Ecchi033-One Wet Octo Agent, 8 Eager Jellies

Blog Time

This image wasn't supposed to exist, at least, not like this. It was only intended to be a rough sketch for a sign in the background of Marina's picture. (See below.) In the end, I only used the text portion in any meaningful way. While the original rendition is technically present, it's blurred and buried under light and haze, because it dominated the composition wherever I put it in the background.

The original drawing, depicting an octo and a jelly doing… something (?) involving a mouth and tentacle.

Speaking of domination… 

There's a lot of pleather, burnished metal, and PG-rated S&M vibes running through all things Octo in Splatty. The contours of their society are vaguely sketched in game, but we see glimpses through the story, weaponry, outfits, and album art. These depict a society that's a cultural mishmash: one part 1980's Berlin underground, one part Russian Avant-Garde, and one part Warring States Feudal Japan, all drizzled with late 80s, early 90s "extreme" neon highlighter colors.

In many ways, it's very Kraftwerk, and almost, but not quite KMFDM.

It's clean brutalistic, minimalistic, modern militaristic, and Zen. A society that oom-pah-pahs along to an industrial-mechanical EDM vibe.

Karl-Heinz touches Deter's monkey.

The aesthetic of Octarian society is 85% present in this ancient S&L skit, Sprockets, which itself is a parody of most of the above.

In some ways, the anachronistic cultural mix ends up arriving back at 1970's Star Wars, with the Octo's dictatorial warlord wearing a futuristic samurai kabuto helmet made of polished metallic dura-plastic.

We are not so different, you and I. Not an evolution of one to the other (except for the Space Balls parody image), but both drawing from similar sources and arriving at similar solutions. 

Anyway, I'm writing a fucking Medium article here when I really need to be painting and drawing. In short, I'll say that thinking about this shit has been completely occupying my mind over the last week. It led me to finishing up this picture and putting a bunch of work into a mini-story, which I'll post as soon as it's done.  

On the topic of that Marina picture

The character drawing is finished and the BG is 95% done. For the most part, I just need to color the character and put everything together.

Between this pic and Marina, this is it for Splatty, I guess for now. I LOVE this game, but I'm not about to become a fans-only channel.

I'm trying to imagine if I appreciated some artist for their particular qualities, and they suddenly devoted their lives to making FNAF fanart. I mean, it's their right to do so, but I'd be pretty disappointed all the same. 

When it comes to Splatty, the world has Jtveemo. (Man… he's goddamn awesome when it comes to this stuff. Big praise for Jtveemo.)

While I love what Big-N produces, with their many broadly appealing game franchises filled with artistry and imaginative world building, I don't want to spend every moment of my life, or give every fiber of my soul over to banana-riding whatever game they're promoting that particular week… no matter how cute the girls might be.

That said, you see my output. The company already owns maybe half of my precious soul-fibers. I imagine the same is true for many of you, as we've all been on this voyage together for many years. At this point there's not much I can do about it, besides policing my behavior and pouring my efforts into my own things.

But you know, sometimes I just can't help myself, because that's how love goes. 

Later,

Ecchi

...Now, the story.

One Octo Agent, Eight Jellies

By Ecchistar

In the heart of a dimly lit room, eight jellies surrounded her, their forms looming in the eerie darkness. Some were barely half her height, while others towered over her, their semi-translucent bodies casting an ethereal glow that was the only light in the otherwise black chamber. She stood at the center, the object of their fixation, awaiting the group that encircled her like predators ready to pounce.

The jellies were strange creatures, bobbing around and engaging in a myriad of activities here on the surface. Their collective actions held society together, but it was difficult to discern what, if anything, these creatures actually thought or felt. They communicated with each other through some extra-auditory means, and most couldn't or wouldn't speak. Despite this group’s ominous appearance, clad in black pleather straps and harnesses, they were harmless sensation seekers at their core, curious and enticed by novelty. Today, she was the experience on offer for them—a real Octoling.

She could have kicked them aside effortlessly at any moment if the need arose, as foes, they were little more than living balloons. But unlike so many scenes from her life, she wasn't here for a fight or held against her will. She’d come to this dank underground club willingly, offering herself to their hedonistic desires. In that way, despite being very different species, they weren't so different from each other.

As instructed, she’d stripped down to a black bikini, her warm ink-flesh on full display. If she cared about appearances, like the Inklings, she might have felt uncomfortable, but in truth, the lack of a weapon left her feeling more exposed than the absence of clothes. Besides, the Jellies couldn’t see her; their eyes completely covered under large pleather blindfolds. They’d all come here seeking something physical, herself included, though at this moment, she hardly felt convinced that this strange experience would lead to anything positive.

Dampness hung heavy in the air, clinging to her skin and filling her nostrils with its salty scent. The smell, the ambiance—it reminded her of being underwater again, stranded in the depths of the Deep Sea Metro. The towering jellies appeared like sunken skyscrapers looming in the distance, their faint neon glow filtered through murky blue water. She could almost feel herself there again, the pressure building, the ocean threatening to flood in and burst her apart at any moment.

The room was an eerie spectacle, a cold dark cell, like so many labyrinths she’d fought through. There were no windows here, only walls lined with pipes, and a single doorway leading in and out. She wasn’t underwater, just underground. The only connection to the ocean was the salty air, her jelly companions, and her memories.

Then, motion among the jellies. One flipped a switch and a low gurgling noise spread through the room.

A sudden sensation interrupted her thoughts as colorful drops of liquid dotted her skin. She glanced up, tracing the path of the pipes along the walls as they slithered to the ceiling. Overhead, spigots drizzled a sticky dampness onto the gathering. She recognized it as a type of synthetic ink, but couldn't tell if it was a benign substance, like a dye or lubricant, or something else.

The jellies seemed oblivious to the ink, but as with many liquids, she felt every drop acutely, like pinpricks against her skin. A strange sensation washed over her body, the ink burning like a thousand tiny needles as it seeped through her dermis, spotting and staining her skin in various hues. Of course there was something more to the ink. They’d laced it with some type of additive.

The contact wasn’t pleasant, but it was far from torture. She’d endured true agony before; this was nothing in comparison. Still, each drop brought a variety of intense sensations, igniting her nerves in a prickling mix that seemed to burn and chill in equal parts, making her writhe and moan under the downpour.

The jellies were blinded and didn’t possess ears, at least none that she could see, yet somehow, they noticed her reaction. Perhaps they felt the vibrations as waves of pressure, or maybe their senses were attuned to something more subtle. Whatever the case, they responded to her agony, sending their tentacles whipping and swaying in frenzied anticipation; unified in simultaneous action, as if guided by one collective mind.

The sight was as beautiful as it was frightening, glowing tentacles drawing her gaze and holding it captive as the ink sunk deeper. Trepidations sputtered in her head like so many combat scenarios. Jellies were harmless, right? No one mentioned the ink. Would she have agreed to this if they had? What else were they planning? What was this feeling wracking her body?

The uncomfortable thoughts drifted as quickly as they came, suffocated by the overwhelming stimulation coursing through her skin. The pain had largely subsided, replaced with an unfamiliar tingling, a pleasant feeling that was wholly alien. For her, life was gnawing emptiness flecked with pain, and only occasionally dulled through throbbing music or the thrill of battle. Victory was the closest life came to joy, her momentary release from suffering.

In the end, it was this elusive sensation that brought her here; a feeling that she’d been severed from an entire dimension of life. She’d always known pain, how to fight through it, overcome it, and embrace it. But this was different. It was a warmth that spread through her like ink in water, an impulse that urged her to surrender rather than struggle.

She’d been prepped for this encounter, instructed on the rules of engagement. The jellies wouldn’t approach until she called to them. She could follow orders, but this was an unfamiliar dynamic, asking that she reveal her vulnerabilities, her desires, impulses she’d suppressed until they’d withered away. She couldn’t just let go.

Her breath hitched as she buckled under the agony of sensation. She'd always been reticent, a quiet and obedient little soldier. Finding herself freed from the Octarian's underground pots hadn't changed that part of her personality. She wasn’t a vapid inkling, overflowing with frivolous nonsense, always sounding off with their opinions and feelings.

Was she ever so carefree? Maybe, before her imprisonment beneath the sea, before her memories were ground to paste, but if so, she wouldn't know anyway.

As far as she was concerned, her life began only several years earlier, on the cold floor in that sunken metropolis. Her mind was blank, save for the melody of a song, an urge to find the surface, and the will to fight. Every subsequent recollection was little more than a curiosity passed on from another person.

Even after her missions recovered many fragments from her past, the memories still didn’t feel like hers. Instead, they were like browsing the pages of someone else's diary. The anecdotes belonged to her, but there was no resonance from within. There wasn’t even a name she could attach to her existence, just a placeholder she’d been handed, a pseudonym, a number: Eight.

And though she knew almost nothing about her past, at her core, she knew she was a soldier. An Octo’s arms have a mind of their own, and that's what all eight of hers remembered. That was institutional, drilled in, and instinctual: fall in, fight, and follow orders. Act in unison with the squad. Never give in.

Every part of her was alight in uncomfortable sensation, making her gasp and shake. Her will was crumbling. She’d given up trying to stand. Her skin felt electric, like she was wrapped around a zapfish. She wanted to crawl into a ball, hide in her ink and slip away, but she wouldn’t let herself. It was a losing battle, but why was she even trying to fight?

The sea star had handed her a flyer and assured her that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Other wayward Octolings had also sought it out. It was a thrilling journey and certainly not for everyone. Life-changing, they’d boasted. She’d ignored the advert for months, but thoughts of the club never left her mind.

Empty, pointless days stretched out before her. She wandered cities, browsed stores, participated in pickup games of turf war, going here and there—drifting.

One night she found herself alone on Hammerhead Bridge, staring out at a black ocean, chaotic winds lashing against her body. Life was empty, numb; all the glitter and music in the world could only mask it for so long.

She returned to her apartment and made the call.

Maybe it was just how they showed their excitement, but the jellies' tentacles swayed like a lure, beckoning her to join them. At this point, she could barely move, even brushing against the air sent shivers coursing through her. It left her panting, propped on her hands and knees, wallowing in the stimulant-laced ink that stained the floor. Her mind was a molten puddle, her skin ablaze.

The urge to call out to them became unbearable. With a deep breath, she let loose a thin warbling cry that echoed through the chamber. The jellies responded in unison, their bodies gliding on sets of leg-like tentacles, bouncing and swaying as they approached.

An apprehensive smile, tinged with worried anticipation spread across her face as she scanned the encircling gelatinous wall. The jellies crowded around her, urging her upright with gentle prods from their tentacles. Each tentative tap was like ice against her burning skin.

She stood wearily, her body trembling as the jellies pushed ever closer, smothering her in their cool, slippery touches, sending waves of sensation rippling through her body. They surged forward, their tentacles stretching out, exploring every contour and crevice of her supple form, stroking and prodding with insatiable curiosity.

She took another deep breath to steady herself against the onslaught of stimulation. A tentacle brushed across a stiff nipple, jolting her with pleasure as it caressed the suction cup-like dimple. She nearly screamed at the intensity, the sound catching in her throat as she gasped for air. The halted cry elicited excitement among the huddled mass, sending their tentacles coiling around her fleshy extremities, gripping and squeezing.

Although she was tough, the fact remained that all ink-based life was thin-skinned. Their dermis was little more than a membrane formed from a layer of congealed ink, beautiful but semi-porous and frail. Enough pressure, impact, or even simple immersion in a different medium could cause their skin to rupture, blasting their ink in every direction, leaving them a helpless puddle.

Her body was steadily getting hotter, wetter, responding in ways she’d never experienced before. Her stressed skin turned a ruddy shade as the jellies clenched her with increasing vigor. She stared in fascination as ink drops slowly wept from her flesh, tiny bubbles pooling together like magenta tears. Their thirsty tentacles syphoned up the ink, tasting her, drinking her in. Pressure building and releasing. She could feel herself emptying into them, her essence dissolving into the group.

She closed her eyes.

Maybe that’s what was missing… She’d accepted endless missions without question. Giving herself over again and again, gaining nothing but another painful day, another chance to fight and survive. Was she seeking camaraderie? Were the battles just a conduit for time with the people she loved? For an instant she felt she’d touched the void.

She opened her eyes again, finding the tentacles nursing on her juices. Her ink swirled and dissolved within the jellies, changing the hue of their bioluminescence and recasting the room in a soft red glow.

She could have connection without the battles, without pain or loss. All she needed was to let go, open up, and offer herself freely, welcoming the pleasure it might bring. No mission objectives, no more concerns over her past or allegiances. Only new connections leaving indelible marks in her ink that couldn't be filtered out or washed away. Shared bonds. Intimacy. Skin touching skin.

Her head tilted back as she released herself completely to the jellies, finding that she was weightless, held aloft by the wriggling tentacles. Ink poured from her body, wrung from her thighs, her breasts, spraying from her nipples, dappling and drenching the jellies. So much ink, but there was so much more. The pressure inside was still building.

As the jellies pushed harder, deeper, she could feel her ink boiling, her breath coming in short gasps. She let out a soft cry as tentacles slipped inside her slick holes, filling her with a warmth that spread throughout her body. She could feel herself clenching around them, her inky innards tightening like a vice, struggling to hold onto the sensation.

This couldn’t keep going. So much pressure. So much ink. She moaned as a tentacle’s tip cupped around her clit, sucking the nub like a pump, sending pulse after pulse of pleasure throbbing through her.

Mouth agape, frozen in ecstatic repose, a thirsty tentacle found its way inside. She gripped the stalk between her lips as it circled around her mouth and down her throat, tasting her ink-tinged saliva, absorbing the vibrations of her muffled cries. Every part of her was plugged with squirming tentacles, squeezing her inside and out.

It was too much. She fought to maintain control, to breathe, but it was futile. The jellies were relentless, their movements synchronized and unyielding. They cocooned her in a gelatinous embrace, sending her floating and falling on glistening stalks that pumped away at her intimate recesses. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of something, her ink puddling at her feet, her body trembling with anticipation as she struggled to maintain her form.

It felt like she’d burst. She knew it was inevitable, and she was ready to let go, to surrender to the pleasure that coursed through her. It was too much to bear. She squirmed like a severed octo tentacle, writhing, nothing left but unconscious impulses. She was ready. Slathered over, ravaged and wrung out. She wanted it. She wanted her ink to pour out, to drift away and return to nothing. All the misery of her past swallowed up and sanitized, dissolving like a drop of ink in the ocean.

The agony spread from below, consuming her entire body. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she shook in violent convulsions. The tentacles plugging her mouth retreated as her stifled moans grew into a long, agonized wail. The sound echoed through the chamber as her ink burned and boiled within. She wanted to burst.

She was melting. Was there a respawn point? Did it even matter?

Her body convulsed as waves of pleasure crashed over her, each one more intense than the last. Ink washed over her vision, deeper and deeper shades of magenta.

She let out a final desperate cry as her body convulsed one last time. Then she was still, floating in the aftermath of her release, adrift in ink. The darkest shade of magenta, the world fading black.

The door opened.

The sound snapped her back to the present, but her perception was faint and blurry, like staring through a haze. She could see the soft glow of the red tinted jellies as they retreated from the room. She was a part of them, inside of them. She watched as they bobbed away, bloated with her ink, their heavy movements swaying drowsily as if sated by the experience. Perhaps they’d found their own type of satisfaction.

As they left, their presence was replaced by the sea star.

Her consciousness swayed in the ink, her form liquified and mind reeling from the intensity of the experience. She’d come here seeking something, anything, to fill the void inside. But rather than filling her, she’d collapsed in on herself. She’d found what she sought, what she needed. Something more than pleasure, more than missing memories, she found a path towards a future.

The sea star made their way to her, one set of appendages carrying her clothing, another a towel, and yet another, a portable respawner. “There was never any danger, my dear,” it purred reassuringly.

The star’s silhouette hovered over her, radiant appendages filling her view. They leaned closer, their voice slurping with a smooth joviality.

“Did you enjoy your experience my little Octoling?“ it cooed. “The jellies were very pleased… very pleased. They’re such modest creatures, but they’re so taken with the sensations you inkfish display. They find them…” They searched for the words, “delicious.”

She pulled herself up, fighting to reform her flesh from the molten messy aftermath of the sensations that consumed her. Her body was capable of so much, she’d simply never learned. It was hard for her to process what she was feeling. Something new had awakened within. Perhaps, something more profound than anything she’d lost.

It took a second to find her voice, but the sea star was patient.

“The ink,” she stammered. “What did you put into it? The stimulant?”

“Oh, the ink?” Replied the sea star in a curious tone. “I’m sorry if the ink-lotion burned a bit. I know you inkfish are sensitive, but there was nothing special in it. The jellies enjoy the slipperiness.”

She stared, stunned. That couldn’t be. Still, remnants of the drizzled ink spread across the floor. She swiped her hand through a puddle, fingers trembling, expecting her skin to ignite again. Instead, it prickled ever so slightly. But how? Had she become tolerant to the concoction?

The sea star was amiable, wise with years, and experienced in observing Octolings. They tried to broach the subject with a degree of sensitivity. “If there was anything else you felt… how can I put this?” They paused. “That was just you.”

It didn’t seem possible.

An arm reached down and draped her naked flesh in a towel. It warmed her and leeched the impurities from her congealing ink. “You’re safe here my little inkfish. You don’t need to invent a reason for being excited. I told you it was a thrilling journey, remember.”

She stared down at her ink in disbelief. The sea star graciously paused for a moment to let the concept sink in before moving the conversation back to business.

“Now, let’s discuss another matter,” they said, smooth and reassuring. “Will you consider joining us again? It wouldn’t have to be the same gathering. We understand how much you inkfish value fresh experiences.”

She looked up at the sea star, their face the central hub in a wheel of appendages. They peered back at her, their expression pleasant and gentle, but the longer she held their gaze, the more she sensed something cold and predatory hidden beneath the mask. Despite their gracious manner, a part of her hesitated. Yet in the end, she couldn’t let unwarranted fear deny this experience.

 “I... I think I'd like to try again,” she said softly, barely above a whisper.

She stroked at her throat, hardly knowing if she spoke the words, or merely thought them in her head. But looking at the sea star’s reaction, she knew she must have given an affirmative. The star’s mouth curved into a delighted smile, and the upright carpet of appendages turned and flittered away with a merry trot.

“Perfect. Perfect,” they hummed their approval, as one if their many free arms typed away at a datapad. “We look forward to having you again… Eight.”

xxx