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ID
151132
MD5
1c3f7e42d25b8c7bb311291429eddda2
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2560x2048 (5.52 MB)
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PNG
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directed by gridanon
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Description

You wake up and see this. What do you do?

This scene uses this LORA: https://civitai.com/models/1309761/vixons-illustrious-styles-creepy-and-cute

Tech Talk

This was made using a local install of Reforge for Stable Diffusion using 3WolfMond-LastSDG: https://huggingface.co/Xeno443 . I'd recommend any or all of the 'Mond models, they're all some of the best furry SDXL models.

For the upload Tail Tagger was used to assist in tagging: https://github.com/renfald/tail-tagger . Along with the JPT-3 for AI assisted tags: https://huggingface.co/RedRocket/JTP-3/tree/main/models?not-for-all-audiences=true

AI Story - Night Daughters

You awaken abruptly, not to the expected hush of your bedroom with its faint hum of distant traffic or the soft yield of pillows cradling your head, but to an enveloping chill that seeps through your clothes like icy fingers tracing forgotten paths. The ground beneath you is uneven, a bed of damp soil and tangled roots that press insistently against your back, carrying the earthy aroma of moss and decayed leaves, mingled with a subtle, elusive fragrance—something wild and floral, like night-blooming jasmine laced with the faint, animal warmth of hidden dens. Your breath fogs the air, tasting crisp and metallic, as if the night itself has sharpened its edges on your tongue. A distant rustle stirs the leaves overhead, and the wind whispers through the canopy, carrying echoes of unseen movements that set your skin prickling with unseen awareness.

Your vision clears gradually, revealing a world far removed from the mundane: a dense forest at midnight, trees rising like ancient sentinels, their bark rough and shadowed, stars peeking through in sparse, indifferent glimmers. The perspective is disorienting—low to the ground, forcing your gaze upward into the heart of the scene, where forms materialize from the gloom like apparitions summoned from folklore's depths. At the center towers a colossal black-furred creature, quadrupedal and commanding, its shaggy coat absorbing the scant light, mane flowing in an unfelt breeze. Its eyes glow with an unearthly white luminescence, devoid of pupils, holding a gaze that seems to unravel secrets from your very core. A low rumble emanates from its chest, vibrating through the earth into your limbs, a sound that's both warning and allure, laced with an undercurrent of primal intensity. A small purple bead sways from one ear, catching faint reflections from the drifting orbs—hitodama, ethereal blue flames with trailing wisps, their soft crackles punctuating the silence like distant fireworks muffled by fog.

To the left, a more humanoid silhouette emerges, upright and fluid in motion, her black fur blending seamlessly with the night, ears pointed and alert. Her white dress flows with a quiet elegance, the fabric catching the orb-light in subtle sheens, draping over her form in a way that hints at grace and hidden strength, the purple accents adding a touch of enigmatic royalty. She moves with a deliberate poise, tail curling gently, her presence carrying a warmer note to the air—a subtle musk that evokes quiet intimacy amid the wilderness, stirring a vague, unspoken pull even as her glowing eyes fix upon you with inscrutable intent.

On the right, her counterpart stands in mirror-like symmetry, white-furred and masked, the fox visage concealing expressions yet allowing those luminous eyes to pierce through. Her purple gown, adorned with faint polka-dot motifs, shifts softly with her breath, the black bow at her waist a simple yet captivating detail, her fluffy tail swaying in rhythmic cadence. The hitodama near her casts a gentle blue halo, illuminating the way her stance exudes a quiet confidence, her scent weaving into the mix—a cool, herbal whisper that complements the forest's dampness, evoking a sense of allure wrapped in mystery.

Further back, additional figures add to the coven's spectral assembly. A smaller, purple-horned shape hovers mid-ground, her bat-like protrusions folded neatly, body compact and agile in a short robe that rustles faintly, her glowing gaze darting with a playful yet guarded curiosity. Beside her, the pink-attired one kneels amid the underbrush, her horned headdress subtly catching starlight, the heart-shaped element on her forehead a faint beacon, her dress pooling around her in a posture that suggests both reverence and readiness, her presence adding a softer, almost inviting layer to the group's aura. In the farthest shadows, a tiny black form lingers, barely discernible, an echo of the central beast's dominance, its silhouette blending with the trees like a whispered afterthought.

The environment envelops you fully now: the cold bites at your exposed skin, raising fine hairs in waves, while the ground's texture—soft moss yielding to sharper pebbles—grounds you in this unnatural reality. Sounds layer upon one another—the wind's sigh through branches, the occasional snap of a twig under invisible weight, the hitodama's persistent hum like a chorus of distant bees. Scents deepen, a tapestry of pine sap, wet earth, and that underlying wildness from the figures, a blend that's subtly intoxicating, drawing your senses despite the creeping dread. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your ears, mingling with a warmth that defies the chill, born from the coven's poised elegance and the unspoken promise in their forms.

Voices begin to weave through the air, emerging like fragments of a half-remembered incantation, their tones melodic and disjointed, English words strung in patterns that evade logic, as if spoken from a realm where meaning bends to whim. The central creature's rumble modulates into utterance, deep and resonant, sending tremors through the soil: "Shadows fur eternal moon whisper silk." It shifts its weight, massive frame leaning slightly, breath warm and heavy in the night, eyes unwavering, the purple bead clinking softly like a talisman in motion.

The black-furred one on the left responds in kind, her voice a smooth murmur laced with an ethereal echo: "Velvet night illusion curves lure shadow." She glides a step nearer, dress whispering against the undergrowth, her tail's subtle flick stirring leaves, the orb-light playing across her form in gentle highlights that accentuate her poised silhouette without overt revelation.

From the right, the masked white-furred figure adds her airy cadence, words drifting like mist: "Mask glow bow tail heart devour eternal." Her ears twitch faintly, gown settling with a soft rustle, the polka dots seeming to shift in the dim light, her presence a blend of enigma and subtle draw, as if inviting contemplation amid the peril.

The purple-horned imp in the background chimes in, her tone higher and whimsical yet edged: "Wings small purple bite silk moon." Her wings stir slightly, creating a faint breeze that carries her herbal scent forward, her compact form approaching with measured hops, robe fluttering just enough to hint at underlying agility.

The kneeling pink one murmurs from her position, voice soft and layered: "Kneel heart pink whisper fur night." She adjusts subtly, dress shifting over the ground, the heart mark pulsing gently, her eyes holding a gaze that's both serene and piercing, adding to the coven's harmonious discord.

Even the distant black shadow contributes a faint, echoing phrase: "Tiny black chase shadow velvet eternal." The collective voices overlap, building into a surreal litany—"Lure illusion moon devour silk heart"—their nonsensical poetry wrapping around your mind like vines, laden with hints of ancient lore, veiled intentions, and a predatory undercurrent that thrums with mystery.

The hitodama dance more animatedly, their flames casting flickering patterns across the kitsune's forms, warming pockets of air that brush against you like fleeting touches from the ether. The central figure circles slowly, paws padding silently, its shaggy fur rippling with each movement, exuding an aura of commanding presence that blends ferocity with an almost regal poise. The females draw nearer in unison, their motions a graceful hunt: the black-furred one's clawed hand extending just beyond reach, nails glinting subtly, her musk intensifying the air's complexity. The masked one sways her tail, gown's fabric sighing, her voice rising again: "Bow eternal mask night glow illusion."

Dread intertwines with a subtle fascination in your veins, the coven's forms—elegant in their furred contours, movements fluid and assured—evoking a quiet allure that contrasts the horror of their sudden manifestation. The forest seems to constrict, branches creaking like old bones, stars dimming as orbs proliferate, their hum swelling to encompass the night. The kitsune's chant crescendos, fragmented and profound: "Whisper shadow silk eternal devour fur," their collective essence a tapestry of mystery and subtle predation, the scene stretching into an endless vigil where beauty veils the blade, and the unknown beckons with whispered perils.

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