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shadowsndaisies · 5 months ago

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athena; the preamble

WC: 3k

synopsis: athena at a glance basically

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: i know I should be working on cnng, but this idea has just fully taken root. the brain rot is real.... please come talk to me about it... please

Having Maverick for a dad is exactly what it sounds like.

He played fast and loose with the rules of the Navy, which made him a highly decorated captain, but at the end of the day, he had two loves in his life, the Navy and his daughter. Despite the risks he took and the chances he played with, you never doubted your dad's love. You did, however, have to learn to speak his language.

That meant early mornings in the hangar, learning how to fix up engines and motors of relics. It meant doing homework on base after school. It meant learning ranks and callsigns as a kid. And so you did. You did it all. You learned poker and swindled more than a few Navy men before you'd even hit puberty. You smiled pretty for every commanding officer your father's managed to piss off. It also meant developing a need for speed.

Having Maverick for a dad meant being on edge every time he got deployed. It meant spending his deployments with Uncle Ice and Aunt Sarah and your summers with Aunt Carole and Bradley.

Every deployment that fell during the school year was spent based out of the Kazansky house. You didn't mind too much. Uncle Ice and your dad always had each other's back, a bond forged in loss, that much you knew. Aunt Sarah acted like a mom; she cooked hot meals and taught you how to make some of your favorites. You spent time with their kids and went to school with them, too. It was fun spending time with Ryan and Elizabeth Kazansky. Ryan was about five years younger than you but a ball of energy, and little Lizzie was a planner and was often your partner in crime despite being eight years younger than you.

There were the odd in-betweens when your dad would have someone he trusted enough to watch you. That being said, you'd only ever spent a few deployments with someone not named Bradshaw or Kazansky; the exception was always one woman, Penny Benjamin.

You weren't an idiot.

Having Pete Mitchell for a dad meant wising up quick. Meant quick humor and a reckless streak that you had to work twice as hard to overcorrect and suppress because you both knew he'd never be the one to police you on it. It meant a semi-stable home life but so much love and too many role models. It also meant a fluctuating Penny.

Penny, who met your dad years before you were born. Penny, who you knew your dad loved and who loved your dad, even though they never seemed to get their timing right. Penny, who taught you how to sail, throw a proper punch, and French braid. Who showed you how to open a beer bottle without an opener in several different ways, using a belt buckle, a spoon, and your house keys? Penny, who was.. a mom. As much as you are reluctant to admit it publicly, Penny Benjamin was probably the closest thing you had to a mom because even though Aunt Sarah loved you and cared for you like she did with Elizabeth, she was always Aunt Sarah, never Mom. Even Aunt Carole, who was your godmother, could never truly fill the void of mother even though you know she tried her best to help you with the parts you missed out on. Penny was the only one who came close, at least when she was around she was.

Summers, though, were your favorite. Whether or not your dad was on deployment, you spent every summer in Virginia with the Bradshaws. You had a room that Carole always referred to as "little Miss Mitchell's room" and a best friend who taught you so much more about life.

Bradley.

Bradley, who taught you how to swing a bat and throw a football. Bradley, who gave you your first driving lesson when your dad got deployed before he could. Bradley, who you talked with weekly when you weren't living under the same roof. Bradley, who let you make fun of his name when you needed an easy out, Brad Brad, had been the running joke.

Bradley always had your back; he piggybacked you home when you skinned your knees during your skater girl summer. He took you out of the way to your favorite ice cream place whenever you had cramps and planted himself on the sofa with you to watch Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, and I Dream of Jeanie when you refused to move. Bradley, who ate the things you cooked when you'd test out Aunt Sarah's recipes and forgave you while throwing up when you gave him food poisoning when you were thirteen, who still trusted what you put in front of him even after that (though he had gotten you a meat thermometer and written up a cheat sheet to ensure you knew when it was fully cooked).

And you had his.

When Aunt Carole died, you mourned for months. Navy royalty knocked on your dad's door to share their condolences with the teen for weeks. Bradley had been seventeen at the time, about to start his senior year of high school. He completed that year back in San Diego. He'd had friends and people who cared for him in Virginia, who'd offered their homes for his final year of high school, but when your dad offered, he clung to the familiarity that was Mav. That year, your dad had a few deployments, and all of them were short. Looking back, you wonder if Uncle Ice had pulled strings to ensure that. Either way, when Bradley went to his senior prom, Mav was there. He filmed the awkward getting-ready stage, caught on camera as you helped Bradley tie his tie, and you got a great moment of Mav doing the last inspection before Bradley left to pick up his date.

You spent all your free weekends that spring at every single one of Bradley's baseball games. Aunt Sarah would come to every home game, and little Lizzie and Ryan loved screaming and cheering for Brad's mama. Look at Brad Brad go!

Bradley grieved and cried, and he was so incredibly sad and heartbroken. But he was still Bradley. He was still your best friend. He intimidated any guy who got too close and was the only person outside your father who you could love one second and be planning his murder the next. Bradley was your best friend; he was until he wasn't.

Until papers were pulled and words were exchanged, Bradley stormed out one day and never came back.

You found him; of course you did. He was your best friend. And even though you coaxed him out of his hiding spot, words were said. Phrases hurled at you that targeted the softest of spots that only he knew about. You held together; you had to. You got him at Viper's and left him there. You went to Ice's. You didn't talk to your dad for months, and Bradley never spoke to him again.

He reached out to you during your senior year of high school in an email apologizing for how he lashed out at you. You never responded. A scabbed spot in your heart that used to belong to him, still too raw to touch. He kept emailing, though. Random updates, more apologies, congratulations, and happy birthdays. You read every email, but you never could bring yourself to respond. Then, four years had gone by.

Bradley's bi-weekly email arrived when you were in your second year of university. You read it, reread it, and then read it a third time. Aviation Officer Candidate School. You weren't surprised; you knew Bradley wouldn't abandon his dream. You never thought he would, but being faced with the reality of it weighed heavily. Bradley being selected for AOCS was proof of his dedication. OCS, in general, required sponsors within the Navy and was much more difficult to get into than the Naval Academy; they only took individuals with a bachelor's degree to start with. However, for Bradley to get into AOCS, specifically the aviation program, someone up the ladder had to have helped. The more you sat with it, the harder it became to figure out who. It could have been Viper, who had dealt with an Angry, Confused, and Isolated Bradley for the remainder of his senior year and the summer, probably every summer after that. Or maybe it was Ice, cleaning up the mess your dad had made, just as he always did.

Your dad had cost Bradley four years in the Navy, but this program might help him bridge it, at least to some degree.

For the first time since the day you dropped him at Viper's, you respond.

Congratulations, Bradley, I'm glad you're achieving your dream.

That was it.

You didn't tell your dad. But you heard about it when he found out. Ice, thankfully, had given you a heads-up. You played dumb; you knew better than to admit to the emails. Your dad was strong and stubborn, but you'd seen what his and Bradley's blowout had done to him. The hollowness that followed him, the pain in his eyes at every memento and reminder. The ache in his heart is located between the gaps titled Goose and Carole.

He hadn't told you why he'd pulled Bradley's papers. You'd made (somewhat) peace (begrudgingly) with that when you finally let your dad back into your life nearly two months after the Pulling of the Papers, and only because he almost died in a bird strike and you as his next of kin had been notified upon his hospitalization.

When he heard about AOCS, though, the secret came spilling out. Carole asked me, and she gave me one request. You'd known your dad had a private conversation with Carole Bradshaw on her deathbed. You and Bradley had been asked to stand outside her hospital room while they talked. When you were allowed back in, they both had tears in their eyes. You'd always assumed it had something to do with Goose, and to an extent, you were right. Carole Bradshaw was one of the strongest women you'd ever met, but it seemed even she was afraid of the price you pay to the Navy for the honor of serving your country.

You weren't sure what drove you to it.

It could have been Bradley's transition into AOCS.

The truth your dad had finally shared.

Or because you still felt like you had something to prove.

Maybe even that need for speed that had never been handled properly.

But you enrolled in your university's Navy ROTC program that same week.

The most surprising part of the change was how easily it came. Orders sounded like they did on the bases you grew up on. Your history, lineage, and contacts helped get you started and acted as an excuse for your late decision to join. You found some semblance of peace in ROTC as if the missing parts of the puzzle were starting to become visible.

You weren't sure how you managed to get through ROTC and into your first year as a Naval officer without your dad finding out, but you did. And by then, it was too late for him to do to you what he'd done to Bradley.

Bradley, to his credit, had a mellower response, only because he didn't have your phone number anymore and could only type an email in caps lock to convey his yelling. He did include it on the bottom, though; I wish I'd thought of ROTC. I could've sped the pipeline along more.

You hadn't responded to any emails since his admission into AOCS, and if you watched his college graduation and sent a gift to Ice to pass off to him, that was nobody's business but yours.

Your dad was… displeased.

But he kept calling. He didn't freeze you out, and you didn't have it in you to do it to him again. So you talked, told him how training was, and when he finally asked you why? In such a pained voice, you told him the truth. There was no tangible reason, just that you had to do it, that this was your path. Safe to say, it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear.

Becoming an Aviator was difficult. Not only because of the requirements and the toll it takes. Not only because you were a woman. But because you faced accusations of nepotism at every turn. You were, however, your father's daughter, and his lack of movement within the Navy did not diminish his accomplishments. You learned. You learned from the best. From your teachers, from your peers, from your dad, and from the men you considered uncles. And you showed everyone what you were capable of. You were a Naval Aviator within a year of graduating from college and the ROTC program, achieving the rank quicker than almost anyone following the same pipeline. You made a name for yourself using your brain. Where people were quick to assume nepotism, you were quick to show them your dry wit, sharp tongue, and tactical thinking.

That's where the callsign came from. Athena was the Greek goddess of wisdom and war, daughter of Zeus, and king of the gods. It fit well.

You did two and a half years as a Naval Aviator Officer in training in Norfolk and another two in Japan as a Junior Officer before you got the call.

Top Gun.

Returning to San Diego was… nostalgic. Being on the Miramar base even more so. You faced criticism of nepotism from your peers here as well; never mind that only the top two percent of naval aviators are invited to Top Gun to begin with. But you worked hard and proved your calling had more to do with wisdom and war than whose daughter you were. You came out of it with two friends: a pilot named Brigham Lennox, callsign: Harvard, and his WSO Logan Lee, callsign: Yale. Both of whom were the only two to wise up within the first day and realize you are so much more than your name.

It's also why the three of you were at the top of your class.

Afterward, Yale and Harvard are sent to Oceana, off the East Coast, where you knew Bradley had been based on his emails. And you were kept in state and sent to Lemoore. You preferred that, not that you'd say so. But being in-state meant being able to visit with Ice, even when you knew he wasn't doing so well, and it meant you could continue to avoid Bradley in peace. At Lemoore, you got placed with the VFA-14, the Tophatters, also known as the oldest currently active aircraft squadron in the US Navy. There's a lot of history attached there, a legacy to make proud of, as Ice and Viper would like to remind you when you'd join them for a monthly poker game.

Being stationed with the Tophatters came with two significant perks: Natasha Trace, callsign: Phoenix, and Jake Seresin, callsign: Hangman. Stationed with the VFA-41 (Black Aces) and VFA-151 (Vigilantes) respectively. Despite the fact that the two of them could not stand each other, you formed friendships with them both. In Natasha, you found someone who understood the uphill battle for women in service, but more than that, you found someone who kept it honest, called it like she saw it, and loved you for who you were.

With Jake, it was different. His bravado and charm worked, but not on you. Where other pilots got fed up with his cocky bullshit, you were able to stay leveled and see through. A benefit you shared once after a few beers of being raised by the best of the best. There must have been a sharper edge to your reminisces than you remember because Jake never made a nepo baby joke after that. A casual one here or there, but none at the heart of it, none with genuine malice. Not like he had in the beginning.

Jake allowed you to be. Rough edges and jagged ends. He kept your feet on the ground when you spent most of your day in the skies. You like to think you balanced him out a bit, too. Able to keep him from getting too stuck in the clouds, too sure of himself. You were always happy to knock him down a peg or two; truthfully, sometimes, he needed you to do so.

You found happiness on Commander, Carrier Wing Nine in the Strike Fighter Wing Pacific. You excelled in your squad and gained recognition and honors, ribbons that decorated your lapel. You talked with your dad, mostly about random things, given the confidentiality of both his and your assignments, but you found time. Ice and Sarah checked in, and Viper, too. And every time your feet were on solid ground, they found time for a barbecue or a poker game, or both, usually both.

You still read Bradley's emails. Bi-weekly had turned to monthly, and even then, they didn't come every month, but they did come, always with a reason, just as they had been for the last decade and change. You never could figure out why he kept sending them. You'd thought about replying, now, years after the rage and pain and grief you'd held onto had been let go of, nothing productive ever came from holding on too tight, you'd learned. But Bradley sent the emails, sometimes signing his name as Bradley or Rooster, but on the nostalgic ones, he'd always put Brad Brad, an olive branch, you knew, but you never could get yourself to click send on the drafts you'd write out, dozens of them sitting in the drafts folder as it was.

You'd found your space; it wasn't perfect, but it was yours.

And then you got recalled.

And so did 'Nix.

And Jake.

Then the email came in, and they're calling me back to Top Gun for some detachment. Maybe I could find time to come to Lemoore?

And then your dad hit Mach 10 and was missing in action for over five hours, only to be found in some small-town diner in the middle of nowhere Idaho.

He was sent back to Miramar, too.

And you were left wondering what the fuck was happening now, flying down with Phoenix and Hangman on your wings, and why it seemed to be colliding all the fragments of your world.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

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moirindeclermont · 3 months ago

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@itshappyginger requested on Tumblr a "all Polin first times we didn't see" all about pillow talk and, specifically, Colin being the little spoon. This is one of those time I wish I could draw, because that would be deliciously cute to draw. But, since I can't draw, I hope I can paint a picture with my words instead.

It's after their reconciliation. Both sated, Pen is still on top of Colin, who wants to drag this moment for all eternity, for all he cares. Both are naked, skin against skin, their breath slowly return to normal as they settle. Pen tries to moved but Colin stops her.

"I know we both have at least another round. Stay like this and, when it's time, we can restart again." Pen shivers. The idea of feeling him getting hard inside her is so erotic she barely contains a moan, which makes Colin smile.

"I love getting to know this side of yourself, Pen."

She smiles too. "I didn't know I had this side" she whispers, totally honest with him.

"Then, I love being the one that made you discover this side of you," and she kisses him slowly. They talked briefly like this, their first time, but now it feels like they have all the time in the world.

"So, you don't think I'm too wanton?"

The question arrives unexpected, but as Colin looks at her, he can see that she means it.

"There is no such a thing as too wanton for my taste, Pen. I want you always, in every position, in every room."

They are now both caressing each other, feeling the skin of their back, as they talk. Pen sighs at his answer, almost in relief. "Me too Colin, but before the wedding my mama said my job was to lie down and let you do everything. It made me question a bit, even if it seems stupid to me. I love being like this with you."

Colin cursed a bit - not directly at Portia, for once - but for anger at a society that keeps women so hidden from sex. "It is stupid. I don't want a doll, darling. I want you... And your sounds, and the way you move. Watching you on top of me before was the best experience of my life."

At those words, the image is too much, he starts to become hard inside her and she looks at him in awe. "Let's make love like this," says Colin and she melts in his arms.

They are too tired to do anything beside rocking against each other in their tight embrace. Soft moaning and whining escapes their mouth, as they grind and move their hips together. Pen throws her head back, the sensations too much too handle to stay still. Colin leaves more marks on her bosom, near the nipples, before sucking them in his mouth.

Pen, overstimulated, comes in waves and after the fist one is passed, the second one arrives and the way she clenches her core makes him feral. Colin muster enough energy to push her on the bed, thrusting at a rapid pace while she is still coming and then comes himself.

With wobbly legs he takes the towel they used after the first round to clean themselves. Then, he goes back on the bed and just collapse almost on top of Pen.

They fall asleep minutes after. Pen on her back and Colin using her bosom as a pillow. He wakes up some hours after, noticing his wife is now plastered to his back, hugging him tight from behind. He smiles and sends a small prayer to God, praying to wake up like this for the rest of his life. He does wake up again like this, with Pen exploring his back.

He turns towards her. "Good morning, love" , and Pen is smiling. Yes, this is his life now.

I accept request! Tell me about the first time you want to see and I'll put into words 💓

#polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton s3 #polin positivity #polin bridgerton #polin brainrot #polin fanfiction #colin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #colin x penelope

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the-fab-fox · 1 month ago

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Could you possibly do a Drabble with Idia x Reader with the cute pocky game you had going on?

@ Anonymous,

Thank you for the request. Literally no one has been requesting any so I was super excited to get yours. And it's Idia which tickles me. Lol.

I hope you enjoy and sorry about the wait. A lot of stuff came up. (I have gotten a lot more requests since the initial drafting of this. Also, I'll be making a collection of these on AO3 so if you'd like me to gift the fic to you, please drop your AO3 in the notes.)

Original Post

Without further ado—

Idia x f!Reader

[ One-Shot under the cut. ]

Idia was legit not surprised with how the game the Ramshackle Prefect introduced to them all had spread like wildfire throughout the campus.

They were teenagers, after all. Meat suits with raging hormones and maybe a couple handfuls of brain cells shared between the whole of the student body. And several of those brain cells were held in vice-like grips by specific singular students, making the overall pool of available brain cells even smaller for the rest of them.

The Ignihyde Housewarden was just glad that no one with half a brain would ever consider inviting him to play.

As if I'd want to? A game designed for normies who just want an excuse to suck face? No thanks! I'm good. He rolled his eyes. Tch, it's so cringe it hurts.

At least, that's what he continued to tell himself. If he didn't really buy his own words... well, that was his business and no one else's.

The problem wasn't the game itself, he supposed… if he really stopped to think about it. But he didn't want to think about it.

Ugh. Hope some new cringe fad comes out ASAP! This really triggers my rage.

He sighed as he watched his game load bar slowly inch toward completion. Because, of freaking course, the server would be hella saturated today of all days.

Groaning, he CTRL + ALT + DEL’ed out of the game rather than wait for it to load before exiting out.

This thing’s got me not even wanting to play my games. FML! This is the WORST!

He got up and jerkily opened his deskside food cabinet. Pulling out a random noodle cup, he slammed it onto his desk. Luckily, it wasn't hard enough to crush it. Much.

It was still functional, in any case, so whatever.

Smoothing out the cup as well as he could, he opened it and added some hot water from his electric kettle. Setting the lid over it once more, he idly played with the little ingredient packet as he grabbed a spoon from the little plastic drawer set on his desk.

Why can't these idiots think about anything, but making out and shit?

In reality, Idia knew why.

He was one of the idiots, after all. Not that he was going to admit that to anyone. In fact, he tried his very best to ignore it completely.

Admitting that he wanted to make out with someone would mean he'd have to think about the very person he wanted to make out with.

That person?

The one who had set this whole mess into motion.

“Meh,” he muttered, glancing at the little digital numbers at the bottom left hand side of his desktop screen. Meh, meh, meh.

After a few more minutes, Idia couldn't wait any longer. He pulled the top off the noodle cup and tossed it aside, giving it no mind to where it drifted. Ripping open the packet, he poured the ingredients in and used the spoon to stir them. Some of the broth spilled with how aggressively he stirred, which only further fueled his ire.

Damn it. Damn it all to Tartarus.

He began to eat, ignoring the slight crunch to the noodles as well as he could. He had just finished up his impromptu meal, downing both a small energy drink as well as half a bottle of water, when a sound rose in the air that he hadn't expected.

Knocking.

Glaring at his door, he was about to yell at whoever was on the other side to just leave him alone to his misery when he realized that there were only two people who would knock on his door.

The other Ignihyde students would never. If they needed to get ahold of him for any reason, they knew well they would need to contact him via technological means. Ortho-chan would just come right in. None of his peers outside the dorm would come to see him. He had no friends after all. Not really.

Well… maybe…

No. Especially not her. Like yeah, okay. She was like really sweet, and nice, and actually seemed interested in what he had to say when he went full fanboy and otaku mode, but that was just her being nice. Nothing more.

And yet, she was one of the two people who would be on the other side of that door.

The other was Crowley, but considering the fact that he was Crowley, the man would more likely just summon him to his office rather than pay a visit to his dorm.

Which meant it could only be the Ramshackle Prefect.

As if proving him right, another knock came upon the door, followed by the annoyingly cute sound of his crush’s voice.

“Idia? I know you're in there. Can I come in?”

What kind of event did I trigger? Idia sighed heavily. He hated this.

Somewhere along the line, Idia had come to realize that when it came to the otherworlder, he had a very hard—if not impossible—time denying her anything.

He brought his hands up to his face, letting out as quiet and muffled a groan as possible before pulling his hands away once more. Taking a shaky breath, he stood and crossed the space between his desk and the door.

The third year wondered if he should just ignore her. After all, if he didn't answer, she would have to leave at some point right?

“Idia Shroud!”

“Eep!”

“I'm not leaving until you let me in, mister!”

Idia tried and failed not to smile.

He could just picture her. Standing on the other side of the door, hands on her hips, glaring cutely at the door like some romance anime heroine.

For the love of STYX, why was she so freaking cute?

And why was she so determined to see him?

It made no sense.

Except that she likes and cares about you, another voice said. His mind, and the rest of him, silenced the thought as quickly as it came.

His face became a grimace and he decided that now was the time to get this visit over with, so that he could get back to his raging pity party.

Whatever she wanted couldn't take that long, right?

Just rip the bandaid and be done with it.

Spite forced his hand in the end. He unlocked and pulled the door open, his face still a deep scathing frown. The moment his eyes met those deep, warm brown eyes—however—he felt his demeanor and posture go shy.

“Ah, h-hey…” he said by way of greeting, with the smallest smile on his face. Then he remembered he was supposed to be annoyed, and tried to force the grimace once more. He wasn't sure if he managed, but the moment he took in the rest of her, he had to keep himself from laughing.

If he had to hazard a guess, he imagined he looked a lot more like the nauseous emoji rather than a scathing one.

The reason for his sudden urge to laugh was that the Ramshackle Prefect was, no cap, standing with a wide, determined stance with her closed fists on her hips as she looked up at him.

That made him feel off-kilter for a moment. He kept forgetting how short she was compared to him. She could still no doubt kick his ass TKO style, because who couldn't, if he was honest—but she was just so… fun sized and cute.

He longed to hug and cuddle her. He wanted to hold hands with her. Wanted to whisper soft couple things into her hair as he embraced her from behind. He wanted to keep her safe, since she didn't have any magic of her own. And to support her in whatever she wanted to do because, damn, this was a young lady who was going places. He wanted to beg her not to leave if a way was ever found, because who would he talk to then? (Other than Muscle Red, of course. But even then, this was different.)

“There! That's better isn't it? We can definitely talk better this way.”

Idia felt himself start to nod and smile along with her, before shaking his head and frowning.

“What do you want?”

Her brows rose and slowly she began to frown. Then her brows knit together and her stance became even more stern than before.

“You won't talk to me like that, Idia! No, sir. We're friends, remember? Besides, I brought you a gift. Doncha wanna know what it is?”

Idia felt his conviction slip.

A gift? For him? Had he really triggered some kind of event?

He frowned.

If it had been anyone else, he would have thought it was a trap. The problem was, it wasn't anybody else.

It was the girl of his dreams.

“Why?” He heard himself ask. He frowned, but he wasn't sure if it was at the situation itself or himself. “Why would you get me a gift?”

The Prefect sighed, now crossing her arms. Idia called himself several kinds of idiot.

That stance is never a good one in anime and manga.

Now he'd likely ruined everything, and she was going to leave, and he'd be in an even worse funk than before.

“I already told you, Idia. We're friends. Sometimes friends give each other gifts. And I care about you. Gift giving is a great way to support the people you care about.” She then grinned. “Or just chock it up to the fact that I wanna. Okay? Now—” She fell silent and only continued when Idia looked up, into her unfairly gentle and pretty eyes. “Can I please come in?”

Idia said nothing. He just scoffed under his breath and moved aside, ignoring the rush of affection he felt as she quickly moved into his room. That quickly turned to dread as he suddenly realized how much of a pig sty his room truly was.

Shit, shit, shit.

She didn't seem to notice, however. In fact, she didn't even seem to look around. She just turned back to him and the moment he closed the door, she moved in closer and closer.

Was she about to go plot twist villain on him? Well, he supposed there were worse ways to go than being murdered by a ridiculously beautiful girl in a school girl uniform.

“W-What are you—”

She stopped in front of him and rummaged in her book bag before pulling out a rectangular, shiny yellow box. He frowned.

He was a little ashamed to admit it, but he already knew what it was from the sight glimpse.

A box of Pocky.

A box of banana-flavored Pocky.

His favorite.

“What are you—”

She said nothing, only smirking as she opened the box, then the unopened package inside. Pulling one out, she held it up as she held his gaze.

“I'm guessing you've heard about the game?” She asked, though it wasn't really a question. She knew he knew it well. “Wanna play it with me, Idia?”

There was something new there. A sort of hint of something. A variation.

He would never vocalize his guess, but if he wasn't mistaken, it sounded a lot like flirting.

“M-me?”

She groaned and threw up both hands, the Pocky rising with the one that held it.

“You're not as dumb as you like to think, Idia—about people, I mean.”

She held his gaze firmly. He just continued to stare dumbly at the shorter girl. Slowly, it dawned on her that he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about.

“Okaaay… so you don't get it.” She sighed. “Fine. I'll tell you. In a way that even you won't be able to find a single way to deny it.”

Idia just blinked.

“I like you, Idia. A lot. And I want to be more than friends. But you're also really skittish. I only introduced the game in the hopes that I'd be able to play it with you, and the kiss would tell you the rest.”

Idia just stared. And stared some more.

She sighed, moved in closer, and held up the Pocky.

He took it without thinking.

“If me being your girlfriend is something you are on board with, play the game with me…”

Idia didn't think he had ever put anything into his mouth as fast as he did the Pocky.

There it was, just the tip of the flavored part of the cookie stick held between his lips. It was worth it, though. The Prefect smiled so brightly, a light tinge of pink coloring her cheeks.

“So you do like me!”

He sighed. Here it came.

Time for the ridicule to commence in 3, 2, 1—

“I'm glad.”

That's what I thought you'd say, because duh—wait what?

“You're… glad? Why?” It wasn’t easy to talk with a piece of pocky being held by his lips, but through luck or maybe he had a high enough stat, he managed.

She sighed. This time, however, it sounded fond.

“If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you.” She then beamed and Idia felt himself mirroring her without his consent. “But I'll give you a hint.”

She then closed the remaining space between them, took the other end of the Pocky in her mouth, and quickly nibbled through it until she'd reached his end.

Idia was pretty sure he short circuited for a moment. He blinked rapidly until he was finally able to register what was happening.

The Ramshackle Prefect had kissed him. Was kissing him.

Their lips were still touching.

He swallowed the bit of banana Pocky in his mouth and closed his eyes tight. He'd never kissed anyone before, except his mom and his figurines and—though he would take it to his grave—a couple of his character and idol body pillows when he was feeling particularly needy.

Still, he let instinct take over and did his best to match her actions.

Pulling away, he opened his eyes to meet her gaze.

“I knew you liked me back. Thank you for finally telling me.”

Idia blushed. He felt his throat trying to work, but all that came out was something like squealing—but less cute and more strangled.

Apparently, the Ramshackle Prefect had no trouble finding it endearing, if the fond smile on her face was any indication. Then a conspiratorial grin slipped onto her face.

“So what do you think about the game from my world?”

Idia had liked it. He was pretty sure she knew it too. She just wanted to hear him say it.

Unfortunately, he couldn't bring himself to do that just yet. Instead, he let some of his hair fall forward to obscure his face as he brought his index fingers together, tapping them against each other a few times.

“I don't… um… not really sure.” He cleared his throat, trying to speak up, but mumbling worse instead. “Maybe we should try it again… a few times… just to get a good sample size…”

The smile that radiated off her face in that moment took Idia to a whole other realm. His room no longer felt so gloomy and depressing. It looked brighter somehow.

His attention was immediately snapped back to the short Prefect, who still stood very close. He blushed as he realized how close, before reminding himself that they'd just kissed, which had been a hell of a lot closer. That only caused him to blush more deeply as the realization sunk in.

She had kissed him.

Him!

And he had, technically, kissed back.

His face felt like it was radiating heat.

She giggled and pulled out another Pocky stick, putting the cookie tip in her mouth. She then raised her brows and grinned.

A clear invitation.

It was one of the only invitations Idia had gotten for anything (outside of gaming) that he immediately RSVP’d on.

As they kissed, Idia felt his muscles loosen and his body warm. At some point, long after the cookie was gone, petite arms wrapped around his neck as his hands awkwardly settled upon her waist. He had successfully passed the surprise event and achieved the Best Ending.

Maybe I can convince her we'll need to go through the whole box, just to be absolutely sure I like the game.

He smiled into the kiss at the thought.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x yuu #idia x reader #idia x yuu #f!reader #idia x f!reader #idia pov #twst idia #prompt fill #request fic #the-fab-fox writing

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sadistic-kiss · 1 month ago

Text

Use Me (Kinktober)

Succubus Reader x VariousJJKMen

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.Chapter Five.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

Everyone got their shot glasses, filling them up with liquor.

You had crawled to them but Getou flicked his fingers, “You can stand for this one darling.”

You stood with a huff, attitude still very much there and alive. You watch the cups get passed around, but you shake your head, “I can’t drink alcohol, it doesn’t work the same for me.”

“We know.” Sukuna grinned, “Just wait.”

So you waited, with your arms crossed. Some of them tried to talk to you but you gave them the silent treatment. For whatever reason that only made them want to tease you more. Giving you light touches and barely a squeeze.

Choso and Gojo returned about the same time, and that seemed to be what you were waiting for.

“Ah~!” Gojo gasped as if appalled by Choso’s costume, “you picked Viking, why didn’t you pick our team!?”

“Yeaaaah! Viking!” Toji, Sukuna, and Yu cheered, rooting in the air like some rowdy animals, while Nanami, Getou, and Gojo looked disappointed.

Choso shrugged, “This seemed to fit me better.” He spoke through the chaos.

Gojo rolled his eyes, “Whatever loser.”

After the commotion died down, Gojo and Choso were handed their drinks but you still hadn’t received one. You wondered if you were going to just go through the motions.

“Here’s yours…” Toji gestured to Nanami who was grabbing something from the fridge.

When the blonde turned back around he held a cup with a cap. He twisted the blue top off and then set it down in front of you so you could see the white liquid inside.

Your eyes lit up as the smell touched your nose. It smelt like the most delectable treat. Your body moved on its own as you reached for the cup but Getou grabbed your elbow, so you reached for it with the other only for Choso to stop you.

“Not yet pet.”

They all seemed to snicker at your feeble attempt to down your drink.

You let out a little whine, resting your arms back down. They were so much faster than you. When you were this deprived you were as weak as a human. Their movement much too quick, to the point it seems they blink or teleport.

“She’s practically drooling.”

“I know she’s so cute.”

Just wait. Wait until I get enough energy.

You were glaring at your cup, but then you heard chuckling bringing you out of your deep thought. You blinked up to see everyone was staring at you. You didn’t hear a word they said.

Sukuna snorted, “Did you hear us slut?”

Nope .

“Can you repeat… what you said?”

Gojo was the one who repeated the words, “We want you to guess whose cum it is. Get it right and we will let you drink it.”

“Is it one of yours?” you questioned.

“Yup. So you got a one out of seven chance of being right.”

That's all you need, the task will be easy now that you know that they aren't trying to pull a fast one. You lift the cup to get a good smell of it. The aroma made you swallow eagerly. You could see how Getou was eyeing you, ready to snatch the drink from you if you dared to disobey them.

The substance had an overwhelming smell to it, you couldn't quite pin what you were sensing. It was sweet, yet tangy among other things. You furrowed your brows not knowing who the mixture belonged to. You thought this would have been easy for you since you knew what the men taste like. This had to be someone else but they wouldn't lie to you. That wasn't the type of game they liked to play.

“Can I at least taste it?”

The guys looked around contemplating if you should be graced with such a benefit.

Yu was the one to come to your aid, “Just give her a bit.”

“Don't let her drink it she'll down it all.” Sukuna threw open a drawer and dug out a spoon. “Here.” he tossed it across the counter as Choso grabbed it.

“Wait I want to do it!” Gojo came over but Choso shook his head.

“I got it.” he said, making Gojo pout. He dipped the spoon in the cup and then offered it to you.

You slipped the spoon in your mouth humming as the flavour coated your tongue. It was absolutely delicious. As the spoon pulled back you chased after it but Getou grabbed your hair.

“Settle pet.” he chuckled as he released you.

You heard a few of your audience groan and someone whispered they loved how greedy you were.

You ignored all of that as you thought of the many different flavors that you had tried. Licking your lips you looked up with a confident smile, “It’s all of yours.”

They burst into surprised laughter.

Toji whistled, “Damn.”

“She got it.”

“I told you she would, she’s a little cum slut.”

“I knew we shouldn't have given her a taste! That was too easy!”

You felt victorious as everyone held up their cup, ready to commence a toast. The glasses clinked and then you were throwing your drink back like your life depended on it, gulping every last bit down. Your stomach began to burn delightfully with your mark, the ink curling around seductively upon your skin.

“Woah!” Sukuna pointed out angrily, “That is way more than she should have who fed her?!” your tattoo should not have been so drawn out already.

Everyone looked toward Toji.

“I gave her a little bit you should ask him.” The bigger man tried to defend himself by deflecting on Haibara.

“Me?” Yu gasped in shock.

“She was in the bathroom with him and hid her under the sink!”

“I fucking knew it!”

They all began to yell at each other as you made sure you scooped out the last bit of your drink with the forgotten spoon.

The party continued…more people began to fill the house and it got louder. The lights were turned off as colorful ones flickered on.

All the while you were dragged around like an obedient pet. They couldn't wait to introduce you to all their friends. Well, mainly Gojo, Sukuna, and Getou. The others had migrated off as the three treated you like some prize possession that needed to be broadcast to the whole world. Their personal little kitten. They even smacked a pair of cat ears on you. They were having a ball showing you off. Was this their attempt to see how far you would degrade yourself? Or perhaps it was to flaunt their pet in front of a group of people because what kind of normal person would degrade themselves like this?

“This is our pet.” Gojo boasted to a new group of people. Sometimes the people would look at you in shock or even start laughing.

This particular group dressed up as superheroes did both.

“Yo what kind of kinky shit is this?” one of the men chuckled.

You were on your knees with your head leaned against Getou’s leg. He was petting your hair while you zoned out.

“She does anything we want…” Sukuna got down as he reached out his hand. “Shake.” You gave him your hand as everyone began to cheer. “Roll over.” you proceeded to do so and every other trick while your audience clapped. You wondered who had more of a problem within this house. “Good girl.” Sukuna kissed you smack on your lips as he stood up with a shit-eating grin. “See?”

Your lips tingled for more, and you purred as Getou gave you a praise kiss on your forehead. If this was all you had to do for their rewards then this was far too easy.

One of the girls shook their head in bewilderment, “That’s fucking crazy. How much are you paying her?”

“Nothing, she likes it.” Sukuna grabbed your chin, “Don’t you? You like being our pet?”

You knew he was getting off on this ( power-hungry freak ) so you played into that. You were technically allowed to answer questions but you did him one better. You began to lick and nuzzle his hand while purring. Gazing up at him with your best fuck me eyes. You wondered if you should pry at his mind but the last time that happened you failed.

Sukuna bit his lip, releasing a low groan. It would appear this was already doing wonders.

Most people showed disgust but then that was morphed into envy and jealousy. Curiosity even.

Someone stepped forward, “Can I pet her?”

“No.” Gojo snipped rather quickly.

Getou chuckled, “He’s a bit possessive of our kitten, but what can I say we all are. She’s just too precious.”

As the group murmured about you, a more than devious plan came to to you. Why use your power on them when you could use it on the crowd? You shift your eyes to the sea of faces as you tickle their inquisitive minds, feeding them with more ideas. You truly didn't need to push too hard because they were all already on the path of depravity. Their poisonous concoctions made their peanut-sized brains much easier to tamper with. You just needed them to open their mouths to say it.

To sprout this sinful idea and give it life.

And so it began.

The man with glasses cleared his throat, “She wouldn't do everything you guys tell her to do.”

“Yeah…” one of the girls laughed while chewing her lip. They were all feeling hot and bothered by the images you played in their heads. “…like would she…you know.” The girl shrugged looking at everyone else hoping she wasn’t the only one with such dirty thoughts, lucky for her she wasn’t.

Everyone began to laugh as more people joined in and it all snowballed perfectly.

“I bet she wouldn't suck your dick in front of us.”

“I mean did you see the way she was licking his hand?”

“What a slut.”

“She so would.”

“I bet she’s wet now.”

“Yeah getting all this attention, what a whore.”

The provocative comments kept going as the crowd ran with your drop of influence. Sukuna, Gojo, and Getou looked surprised by all of this, but soon their expression turned into realization as they looked at the very person who caused this.

You lean your head and flutter your lashes at them… innocently .

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.Chapter Six.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

Chef Note: We feast next chapter 🌚🌝

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thetxtdevil · 5 months ago

Note

Hai babes, answer my ask whenever you have motivation!!! Just wanted to know ur thoughts on txt x reader w nipple piercings. Had mine pierced some few months ago and was just wondering on ur take of the boys' reactions! If u don't feel comfortable or have anything to say on the matter pls disregard :) love ur writing , ur doing great, ily

OMG 😳 that’s such a slay, good for you honestly

A different format for this one fyi (nsfw under the line)

---

Yeonjun

I think he’s the most likely to be into them, like he has a bunch of piercings himself probably would consider having his nipples pierced too. Would get you special lingerie that shows them off.

"Babe I got you something" he holds up strings that you could only assume it was a form of lingerie "I don't think I got a good look at your new piercings and I'd thought this would look hot on you." You smile and roll your eyes grabbing the garments you walk into the closet. Boobs out and framed by black lace, you see Yeonjun already half naked on the bed. He turns his head to look at you, you could have sworn there was a bit of drool hanging on his lips.

Soobin

He’s a boob/nipple guy... so he'll like them. I can imagine him being super surprised seeing you with a piercing but then just stares.

You two were making out on his sofa. Things quickly got heated and he stretches your t-shirt off and quickly unclasp your bra. Soobin throws the bra to the side taking a moment to look at you. You always caught him looking at your breasts and he would always blush and deny the act, but this time he just stared. "Wow" Soobin whispers, his big hands massage your mounds still staring at the the shiny metal "you're so hot."

Beomgyu

Probably would use the piercing to his advantage. Would it be weird to say he'd play with them? He'd like to lick them and pull the piercings when doing nipple play.

You two are cuddling on the bed, Gyu spooning you lightly rubbing shapes on your body. His hands drift up your tits and feels something, "Oh, What's this?" With a mischievous grin the man starts flicking your piercings with his thumb. You squirm under his touch crying out by the sensation. Beomgyu pushes you onto your back hovering over and shoving your top up getting a good view of you braless. You see him shiver at the sight of you before he dives his face in your boobs.

Taehyun

He'd find them hot, I can imagine him grouping your boobs just studying how they look and shine with the light.

Terry is observant, so it didn't take him long to notice the bounce of your braless breasts every time you walked by or every time he hugged you, you'd slightly tense up. He knows that you just recently got your nipple pierced and he was determined to see them. One day he begged you to go out for a workout which you complied maybe its best to start getting into the habit. You were sweaty and tired and overall not happy when you see the unbothered man before you. "Let's end it for the day and take a shower, yeah?" you nod trying to get enough energy to get back to your house. You walked into the bathroom, the closing door stopped by Tae. "I was thinking we can take a shower together" he grips your hips closer to his, "I want to see those piercings."

Huening Kai

His cheeks would be on fire 🔥 like Soobin, he'd be surprised, and stare, then get hot...

Changing in-front of the man is always a game of roulette, you never know what his reaction is going to be. He either doesn't notice or at least pretends to not notice, gets flustered, or he's in the mood and takes his chance to drag you into bed. This time it seems that you got a flustered Kai staring at your tits. "Those- those are new.." he gulps on his words. You smirk, undressing yourself and walking towards the man. "You like?" you puff up your chest to have Kai nod, big eyes staring at them, then you grab his hands to hold your breasts "they're still a bit sore but you can touch." Kai instantly moans at the feeling and the fact that your sensitive riles him up to push you into the bed.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

#txt devil #txt imagines #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt x reader #txt hard hours #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt thoughts #soobin smut #yeonjun smut #beomgyu smut #taehyun smut #hueningkai smut #soobin scenarios #yeonjun scenarios #taehyun scenarios #beomgyu scenarios #hueningkai scenarios

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xnaiel · 9 months ago

Text

Greetings, everyone. Here is a request from @pardona I received a week ago, I apologize for my tardiness and the quality of my writing if it is not to your liking.

I hope you will enjoy those Kuroo and Bokuto dating Headcanons. ~

Kuroo and you were already acquainted as not only are you both in the same class, but you also happen to be the class president. Although being in different clubs and having different friend groups, you never really interacted with one another. One day however, the both of you ended up being paired together because of your respective duos being absent that day and, quickly enough, you began getting along really well, learning more about every hobbies and interests you share, a thing led to another and now, you both were completely aware of each other. Everything seemed to stop when one of you would enter the room, stares were getting deeper, small touches would get longer and the soft feeling of his fingers against yours would linger on you skin after he gave you your notes back. Suddenly, before you could even realize it, the two of you were now inseparable.

It was only a matter of time before he declared that he was yours and that you would say that you were his back.

Kuroo Boyfriend HCs :

• Whenever no one is looking, Kuroo links your pinkies together as he loves the feeling of your skin on his.

• While Kuroo might try his best to look tough in front of you, Kenma, being his best friend, has to listen to him talk about you all day long, commenting on every little thing you do, calling you his "angel of a boyfriend". (But of course, Kenma has told you that multiple times already. ^^)

• Study dates would be frequent for the two of you. Whether it is at your of Kuroo's house, the library, or even a café, there is nothing that feels more fulfilling than to enjoy your boyfriend's presence, however it may be.

• Kuroo loves to cuddle you, not matter if you are the small or the big spoon, he wraps his limbs around you and when he falls asleep...it is rather difficult to get him to move.

• His kisses are always when you expect it the least where you expect it the least. His favorite thing to do is to kiss you when there are people around you, knowing none of them are looking. He lives for that surprised face and averting gaze.

• After his club activities, both of you always go home together. While you never revealed your relationship to the team, they seem to have guessed that there is something going on between the two of you, especially when their captain starts to give his all when you just happen to pass by the gym or just by the way he looks at you during the rare times you come talk to him about some class related issue. The only people oblivious to your obvious yearning are Lev and Taketora.

You and Bokuto met in class. You were a new student and were seated next to an owl looking individual who looked at you with a big smile, greeting you with energy but being cut short by the teacher. As the bell rang, he made his way towards you asked you multiple questions, which ended up in him suggesting for you to become their team's manager if you had no idea which club to join yet. Since you were formally obliged to join a club and not being particularly interested in doing something active, you decided to partake in his request. The classmate that made you come here was more than happy to see you and made you feel incredibly welcomed and at ease, allowing you to start bonding with the team almost immediately. Bokuto became really attached to you, taking you anywhere he could, wanting to make sure to show you around without leaving out a single detail. You also grew attached to him, and being his opposite made you gravitate towards one another, which led Bokuto to confess profusely his love to you, which you reciprocated.

Bokuto Boyfriend HCs :

• It did not take a long time for the team to figure out what exactly was happening between the two of you as Bokuto wouldn't shut up about how much he loves his boyfriend and how cool he thinks he is. Akashi seems to be the only one who keeps a record of how many times he speaks about you during the day for some reason.

• Bokuto seeks out for you whenever he is sulking, and a compliment from you would be enough to make him want to take over the moon. A kiss ? Now, he would actually be able to steal the moon for you.

• Bokuto and you are quite the...corny couple and unafraid to show affection in front of the team. (More like he shows plenty of affection whenever he can, and you just reciprocate with the best of your abilities, being flustered but the scene he causes.)

• Every time his team wins, you are greeted by a bone crushing and head spinning hug as he lifts you up and turns you around, almost as if unable to mesure his own strength.

• Everything Bokuto does, he does for you. He gets motivated by the thought of you being proud of him and telling him how cool he is. He even tries to study harder in order to show you what he is capable of. (He made very little progress, but to you, it is a lot, and you couldn't be more proud of him for trying his absolute best.)

• Bokuto uses you as his lucky charm before every single one of their matches. A kiss wherever it may be is always enough for him to be sure to grant his team victory. (Although you wouldn't want to kiss him on the lips before a match... He might explode.)

#haikyuu #haikyuu x male reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo x male reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto x male reader #haikyuu headcanons #x male reader #x male y/n #x ftm reader #xnaiel #sfw

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chefkids · 1 year ago

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Spoon Theory

This is arguably the single most important The Bear meta post I will ever make so please bear with me.

The first spoon we see in the entire series is when Carmy takes Sydney's spoon to try her stew. This is right after he cut his hand from not being able to find his sharp knife, and before he has to meet with Natalie to get Mikey's jacket, which was stressing him out. She "gave him a spoon" and a bit of positivity when he needed to calm down and get some energy by knowing at the very least Sydney can cook well.

Needing a spoon is needing help. When he hands over the brigade to Sydney he is waving around spoons the entire episode, when she really needed his help and his "spoons". Later on Sydney is not afraid to just ask him for his help.

With the risotto she gave him a "spoon" that would help the restaurant, that brought in a good review and customers, but he didn't have enough of his own "spoons" to deal with it as he was stressing out over the window that just got shot through and the IRS needing the missing tax returns. Right before trying the risotto Carmy had told Richie he is afraid of something good happening. He is afraid of Sydney and him doing well, because the better it gets the more it will hurt him when something goes wrong. That is why he keeps self sabotaging the restaurant and doubting Sydney.

After Sydney quit, she is still using her spoons for mental energy to make sure Marcus is okay and to try and figure out her next steps career wise. Carmy grabbed a spoon to open the tomato can lid, which he really didn't need because he could've just used the can opener, and then found the money. When he finds the money they both know they would be fine on their own, she could find another job, he could fix up The Beef. But they still need each others emotional spoons to achieve their passions, so he reaches out and she comes back.

In Season 2 she did need his "spoons" to help create the menu and decide on the details for the restaurant, but he barely gave her any because he was still so caught up in his past trauma and the literal and metaphorical forks in his life.

Fixing the table really didn't physically need more than one "spoon"/person. But he needed her there to work through his mental block. With the inspiration food tour, she did it on her own and she didn't physically need him for it, she needed his emotional spoons.

When they are not communicating well with each other and Carmy is trying to reach back and be involved again, he gets as close as he can to her spoon without actually using it.

And now the dark side of spoons.

The originator of spoon theory has lupus and first came up with this theory at a restaurant to explain what it was like living with the condition to a friend. They could've easily said Sydney's mom died of cancer or an accident or anything else. But this is all so intentional, out of all the things it is Lupus. I don't want Sydney to be sick as much as the next person, but Lupus is a chronic autoimmune disease that has higher likelihood of developing when you have a family member with it, and can be triggered by environmental factors such as stress. It is an invisible illness and Christine's own handle is butyoudontlooksick, which could really explain Sydney and what she has going on behind her walls that people can't see. She has been a rock to so many people and over exerting herself, but there might come a time soon when Sydney will genuinely need other peoples "spoons", especially Carmy's, because she's all out.

Now that Carmy said he is choosing to give Syd his focus aka his "spoons", will he actually be able to follow through?

Read The Fork Theory next

Read The Knife Theory

#spoon theory #the bear meta #the bear #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #chefs kiss #syd x carmy #platonic and messy #charged and sexy #carmy x sydney #christopher storer #joanna calo

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epigstolary · 1 year ago

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The Middle of Nowhere, Part Two

I once said that my feeder didn’t have to do anything to keep me on his farm. That I was building my own prison there, bite by bite. And that’s still true — but only partly true. The farm may be a long way away from anything — town, other people, even the road that’s our only real connection to society — and it may as well be a desert island for someone too big to drive a car or walk further than the yard, but it isn’t my prison. Because my prison isn’t a place.

Things started to change when it got difficult even to go outside to our porch. I don’t mean they changed with my feeder; he was still as caring and doting as ever. He started bringing me my snacks once I got big enough that just shuffling out the front door took all my energy and attention. I had to watch where I placed every step of my bloated legs, laden with fat that looked like bags of cottage cheese, and hold on to the walls and the railing along the porch to keep my belly and chest fat from sloshing sideways and pulling me over. Even those few steps left me breathless and my heart pounding by the time I got settled on my bench; but it was worth it to have a plate of his biscuits and gravy or chicken and dumplings, under that big sky beyond our little farm, gilded with another sunset. And even when my bench finally gave way after one too many helpings of both, he dusted off his woodworking kit and put it back together, reinforced and better than new.

But by then, we both knew it was only a temporary fix. It wouldn’t be long before there’d be no way I could maneuver myself out there every day, and he could tell how being cooped up inside would drive me crazy after a while. If I was going to do anything other than sit mostly alone on the couch all day, we were going to have to find another way.

His first innovation was to invite people over for dinner — farmhands, friends, folks he knew from town that he could get to come to me even if I couldn’t go to them. And they were good company, in a lot of ways; they’d bring a taste of the outside world with them. They might talk about how the crops were doing, recount some recent anecdote from working out in the fields or going into town, opine on some petty local politics or gossip. And it was nice to hear about something other than what was going on within the confines of our little farm — an outside world that it was increasingly impossible for me to get to. But really, it was hard for the focus not to turn around to me. Nobody was ever rude the first time they met me; but it was rare not to see either a reaction of stifled surprise, or else a glassy look of unseeing, a conscious attempt not to notice the half-ton of fat flowing and bulging out of my ill-fitting clothes.

It didn’t help that, with me never leaving the farm, there weren’t many topics of conversation other than myself and food that our guests could engage with me about. When the conversation didn’t turn to recent meals or my favorite foods, which usually elicited at least warm agreement about the country staples forming much of my diet, it turned to how I spent most of my day. We’d do our usual face-saving song and dance about what I did to take care of the house while my partner was out working in the field — all of it lies, and increasingly transparent lies as my limited ability to even move became more obvious at higher weights — and how I was getting ready to start losing some weight. I’d talk about how I really wanted to get healthier, get out and about more often; and they’d smile and nod, giving tepid approval and encouragement.

The thing is, I really did mean it. I really did want to get down to a size where I could at least walk around outside again, maybe even drive a car into town and go to the little greasy spoon like I used to. It was becoming discouraging to have every step, every reach, every movement blocked or restrained by the fat smothering every inch of my body. But our guests knew full well I didn’t have a prayer of keeping to a diet or an exercise routine. It was even more obvious to those who’d visited before, and who saw me even more bloated, even more out of shape than the last time they were there.

The actual meals certainly made them think that, if they hadn’t before. My partner would serve a spread fit for a dozen people — something like a barbecue buffet, a whole turkey with all the fixings, a tray of lasagna — and I’d end up eating everything that was left after the others had their fill. Long after their places had been cleared away, I’d still be gobbling up the heaping plates my partner would keep bringing me until every scrap of food was gone. Since I couldn’t last very long at the dining table anymore, usually we’d sit around the living room, and they would basically watch me gorge myself — tits and chins wobbling as I’d chew, plate sitting on my enormous belly so my blubbery arms could rest on the sweep of my side rolls while I cut and speared each bite. It was obvious to everyone, I guess even to me, that I was never going to drop a pound if I couldn’t resist completely abandoning myself to food like that. By the end of the meal, I’d be stuffed full, taking up the entire couch and looking enormous, almost too drowsy from overeating to notice the expressions passing between our guests, their looks of amusement or disgust or astonishment at what was apparently a typical dinner for me. Sometimes they’d even whisper about it, thinking I was asleep. I wasn’t.

From the front window of the house, I could watch them drive away, taillights receding toward that distant road where proper civilization began again. Probably recapping the dinner and my obscene size and appetite with horrified amazement. They’d been merely passing through, tourists in my isolated bubble, visiting their friend’s or boss’s blob of a partner out of courtesy but with no real desire to bring me into the fold. They could make things more tolerable, but they’d never be any real help in connecting with the world again.

Then one day, my partner’s beat-up old pickup disappeared, and he pulled into the yard in a gleaming new one, looking unusually excited for him and expectantly at me. I was puzzled — by that point, I was already too big to heave myself up into the cab of any pickup. But then I saw the truck bed — more specifically, the crane and winch rising from the front corner. My stomach did a somersault at the sight of him rigging up a harness meant for lifting cows and pigs into the bed; it was a way to let me get off the farm, sure, but at a pretty steep price in dignity. It was as good as an admission that I’d eaten myself far too fat to rejoin the world like a normal person, probably for good.

But the temptation to be somewhere else, anywhere else, was too much. A day or two later, my partner was helping me waddle out the front door and down the steps toward the driveway. Months indoors had obscured just how much my body had changed in even that short amount of time. My legs had both bloated considerably and weakened since my last walk through the yard, making every step like having to lift heavy bags of molasses just to advance a few inches at a time. My belly hung lower and broader than I remembered, physically holding back my steps and making it harder to twist my upper body to steady my walk. My side rolls and bicep blubber fought one another for space, pushing my arms up and sending fat bunching around my neck and shoulders. I was an out-of-breath mess by the time I maneuvered myself around and collapsed into the harness.

The sensation of my weight being lifted slowly off the ground, suspended and moved by an object completely out of my control, sent a surreal thrill through me. My hundreds of pounds, cradled in the harness, wobbled and jiggled with its slow movements, and for the most part I had no choice but to be carried along with my body’s jostling inertia. Even more than usual, I was buried under my immense belly and tits, my bloated legs were lifted level with the rest of my body, and my flab-laden arms — if they’d even been strong enough to do anything — had nowhere to grasp to help stabilize my sloshing bulk. The crane and winch cracked and creaked as it labored to move my weight, lifted me over the sides and into position facing the tailgate, and lowered me onto some foam padding my partner had arranged into a kind of makeshift couch against the rear window. I didn’t fill the truck bed — but there wasn’t room to sit next to me, either.

I’ve never felt a mixture of emotions like I did on that first drive back into town. On the one hand, it felt so amazingly free — finding myself on that once impossibly-distant road, our farm receding into the distance as fields and hills sped by. Fresh air, and the wind in my hair. But then, as buildings grew closer together and we started rolling into downtown, my blood ran cold — I’m a half-ton blob taking up most of the back of a pickup truck, too fat to walk or move, coming to town like a circus attraction, I thought. People were going to react.

I’m sure a lot of it was in my mind. I’m sure I was self-conscious, reading intent into every glance and word and gesture, most of the time when it wasn’t there. But it felt like every last person in the town had turned out to stare at my huge form being paraded down main street. Me looking out over the expanse of lard occupying the truck bed and smothering my body. Blubber sloshing uncontrollably every time we turned a corner. Kids pointing at the enormous fatty passing by, their shouts being stifled by nervous and disgusted parents. Skinny people casting sideways glances at the pickup, stopped at a stoplight, as they muttered to each other amid broad grins.

And that was when I realized. It didn’t matter where I was — on the farm, in town, on stage with a million people watching. I had let myself get fattened past the point where I could exist in this world and connect with it ever again. Even when I was right in the middle of it, I was as far removed from these people as if I’d still been back on the farm. I’m never going to be walking around with them, shopping with them, just existing in the spaces they exist in. I literally don’t fit in, even if I could haul around all the blubber I’ve accumulated under my own power. And I’m just as alien to them — someone five times their weight, who can’t control their appetite any better than to get this big, someone they can deride or pity or judge with impunity.

On the drive back to the farm, under a starry indigo sky and with a backseat full of fast food from the town’s only chain, I had to wonder about my feeder. Whether he really was trying to get me out of the house. Or did he know? Had he already figured out that I was too big for it to matter where I was — that the thick rolls dominating my body and the sacks of fat hanging off my limbs would keep me his, even if I’d tried to get someone to help me leave? That this drive would do nothing more than to show me a world, a life, that my fat — his fat — would never let me go back to?

The thought lodged in the back of my mind as he gently helped hoist me, every inch wobbling and quivering, out of the truck bed. He led my bulk, step by exhausted step, back inside and to my usual divot on the couch. And as he got me comfortable, spreading the buffet of greasy, fatty food out before me, and as I bit into the first of ten thick double cheeseburgers, his too-kind smile and his gaze that lingered on my bulging gut for an instant too long told me everything I needed to know.

The farm isn’t my prison. My body is.

#extreme weight gain #weight gain fiction #ssbhm #feeder fiction #gainerfiction #gaining #gainer fiction #wg story #wg fiction #gainer stories

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ticklishshenanigansau · 1 month ago

Text

LaughterLand - Chapter 21: Transformation

(story by Mod Secret, art by Mod Kitty)

“Y-You want us to do … WHAT?!” Papyrus stammered nervously, as Dropwart approached with the spoonful of dangerous-looking potion.

“Well, come on now, dearies.” She grinned excitedly, though she was careful not to spill a single drop of the violet liquid. “Which one of you wants a taste? You know how hard I worked to prepare this little mixture. One of you needs to be my official taste-tester!”

"No way!" Papyrus retorted, already tugging at the bonds that held him to the wooden stake. "We helped you make that disgusting thing, you leave us out of the tasting part!"

Dropwart snickered under her breath as she approached Papyrus with the large wooden spoon. "Oh, I don't think I'm giving you much of a choice, my deary!" she said in a teasing tone.

She abruptly shoved the spoonful of violet liquid directly into Papyrus's face. The younger skeleton clamped his jaws down tightly, turning away from the sweet smelling potion.

"Come on now," Dropwart cooed teasingly. "Just a teensy weensy baby taste for little old me?"

She talked to him like a mother who was trying to spoon feed a baby. If Papyrus was able to speak, he would have shouted at her to treat him like the grown skeleton he was. But he didn't dare open his mouth, he didn't want to risk any possibility of her forcing that dangerous potion down his throat.

"Pretty please with sugar on top?"

Dropwart continued to patronize him as she danced the spoon around his face, trying to find an opening. Papyrus could only grunt in retaliation and forcibly turn his head away. She wasn't about to give up that easily. Before he could do much of anything else, Dropwart grabbed at his chin, squeezing it tightly in her clammy green hand. She forced him to face her, but still, Papyrus kept his mouth closed.

"Come on, Bonesy. Open wiiiide!"

Her tone was still cheery and playful, despite the forceful way she was holding his face still. Papyrus could feel an ache in his jaw, partially from the pain of her holding him so tight, but also from the pressure he had put on his mouth to remain closed at all costs.

His sockets suddenly shot right open in a comical bug-eyed expression. Something was tickling at his toes again. The hissing sounds coming from just below them was enough to confirm that Dropwart's pet snakes were playing with his feet using their soft feathery tongues. Papyrus groaned and squirmed, the tears were already starting to form in his sockets again. He let the image of the horrific potion be his motivation to keep his jaw shut, but he couldn't twist away from the tickling tongues, and he was starting to become desperate.

Sans, meanwhile, was trapped in a kind of brain fog. The harsh tickle attack on his secret sweet spot had left him so exhausted and out of it, it was hard to register what was even happening. Multiple times he tried to shake his skull back to sanity, just to be left feeling dizzy. Parts of his vision were still blurry and hard to make out. So all he could really concentrate on was his breathing. He took low and steady inhales and exhales, each one bringing a small dose of renewed strength and clarity. Although this was the farthest thing from being an ideal place to slow down and take a breath, for the moment he was no longer being tickled out of his mind, so he took the opportunity to regain at least some of his energy back.

It wasn't until his vision returned to normal that he could finally make out the sound of Papyrus struggling, along with Dropwart's teasing persuasion.

"Come on, deary, just one little swallow and I'll let you go. Don't you want to get down from there?"

Sans weakly looked up to see what was happening with his brother. His expression shifted to one of disbelief when he saw Dropwart trying to force the wooden spoon of potion into Papyrus's mouth. His gaze swiftly cast down to the snakes as he felt one just barely graze against his foot. His poor brother was fighting tooth and nail to not have to swallow that horrible liquid, but from the look of how he was barely holding it together, Sans knew he was rapidly losing strength. Sans knew he had to do something to get her attention away from Papyrus. He could only think of one thing. As much as it terrified him, as badly as he didn't want to go through with it, he would do whatever it took to save Papyrus.

"H-Hey...!"

His voice was soft and ragged from all the intense screaming that had been torn out of him. He reeled back, wincing in pain. When he opened his eyes, he saw that neither of them had noticed him, he must have been too quiet. He took a steady breath in, ready to try again.

"Hey!"

His voice was hoarse, he ended up coughing after speaking up louder, but at least he got their attention. Sans finished coughing and glared daggers at the old witch.

"I'll take it," he said coldly.

"Really?" Dropwart's golden eyes glimmered with excitement as she released Papyrus and pulled the spoon away from his face.

"Sans, no!" Papyrus yelled.

Even the snakes had ceased their attack on his feet to watch their master approach the older skeleton. She gingerly held the large wooden spoon up to Sans’s mouth, a devious grin spread across her face.

“But…. But ONLY if you keep your word,” Sans quickly blurted out, causing Dropwart to momentarily freeze. “You said you’d release whoever was brave enough to taste-test this garbage … right?”

Dropwart’s eyes narrowed, though her toothy grin still held onto its mischievous shape.

“Of course, deary,” she replied coolly. “Just one little taste, and you’ll be on your way!”

From the way she sounded, Sans wasn’t entirely sure if he believed her. But more than anything, he didn’t want Papyrus to be the monster Guinea Pig for whatever that potion was meant to do. Beyond that, even if he was released for a fraction of a second, it would be all the time he needed to attack. He swore to himself right then and there that he would fight through whatever exhaustion his body was facing and do whatever it took to bring this crazy old crone down.

“Fine,” Sans replied bluntly.

But before he could properly prepare himself, he felt Dropwart forcibly shoving the spoon into his mouth. He retaliated with a harsh grunt as the wood clanged against his teeth.

“That’s it, deary … drink every last drop.” Dropwart snickered as she tipped the spoon up to let the liquid travel down the older skeleton’s throat.

Sans obeyed, but nearly gagged immediately as the overwhelming taste engulfed his mouth. It was too sweet for words, the saccharine flavor was almost violent with how overtly saturated it was. Like it was pure liquid sugar, or syrup or sweetener, or a horrible combination of all three. It was enough to churn his nonexistent stomach, but still, he swallowed hard. Feeling every drop of the warm, runny liquid slither down his throat and into his system, it was a truly sickening sensation.

As she finally pulled the empty spoon away, Sans coughed and spat, fighting back the overwhelming urge to gag a second time. As he took in another deep inhalation, gravity abruptly pulled him down to the floor as the ropes around his wrists and ankles suddenly vanished. He fell to the floor with a loud THUD! His bones feeling heavier than stone.

As Sans shakily got to his knees, he saw Dropwart's curly-toed boots step in front of him. He weakly lifted his head to see her looming over him, her piercing golden eyes gleaming with delight.

"Well, deary? How do you like it? Good flavor? Nice consistency? Come on, be brutal."

This was his chance. Though he didn't anticipate just how sore his joints would be from being restrained for so long, he fought against the pain. He readied his knees underneath him, preparing to pounce. His hateful glare burned into the creature who dared to hurt him and his brother.

"Oh, I'll be brutal alright!" he growled deeply.

In a flash, he lunged for Dropwart, ready to tackle her to the ground and land a hearty blow on her protruding green nose. But just as quickly as he took off from the floor, he was aggressively pulled back down by the snakes' tails gripping onto his ankles. He felt the wind burst out of chest as he hit the ground twice. Despite the aching pain surging into his bones, he still gritted his teeth and clawed for Dropwart. Trying in vain to pull himself in her direction, but was held back by the hissing serpents.

"Well now!" Dropwart gave a haughty smile down at the older skeleton still desperately trying to attack her. "I believe I said that I would set you free … but if my precious pets want to play with you still, then who am I to stop them?"

As she unleashed her signature shrieking witch cackle, Sans let out a cry of distress as the snakes forcefully yanked him backwards, once again wrapping him up in their colorful coils.

"Noooo!!" he cried as he fought against them. They tauntingly hissed at him from opposite ends of his skull, threatening him with their feathery tongues. "You…. You evil … vile … wicked old—"

Sans stopped himself as he felt an old familiar tingling sensation deep down in his ribs. He couldn't see what was happening, as the snakes’ slithering bodies had him wrapped up good and tight in a bundle of coils. But he just knew that one of them must have wriggled a tail under his shirt to get after him again.

"Pffftt—Hahahahahaha!! Ahahaha!! Oh nohohohoho!! Noho!! Stahahahap!! Not agahahahain!! Ahahahaha!!"

Sans uselessly kicked and struggled against the snakes as he felt the tickling sensation slowly starting to engulf his ribcage. Dropwart let out an excited giggle upon seeing the laughing skeleton.

"Ohohoho! Goody! I just knew it would work!" She clapped her fingertips together like a giddy child, bouncing on her toes with elation.

"Oh no! Sans!!"

Papyrus pulled against the ropes still securing him to the stake, terrified for his brother's lack of stamina in this situation. He had already been through so much, Papyrus feared for his well-being and sanity as the tickling continued.

"Let him go!!" Papyrus demanded as he tugged. "You said you'd set him free! Tell your pets to stop tickling him, now!!"

Dropwart let out another amused cackle at Papyrus's useless command. She turned to give the younger skeleton a knowing grin.

"Afraid I can't help you there, Bonesy." She smirked. "My pets aren't the ones who are tickling him."

Both skeletons' eyes shot open with a combination of shock and confusion. That's when Sans realized with horror that the tickling sensation was starting to spread closer to his underarms and spine, and it certainly didn't feel like the flicking of a tail going after so much space at once.

With a simple wave of her hand, Dropwart commanded her snakes to release Sans from their clutches. Sure enough, as the skeleton fell back down to the ground with nothing physically touching him, the horrible tickling was still plaguing him.

"Wh-Wh-Whahahahahat?! Hahahahaha!! Wh-What the—AAGH!! Ahahahaha!!! Whahat's going ahahahahan?! Ahahahahaha!!

Sans writhed around on his back, unable to control his laughter as the tingling spread like wildfire up to his underarms and down to the underside of his ribcage. After a moment of frantically clawing at his shirt, Sans noticed a faint glow coming from just underneath as it started to ride up over his spine. Quickly gripping the rim of his shirt, he yanked it up to reveal the entirety of his ribcage was glowing.

He noticed the glow was steadily spreading across his body, it had already consumed his underarms and was now heading for his spine and hips. Everywhere that the glow had consumed was engulfed in the ticklish sensation. It was absolutely unbearable! Even the act of lifting his shirt up, in turn lifted his underarms. Although they were already being tickled Sans couldn't stop himself from curling in on himself after getting a good enough look at the state of his bones.

Papyrus just stood there with his mouth agape once he saw the state of his brother's ribcage. It didn't take long to put together that this mysterious glow was the cause of Sans's ticklish stress. Papyrus could hear Dropwart snickering with delight, immediately he gave her a dangerous glare.

"What did you do to him?!" he harshly scolded, eliciting another amused giggle from the witch.

Then it dawned on the both of them, the strange color of the spreading light. It had matched the phosphorescent violet color of the potion that Sans was forced to swallow. The potion was tickling poor Sans from the inside, and there was nothing he could do to stop it!

"AAAAGH!!! AHAHAHAHA!! PLEAEHEHEASE!! PLEASE NOHOHOHO—AHAHAHAHA!! I-HEEHEEHEE-I CAHAHAAN'T!! I CAHAHAN'T!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!! M-MAKE—AAAGGHAHA!! MAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAP!!"

Sans pleaded, hopelessly thrashing on the floor as he watched the violet glow rise up from his sleeves to tickle at his upper arms. His whole body tingled and trembled hopelessly as the tickling sensations got worse and worse with each passing second.

"Heeheehee! There is no stopping it I'm afraid, deary," Dropwart teased as she loomed over the hysterical skeleton. "You'll just have to let it run its course."

Sans looked up at her, tears desperately flooding from the corners of his aching sockets. Laughter pounding out of him as he spasmed on the floor like a fish out of water.

"PLEHEHEHEHEEHEEHEE...!" He trailed off as the glow overtook his forearm and consumed his hips and pelvis. "PLEHEHEHEHEA....PLEHEEHEEHEE...!!"

He didn't have enough air to choke out another plea for mercy. The pupils in his sockets were reduced to tiny pinpricks as frantic desperation washed over his face. He would have given anything to make the tickling stop, and if his expression wasn't making that sentiment clear enough, then he would have outright spat it out if he had the breath to do so. It was all-consuming. Not just his body, but his mind raced horribly with unyielding pleas for mercy.

"Make it stop!" were all his frantic thoughts could scream. "It's too much! Just make it stop!"

He moved his fingers to clench into his hand as a last-ditch effort to feel anything other than ticklishness. But to his horror, his fingers wouldn't move. His skull rolled over to his left side to see what was happening. Nothing was holding him down, and to his dismay he could feel every inch of his body, however hypersensitive it had become. But when he went to close his left hand, it wouldn't move. It laid there lifeless on the wooden floor.

In a panic, he tried his other hand but found the same terrifying result. He couldn't move his fingers, or his hands, he even came to realize that his toes had ceased wiggling. As he looked back up at Dropwart, his neck became stiff and still until he realized he could no longer move his head. His body was completely paralyzed and still being mercilessly tickled beyond his breaking limit. For a moment Sans just laid there, his already hysterical laughter now intermixed with screams of terror and helplessness. It was one thing to be tickled while being restrained and unable to free himself, but being tickled whilst being trapped inside his own body was a manner of hysteria that Sans had never before experienced.

Dropwart stood over him, beaming with delight. She had clearly noticed how he could no longer move and by the look on her face, this had come as no surprise to her.

"Oh, no need to fret, my deary...." She grinned mischievously down at him as he continued to scream. "It'll all be over soon."

Her voice was practically distant as Sans continued breathlessly cachinnating, he could have sworn he could hear it echoing as he felt his mind trying to black out. He was so lost in the madness, that he couldn't even register that his limbs were starting to shrink. Inch by inch his arms, legs, and even his torso were starting to get smaller and shorter.

"SANS!!" Papyrus shrieked when he realized what was happening.

This entire time, Papyrus had been pushing himself past the point of exhaustion to try and break out of the ropes. Using his brother as motivation, he wanted nothing more than to scoop Sans up in his arms and run away from this place as fast as his legs could carry him. While he didn't know what he could do to help him overcome the tickling potion in his system, at least they both would be out of harm's way. But nothing Papyrus tried was getting him out of the restraints, all he could do was just stand there and watch his brother suffer on the floor.

Papyrus rapidly blinked his sockets in utter disbelief as he noticed Sans starting to shrink. He couldn't believe it, surely this must be some kind of a trick, or an aftereffect of being tortured for so long by so many different feats of unfamiliar magic. But it was real. It was happening. Papyrus could tell by every individual reaction of delight coming from Dropwart. Sans was shrinking!

"SANS!!" Papyrus screamed at the top of his nonexistent lungs. "SANS!! WAKE UP!! PLEASE BROTHER, SNAP OUT OF IT!!"

To Sans's relief, he was starting to feel the effects of the potion starting to wear off. At first, it wasn't that noticeable as he was still caught in uncontrollable fits of laughter and screaming. But slowly over a span of minutes he could notice the intensity of the tickling potion starting to decrease. It wasn't slowing down nearly as quickly as Sans needed it to. Every sharp inhale served as a silent plea for the effects to go away faster before choking out another burst of desperate laughter.

But after way too long, the ticklishness finally became bearable, and Sans was able to take in deep, albeit shaky, breaths in between incessant giggling. The skeleton could still feel himself trembling even after the tickling came to a complete stop. He silently prayed that Dropwart would leave him alone long enough to recover at least a little bit, which thankfully she did.

As his breathing returned to a comfortable place, he looked up to see Dropwart's face practically glowing with giddy excitement. He glanced at Papyrus to see an opposite expression of complete horror on his brother's face. But what caused the older skeleton's anxiety to return was when he realized that he still couldn't move. His body was still paralyzed on the floor, and no amount of struggling was making a difference.

"P-Pap...?" Sans fearfully stammered, grateful to at least still be able to speak. "What's going on? Why can't I move?"

At first, Papyrus stood there, still too stunned to speak. But realizing that Dropwart was likely going to blurt out the answer, Papyrus knew it would be better to hear it from him.

"Sans…," he timidly replied. "Y-You're a … doll!"

“I’m a … WHAT?!”

Sans was certain that he didn’t hear Papyrus clearly, it had to be a mistake. It just had too! He attempted to turn his head to look at his arm, but all he could move were his pupils as they strained to look to his left. He could see his arm, but something was clearly off. It looked … softer? It almost looked like it was coated with a gentle layer of fuzz. He still couldn’t move it, and straining his eyes to look the other way yielded the same results. He couldn’t believe it … he was actually a doll!

“A DOLL!!” Dropwart cheered and skipped around the room like a cheerful schoolgirl. The force of her feet landing on the floor scaring the life out of Sans. “I can’t believe it, my very own poppet! No true witch should be without one, you know!”

She picked Sans up by his midsection to hold him with both hands, looking him straight in the eyes. It was the strangest, scariest sensation for Sans to be picked up off the ground with no control of his body to even so much as catch himself. Instinctively, he tried to struggle and fight against her. But his new ragdoll body lay limp, lifeless, and totally helpless to gravity. He could only stare into her face, unable to form an expression of fear, or even to tremble.

“You…. You change him back!” Papyrus yelled boldly. “You turn him back to normal right now!”

The Lilac Snake hissed dangerously at Papyrus as if to try and silence him. But this time, the younger skeleton’s fear was replaced with a defiant anger as he continued to glare at Dropwart demanding to change his brother back.

Dropwart ignored Papyrus’s angry cries as she examined Sans. She gently lifted his arms and admired the stitching across his face, as if he were an actual hand-made doll. Every little detail about her magical handiwork made her beam and giggle with elation. As she switched to just holding him with her left hand, her right hand held up one single finger.

“Now for the true test,” she mused as her finger moved down towards Sans’s midsection.

“W-Wait! Hold on!” Sans stuttered fearfully watching her giant finger move closer to him. “Wait! What are you gonna…?”

He trailed off as he felt the tip of her nail suddenly lifting his shirt up. Before he had a chance to protest further, she wriggled her finger underneath and proceeded to scratch along his new doll ribs.

“AAGH!! Ahahahahahahaha!! Oh-Oh nohohohohoho!! Ahahaha!! Stahahahap!! Stop!! It tihihihihihickles!!”

To his horror, his ticklishness still remained, even while in doll form. In an instant he was thrown right back into the helpless fit of laughter he had been in when he first felt his body become paralyzed. A deathly dread filled his very Soul, he now knew what she was planning to do to him.

“Oh, how utterly PERFECT!” Dropwart practically shrieked in delight. “We’ll brew up another batch for your friend over here, and then you two will be my endless source of ingredients!”

“WHAT?!” Sans screamed, all at once forgetting the ache that was still present in his throat. “NO!! NO YOU CAN’T!!”

Sans didn’t want to believe any of this was happening. This crazy witch turned him into a helpless plush doll and was going to make him and his brother her forever tickle slaves! There was nothing he could do to stop her, this form wasn’t even allowing him to blink! It was worse than being tied down or restrained. At least even in the tightest of bonds Sans could attempt to distract himself with useless struggling. But now, even that luxury was denied him and it was undeniably maddening. Once she repeated the process to drain him of enough laughter to make a new potion for Papyrus, he would suffer the same fate. Sans never felt so doomed in his life.

“LET HIM GO!!” Papyrus growled as he continued to struggle, practically trying to twist his fingers around to claw at the ropes. “Let go of my brother! Y-You horrible old witch!!” He wasn’t as good at coming up with insults as Sans, but Papyrus had finally had enough and was bold enough to at least try.

Again, Dropwart ignored Papyrus and excitedly started gathering empty glass vials from the wooden shelves. Sans let out a series of panicked yelps as he was yanked around in her hand. Realizing that she couldn’t hold him and all seven new glass containers all at once, she passed a good amount of the empty containers to the Magenta Snake.

“Ooh! Bring the paintbrush, deary!” Dropwart excitedly instructed.

The Magenta Snake grabbed the paintbrush and the twisted black wand off of the table with its tail before slithering towards the back of the room. Papyrus couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed it before, but what lay beyond the cauldron and the wooden table in the back of the room was a large red curtain. It covered the rest of the cottage, obstructing it from view. Papyrus watched as the Magenta Snake carried the vials and the wand through the curtain and disappeared behind it.

The snake returned moments later to retrieve the pile of pastel feathers on the floor, clearly with a goal of bringing everything Dropwart had used on the skeletons to the secluded back area of the cottage. As the Snake finished picking up the last of the feathers, it slinked away, returning to the curtain. This time Dropwart followed it, carrying about four empty vials in one hand, and holding onto Sans in the other.

“Hey! Wait! Where are you going?!” Papyrus called after them, not wanting to let Sans out of his sight. “You bring him back here!”

Before following the Magenta Snake behind the curtain, Dropwart turned to give Papyrus a snarky smile.

"Oh, don't worry, deary … this one will keep you company," she said referring to the Lilac Snake, who gave a grumpy-sounding hiss from the corner of the cottage. "And when I come back … you'll never be parted from your brother again."

She let out one final diabolical cackle before closing the curtain and disappearing into the back with Sans. It only took a moment before Papyrus could hear Sans's laughter replacing the silence of the cottage. It was slightly muffled due to the sudden distance between them and the sound coming through the curtain. But Papyrus could still make out Sans's pleas for mercy as well as Dropwart's patronizing tone.

"Oh no, my deary, much too hearty!" Papyrus couldn't tell if she was talking to Sans or the snake. "Remember, we must start off with a light tittering sound! Try flicking your tail around the back of his head!" That answered that question.

Papyrus knew he had to get out of this somehow. Whatever it took, he had to rescue Sans. He strained at his arms and legs, gritting his teeth and pulling against the ropes with everything he had left in him. He stopped abruptly when he heard the harsh hissing sound of the Lilac Snake. Clearly, being left out of the Tickle Party had placed it in a sour mood, and it wasn't about to take its eyes off of Papyrus.

Papyrus knew in an instant that he couldn't mess around as long as the cursed serpent was keeping an eye on him. He wouldn't put it past it to satisfy its own need for hunger by tickling him out of punishment for trying to escape. Papyrus couldn't take that risk. Besides being unbearably unpleasant, another tickle attack would leave him even weaker. Then he'd REALLY be in no condition to help his brother.

"NOO!! NO-AHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP!! STO—AHAHAHAHA!!"

Just as the thought of Sans crossed his mind, Papyrus could hear his brother's helpless wails of laughter and begging. No doubt the experience being even worse for him since he could no longer move. Dropwart must have already collected the softer doses of laughter if she was already making Sans laugh that hard. Papyrus had to think of something fast, he knew there wasn't much time left.

Trying to think like his brother, Papyrus's eyes darted around the room. Looking for something, anything that could possibly help him escape. The only thing that really caught his attention was a lit candle that had been resting just above him on the top of the wooden shelf. He kept thinking if he could just knock it down to his hand, he could use the flame to burn the ropes across his wrist. But there was nothing he could do to knock it over without alerting the Lilac Snake. If only he could use his magic, he would surely be able to defeat it with one of his special attacks.

"OH NO!! PLEASE!! NOHOHOHOHOHO!!"

Another burst of laughter echoed from behind the curtain. The sound of Sans's distressed begging completely interrupted Papyrus's thoughts and he shuddered just thinking what his poor brother was going through.

"Come on … come on! Where was it?" Came Dropwart's voice, obviously searching for something while still mercilessly tickling Sans.

Although Papyrus knew he didn't have much magic to give while being trapped in this world, he knew there had to be something. He managed to pull off one bone construct back when he and Sans were hanging upside down, maybe he could manage to pull it off again. Remembering how sturdy the head of the snake was, the younger skeleton decided it would be best to focus on pulling out a bone construct for the purpose of knocking the candle down. He didn't have much time left, and he didn't know if he had the energy to pull it off. But he had to try … for Sans.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the world around him, which was already proving to be challenging as another anguished howl of laughter tore from Sans, causing him to flinch. As hard as it was, he knew for the moment that he had to completely block his brother out in order to find a spark.

While in the midst of concentrating, Dropwart peeked her head out from the curtain and beckoned for the Lilac Snake to come closer.

"My dear little pet," she cooed, patting it affectionately on the head. "Be a dear and show me where that snorting spot is again, will you?" The serpent hissed happily, following Dropwart back behind the curtain.

Now, thankfully, Papyrus had been left alone, but concentration was still proving to be difficult as Sans's screams of laughter were now intermixed with sharp snorting sounds. Papyrus shook off the noise and focused, surprised to have found one tiny spark almost immediately.

Much like all the others before it, it was small and pathetic. Papyrus knew that it was going to require a lot of mental energy in order to sustain it. But as another bout of sobbing laughter echoed through the curtain, Papyrus was more determined than ever to make it happen. He clenched his teeth, and shut his eyes tightly. He tried to bring the spark to life as fast as possible without letting it slip away. But in his haste, it was almost lost immediately, a clear sign to take his time and be careful. Papyrus tried his best to push the stress of time out of his mind. Tried hard not to think about Sans and the unending torment he was facing, and especially tried not to think about what would happen if he failed. He had no time or mental stamina to fret over anything but his magic.

Little by little he felt it starting to expand. His Soul grew warm with the new presence of magic steadily filling it up. His mind began to ache, the more he manifested the power to keep growing, but if he could just push a little bit more, that would be all he needed. Inhaling deeply, he pulled the last of his mental strength, until at last he felt the spark engulf his Soul. The feeling was warm and pleasant, he hated the idea of letting it go so soon. But his brother needed him, and that was all the motivation he needed.

He snapped his fingers, summoning a single bone construct to form before his eyes. Immediately, he felt the weakening shiver as the magic once again depleted from his Soul, but he ignored it, instead quietly instructing the bone to place itself at the top of the shelf. He could hear Sans starting a new round of screaming as Dropwart hit a particularly bad spot on him. Fearing that she was already going after his grooves, Papyrus worked quickly.

Carefully, he nudged the candlestick closer and closer to the end of the shelf. As it teetered over the edge, Papyrus reached up with his fingertips, ready to catch it. With the gentlest of pushes, the bone construct tipped the candlestick over, sending it tumbling down. It fell much faster than expected. Papyrus's Soul thumped anxiously in his chest as it fell towards his hand. Thankfully, he managed to catch it just in time. Letting out a brief sigh of relief, he got to work.

Sure enough, Dropwart had Sans placed onto his belly on a separate wooden table as she wriggled a feather up his shirt, mercilessly teasing at his sweet spot. The doll laid there in a puddle of his own tears. As surprised as he was that he was still able to cry in doll form, he was grateful to be resting on his chin so he wouldn't accidentally drown in them. Dropwart gleefully collected another vial of "Hysterical Laughter" and pulled the feather out, giving Sans a brief moment to catch his breath.

"So, deary, you ready for the grand finale?" Dropwart teased as she twirled the feather between her fingertips. "Just one more to go and we have our next batch"

"Nohohohoho...!!" Sans miserably sobbed in distress, adding more tears to the puddle. "Pleeheease!! Please no mohohore!! I can't take anymohohohore!!"

Dropwart chuckled in amusement before lifting the back of Sans's shirt once again. "You know, deary, you really should be using this time for breathing instead of crying—"

"HEY!!" Papyrus's sharp yell from the entrance of the curtain froze everyone in startlement. He stood there glaring angrily at the witch and her two snakes, the single bone construct gripped tightly in his fist. "Back away from my brother!!"

Papyrus threw the construct hard, aiming hopefully for Dropwart, but instead smacking the Magenta Snake on the nose. The serpent reeled back in pain, before abruptly lunging for the skeleton in anger. Papyrus fought hard, grabbing vials off the back shelves and shattering them against the snakes' heads. But before he had a chance to grab for either Sans or Dropwart, he was tripped by their long tails. This time they bound him up so tightly, he feared that his bones would crack. Dropwart angrily approached the younger skeleton, waving a long pointed fingernail in his face.

"Now is THAT any way to behave?" She seemed genuinely frustrated with him, but her tone and behavior still reflected that of a mother about to scold and punish a child. "How did you even get out of that?"

At first Papyrus refused to answer, but groaned with pain once he felt the snakes starting to squeeze the life out of him.

"Well?!" Dropwart practically roared in his face.

"The … candlestick...!" Papyrus strained. "By … the way … part … of your shelf … is now on fire!"

Dropwart quickly opened the curtain, sure enough, the wooden shelf that was standing next to the stakes in the ground were now steadily being engulfed by flames. She let out a high-pitched shriek of rage, stomping down hard on of the pieces of her shattered vials, destroying them even further. She angrily pointed a finger at Papyrus's face.

"You are going to CLEAN UP this mess, Mister!" she growled, all sense of childlike giddiness and fun completely gone away. "And then I'm gonna turn you into a doll, then you are going to replace every single form of laughter that I had on that shelf for the next year! Do you hear—"

There was a knock at the door. Everyone inside the cottage froze before slowly turning to stare at the front entrance. The knock happened again, this time louder than before. Nobody quite knew what to do, even if Dropwart was accustomed to visitors, it's not like this was the best time. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, there was a loud bang as the door exploded off of its hinges.

The once clean entryway to the cottage was replaced with a gaping hole in the wall. As Papyrus looked at the faces of the perpetrators, his Soul froze, his nonexistent stomach became ill with terror. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be! But … it was.

The Cheshire Cat slinked his big red body into the cottage. Followed by the lumbering Tickle Monster, who was clearly the one responsible for the door's destruction. As his eyes cast down to the floor, Papyrus could see the shadows of two eerily familiar floating children.

The Cat looked at Papyrus, looked at the Sans doll on the table, and then up to Dropwart with that old familiar devilish grin spread across his face.

"A thousand pardons for the intrusion, Madame," he said politely. "But I do believe you have something of ours."

#Tickletober #Tickletober2024 #Undertale #LaughterLand Story #Sans #Papyrus

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veinsfullofstars · 5 months ago

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for your childhood friends au, do the kids have any favorite foods?

Ooooh, okay okay, so this is something I’ve actually given a fair bit of thought to (maybe too much thought given how long this thing got, haha). I love little details like this in character writing - it makes them feel so much more alive and well-rounded, y'know? The kiddos have preferences as varied as their personalities, and I’m just itching to get into it, so… let’s get into it! (Also, just to be clear, I did pull some of my food headcanons for MK and DDD specifically from source material and the wiki, but most of this kinda just comes right off the dome.)

When it comes to food, Para Dee is probably the most milquetoast of the bunch (though that’s hardly a bad thing). Neither a voracious eater like Dedede nor an avoidant one like Meta, he enjoys food about as much as the average Waddle Dee, more than fine with his three square meals a day (maybe a snack if he’s good). His tastes primarily lean towards savory or bitter flavors, anything from a warm bowl of stew to a nice crisp salad depending on his mood (meaning that, of the four of them, he’s the most likely to eat his veggies... and enjoy them). He’s not the biggest fan of sweets (probably due to that fact that his father is a baker and routinely saturates their home with the heavy scents of vanilla and mixed fruit), but he does have a soft spot floral teas and hot chocolate, especially during the colder seasons. He doesn’t mind sour flavors in small amounts (meaning if someone gets pickles with their meal, you know they’re going onto Para’s plate), but spicy foods? Forget about it. His poor little stomach has no tolerance for spice, to the point where even a little too much pepper has him breaking out in a sweat (something Bow teases him about mercilessly).

If you asked him what his absolute favorite food is, he’d have a hard time choosing... but he'd probably say his father’s caramelized onion soup, a much-beloved dish at their dinner table and a favorite at every community potluck. It’s never quite the same when Para makes it (many years into the future with a family of his own), but it still sparks warm memories of holidays and togetherness with each cheese-laden spoonful.

Then, on the opposite side of the spectrum, we have Bow Dee, our tiny terror with a metabolism and appetite to rival those of her bigger buddies. If left alone and unoccupied for too long, she’s been known to sneak into locked pantries or climb high, off-limits shelves looking for any snacks she can get her grubby little mitts on (a habit she probably learned from watching Dedede). That said, she can be rather picky about which foods she’ll scarf down, especially in her youth when she would literally pick through her meals for the bits she liked and ignore the rest (much to her mothers’ chagrin).

If asked about her favorites, she’d say she likes protein-packed foods the most (omelets, jerky, trail mix, whatever will fuel those boundless energy reserves of hers in the saltiest, most flavorful manner possible) but refuses to touch veggies, pickles, and bitter flavors in general (at least in her childhood, growing a little more adventurous about food during their time overstars). She likes sweets as much as the average high-energy kid, partial to citrus fruits and sour candies especially (she likes how it stings a bit when you eat it, almost like it's fighting back). And, beyond all that, Bow loves spicy foods. Full stop. If it ain’t spicy - or spicy enough - she’ll find a way to make it so. Chili flakes, hot sauce, whole peppers, whatever she has on hand - it’s going in there, and Nova help anyone who tries to stop her. A bit ironic given her natural affinity for Water, though maybe that’s what gives her such a high tolerance for capsaicin. Or maybe she’s just that badass (as she likes to brag to her buddies, watching them steam out the ears from a single jalapeño while she’s already chomped down seven). And before you ask, yes, this has landed her in village clinic on more than one occasion. High tolerance or no, she definitely does not have Dedede’s cast-iron stomach… or Meta’s self-restraint. (We don’t talk about the Ghost Pepper Fiasco.)

Speaking of picky eaters, Meta has a… complicated relationship with food. He’s never had much of an appetite, often going (unsettlingly long) stretches of time without feeling the need to eat, only doing so if someone reminds him to (or if he gets too woozy, whichever comes first). He does need to eat, of course… just not nearly as often as everyone else does, it would seem (a byproduct of his peculiar biology, perhaps?). It’s an excuse he’s used often to get away with skipping meals, sometimes substituting in lighter foods like breakfast bars or Energy Drinks to keep his strength up (though this is hardly a long-term solution). He also finds certain textures and tastes difficult to deal with, even turning down entire meals if just one bite feels off. It makes eating with company - already an awkward experience thanks to his introversion - that much more uncomfortable, sitting there with a full plate while everyone else chews and chatters around him, wishing he could disappear as swiftly as his hunger (a habit that still crops up even in adulthood, though he has learned to push through it for the sake of politeness). Honestly, he could write a whole dissertation on how the act of consumption is a burden upon the living and no one should be subjected to it… and then he remembers chocolate exists and takes it all back for a while.

That’s really the one exception to his food trepidation: sweets. Perhaps it comes from living in Dream Land where sugary foods are so plentiful, the forests rich with apples and berries, the scent of pies and pastries wafting from windowsills, even the lands themselves named after foods of all sorts. Or perhaps it stems from his earliest memories, a helping hand and a bar of something indescribably sweet and rich, the first he’d ever tasted… Whatever the case, it’s stuck with him, a livelong love of sweets and sweet-adjacent foods, one that narrows, refines, and changes over time into preferences for chocolate, coffee, and other foods with light but flavorful consistencies. Not that this stops his friends (and later his crewmates) from hounding him into eating more nutritious meals once in a while, too. It's frustrating, but he knows they mean well, and he gets better about listening to their advice with time.

And finally, whipping to the other side of the scale once more, it’s Dedede, the penguin equivalent of a vacuum, willing to eat literally anything you put in front of him (including things you probably should not eat). He wouldn’t say he has many strong preferences - all food is good food in his eyes - though he does appreciate a good bone-in steak or similarly hearty dishes like seafood or pasta, and he could never pass up a nice rich dessert (especially cakes).

More than the taste, though, it’s really the act of eating - a pastime even more beloved than sparring or sleeping - that brings Dedede comfort, whether it’s through cozy communal meals with neighbors, the thrill of food-based competitions with friends (ones that will later inspire Dream Land’s famous Gourmet Races), or just to deal with the boredom (and loneliness) when he’s stuck on his own. It’s possible he gets this behavior from his mama, a little on the heavier side herself and known for her own cast-iron constitution back in her wrestling days (not to mention prone to spoiling her “darlin’ baby bird” and his friends with extra treats all the time). Meanwhile, his papa - a stickler for decency and discipline - is constantly reminding his son to slow down during meal times, wondering if he’s even tasting the food he’s shoving down his gullet (a blunt but well-intentioned criticism given the many, many tummy troubles Dedede suffers in his younger days). He never manages to fully tame his massive appetite (certainly not helped by the more decadent lifestyle he later adopts as a king), but he does at least refine it over time, learning from Para of all people about the joys of savoring meals rather than always inhaling them outright.

Phew, alright, I think that’s about it. Thanks for the question! Hopefully I didn't go too in-depth for such a simple one - I was having fun with it and might've gotten carried away again, haha. Well, at the very least, it'll give you guys some nuggets to chew on in the meantime (pun super not intended).

Sketches started 06/25/24, finished 06/27/24.

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