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stevieschrodinger · 13 hours ago

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Part One Two Three Four

“What?” Steve’s on edge, he doesn’t mean to snap, it just comes out that way. Eddie’s gone from never looking at him to...always looking at him. And the scrutiny is...it’s so fucking judgemental. Eddie has a horrible little smirk on his face as he fucking stares, eyeballing the drink Steve is pouring for himself, Steve is on the edge of just...screaming at him, or something.

Eddie huffs, rolls his eyes, but still doesn’t say anything.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep calming breath, and reminds himself that absolutely none of this is Eddie’s fault. They’re alone for the first time in a while, so Steve takes his chance, “I’m really sorry, about what I said, okay? I’m sorry I...tricked you. It was wrong, it was absolutely a dick move, I had no right to know, and I’m sorry.”

Eddie does look away then, deflating a little, Steve’s apology seems to have knocked the wind out of his sails, or something. Diluted the anger a little, at least.

“It’s…” Eddie shrugs, staring the shit out of the kitchen floor, “my Steve didn’t drink.”

Steve scrunches his nose up, surprised, “what, at all?”

Eddie shrugs, “glass of wine with dinner maybe, if we went somewhere just the two of us but...no. Not really,” he keeps picking the label off his own beer.

“But why?” Steve asks, so incredulous at the revelation that he forgets to be pissed off.

Eddie won’t look at him now, though, tinking a ring against the glass bottle. The moments long enough that Steve knows Eddie’s debating if he should tell him at all, but eventually Eddie sighs, “when Ronnie was tiny, she got a cough. She was like...fine, we didn’t think anything of it, just thought she was being grizzly or whatever. And Steve had a drink, and I hadn’t, so it was fine but, I checked on her, and she was fast asleep but like had a raging temperature. And it didn’t matter, we had baby meds in the house, we were prepared but...Steve got so worried. He was like but what if we’d run out of meds or...or they didn’t bring her temperature down and she needed urgent care or whatever. I mean, she was absolutely fine, we changed her out of her footie jammies and the medicine worked just fine so...literally nothing happened but...Steve still got so worried about it. So he decided he needed to always be able to drive just in case and he just...stopped. Drinking.”

Steve wants to open his mouth and dispute it. Wants to tell Eddie he’d never fucking do that, that he isn’t the paragon of perfection Eddie dreamed up while his body was busy beating the crap out of every one. That he can’t possibly compare...but he can see it. He wouldn’t miss it, he knows he wouldn’t, and it’s the logical way to make sure his kid is fine then...yeah. Steve would, the thinks. He thinks he would do that.

“He sounds like a good guy,” Steve answers softly.

And Eddie, Eddie smiles before biting his lips together. He closes his eyes and swallows, thick and slow, his voice breaking when he speaks, and Steve knows that Eddie’s fighting a loosing battle against the tears, “he was.”

“Do you want…” Steve holds his arms out, and Eddie all but falls into them, “I know I’m not him, okay, I know that, but I’m here, if you want me to be here.”

Steve thinks he feels Eddie nod, as he sobs against Steve’s chest, curled up so Steve can hold all of him. And Steve cries too. He can't keep the tears inside. Eddie’s pain is palpable, and this isn’t about Steve, not really, Eddie’s Steve was real to Eddie but...the details. The details of Eddie’s story are gutting to listen to. He had a child, and she grew up, and Eddie...he remembers all these little details of their lives.

“Why are you crying?” Eddie chokes out through a sob.

“The footie pajamas,” Steve manages through his own tears, “you had a little girl Eds, you had a little girl and you-” Steve can’t finish it, it’s just so horrible. So unbelievably cruel. Steve can’t even imagine, not really, “I’m so so sorry you went through this. It’s my fault, if I’d taken you with us, if I’d gotten you out, I didn’t know Eddie I swear I didn’t know-”

“I know. I know. Stop it. I probably...I’d be dead now, if you- although I don’t know if that would be better.”

“Jesus,” Steve drags him close drags him into a rib crushing hug, tries to press Eddie inside him, “don’t say that. Jesus Christ, please don’t say that.”

“I...okay.”

Eddie becomes his shadow, which is...kind of weird but also not. Steve doesn’t mind Eddie being there, not at all. He keeps feeling...strangely guilty, about the whole thing. Like it’s, at least, in some way, Steve’s fault, no matter what Eddie might say. Logically Steve knows Eddie’s right, and isn’t that ridiculous, that Eddie has been reassuring Steve? But Eddie is right, Steve couldn’t have known what would happen, no one could, and...Eddie was dead. There was absolutely no way to predict what could have happened but...Steve wears it anyway.

Not to mention the fact that Vecna must have chosen Steve to be Eddie’s imaginary husband for a reason...he must have...liked Steve, for that to work right? Before everything, it must have been realistic to Eddie’s mind that Steve was the one. At least, the thought must have been present enough for that to...take root. Steve doesn’t know, not really, but it haunts him anyway, a loose tooth that, although is painful, he can’t help fiddling with. Even though it’s nothing to do with him, not really.

Eddie stops drinking. He has his last beer, he in fact makes a point of telling Steve that it’s his last one, and not to buy more. So Steve gets one too, they chink them together, and drink them. Then, without speaking, Steve gathers the remaining seven beers out of the fridge and they stand side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pouring them away. It feels kind of poignant, and a little ceremonial. It feels like an important moment, one Steve will look back on, “you still could have had them,” Eddie points out quietly.

“Nah.” And then that’s...kind of it.

Steve can tell when Eddie really wants a drink. He gets antsy, the kind of restlessness that comes out as destruction, and Eddie gets snappy and bitchy and...hard work, to be around. Sometimes. He swears a lot, gets angry over nothing. There’s a lot of slammed doors and angry clanking and music played loud enough that Steve winces and leaves the house for a while, not really caring what the neighbors think.

Steve lets it wash over him, or at least, does his best to, at first. But finding Eddie shredding the pages of a note book, one at a time, and then getting shouted at for simply asking, “you okay?” Steve starts to figure this isn’t sustainable.

He honestly feels like he’d be taking his life into his hands if he dared suggest Eddie go to some sort of therapy – and who could he talk to, anyway? How could Eddie tell someone on the outside that he’s lived a full life, that he’s lost an adult child and been married for like, thirty years by the age of twenty one?

Steve ducks the notebook as it wings passed his head, watching as Eddie stomps out the back door, slamming it behind him.

“Am I...uhm, gonna’ get anything thrown at me?” Steve doesn’t come too close, just in case. A torn up notebook cover might not have hurt, but the beer bottle still stands out in Steve’s memory. He wonders vaguely if he should have called one of the girls to do this, but it feels cowardly.

Eddie shakes his head, gesturing vaguely with his burnt out cigarette. There’s a neat little row of butts and a scrunched up packet next to Eddie’s boot. Steve pulls up a lawn chair next to him, “sorry,” Eddie says quietly, pointedly not looking at him.

“Yeah, it’s okay-”

“No it isn’t.”

“No...probably not but...I get that you’re hurting, is what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, vaguely, “sometimes something just…” Eddie sighs, and after a few minutes Steve realizes he’s given up and isn’t going to say anymore.

“Reminds you?” Steve tries.

“Yeah,” Eddie gestures again vaguely, running his hand through his hair. It’s looking a little greasy, but Steve knows that at least Eddie stood under the water this morning so he will take what he can get. His clothes are clean today, at least, and that’s a little win considering can go days with no interest whatsoever in his own personal hygiene.

“Do you...want to tell me?”

Eddie sighs a big sigh, “I wrote a song for Steve, for like, our seventh anniversary. Something like that. I wrote it out, to check I still remember. I do.”

“Oh. That sounds...really nice.” That is...very romantic. It makes something flutter a little, inside Steve, because no ones ever done anything like that for him, put in work. It doesn’t take much for Steve to see that Eddie is absolutely that kind of guy. The all in kind of guy, “I bet he really appreciated that. I bet he loved it.” Steve knows he would.

“Yeah,” Eddie rasps, “yeah he did.”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #steddie dreamed life #pre steddie

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ikkyfics · 2 days ago

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Bittersweet Smoke

Tangerine x f!reader

Summary: You had known each other for a few years. You were always the intermediary between them and the clients, the bridge between the service and the payment. You looked like a doll—too perfect, too unattainable. And Tangerine had never wanted so badly to put his hands on something he knew he shouldn't touch.

Warnings: suggestive, language, smoke (don't smoke, it's bad), no use of y/n

A/N: request from my GREAT love @gingerteafairy and the first time I dare to write something with Tangerine, so I'm a little nervous

Masterlist

The park was always the meeting place. Public, busy, safe enough that no one would suspect anything. You insisted on scheduling meetings there, surrounded by the distant sound of children's laughter and the coming and going of strangers, as if the open environment could keep things under control.

But today, things would be different.

Today, Lemon wouldn't be here to serve as a buffer.

Tangerine had received the message minutes earlier, short and direct: You'll have to go alone. Behave.

He scoffed, running his tongue over his teeth in an irritated tic. Not because he couldn't handle a simple conversation, but because handling you, alone, was another story.

So, he did the only logical thing. He lit a cigarette.

The smoke spread through the crisp morning air as he waited, leaning against the iron railing of a flower bed. The dark velvet of his coat was immaculate, just like the brown curls that fell with calculated carelessness over his forehead. Tangerine was a man of presence, he always had been, but when it came to you…

Something in him became unhinged.

You had known each other for a few years. You were always the intermediary between them and the clients, the bridge between the service and the payment. Rational, precise, immaculately professional. But with him? Oh, with him, it had never been simple. From the first meeting, the barbs were constant, sharp as a blade. He thought you were bossy. You thought he was unbearable. He said you were too spoiled for this job. You replied that he was a rabid dog in an expensive suit.

And yet, you kept on like this—circling each other, orbiting, exchanging glances that lasted too long, provoking and irritating, as if waiting to see who would lose control first.

That was why he took a deep drag before seeing you. And that was why, despite expecting you, when you finally arrived, something in him stalled.

Your walk was always the same—confident, precise. Of course, you were beautiful. Mary Jane shoes touching the stone softly, pretty socks climbing up legs he tried not to stare at and failed miserably. You looked like a doll—too perfect, too unattainable. And Tangerine had never wanted so badly to put his hands on something he knew he shouldn't touch.

And it was driving him crazy.

"That's going to kill you."

Your voice cut through the silence, sweet and sharp, and Tangerine exhaled the smoke slowly, one corner of his mouth lifting.

"Hm? What's going to kill me?"

"That," you gestured toward the cigarette with your chin. "Smoking."

He chuckled low. "You talk like you care, doll."

The pet name made your expression harden for a second. But there was something else today, something different. He noticed it in the gleam in your eyes, in the way your fingers absentmindedly smoothed the seam of your skirt, in how your breathing adjusted as he watched you. Something was wrong—not that he dared to ask what.

"Maybe you should take a drag."

The words came out lower, slower, laced with something you pretended not to notice.

But you did.

Tangerine knew because he saw your throat move in a dry swallow, saw you hesitate a second longer than you should have.

"I don't smoke," you shot back. But you didn’t turn away, didn’t change the subject.

He brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking a slow drag, letting the smoke spread into the space between you. "There's a first time for everything."

You hesitated. Tangerine saw it. A blink too many, a swallow too hard. But instead of refusing, your fingers moved—delicate, hesitant��until they reached for him.

Oh.

A slow smile formed on his lips. Taking his time, he turned his hand, holding the cigarette between his fingers for you to take.

The touch was brief, but enough. Your skin met his for an instant—warm, soft. Tangerine watched, fascinated, as you brought the cigarette to your lips.

Ah, hell.

The same mouth that had said so many sharp things to him was now touching the same cigarette he had just smoked.

Then, you inhaled.

And choked.

The cough came hard, unexpected, and you quickly pulled the cigarette away, bringing your hand to your mouth as you leaned slightly to the side, trying to catch your breath.

Tangerine blinked, first surprised—then, chuckled lowly.

"Fuck," he muttered, genuine amusement in his voice. "Slow down, doll. That’s not how you do it."

You shot him a sharp glare, your eyes gleaming with irritation. "Don’t laugh."

He raised his hands, theatrically innocent, but the smile was still there, tugging at one corner of his mouth. "I’m not laughing."

You cleared your throat, regaining composure, your fingers still holding the cigarette, hesitant. Tangerine tilted his head slightly, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips, then to the curve of your neck—where a faint hint of color was rising, subtle.

"Hold it like this," he said, his voice lower now, reaching out to adjust the way you held the cigarette. His fingers brushed against yours again—a brief, warm touch—before he pulled away. "And when you inhale, do it slowly. Let the smoke in, then release it. No need to swallow it like you're desperate."

You narrowed your eyes at him, clearly suspicious. But instead of answering, you brought the cigarette back to your lips. This time, slowly.

And Tangerine had to hold his breath.

He felt it. He felt the exact moment his mouth went dry, the moment the tension in the air thickened. Because now that you knew how to do it, you did it right. Your lips parted slightly, your lashes lowered just a bit, and the smoke came out slow, smooth.

And hell, he shouldn't have been staring so much.

But he was.

"Good girl," he murmured, almost without thinking.

Your gaze met his for an instant, sharp, as if the words had poked at something deep inside you. But instead of responding, you simply extended your hand, returning the cigarette.

Tangerine blinked, surprised for a second, before accepting it. His fingers brushed against yours again, lingering just a little longer than they should before he brought the cigarette back to his lips.

And then he saw it.

The soft stain of lipstick on the filter.

A mark of yours, right there.

He took a deep drag, more than he needed, the familiar taste now mixed with something new—something he wanted to taste more of. Smoke filled his lungs, dense, warm, as his mind drifted for a moment.

And it was inevitable.

The thought.

The absurd, uncontrollable desire to see your perfect composure unravel.

To see you reduced to sighs in his bed, your pretty clothes disheveled, your sweet voice turned into something more urgent. To have your stockings pulled down, your lips parted, saying his name in a way he hadn’t heard yet.

The cigarette burned down to the filter. Tangerine flicked it away, crushing it against the ground with the tip of his shoe, a muscle in his jaw tightening for a second.

Oh, he was going to ruin you.

Not today. Not here. But someday.

You reached into your bag, pulling out a slim envelope before placing it in his hand. “New contract,” you muttered, back to business. “Straightforward. Should be easy enough.”

Tangerine tucked it into his coat. “Sure. You know me, sweetheart. Always smooth, always professional.”

You rolled your eyes, already turning to leave. But before he could step away, your voice reached him again—softer this time.

“Be careful.”

The phrase was small, tossed into the air as if it meant nothing. But Tangerine felt it.

He felt it in the way your voice came out softer. In how you avoided looking directly at him this time. In the meaning you tried to hide beneath the simplicity of the words.

And that was exactly why he smiled.

Slow. Teasing. Something drawn-out and amused.

"Aww," he murmured, tilting his head, "you care, love?"

Your expression soured instantly. “I don’t.”

“‘Course not,” he drawled, utterly entertained.

You huffed in irritation, spinning on your heel and walking away, muttering something under your breath. Tangerine watched you go, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

Oh, he loved pissing you off.

And when he got back from this job?

He was going to ask you out.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #bullet train #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #romance #ao3 writer #aaron taylor johnson #atj #atj x reader #writing #suggestive #reader insert #no use of y/n

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eempyreall · 2 days ago

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This is the original request. This story is the original characters’ version.

༺————————————————————————༻

♪ 𝐵𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑓𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑦 𝐷𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝐶𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑛 ♪

༺ The Auction ༻

Oneshot ~ Hybrids x Female Reader

Summary ~ You work for an auction house that illegally sells exotic hybrids.

Featuring ~ Original Characters: Arlo & Felix

Extra Notes ~ This is the non fandom version of this story. If you want to read the Tokyo Revengers’ version, press this link.

This story should only be posted under eempyreall on my tumblr. Report if you see it posted under anyone else but me.

Warning ~

You and the characters are 21+. Although I picture the reader as a black cis-gendered female, physical appearance will not be described at all.

Content within this story may not be realistic or factual.

I do not condone any of the behavior displayed within the story.

There may be dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit content, sexual content, non consensual and/or dubious consensual content, etc.

That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Despite your job as a maintenance caregiver for the hybrids, your morals do not match that of your role. It is your belief that, although hybrids are deemed monsters and creatures, they should be treated like any other human. However, the pay is undeniably convenient and quicker than any other regular career you could work for.

You never expected to get attached to any of the hybrids at the auction house. Your only job was to maintain their care before they were sold to the highest bidder. You had succeeded with your logical approach since you began working at the house a couple of years ago.

It wasn’t until two snow leopard hybrids appeared in a way that was hard to ignore.

“These are the new captures,” the gruff voice of the broad, middle-aged man states. “Clean ‘em up.” Your boss turns to leave the room as you examine the two men through the bars of the large cage.

The one on the left is tall, leaning against the cold metal wall with his arms lazily crossed over his chest. His long, dyed red hair drapes over his shoulders, a few loose strands framing his sharp jawline, smeared with dried blood. Crimson is also streaked down his fit torso, staining the large tattoo on his chest. A sly smirk spreads across his face as he eyes his extended claws.

His droopy, heavy-lidded purple eyes shift to yours, the weight of his gaze heavy despite the lighthearted expression on his face. His ears are perked as his tail sways slowly. If you look closely, you can even see the stained crimson on his black pants. You notice that he doesn’t look wounded, so you wonder where the blood came from.

Next to his standing figure is a man with similar features, sitting on the ground. One arm is draped over his raised knee while the other is planted on the bottom of the cage. His black hair is cut short at the sides but longer at his neck. His body has matching ink, though on the opposite side. Blood stains him just as much as the former.

His expression is indifferent, bored, as his heavy-lidded gaze sticks to the side, never meeting yours. His tail lies over the leg that’s flat on the ground, his claws extended as the dim light casts a glow over them.

Neither of them seem to be in pain. It makes you wonder what could’ve happened on their way here. If the older male had stayed, you would’ve asked so you’d know what to expect.

There are hybrids who are violent, indifferent, and scared. In your two years of working at the auction house, you’ve never come across anyone violent. You’re mainly consistent with those who are indifferent and scared. These guys don’t look scared. If anything, they look bored—but the blood says otherwise. It’s definitely not their own.

“You just gonna stand there and stare, or are you gonna clean us already?”

Your attention turns to the male sitting on the ground, whose eyes are now on you.

Day one was interesting, to say the least.

“You're handling me with such care, human~” the long-haired man drawled, the suds of the bath covering his lower half. His red hair drips with moisture as he watches you glide the cloth against the skin of his arm. “You like me or somethin'?”

You give him an unimpressed look as you release his wrist, tossing him the wet cloth before grabbing a clean one. “You can clean your own balls.”

The black-haired male snickered as you began to wash his back, while the older male whined, “Aww,” in response to your statement.

Once they were completely dried off and you had used the blow-dryer on their manes, you secured the collars around their necks and walked them to their new cage, their leashes in your hand.

They watched your figure as you walked in front of them, leading them to the cage, which had futons clean and ready for their temporary stay.

Once they were secured inside, you unhooked their leashes and locked the cage behind you.

The taller one leaned against the bars closest to you, his arms crossed above his head. “I wonder if you taste better than our lunch from earlier,” he said with a smirk.

You ignored him, suppressing the slight churn of your stomach so as not to give him the reaction he was looking for. It was best to pretend you hadn’t cared about what he said.

“Probably. That meal was ass,” the younger one stated as he relaxed on the futon.

You rolled your eyes and waved them off as you walked out.

When day two arrived, you entered the holding area in which the brothers were caged. The auction house was grand enough to have individual rooms, each holding at least two hybrids, secured behind bars.

The younger one sat on the futon, his back leaning against the back of the cage, arms draped over his bent knees as he idly flicked his tail. His black hair was slightly messier than before, and his sharp eyes followed your every movement.

The red-haired one stretched out across the futon, hands tucked comfortably behind his head as he cracked an eye open at your presence. His ears twitched, his tail flicking once before settling.

You unlocked the cage, stepping inside with ease. You didn’t say anything as you placed a tray of large raw fish inside.

“Room service, huh?” the older one smirked as he pushed himself up on his elbows.

You exhaled through your nose, unamused. “Eat.”

The following days became routinely consistent as you took care of the hybrids. You would arrive at their cage, feed them, monitor their vitals, bathe them, and feed them once more. Despite their playful behavior, you kept your responses short—yet somehow, they always found a way to pry a reaction out of you.

The older male, Arlo, had a habit of watching you too intently. He’d study your movements and expressions while lazily draping over the futon or leaning against the bars. Despite his laid-back persona, there was intent behind every word he chose, amusement reaching his expression as he smirked whenever your lips twitched at something he said. Although Felix was quieter, he was blunt, slicing through whatever wall you tried to keep between yourself and them.

They were different from the other hybrids brought to the auction house. They weren’t scared, angry, or hopeless—though you couldn’t blame the others for feeling that way. If anything, they seemed to enjoy their situation a bit too much, as if it were a game.

As time went on, you continued to do your job, but at some point, your indifference began to slip.

The first time you laughed, it caught you off guard.

It wasn’t intentional. Arlo had made some offhand comment—something absurd but delivered with such a straight face that you couldn’t help it. The sound barely left your lips before you caught it.

Arlo’s grin widened as Felix’s lips curved into a smirk. You rolled your eyes and turned away, shutting down and replacing the mask you hide your real personality behind. After that, they continued to try and get a rise out of you, their amusing behaviors becoming more frequent.

There were a couple more times that you failed to keep your composure, despite your better judgment. You’d even make a few sly remarks in return that would make them raise an eyebrow with an amused gaze, their ears perking up and tails upright with a curve at the tip.

Regardless, you still remained professional. You didn’t linger longer than necessary. You didn’t acknowledge the way Arlo’s eyes followed you when you walked away or how Felix’s tail would twitch whenever you got too close. You ignored the way their bodies would subtly lean in your direction when you bathed them or checked them over.

You even ignored that you were beginning to enjoy their presence. You knew it was best not to get attached—soon enough, you’d never see them again.

You stood in the bathroom after bathing the males, using the blow-dryer on Arlo’s hair as he sat on the wooden chair. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he crossed a leg over along with his arms. His tail was low under the towel that covered his lower body, though it twitched slightly when you guided the bristles of the brush through his mane. The leopard almost drifted off to sleep as you worked through his long strands.

Felix, on the other hand, stood off to the side, leaning against the door with his arms crossed.

A towel covered his lower half, but his tail thrashed slightly underneath. His posture was tense as he eyed you.

Suddenly, you felt a strong tug on the back collar of your top, yanking you back with a sharp force that caused you to drop the blow-dryer onto Arlo’s lap and the brush to hit the floor.

A gasp escaped your lips as Felix lifted you up, his claws gripping your thighs and hoisting you onto the sink. He wedged himself between your legs as his head dipped between your neck and shoulder. Your hands reached his shoulders as he caged you in, his towel dangerously low.

“What the fuck?” you questioned, startled by the sudden movement as you leaned back, holding onto him. His nose pressed into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm as he slowly nuzzled your skin, his hands caging you in on either side of your hips.

His tail flicked behind him as his lips barely dragged along the lining of your neck, your body frozen as you stared across the room with wide eyes.

“Felix…” Your voice came out softer than you had wanted it to, a chill crawling up your spine as your nails pierced his skin.

He pulled back, a sharp gaze meeting yours, irritation clear in his expression. His ears were slightly pinned back as his grip on the counter tightened.

“You reek of mutt.”

Your brows furrowed with confusion as you pushed him back further, though he stayed in place.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He ignored you as his head dipped low again, a hand reaching up as he brushed against your jawline.

“Fixing it. You smell filthy,” he said, his voice rough.

Your breath hitched when you felt the moisture of his tongue as the muscle slithered up your neck, essentially grooming you of the scent of another hybrid you had tended to earlier that day.

Arlo set the blow-dryer on the counter as he stood from the seat. “Damn, Felix. You just gonna leave me out?”

You yelped as the older brother's claws snatched your jaw up, forcing you to face the ceiling as his face dipped low from the side, wedging himself between the counter and your thigh.

Heat rushed through your body as your other hand grabbed Arlo’s shoulder in reflex. Despite using your strength to push them away, they were like stone walls.

It was late when you had entered their cage to check their vitals.

The other hybrids had you backed up as you completed all of your assignments the best you could in a timely manner. You approached with careful steps so as to not wake either of the sleeping men.

Once you knelt next to the older male, you reached for his wrist, only to be surprised when an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you onto the futon.

His warmth pressed against your back as he wrapped his tail lazily around your thigh, his arm holding you in place as he curled against you.

“Arlo!” you whispered sharply, attempting to twist out of his grip.

“Just lay with me for a little bit,” he said, his voice drowsy with sleep as he nuzzled against your neck.

Despite the logical part of your mind screaming at you to leave, you hesitated and figured that staying for a moment longer couldn’t hurt, as long as he fell asleep.

Time passed before you finally heard his breathing even out, allowing you to ease out of his grip.

You ignored the cold of your back from his absence as you kept your head straight toward the exit of the cage.

Three days had passed since you last stepped into their cage. You had switched assignments with another caregiver, distancing yourself from the hybrid brothers in a way that felt both suffocating and necessary. You had allowed a line to be crossed that should've never been breached.

It was going smoothly—or so you thought. You hadn't heard anything from or about them. You forced yourself not to worry about how they were doing or how they felt about your absence.

In the midst of beginning your shift, your boss, who had first introduced you to the hybrid brothers, yanked you to a stop as you walked toward the designated hybrid room for the occupants you had been tending to recently.

“You—,” He exhaled sharply, sweat streaming from his forehead and soaking through his shirt. “Come with me. Now.”

“What?” you questioned, confusion knitting your brows as concern crept in at his antsy behavior.

The man gripped your wrist, dragging you down the familiar path toward the snow leopards’ room. Before you could question him again, he threw the door open and pulled you inside.

Your eyes widened at the display.

Blood was everywhere.

The cage door was locked, yet inside, the floor was slick with crimson.

The scent of torn flesh thickened in the air as your gaze landed on the scattered human remains—entrails and half-eaten limbs strewn across the cage and spilling just beyond the bars onto the wooden floor.

Bile threatened to rise in your throat as you lifted an arm over your mouth, leaning forward slightly before your gaze shifted to the hybrids inside.

Felix sat on the futon with his knees raised, arms draped over them, his head bowed low. Despite his face being hidden, you could tell he was tense by the thrashing of his tail and the way his claws flexed against his arm. The skin visible to you was streaked with blood.

Arlo stood at the bars, forehead resting against the cold metal, his hair partially veiling his face, claws curled around the bars. You caught the glint of his irises through the strands—dark, heavy-lidded, unreadable. His body and face bore the same smears of blood. His tail hung low, his ears flattened against his head.

The middle-aged man shifted nervously beside you. “They won't talk to anyone. They haven't even moved from their spots since we found them hours ago. They bonded with you, didn't they?”

You hesitated before giving a slow nod. Keeping your eyes on the floor, you stepped forward carefully, attempting to avoid the red puddles and strewn remains—though failing the closer you got to the bars.

You made sure not to get too close as you met Arlo’s gaze.

“Why have you been avoiding us?” His voice was calm, his expression stoic and dark as he looked down at you.

“Have you abandoned us?”

The words alone sent a chill up your spine, dread coiling in your stomach at the mess you had created by getting too close to them.

Someone innocent had died because of your mistakes.

The air in the bathroom was thick with steam and tension from the moments before. You carefully scrubbed Felix’s arm, his skin still streaked with traces of blood. Both brothers sat silently in the bathtub, their expressions unreadable and dark. Their wet hair hung over their faces, dripping with water that trickled down their features.

“I... I'm sorry for not staying as professional as I should've,” you said softly, your voice strained with the tension. “And for leaving without saying anything.”

Felix’s jaw tightened, his body barely moving as his fingers curled against the edge of the tub.

His calm expression flickered with irritation. His tone was rough, but controlled. “You don't get it, do you?”

You were caught off guard as his claws snatched your wrist, pulling you forward with your arm stretched out. He leaned closer, eyes boring into yours. “You're an idiot. This is about you leaving us. Abandoning us for other hybrids while we waited for you to come back.”

Your heart started to pound against your chest as you tried to yank your arm out of his painful grip. “You're misunderstanding the situation! You shouldn't be so fucking attached to me. You're gonna be sold today! This isn't appropriate-!”

Arlo’s hand snatched the back of your neck, forcing you to face him. Moisture from the bath water dripped down your skin. “You think we give a fuck about what's appropriate?”

Suddenly, he threw you back, and you landed harshly on the floor. You watched with wide eyes as they stood up from the tub, water streaming down their bodies, their wet ears and tails flicking the moisture off as they took a step forward.

You scooted back gradually as they walked toward you, staring down at you with cold gazes.

“I think you've got this shit all wrong, Y/n.” Felix’s voice was low and predatory as their tails thrashed around, ears flat against their heads.

It was traumatic.

The entire auction house erupted into a bloody massacre. With their claws extended, fangs as sharp as daggers, and bodies bare of any clothing, they mauled and shredded apart all of the employees, audience members, and hybrids that they smelled on you. One by one, the people who had been part of the illegal auction were maimed, killed, and toyed with—entrails and body parts scattered around the room.

Despite their calm demeanor and stoic gazes, a smirk or two here and there, they were feral. You could see it in their eyes—they absolutely enjoyed shredding everyone apart. The carnage lasted for at least an hour, though you hadn't kept track of the time. You were too distracted by the bloodshed playing out in front of you.

You even freed some of the hybrids from their cages in hopes of the innocents escaping.

You recognized the middle-aged man, your boss, in an unrecognizable pile of guts, torn flesh, and blood.

Eventually, the chaos ended. The cries and screams of terror had finally died down.

You sat with your knees drawn to your chest, too paralyzed to escape. You hoped they would finish you off like they had the others, considering the guilt that weighed heavily on you for all of this. Felix and Arlo finally approached you, their faces and torsos streaked with crimson. Their eyes held an eerie calm, but there was a glint of amusement there.

“Y'know, we were gonna do this the day we were captured,” Felix muttered, a smirk curving his lips as he crossed his arms. “But we stayed for you. It was fun while it lasted, playing as strays in a cage and all.”

Tears streamed down your face as you looked up at them. It felt as if the control you had all along had been stolen away from you. All of your emotions burst out in a hysterical outburst, your weeping uncontrollable as you covered your face and bowed your head.

“I-I can't believe this..” you sobbed, your voice shaky.

Arlo’s claws gently, but firmly, pulled your wrist away from your face, forcing you to stand. His bloody thumb smeared crimson against your cheek as he wiped away your tears. “Cry all you want, sweetheart. We're not done with you, yet,” he smirked.

Arlo dragged you with them as they made their way toward the exit, stepping over the corpses of the dead without a second glance. Their smug expressions didn't falter as they moved through the carnage. The air was thick with the stench of death, but it seemed as though they had done this a thousand times before.

As they stepped outside, Felix pulled out a phone from one of the corpses, dialing a number with blood staining the screen.

The phone rang, and you could only watch, too overwhelmed to react, as they spoke to their friend. They were casual, almost as if the massacre hadn't just taken place. The brutality they'd shown was nothing more than a prelude to what they had planned next.

“Done playing pretend?” The voice on the other end spoke with a condescending tone.

“Yeah. Just come pick us up.” Felix’s voice was smooth.

It had been weeks since the incident. You were deemed one of the unidentified victims—nothing but an unrecognizable pile of flesh and guts.

That day still haunted you, the memories of the chaos, screams, torn flesh. The smell of death was the worst of it.

Now, you sat between the two hybrids in the large bathtub. Your back rests against Arlo’s chest, his hands holding your breasts apart as Felix, sitting in front of you with your legs over his raised thighs, slides a wet cloth against the middle of your chest.

"Relax," Arlo breathed as you felt his hard cock press against your lower back. Understanding what he meant, you tilted your head back against his chest, tilting to the side enough for his lips to press against your neck. His fangs nip your skin, causing you to shudder as Felix continues his motion against your skin.

Felix’s hand moved lower, slowly disappearing under the sudsy water as he released the cloth, a sudden pressure of his finger meeting your clit. He leaned forward, lips parted as they pressed against yours in a slow, passionate kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth.

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daynascullys · 2 days ago

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just wanted to share some nice therapy thoughts I’ve been thinking about lately.

I’ve been in therapy fairly consistently for ten years now, and have been a practicing therapist for four of them. I always resented the imbalance of feeling like I cared about my therapists more than they cared about me, especially since it was their job to care about me. as people, they didn’t care about me. logically I knew this couldn’t be true, but as someone with many issues in the area of attachment, that logic didn’t always translate to my beliefs.

but Chappell Roan performed “Pink Pony Club” at the Grammys, and the first person I wished I could reach out to was my 8-year-old client who used to request it in our sessions. I think of a 7-year-old I worked with whenever I get takeout from a certain restaurant because he is the reason I tried it in the first place. I see stuffed animals and gravitate toward the cheetahs and cats because I worked with a 4-year-old who loved them and they make me think of her. I think of one of the very first clients I ever worked with when I excitedly show people new things I bought because after a horrible depressive episode, one day she logged in and said “I’m going to do a little haul for you” before excitedly showing me the things she got after managing to get out of bed. whenever I am the red player in Connect 4, I think of the 6-year-old who was the first client I had who wanted to be yellow (and how I learned that multiple kids chose red because red is winning on the box).

it’s true that they didn’t know me the way I came to know them, but they are on my mind often and have become a part of my own story and everyday life. and it’s not my job to care about them anymore, but I do. I care so much and I am always rooting for them.

and if you ever worry about whether or not your therapist cared about you, I hope you think of this post and know that, at least most of the time, yes, we do. I can’t speak for all therapists, there are always exceptions, and this doesn’t excuse any of the bad exceptions. but the majority of the time, it’s not just you. we think about you and we care about you, we just can’t always say it the way we want to.

#idk just thinking thoughts #especially because I keep seeing pink pony club and I miss my kiddo #em.mft #sentences border on senseless

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 days ago

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When it comes to miraculous and how the holders get chosen to be heroes, I just don't really like it. It's literally "hey kid. Here's a magical jewelry that makes you into a hero for this time. Why you? Because you happened to be the closest and I may or may not be friends with you in my civilian form."

Since Miraculous Ladybug is suppose to be influenced by magical girl shows, why not make it so the holders need to show themselves worthy of the gods (kwamis) and they become the new chosen one. Making it more special and less "you're a hero now, but we can simply use your miraculous ourselves or give it to someone else if you're not available, but it's still yours." Like, really? One magical girl franchise I like the getting chosen trope in is Precure. There the girls show themselves worthy to become a precure and their transformation item actually gets linked with their souls, so only them can use them.

That would have been a better way in miraculous, the heroes actually getting chosen by a higher force and are the only ones able to use the miraculous. And with the butterfly, like I suggested previously. Make it different from a miraculous, or have an evil force choose Gabe because of his sorrow over losing Emelie.

In other words, Miraculous Ladybug should take inspiration from precure and other magical girl shows when it comes to being chosen to become a hero.

I will give canon a little grace for how Marinette and Adrien got their miraculous. While I fully agree that it feels too easy, Origins only had ~45 minutes to do everything it needed to do. In that context, speed running the miraculous acquisition make sense. I would have personally implied that Fu already had Marinette and Adrien in mind somehow, but I can forgive canon for not doing that and just add it in as a somewhat forced headcanon. Fu goes on to be Adrien's backup Mandarin tutor, after all. Maybe he'd done that before or maybe Adrien's usual tutor is Fu's informant about potential candidates since they clearly have a relationship of some kind. Either way, It's an easy enough fix and there are plenty of ways Fu could have met Marinette pre-canon.

I'm way more judgmental of the way the temp heroes were chosen. The show had seasons to set up these characters as the perfect choices for their various miraculous and yet most of it feels incredibly last minute. Rose is about the only character who feels like she was perfectly setup for her miraculous. Everyone else feels interchangeable. Outside of Anansi, I don't think that Nino ever acts like a protector. And Alya's tendency to jump to conclusions has been shown as a bad thing, not a strength, making her a questionable choice for Illusion. If that was always the plan, then she should have been shown to come up with logical, good-quality stories and not stories like, "Chloe has a spotted yo-yo so she's obviously Ladybug even though that makes zero sense for her character."

I also fully agree that the kwamis should be the ones who make the call. The guardian is just there to protect the miraculous and pick potential holders that are then presented to the kwamis who make the final yes or no choice. But then, there are a lot of elements of the kwamis writing that bother me. Canon basically presents them as slaves who have to do whatever they're told. They just have to hope that their current master is a good one. I get why the choice was made - they needed to explain why Nooroo couldn't escape - but I personally come up with other ways to explain that element while keeping the other kwamis free when I'm doing anything lore heavy. The only way I'd keep the slavery aspect is if I was actually going to address it in the story as I'm personally of the opinion that slaves should only be introduced if you plan to free them especially in the context of children's shows. (Yes, they're fine in historical settings and dark settings and probably a few others, too. Don't be pedantic.)

#ml writing critical #ml writing salt #jjboi12 #lore discussion

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katerinaaqu · 2 days ago

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Is there any mention of Eurylochus's status/class in The Iliad or The Odyssey? I have seen people say he's a Prince of Same, others say he's nobility, but not royalty. I imagine he had to be at least of a considerably high status to marry Ctimene

He definitely is upper class you are right, since he also acts as Odysseus's second in command. That should happen only if he belonged to nobility. However ironically the Odyssey never mentions him AS CLEARLY as people think to be Ctimene's husband (for example he never is mentioned as "Ctimene's husband" or the Odyssey say "then she got married to Eurylochus"). On Ctimene we have only one mention by swine herd Eumeus that she married off to Same for a large dowry without mentioning the name of her husband. However there is one moment in the Odyssey that seems to be revealing the identity of her husband as Eurylochus;

In the Rhapsody 10 Odysseus comes back to his men after he came in a deal with Circe but the only one unimpressed and scared still is Eurylochus. Not only does he speak up and says that if they go Circe will transform them into animals to do her bidding perforce and then he cusses at Odysseus calling him reckless and blames him for everything. Odysseus is furious. He draws his sword and is ready to kill him for his words of insolence and the phrase Homer sneaks in is this;

Even if he was my kin by marriage (brother-in-law)

(Translation by me)

The word πηός basically means "kin by marriage" or more simply "brother-in-law" According to mythology we do not know any other sister Odysseus had apart from Ctimene and neither does Homer imply that more children were born out of the marriage of Laertes with Anticlea. So the husband of Ctimene must have been Eurylochus. And once again the marriage wouldn't logically be possible unless Eurylochus were of high status.

So if someone makes a small sum-up, Eurylochus is Odysseus's brother in law (therefore high status at least of nobility) and so logically speaking married to his only sister Ctimene who as we know from Eumeus's story was married off to Same (so Eurylochus was from Same) in exchange of a large dowry (so we also assume that Eurylochus was pretty wealthy himself in order to afford that)

Now the true limits between nobility and royalty are pretty vague in Homer to begin with and for the kingdom of Cephallinians in particular it seems even more vague than normal. We have for instance each of the suitors being more or less autonomous in the poem and even the generals at the fleet of Odysseus seem to have enough autonomy to defy orders from Odysseus or ignore his warnings and all. So it seems that the leadership of the Cephallinians is not so tight to begin with and most likely every one of the individual parts of the kingdom has some sort of semi-autonomy or at least handling up to one point their own wealth.

That being said though, it seems that Eurylochus doesn't have the command of his own ship or part of the fleet and acts as second in command directly under Odysseus's orders. That of course is partially because Odysseus is their king and has more authority and responsibility over them but maybe is also the explanation that he is noble and not directly linked to kingly power of any sort apart from his marriage to the king's sister.

But as I said the term "prince" "king" or "noble" are pretty modern explanations of the homeric greek terms such as "wanax" which is used both for "king" and "prince" interchangeably and basically calls for someone with high authority. So if I take a guess even if you call Eurylochus "a prince" or "a noble" is pretty much the same thing. We talk about someone definitely of the upper class with his own personal wealth, related to the Throne by marriage but apart from that he lives under command of the king like everyone else to the kingdom of Cephallinians while maintaining a certain level of semi-autonomy. Just like the suitors of Penelope or, daresay, the commanders at the fleet of Odysseus.

I hope this helps! 🙏 😊

#katerinaaqu answers #greek mythology #tagamemnon #odysseus #the odyssey #homeric poems #odyssey #homeric epics #eurylochus #eurylochus of same #odysseus and eurylochus #eurylochus and ctimene #ctimene

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zipzapfrogboy · 2 days ago

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BYLER DOUBT BE DAMNED (An analysis on blocking and it’s significance)

Read this if you’re having doubt because I promise it will help at least a little.

(This might be sort of long and a bit unorganized because it’s my first analysis of sorts but just stick with me.)

The main thing that confirms Byler for me (and helps with doubt) is the final shots of season 4.

You know. Those.

I’m definitely not the first person to point it out but I want to talk about it a little more in depth. Specifically the blocking. It is so clearly a deliberate choice to place Mike and Will between two other canon couples (Joyce and Hopper and Nancy and Jonathan respectively). It’s most definitely foreshadowing both to romance and possibly s5 teams.

I’m a theatre kid, I’ve been acting since I was seven, I have experience and know some stuff. If directors don’t like what you’re doing or don’t think it works then they’ll tell you stop. The improv you see in shows and movies are things that were approved and stayed in because the directors wanted it to (in like 90% of cases). Same goes with blocking. Actors can’t just stand where they want unless explicitly told to do so.

Placement has purpose and meaning. It is so unbelievably specific and thought out. I have a director/theatre teacher who gave us at least a 30 minute explanation about how important stage placement is and the what it can convey. On numerous occasions she’s made us take two small steps forward, a large step back, stand a bit further from xyz, etc.

I was in a show that started rehearsing in June and the director had been planning and working on it since March or maybe even before then. Blocking (and choreography in the context of musicals) is planned for weeks to months ahead of time. Directors have visions and the reasons behind how they set scenes is to execute that vision perfectly and convey the right message and emotions.

I’m sorry if that all seemed random I’m just trying to emphasize my point.

Obviously it’s a bit different for filmed content but I don’t doubt that the same logic is applicable. You don’t place two characters who hate each other together because it doesn’t make sense story wise or character wise.

It’s thought out, planned, and so purposeful. It’s not just random placement and it’s certainly not foreshadowing just team pairings. Two characters who are a part of a complex love triangle standing between two already existing couples? Right…

And so now my question is, why?

Why else would they set it up and block it like that? Give me an answer that explains the reasoning behind that choice; the choice of having El stand alone in front of them and having her boyfriend stand next to the person who’s in love with him. What else would that mean? That’s simply not how you do blocking.

When you as a director look at something from the outsider/audience perspective you need to see it with their eyes. What else could that convey? I’m being genuine when I say I don’t see anything else. If there is another way to interpret it (that makes sense and isn’t plagued by bias) then please tell me.

It’s a perfect example of foreshadowing. El standing alone symbolizes her arc of becoming an independent person outside of romance and Hopper. Her whole story has been about learning how to be a person and be herself. Her standing out alone in the field in front of her burning hometown isn’t supposed to mean nothing.

Just like Mike and Will standing together isn’t supposed to mean nothing.

We know Jopper is endgame, I can’t see why they wouldn’t be, and I’m 90% sure that Jancy will be endgame (or if they break up it will be on good terms). So, again, why would they place Mike and Will between those people. If it was supposed to be showing how close they are and how wonderfully strong their friendship is then why did they choose those other characters? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE. IT’S THE DEFINITION OF A PARALLEL.

If I end up being wrong then idk.

Thank you for reading :)

Also there’s this so like

#byler #will byers #byler endgame #byler nation #anti milkvan #mileven is bones #mike wheeler #blocking is everything im telling ya

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parfaitblogs · 7 hours ago

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do you have any headcanons about Spencer being with an artistic/creative type? I feel like he’d be so curious since it’s so different from his logical brain tysm!

do i lia parfaitblogs have any headcanons about spencer being with a creative… is the pope catholic anonymous tumblr user…

i think it’d be hard for him to grasp. or like. comfort you about. the biggest issue i’ve found going into creative fields is that there quite literally isn’t a guarantee i’m going to be able to make a living off of this as a job, and i’ll probably have to have a secondary job unrelated to my passion if i want to afford to live. and im sure many creatives have had the same breakdown i’ve had about this concept because it’s terrifying!! and breaking down in front of spencer about it would probably leave him confused and unsure of how to help because he’s lucky enough to have a passion for and be good at career paths that will pay well (disgusting i hate him).

he’d be so insanely supportive though. actor anxious about auditions? he’s driving you there and back and helping you calm down. musician playing your first gig at a local bar? he’s front row and ignoring how overstimulating bars are to be there for you. artist unsure if you’re going to submit work to the local gallery? it’s actually already on display because he’s done it for you. even if you’re objectively NOT the best in your field, in his eyes you are and he’s going to keep telling you that until he can’t anymore (because we’ve got enough of our peers telling us we will never make it for bf spencer reid to say that too…)

anyways spencer reid is his artistic partner’s biggest supporter and your biggest fan and even if you have no fans you have spencer reid even if you only perform one act plays for him in your living room forever or write stories for only him to read.

#asks 🦌#headcanons #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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struggling-jpg · 2 days ago

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Dan Heng Appreciation (3.0 Edition)

Resident Dan Heng Enjoyer here, late because it really took that long to let everything in the story settle in + it's been enough time for a lot of players to get through the quest

I must continue my quest in appreciating Dan Heng

Of course, 3.0 quest spoilers below~

The naming the next reincarnation option is FOUL LOL

I love how logical he chooses to approach things! It's also kind of amusing that we can be more upset about Cloud-Piercer breaking than he is.

Once again, true but FOUL looool

He's adorable, I love him!! And I adore how the pair make sure to get those pictures for March. I love this trio TvT (and it hits so much harder considering the current situation for March)

Real lol

This part!!! Protective Dan Heng has my heart TvT He was so on point for talking about how they weren't obligated to help after all that and how they could just leave while they were still on good enough terms. But him still going with whatever the Trailblazer decides is so ride-or-die of him, he's Astral Express first and foremost!

"Our resident yapper isn't here, so one of us has to do the yapping, and it clearly isn't going to be you."

That's a whole mood.

Bro doesn't even say a word ToT you would NOT catch him doing physical contact when asked directly like that LOOOOL

CONCERNED DAN HENG MY LOOOOOOOOVE

"My friends are my power" coming from Dan Heng is so funny ToT My KH-loving self is clapping and pumping my fist in the air. (Can't believe I can't escape KH on my side blog either ToT)

It's funny 'cause I legit said out loud, "What? I am interested though!" Let me game, Dan Heng!!!

I actually have more screenshots but I thought these would be good enough for this post. I love that he's here with us and we get to venture with him!!! I love seeing more of his character shine through and we get to see how much he loves the Express. I'm gonna cry!!!

I know I've made posts about whole quests for updates since 2.4 but I'm not sure if I want to for 3.0? Mostly because it's very loaded, though I do have a lot of thoughts.

(Everything in tandem to March and the Paths that surround Amphoreus has me screaming)

#honkai star rail #hsr #dan heng #have i ever told anyone that i love dan heng #struggling jpg loves

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nonverbalnaji · 2 days ago

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Merfolk Anatomy and Worldbuilding for my Jayvik Mermaid AU

Cross posting from the threads I did over on Bluesky into one place for ease with some wording adjusted for clarity. This is what I've done for my fic The Ebb and Flow of You which is on Ao3.

Please note before you read on that I will be discussing physical speculative anatomy, the impacts of that on society, culture, and gender, as well as information about reproduction. Additionally, in my fic I tweak how Viktor's disabilities present, and he doesn't have a terminal illness. (Tooth-rotting Fluff is a big tag for my fic aha).

Setting - Undercity Underwater

So in this story, Zaun is the underwater city/region for merfolk and Piltover is much the same but spanning over both sides of the bridge. Topside/Bottomside and Undercity are still used as terms between them

Zaun is made up of three levels in Runeterra and Arcane. The Promenade (where the warehouse is), the Entresol level (the lane), and the Sump (the fissures and mines). Fissures were easy to nod to underwater, while the Promenade and Entresol is more about proximity to the city than levels of depth.

While Vander isn't a Baron in the show, he still holds a position of power that felt analogous to here. He and Silco still had a fight, but in a slightly different context with the scarring becoming promenant due to Gray toxins which is a mixture of underwater gases and pollutants from Topside.

While I figure an air-based and water-based pollutant would work differently, I've gone with the assumption that the Gray is still trapped in certain areas or zones that affect the livability due to the toxicity affecting food sources and farming potential, as well as being a risk to construction.

Merfolk Anatomy and Viktor

A thread on the merfolk anatomy I have in The Ebb and Flow of You. While this was based on the amazing art by Snow Le Art, it was as early as chapter 1 that I realized that there would be some differences that I wanted to make logical sense (or at least to me) in regards to fins and organs.

As a quick aside, Silco is half merfolk and half Sharfin (shak fin with constant elision) hence why he has a sharp sense of smell. It's also thanks to discussing logisitics of mpreg with my partner that 'seataurs' were coined since we were talking about how seahorses aren't actually viviparous.

We'll get to that topic in another thread but this will be covering fins and why Viktor has hearing issues. When I wrote this thread initially, I realize I've hit a bit of a plot hole perhaps, but I'm going with he learnt to talk and the issues were a later development from being born in the Gray.

In my mind, merfolk have: a pair of pelvic fins, one on each hip; an underfin that starts at the edge of their 'seam' or 'pouch' and ends where their tail has a knee-like bone (idk maybe); their dorsal fin extends from their scales and there's a slight colouration there and where scales end.

Viktor was born with a twisted spine, and as such this is shown with his dorsal fin. One of the important functions of a dorsal fin is to keep fish from rolling belly up, so Viktor needed to compensate for this, he swims slower than other mer and with a tilt if he's not moving his hips as he swims

This was to nod to his leg like in the show, even though the injury to his tail fin is also analogous. While he won't be dying in this fic, the delayed impact of breathing the Gray was a usable reason for what I will get to in the fic regarding his hearing which might sound strange buuuttttt

There are some Amazonian fish that have enlarged swim bladders (used to breathe and buoyancy) that have evolved to have *lung tissue* and so they breathe air. Perfect for merfolk! THEN I came across something called the Weberian Apparatus, which connects the swim bladder to the auditory system...

This apparatus uses the swim bladder as a kind of resonance chamber, so my logic here is that it's either not fully developed for Viktor or there's some issues that need investigating perhaps, you'll have to read on to find out but it was a neat find to adapt his lung issues to hearing issues

When I word it like that it sounds weird XD Worldbuilder things though.

Merfolk Reproduction - the Hear Me Out

So. Cloacas. Hear me out. In part, it was from a 'Why Not Both' moment but also because I was trying to figure out if merfolk would have a similar separation of uh, passages like we humans do. For fish, their anal or cloacal fin (which I've dubbed as underfin) can separate these passages.

It also made sense that even without a cloaca that there would be a pouch or sorts to protect uh, appendages. While it's more so amphibians and non-bony fish that can have cloacas, technically by definitions, merfolk *are* a kind of amphibian, being able to breathe both under water and in air.

In the previous thread I mentioned Seataurs or Seahorses being ovoviviparous. Instead of this live birth like mammals, this means that they hold eggs that develop internally before birthing them. Otherwise, fish are ovoparous, in that they lay eggs and either fertilized before or after.

I decided to have both as an option, taking into account environmental and social safety as both can have advantages and disadvantages. While carrying an egg can make sure it's safe, it does put the birthing parent at risk, but laying eggs is also risky depending on where the eggs are laid.

The other thing I wanted to explore was the impact of this physiology on gender identity and expression. And at least in a fantasy setting, accessibility for transfolks and any diversity is a no-brainer to me. So while this story won't focus on the humans, the city of progress is progressive here.

This is also nodding to what I've read about fish that change their reproductive anatomy in response to environmental circumstances as well as some fish like clown fish who literally transition from male to female as part of maturing. So in this fic, merfolk are androgynous and change as they grow

This means that modelling of diversity and education is important for understanding. It wouldn't be a sudden change say from the ages of roughly 12-25, and experimentation with pronouns and expression would be a norm. Viktor's case, he has leant masculine but not too far from androgyny out of choice

The flexibility and choice in part is because I like the idea of Viktor being able to have a space where he can experiment and explore, living his best life vibes. Even when he falls pregnant, that won't make him any less masculine, just like with any seahorse dad. Hopefully I can write this well <3

And if this all sounds interesting, you can find this fic over on Ao3 here:

#Mermaid AU #Jayvik #Mermaid Viktor #Merfolk Viktor #Jayce Talis #Viktor Arcane #Jayce x Viktor #Naji Yaps #Worldbuilding #Fanfiction #Archive of Our Own #Arcane fanfiction

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fangdokja · 5 hours ago

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This is Part 2 of my reply to the comment before. It can be read as a standalone, but here is Part 1, if you ever want to read it :)). I edited out the casual talks as well. This content will help anyone, especially for writers. Life and writing tips + mindset + more.

Glad you like my writing style, thank you. It's probably because of my experience as a psychological author. I really mean it, when I have years of experience both in fiction and non-fiction writing.

Actually, I would say one of the main reasons I am able to write this is because I've written so much research and academic papers in general (especially when hardcore carrying group mates in school). For fiction, I've always like reading and watching thrillers as well. I despise writing stupid characters and lazy plot writing.

Every part has to serve a purpose that's significant to the story and the WORLD itself, not just as cannon fodder or feeding the protagonists brownie points. It's pathetic in my eyes. Spoon feeding your protagonists all the time like the world favors them, well, it's unrealistic. Everyone has their story to tell, even if they are classified as side characters. And, everyone goes through genuine hardships. EVERYONE.

So why should one or some people be an exception to despair? To true suffering? It's unrealistic and not grounded in actual reality, especially morally wise. And, as someone who builds worlds (even fantasy) grounded in logic and reality, it's unacceptable. It's why factors like plot armor and power of friendship used in unreasonable amounts honestly irritate me.

And thanks for the wholesome analogy, I like the description. Subtle and you never know what happens next. Actually, I write like that. I have a general know-how of how everything will go. But, the specifics? Not really. I write as I go, so even I don't know how the mini plot actions will go. haha. I guess that's why my writing and pacing feel natural, because even I don't know how the entire story will go.

As for building things up, it's definitely not easy to write a specific genre they're not used to. Execution-wise. It's easier to write slice-of-life content because everyone knows how lives go; they can just use their own lives, those close to them, or those they witness and see. There's already a point of reference. Which explains why they write this more.

Thrillers + Psychological + Horror, the writing here obviously requires deeper thinking, philosophical analysis, psychoanalysis of human behavior and morality, and usually base planning skills. You need to learn when to time certain events, because if you miss the proper timing, it weakens the story instead. That's why usually, you have to have a basic idea of how your story will go. Slice-of-life and low fantasy has more freedom for the writer, since it doesn't necessarily have to obey rigid logic.

Thrillers, for example, need to be based on some grounds of reality. Because if people think it's just a fantasy, it risks the audience decompartmentalizing the story and watching as a mere audience with an unconscious mindset of "This won't happen in reality. It's just a fantasy."

In turn, it weakens the emotional and mental impact on the audience. Sure, people can still get scared, like for other horror supernatural content. But true horror and emotions stick; when it disturbs the audience enough for them to believe this can happen in reality, or it creates such an immersive experience that leaves a lasting impression, and sparks genuine emotion inside them.

And, again, it's a genuine challenge for people to write something grounded in reality. Because most use writing to escape into a fantasy.

It's why brainless smut, wholesome slice-of-life, shounen or fantasy, gets most traction. It's about escaping the real world into a fantasy world where you can have control, especially if you're unused to having it in real life. People usually don't read to go from one world to a realistic world, or worse, a realistic and grimdark-like world. It's uncomfortable and disturbing. People like lighthearted content more, even among the male yandere community.

Thank you. Idk, I just write what I want. I have fun in writing, it's healing, so I write. I guess I always assume my readers would be the lurker silent kind, I don't mind since I'm the same. I don't expect good or substantial comments. I mostly expect backlash tbh haha. So, it always comes as a surprise that I've mostly gotten wholesome comments from Readers. Or funny ones. Either way, positive comments always surprise me.

Well I write because I love my God and my husband a lot. And I love writing yandere content because of them. Never for traction, popularity, money, etc. So, that mindset helps a lot with me just writing what I want, creation freedom if you will.

And, glad you're enjoying so far. I don't like horror movies, but I really enjoy horror games. My friend and I watch and play horror games a lot, so probably bled into my writing as well.

It's no problem at all, no worries, I genuinely enjoy combining both. Literally what I wanted to read but never found. It's always one or the other. Just generic yandere content that's enough for me, because I'm starving and can't find food anywhere. If it's not yandere, it's just horror without the love, without the yandere element. Sigh.

Regardless, no need to thank me. The fact you and the other Readers read and engage with my stories, well, it's more than enough for me already. The fact that you're sending me these long wholesome messages. Well, I have no words tbh. I don't really know how to express my gratitude enough. But, thank you really.

I'm honored you think of me as someone motivating, no words tbh. Thank you.

I was also like this before, I wanted to plan everything out and wanted it to be perfect. But let me tell you what I did to help me create stories like this, some tips that I recommend:

a. Stop overthinking. Just write. Even if it's absolute crap to you, just write.

What would shock people is that a lot of my most popular stories at the moment? Well, I hated it tbh. I didn't like how I wrote it, what I put, etc. I though it was utter crap. Basically this thing that "I could do better."

Some stories I genuinely didn't like when I was rereading it again: Yandere! Otome Game, Yandere! Nerd. Those are literally my most popular works in Tumblr right now. Ironic, isn't it? Especially Yandere! Nerd. I hated what I did there. Yeah, I still have impossible standards lol.

'I know it's good. But not good enough. I can do better.' See even I still have this issue. It helps drive me, but also makes me overthink if I don't control and develop it properly.

But it's fine. It's progress even if you think it's shiz.

b. Set aside time everyday to write. Even if it's just a short prompt of 15 minutes. Just make the commitment.

My main strategy on being able to write anything is that I used the artist's tip on "draw everyday". I did the same.

Even if I didn't want to, or I wasn't feeling it, I still did so. To have that mindset, to commit and write regardless of what happens. It doesn't matter if it's crap, just keep writing. It's about forming a habit to write and think like an author. Because that's what you are, and what you should already think of yourself.

"I am an author. So I have to write." Mindset helps a lot in anything, even in writing.

James Clear, who wrote Atomic Habits, said this in Chapter 1: “You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.”

Small habits, small everyday actions, this is the groundwork and foundation of success. People only see the big rewards and accomplishments, not knowing the roots a person sets to get there.

And, always celebrate milestones. When you meet a small writing goal? Celebrate and treat yourself. It's progress. If you always look at that big goal, you'll get burned out because you'll feel like you're so far from it. That it's impossible to reach it. So, you don't get burned out, and get encouraged instead. Make sure to celebrate small milestones, small goals you achieve.

c. And of course, have fun :))

Don't think about what "But what if people say this…" or "I'm not good enough. " or "It's not perfect enough, I need more time."

Just write and remember the foundation you set. If you really love writing, if this is really your passion, then everything else will naturally follow.

Moreover, I'm not teaching you and other Readers to have an "external locus of control." But, an "internal locus of control."

This means that you have control over your own self, not simply by reacting to outside forces. You can't change people's reactions, perceptions, environmental circumstances. But, you can change your response to it.

Why do I say have fun? Because when everything is silent, would you still write? If you're in a room all alone, would you still write?

Hard questions, but necessary. If you don't set your foundation, it will crumble later. And everything will just be a waste of time for you and others. I don't want you nor others to waste such precious time and effort.

Nevertheless, I'm glad you're just writing already. It's a start.

Don't overthink it and just write. What matters here is progress, not simply the result. A lot of the times, authors wrote a lot of content before they made their magnum opus. Your first works will be crap. Expect it. But, it's like digging for gold. You won't get gold on the first try. You have to dig through the dirt first.

Thank you for not finding me annoying, I'm glad you're enjoying these detailed replies as well. I appreciate it :)) Hopefully this helps, and God bless in reading and writing.

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❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5 [you are here]. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

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simone-montgomery · 1 day ago

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Pride warms Simone's smile, though it's not as vibrant as some should think it ought to be. "We try not to." Like how the energy has suddenly shifted in the air between them. Though the change confuses her enough, Simone simply files the event away for another day's rumination session. Like everything else about the Del Bosque empire, La Pluma staff were clearly loyal here first-- it's logical to assume a bias for already established customers.

"The coffee really adds such a subtle.. something," The filler comes out in a slightly embarrassed laugh "to the flavor." The dreamy description is also filed away in a very important folder in her ever buzzing mind. "My mom would love them, I know it."

She's still thinking of the face her mother would make at the first bite of the little pastries as she nods. "On and off the record. People are just interesting, don't you agree? So many different lived experiences all in one place." If Josephine knew her better, beyond this one half-priced transaction, she'd know that this sudden, admittedly embarrassing, romanticism about her profession was only because she so desperately needed caffeine-- that is to say, not something she indulges in with just anyone. "So many different takeaways stemming from the same situation. So many stories, all deserving to be known."

Josephine's distraction allows just enough time for Simone to catch and silently scold herself. Too long and too much. Though, judging by the smell, the special brew was going to be worth the sleep-deprived ramblings. "Of course. Bank holidays usually lead to more foot traffic." Case in point, her. "But no, uh- I'm actually only on recap duty today. You won't see any of my work until tomorrow. You'll be able to read my report or hear it spoken in a much lovelier tone on tomorrow morning's main broadcast."

A grateful smile is her only exchange for the extra delight, for now anyway. She's already making sure she has enough sellos in her bag to put the other half of everything's prices somewhere for a tip. "You really do get a lot of La Pluma in here, don't you? You know exactly how to capture those of us in this field." A playful wink before she adds, "Thank you, truly."

A beat passes, a moment of deliberation and assessment of facts, then, "How long have you had this place, if you don't mind me asking? I could have sworn I've been down this street at least once before, but you seem so established-- regulars and new recipes and all. You've really cultivated something special here."

Something subtle shifts in Josephine’s expression when Simone mentions the Coronado Current—not quite a flinch, but a momentary stillness, like someone who’s just spotted ice underfoot. She keeps pouring coffee, though, her movements precise and unbroken, years of service industry practice keeping her smile steady. “The Current?” Her voice stays warm even as her mind catalogues this new information, filing it away with everything else she knows about Du Bois media holdings. “That explains the good eye for detail. You journalists never miss much, do you?” She accepts the business card with careful fingers, noting its weight and quality before tucking it safely beside her register. “It’s a variation on pastel de nata,” she explains, focusing on the safer topic of pastries. “Meridian Islands-inspired, but I add coffee to the custard and a touch of sea salt to the caramel.” She adjusts a display tray, using the moment to gather her thoughts. “Though speaking of missing details—most people don’t catch that about rough days and sweet things. You must hear a lot of stories in your line of work.” Festival music swells from somewhere down the street, and Josephine glances toward the sound, then back to Simone. “The speech?” A small smile plays at her lips, not quite reaching her eyes. “I’ll probably catch bits and pieces. Holiday crowds keep the cart busy. Will you be reporting it live? As some sort of special correspondence?” She doesn’t mention that she’s learned to work without the radio on, that sometimes silence is easier than listening to Du Bois broadcasts. Instead, she reaches for another pastry. “Here—take one for the road. Press pools can run long, and these travel well.” Her voice carries just the right mix of professional warmth and casual friendliness, masking the quiet calculation happening beneath—wondering if this is just chance or if someone’s finally noticed her carefully maintained escape fund, if she should start moving money again, if she needs to warn Mrs. Faljombe next door about potential reporters asking questions. But she keeps pouring coffee, keeps smiling, keeps playing her part in Coronado’s morning dance. After all, that’s what the holiday is about, isn’t it? Everyone wearing their best masks, pretending not to see what lies beneath.

#this is so late #I am so sorry love #but you get a long one to make up for it #long and rambly #aren't you lucky lskdfjslkdfj #joey:iverson #joey: coronado day

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deeranon · 4 months ago

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May or may not be cooking up a theory that Furina doesn’t actually need to eat. She simply choses to take pleasure in tasting food as a way to stop herself from going insane over 500 years.

Furina Theory Below

Note: this is just a personal theory of mine and more so explanations to some questions I had that I turned I to headcanons with a bit of “science” behind them

If you do not agree with what I say, please ignore me and do not start an argument—otherwise you are petty and sad

Speaking on what we know, or I think is correct(I have not confirmed/checked in a while)—adepti/godly entities don’t need to eat. Furina, while technically human by other’s standards, is actually the body of a god. And when Focalors split her divinity from her body, why would that change the body’s biology or needs?

So technically Furina shouldn’t need to eat.

For example, Xiao eats almond tofu because it replicates when he used to eat dreams. But he doesn’t need it to survive. So he eats for taste rather than necessity.

And if non-humans do need sustenance, I doubt they get it from human food. Again, Xiao eating dreams/nightmares(though I doubt he would want to). Or their stomachs are simply different than a human, as they can eat human food. But we don’t really know where the food goes from there. It could evaporate the moment they swallow for all we know.

Additionally, Furina’s body was never even human to begin with. Focalors was an oceanid who merely mimicked humans outward appearances, and not things like intestines—based on the fact that oceanids prayed to the hydro god for children instead of giving birth like humans. So there is no stomach to digest food.

But what about after the prophecy? Surely Furina is human now? I hear you say?

Actually, I doubt it. During the final stage of the prophecy during the great flood, we see Furina completely submerged in water after Neuvillette kame-hame-ha’s the sky and turns Fontainians human. If she were human, I’m pretty sure at that point she would be dying of oxygen deprivation and trying to get above water like everyone else. But she doesn’t, and we know this because we see her exit the building after the water recedes, meaning she did not leave. And I doubt Furina suddenly found an air pocket while sitting unmovingly and depressed on her throne. Or that she found air anywhere else in the completely submerged building.

Then why didn’t she die by the primordial sea water?

Speaking from a theoretical standpoint without emotional interference, I can’t give an answer.

But personally, I have an idea of why:

Furina’s body. Specifically, the lack of power.

When Focalors split into Focalors and Furina, she stripped the body(Furina) of power. And we know the body does store power because the other archon’s hair glows when they use their element. Showing that the bodies they use do contain their magic.

Meaning Furina’s body is left empty, like a shell. So when the primordial sea tries to liquidate her, there is nothing for it to dissolve unlike normal Fontaine humans. Who were not technically actual humans until Neuvillette turned them. Hence, Furina could not die from the sea as a human but also is not a god.

Also, oceanids can breathe underwater—that’s a given because they are water. But we don’t really know about the human-looking oceanids living in Fontaine. I would guess that even in human form they had some sort of breathing system like gills or something for when they touched water.

Possibly Furina’s body can breathe under the water on its own without needing power. But we don’t know because any vision user can breathe underwater and there’s no way to find out. Sadly.

Back to my point about food, Furina forgot about everything but the prophecy when she was split off from Focalors if we are to take her words literally. Meaning any memories about food are null and gone.

Furina would have needed humans to introduce her to the concept of food. When she tries cake or something of the sort for the first time, I am sure she was in for a surprise. Along with every other kind of food.

The memory of the food lingers and Furina grows to like the taste. As time goes on and she starts to struggle, she might try to grasp at things that would bring her comfort if she could not confess to ease her burden. Like sweets. She starts to eat them more and more often the older she becomes. Until she looks human with how many meals she has. And then Furina gets used to eating so often that it sticks with her after retirement. Hence the macaroni.

In conclusion: Furina does not need to eat. Her species status: unknown, really. At least to me.

And that is the end of my theoretical ramble. Thank you. *bows*

#deer anon #🦌deer anon <3 #just kinda writing down my thoughts #I will be using this logic for my stories #genshin impact #furina #furina de fontaine #fan theory #game theory #tries to look smart #🤓#is it working #theory #this looks more like a ramble now that I look back at it

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