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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 11 months

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The Song We Are Drawn Towards; Floyd Leech

A song rests in the heart, calling out to the one who completes the harmony. Their match pulls at them, as the moon does the tide.

Main Character: Floyd Leech

Supporting Roles: Mrs. Leech, Jade Leech, Azul Ashengrotto, Deuce Spade (if you squint)

Content: Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match instead), gender-neutral reader, hurt/comfort/crack, reader is not amused, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic and that was done on purpose, some Azul slander

Content Warning: Swearing, blood (Floyd)... just Floyd things (I love him, but he comes with his own warning). I don't want to spoil the ending but do read it with caution if it's triggering for you.

Word Count: 5 K

Author's Note: Please do not repost my works to other websites or into AI software. I will be writing more parts for this AU, but for other characters; you can guess who based on the hints I left in Azul & Jade's stories. I switch between third and second-person point of view. I struggled writing for four days and then I wrote 4.7K in one sitting, help me; that makes like 15.5K words in like a week. Don't worry, I do touch grass.

Azul's Story & Prologue | Jade's Story

Floyd was a bundle of energy, swimming all over the place, and excitedly talking to anyone and everyone who crossed paths with him. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!” He would pull at the fins and limbs. “Tell me about your soul match!!!”

Ever since he was first told the story of soul matches, he has been obsessed, wanting to hear everyone’s story that he happened to swim across. Most merfolk would just quickly swim in the opposite direction of the hyperactive young eel-mer. Others would humour him and tell him what it felt like. But his favourite by far was that of his parents.

“Mommmmmm,” he whined, clutching onto her tail fin so that she couldn’t leave. “Can you tell me the story of what it felt like feeling your soul match for the first time? And what it was like meeting dad?~” He looked at her with his biggest pleading eyes, even though he has heard the story at least a hundred times from both his mom and dad. “Pretty pleaseeeeeee?!~”

Mrs Leech giggled, and sat down on Floyd’s bed, kissing him on the cheek. “Aren’t you tired of hearing it, my little eel?”

Floyd clutched onto her arm, “Nuh-uh!”

She shook her head, amused by his insistence. “Well, for me, the song felt like the heat from the hydrothermal vents at the bottom of the ocean; down there it may seem dark and lifeless, but there was a scorching heat that feeds all life.” She hummed, smoothing over a little nick that she noticed on Floyd’s arm. “And the pull… hmm, it was gentle, like the tugging of a cool current.”

Floyd sighed with contentment, finally settling down for the night. “Mom, what do you think my soul match will be like?”

Mrs. Leech tucked his hair behind his ear, “There’s no way to tell before it happens, my little elver. Only the Sea Witch knows, and she’s very secretive about those sorts of things.” She got a mischievous look on her face and kissed his nose. “But whoever is your soul match, be they mer, fae, beastman, or human, they will be lucky to have you.”

“Mommmm,” he tried to push her off, but he didn’t mean it, his giggling giving it away. He got serious for a moment and hugged his mom. “No matter who they are, I won’t leave the ocean for them. I love you, mom.”

Mrs. Leech squished her son against her, placing her head on top of his. “I love you more, baby… And whatever decision you make, to stay in the ocean or go live on land, I will always love and support you.” Holding onto him tight, she placed a kiss on his forehead. “And that goes for you too, Jade, I know you’ve been eavesdropping.”

The mass of blankets on the bed on the other side of the room stirred, revealing Jade who was acting like he totally wasn’t listening in on their conversation. “I know, mother. I love you too,” he whispered, letting out a yawn, tired from the day.

“Oh, how did I get so lucky to have not one but two sweet sons?” Mrs Leech, still holding onto Floyd, swam over to Jade’s bed and had him in a tight squeezing hug. “I love my little elvers!”

Both of the boys accepted the squeezes, Jade patting his mom on the shoulder and Floyd giving back his own tight squeeze. Like mother like son, as some would say. “We love you too, mom,” they said in unison. And they all sat there, in a big eel squeeze.

…

When he woke up on his sixth birthday he was confused. Why wasn’t there a song in his head? Where is his soul match?

The good mood that he was bound to be in that day morphed into confusion, hurt, and anger. But not like the anger he was used to, it wasn’t a hot, short, spark, instead, it felt festering, an ember wanting nothing more than to combust. So instead of staying around his brother, who only pissed him off even more because, of course, Jade got his soul match. He swam out to the edge of the reef so that he could be alone.

“ARGH,” he lashed out at a rock, scratching at it with his claws. “WHY?! WHY ME?!” He screamed out into the drop-off, no answer but the dark looking back at him. He felt hot, briny tears start to fall down his face. He had dreamt of this day since he could remember. He wanted someone to not be scared of him. For someone to look at him with joy. For someone to accept him. “WHERE ARE THEY?!”

By the time he got out the initial rage at his situation, he floated down into the sand and looked up to the filtered sunlight coming up from above. He was still angry, but it was something small, and it felt like there was something stuck in his throat and he couldn’t get it out. Sighing, he closed his eyes… I really should go home, mom and dad are probably worried…

Wait, what was tickling him? Ugh, that’s annoying. “Scram off, would ya,” he muttered, opening an eye.

Beside him was a cleaner shrimp, going over the new scrapes he had given himself during his moment of anger.

“Eh? A little shrimp like you is brave,” he chuckled, poking one of its feelers.

The shrimp ignored the poke, still cleaning the wounds before moving up and going through his hair. Floyd was half tempted to swat it away for bothering him, but he didn’t. For some reason, he found the shrimp’s actions comforting. Like the ocean sent this little cleaning crustacean to help him heal. He was still mad, hurt, and confused, but if some shrimp didn’t mind him, even at his most volatile moment, then maybe not everything is as bad as it seems.

Eventually, though, he had to leave his new little friend and go home, and face his family. He wore a happy mask when he entered the home, trying to hide the festering part of his heart.

“FLOYD!” His mom crashed into him, squeezing him tight. “Where were you?! I was worried sick! Are those scrapes? What happened to you?!”

He squeezed her back, not as strong as he would normally, debating whether or not to tell her the truth. But he saw his dad and Jade whispering to each other, no doubt talking about his soul match. His eye twitched, “I was just curious about where they were,” he whispered. He wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the entire truth. The truth could always come later.

…

Floyd was walking around campus, bored out of his mind. Azul and Jade were at the entrance ceremony for the new minnows. As was his main source of entertainment. It wasn’t his fault that Riddle was so amusing when he gets all red from anger, just like a goldfish. So he was just going around, a bad mood apparent, so people quickly walked in the opposite direction when they saw him.

“Ugh! There’s nothin’ interestin’ hereeeee,” he muttered to himself. Even getting lectured by Beakfish is better than utter boredom. He rolled his eyes, thinking about Azul giving his stuffy formal speech to the new minnows in their dorm. “Tch, boring.”

Hmm, the sun did sure feel nice though. Maybe he would take a nap like Sea Lion did. So he found somewhere where he wouldn’t be disturbed, stretched out, and closed his eyes, dreaming about the Coral Sea.

In his dream, he was back near the drop-off, by the rock he nearly destroyed during his outburst when he first realized he didn’t have a soul match. Over the years, he wasn’t nearly as bitter as he once was, but it still stung. But he was alone, his little shrimp friend was nowhere to be seen. “Little shrimp,” he called out, but his crustacean friend didn’t appear. Maybe they too got tired of Floyd and left. Or maybe they were… maybe a predator finally caught up with his little friend, as he always thought they were too brave for their own good. “Little shrimp?” He called again, but still nothing. But then a net came down from above, catching Floyd in its wake. He struggled, but something else was there. A faint song.

Floyd gasped awake in a cold sweat, heart pounding and racing. “It was just a dream, snap out of it,” he hissed to himself, shaking his head. Ugh, why did it feel like he was still caught in that net though? And that song was still stuck in his head. Stupid dreams.

Oh, the sun is setting, Azul and Jade have got to be done with sorting out the freshmen by now. Heh, wonder if there are any interestin’ minnows around? Eh, Azul is bound to bring some entertainment by getting some chump in a contract. That at least would bring in some fun.

Groaning, he stretched out and got up, making his way back to Octavinelle, still not quite in a good mood but not in a bad one. He was just floating in between.

Azul and Jade were conversing among themselves when he entered the room, Azul looking more agitated than he would normally. Huh, that’s intriguing.

“Somethin’ has all your tentacles in a bunch, Azul.~” He leaned against the house warden’s chair, getting into his personal bubble. Ugh, he still felt weird, and that song was still there.

Azul shot him an annoyed look but ignored him trespassing in on his space. “It has nothing to concern you with, Floyd,” he huffed, massaging his temple.

If even mentioning that it has nothing to do with him, it just puts Floyd on a mission to discover exactly what it was.

Jade chuckled, mirth in his eyes. “He will just keep on pestering you if you don’t tell him, Azul” his smile was sharp and he looked over to his brother, his smile widening. Floyd also smiled, getting further into Azul’s bubble.

“Fine,” Azul snipped, “if you must know the ceremony didn’t go exactly as planned.” This didn’t satisfy Floyd, as he just got further into the bubble, prodding. Azul sighed, knowing it would just be better to get it over with so he didn’t have to put up with the eel’s antics. “I had to clean up someone’s mess, chasing their wayward familiar throughout campus. They also sent the mirror into a tizzy. Satisfied?”

Well, that wasn’t all that interesting. “Awwww, and I thought you’d finally met your cuttlefish, Azullll,” he whined but got out of his personal bubble.

Azul’s eye twitched at the nickname Floyd had dubbed his soul match but didn’t say anything, knowing that if he did, it would just end up with him lying in bed with a splitting migraine. “No,” he dusted off his chest, “we have no control over when we meet our soul matches, and you know that.”

Oh, Floyd knew that very well, he didn’t need Azul subtly shoving it in his face either. Even if the other man wasn’t privy that Floyd didn’t have a soul match.

…

It’s been about three weeks since Floyd had that dream, still feeling like he was stuck in a net, and that infernal hum of a song hasn’t left his mind. By now, everyone on campus was aware that it was better to avoid him than risk getting on his bad side. Ugh, is this what it feels like to have a soul match?

He squinted his eyes, and stopped dead in his tracks, pausing in the middle of the hall. Is this what it feels like to have a soul match? His eyes went wide, still frozen in the hallway. IS THIS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO HAVE A SOUL MATCH?! After all this time, was there finally someone?

He started running, letting the pulling sensation guide him. Feeling the ebb and flow of it, the only kind shared with soul matches. The dream! Maybe the Sea Witch sent it to him? Finally gifted him the blessing that she has given others? He tested the waters by messing with the volume of the song in their head and he felt it falter like they were surprised by it. Where are you? But as soon as he started giving chase he stopped. People gave him weird looks, but he paid no mind to them.

His hands turned into fists, and he shook slightly, his joy and excitement shifted into bitterness and anger. WHERE ARE YOU?! He shouted at them through the song, letting out over a decade of bottled-up emotions into the open. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! But all he got in return was the gentle hum that had started it all.

“Floyd, are you alright? You seem out of sorts,” Jade hummed, eyes boring into his soul, searching for what could have possibly caused the sudden running. Calculating.

Floyd frowned back at his brother, but he knew that he couldn’t just outright tell him, as he hadn’t told anyone about his soul match situation. So instead he bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw a bit of blood to distract himself. “Eh, thought I just saw Goldfishie, but it was just someone else.”

Where are you? Where the fuck are you?! Where were you for all these years?!

…

You were enjoying some lunch with your friends — if you can call Ace and Grim your friends. At least Deuce was considerate enough to make up for it… most of the time. The four of you were chatting, mainly Grim and Ace complaining about homework and the professors, but your mind was elsewhere. In the three short weeks that you’ve found yourself in Twisted Wonderland, they have somehow squeezed their way into your heart, even though they make you question your life decisions on more than a daily basis. On some days it was an hourly basis.

But something else has also been on your mind than just being in some sort of dimension themed on a beloved yet problematic movie studio. There’s been a song playing in your head since you arrived. It hasn’t been very loud, but it seemed to change in its emotion frequently. You could tell when it was excited, bored, frustrated, and you had no idea why. It was fine the first day, as you just chalked it up to inter-dimension technicalities, but it has persisted.

So, there you were, sitting with your friends, enjoying your lunch. Or you were until you were rudely interrupted by the song in your head screaming at you. “Shit,” you hissed, dropping your fork, and covering your ears even though it did nothing to help with the sudden onslaught.

Ace, Deuce and Grim all gave you looks but turned back to the conversation they were having. Not thinking anything of it. But someone else noticed, pushing up his glasses before leaving. You paid no attention though, as your attention was elsewhere.

Inside your mind was a voice, it had started quiet, and full of wonder. Where are you? But then it turned venomous, bitter, sharp, and screaming. WHERE ARE YOU?! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! You didn’t really know what to make of it, and it’s not like Crowley in all of his ‘kindness’ and ‘generosity’ gave you an encyclopedia to explain any of this stuff.

Deuce shook your shoulder gently, pulling you from out of your thoughts. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been staring at your food for a while…”

You shook your head, ignoring the screaming in your head, and gave him a reassuring smile. “Ah, I’m okay, just was thinking is all. Nothing to worry about,” you shoot him a smile as reassurance. Deuce still didn’t look convinced but he trusted you and dropped the subject.

Where are you? Where the fuck are you?! Where were you for all these years?! The voice seemed to scream through the melody. WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?!

…

Floyd’s mood has only been worse since finding out that he had a soul match. Even with the amount of obsessive screaming he sent their way, all they sent back was that gentle hum. Ugh, it was really annoying. He was half tempted to just hunt them down so at least he knew who he was mentally screaming at. But he would always clench his fists and stop himself. As much as he would like nothing more than to see their face as they saw him running at them, he wanted a good reason to do so.

Yes, even though he was harassing them through the song, he wanted a reason why he should seek them out. He was just… hurt. He didn’t know how long he would feel like that, but it was something that was difficult to shove aside, even if they were the person that was supposed to make him happy. He couldn’t just forget about it.

Sighing, he clutched his shrimp plush to his chest, inspired by his shrimp friend from his childhood. “Eh, little shrimp, what should I do? Should I seek them out, or should they find me?”

The shrimp plush just looked back with its unblinking eyes. If it were his actual cleaner shrimp, they would have shuffled around in his hair, looking for scraps and reassuring him in their silent manner. Even though the plush was silent, it was still reassuring in its own way.

He heard Jade shuffling around in his sheets, but Floyd knew that Jade slept like a rock. He shook his head and walked to the Octavinelle lounge area, plopping down onto a sofa by the aquarium, criss-cross apple sauce style, still holding on to his shrimp plush. His reflection looked back out at him, eyes searching, but there were no answers. Just his own conflicted thoughts, the gentle humming of his soul match, and the snores coming from some dorms.

The gentle pitter-patter of footsteps took him away from just staring into the aquarium. “Azul?”

The footsteps and intruder on Floyd’s pondering and staring at the aquarium time was none other than Azul, wearing his house robe, matching slippers, and a hair bonnet. Azul squinted his eyes, as he wasn’t wearing his glasses. “Floyd,” he sounded just as equally confused to find someone else awake at this un-Sevenly-like hour. “What are you doing up?”

“Eh, couldn’t sleep,” he wasn’t in the mood to tease Azul for his sleep get up. “You?”

Azul sighed, “You and I are in the same boat then… don’t you dare utter a word about this to Jade.”

Floyd looked down at his shrimp plush and looked back up, “Don’t mention it.” He looked back into the aquarium, most of the fish were hidden away for the night, but other sea creatures were swimming and scuttling about.

Azul cleared his throat and continued on with his business, whatever that might be at this hour, leaving the eel to his thoughts. Perhaps he could solve not just Floyd’s current down mood but also answer someone’s burning questions.

…

By some cruel twist of fate, you found yourself in the Mostro Lounge VIP room against your will, having been carried there by none other than Jade Leech. You would have put up a fight, but in all honesty, you would rather be carried bridal style than like a sack of potatoes. You don’t even know how you ended up in this situation, last time you checked, you hadn’t made a deal with the scheming house warden of Octavinelle. So why did he seek you out?

“Prefect, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been… troubled,” he said in his overly nice business voice.

You squinted your eyes at him, knowing better than to trust anything he says at face value. “And what exactly have you heard,” you countered.

Azul looked at Jade and he exited the room. That doesn’t seem like a good sign. He waited for a few moments before continuing. “That you’ve been distracted, not all there. Oh, don’t give me that look, I don’t want a contract with you,” he rolled his eyes upon seeing the stink eye you were giving him.

“Then what do you want, Azul? Last time I checked you only did things for others if you got more out of the deal than them.” Yeah, you were being sassy, but he tricked your friends, your dumb friends, so he deserved the attitude.

Azul sputtered at the comment before pulling himself together. “I’m just looking out for others in the same boat as us.”

You raised your brow, “Us?”

“Yes, us, Prefect,” he pinched his brow. “I take it that you have a song in your head?” You nodded and he took it as a sign to continue with his monologue. “Much as I suspected then. You have a soul match, which I take wherever you’re from doesn’t have. You have a bond with a mer. It can be familial, platonic and or romantic, a match made by the Sea Witch herself.”

You blinked, letting all of that sink in. “Uh, but why?” Literally, why? Why would the Sea Witch match you with a merperson?

Azul just gave you a look, “Why not? It is not for us to question why the Sea Witch chooses our matches.”

“We should question it though,” you snap at him. “We should question everything! Like why? Who is it to determine our fate?” The stress of the past few weeks had finally caught up, and you were scared, stretched too thin, and tired, so damn tired. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for any of this!” You smacked your hands against the desk. You were going to say more but shut your mouth. You were talking to Azul Ashengrotto, who was known for using others' weaknesses against them. Why were you letting this all out into the open with him of all people?

Azul sat there, with a small shocked expression. “Just let me know if you want help finding them,” he slid you a piece of paper. Despite your better judgement, you take it, shoved it into your bag and left without saying anything else. “Hope to speak with you soon, Pre-”

You slam the door in his face before he could say anything else, shaking slightly. Sighing to yourself, you take out the piece of paper, now crumpled and creased.

“A song rests in the heart, calling out to the one who completes the harmony. Their match pulls at them, as the moon does the tide.” That is what the Sea Witch told us. I know what you think of me, Prefect, but all I want is for you two to meet. If you wish to seek them out please feel free to see me. - Azul Ashengrotto

…

Floyd sat in the Octavinelle pool, still festering over everything. Even though he was still in his human form, he didn’t want to leave the pool. Everything was quiet until he hissed in pain. Ah, so after all this time his soul match decides to make a commotion? Damn, they sounded pissed, their anger clear in the song… but also tired, so tired. Huh, so maybe they weren’t too different from him.

Where are you? He sang, reaching out softly this time. He didn’t like this feeling, at least not from them.

Surprisingly the song snapped back at him, much like his shrimp friend would when he came to them all banged up. Why do you want to know?!

Well, that gave him pause. Heh, maybe this Shrimpy was more gutsy than he gave them credit for. Heh!~ I want to findddd youuuuu!~ He sang, a giggle escaping his lips.

I don’t want you to find me! Leave me alone! I didn’t ask for this! I don’t know you! Stranger danger! STRANGER DANGER!

Floyd could imagine a shrimp scuttling back and forth, snapping their pinchers at him and it made him laugh even more. Awww, Shrimpy!~ I’mma hunt your ass down nowwww!~

The song rang sharp, oh yeah, he would be hearing a ringing in his ears for a few hours due to that. GO AWAY!

I’m comin’ for yo ass, here I comeeeeee~ He laughed one more time before pulling himself from the pool, excited for what was about to come. You kept me waitin’ for this long, only fair for me to find you!~

Azul could hear Floyd’s laughter from his office. This wasn’t exactly how he was imagining on helping Floyd find his soul match, but oh well, it’s best for them to meet on their own terms anyway. Hey, you could have done it the calm way, but with Floyd as your soul match, he should have expected the eel to do things the… well, the Floyd way.

So Floyd went running down the hallway, still soaking wet and dripping water everywhere, laughing like a madman. Some other mers looking for their soul matches gave him weird looks, but they minded their own business. “Oh, Shrimpyyyyyyyyy!~ Where are youuuuu?~” He sang out, still laughing.

Meanwhile, you were on the way back to Ramshackle, eyes shifting everywhere since your soul match seemed to change their tune all of a sudden. I’m coming to get your ass, Shrimpy!~ Kept on being sung in the song, so yeah, you were rightfully scared shitless by this entire situation. Who the hell wouldn’t be if they were in your shoes?! So you were trying to make a beeline back to the safety of your dorm. Maybe you should have made that contract with Azul after all… instead of being hunted for sport by someone that some octopus lady decided was your match. And why did they insist on calling you Shrimpy? Weren’t shrimps like the cockroaches of the ocean? What the hell my guy?

“SHRIMPY WHERE ARE YOU?!~” A loud voice rang down the hall.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. You chanted to yourself. Should you try to make a last-ditch effort to make it to the safety of your dorm, or should you hide in the broom closet until they leave? Run? Hide? The increasingly fast footsteps made the decision for you. It was a dumb decision, yes…

...You booked it.

I HEAR YOU RUNNING SHRIMPY!~ They sang in your head with glee. Heh, cute that you think you can escape me!~ Best hope you’re a fast runner Shrimpy!~

What was their issue?! LEAVE ME ALONE! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!

They pouted. They had the audacity to pout?! But Shrimpyyyy, you’re my soul match! Stop runnin’ so I can catch you! My ‘problem’ is that I don’t have you!

Oh Sevens, you can hear them catching up with you. You would never make it to Ramshackle at this point. Shit. Maybe you should have hidden in that broom closet… THERE! An open door! You got in and quietly shut the door, holding your breath.

“Shrimpyyyyyyy! Marco!” They called out, running past the door. “Come on, Shrimpy! It’s not nice to hide!~”

Once you couldn’t hear their footsteps or their horrifying version of Marco-Pollo, you took in some much-needed air. Silently thanking your lucky stars that they went by your hiding spot. Yeah, maybe you would sleep in here for the night since they would still be able to get you until the sun rises… if you could even sleep.

SHRIMPYYYYYY, WHERE ARE YOU?~ OH SHRIMPYYYYYYY!~ Yeah, definitely not sleeping. So you sat in the closet until you saw the rays of sunlight seep beneath the cracks.

Yeah, you’re taking Azul up on his offer, since this is starting to feel like a horror movie and not something from fanfiction you would read back at home.

…

You looked everywhere before setting foot into the Octavinelle pool room since your soul match was definitely in there somewhere. “Pst, Azul?” You called out, hoping that he would answer.

His head popped up from the pool, a faint glow coming from beneath the water. “Ah, Prefect. Did you change your mind?”

If by change your mind you mean be scared shitless, then yes. But you held the comment back. Eugh, it felt like you were being dragged into the water, but you stayed on land, the song deafening. If it was this loud for you, then it was probably the same for them. “Help me,” you pleaded with the merman.

“How so,” he said, smug.

Your eye twitched in annoyance, “They are hunting me, Azul. Hunting me!” You hissed. The water rippled, but nothing emerged. “So help me, Ashengrotto!”

But the air of helpfulness he had earlier was gone, this bitch. “I could just go get him for you-”

“NO!” You shouted, realizing your mistake last minute. No, no, no! NO!

Oh? Shrimpy came to me instead? Oh, Shrimpyyyyyyy?~

You tried to get away from the edge of the pool, but you weren’t fast enough; a clawed, webbed hand latched itself onto your ankle. And a familiar face smiled at you with a wide grin. “Found ya, Shrimpy!~”

You gave Floyd a sheepish smile, “Heyyyyyy, can we talk about this? Hahaha…”

Floyd just giggled before dragging you into the water with him, “Nope!~”

Ah, shit-

Bonus!

Azul and Jade looked at you and Floyd, Floyd still curled around you like an extra-large living feather boa.

“You know, not even I would be so cruel to the Prefect,” Jade looked at Azul, giving him a side-eye. But there was a large sadistic smile on his face.

Azul rolled his eyes, “I gave them the chance to meet him peacefully, and they chose not to. It’s not my fault. And you are a horrible liar, Jade.”

Jade just chuckled before looking back at his brother. “Hmm, it’s Floyd, so we both know it would most likely end in something… chaotic.”

Azul sighed, but he was happy for Floyd… and glad that his bad mood was gone, dealing with that for the past few weeks has been hell.

“AZUL! JADE!” You yelled, trying to pry off the eel, “HELP ME!”

But the two just looked on and didn’t interfere.

Fin!

I'm really happy with how all of Octavinelle's parts came out, and I had a lot of fun writing the characters. I have 7 more characters for the Soul Match AU planned for the future; no promises of when those will come out though, mainly waiting for more lore... since SOMEBODY seems to get the most traffic.

Hoped you enjoyed reading!

Link to Masterlist

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jedi-enthusiast · 4 months

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Similar Stories, Different Treatments: Anakin Skywalker and Abijah Fowler

Ok, so recently I've been re-watching 'Blue Eye Samauri' on Netflix and last night it dawned on me that, generally speaking, Abijah Fowler and Anakin Skywalker have very similar stories and actions...and yet their respective fandoms react to the two of them very differently.

So, here's my long ass post analyzing the two of them and why people react to them so differently.

----------

First, comparing the two characters...

So, assuming that y'all know me for my Star Wars content, you probably know Anakin's story but, for the sake of this post, I'll explain it briefly.

Anakin was born into slavery and lived as a slave for 9 years. Then one day he and his mother met two Jedi and a handmaiden, and his mother asked the Jedi to take Anakin and train him---which they agreed to do, so Anakin had to leave his mother. At 19 he had nightmares about and then witnessed his mother's death when he went back to Tatooine before being promptly drafted into war along with the rest of the Jedi by the Senate. After a harrowing 3 years of war and having his worst behaviors enabled/encouraged by the villain and his wife, Anakin begins to have nightmares about his pregnant wife dying. He then tries to prevent her dying, even though she's in perfect health.

We know a little less about Abijah Fowler's past, but we do know an integral part of it from this monologue:

"My country's history is one of manufactured suffering. I was a boy when the Tudors burned any food the rebels under O'Neill might think to eat. We starved. Everyone starved. Mouths on the dead stained green from chewing nettles---you get resourceful in a famine. My parents died early, left me and my sister catching rats. The rats ran out quick. Fed my sister on my blood, it kept her alive an extra two weeks. I didn't sleep for three days to protect her body from the starving 'til the ground thawed. I cut out her kidneys and buried her, fat cap on them like a pea. I haven't eaten a single meal since my mind didn't go to that bite. It was the last thing I ever did because I had to. I control my life now, every bite."

-----

From my point of view, Anakin and Abijah are very similar in their motivations.

Both of them started out as, assumedly, sweet and kind and caring young boys. You don't harm yourself to feed your sister and then cause more harm to yourself to protect her after she's already dead, if you're not. Similarly, you don't bring three complete strangers into your home because you're worried about them and then risk your life to help them, if you're not.

Both of them then went through great tragedies and likely felt completely powerless because of these tragedies and the circumstances they found themselves in.

For Abijah it was growing up during a famine, witnessing the horrors of famine and what people had to do during it, witnessing the deaths of his parents, being unable to stop the death of his sister, and being forced into cannibalism---of his sister and likely parents, no less---to prevent himself from starving. For Anakin it was growing up as a slave, having to leave his mother at a young age, witnessing his mother's death, and then being thrust into a war and witnessing the horrors of that.

Because of that powerlessness, both Anakin and Abijah hate the idea of them being powerless and their actions are made from a mix of anger at whoever they blame for what has happened---whether they're actually to blame, or whether they've done nothing---and refusal to ever be powerless again, or at least accept that they're powerless.

These motivations led them both to commit- (Anakin) -or attempt to commit- (Abijah) -mass murder, *genocide, **cultural genocide, and murder of their female main character counterpart.

*Abijah wasn't necessarily setting out to commit physical genocide, but he was willing to do so if the people of Japan weren't willing to go along with his plans.

**I do consider Abijah's plans as including cultural genocide, since he has a whole monologue about the people of Japan being "godless" and how he'd force them into Christianity- (Catholicism?) -if he succeeded in killing the Shogunate.

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Now, comparing fandom's reaction to the two...

For Anakin, he succeeds in causing Padme's death, destroying the Republic aka the only democracy in the galaxy, committing cultural and physical genocide against the Jedi, murdering an entire village of Tuskens including the children, and going on to oppress and enslave the rest of the galaxy for decades...

...in contrast, Abijah only succeeds in committing mass murder and fails in all of his other plans---and his success in committing mass murder is partially due to the Shogun's sons and wife locking people inside the burning palace.

But, despite all of this, if you look into how their respective fandoms treat them, you'd assume that it was the opposite.

Anakin is lifted up as this good person who had no agency in any of his actions or, if he did, then the people he murdered "deserved it"---he's loved by most of the fandom and everywhere you look you see think pieces about how Anakin was really a victim, how his actions were justified, how he's not to blame for anything.

Meanwhile Abijah is hated and his actions are labeled by the fandom as bad. He's a terrible person and he's seen as such. I've never seen a single post justifying his actions or trying to say he isn't to blame for his actions.

Now, this is not me saying that the Blue Eye Samauri fandom is wrong to view Abijah this way---on the contrary, I agree that his actions are heinous and he's a terrible person, there's nothing there that I don't agree with.

However, I do think it's interesting how differently both characters are treated when one of them is, unequivocally, worse than the other.

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Why is this?

Now, I'm going to preface this section with the disclaimer that part of it is because Anakin is the main character of his media and Abijah is not---however, I believe that this has a very small effect on how fandom treats them since, as we've seen with other characters, screentime doesn't really matter that much when it comes to whether fandom likes a character or not.

Moving on-

-----

I think a lot of it is just that Anakin is conventionally attractive and Abijah isn't.

Anakin and Abijah are both selfish, misogynistic, racist, have violent responses to most things, and have committed atrocities in the name of personal gain. The only difference between them---besides the obvious differences that come with the medias they're in---is that Anakin is pretty to look at and Abijah isn't.

It'd be even worse if Abijah was a POC or a woman, even if he was conventionally attractive---as proven by other Star Wars characters.

Mace Windu? Fandom hates him and makes him out to be a villain.

Saw Gerrera? Same thing.

Rey Skywalker? People hate her and say she's "unrealistic" or "too OP."

Reva Sevander? People fucking CRUCIFIED her!

None of these people even come near Anakin's level of "I'm a terrible person and I do heinous things because why not!" Mace and Rey never did anything wrong, and Saw and Reva did the things they did because of trauma/revenge and/or working to take down a greater evil---and even then, neither of them do anything near as bad as Anakin!

Yet they're hated and held to a higher standard and crucified in a way that Anakin isn't.

-----

Another reason is that people can project onto Anakin in a way they can't project onto Abijah.

With Anakin, they can twist the Jedi's actions to fit whatever trauma they personally relate to, they can shove characters like Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Mace, Yoda, etc. into whatever archetype they want to fit their story, they can excuse away every atrocity Anakin commits because he's doing it out of attachment and they think attachment means love, etc.

Meanwhile it's hard for people to project onto Abijah because everything and everyone around him is harder to change to fit his narrative.

There's no one really around him that you can say manipulated, abused, or otherwise forced him into doing the things he did. The other characters don't really interact with him, so people can't say the characters "deserved" what he did to them. And he openly admits that he's doing things out of greed, whereas Anakin says he's doing things out of love when he's really not.

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In conclusion, Abijah Fowler and Anakin Skywalker are both people that experienced tragedy and became terrible people that did heinous things because of it---but people only justify one of their actions because they think he's pretty and project onto him.

They're the same person in different medias 🤷‍♀️

#fandom meta #star wars #sw prequels #blue eye samurai #anakin skywalker critical #anti anakin apologists #abijah fowler

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guybitesatgames · 2 months

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We never did get a good sense for what the Institute was doing with all the things in Artefact Storage in TMA. Storage, of course, but were they just doing literally the same thing as Leitner and then throwing shade because they haven't had a mass incident (yet)? The Magnus Institute (Manchester), on the other hand, is Up To Something with the artifacts they've got.

Subject/Agent/Catalyst seems pretty straightforward to me. Subject is whoever the scary thing happened to. Our Joshuas Gillespie and the like (probably also our Samalas and our Gerrys too). The rating of "none" would make sense - you can't scare up a set of dice. Agent would be the equivalent of an avatar, a power-infested entity walking about feeding on fear. "Low" also makes sense here, because (despite what tabletop gamers will tell you) dice do not typically have wills of their own … but typically neither do doors, and yet a door became TMA fan favorite characters. It's possible, but improbable, for a thing to be a person, and these dice did seem to hold a grudge against former owners, so better to mark "low" over "none". Catalyst is the one that's new. The fact that they already refer to the dice as "artefact CD137" means that catalyst =/= artifact - it's its own discreet category. Whatever it is, the Institute (Manchester) seems to be trying to intensify the artifact's effects.

It's probably a good thing it was burned down.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol spoilers #tmagp theory

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monster-teef · 11 days

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tell me about your vore ocs! Basics like gender, age, personality and if they're pred/prey and such :3 I love hearing about people's ocs and especially vore ocs.

yaaay thank you for the ask!

I'll talk about my current favorite pair, Campbell (she/he) and Rue (they/them) :3

Campbell is a vampire pred who enjoys both drinking human blood and feeding on shrunken humans or other tinies. he was turned into a vampire when he was 28 and he's been 28 for. a while. he's still pretty young by vampire standards though. she's very lazy and messy and doesn't get out much, she has quite a standoffish personality when you first meet her c: she is blunt and sarcastic to hide her anxiety around people and doesn't have many friends. he doesn't mind though, because he doesn't care much about people or what people think of him, he's happy in his own little bubble

left to his own devices he will usually try to hunt unpleasant humans he thinks are a waste of blood like domestic abusers etc etc, but it's a big emphasis on "usually". she's a very opportunistic hunter and her willpower to resist her bloodthirst is not very strong, so often she'll just eat whoever happens to be around and won't feel too much guilt about it. it's just like "whoops oh well" and that's all lmao

Rue is Campbell's human partner! they're around thirty-three years old. they're bright and highly sociable and a lover of chaos and drama. so far they've been an observer only, but recently I've been toying with the idea of Rue being a cannibal, meaning initially the reason Campbell and Rue fell in together was because it was mutually beneficial - Campbell drinks the blood of a victim and Rue cooks the meat. presently, Rue loves to fuss over Campbell and adore him even though he's a lazy layabout, and they will lure prey straight to him or catch him tinies so they can watch him stuff himself haha

I honestly don't know if Rue even cares for Campbell much as a person, or whether they just have a kink and some sociopathic tendencies and like to see Campbell feeding. Rue doesn't hold any emotional attachment to other humans, and they enjoy seeing the way people struggle and squirm against the inevitable, all the while telling Campbell what a good job she's doing. it's a fine arrangement for Campbell, he doesn't mind at all. he gets prey of all kinds delivered right to his door and he gets someone to massage him and get him off and fuss over him

Campbell can easily drain and kill a whole full-sized human, but also enjoys feeding on Rue while obviously not killing them. Rue is friend. Rue also will eat the occasional tiny prey, although it's not something they actively crave. for them it's just a bit of fun. the feel of them fluttering around inside the stomach is a bit of a novelty for Rue and Campbell finds their reactions to the sensation entertaining :P Rue can't stomach more than two or three tinies at a time before they get nauseated while Campbell can easily fit thirty or so :3

I don't know much about their story together yet, it's just vibes so far! I just like writing about their fun little feeding sessions, all vore no plot hahaha

also I'm realising I don't have any real prey ocs, unfortunately the role of the prey in most of my scenarios is just to get eaten, usually in a mass vore scenario, so I don't spend much time developing them whoops

maybe I should try n come up with some interesting prey ocs...... hmmmmm.....

anyway that's a lil about my guys!

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mariacallous · 4 months

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As the civilian cost of Israel’s war in Gaza continues to mount, advocates have waged massive information campaigns to give Palestinian suffering and victimhood due attention. The view that Israel is actively perpetuating a genocide is increasingly prevalent, held by groups ranging from governments to growing numbers of American Jews to experts on genocide and atrocity crimes. Allegations of Israeli wrongdoing range from well-evidenced accounts of indiscriminate force, failure to respect the flag of surrender, and prisoner abuse, to alarming but less well-evidenced claims of mass executions or even of organ harvesting. In response to a case brought by South Africa, the International Court of Justice has made an interim ruling that Israel must take measures to prevent acts of possible genocide while the case continues.

Globally, Israel’s image has collapsed.

But maintaining an appropriate sense of skepticism, without dismissing real atrocities, is important whoever the perpetrators are. Allegations should be investigated, but care should be taken to distinguish between substantiated and unsubstantiated claims. Defenders of Palestinians’ rights to the protections accorded civilians in war may not think this skepticism is important when it comes to Israeli military actions. Substantial evidence already suggests the operations of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) could violate the laws of war, and one way to hold Israel accountable is to believe Palestinians when they testify that crimes have occurred.

Yet while eschewing all skepticism in favor of horror at the carnage is understandable, it does not link up to the diplomatic and domestic levers that could cause Israel to change the intensity of its military action, improve humanitarian aid flows, and restrain its soldiers. Israelis have become dangerously convinced that the world is deeply biased against their country. Spreading unsubstantiated allegations contributes to that belief—and allows Israelis to dismiss foreign criticism too easily. This is a serious problem, as Israeli public support will be crucial for pressuring the Israeli government to further reduce the intensity of its military action and develop solutions to the humanitarian crisis the war has now produced.

Disinformation has been a consistent and serious problem in this war. From the outset, footage of atrocities and violence from other conflicts has been shared as though it was depicting Israeli and Palestinian victims. Some pro-Israel commentators have claimed that genuine images and videos of dead Palestinian children are in fact hoaxes, products of an imagined “Pallywood” industry producing fake victims, while even major media outlets repeat unsubstantiated claims made by the Israeli government, ranging from a now-disputed guard rosters in underground facilities to the discovery of alleged Hamas suicide vests for children.

Others, including journalists and academics, have denied or dismissed the sexual torture and rape committed by Hamas attackers on Oct. 7 or claimed that large portions of Israel’s civilian dead were killed by Israel’s own security forces. Many expert commentators have discussed how difficult it is for members of the public to know what is happening when falsehoods circulate and every claim of victimhood is contested.

Much of the Israeli public has been conditioned by its politicians and media, for decades, to view foreign critics as implacably hostile, prejudiced, and uninterested in their right to safety. Audiences refusing to accept claims of Hamas atrocities, perhaps jaded by Israel’s own unconfirmed allegations, and willing to accept thinly evidenced claims of monstrous behavior by the IDF affirm this perception and make Israel less likely to deescalate. Put simply, if foreign critics deny Israeli suffering and believe Israel guilty of every alleged wrongdoing, they alienate everyone in Israel, including those otherwise sympathetic to calls for restraint.

One political scientist has referred to this as a “Masada complex,” in which the Israeli public imagines itself to be a besieged people facing death, with no option but resistance even to the point of suicide. Indeed, Israeli youth for generations went on pilgrimages to Masada, as part of the country’s collective memory of Jewish historical resistance. Generational Holocaust trauma and victimhood are socialized and collectivized in Israel. Perpetual sensitivity to the possibility of Jewish genocide has led to a militaristic society in which the IDF and the political elite are intertwined. For Israelis, statecraft is a redemptive project as much as it is an institutional one, aimed at restoring agency and political self-awareness to the Jewish people, while geopolitics carry a perpetual awareness of the apocalypse. The upshot of all this is a “security concept” fixated on overwhelming military power and anxious about the very survival of the Jewish people.

Israelis believe foreign audiences have dismissed the genocidal threat posed by Hamas while unreasonably inflating the destruction the IDF has inflicted. Lampooned in sketches by Israel’s famous comedy show Eretz Nehederet, Israelis believe foreign media is quick to believe the worst about Israel in any dispute over a mass death event during war while treating Hamas as legitimate and reasonable representatives rather than monstrous terrorists.

When observers deny the rape of Israeli women on Oct. 7, Israeli audiences view this as a denial of Hamas’s genocidal desire or intent, because Hamas’s massacre as similar to the Holocaust or earlier pogroms—a perception shared by Jews elsewhere as well. Indeed, for Israeli audiences, refusal to admit the true violence of Hamas’s attack may itself be an attempt to provide cover for genocide or indicate the desire to see one carried out without interference. When observers accept without hesitation that Israel is carrying out unlimited violence in Gaza, some Israelis even see this as a resurrection of the blood libel, analogous to Christian propaganda about Jewish ritual sacrifices and clandestine killings of gentile children. These reactions are the product of long-standing cultural trauma and memory—an underappreciated commonality Israelis share with Palestinians. The result is that Israelis, a majority of whom strongly support their war on Hamas as a security necessity in the face of a genocidal adversary, are insensitive to foreign horror and outrage over the conduct and effects of their military operation.

Scholars of international relations would identify this as a matter of “ontological security.” Nearly 20 years ago, pathbreaking research used psychoanalytic methods to identify the ways that anxiety, identity, and cultural commitments can lead countries and communities to pursue policies that make them less safe from violence or more isolated internationally. The insight of scholars such as Jennifer Mitzen and Brent Steele was that “security of the self” requires remaining true to one’s worldview, even when this involves painful material sacrifices. Israel’s fortress mentality, tendency for apocalyptic anxiety, and hyperawareness of past genocide have all contributed to a tendency to see any concession as total rather than limited. To concede anything is to concede everything.

At the moment, the Israeli public is united in support of its military activities, even as it continues to be fractured by domestic opposition to Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his far-right governing coalition. More extreme figures such as politicians Itamar Ben-Gvir, as well as celebrities such as Eyal Golan and government ministers in non-security portfolios, have called for unambiguous retaliatory genocide. The broader public does not necessarily support these calls but is convinced that if it cannot win the war, the future of the country and its people is at risk.

Confronted with public opinion polls showing very high levels of Palestinian support for Hamas and for the Oct. 7 attack, and by some apparent foreign enthusiasm for the massacre from segments of the global anticolonial movement, Israelis believe that their fight is an existential one. They are convinced that hostile foreign audiences simply do not understand or care about the future of their country—making them ignorant at best and threats at worst.

For much of the Israeli public, a cease-fire—or even an imposed reduction in military intensity—is an unthinkable concession if the current war is an existential one. To be clear, this is an extreme reaction to reasonable demands for greater protection for civilians facing horrendous conditions of bombardment, displacement, and deprivation. Israel’s militarism, tendency to identify all threats as existential, and unwillingness to treat foreign criticism as good faith are causing a brutal callousness to Palestinian suffering.

But a complete cease-fire is, for better or worse, unlikely, and the next year is likely to see a continuation of military operations throughout a devastated Gaza Strip and amid a population already in grave crisis. Many lives will be saved by better humanitarian aid access and, crucially, IDF military conduct that takes greater precautions before opening fire and uses smaller explosive weapons, even though this raises the risk to Israeli soldiers—an obligation under international law. This will require domestic pressure from the Israeli public alongside Israeli government sensitivity to diplomatic pressure. So long as Israelis are caught in their Masada complex, they may refuse even at the cost of becoming international pariahs.

There is a way out of the Masada complex, however, without limiting urgent and legitimate criticism of Israel’s military excesses. While Palestinian commentators need not be expected to express empathy for Israel while their families are under bombardment, foreign critics can make a difference by recognizing Israeli suffering and Jewish fear in the wake of the Oct. 7 attack. This is consistent with research suggesting that persuasion and diplomacy are stronger when they begin from a position of empathy rather than hostility.

But this requires a tone shift—and a dose of political realism. As noted, some observers in other countries celebrated or at least excused Hamas’s actions, some prominently blaming Israel for the murder of their own citizens and others engaging in genocidal chants. They do so in the context of a media machine poised to grant outsized significance to these spoilers or treat them as representative of the pro-Palestine movement more generally. Such positions are disconnected from the realities that real stakeholders face; foreign commentators celebrating atrocity crimes have prioritized their abstract moralism over seriously engaging with the fact that Israelis and Palestinians have no choice but to coexist. And if they must coexist, they must do so without the need to continuously fight to prove their own humanity and right to life.

Yet this does not merely mean avoiding genocidal language. It also means avoiding narratives that paint one party as essentially villainous, guilty of every accusation and capable of every evil act. Every allegation should be investigated, and every victim deserves justice, but members of the public should ask if they are in a position to properly gather and assess evidence before sharing claims. Foreign critics of Israel should focus their rhetoric on well-documented violations and abuses, granting space and agency to journalists and investigators to gather evidence and report truth. With so many confirmed cases of law-of-war violations by Israel, it is also not necessary to endorse unconfirmed allegations as a condition for exerting pressure for a cease-fire or de-escalation.

Perhaps the most difficult sticking point, though, is the claim that Israel is carrying out a genocide in Gaza. It is more or less unfathomable for Israelis, whose cultural and national identities are thoroughly bound up in being victims of genocide, to accept that they are perpetrating one. Moreover, to accept the label of genocidaire is to take on a moral status that obliterates all right to sympathy or support. But it is unfair to demand that international audiences stop calling Israel’s conduct a genocide, as that claim is subject to expert and legal contestation and is also the discursive center of gravity to Palestinian demands for a cease-fire and for relief.

There is still a version of the claim that grants space to step back but does not accept the premise that Israel has forfeited all legitimacy or committed deeds from which no moral return is possible. Nothing can undo the destruction and death of Israel’s military campaign, but allegations of genocide can be accompanied with a question: If this isn’t a genocide, why isn’t there more humanitarian aid, more caution in the use of military force, and a clear plan for postwar reconstruction that restores the conditions of life to Gaza and seeks to heal the wounds of the fighting?

While those who have already broken through the walls of Israel’s cultural fortress, such as U.S. President Joe Biden, may receive a better reception from asking such a question, all commentators can make a small difference by linking allegations more closely to avenues of action. In other words, the allegation of genocide can be accompanied by an invitation, such as the ICJ has implicitly offered, to refute it through deeds rather than words.

When the fighting stops, Israel and Palestine will still exist. Palestinians will not be eradicated, and Israelis will not return to the myriad home countries of their diaspora ancestors. More than ever before, they will need to find a path toward a just peace. The occupation of Palestine must end if Israel is ever to enjoy full international legitimacy, and Israelis must find a way to elect a government capable of pursuing a diplomatic solution to the roots of the conflict. But if that is to happen, Israelis must learn (and see) that they are not in Masada and the world can treat them like any other state, capable of legitimate existence.

The way international audiences respond to events, assign credibility, and share claims of victimhood and criminal activities can have a large effect on this. The more scrupulously observers, especially those invested with official status or expertise, stay close to the available evidence, the less likely they are to feed Israeli fears.

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wolvenkingulfiri · 7 months

Text

A lesson in life

It's such a beautiful day today, the sun shining, birds chirping, and the smell of fresh cut grass wafting on the gentle breeze. the park is bustling with this nice weather, making people watching quite entertaining. as i walk along the narrow graveled path, i watch the many people i pass along the way, mentally making up stories as i go.

the young thin blonde woman sitting alone on the bench is waiting for her boyfriend, he'd fallen behind on their jog even though he claimed to run regularly. the elderly couple sitting by the pond feeding the ducks strick me as a pair of grandparents enjoying retirement after a lifetime of working hard backbreaking jobs, resulting in both needing a cane and walker in their golden years.

a tall man with short light grey hair, dressed in a business suite, strides along the path in front of me. clearly in a rush yet going slow enough to take in the surronding serenity of the park. we walk the same path for a few more minutes before i stop to enjoy a sip from a nearby fountian. when i get back to my walk, i see the man off in the distance still strolling along at his quickened pace. It's not long before i close some of the distance to a meer thirty feet when i see something fall behind the man.

"Sir, i think you dropped something," i yell out, but the man pays me no mind and continues walking.

i run up and grab the object off the graveled path.

" Sir, you dropped your..." i look up, and the man has vanished.

" wallet..."

it makes no sence, theres still about a block to the exit of the park, yet the man is nowhere to be seen. i look down at the wallet in my hand, a simple brown trifold leather wallet. i open it in hopes of finding the guys id so that i can return it, but to my dismay, there's nothing, not even credit cards or cash. the only thing i find is a thick envelope in the billfold.

i pull the mass of paper from its cramped leathery confines, hoping to find some sort of address or identification, but alas nothing.

all there is is a single name on the front and a wax seal locking the contents away from prying eyes.

"panelope"

the name is written so delicatly and in such a fancy form of cursive i wonder who she is to this man. Is she his wife, daughter...whoever she is, she must mean a lot to this man if he's to write her name in such a way. either that or he's very old-fashioned and has excellent penmanship.

still im left with more questions at this point than answers. from the looks of him, he looked to be in his late sixties and dressed like he was the ceo of some high end firm. however, he was walking through the park in the middle of the day and week, granted so was i, but at least i own my business, so maybe he does as well.

then there's the fact that he had nothing aside from this letter in his wallet.even for someone who is high on the corporate food chain, that is a bit odd not having an id.

i flip the envalope over and examine the seal where i get my first clue, or at least i hope i do. embosed in emerald wax with gold lettering is the name daniel in the same elegant cursive as the name on the front. whoever this daniel person is i have to admitt the man has a certian regal elegance to him. i look around in hopes the man has realized he'd lost something, but i see him nowhere. with no option left and the bitting curiosty of this letters contents, i opt for what could be a bad idea if he does happen to come back to find me reading his letter.

with a heavy sigh, i walk off the path toward a nearby bench overlooking the pond. the sounds of the ducks swimming by and the gentle breeze whispering sweet nothings through the trees. the secrets the letter holds beconning to be read drawing my finger to the seal. i lightly tug at the seal as it gives way, allowing the flap to open, revealing a carefully folded sheet of paper.

in a futiel attempt to contain my curiosity, i gently set the shell down onto my waiting lap. just as expected, the handwritting is as elegant and perfect as the namesake and seal, leaving me mysitifed at how uniform and nearly flawless it is throughout the entire sheet. without hesitation, i start to read.

my dearest panelope,

i miss you with every fiber of my being, and i count every passing second until we're back in each others arms. there's not a moment i dont think about you, your soft, warm kisses, the way your long black hair shines in the afternoon sun. i long for the days when I'd see you smile and giggle at my lame jokes. the truth is i miss every part of you and want so much to hold you agian the way i used to when we got tangled up by the lake with fireflies dancing around us on those warm summer nights.

with all that said, the guys in my unit say I've won the lottery with a woman like you. but then again, i talk about you almost nonstop. things here have been pretty quiet, the weathers nice, when the sun goes down However, so does the temp, making it feel just like home but more humid with large bugs. i swear a masquito was flying around the bunk house the other night, it sounded like a damn helocopter, nearly drank corpral jiggs bone dry.

i guess we're stationed here for a few more months and then shipping out to less hostile territory. but we may be there for a while. capt. louis says so long as things stay quiet here we may get to go home not too long after that, but heres hoping.

with love daniel.

i can't help but think about the man who wrote this and why he would keep something like this in his wallet. just as i place the letter down, i feel a hand rest on my shoulder. i look up and see the man standing behind me, sending a wave of fear and embaresment wash through me.

"I-I..." Is all i get out before he speaks

"i see you found my wallet and my letter." he says as he walks around the bench to sit beside me.

" im sorry, sir. i didn't mean to pry... i just didn't see any id and thought that the letter may have a way to find you or at least the person it's addressed to so i could return it." i stammer out.

"It's ok, young man. but sadly, the people in those letters are long gone from this world." he looks out over the water, shimmering in the setting sun.

"Oh... im sorry to hear that. are you their relative?" i ask, unsure of how to approach it.

"Heh. no... I wrote that letter after boot camp to my wife many years ago." he says, watching a flock of ducks swim past.

" So what happened? it seemed as if things were going alright out there... I mean, you're here, so something went in your favor?" i prod trying to make sense of the situation.

" it was war, son. we got held up in a small abandoned village for days, enemies surronded us, living off rations and leftover cans of food from the people who lived there before fleeing for safer lands. we were down to our last bit of munitions, we fought to the bitter end. just when we thought it was over for us, a new unit can in and mowed them down. we sustained heavey casulties, but a good number of us got to come home. As for panelope, we got to share fifteen years together before she passed. i keep that letter with me to remind myself that when it feels like everything is against you and you're at your lowest, to never give up and keep fighting." he says with a smile, looking back to me.

I look down at the papers and smile as I carefully fold them back up and nestle them back into the envelope.

"Here you go, sir. And again, I'm sorry for snooping." I mutter, handing the envalope back to the old man.

"You know son, in spite of losing my wallet and giving you quite the fright. I'd say we both benefited." He says with a smile as he gingerly slides the envalope into his breast pocket.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Well, you see... I get to reminisce about my beloved panelope, and you get to hear an old man's stories and learn to Never take things for granted and always hold out hope." He replies as he stands.

"And thank you for picking up my wallet. It may be empty with only an old man's scribbles to some. But to me, it means the world."

He gestures as if tipping his hat to me before getting back to the path and vanishing from sight. Leaving me with a lasting impression of a veteran who served through hell to make it home. To inevitably impart a life's worth of wisdom onto a stranger who found a wallet.

#short story #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #fiction #author #writting #veterans

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angelapleasant · 3 months

Note

for the storytelling questions: 20, 25 & 28 ! :)

20. choose your favourite shot from your story so far

since i have so many Hermia Driving Ominously (which are my favorites haha), i picked another “style” of shot. i feel like this pic is so basic but to me it really exemplifies the gloomy/ dark mood i’m going for w the addition of being in strangetown (also my fav)

25. what inspirations have you drawn on for your story?

re: sims stories, definitely f&r because it encouraged me to want to do a story in the first place and got me more into the premades. this was originally just going to be a cordial backstory (which got reworked some and will now be included in sw). and of course shwc, since for me that was my original exposure to premades as a viable and interesting subject.

the biggest sims inspiration i have is obviously @emperorofthedark. like i feel like i say this constantly but i love her stories, the atmosphere is sooo good and honestly every time i’ve come back to the sims community (before having a story myself to keep me occupied lol) it’s been because i need to check for an update bc i want to find out what happens next LOL

for non sims stuff, i’ve always been super into horror. i don’t really like gore/ slashers, but a ghost story with a good twist (i love when the ghost is just like… tragic vs flat evil lol) or anything with “resurrection gone wrong” themes like pet sematery. some recent stuff i’ve really liked is haunting of hill house/ bly manor, midnight mass, the new interview with the vampire show, talk to me, stuff like that. (please whoever is reading this rec me horror books and movies lol)

and the dark side of fairy lore of course! when i was a kid i had this anthology of darker/ retold fairytales called “a wolf at the door” and i’ve been hooked on that kind of thing ever since.

also true blood, i know it’s goofy but it’s a comfort show i guess? for the inspiration for the tricou family’s backstory which will get written about at some point re: the grand vampires in NL are like, a vampire council. also the aesthetic of twin peaks/ true detective.

for music, tasseomancy, especially their albums ‘ulalume’ and ‘tasseomancy’ (that one was from when they were known as ghost bees) and promise and the monster’s ‘red tide’ album and the EPs from that era, and her ‘feed the fire’ album, the dear esther soundtrack, gazelle twin, a.a. bondy, timber timbre

28. if you could reproduce your story in another medium (movie, novel, comic, etc.) what would you choose and why?

tv show for sure! hour long, shorter seasons like hbo shows. i’m thinking it will end up being around 12~ chapters and i’m honestly writing it to be like that already, where i’m trying to do the scenes as if they were in a show (with a soundtrack and everything lol), where the images aren’t always straight depictions of the text but they compliment each other instead, if that makes sense.

ty for asking!!! i love talking about this thing lol. sorry i wrote so much 😂

#non sims #*sw #**

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years

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"I could go further and more violent, but I'll control myself for now. 👉👈"

Don't

I love seeing these men desprate. The ever composed Nebul being a fucking loser? Distraught that it's not you playing with his cock? Yes please

Grimbly and Patches would cry so much

Oh Santi! Seeing him like that would a treat

Beautful

TW: Murder in nsfw contexts.

Ahahah Santi? Santi would straight up kill people.

He's one of the monsters who has it worse. Why? Because he's already addicted to your specific type of lustful aura. He only ate from you, you were literally his only source of food, the demon had stopped feeding on everyone else. And now? Now he barely has the will to force himself to eat anymore. He's constantly in a state of starvation, because everyone else's lust tastes horrendous. He gets mild nausea at times, the withdrawal is beyond painful and depressing. Humiliating.

The first thing that changes when an incubus begins starving is not loss of body mass. Sure, his eyes are dim and Santi's power significantly wanes- But the first real change, is his charisma. His ability to think properly. Santi is not a remotely pleasant person to be around when he starts getting real hungry. He's rude, demanding, demeaning and scummy. Anything to get laid. A starving incubus is really no more than a humanoid beast with an erection, not something you want to be approached by at all.

Instead of charming meals out of people like the popular, friendly demon everyone knows him as, Santi now has to catch his bed-partners, lure them into sex with magic, they have no choice but to want to fuck him and do exactly as he says. Ripping orgasms out of others becomes trivial and tedious when nothing tastes like your lust, these pathetic sods could never compare to the ambrosia that is your sweet desire. Are they crying for him to stop? Oh shut up, they should be thanking him for even considering fucking them. They're so unattractive, repulsive.

So frustrated by the lack of your lust, so desperate, he starts sobbing as he plows his partners, in a state of half-feral confusion and disappointment. He can't pretend it's you, there's no chance to create an illusion when the grossness of another person's lust shatters it immediately. So the demon only ends up fucking whoever's beneath him harder, faster, trying to get more out of them, something remotely similar to you.

That's impossible, which means Santi ends up savagely fucking people to stillness.

The first time, he balked at himself. A moment of lucidity made him realize what a fucking animal he had become as he stared vacantly at the body lying motionless on his bed. How long had it been since he lost control? How could he let this happen? What has he done?

But it's only a matter of time until it happens again.

And again.

He stops caring eventually.

Because it doesn't matter who lives or dies anymore. Only you matter to him.

#Santi oc #me testing the waters of how hard I can go 🦵

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local-diavolo-anon · 1 year

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Fuck this i will be making some creepypasta headcanons too now, starting with my boy

Eyeless Jack headcanons

Biology:

He falls under the "mutated human" cathegory of creepypastas, and could be considered a low ranked demon (which is irrelevant since he lives and exist on earth), since he does not posses any particular power

Because of this he is taller than average, between 1.90m and 2m tall, and when i say he is huge, i mean that bumping into him is like bumping into a brick wall

His size and muscle mass is mostly given by years spent eating meat, since he is strictly carnivore, and a direct punch from him can shatter your ribcake

Human meat would be his ideal food, but he dislikes to kill, which is why he is highly skilled with surgical tools (he can take organs without causing instantaneous death), and why he also feeds on wildlife

His teeth and sharp and 100% meant to rip apart living being, he does not have molars

His jaw can stretch and open like a snake's, it allows him both bigger bites and potentially more lethal ones (since if he lives outside, he probably faced wild animals before)

BUT being able to open his mouth like that needs muscles for it, and several muscles in his throat area has been repurposed for that, including his tongue

This also means that he does not have a tongue, and is unable to properly swallow, which lead to the growth of what are pretty much muscular appendaces in the back of his throat

They are similar to tentacles and he can stretch them out of his mouth for at least 20/30 cms in front of him, their goal is to drag food down and help him eat (their movements are mostly involountary, like breathing, but he can control them at will), they can also be extracted to serve an intimidatory function

Also, he has a total of 7 of them, with 4 bigger ones, and 3 smaller

Like a chain event, this also lead to his respiratory trait to detatch from his eating one, so he can pretty much eat and breathe at the same time

He also has claws, but those are not sharp, they are rather thick and blunt, mostly made to hold a firm grip on his prey

The liquid that drips from his eyes helps him to see better, but he can produce a similar liquid from his mouth, and mix it with his stomach's acids to quite literally throw up it on whatever he is eating (like praying matises do) and make digestion easier later on

He can go up to 3 weeks without eating before turning feral and attack whatever animal or person he sees

By that point the process of eating goes like this: bite directly into it ->use the acid for predigestion ->actually clean up his food (like hawks that start ripping fur/feathers off only when they are less hungry)

Trivia:

This guy is chillness incarnate

For a comparison, picture Quincy from Nu Carnival

The guy is quite close to how i imagine eyeless Jack to be but Jack is scarier and less intimidating in the "misterious hot guy" sense and more intimidating in the "you had seen him eat a corpse before and now fear for your safety" sense

He does not speak much, but his voice is low and raspy, and he rarely raises his tone above what is needed

If you cannot hear him, that is on you (literally, because he dislikes when people do not listen/hear him, the first more than the latter)

he falls asleep easily and even when there is a lot of noise, but he is not sleepy most of the time, sleep for him works like a light switch rather than happening gradually

outside of his 'eating' habits he is not a bad company in the slightest, and actually enjoys being around people, even when not partaking in talking or the general activity

he is not angered easily, rather he is annoyied easily, but won't act up on it unless it becomes unbearable and repetitive; then and only then he will warn whoever is bothering him to cut it out

the first time verbally, the following times he will growl

and when i say growl, i mean like an angry wolf would

after that, be ready to have your ass whooped

he can also roar and snarl like most large predators that come to your mind, but he never does against people he is close to, and it's limited to enemies or possible wildlife threats

and even then, he prefers to solve things without actual violence, since he is aware that his strenght can easily maul most animals, but when he cannot solve things with a "who-screms-the-loudest" constest he will fight, and will not regret killing if shown to be necessary

he often carries snacks with him, which are mostly made out of raw meat wrapped in a paper bag, and you can smell it from a mile away once he takes it out

he dislikes sweet food, mainly because how he percieves tastes, which is a lil fucked up compared to before

he is rarely cold for a mixture of reasons, his thick skin and size are among the reasons

he doesn't listen to music most of the time, and while he doesn't dislike noise, he enjoyes silence as well

he can stay still for hours if needed! which seems stupid but is rather impressive

it happened to him that he had to wait for an animal to come out of their lair to hunt them down, and it took him so many hours of staying still that smaller animals started climbing on him

he has a good sense of smell and hearing, seeing is not his forte, despite not being blind (both ironical things due to his name) so he relies on the main two first to wander around in woody areas

among the other creepypasta characters i am not sure who he might be more friendly toward, i am sure Jeff would come to bother him every once in a while and Jack tollerates him, but i might not dare to say they are friends

Other than Jeff, i doubt he would interact more with most of the other characters, mainly because that i can think of, these two are the most likely to sleep outside alone (proxies do too but they move in packs)

he is more of a loner compared to other characters (see proxies on above point)

and in a scenario where they all cohexist, i would not say he is a proxy (since that is bullshit) but rather that he is affiliated with the operator in a way or another; SlenderMan is a demon of sorts to me and Eyeless Jack could easily be one of his underlings that stand outside of the proxy cathegory, since he is not human

Idk if that makes sense but i tried to explain it how i could...

As a last thing, it would not be inappropiate to refer to Eyeless Jack as it/its, and he himself has no preferences (i used he/him for sake of consistency here)

So, it took me almost 2 days and a half to write all of these, because every time i thought i was done, more things came to mind lol

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #headcanons #eyeless jack #not an ask #random headcanons #jeff the killer #but he is barely mentioned #i saw y'all liked the silly drawinfs i made of it and it fuelled my goblin brain #tw body horror #fucked up biology #cannibalism tw #tw cannibalism

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sunshinelore · 10 months

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rant but it’s been on my mind for a while

idk if it’s like this on tumblr too but I’m SO sick of seeing twt gaylors bash lsk CONSTANTLY. In this community we still only know what taylor presents us with. they could be together, they might not be together, we do not know!!!!!!! I’m not even an lsk, in my own interpretation of taylors lyrics, performances, flags, etc, they are broken up. But people need to get off their high horse and realize that they don’t “know more” or are better because they think kaylor is broken up. while the evidence ive seen lsks present is not enough to convince me, it’s not like it’s crazy. We only know what Taylor writes (which is one side of the story,) but also, it’s not like she and Karlie haven’t written/sang/done things that would imply they are back together. “I tell you that I think I’m falling back in love with you,” her Karlie Smile during surprise songs, karlie with Levi (I believe it’s him) with the candle Taylor is known to have all around her house, and more. And this is something I’ve observed being in the gaylor community for about 2 years (not a long time I know, but long enough,) just because we realize that 🧣 believe the narrative Taylor™️ feeds them and they don’t see the “real” Taylor🏳️‍🌈 we still don’t know everything about Taylor. We don’t know who she is as a person in private, we don’t know what happened in her relationships, we don’t know what she does behind the scenes, etc. we still only know what Taylor presents us with publicly. And I’m getting so tired of seeing other gaylors act like they know Taylor just because they see through Taylor Swift™️, and bash other peoples theories who know just as much as them. I realize I don’t have a big following, but I’m gonna say this to whoever’s listening because every single lsk I’ve met/seen has been so kind to me and to their following, and they don’t deserve the constant bullying by this community. We are supposed to come together and bond, and sharing interpretations back and forth is APART of that. And it’s not fair to “mass accept” (idk if that’s the right wording lol) a certain theory as truth. And by that I mean accepting that kaylor broke up as a fact, when that’s not necessarily true, and bashing ANYBODY who tries to share their own interpretation. It’s not right and it’s not kind. I’m not trying to start a fight I’m just trying to share this issue I’ve observed

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apocalypticavolition · 3 months

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Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 41: Disagreements

What can I say that I haven't said already? I'm rereading the whole Wheel of Time series at a rate that suggests I'll be finished just in time for the Third Age to actually happen. There's spoilers galore, for this book, that book, and all the other books. If you don't like it, don't keep reading.

We have a chapter with the ruby-hilted dagger now that we're finally closing in on our quarry and it's looming over everyone's decision making process.

“Can’t you do something about this?” Rand demanded of her. A small voice in the back of his head told him he could do it himself. All he need do was embrace saidin.

Jeez boy, did Moiraine manipulate the weather for your benefit? You know Elaida can, but you also know that even she can't do it to a large degree.

And yeah, Dragon Reborn or not, I think he'd burn himself out if he tried to fix the weather himself at this point.

And worst of all, the examples the Seanchan had made before leaving still chilled the people to their marrow. They had buried their dead, but they feared to clean away the large charred patch in the village square. None of them would say what had happened there, but Hurin had vomited as soon as they entered the village, and he would not go near the blackened ground.

"A peaceful land. A quiet people."

I know I keep harping on it, but I gotta be clear: the Seanchan are only a single step up from rule by the shadow. If Atuan's Mill is any indication, the "orderly society" of the Seanchan colonies is going to run into real problems due to so many people fleeing the villages that feed the cities.

“There are always men who see chances for their own advantage in the confusion of war. Fain is one like that. No doubt he thinks to steal the Horn again, from the Dark One this time, and use it for his own profit.”

Ingtar, being a former Darkfriend himself, is naturally the one who most understands Fain's psychology, though even he doesn't understand that in addition to everything else, the man is nuts. And also he's still a doubter.

He glanced at Rand and gave a ragged laugh. “That makes you Aes Sedai, the Light help us all.”

Say it louder, Mat. I'm not sure all the Shienarians heard you.

“Not him, my Lord, and not the Trollocs, neither. Whoever did that left a stench, though.” He pointed to the wreckage that had been houses. “It was killing, my Lord. There were people in there.”

The order the Seanchan create is built on mass trauma of the populace, which makes it particularly unstable. The damage they do is why I think that in the actual Fourth Age, the south and west won't stay "as one" for very long; even if Tuon brings about the sweeping reforms necessary for the Seanchan, she can't possibly reconquer anywhere that goes rogue while she's trying to bring her own continent to order - and she may not even be able to pull that off, even with Mat's help.

“He is here,” Verin said calmly, “and he went to Falme.” “And he’s still here,” Rand said. Waiting for me. Please, Light, he’s still waiting.

I wonder if Verin is just as uncertain on the inside as Rand is. She must know that Falme is important to the Shadow, but Fain has got to be clearly off-script compared to anything Ishamael might have told her at the social.

“That isn’t the way,” Hurin said softly. “Not ‘must.’ What happens, happens.” No one paid him any mind.

Hurin's only half-right. Surrendering to destiny as one might to saidar is one way to conquer it, but the saidin approach does work as well so long as you're actually handling your fate instead of what you want your fate to be. Rand took control of his destiny a few times by accepting what the signs were and bringing them about. Ingtar isn't doing that here though, he's rejecting them entirely.

They all stared at him, Mat and Perrin frowning, worried but considering; Verin as if she had just seen a new piece added to a puzzle. Loial looked astonished, and Hurin seemed confused. Ingtar was openly disbelieving.

And each and every one of these people (bar Verin, who is just here for love of the game and so only offers strategic advice, though it's still a bit "don't do that dumbass") immediately tries to dissuade Rand even though this is exactly one of those times I mean: he knows all of the signs and portents and wants to ride out to his fate instead of being dragged along by coincidence like he has been so often these past two books.

I am sure whatever choice you make will be the right one.

I suppose that from Verin's perspective, Rand being the Dragon Reborn must be something of a relief. Her work outing the Black Ajah is nearly done and now instead of being the Light's most valuable and least noticed player, she gets to pass the torch on to the dude who is known to have destiny on his side.

Rand leaned his hands on the mantel over the fireplace and stared into the flames. They made him think of Ba’alzamon’s eyes.

Jordan, it's not foreshadowing if it's only five paragraphs in advance.

“You honor me. And belittle yourself. I know you too well. I have faced you a thousand times. A thousand times a thousand. I know you to your miserable soul, Lews Therin Kinslayer.”

Ishamael gives it away here, saying that being called Father of Lies is an honor.

How many times have you died across the span of the Ages, fool, and how much has death availed you? The grave is cold and lonely, save for the worms. The grave is mine.

Okay Ish but... how many times have you died across the span of the Ages and how much has your grave availed you? Wyrms- sorry, worms- aren't the most pleasant creatures but they serve a useful purpose and to them the grave isn't lonely at all, it's a paradise where they can hang out with their friends.

It really is amazing just how blind to the good parts of the setting Ishamael is.

Ba’alzamon took half a step back, holding the banner clutched before him.

Quoting this bit of Ishy's reaction to Rand's attack for something two quotes from now.

Mat. The thought floated somewhere beyond the consuming flood. The dagger. The Horn. Fain. Emond’s Field. I can’t die yet.

And again, Rand grabs hold of his destiny and makes it work for him, pulling him free of saidin because if he doesn't break free everything else goes to shit.

“There is your banner, Kinslayer. Much good will it do you.

Again the hypocrisy! A page ago, when Rand was diving at Ba'alsy, the dude was clutching to the banner between them. It did him absolutely no good; for Rand it will be doing plenty of good.

“My name,” Rand forced between chattering teeth, “is Rand al’Thor.”

And here Rand gets to something subtly important about his nature and that of how the Wheel is cyclical but still linear: Yes, he's Lews Therin reborn, but death and rebirth is a transformation so extreme that he's not Lews Therin anymore. Even after all the deaths and rebirths awaiting for him over the next seven ages, he won't be Lews Therin in the next Second Age. He'll still be the Champion and he'll play the same part, but all the details will be different and could lead to a happier ending depending on what he does and how everyone else acts too.

Next time: Falme!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #ingtar shinowa #hurin #uno nomesta #loial #verin mathwin #perrin aybara #mat cauthon #masema #ishamael

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ohnococo · 3 months

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Hii!! I'm back with my Sukuna scenarioss🐡💗

Okay so like, yk how Sukuna is always being portrayed as this womaniser with like a the biggest harem ever on fanfics? (Tf btw) I personally believe that while yes he finds amusement in lively women, it's mainly because they'll be more entertaining to defeat or break in the perspective of a heartless mass murderer like him.

Therefore, I present to you the idea of Virgin!Tf! Sukuna (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)💗 Hear me out- in a more canon stand point, he's def too busy wrecking havoc everywhere to sleep around, much less build a harem of all things. Although that trope def has a special place in my heart, I've literally never seen a Virgin!Tf!Sukuna🥺 Also also, just look at his reaction when a beautiful woman like Yoruzu hugged him, he was so unbothered like???😭😭😭 And ngl, I don't think he'd be interested in partaking in any sexual activities during his reign way back in the Heian era either cuz he most def killing those who even dares to touch him (cough- Yoruzu-). Although experienced Suku is def still hot😳

Also, this pic that I've seen circulating around my feed def fed into this little scenario of mine😭https://www.tumlook.com/ystrike1/post/738893419527684096

LIKE DEAR GOODNESS I'LL GIVE ANYTHING TO WITNESS TF!SUKUNA LIKE THAT🥺💗

P.S. I would like to add that your bee profile pic is an absolute masterpiece💗

P.S. #2 I'M SO SORRY FOR THIS LONG AHH MESSAGE, I GOT TOO CARRIED AWAY😭

- puffypuff🐡

OKAY NOW LISTENNNN LIL PUFFNSTUFF I feel ya on the breaking lively women like man was not moved by some tiddies swingin (and tbh like I do hc heian era tf sukuna as straight forcing himself on someone for the malice of it) BUT VIRGIN SUKU????

Never seen it never considered but oooooh boy 🥵

Like he’s just not bothered about sex, it’s a waste of time, it’s something he’s beyond because how could it compare to the thrill of everything else he’s doing? Women begging to be spared, offering their bodies in exchange for their lives, why should that move him? Because that’s all it’s even been presented as to him.

But when he finally DOES partake?? Out of his mind, incoherent, feral. Whoever takes that dick (or those dicks depending on how you hc tf sukuna) better be built different because he’s fuckin for HOURSSSS til he’s lying there, eyes rolling, hips barely moving, rutting into you for one more, just one more, make it happen for him.

Pussy drunk previously-a-virgin sukuna making my brain go brrrrr

(And thank you bb the bee was a lil dapper fella I had to have him)

#reader better hope she doesn’t get killed for seeing him like that #🐡 anon #sukuna thirst #💛 asks

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storiumemporium · 2 years

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omg today i wore heeled boots for the first time to go to work and now i can't stand my feet, i could do an imagine where reader is in a similar situation and viktor suggests a massage, but she doesn't want to bother him, she knows how her research and work are tiring please.Thank you

Hey!!! Sorry this is so late! Life got simultaneously hectic and a little depressing the last week, and I've been giving myself a break from the internet while I recoup. Hopefully however this lives up to expectations!

Feel free to leave more requests! 💗

Shoes were a mistake.

Shoes were a mistake and you were going to personally find out whoever invented the heel, so you could kill them.

Your feet are a blistered, reddened mess. The boutique girl who had dragged you around rack to rack for hours had insisted; "These are the most fashionable shoes in Piltover at the moment, and they're in your exact size! Everyone will envy you."

Okay, maybe you shouldn't have fallen for that- but who can blame you? Sometimes you want to be the impressive one.

And... maybe you were tired of feeling like you were so plain next to Viktor, dragging him down every time he was subjected to mingling with the highlife around here.

Regardless, all your endeavors earned you were scabs, calves and ankles so sore you could hardly bear to stand, and a decent heap of embarrassment. You were sure you'd injured something.

And the cherry on top? Viktor would be here soon.

You didn't know what to say to him- to describe the stupid predicament you'd put yourself in, you knew he'd be disappointed, or frustrated.

You were about halfway to the kitchen, attempting to start dinner and pretend you didn't want to chew your own legs off when the familiar click of the lock unlatching gently pinged through the apartment.

It was hard to not whip around looking like a moth tranced by flame, offering Viktor your best attempt at a smile, knowing it came out as the nervous contortion of a dog who'd been caught doing something it shouldn't. "Hey there! How was work!?"

Why did you say that- you never ask that, shut up, shut up.

You knew he'd immediately caught on, Viktor was all too perceptive a man for your blundering to go unnoticed. Those pretty golden eyes had narrowed to scrutinizing slits, and as he let the door swing gently shut behind him, he began to take you apart with his mind.

"Love..?" He's not accusatory- yet- his voice soft and imploring, as if talking to a frightened animal.

Fuck, play this cool.

"What?" Your voice comes out squeaky and defensive.

Goddammit.

It's a subtle shift. He pulls himself upright, the comfortable slouch he bore when he feflt safe in your company replaced by the regal mass of his entire height, leg straightening out as he put to work his full authority.

"What happened?"

For a short time you fumble your words, trying futilely to feed him some nonsense about how coworkers had made your life hell today again- but there was no point, the moment you'd gone to take a step your whole body telegraphed the pain you were in like a shining beacon of misery.

He's over in a startling flash- always so much faster than people gave him credit for- than he himself let other people see. Likely something he kept coyly hidden in the event of danger, a trait carried over from his early life.

His free hand is pulling you, steadying you, as he corrals you to the plush couch you share your evenings together on, and as soon as you're planted he's tugging at the plain shoes you'd changed into to see the handiwork of the cursed evil heels.

"Love..." His voice is soft in a way that instills a great deal of shame, those long expert fingers trace over the evidence of your struggle. "What- what happened? What did this?"

The guilty-dog look returns. "...Heels..?"

Were this any other situation, the look on Viktor's face would've been enough to send you into giggle fits. But as it stood, it just made you embarrassed.

"L-Look- I know it's stupid- don't worry about it, I'll be fine-"

"Would a massage help?"

What?

"They are sore, no?" It occurs to you that your thought was uttered out loud, caught off guard by his lack of ire.

"I-I mean, yeah, but-"

"Then let me help."

"Vik- you've been working all day, you're tired-" you deal with more pain than this on a daily basis and never ask for help, let alone something like this.

The prerequisite thought stirred up a new pool of cold shame within your belly. Here you were, crying and moping as if unable to walk over sore ankles and bruised feet, while the man you loved had bolts put into his spine to correct him- wielded a cane to even support his weight on one leg, and he took it all with silence.

Your face turned an unflattering hue.

But Viktor wasn't having any of it, brows furrowed and piercing gaze cutting like glass. "I can afford to spare minutes of my day to make sure you do not feel miserable, my little tinker."

"Vik..."

He did not wait for your approval now, pulling your feet into his lap as he fully discarded his cane against the armrest, nimble and calloused hands dug into the knots of your feet, avoiding areas that were rubbed raw or blistering.

It was conflicting, bouncing between sharp, stabbing pain and the immense relief that followed as he unworked the aches within your legs.

His voice began again, soft and lulling as he worked his masseur magic upon you. "It is okay to need help, tinker.

I want to help you, it makes me feel good to be able to do this for you." He wavers with amusement and something else you can't quite name. "Sometimes it feels as if I am the only one with problems, it's a relief when I can be the one with the solution."

His smile at you is wry and sardonic, layered with that wit you love. But his words ache. "I know you hide things from me, my dear. I will not pester you for them- but I want you to know, no matter what it is..."

His thumb digs, the aching sharp split of a muscle under duress begins to wane.

"Foot aches or anything else- anything more. It would be my pleasure to help you."

#viktor lol #viktor #arcane #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #arcane x reader

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