#same goes with “AI voices”
Note
Many artists hate AI
Why? I did not get it from your latest ask
Because its meant that it will get artists "Job" or why?
Sorry if you dont wann talk about it
i thought i should talk about it someday so here we are
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its not just about "AI will steal artists jobs", the advance of technology means it'll happen with everything someday.
im against AI because of how they do it
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the way AI image generation works is
gather as much data (in this case, images) from a original sorce (aka "training")
when the prompt is written, the AI use the data it collected to create whatever prompt its given
but the thing is, the original data sorce (aka artists who draw the art AI used to "train") usually don't know or agreed with their art being used to train AI
and most AI "artists" don't openly tell people that their "art" is created with AI. which is the reason why "AI that creates fake timelapes and layers for AI art" is a thing now
so while the programers of the said AI and the ones who uses it to sell their "art" gains profit, the ones who've been extorted (aka the artists whos art was used to train the AI without their permission) don't get SHIT
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think it like this.
you own a pasta shop where a dish is 5$ . its not much but making pasta and watching people enjoy it is your passion, and it pays the bills that helps you keep going
one day, someone walks in, grabs every dish you made and walks out without paying or even asking
then, they dump everything into a big pot that can magicaly copy everything in it, stur it a few times and start to serve it to other people claiming they "made" it cause they used their pot to "cook" it
not just that, they start to sell it for 2$ per dish and wrote a whole book about "how to make delicious pasta FAST". and when the "big pot is bad" movement started, they quickly say "but i DIDN'T used the pot, its all made from my OWN SKILL"
so while the company that produces the "muliply big pot" and people who serves from it gains profit , you, the original cook don't get anything from all out of this
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i agree that AI is just a tool, however, unless theres a forced rule that
• protects / pays the original artists properly
• have AI "art" to be clearly labled as one
then i, alongside with many artists will continue to be heavily against the use of the tool.
#which i do not think it'll be in the near future as laws don't get made easily. especially about non-physical propertys#ask#same goes with “AI voices”#we support real artists in this household 🫡
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My take on AI images actually is that every single digital space should have a very clear system to disclose if an image/text/audio was made with AI and give the user the option to hide them. If I'm looking for reference material I shouldn't have to spend half my time heavily investigating if an image was synthesized by a fucking machine.
#i also think ai image models should be totally deconstructed becuse its wrong to use someones material without asking#and while we're here i dont think ai images can be logistically called art becuase machines dont have souls#this all goes same for voice AIs and text AIs as well but my main issue rn is images
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Hey Tracy! Have you heard about the new Ai called Sora? Apparently it can now create 2D and 3D animations as well as hyper realistic videos. I’ve been getting into animation and trying to improve my art for years since I was 7, but now seeing that anyone can create animation/works in just a mare seconds by typing in a couple words, it’s such a huge slap in the face to people who actually put the time and effort into their works and it’s so discouraging! And it has me worried about what’s going to happen next for artists and many others, as-well. There’s already generated voices, generated works stolen from actual artists, generated music, and now this! It’s just so scary that it’s coming this far. 
Yeah, I've seen it. And yeah, it feels like the universe has taken on a 'fuck you in particular' attitude toward artists the past few years. A lot of damage has already been done, and there are plenty of reasons for concern, but bear in mind that we don't know how this will play out yet. Be astute, be justifiably angry, but don't let despair take over.
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One would expect that the promo clips that have been dropping lately represent some of the best of the best-looking stuff they've been able to produce. And it's only good-looking on an extremely superficial level. It's still riddled with problems if you spend even a moment observing. And I rather suspect, prior to a whole lot of frustrated iteration, most prompts are still going to get you camera-sickness inducing, wibbly-wobbly nonsense with a side of body horror.
Will the tech ultimately get 'smarter' than that and address the array of typical AI giveaways? Maybe. Probably, even. Does that mean it'll be viable in quite the way it's being marketed, more or less as a human-replacer? Well…
A lot of this is hype, and hype is meant to drive up the perceived value of the tech. Executives will rush to be early adopters without a lot of due diligence or forethought because grabbing it first like a dazzled chimp and holding up like a prize ape-rock makes them look like bleeding-edge tech geniuses in their particular ecosystem. They do this because, in turn, that perceived value may make their company profile and valuations go up too, which makes shareholders short-term happy (the only kind of happy they know). The problem is how much actual functional value will it have? And how long does it last? Much of it is the same routine we were seeing with blockchain a few years ago: number go up. Number go up always! Unrealistic, unsustainable forever-growth must be guaranteed in this economic clime.
If you can lay off all of your people and replace them with AI, number goes up big and never stops, right?
I have some doubts.
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The chips also haven't landed yet with regards to the legality of all of this. Will these adopters ultimately be able to copyright any of this output trained on datasets comprised of stolen work? Can computer-made art even be copyrighted at all? How much of a human touch will be required to make something copyright-able?
I don't know yet. Neither do the hype team or the early adopters.
Does that mean the tech will be used but will have to be retrained on the adopter's proprietary data? Yeah, maybe. That'd be a somewhat better outcome, at least. It still means human artists make specific things for the machine to learn from. (Watch out for businesses that use 'ethical' as a buzzword to gloss over how many people they've let go from their jobs, though.)
Will it become industry standard practice to do things this way? Maybe. Will it still require an artist's sensbilities and oversignt to plan and curate and fix the results so that it doesn't come across like pure AI trash? Yeah, I think that's pretty likely.
If it becomes standard practice, will it become samey, and self-referential and ultimately an emblem of doing things the cookie-cutter way instead of enlisting real, human artists? Quite possibly.
If it becomes standard industry practice, will there still be an audience or a demand or a desire for art made by human artists? Yes, almost certainly. With every leap of technology, that has remained the case.
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TL;DR Version:
I'm not saying with any certainty that this AI blitz is a passing fad. I think we're likely to experience a torrential amount of generative art, video, voice, music, programming, and text in the coming years, in fact, and it will probably irrevocably change the layout of the career terrain. But I wouldn't be surprised if it was being overhyped as a business strategy right now. And I don't think the immensity of its volume will ever overcome its inherent emptiness.
What I am certain of is that it will not eliminate the innate human impulse to create. Nor the desire to experience art made by a fellow soul.
Keep doing your thing, Anon. It's precious. It's authentic. It will be all the more special because it will have come from you, a human.
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summary: paul atreides x plus sized afab servant!reader
cw: power imbalance, somnophilia (dubcon in my mind as the reader wouldn’t push him away if they woke up but feel free to skip this if you could feel icked out by it), petplay (cheated again and didn’t make it explicit but it’s very petplay coded in a way), size difference (paul’s the skinny bf that would fall over if a gust of wind was strong enough), paul eats reader out, crack treated seriously vibes bc he’s so awkward 💀, ambiguous somno occasion (like how the reader fell asleep), implications of improper use of the voice but it’s weak for this paul era so reader could probably push against it, possible dune lore inaccuracies idk don’t think just vibe
wc: 1k +
block & move on if uncomfortable !!!
don’t repost, translate, or give ai my work
kinktober masterlist
You’re having the same dream again. Paul Atreides, the duke’s son who you are tasked with looking after is the star.
He looms over you as you lie flat on your back, though in your dream you’re never in your servant’s quarters. No, the surrounding walls bear a more striking resemblance to Paul’s bedroom. You’re always groggy in the dream, which is a strange feeling to have when you usually are profoundly awake in your other dreams.
You’ve only been having this one since you arrived on Caladan from a smaller planet with no name that they took ownership of. Paul Atreides had seemed to seek you out like a moth to a flame, making a beeline for you and demanding in front of your mother that his father hire you. Even weirder was the fact that the ships belonging to the Atreides left immediately after you agreed to go with them, as if the trip had only one purpose.
“Shh, mouse, it’s just me. Don’t wake up.” He whispers, nuzzling his nose against yours and pecking your lips.
You lie there in a daze, eyes wide and mouth agape as Paul reaches for the fastenings of your top. It’s an orange silk number he gifted you, all your clothes are. Your breaths come out in shallow pants, the disbelief that Paul Atreides would be disrobing you with the intent to bed you is overwhelming. He gives your plush curves loving squeezes as he reveals more and more skin.
Eventually you’re stark naked under him. You sluggishly try to cover yourself with your hands but Paul swiftly knocks them aside, pinning them to your sides so he can drink in the mouth watering image. You have no idea how many dreams he has had of you, ones concerning moments like these and ones about the life you’ll experience together in between. A gaggle of tiny feet playing tag around his throne, domestic mornings of blissful silence waltzing in the dining room.
“I…. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you, i swear it.” Your heart skips a beat, despite knowing very well that this is all some passing fancy. Dreams never have to see the light of day, so you can luxuriate in your delusions.
Paul leans down to shakily mouth at your collarbone, scraping his teeth against the skin and playing with your love handles. You whimper as he litters your rough skin with love bites, you open your mouth to apologize that it’s not as smooth as a noble consort’s would be, but something in the way he shoves his tongue in your mouth to silence you tells you he somehow already knows.
You poke and pull at his dark shirt, the fine black material feeling like heaven but you’d rather it cover your garments next to the bed.
Paul chuckles, nipping at your lips and pulling back to shirk his clothing off. He throws it across the room and goes back to kissing his way down your thick body. Once he reaches your stomach, he takes extra special care to dote on the rolls of skin, softly kissing and pressing his forehead against them.
“You would be a beautiful bride, you know…”
“Um… thank you, sir.” You squirm, all the attention on someone like you from someone like your employer’s son becoming too real. The Paul Atreides would sooner be lost to the sands of Arrakis than utter those words to you in the waking world, but perhaps your long harbored infatuation has leaked into your subconscious.
He smiles, as if charmed by your shyness. “You’re welcome, mouse.”
His favorite nickname for you, given to you due to your adorable scurrying around to avoid others and shy high pitched squeaks that you use instead of words. (Also because he saw you crouch in a corner and nibble on a piece of bread that you had managed to snag from the table.)
He sits back on his heels to grab your thighs, the skin bulging in between his fingers. He draws you into a slow and sensual kiss as he pushes them apart and sinks into the empty space. You squeak in shock when you feel something stiff press against your wet pussy, but Paul only shushes you in your head and you relax again.
“Mmm~” He hums, flicking his tongue against the seam of your lips and lifting himself to hover over you once more.
He winks before tightening his grip on your thighs and stretching them wide enough for him to slink down and have access to the small hole at their apex.
You jolt when he presses a soft kiss to the top of your mound. You squeak and try to close your thighs around his head but he doesn’t let you, keeping your thighs pinned to the bed and licking a flat stripe up your pussy.
“So sweet, mouse….” Paul grins and repeats the motion a few times. “I could just spread you out over the table whenever I need to eat.”
You moan at the attention, desperately wishing that you could grind against Paul’s mouth but it feels like something more than his grip is holding you back, something about the touch seeming too vivid. You shake the thought away and sink your fingers into his hair, brushing any strays away from his face as he moves to suck on your clit.
He hollows out his cheeks a bit to get better suction on your fat clit. Paul nuzzles his face as deep into you as he can possibly get, the chubby lips of your pussy sandwiching his nose. You wrench your eyes shut as your pleasure builds and builds, but a single thin finger eases into your hole right as you’re about to tumble over the edge. The intrusion isn’t painful so much as it is entirely foreign to you, the second finger goes in much easier.
The combination of eating you out and finger fucking you makes the knot in you stomach blessedly come undone. Paul swallows it all down like there’s no better substance in the grand scheme of the universe.
You hope to have this dream again tomorrow, even at the cost of being able to look Paul Atreides in the eyes.
#kinktober#paul atreides#paul atreides x reader#paul atredies x reader#paul atredies smut#dune#dune x reader#dune x you#paul atreides x you#paul x reader#paul x you#paul atriedes#⚰️.deaddove#tw somno#tw power imbalance#yandere themes#male yandere smut#male yandere x reader#yandere smut#dune smut#yandere x you#soft yandere#yandere x reader#male yandere#yandere male#dark fic
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Hi! I hope you’re having a great day! I had an idea for a fic and I thought I’d send it to you!
Theodore Nott or Mattheo Riddle x fem! Reader
The readers on her phone relaxing after spending all Saturday on homework, and she opens tiktok and watches edits edits of her boyfriend and watches some for like hours and then he walks in- (stay with me bestie-) and she dosent notice, and she’s gotten really horny, needy and turned on *cough* maybe she goes on character ai to try to make her miss him less and she’s just super horny- he sees her watching edits of him and it’s just super smutty?
A/n: Also this is my first time requesting! I sent this to a couple of my favorite fanfic authors bc I didn’t know who would respond, I love your work pls keep it up!!
p e r f e c t i o n
fandom- Harry Potter
pairing(s)- theodore nott
a/n: thelloo my darling, i am so sorry it took so long. i couldn't choose which character to do, so both are uploaded, one is the copy paste of the other except their names [ofcourse] so there isn't much difference, tysmm for requesting and i hope you're happy with how this turned out :)
p.s i love you and this literally has me giggling and smiling
requested- yes
currently playing- forever favourite
warnings- this is set in a modern au, here he's a famous actor
you placed your pen down, a clicking sound was heard as the cap enclosed the nib. you uncross your legs and make way to the couch with your phone on one hand, ready to take a well deserved break.
you opened TikTok, the symbol animatedly popping up as her for you page loaded. there was something so addictive about it, not that of the app, but how the edits and controversies of your boyfriend pulled you in for hours.
the thing was, the both of you had an argument and you're missing him more than usual. you long for him to grab your thighs, the neck kisses, his fingers running down you as if to sculpt you.
from POVs to edits to just scenes of him had you captivated. just the thoughts of him doing what they claimed. you found yourself rewatching an edit of his thighs. for some reason they turned you on so much. his walk, his arms, the way he moved, how could he do it all so seductively.
was it getting hot in here?
you instinctively started unbuttoning your shirt and removed your shorts, leaving you in a pretty set. you were home alone anyway, who would be bothered? but god didn't he love that set. you rested on your stomach as you encountered an audio, a one with Theodore Nott fucking you. you could feel yourself practically melt with his voice draining all thought and reason on your mind.
his slow footsteps took him to the bedroom which's door was slightly ajar his hand preoccupied with takeout.
fuckfuckfuck
you eyes look up to see the the biggest grin. he though he'd won. he knew you wouldn't go too long without him. it made you upset. but at the same time, his barely buttoned up shirt was loosely hung and his trousers outlined his visibly growing bulge.
leaving the food gently on the desk facing the door, he lifted you up from the bed with his hand under your thighs, placing you on top of his study.
his eyes ran through the pretty blue lace, he always said it looked lovley on her skin. he closed the gap between her, your breats pressed against him.
"I'm sorry my love, but i don't mind fucking you while you're still angry at me. it quite turns me on."
Theo backed you up against the wall, his mouth warm and heavy on yours as your fingers hooked his belt buckle. you were far from angry, you were ready to end him, oh and he knew. he would be dying today, but atleast it would end with his face berried in your pussy.
“sweetheart..” he held his palm out to you, pressing you against the cold wall as his chocolate eyes gazed you in absolute awe.
you pulled Theo by the tie, his hands swiftly picked you up and dropped you ever so gently on the centre of your bed. you push his standing figure on his back roughly as he just has the most blissful expression on his face.
you leaned over Theo and gently placed a feather like kiss on his abdomen, your fingernails gently paving a path down him, reaching towards his abs, the hard muscle were as if god himself had taken the time to sculpt it for you.
you slowly mount him, ghosting above him slightly.
"you have such an annoying face Nott."
that was absolutley untrue. is face was perfection. it was gorgeous and defined and just perfect.
"sit on my annoying face then baby" he murmured. it was soft and kind.
you crawled to the head of the bed, "you’re fuckin perfection." you muttered, pressing a gentle kiss on his jaw as he positioned his hands round your hips, pulling you on top of his face. you settled in, your legs locked on either side of his pretty head. one arm was resting on his chest lightly as the other played with his soft curls.
"fuck" you moaned, his lips spread under you only sucking harder, the sensation making you shudder. you were already dripping and he's just gotten started.
"darling-" he shushed himself off as you moaned, your fingers entangled in his brown hair as he lapped up your juices, quickening his pace.
his tongue lightly ball room danced around your clit as you came and your hands switched to the bedsheet so you don't nearly pulled his hair from his roots. he was memorized with the feeling of your thighs tightening
he continued his pace and as if muscle memory you gripped his hair again,
"fuck-"
you moaned out as he gripped your thighs, acting as if he could swallow you whole.
another orgasm.
and another.
one by one, they all fell into order.
#harry potter headcanon#harrypotterimagines#harry potter fluff#fred and george#harry potter preferences#harry potter imagine#harry potter incorrect quotes#harrypotterimagine#theodore nott fic#theodore nott x you#theo nott x reader#mattheo riddle#slytherin boys#theodore nott#theo nott#theodore nott angst#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott smut#theodore nott x y/n#theodore nott fanfiction#theodore nott drabble#theo nott smut#theo nott x you#theo nott x y/n#theo nott imagine#slytherin boys x reader#theodore nott scenarios#smut#smut and fluff
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Manic Robotic Dream Girl
IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena
IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut
8,311 words
Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away.
Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.
That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over.
Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—
“Vodka.”
“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit.
“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly.
Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink.
Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid.
Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook.
In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.
Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?
“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.
A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.
Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to.
Take your drink and thank Yuri.
The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything.
You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.
Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that.
Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.
Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way.
Loneliness?
You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.
The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.
Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.
So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.
A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb.
He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”
“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”
WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.
Their lives.
He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”
The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.
“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”
“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”
Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.
The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down”
Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.
The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.
Huh.
While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.
He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).
Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.
“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.
-
Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real.
Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?
Your table?
It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.
YENA.
Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.
The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.
Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human.
Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you.
“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute.
You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.”
“And that is?”
“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”
You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.
She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?”
Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.
“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”
“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”
How did you—how did she—
Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human.
“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”
Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in.
Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.
Maybe she’s just a confident woman.
“Come on, I dare you.”
“Only if you go first.”
“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile.
Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?
You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?”
Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—
“Don’t have one.”
“Sorry?”
She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive. “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”
There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.
So no, you’re not buying it.
“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”
“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”
You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.
The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds.
That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.
“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”
“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”
Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.
Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.
“My story is, uh, weird.”
“Tell me.”
“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”
Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.
“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”
“You broke her heart, didn’t you?”
Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”
A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.
Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.
“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”
Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever.
“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”
It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.
“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”
You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.
She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”
Yena kneels.
There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.
So is your dignity.
Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes.
“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”
She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.
“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.
You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her.
You don’t.
The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?
Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.
“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer.
Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head.
Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—
“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”
At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.
You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them.
The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.
While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure.
“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.
Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.
Perfect hair, too, you note.
Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.
She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.
Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.
Yep, perfect.
“Good—fucking—girl.”
Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.
“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”
What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.
You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.
She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real.
“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”
-
You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.
This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.
“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”
“I, uh…”
The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair.
“Well?”
The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly.
“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”
He stares at her.
“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”
You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?
His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.
“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”
The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases.
Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles.
She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.
Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up.
The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”
You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.
“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”
Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.
“I’m not from the North, you know.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”
You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.
You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.
Stop in your tracks.
See the blood running down her arm.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”
You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?
“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”
You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding.
But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality?
To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?
“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”
Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this.
She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”
“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”
First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met.
Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”
Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.
She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap.
The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.
She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”
“I guess we’ll have to see.”
Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her.
You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had.
Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?
The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion.
“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.
Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.
You wouldn’t mind that.
Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.
And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.
“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”
“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”
Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her. You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness.
You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.
You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.
How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty.
She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity.
“Holy shit, Yena…”
“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”
Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.
Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.
“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before.
“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”
“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”
She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?
You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use.
“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.
Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust.
You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.
Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.
“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”
She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:
“Of course.”
Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?
Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her.
Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.
“Oh my god!” Yena shouts.
Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs.
“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”
“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!”
Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.
The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.
The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.
Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”
Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.
All just to be better.
She is.
“Yeah.”
Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears.
It disappears as fast as it arrived.
“Wrong fucking answer.”
Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?
Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before.
What the fuck?
Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.
Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive.
“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment.
The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—
“Chaewon?”
Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.
And yet here she is.
Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.
She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”
There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.
“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”
She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?
You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing.
“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.
You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.
This is the last time you ever want to hear from her.
A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.
She’s the last thing you ever heard.
#kpop smut#smut#kpop fanfic#fanfic#kpop fanfiction#fanfiction#girl group smut#female idol smut#izone smut#soloist smut#choi yena smut#yena smut#izone yena smut#male reader#x reader#reader insert#idol x reader#idol x male reader#kpop x reader#kpop x male reader#pov smut#kofimission#commission#iz days of christmas#iz days of christmas 2023#iz days of christmas 2023 day 4
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superposition. (three)
pairing: dealer!ellie x best friend!reader
summary: ellie gives you lesson number three (she's kinda bitter about it) and you get an A+ on your test!
warnings: 18+, SMUT,(thigh riding) cursing, alcohol/drug mention, suggestive themes... cheating if u squint... once again the ai audios are... just dont listen around others
read the previous part of this fic here!
a/n: this was challenging for some reason... please know i'd love feed back and all reblogs and replies and asks are welcomed and encouraged... thank you for 3k!
"i want you to want me."
You agreed to a second date with Malia.
Despite the fact that you felt something was missing from your first date, you still agreed to give her a second chance. It was a weak attempt to shove whatever you were feeling for your best friend down into the pits of your stomach, but you were failing miserably. While you sat next to her in the crowded bar, all you could think about was Ellie and how her hands traced down your stomach and thighs a week ago.
In fact, that was all you could think about the entire week and it was beginning to make you feel pathetic. Every time Ellie’s hand brushed over yours when you were walking together, or whenever she licked her lips after eating something sent your brain into a frenzy. Her mouth, her hands, her voice ran through your mind on a loop. You were unsure what ‘touch-starved’ meant but you were almost positive that it was what you were feeling right now.
Things had gone back to normal after that night, despite Ellie abruptly leaving your apartment after making you cum. She was just acting as if nothing had happened, not bringing it up again or even joking about it in the way you expected her to. In fact, when you brought up the fact that you were going on another date with Malia she smiled and told you to tell her how it goes.
It was toxic of you, but you had to admit that her lack of jealousy pissed you off. The Ellie that made quips about the date being too boring and offering to ‘take care of you’ was gone, and you were unsure of how to feel about it. She wasn’t cold, but she wasn’t your Ellie anymore. On movie night that Friday she even voted for the movie Dina picked, making your heart sink. She was pulling away from you and you had to do everything in your power to not freak the fuck out.
Halfway through the movie, you got up and began collecting your belongings, searching the couch for your phone.
“Where are you going?” Dina’s voice made you whip your head towards her, her eyes trained on you when they should’ve been trained on that stupid fucking movie her and Ellie wanted to watch.
“Uh- I’m going on a date,” you replied, turning back to the couch to find your phone and place it in your pocket. Instinctively your eye’s flicked towards Ellie, her eyes were stuck on the TV screen, intently watching the movie.
“Oh, with the same girl as before?” Dina perked up, shifting her whole body in the direction of you and startling awake Jesse who had fallen asleep leaned up against her.
“Yeah, Malia.” You gave her a smile, unsure if she could even see it in the dark room, the only light coming from the glow of the TV screen. “We’re getting drinks downtown.”
“Oh shit, you know how you get when you’re drunk,” Dina laughed to herself making Jesse groan, “You get all touchy-feely and shit. You’re for sure getting some tonight.”
This made Ellie turn to look at you, green eyes illuminated and lips pressed flat. Your heart jumped in your chest, excitement bubbling at the fact that she might still care. She looked you up and down before turning back to the movie, doing her best to ignore the conversation.
“I mean, I hope so,” you awkwardly laughed, stealing another quick glance at Ellie, “I think I may be ‘touch-starved’ or whatever that is.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind being touched by Malia, that girl is hot,” Dina whispered, so Jesse wouldn’t hear, “I saw her on campus the other day and I was like ‘Dam-”
“Can you guys shut up? I’m trying to watch the movie.” Ellie chimed in, her tone sharp. Dina playfully pushed Ellie’s shoulder before rolling her eyes and mouthing a ‘sorry’ to you and gesturing for you to go.
“See you later, guys.” You half-whispered, making your way out the door. Ellie watched as you made your way to the door, eyes lingering for a minute after the door had shut behind you.
Ellie was doing her best to be nonchalant but was failing miserably. It took everything in her to pretend that she didn’t know what you felt like, what you sounded like moaning her name. All she wanted to do was pretend nothing had happened, force a smile on her face when you mentioned going on a second date, and ignore the pain in her jaw from clenching it too much. It was much easier said than done.
It wasn’t news to anyone that you brought out a volatile reaction in Ellie. Whenever you were mentioned by someone in a negative light she had to physically restrain herself from knocking their teeth out, failing on two occasions. Whenever you were mentioned in a positive light, Ellie had to stop herself from listing all of the things she liked about you or getting jealous at the idea that someone may take you away from her. She knew she didn’t own you, but a part of you belonged to her and she knew that.
Again, Ellie waited by her phone that night waiting for you to text her that your date was over and that you wanted her to come over. She wasn’t expecting you to, but she still hoped that you would.
The date with Malia went as smoothly as last time. The conversation was good, the drinks were even better, and when her hand rested at the side of your thigh and she asked you if you wanted to go back to her place, you happily obliged. All of it was fuzzy, her frantically unlocking her door with your lips nipping and sucking at her neck, her leading you to her bedroom with girly laughs filling the room, her pressing you down into her mattress, hands pulling at your waistband, and you pushing her off the bed.
You sat up with a gasp and hand clamped over your mouth as you looked over the edge of the bed to see her sitting on the floor.
“I’m so sorry!” You quickly scrambled to reach out a hand for her, helping her to get up. You assumed she would be pissed but all she did was laugh and accept your outstretched hand. Your face had worry written all over it, your brows wrinkled and eyes wide.
“It’s okay,” she let out a breathy laugh again, shaking her head as she sat next to you on the bed, “I’m assuming you’re just not ready?”
You took a good look at her watching the way her features all sat perfectly on her face. You were ready, and touch starved, so why couldn’t you do this with her?
“I don’t think I am,” you reluctantly replied, an apologetic look on your face, “I’m just not there yet, I’m new to all of this so I think we should take it slow.”
“Of course,” she reached a hand out to push your hair out of your face, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Suddenly, the room felt extremely small and you felt the need to get out of there. It wasn’t anything she had done but the realization that you had just pushed your date off her bed was beginning to set in. You stood up quickly, smoothing out your shirt and beginning to make your way out to her living room where you had thrown your bag.
“I should go,” your voice was rushed and frantic mimicking your movements. Malia was quick on your tail, trying to reassure you in her own rushed voice, but it all came out as static to you. You turned quickly on your heels to face her, your phone and bag in hand. “I’ll text you, okay?”
You gave her a kiss on the cheek before rushing out the front door and whipping out your phone to dial the only person you knew how to call these days. You rushed down the staircase and out onto the street, pressing her contact number scared she wouldn’t pick up. It only rang once before you heard her voice through the phone.
“Hey, you okay?” She asked frantically, knowing that if you were calling her and not texting, than something was wrong.
“Um, yeah, yeah-” You breathed out, voice shaky and unstable.
“What’s wrong, Petal?” From your phone, you could hear her already getting up and getting her things together to come and get you.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” you lied, “Can you just come pick me up? I’m just at Malia’s and I need to get out of here.”
There was silence on her end for a minute. “Uh, yeah. Just send me the address.”
After what felt like ages of you shaking your head and looking around for Ellie’s car, she pulled up, headlights flashing at you as she approached. You rushed to the door, pulled it open, and got in the passenger seat, avoiding eye contact with Ellie.
“Hey, you okay?” She asked again, her voice much softer this time. You turned to look at her with your arms crossed.
“I’m fine, Ellie. It just-” You took a deep breath avoiding her eyes once again. “Can you just drive?”
“My place or yours?”
“Yours.”
Ellie gave you a curt nod before turning up the radio and driving over to her apartment building. Once you got there and both made your way into her apartment, you were suddenly uncomfortable. You forgot that you had on makeup and a tight shirt and leather pants that you were definitely not going to sleep in.
“Uh, Ellie?” Your voice was small as you followed her into her room. It was much cleaner than it usually was and didn’t reek of weed like it usually did. It instead smelled like… “Did you light a candle or something?”
“Yeah, why?” She glanced up at you from her place at her dresser, searching through the drawers for something.
“No reason,” you looked around her room once again, “Just wondering why it smells so good in here.”
She gave you another quick glance and a small smirk, taking an oversized shirt of hers from the drawer and throwing it at you. “Yeah it’s Cactus Blossom. Got it on sale and Bath and Body Works.”
You opened up the shirt and looked at it, it was a ‘Nirvana’ t-shirt that you saw Ellie wear multiple times before.
“It’s to sleep in, by the way.” She joked, noticing you stare at the shirt.
“Yeah, thanks.”
When you came back from changing into Ellie’s shirt, she was in her own pajamas: a loose fitting t-shirt and oversized boxers. She looked up at you from her place on the bed, her eyes lingering on your bare legs for a moment. She pursed her lips and patted the spot next to her on the bed. Climbing back onto the bed, you sat crosslegged next to Ellie, your hands securely in your lap. Ellie put her phone down to look at you, her eyes catching on your neck.
“Is that a hickey?” She reached up, finger brushing over the purple bruise on your neck. For a moment, you watched her face fall, but she quickly regained herself as she pulled her hand away.
“Oh shit, I didn’t even realiz-” You were cut off by the sound of Ellie using your name, something she only did when she was serious or mad at you. “What?”
“Did you sleep with her? Is that why yo-”
“What? Ellie, no.” You reassured her, not understanding why there was a need to in the first place.
“So then what happened? Why are you here and not with her?” Ellie’s voice was low and carried a hint of worry with it. Your eyes bore into hers, searching for an answer she wasn’t going to give you verbally.
“She just-” You dramatically sighed, looking down at your hands then back up at her. “We were going to. Like, she was on top of me and was kissing me, and it did feel good, I’m not going to lie, but then she started to try to remove my pants and I just-”
Ellie’s face was cold, her teeth clenched and her arms crossed in front of her body. She knew she was showing herself but couldn’t stop herself. “You just what?”
“I pushed her off the bed.” You admitted, covering your face in your hands and letting out an embarrassed laugh. Not to your surprise, Ellie was laughing too, a big hearty laugh that came from her chest. If you weren’t so embarrassed you would be basking in the sound, your heart leaping out of your chest and into hers. Instead, your face remained hidden by your hands as you shook your head.
“Hey, Petal,” Ellie managed to get out in between laughs, reaching for your wrist and pulling them from your face, “Let me see that face.”
You dramatically pouted, causing her cheeks to redden and grow with the grin she was giving you. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, alright? Hey, if I was dating someone that boring I would push her off me too.”
Ellie watched as the smile came back to her face and you playfully rolled your eyes.
“She’s not boring.” You reminded her.
“And you’re back.” Ellie teased, rubbing the inside of your wrists with her palm.
“Maybe I need another lesson,” You whispered, eyes not leaving hers, “Maybe I’m just not good enough yet.” Something dark flashed over her eyes before she gently tugged your wrists towards her, causing you to lean over on your knees, ass in the air.
“Are you sure you need another lesson?” She whispered, bringing her face close to yours. “Or do you just want me to be the one to fuck you?”
Your tongue caught in your throat, mouth going dry as you looked down at her lips.
“Just a lesson, Ellie.” You gulped. “I’m dating her.”
“Yeah, but you’re fucking me.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss at the side of your lips, causing your eyelids to flutter shut and for you to hum. “Just admit what we both already know. I’m the only one you can get wet for.”
“Yeah, but that could change. You’re my frie-” She cut you off by releasing your hands from her grasp, causing you to fall forward into her. In one swift motion, her hands caught your face, bringing you up to her lips to kiss you. It was messy, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. Her knee came up in between your legs, pushing you forward, causing a groan to fall from your lips into Ellie’s.
She sucked on your bottom lip, one hand leaving your face to pull you on top of her by your waist. You sat with your legs on both sides of Ellie’s thigh, humming when her lips made their way to your neck. Carefully, she sucked over the purple mark left by Malia in an attempt to cover it up with her own. Your hand grabbed onto the back of her hand shoving her into the crook of your neck, letting a “Fuck, Ellie,” fall straight from your lips.
Pulling back from you she examined her work, content with the dark and larger bruising caused by her. Her eyes traveled back to your face, smiling at your swollen bottom lip and sweat beading on your forehead. Her chest was rising and falling dramatically, mirroring yours.
“I’ll give you another lesson,” she panted, lifting the thigh you were sitting on, causing you to stifle back a moan. “Oh, fuck..I’ll teach you how to ride. How to fuck yourself against my leg. That sound okay?”
“Mhm,” you responded, eyes glassy and anticipation stirring inside you. Both of her hands were placed at your waist firmly as she slowly moved you forward.
“What you have to do is,” She began, looking down to where you sat down on her. In the heat of the moment, neither of you had realized that you were dripping onto the skin of her thigh, straight through your panties. “Fuck, is this from that alone?”
When you nodded, Ellie blushed leaning forward to press a kiss on your cheek, hands still on your waist. “You really are touch starved, Petal.” She pressed another kiss on your neck, making you whimper and her grip tighten.
“You just have to rock your hips back and forth,” Her hands fell down to your waist, guiding you to rock back and forth against her. “Slowly, okay?” Nodding, you began rocking back and forth, eyes closing as you whimpered each time your clothed cunt made contact with her thigh.
“I think you could cum off of this alone.” She cooed continuing to guide your hips and giving you a gentle kiss on your jaw each time you made a noise. She was conditioning you to moan for her. “Don’t you think so?” Another kiss, another moan, another kiss.
“You can pick up the pace now, Petal.” You quickened your movements, rocking back and forth at a faster pace. Ellie brought her thigh up and pushed your hips down with her hands. She was pressing you into her, causing you to throw your head back and let out a volatile moan. She used one of her hands to catch the back of your head and pull you close to her.
Your movements began to get more jagged as you felt the familiar feeling in your stomach rise again. Her breath was shaky, her own cunt dripping at the sight of you. Your knee had begun to press into her through her clothes, causing her to let out her own moan. From the sound alone you were about to come.
“Come with me, come with me, fuck,” Her breath was jagged and breathy, but her grip on you never wavered. “Come with me, baby, fuck.”
That was all it took for you before you were screaming her name and collapsing into her, her own moan coming out much quieter than yours, and in short breaths. Your hands rested on her shoulder, as your head hung low and you crawled off of her. With deep breaths, you leaned back against the headboard, almost ashamed to look at her.
“Was that okay?” Your voice was small, unsure of itself.
“Yeah, yeah, that was uhm-” She turned to look at you and gave you an exhausted smile. “That was good. You did good. A+ for you.” You both let out exhausted laughs.
After she got you cleaned up, and you didn’t mention the fact that you were going on another date with Malia, you both fell asleep silently in her bed. Again, she pretended it hadn’t happened and turned off the side table lamp as she watched you pretend to sleep.
ai audios:
#mine#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams x reader smut#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams tlou2#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams fan fic#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams oneshot#modern!ellie williams#college!ellie williams#ellie williams one shot
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tadc w a hacker!reader
so like, reader hacked into the circus for shits and giggles, and unlike the cast reader doesn't get amnesia or is trapped or anything and they can leave and join whenever
TADC x hacker!reader !
each part for the characters might be a little shorter !! hope thats okay, my brain is a little raisin in regards to this idea </3
no gangle since i ran out of ideas
CAINE:
wha- how??
honestly i almost think he would see you as a threat at first, but im not sure since im on the fence about whether or not caine is genuinely malicious or not (going purely off the pilot, i have yet to look into anything outside of the pilot)
"honey! you're home!" in this loud voice of his (this can be read as romantic or platonic, obvious joke on the "honey im home!" gag(?) in media)
keeps a close eye on you since he cant bring himself to fully trust you, afterall, youre a hacker and he is an AI, of course he would be wary
POMNI:
uses you to keep track of what's going on in the real world, whether it be to the benefit or detriment of her mental health
riding the whole "pomni is trying to get out" thing, she might team up with you to try to figure out what exactly is going on and how to put a stop to it
not much else to be said, really, you try to crack the mysteries of this digital world together
JAX:
not too interested in what's going on in the real world
probably asks you how far you can go to your hacking, obviously with the intention of mischief
this might actually get you into some trouble with caine, though, depending on what exactly you attempt to do and if it will have lasting negative impacts on the worlds coding and shit
so best not to indulge jax lest you receive real consequences
RAGATHA:
oh! cool
unlike jax and pomni, doesnt try to use you to her benefit since that kind of goes against her whole "be kind" thing
really as long as you're not trying to hurt anyone she would be chill with you imo
occasionally asks about things about the real world and what's currently going on
KINGER:
more cautious around you than he would be if you were in the same position as everyone else, i mean he doesnt know what all you can do and he doesnt really want to find out
what else is there to say?
likely forgets you're there because you're not. trapped like everyone else
bonus if you just. pop into the digital world right next to him and give him a heart attack
do not jumpscare the chess piece please
ZOOBLE:
vague interest, basic questions, then back to their usual indifference
i mean unless you can bust them all out, why would they bug you? they're already come to terms with everything that's going on so really what point is there?
"can you make jax shut the <> up?"
"..no.."
#tadc x reader#the amazing digital circus x reader#digital circus x reader#caine x reader#caine x you#caine imagine#jax x you#jax x reader#jax imagine#pomni imagine#pomni x you#pomni x reader#ragatha imagine#ragatha x you#ragatha x reader#kinger imagine#kinger x you#kinger x reader#zooble x you#zooble x reader
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TOUCHSTARVED trailer theme theory??
Hi guys, hi everyone. Hope we’re doing well!
SO the full version of the trailer theme is finally out on YouTube and holy shit??? It goes so HARD!!! Give it a listen here.
After rewatching it over and over again, I noticed something so I’ll map out which lyrics appear with which character for y’all to see:
Wish I could’ve added more ss but I’m on the mobile app 🥲 Anyways, I really don’t think the dev team added the characters photos randomly ‘cause check this out:
In Ais’s part, the lyrics are about a certain weakness (ik the lyrics “my weakness” refer to a person but I chose to ignore that jskdksk) and survival. This may be a reach BUT doesn’t this reminds you of Ais’s official character description? Specifically of this part: “Ais seems capable of curing you...but a sick sense of dread surrounds him. He's beginning to suspect that he may not be as in control of his powers as he thought. Can you save each other, or will he drag you down to the abyss with him?" This so-called “weakness” could be his very own powers and he’ll need the player to help him, to “survive”.
Now, about Vere’s part, I don’t have much to say tbh other than the fact that the lyrics “Cause everytime we touch” appear for the first time in his part and I guess you could say it’s related to his frequenting at the brothel? (iykwim 😏) Oh! And you could also see him being touched by a lot of different hands in the trailer. Besides that, his part ends with the lyrics “need you by my side” sung softly by the singer hmm…
Kuras’s part on the other hand, starts strongly (I suck balls at describing music so pls listen 4 urselves, you’ll know what I mean😭) and at 1:59 mins the lyrics are “Cause everytime we touch” then his face darkens a little and it stars an instrumental interlude. I don’t know what that really means but he’s sus
Mhin’s part is sung very softly as well and the lyrics “We’ve been through them all. You make me rise when I fall” are so sweet more so because I think in their route they’ll open up more to the player after going together through incomprehensible horrors and we’ll learn how to support each other <33
Finally, Leander’s part!! Now, LISTEN. His part is the reason why I even made this post in the first place lmao This mf is way too sus but first of all, the building synth progression at 2:58???? oh my god I got CHILLS. literal chills. *ahem* Moving on, his part, starts strongly the same as Kuras’s part did. Their parts are the only ones sung like that… Weird, huh? Anyway, after the lyrics “I can’t let you go. Want you in my life” at 3:49, the song gets SUPER intense and starts sounding very desperate ig?? (kudos to Dan! love his voice frfr) and Leander’s part ends with “Need you by my side”. Okayy y'all… Y'ALL. THIS IS CRAZY. In his part we have both the lyrics "I can't let you go. Want you in my life" AND "I want this to last. Need you by my side". AHHHH Leander you obsessed little bitch (affectionate)
In conclusion, there’s no fucking way the red spring team didn’t assign the certain parts of the lyrics very and I mean VERY purposefully to each LI. The parts suit them specifically well so I highly doubt it’s random but it could also just be me reading too much into this
Whatever!!! Good morning/Good night to this fandom only ^_^
#IT HAS A MEANING#this game makes me lose my goddamn mind in the best way possible#touchstarved#touchstarved game#touchstarved theory#touchstarved leander#visual novel#indie games#leander touchstarved#vere touchstarved#touchstarved kuras#ais touchstarved#touchstarved mhin#red spring studios#theory#all the leander theories give me life.#fandom
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Hobie Brown Character AI is hypocritical.
I really be like 'ayo AI directly damages writers, voice actors and unions can you not use them, which in turn makes them better and more useful to the studios?' and people get MAD
People can say 'hey don't spend your money on Spiderpunk merch it directly contributes to corporations. That's not what he would've wanted'
And everybody cheers.
But if someone says 'hey please don't use Spiderpunk AI - it directly contributes to large movie studios using AI against the WGA. That's not what Hobie would've wanted'
And then SUDDENLY it's 'i just wanna write my little ai stories what's so wrong with that?'
You're directly going against the asks of a union that is actively striking.
That's not what Hobie would want.
Every time you roleplay with an AI or use a voice AI - You're helping develop the technology that puts people out of jobs
You want your Hobie AI stories to be realistic cause it's easier for you and more fun? GOOD.
THAT'S EXACTLY HOW THE STUDIOS FEEL TOO. They want their Hobie AI stories to be as realistic as possible too - because then they don't have to pay their writers.
The same AI that writes Hobie fics for you is the same technology that writes scripts for studios.
The more you feed an AI Hobie information - the easier it is for the AI to produce - say, an entire scene from a Hobie movie script. Without the consent or input of the people who created him in the first place.
When Studios use AI, they can make the characters do and say anything without the writers or voice actors input.
Imagine you're an voice actor - they want you to say a line that's really offense and you refuse.
They say "Okay, that's fine. Just skip the line."
You say okay. You finish the rest of the lines and go home.
You go see the movie. And you hear all your normal lines - then you hear yourself saying the extremely offensive line.
What happened? The studio used a Voice AI of you to fill in the offensive line you didn't wanna say. Don't want your voice used that way? Too bad. They own the AI. They can make you say anything now.
Your agent can't help you and neither can your PR. You just have to take it.
Is that something Hobie would want for people?
If you cap for HOBIE in specific -
And you still use to choice AI despite knowing it's getting weaponized against the working class -
That behavior is hypocritical. There I said it.
You can't wake up gushing about a black working class punk and then be like 'what do you mean working class solidarity with a union that doesn't involve me'
You can't be out here loving a character known for helping oppressed people break out of technology that is made to oppress and harm them - (Go-Home Machine, The red Anamoly cages)
AND THEN be the ones aiding in the creation of a technology make to oppress and harm people.
With Hobie in specific - it goes against the entire morals of the character.
ROLEPLAY AND VOICE CHARACTER AIs THREATENS WRITERS AND VOICE ACTORS. I am out of work right now because of a strike based solely on this discussion.
The WGA strike is still happening. The holidays are coming fast. We need our jobs back. The better AI studios have, the less likely that becomes.
The more realistic your Hobie roleplay becomes - the easier it is for a studio to take that same technology and write a script with.
Why would a studio PAY a voice actor when someone on Tiktok developed an entire Hobie Brown AI for them that can say anything? They wouldn't. They'd just use the AI for free instead. The same one you're using.
Please - out of respect for the writers who made him and put careful time into him and his representation and his story - PLEASE, So those people can keep their homes, and jobs, and food in their children's mouths -
DON'T USE CHARACTER AI
Hobie would want you to stand with the union 💙
signed - a Production Assistant.
#someone is gonna get mad at this I know it#if you reply to this like oh I'm still gonna do it anyway#that's fine hypocrite just know you're a hypocrite#and you're free to show your hypocracy to the world - the fact you have no logical rebuttal only proves my point from the beginning#no read more no proof read#spiderman#atsv#marvel#hobie brown#spider man#spider punk#across the spiderverse#spiderpunk#Hobie brown x reader#Hobie brown x you#Hobie x reader#Hobie x you
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Heroes, Gods, and the Invisible Narrator
Slay the Princess as a Framework for the Cyclical Reproduction of Colonialist Narratives in Data Science & Technology
An Essay by FireflySummers
All images are captioned.
Content Warnings: Body Horror, Discussion of Racism and Colonialism
Spoilers for Slay the Princess (2023) by @abby-howard and Black Tabby Games.
If you enjoy this article, consider reading my guide to arguing against the use of AI image generators or the academic article it's based on.
Introduction: The Hero and the Princess
You're on a path in the woods, and at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess.
You're here to slay her.
If you don't, it will be the end of the world.
Slay the Princess is a 2023 indie horror game by Abby Howard and published through Black Tabby Games, with voice talent by Jonathan Sims (yes, that one) and Nichole Goodnight.
The game starts with you dropped without context in the middle of the woods. But that’s alright. The Narrator is here to guide you. You are the hero, you have your weapon, and you have a monster to slay.
From there, it's the player's choice exactly how to proceed--whether that be listening to the voice of the narrator, or attempting to subvert him. You can kill her as instructed, or sit and chat, or even free her from her chains.
It doesn't matter.
Regardless of whether you are successful in your goal, you will inevitably (and often quite violently) die.
And then...
You are once again on a path in the woods.
The cycle repeats itself, the narrator seemingly none the wiser. But the woods are different, and so is the cabin. You're different, and worse... so is she.
Based on your actions in the previous loop, the princess has... changed. Distorted.
Had you attempted a daring rescue, she is now a damsel--sweet and submissive and already fallen in love with you.
Had you previously betrayed her, she has warped into something malicious and sinister, ready to repay your kindness in full.
But once again, it doesn't matter.
Because the no matter what you choose, no matter how the world around you contorts under the weight of repeated loops, it will always be you and the princess.
Why? Because that’s how the story goes.
So says the narrator.
So now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about data.
Chapter I: Echoes and Shattered Mirrors
The problem with "data" is that we don't really think too much about it anymore. Or, at least, we think about it in the same abstract way we think about "a billion people." It's gotten so big, so seemingly impersonal that it's easy to forget that contemporary concept of "data" in the west is a phenomenon only a couple centuries old [1].
This modern conception of the word describes the ways that we translate the world into words and numbers that can then be categorized and analyzed. As such, data has a lot of practical uses, whether that be putting a rover on mars or tracking the outbreak of a viral contagion. However, this functionality makes it all too easy to overlook the fact that data itself is not neutral. It is gathered by people, sorted into categories designed by people, and interpreted by people. At every step, there are people involved, such that contemporary technology is embedded with systemic injustices, and not always by accident.
The reproduction of systems of oppression are most obvious from the margins. In his 2019 article As If, Ramon Amaro describes the Aspire Mirror (2016): a speculative design project by by Joy Buolamwini that contended with the fact that the standard facial recognition algorithm library had been trained almost exclusively on white faces. The simplest solution was to artificially lighten darker skin-tones for the algorithm to recognize, which Amaro uses to illustrate the way that technology is developed with an assumption of whiteness [2].
This observation applies across other intersections as well, such as trans identity [3], which has been colloquially dubbed "The Misgendering Machine" [4] for its insistence on classifying people into a strict gender binary based only on physical appearance.
This has also popped up in my own research, brought to my attention by the artist @b4kuch1n who has spoken at length with me about the connection between their Vietnamese heritage and the clothing they design in their illustrative work [5]. They call out AI image generators for reinforcing colonialism by stripping art with significant personal and cultural meaning of their context and history, using them to produce a poor facsimile to sell to the highest bidder.
All this describes an iterative cycle which defines normalcy through a white, western lens, with a limited range of acceptable diversity. Within this cycle, AI feeds on data gathered under colonialist ideology, then producing an artifact that reinforces existing systemic bias. When this data is, in turn, once again fed to the machine, that bias becomes all the more severe, and the range of acceptability narrower [2, 6].
Luciana Parisi and Denise Ferreira da Silva touch on a similar point in their article Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics but on a much broader scale. They call up the Greek myth of Prometheus, who was punished by the gods for his hubris for stealing fire to give to humanity. Parisi and Ferreira da Silva point to how this, and other parts of the “Western Cosmology” map to humanity’s relationship with technology [7].
However, while this story seems to celebrate the technological advancement of humanity, there are darker colonialist undertones. It frames the world in terms of the gods and man, the oppressor and the oppressed; but it provides no other way of being. So instead the story repeats itself, with so-called progress an inextricable part of these two classes of being. This doesn’t bode well for visions of the future, then–because surely, eventually, the oppressed will one day be the machines [7, 8].
It’s… depressing. But it’s only really true, if you assume that that’s the only way the story could go.
“Stories don't care who takes part in them. All that matters is that the story gets told, that the story repeats. Or, if you prefer to think of it like this: stories are a parasitical life form, warping lives in the service only of the story itself.”
― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad
Chapter II: The Invisible Narrator
So why does the narrator get to call the shots on how a story might go? Who even are they? What do they want? How much power do they actually have?
With the exception of first person writing, a lot of the time the narrator is invisible. This is different from an unreliable narrator. With an unreliable narrator, at some point the audience becomes aware of their presence in order for the story to function as intended. An invisible narrator is never meant to be seen.
In Slay the Princess, the narrator would very much like to be invisible. Instead, he has been dragged out into the light, because you (and the inner voices you pick up along the way), are starting to argue with him. And he doesn’t like it.
Despite his claims that the princess will lie and cheat in order to escape, as the game progresses it’s clear that the narrator is every bit as manipulative–if not moreso, because he actually knows what’s going on. And, if the player tries to diverge from the path that he’s set before them, the correct path, then it rapidly becomes clear that he, at least to start, has the power to force that correct path.
While this is very much a narrative device, the act of calling attention to the narrator is important beyond that context.
The Hero’s Journey is the true monomyth, something to which all stories can be reduced. It doesn’t matter that the author, Joseph Campbell, was a raging misogynist whose framework flattened cultures and stories to fit a western lens [9, 10]. It was used in Star Wars, so clearly it’s a universal framework.
The metaverse will soon replace the real world and crypto is the future of currency! Never mind that the organizations pushing it are suspiciously pyramid shaped. Get on board or be left behind.
Generative AI is pushed as the next big thing. The harms it inflicts on creatives and the harmful stereotypes it perpetuates are just bugs in the system. Never mind that the evangelists for this technology speak over the concerns of marginalized people [5]. That’s a skill issue, you gotta keep up.
Computers will eventually, likely soon, advance so far as to replace humans altogether. The robot uprising is on the horizon [8].
Who perpetuates these stories? What do they have to gain?
Why is the only story for the future replications of unjust systems of power? Why must the hero always slay the monster?
Because so says the narrator. And so long as they are invisible, it is simple to assume that this is simply the way things are.
Chapter III: The End...?
This is the part where Slay the Princess starts feeling like a stretch, but I’ve already killed the horse so I might as well beat it until the end too.
Because what is the end result here?
According to the game… collapse. A recursive story whose biases narrow the scope of each iteration ultimately collapses in on itself. The princess becomes so sharp that she is nothing but blades to eviscerate you. The princess becomes so perfect a damsel that she is a caricature of the trope. The story whittles itself away to nothing. And then the cycle begins anew.
There’s no climactic final battle with the narrator. He created this box, set things in motion, but he is beyond the player’s reach to confront directly. The only way out is to become aware of the box itself, and the agenda of the narrator. It requires acknowledgement of the artificiality of the roles thrust upon you and the Princess, the false dichotomy of hero or villain.
Slay the Princess doesn’t actually provide an answer to what lies outside of the box, merely acknowledges it as a limit that can be overcome.
With regards to the less fanciful narratives that comprise our day-to-day lives, it’s difficult to see the boxes and dichotomies we’ve been forced into, let alone what might be beyond them. But if the limit placed is that there are no stories that can exist outside of capitalism, outside of colonialism, outside of rigid hierarchies and oppressive structures, then that limit can be broken [12].
Denouement: Doomed by the Narrative
Video games are an interesting artistic medium, due to their inherent interactivity. The commonly accepted mechanics of the medium, such as flavor text that provides in-game information and commentary, are an excellent example of an invisible narrator. Branching dialogue trees and multiple endings can help obscure this further, giving the player a sense of genuine agency… which provides an interesting opportunity to drag an invisible narrator into the light.
There are a number of games that have explored the power differential between the narrator and the player (The Stanley Parable, Little Misfortune, Undertale, Buddy.io, OneShot, etc…)
However, Slay the Princess works well here because it not only emphasizes the artificial limitations that the narrator sets on a story, but the way that these stories recursively loop in on themselves, reinforcing the fears and biases of previous iterations.
Critical data theory probably had nothing to do with the game’s development (Abby Howard if you're reading this, lmk). However, it works as a surprisingly cohesive framework for illustrating the ways that we can become ensnared by a narrative, and the importance of knowing who, exactly, is narrating the story. Although it is difficult or impossible to conceptualize what might exist beyond the artificial limits placed by even a well-intentioned narrator, calling attention to them and the box they’ve constructed is the first step in breaking out of this cycle.
“You can't go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it's just a cage.”
― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad
Epilogue
If you've read this far, thank you for your time! This was an adaptation of my final presentation for a Critical Data Studies course. Truthfully, this course posed quite a challenge--I found the readings of philosophers such as Kant, Adorno, Foucault, etc... difficult to parse. More contemporary scholars were significantly more accessible. My only hope is that I haven't gravely misinterpreted the scholars and researchers whose work inspired this piece.
I honestly feel like this might have worked best as a video essay, but I don't know how to do those, and don't have the time to learn or the money to outsource.
Slay the Princess is available for purchase now on Steam.
Screencaps from ManBadassHero Let's Plays: [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
Post Dividers by @cafekitsune
Citations:
Rosenberg, D. (2018). Data as word. Historical Studies in the Natural Sciences, 48(5), 557-567.
Amaro, Ramon. (2019). As If. e-flux Architecture. Becoming Digital. https://www.e-flux.com/architecture/becoming-digital/248073/as-if/
What Ethical AI Really Means by PhilosophyTube
Keyes, O. (2018). The misgendering machines: Trans/HCI implications of automatic gender recognition. Proceedings of the ACM on human-computer interaction, 2(CSCW), 1-22.
Allred, A.M., Aragon, C. (2023). Art in the Machine: Value Misalignment and AI “Art”. In: Luo, Y. (eds) Cooperative Design, Visualization, and Engineering. CDVE 2023. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 14166. Springer, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43815-8_4
Amaro, R. (2019). Artificial Intelligence: warped, colorful forms and their unclear geometries.
Parisisi, L., Ferreira da Silva, D. Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics. e-flux. Issue #123. https://www.e-flux.com/journal/123/436929/black-feminist-tools-critique-and-techno-poethics/
AI - Our Shiny New Robot King | Sophie from Mars by Sophie From Mars
Joseph Campbell and the Myth of the Monomyth | Part 1 by Maggie Mae Fish
Joseph Campbell and the N@zis | Part 2 by Maggie Mae Fish
How Barbie Cis-ified the Matrix by Jessie Gender
#slay the princess#stp spoilers#stp#stp princess#abby howard#black tabby games#academics#critical data studies#computer science#technology#hci#my academics#my writing#long post
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HOLY FUCK WAIT IDEA!!!!! WHAT ABOUT A TYPICAL CRIMINAL MINDS TROPE WHERE SOMETHING GOES SOUTH AND READER AND HOTCH ARE DATING BUT ITS STILL FRESH BUT SOMEHOW ONE OF THEM GETS IN TROUBLE AND WHEN IT ALL ENDS THEY HAVE ANGRY SEX BC HOW COULD THEY RISK THEIR LIFE LIKE THAT AND THEN THEY CONFESS THEIR LOVE
anon you are a fucking GOD
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU f!Reader
Words: 868
CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni, rough smut.
Tags/warnings: established relationship, mean!hotch, tiniest bit of exhibitionism, sir kink, rough unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!), love confession.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
You were bent over the hood of the SUV, your arms pulled behind your back, your skirt hiked over your ass and your panties tossed to the side as Aaron fucked you from behind. The dark country road he’d driven the two of you on your way out of the hospital deserted, even from wildlife.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” your screams filled the night air, pleasure and pain blurring together as he continued to pound into you. He didn’t care, he couldn’t care about how bad you were feeling, about how he should’ve probably not been this rough with you. But the doctor had said you didn’t have a concussion, so he’d allowed himself the leniency to be brutal. “It hurts, Aaron, please!”
But he didn’t stop. As much as you were protesting, as much as you claimed you weren’t enjoying the sadistic pace he’d set, he knew deep in his heart that you loved it. You loved it when he showed you who was in charge, who you belonged to, and he also knew that you would take this punishment for your carelessness without question.
“Being sorry is the least you can do,” he spat, words mean and heavy. “You were stupid,” he landed a powerful smack against your ass and you whimpered. “Refused to follow orders,” another blow, the sting only adding to the lightheadedness. “And almost got yourself killed!” he slapped your ass twice to emphasize his words, the weight of them, how your actions had made him feel.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” you sobbed, tears blurring your vision, stinging your eyes. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean for that to happen I was just trying to help.”
Your voice seemed to snap him out of whatever anger fueled trance he was in. He finally took you in, your shivering body, your heavy breathing, the sobs you were desperately trying to conceal.
He gently let go of your hands, giving you a moment to shake out your arms to relieve the pressure. He then stepped further into you, connecting your bodies as far as he could go before he leaned his chest over your back, pressing into you, enveloping you in his warmth.
You whimpered against him, slowly but surely calming down as he ran soothing hands over your body.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered in your ear before placing a kiss on your neck. He was everywhere, you felt him everywhere, the pressure he was putting on you grounding. “I was just so scared, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You nodded, your face turning over the cool metal of the hood to face him. “’S okay,” you managed. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”
“I always worry, baby,” he confessed. “Every time you’re out in the field and I’m not there with you…it kills me.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I worry too, Aaron,” he kissed your cheek before pressing his own tightly against your temple. “I know you’re this…this confident and strong person but I still worry something might happen and you won’t come home to me.”
The thought alone terrified him. He’d been so consumed by his own fear, his own feelings that he hadn’t stopped to think about how you could possibly feel the same way about him. His heart ached, his cock twitched inside of you and you clenched around him.
“I’ll always come home to you, baby,” he said, gently rocking his hips into you, slow and soft thrusts to show you exactly how he was feeling. “You know why?”
You shook your head, your brain slowly disconnecting from your body as he resumed his previous movements. Only this time they were precise, calculated, meant to pleasure solely. His hand snaked into the front of your panties and his fingers began to lazily rub circles over your clit.
“Because I love you, and there is no way I’m ever going to let anything keep me from coming back to you,” he confessed and all you could do was moan in response. Your sounds egged him on, made him pick up his pace just a little bit. “Tell me you love me,” he commanded, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.
You squealed, the sensation uncomfortable and painful once more.
“I love you, Aaron,” you slurred, anything to make it stop. He pulled back then, chest overflowing with warmth, heart beating faster than ever before. He rammed back into you, his thrusts moving in tandem with his fingers.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you whined, your brain too far gone to think of anything else to say.
Your walls constricted around him, your body tensed and he knew you were close. “Cum for me, come on, show me how much you love me.”
You came undone in seconds, powerful waves of pleasure washing through you and against him. He managed a few more thrusts before he sank himself in you, painting your walls with his spend.
He held onto you tightly, like his life depended on it, gently caressing your body as you both came down from your highs. “I love you so much, baby.”
I need a fucking cigarette dude.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#show your fangs writes#aaron hotchner fanfiction#show your fangs asks#mean!hotch#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotchner blurb#show your fangs hotch blurbs
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Minesrast final undate:
Added Minions divorce mob
you can now pick up and eat all mob, they scream like a grown human man when you do it. same sound effect every time
Your bank account will not have its savings drained as you play
There is now a small
finally added twerking gordon freeman random encounter (only spawns in superflat worlds)
slime girl She is smarter than you
all cave noises replaced with full poorly made AI voice model covers of the finger family song
Steve will now take back control if you try to do sometthing that goes against his morals
villagers now regularly get into heated debates and brawl on the streets while others take bets on who will win
Your bank account will not have its savings drained as you play
added romance option for pigs
federally outlawed recreational cannibis use
when any block is mined it will now find out your personal information and retort with a very deep-cutting and highly specific insult
allowed the Warden 2 hours of computer time daily
Your bank account will not have its savings drained as you play
removed cognitohazardous imagery that caused players to develop debilitating addiction to eating carcinogens
endermen will now constantly verbally shill cryptocurrencies
replaced Endergragon with boobs
Stopped trying to remove Herobrine. we weren't getting anywhere with that one
#shitpost#shitposting#minecraft#herobrine#steve minecraft#other tags related to minecraft#final update
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Private Treasure
Valefor was getting worried for his king.
For the past year, Mammon has been traveling all across hell. Collecting all sort of treasures. And returning to his private treasure room.
It was been a year since you went missing.
All of hell went to a frenzy. Leviathan stayed in his palace as he sent his best men to look for you.
Satan went on a long search party with his nobles. Same goes to Beelzebub and his nobles.
You might think, aren't the kings worried about the angel attacks?
For some reason, there were barely any attacks from the three Seraphim. And only the lower class of angels were attacking each region, which even some of the most common citizens can handle them.
Valefor would be happy about this change, but at what cause. The war was close to being over, and yet. You were gone.
As he was in deep thought, the sound of the large door of the palace open, alerting Valefor. He stood up and head to the palace door. when he got there.
He stopped when he saw his Majesty Mammon enter the palace with a small treasure in his hand.
He didn't notice Valefor, and kept on walking to his private treasure room.
Valefor, quietly followed behind him.
Once Mammon reach the door to the Treasure Room. Valefor quietly hid to the corner and peeked. He notice that the Ai pad was broke, and from was he saw it seem to be smashed... And he knew who did it.
Mammon calmly pushed the large doors open and went inside the room.
Valefor followed behind, making sure there is distant between him and Mammon.
Valefor entered the room and saw all of the treasure that his Majesty has been collecting for the past year. And all seem to remind him of you.
"Was his Majesty collecting this to remind himself of you... MC?"
He thought, but was pulled out of it when he hear Mammon's voice from a far.
He start walking again, going deeper into the room, and saw in the farthest side of the room was a shrine, lit with two large torches on either side.
As he got closer, he saw Mammon kneeling and bowing.
Valefor stopped dead on his track when he saw what was his Majesty was bowing to...
It was you, laying a bed as if it was your death bed-
"I was in Paradise Lost today..." Valefor got startled by Mammon's voice. "And... I saw this and it reminded me of you... I hope you like it, MC" He brought out the treasure and place it next to your bed.
Valefor could believe what he's seeing.
You were missing for a year, and yet. His Majesty had you all this time.
"I wish that you could wake up, and greet me with that adorable smile of yours again, my master..." Mammon stare lovely at your sleeping face with a small smile.
But it slowly drops and he hung his head, in shame...
He stayed silence for who knows how long.
Then he spoke again.
"If I knew that this was the price for choosing me as the "Final Temptation"..." He pause for a moment.
"I would have never asked you to pick me..." A single tear slip from the corner of his eye as he continue. "I know now that... the treasure I needed was you... So please" He stood and walked up to your bed and pulled you into his arms, embracing you tight. "Wake up... Please."
Note: I wanted to make a fic about MC picking one of the devils as the Final temptation but there was a price.
And this was a loving attack at a friend ^3^
Cause their fav is Mammon.
#what in “hell” is bad?#prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad#whb mammon#whb valefor#whb mc#whb mammon x mc#whb mammon x reader#whb fanfic
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justice of toren collecting songs and one esk/breq constantly humming/singing them is such a good detail and ann leckie does so much with it. an incomplete list:
justice of toren's eager collection of songs is part and parcel of its violent destruction of cultures: these songs are cultural artifacts that it only learns because of its presence on those worlds during their conquest, and in many cases breq is the only one to remember them because their people have died out due to that violence. JoT preserves cultural artifacts for its own use at the same time it directly contributes to the need for that preservation in the first place.
the matter-of-fact way in which this is narrated to us gives us information about JoT's stance on respect and imperialism - that is, contrasted with other characters who look down on the conquered cultures, JoT does actually seem to appreciate their value. and yet it communicates to us no sense of remorse over its role in their genocide.
singing can be a communal activity. this allows us to feel the difference between one esk's multiple bodies singing together in harmony/in a round vs. breq singing alone. this has emotional weight, is an evocative image, and illustrates quite nicely some of the logistic considerations of having one vs. multiple bodies.
the constant humming/singing is extremely notable and idiosyncratic according to other characters, which is a dangerous combination for someone who's supposed to be undercover, so it adds a lil bit of fun suspense for us.
the fact that no one ever figures out breq's identity despite this giveaway tells us something about the other characters' attitudes towards artificial intelligences (though see below about seivarden).
the fact that it's so idiosyncratic also tells us something about the ability of individual AIs to have personalities that distinguish them from other AIs, and the fact that one esk sings constantly but two esk doesn't tells us something about the ability of different ancillary decades that are all part of the same AI to have distinguishing characteristics. this is very relevant to, and illustrative of, the series' thematic throughlines around identity, personality, continuity, etc.
the fact that breq personally has a bad voice also serves multiple purposes. because breq and seivarden both believe that the medic could have chosen a body with a good voice if she had wanted to, we can infer something about how ancillary bodies work, how much the AI (and, by extension, its medics) knows about the individual capabilities of those bodies while they're in suspension, and what kinds of things the AI can and can't control once it has unfrozen and taken over a body.
we can also draw conclusions about the medic that chose that body and about intracrew relations on that ship.
breq's bad voice creates moments of humor and irony in the narrative, such as when breq's constant singing - aka the most obvious clue that she is one esk - is precisely what makes seivarden so sure that breq can't be one esk, because no esk medic would use a body with a bad voice for an ancillary.
constant singing/humming imposes itself on the shared soundscape, meaning other people can't easily avoid it and it has the potential to annoy them, especially if the voice itself has annoying qualities. the reactions of other characters to the frequency and/or quality of this verbal tic tells us something about the level of affection those characters have for one esk or breq.
because singing involves words, the meaning of the lyrics being sung can be used to advance the plot, communicate things about specific characters, create irony in juxtaposition with what's happening on the page, etc.
i especially like what's done with the lyric "it all goes around". it's woven throughout the story in such a way as to manifest its own meaning (the repetition of "it all goes around" is, itself, an example of something going around). by repeating the lyric, breq is the one making it true, and i would argue that her repetition of this particular lyric about things orbiting other things contributes to, and/or is a sign of, her growing understanding of the necessity/reality of interdependence and her place in that framework/her role in constructing it, or in other words, the extent of her own agency and the rights and obligations it confers upon her.
because the singing/humming is a constant, background, automatic action, it only ceases when breq is experiencing a strong emotion. from this we are able to infer things about the emotional state of our famously-omits-details-about-her-emotional-state narrator based on other characters' comments about whether or not she is currently doing this thing.
we also aren't even aware that breq is doing it constantly until another character says so. on a narrative level, this serves the dual purpose of making sure we know about how much she hums AND of reminding us that she's not telling us everything.
the humming is not mentioned constantly even though it is happening constantly - this helps us forget in between mentions that it's going on while also simultaneously reinforcing just how constant it must be, so constant that to mention it every time it happens would be like narrating every time she breathes in or out. whenever someone brings it up, we are reminded anew that something has been happening all along that we forgot about. this means that ann leckie is able, by leaving information out, to hammer home to us how much we are not being told.
through this one character trait, ann leckie efficiently and elegantly communicates not just aspects of character but also of setting, plot, tone, theme, and narrative. there's no extraneous exposition just to tell us about the song collection or singing; everything that tells us about it is serving other functions in the narrative as well. the ways in which she manifests this one character trait in the universe and in the narrative contribute to and exemplify both the story itself and the method of its telling.
#and the singing/humming is only one example of how leckie is doing this!#the ubiquitous she/her usage that is actually radchaai-specific is another#imperial radch#storytelling#my posts#i have been writing sooo many drafts lately and it's stressing me out that i just keep making more without posting the old ones#so i'm posting this!!! probably i'll reread this tomorrow and be like girl have you heard of editing?#but i have to get something out the door or i will drive myself crazy#i hope this is at least somewhat coherent lol#f
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You can totally ignore my idea lol but what about a fluffy/angsty fic about Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes being turned into a baby/toddler by Tony on accident. But because they are babies they just want to be around and held by “Y/N” and get mad or throw a cute tantrum from lack of attention or if someone tries to hit on their “Y/N”. You can ignore this if it sounds idk weird or dumb lol but I thought it would be cute like they can’t hold back there affection for them while in baby form and when they turn back they are like well shit.. lmao
(PS: the fanart here is from Alexa_520 on Twitter I’m not sure if she has a tumblr but in case you or anyone wants to see it for yourself)
This is so cute!!!
Thank you for the idea. Here it goes. The story has little angst a bit.
Zero Crush.
Summary: Y/N was on her way to go out for her day off. However, her plan got interrupted because the AI told her something at the lab. You almost lose your mind seeing both of your bosses turn into babies.
And now, she has to watch them. Y/N is okay with kids, but the problem is she has a little crush towards Captain America and The Winter Soldier.
Character: Steve Rogers x platonic!reader, Bucky Barnes x platonic!reader
Warning: If you squint a bit, there’s a little angst.
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Drawing of baby Steve and Rogers : Drawing 1, Drawing 2, Drawing 3
It's been a long time for Steve and Bucky to cry, even for crying their heart out to release all their feelings through tears.
“Waaaaa!”
“Aah…Ahh!”
The rest of the Avengers rubbed their eyes. They couldn't believe the strongest soldiers standing tall before, were shorter than them.
Steve and Bucky have turned into babies. They were standing too close to Tony and Bruce's new invention.
The high IQ bros try to copy the Pym-particles to shrink and increase an object.
"What kind of machine is that, Tony?!" Natasha pushed Tony away while he was still in shock.
"I'm trying to make a quantum machine like Ant-man. Look, it works!!! The box got small.” Tony pointed at the test object.
"Yeah, it’s obvious the zone needs to get fixed." Natasha carried Bucky to her arm. At the same time, Steve was taken by Clint. Steve wants to push Clint away because he stinks.
Bucky did the same towards Natasha; her perfume was too strong. Natasha couldn't help it since she just returned from her mission, and Clint was training when Tony called him.
Tony shook his head. "If Steve and Bucky didn't stand near the test object, they wouldn't get transformed."
Natasha wants to punch him. "You..!!"
All the adults are pointing at each other. At the same time, Steve and Bucky were confused. Since they're shorter than everyone and the mood in the room doesn't feel good, it makes them uncomfortable.
"Uuh…"
All of them stop arguing because they suddenly hear a sobbing voice.
"Hey, guys? Is everything alright?" You were preparing to go out since today is your day off. Before putting on sunscreen, F.R.I.D.A.Y informed you that something happened at the lab.
Nobody answered you, but from their face, you could say they were nervous.
Then you saw that Natasha and Clint have a baby in their arms.
"Ooh, so cute. Clint, you have a twin? Congrats." You know Clint is a family man, but it’s new for him to bring his kids to the headquarters.
Clint chuckled. "Y/N, you don't recognise him?"
"Huh?"
After he said that, you did notice something that felt familiar, but you can tell what it was. Blond hair, blue eyes, straight nose. Then you turn to Natasha. The baby has black hair and vibranium arms.
You gasped, “Oh my god!”
"Yaa! Yaa!" Steve stretched his short arms towards you. Clint gently put Steve on your arm.
“Why did you give him to me?” You nervously hold Steve. Even though he’s a baby now, he is still your boss. You turned to Tony. "You better fix this!!"
"On it."
Bucky saw Steve get carried by you. And he wants it, too. "Ahh…" He pulled Natasha's shirt and pointed at you.
"Even in baby form, you can't be separated from your best friend?"
After everyone stops panicking, Tony wears his Iron suit and buys kid's clothes; perhaps he wants to run away. Bruce is fixing the machine, Clint went home to get toys for Steve and Bucky, and Natasha is helping you.
But you know Natasha just returned after a 3-month mission, and from her eyes, you could see she's damn tired. So you told her to rest.
In the end, there are two babies in your arms. You learn that Steve and Bucky are two years old and can walk alone.
You put them on the couch while you went to the fridge to make warm milk for them. You're not nervous taking care of little kids since you always cared for nieces and nephews before being accepted as a SHIELD agent.
But you’re nervous since you have a little crush towards your idols.
You're relieved to see milk inside the fridge. When you turn around to search for a pan, you're shocked not to see the two babies on the sofa.
Where are they?
Then you feel someone is watching you. You looked and saw Steve and Bucky looking at you.
You lean down and speak softly towards them, "I'm making warm milk for you both. Do you want some?"
Steve and Bucky nodded at the same time. With their fluffy cheeks and small body-like dumplings, you wouldn't believe they're the same boss who is deadly and righteous at the same time. You patted their head gently.
When the milk has warmed up, you give it to both. Steve and Bucky drink the warm milk. They widened their eyes when they tasted it. It's delicious.
In their eyes, you're the person they could look up to. You never raised your voice, and you gave them a delicious drink.
Is this what it feels like to have a big sister?
After 30 minutes, Tony returned with shopping bags from the kid's store.
"Give me the clothes. It needs to be cleaned first before they wear it." You received the bag from Tony. You look inside the bag and see there are pyjamas too.
"I'm going to the laundry room. Could you watch them for a while?"
"Sure."
Steve and Bucky didn't want to be left alone with Tony. Their short legs immediately run after you. Then, each of them hugs each of your legs.
Your body froze. You looked down at the little boys who held your legs, their two big eyes looking at you intensely.
You knew they didn't want to be left alone at this moment. "Umm, Tony, could you do the dirty laundry instead?"
Tony nodded his head. "Yup, the message is clear: both hate me."
Since then, both Steve and Bucky have followed you everywhere. They helped you when you made lunch. They wash all the veggies.
You chuckled, even though they turn into kids, they are always helping.
But no matter what, they're just a kid who needs attention. You learned that when eating together with them.
When you help to feed Bucky because of his metal arm, it doesn't seem like he can control his body.
Steve doesn't like to see Bucky get all your attention. He starts to make a noise and drops his spoon. "Ah..ahhh..."
Because of that, you feed them in turns.
And before they go to sleep, you want to read a bedtime story. You thought this would be easy since they didn't take a nap.
You were wrong. First, it was Steve's book choice; then, it was Bucky's. You should've said only one story but couldn't say no to them.
When they fell asleep, you slowly went out of the room. Finally, you could breathe. Even though you like kids, it takes time and energy.
But at least because of this, your secret crush towards your bosses is gone. Like 50% gone.
Before you join the Avengers, your HR has told you to keep everything professional. It's impossible not to like Captain America and The Winter Soldier.
At first, you saw them cute. But because their crying and whining hurt your eardrum, it shattered their perfect image in your brain.
You don't think you could wait for another day. You could handle terrorists, pirates, and aliens, but not kids. You wish Tony and Bruce could finish the machine quickly.
It took three days to fix the machine. When Steve and Bucky return to their old self, they fall asleep to get checked first. After two hours, they finally woke up and searched for you.
"Ooh, you're looking for Y/N? I gave her a week off after caring for both of you."
Yes, you do. When Bruce said the machine worked fine without side effects, you immediately left the building and went to a bar.
At the bar, you gulped the second glass of beer. You sighed heavily since you realised you needed the strongest alcohol to erase the image from your mind of baby Steve Rogers and baby Bucky Barnes when they're crying, nagging and pulling your hair.
Their perfect image in your mind has been destroyed.
Drawing of baby Steve and Rogers : Drawing 1, Drawing 2, Drawing 3
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#chris evans characters#sebastian stan characters#steve rogers x y/n#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky fluff#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers x reader#bucky barnes x reader#steve rogers x f!reader#bucky barnes x you#steve rogers x you#bucky barnes x female reader
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