOW RECEIVING A FULL REWRITE AND (HOPEFULLY) TAKING THIS OFF HIATUS

To the depths of the soul by Lena_Inris (Teen And Up, Complete)

Two centuries have passed since Error reached the new multiverse and started a new life. He entered into a relationship with Nightmare and Ink. Everything was wonderful. Life was normal and quiet. And the memories of the old Multiverse were just nightmares now. However, this was the worst moment for Error to decide to want to have a child with his two partners. Ever since his ex-partner managed to find him, the problems started to appear. And Error is very useless when he is pregnant, it doesn't matter that he is a god, he can't use his magic.

I'm Not a Doormat (but I Want You to Step on Me) by Golden_Au (Explicit, Complete)

Error didn't consider himself the type of person that let others get away with treating him like a doormat. He wasn't some fucking pansy you could fuck with without consequence, okay? That being said... He wouldn't mind being stepped on by a certain god.

Our Kind Of Intimacy by Moss-On-The-Bones (General Audiences, Complete)

Ink had the marvelous idea of making Error his canvas. A little over 1k words of Error being painted on. This is a part of a reverse big bang with @wewawoomp on Tumblr. Link to the art will be at the end notes.

No Mother Left Behind by TerminusVerso (General Audiences, Complete)

Just admit you love him, Error.

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