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marlynnofmany · 10 months

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Shore Leave

I didn’t think I was homesick until I caught the unexpected sound of a toddler’s wild laughter from the spaceship bridge. Out in the hall, I whipped around to stick my head through the door with some very unprofessional curiosity. That hadn’t been an alien noise.

Up on screen was our new client who the captain was negotiating with, and also the client’s young daughter. She’d apparently come into Daddy’s room to show the nice aliens on the video call her favorite noisemaker.

“Okay honey, they think it’s great. Go on back to—” the patient father was interrupted by an electronic fart sound on high volume, and even louder peals of laughter from his child. “I’m sorry,” he said to the captain as he scooped up the wiggly youngster and carried her out of frame.

Captain Sunlight waited patiently, every inch the dignified yellow lizard alien who wasn’t about to let someone’s gleeful offspring ruffle her calm.

The human came back, minus the child but with a new food smear on the shoulder of his crisp uniform shirt. Nobody told him. The conversation resumed with nary a giggle, and with me waiting in the hall.

“…By that timeframe or sooner,” Captain Sunlight concluded. “We can’t have your colony going without the comforts of home for long! Farewell.” She held her position as Wio flicked a button with one blue-ringed tentacle, and the screen clicked off.

“I volunteer,” I said.

A lesser captain might have twitched, but she probably knew I was there. “That saves me the trouble of finding you to ask,” she said smoothly, turning her chair. “It’s a big delivery, with multiple cases, so we’ll get a couple others to go along too.”

“Sure, sure,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll love to visit a human colony.”

“Though we won’t need too much lifting power,” she continued, “Because it’s a lower-gravity world.”

“Yay!” I said with an honest grin. “That’s even better.”

***

Getting the shipment down the ramp was surprisingly difficult, because the hoversled was calibrated for the artificial gravity inside our ship. Even with Mimi clinging to the control panel as it passed the barrier, the dang thing bounced.

I leaped to pull it down; Paint shrieked and leapt out of the way; Zhee yelled at both of us; Mimi cranked the controls and overcorrected, almost crushing my feet. I leapt back next to Paint, who had already stumbled in the low gravity and fallen on orange sand that was actually a decent match for her scales. I managed not to land on top of her.

“Got it,” Mimi grumbled in that rough voice that always seemed out of place on a guy who looked like an octopus the color of mint chip ice cream. He scrambled off the back of the sled. “Don’t touch the controls until you get back.”

“Understood,” Zhee said, clicking forward to follow the sled. He made the best exit of all of us, only springing upward a little. All those legs probably helped. Bug aliens weren’t known for tripping over their own feet — something that Zhee was insufferably smug about, and something that I would never let him live down if it actually happened. Not today, though.

The minor excitement had made it obvious that the air on this low-grav world was indeed as thin as the scans had said, and there was no point in toughing it out until we got indoors. The three of us got our feet under us and put on the vaguely-uncomfortable breathing masks, then began maneuvering the sled as a team. Really Zhee was doing all of the work while Paint and I held onto the sides and calibrated our own relationships with gravity, but we could pretend. And the long walk across the landing pad gave me a chance to take in the sights.

The landing pad itself was pretty boring; a couple silver-gray ships on one side and a wide stone building on the other. No sign of our contact yet, but the instructions had been to meet at the sun-shelter. So that’s where we went. At a hoppity-bouncy pace that probably would have looked very silly to any local humans if they were out to see us yet.

As we got closer to the big sun-shelter, I could better appreciate the way its shape seemed built to funnel cool air in and warm air out. Also the view off the cliff. I got a good look at that too, over the edges of the flat hilltop that the landing pad covered.

My first impression was: weird desert. Sandy hillsides in reds and oranges, with a sun that was just above those hills, and already hot. A bunch of alien trees scattered around that looked like they wanted to be cacti. They were almost familiar, as if they’d been designed by someone who only had third-hand descriptions of Earth plants to work with.

The low gravity let them get wild in ways that would collapse back home. The tallest ones spread up into the sky in cylinders that bent and quested out in every direction like curious snakes, but at a vast scale. Others spiraled straight up like unicorn horns, or twisted together like lumpy brains the size of a house, or feathered out like thick fan blades with fractal patterns. A couple were probably star-shaped if you cut a cross section, and the sides reached out to make dividers that were probably handy to hide behind in a sandstorm.

I was so busy looking at the cactus trees and trying to decide if they had spines or not that I was surprised when the hoversled stopped. We’d reached the shelter.

Zhee rapped on the door with his pincher arm. It was stone too, and would have hurt my knuckles.

Where is everybody? I thought, looking around at the sun-bright area. It sure is getting hot out.

The door slid wide to the welcome sight of another human, who immediately ushered us inside.

“Come come, bring it in!” she said, waving both hands and bounding aside. Her skin was dark and her clothes were drapey, and she seemed to consider the matter urgent. Given how much the top of my head was starting to cook, I didn’t blame her.

The door wasn’t big enough for the sled. So we unloaded it through the doorway, as quickly as possible, with me sliding close to the human and Zhee standing on the sled and Paint standing behind it to push boxes forward and comment that the extreme heat was kind of nice, actually.

But even she, coldblooded though she was, had to admit that shade was nicer by the time we got everything unloaded. She helped turn the hoversled on its side at the recommendation of the human, who still hadn’t introduced herself. Flipping it around was weirdly easy in the low-grav. Once we got even the sled inside the room — very spacious, that — the human closed the door and greeted us properly.

Yes, she was the contact we were supposed to meet. Taeya, how-do-you-do. Yes, the weather here did get shockingly hot quickly. No, it wouldn’t be pleasant to go back out into that, even for the short jaunt to the ship. Did we have to rush off, or was there time for a cooling beverage or two?

“There is!” I told her. “The captain said we have two hours of wiggle room in our schedule — usually there’s more, but we have some urgent deliveries — anyway, two hours, three tops, because she wanted to, uh, ‘give me time among my own herd.’” I made finger quotes.

Taeya beamed. “Then let me give you a tour! This stuff will keep; the people coming to unpack it won’t need any help from me. C’mon downstairs.”

“Downstairs?” I asked.

She hopped behind the boxes and disappeared, waving a hand to follow. “Downstairs!”

With a glance at the others, I moved forward and floated down the red stone stairs, one hopping step at a time.

And there I found civilization.

Stairs led to streets and storefronts and vast, cavernous halls, all carved out of the rock. It was built mostly around the edges of the mesa from what I could tell, a curving, circular city with lots of air flow that left the central core solid and untouched. It didn’t quite feel like home to me, but it was so impressive that I didn’t mind.

Every boulevard had high ceilings, and even high benches, out of the way of foot traffic. Most of the surfaces were either painted or carved. And everywhere I looked, humans bounced instead of walking — which did look silly no matter how they approached it.

With the drapey, flowing, colorful clothes that everyone wore, it all looked like a society of cheerful wizards. I laughed behind my breathing mask, then asked Taeya if she thought I could take it off. She wasn’t wearing one, but then her lungs were used to thin air.

“Oh yes, I should have said,” she told me with a wave of gold-and-red sleeves. “We have oxygen generators lower down, to keep things comfortable. Along with the top-notch medical suites for keeping an eye on any low-grav degradation. Offworlders tend to ask about that.” She had a distinct twinkle in her eye as she said it.

“How handy,” I said.

Zhee peered judgmentally at the lightfooted humans. “Is that how you handle muscle atrophy? With medical adjustments?”

“Partly,” Taeya said.

“Mushers!” Paint exclaimed at the same time, pointing.

I turned, looking for sled dogs and thinking back to the time Paint had gotten to ride a hoversled while I pulled. I saw no dogs now, but a cluster of rickshaws pulled by people huffing like suburban joggers. They didn’t bounce, weighted down as they were. And their passengers looked like workout buddies urging them on until they got their own turns.

“Partly things like that,” Taeya finished smoothly.

I removed my breathing mask, eyeing a nearby restaurant and a closer flower display, then took a deep lungful of body odor and broke up laughing. When the nearest passersby had moved on, hopefully toward showers, I explained to my nonhuman crewmates that sometimes our own natural smell was unpleasant to us, with insufficient hygiene. Surely I’d told them that before.

“Right, you did,” Zhee said. “I still say it’s a deeply maladaptive trait.”

“I won’t argue with you on that count,” I told him, trying to fan the air casually.

Thankfully the rest of the crowd sported a more pleasant range of scents, and we hopped on down the road.

Taeya had something else to show us before nightfall.

“Nightfall?” I asked with some concern. “We’ve only got two hours, less now. Probably closer to one.”

Taeya responded by making a sharp turn toward a row of window slits, just a few inches wide by several times my height. Outside, the sun was already getting low.

“Oh,” I said eloquently.

“It’s the perfect time to see the flitters come out,” Taeya said with another hand wave. “Come on.”

More bouncing steps, another beautiful hallway full of murals, and another curving stairway down. Then we were, surprisingly, outside.

A sprawling garden of alien succulents covered the ground, with low burrows that I noticed moments before brilliantly-colored creatures began scampering out of them. These took to the sky in flashes of movement, flitting about as the name suggested, for all the world like tiny flying carpets that had been ferrets once.

Paint wanted to know if they bit. Zhee asked if they were food. I shook my head while Taeya told them both no. They were a lovely sight, and that’s all they needed to be. Plus they ate some local pests. Always a bonus.

The air was getting chilly already, to my surprise. Taeya did something deft with her clothes, pinning the drapey bits in a way that looked suddenly much warmer, with all that cloth wrapped around her.

“If you were staying longer, I’d suggest you get a local outfit,” she told me.

I nodded. “If I was staying longer, I’d take you up on that. Looks like a good design.” Clever and foreign, in a way that looked like several familiar things at once while managing to be none of them. And certainly nothing I’d ever worn.

Staring up at the whirling flitters as the light left the sky, I felt oddly sad. So much of this was halfway familiar, not the whole-hearted taste of home that I’d hoped for. But before I could get too maudlin, Taeya waved us back toward the carved-out city.

“C’mon, back into the good air,” she said. “One last thing before we get you back up to your ship.”

I hopped quietly after her. Zhee muttered about the theoretical taste of flitter meat while Paint made stiff-legged lizard hops out of the nighttime chill.

We were only a little ways down this new hallway before I heard music.

I bounded faster.

The great hall that Taeya led us into was lined with people around the edges, standing in rows and sitting on ledges, their voices echoing as they sang toward the center. I spotted instruments at some of the higher seats. People at the bottom swayed in time.

I didn’t know the words. But I knew the sound. A crowd of humans singing together; it was a glorious thing.

This is what I’ve been missing, I thought, breathing deeply. The air here smelled like flowers and spices and laundry detergent, and it was full of the sound of home. A vast roomful of people singing the same song, voices rebounding off the walls and bodies moving in joy.

I glanced back at Zhee and Paint. They both looked a little baffled. I asked over the music, “Do your people do much singing?”

“A bit? I guess?” Paint said. “But not all together like this.”

Zhee shook his head. “Why would you use your voice for music?” he asked. “How barbaric.”

I laughed and turned to Taeya, who was happy to teach me the words. There was even a bit of dancing with the next song, and that was an adventure in low gravity. So was the next. Zhee and Paint patiently observed from the doorway.

Then when one song ended, and a fast drumbeat paved the way for the next, I was surprised to see a number of people vacate the dance floor. I started to do the same, ready to say something about getting to the ship on time.

I didn’t realize that Taeya had left until she returned. She appeared at my elbow with two padded helmets and a smile.

“We’ve moved on to quick-beat time!” she told me over the rising music. “Does your captain need you back right now, or can you stay long enough to try a low-grav mosh pit?”

Our two hours were up and I knew it. I looked to Zhee and Paint, who were close enough to hear the conversation. Paint was sitting on one of the head-height benches. She looked down at Zhee.

He turned his head away, which meant nothing with his range of vision. He harrumphed. “Don’t break anything the medsystem can’t fix.”

“I’ll do my best!” I told him with a grin as I accepted a helmet. “Besides, I hear they have good ones here.”

Surrounded by a mix of old and new, I joined my people in the time-honored tradition of dancing more far vigorously than common sense dictated. The captain had said three hours tops.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #colony worlds #writeblr #science fiction #humans are space orcs #low gravity

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lifewithdavefarts · 7 months

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DaveFarts - Episode 25 “Endurance Test” [Episode List] Tim gets a bit too cocky and challenges his gassy friend by (jokingly) doubting of his farting skills. Dave, whose farts are being as powerful as usual, if not more, gladly accepts the challenge.

This story was originally requested by StraightFartGods.

POV: Tim

The weather outside, despite being warm, wasn’t the best so our plans for the night, being a group of friends who’s starting to surrender way too easily (it’s because once you’re past 25, you get instantly old), we all decided to stay home, our respective homes even, so Dave and I ended up alone. We don’t mind that much.

Dave likes going out way more than me (though it’s not like I don’t know how to have fun) but he too cherishes some good, safe alone-time to recharge social batteries: we’re much more similar than we’d like to admit, which is why we get along so well. They say we’re “the odd couple”, but I think that weirdos simply attract each other naturally, even though they can look very different at first.

“Alright.” Dave said, walking into the living room. He was dressed as if we had to leave, so a grey shirt and a pair of good old dark blue jeans, slightly loose because he untied his belt. “I’m starving.”

“Pizza?” I simply asked.

“The day I’m gonna answer ‘No’ to that is the day you’ll know a skinwalker took my place.”

The power of pizza.

Even though we didn’t actively plan for it, the night slowly morphed into a “movie night”, just the two of us on the couch eating pizza and watching a cheesy, manly, toxic action movie that we can recite by memory because of how many times we watched it: “Bullet Gore”. Now that’s a title!

“Your face is history.” the male hero said, right before turning somebody’s head to bits with his shotgun.

We cheered as and had a sip of beer as if our baseball team scored the match point and enjoyed the unnecessary but fun gore sequences of the film.

“Too bad they ruined everything with the sequel.” Dave commented.

“Aw come on. It’s worse, but not that bad.” I replied.

“Never watched and never will.” he stated, taking a good sip of beer.

By the time the movie was halfway done (it was a surprisingly long flick), I had to turn up the volume because of some noises next to me making me difficult to hear what the characters were saying.

Indeed, Dave started farting, the way he does during nights like these, with pizza and beer acting as fuel for his already incredible talent. He was resting both his legs on the small table in front of the couch, his denim ass facing the TV, so I didn’t have a proper full view of it. I could, however, hear every single blast echoing in the room, with the terrible scent immediately following each thunder.

I would love to say that he was doing this because of my kink, but this is actually what being Dave’s close friend means: you better get used to his farts, because he’s gonna just casually do it in front of you whether you like it or not. He wasn’t even acknowledging that he was ripping one every few minutes, huge ones nonetheless, though once or twice he did snap his fingers to get me to turn to him, so I could see his smirk as he ripped one. Once again, he does this with our other friends as well, but he does seem to put some extra “care” into the teasing part because he knows I actually, well, like it.

But everyone’s got limits: the farts were huge, not overly long, but incredibly stinky. Even for my standards, it was getting a bit… stuffy in there, so I actually went for it.

“I know this is weird coming from me, but… can you tone it down a bit?”

Dave slowly turned to me with a serious, surprised face, and effortlessly replied by ripping a loud, almost wet one, renewing the stench he was immune to. This time it was one of his longer ones, around 7 seconds long.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you.” he managed to say while farting. “Did you say something?”

After the fart ended and a few moments of silence (ignoring the TV), I opened my mouth to speak again, but my friend’s ass spoke first, emitting another loud, long rip.

Dave gestured to his ear and slowly shook his head, as to say the he still couldn’t hear me, as if we were in a loud nightclub, but the only music piercing through my own eardrums was my bro’s loud fart.

That ridiculous scene actually made me laugh like an idiot, while also giving me the hardest boner so far of the night.

9 seconds and the rip was over.

“So, I did it.” Dave said. “You’ve been healed. I blasted your kink out of you.” he joked.

“Please…” I played along. “Those were like… low-tier farts, for your standards.”

“True.” he playfully admitted. “So don’t tempt me.” he threatened.

I hated that I found that… hot.

“I’m n-not… I’m just s-saying that the entire room smells like, I don’t know, rotten beer? Is t-that even possible?”

Dave laughed. “If only there was something or someone who could fix this!”

“What are you implying…?” I asked.

“Well…” Dave sat normally on the couch. “I assumed your lungs were better than this. But apparently you just can’t handle my power.” he said, with a cheesy smirk.

“Oh…” I got what he meant. “Well, maybe I’m not complaining because of you’re farting too much.” I leaned closer to him, as if we were doing some shady business. “Maybe I’m complaining because you’re not farting enough.” I dared to say.

My friend replied with a surprised laughter. “Are you seriously challenging me?” he didn’t sound offended or disgusted, just amused. But he can get cocky.

“Wanna bet?” I asked, indeed challenging him.

“Alright, get up.”

Dave stood up and I did the same: it truly looked like we were doing a business meeting.

“Challenge accepted.” he continued, and we firmly shook hands. “If I win, beers are on you for 3 months.”

“Deal.” I replied. “But if I win, we’re gonna watch ‘Bullet Gore 2’ later.”

While still shaking hands, Dave looked at me funny.

“Really? That’s it?” he replied, with a smile. “All of this just to watch a shitty movie with me?”

Funny how that’s the thing he found weird instead of, you know, the boner his farts give me.

“Yeah. Pretty gay, huh?” I joked.

“Okay…” he nodded, still somewhat surprised. “It’s a deal.”

We once again had this super manly handshake going on, just as an helicopter in the movie exploded in a fiery fireball, killing a bunch of henchmen and one of the main villains, with the shirtless muscular hero saying something like “Burn in Hell, you son of a bitch!”. Probably the manliest moment I ever lived through.

“So, let’s hear those toots.” I said, bravely.”

“Toots?” my friend replied. “I’m gonna blast your face so hard you’re gonna regret having this kink…”.

Dave casually threatening me like this… got me instantly hard. I knew he was just playing along but goddammit, why am I like this? Why is he like this? Why the fuck did I even accept this bet?! As my own mind made fun of me, my bro lied on this stomach on the couch, his tall figure occupying all of it, his nice jeans-clad ass facing up, looking like a soft warm denim pillow.

I simply managed to sit between his long legs and planted my face into that ass, still stinky for all the farts he ripped until that moment. My nose wasn’t facing down however, as I didn’t want to make it weird.

“Dude.” I heard Dave say. “Honestly, your lack of commitment to your fart kink disappoints me”. he then laughed, reaching for my head. “Be a man and face my ass.” he said, pushing my head deeper between his denim asscheeks.

I tried not to laugh myself at that weird statement, so I just obeyed and turned my head, facing down, now fully at the mercy of my friend’s powerful butt. I took a good whiff, enjoying the smell of almost 1 hour of loud, post-pizza blasts. As I did that, I felt the ass’ muscles relaxing, a sign that Dave was pushing one out, and indeed it came out immediately: an ear-piercing blast and made my face shake, almost wet-sounding, felt like a slap on my face.

My task was clear: not a single particle of gas had to reach Dave’s nose, so I inhaled it deeply and loudly as the fart kept erupting straight down my nostrils. I inhaled so hard and for so long that I actually surprisingly outlasted my friend’s 9 seconds: now the only noise we both could hear (besides someone getting shot in the movie) was me breathing his gas in… which made me realize how weird that was.

Am I making this weird? Too… “porn-y” for my straight friend? I love that he has no problems with me and my kink, but I don’t want to cross certain lines you know. He’s not saying anything… but his silence only makes it worse. I had to make sure.

“Dave.” I said, my voice being muffled by his ass, which made him laugh. “Am I making this weird?”

My friend simply turned his head, trying to look at me. I managed to get a quick look of his facial expression but the only thing on his face was a cocky smirk.

“Not weirder than usual to me.” he simply said. He then reached for my head, making it bounce a bit in his ass. “…Ready?”

Another fart erupted, which itself was Dave’s real answer to my question: “it’s fine”, he knows what this kink is by now, and he’s the one who basically challenged me to sniff it all up. Plus, if he was weirded out he knew he could just tell me and I wouldn’t be offended: we’re all adults here after all.

So there I was, my nose enduring some of the worst rips my friend ever gifted to me, the sheer power of those blasts being raunchier than his usual for some reason, maybe because of the beers being warmer or the mozzarella on the pizza being spoiled. No idea.

Or maybe it was just Dave putting extra efforts into his farts, if that was even possible. He’s the Fart King after all, so if he was somehow able to set custom pitch, loudness and power for each farts he ripped I wouldn’t have been surprised. Then again, he could even fart on command, so maybe he doesn’t need more buffs than he already has.

“Your face is history” my friend said, in a deeper voice, a clear reference to the masterpiece we were watching earlier.

And just like the henchman from the movie, my head was blown away by a sheer deadly force, this time in the form of Dave’s being unhinged, each natural blast somehow bigger and better than the previous one. I feel like that it doesn’t matter how this bet goes: I’m winning by simply having a bro like him.

I kept sniffing it all up as the blast rushed down my throat. He was good at farting, but I was also good at taking it. It’s like I said: weirdos work better together!

Yeah, I was taking it all like a champ.

“I could do this all night you know.” he boasted, during a rare moment of his ass being silent.

“What a coincidence: me too!” I bragged.

“Ohhhh… someone’s getting cocky back there.”

Dave really wanted those free beers, huh? He once again reached for my head and, with a firm grip, pushed it deeper down his warm denim ass, now almost sagging.

“Let’s see if you can keep your promise, shall we?” that was a threat.

There was like 10 seconds of silence, 10 never-ending seconds, but I just knew Dave was brewing something big, as he kept my head there (not that I was planning to move it anyway). Finally, he turned to me, with a cheesy grin, purposely trying to look like some kind of serial killer from a slasher movie before finish his victim off.

And then he hit me with his weapon of choice: the loudest fart I heard that night. It was big, it was powerful, it was deep, long. His hand didn’t move and my whole face was shaking because of the sheer power of the blast; I had to close my eyes ‘cause the gas was making them burn. How was it possible to fart so naturally and casually like this for him will always be beyond me… but I didn’t care. I managed to breathe that monster in with my mouth open, almost choking on my friend’s deadly gas.

Dave loved the challenge, but two can play this game! I could tell he was amused, disgusted and surprised by how good I was at enduring his powerful rips.

And finally, after 16 whole seconds, that impressive display of flatulence was over, not a single particle of gas reaching my farter-friend’s nostrils, as I promised.

“I believe you’re losing your touch.” I mocked him.

“With all the farts you've been eating, of course you'd be talking shit you ungrateful bastard!”

“Ohhhh sorry, someone's a little touchy.” I kept teasing him.

“Alright, I’m done holding back.” he sounded comically annoyed by my impressive endurance.

My friend slowly turned over until he was lying on his back, making sure he didn’t accidentally kick me with his long legs. He now assumed a more familiar position, the one he usually has when blasting me. He cocked his legs up, showing off his denim ass and a tiny bit of his red boxer brief, and wrapped his legs around me, pulling me closer to his gas source. His long legs had an even stronger grip than his hand, and my whole face was now completely planted into my friend’s ass.

“I’m feeling merciful tonight, so I’m giving you the chance to surrender now.” he stated, as his legs held me still, keeping my nose right between the rough fabric of his jeans-clad buttcheeks.

“Never.” I boasted. “…unless, you know, you actually want to stop because this is getting too weir-“

“Shut up!” he cut me off. “You just had to ruin my villainous speech, didn’t you?!” he laughed.

I just didn’t know what to say.

“Again, this is your last chance bro.”

I played along, knowing he was okay with it. “Hit me with your best shot, but don’t wound what you can’t kill.”

We both laughed like immature idiots, but Dave took my words at heart, because once we were done laughing at that ridiculous moment, he felt air being sucked inside his anus.

Yes, he switched to “on-command” mode, his secret weapon, his final secret move. Despite my face being there, my bro didn’t have any trouble at sucking more and more air through his ass like a vacuum cleaner, and the sound that made wasn’t that different from an actual fart. Every time I heard that “air-being-sucked-in” noise, as silly as that sounds, I think of a drumroll, the kind of tension that raises before the beat actually drops, because that’s what Dave’s farts are: something to look forward to… if you’re into it of course.

He’s been sucking air for like 20 seconds now and I started to regret my cockiness: when even a kinky bitch like me ends up being afraid of his own best bro’s farting skills, you just know something big, maybe too big, is gonna happen.

The anticipation made me hornier than ever, and the fact that it was, well, Dave, just Dave, my friend, made it even hotter for me. So casually, undeniably hot.

Finally, he stopped sucked air in, and I could hear Dave breathing (from his mouth) heavily, a sign that he was getting tired… and even his ass was getting sweatier and warmer.

“Your face is history.” my bud said again, in a comically deep voice.

We love that movie.

What followed, however, almost made me pass out.

The loudness was almost unnatural, I feared it could make me deaf. Imagine the stock sound of a fart, only longer, more powerful, airy, the most impressive fart Dave ripped in months, something so powerful that he can even feel the recoil as he pushed it out… just like a shotgun.

The more he farted, the louder it got, and I swore he was gonna tear a hole through his jeans this time, there was no way his clothes were able to endure that. I kept sniffing, breathing heavily, the fart’s pace being faster than my own breathing, if that makes any sense. 10 seconds already and the blast didn’t seem to lose any power: I almost got scared.

As the fart kept getting ripped, I felt Dave stretching his long denim legs wide to ease the fart out, which in turn made it sound even louder and deadlier. I felt like living a weird fever dream, probably because of all the poisonous gas in my lungs. But I also felt the luckiest man in the world.

I dared to peek over that denim ass, only to be greeted by Dave having the most evil smirk in the world, completely unfazed by how weird I was, how all of that was… but I could also see how tired and sweaty he was from forcing all those farts out, incredibly enough.

I planted my head back where it belonged, sniffing as much as I could, as if my life depended on it, even though I was almost passing out for all that stench… and the blood rushing down to my boner didn’t help to focus at all.

And yet… I won. The fart was losing power, ending with a quick series of toots, Dave’s legs crashing down the couch, his left one on my right side, his right one on my left side, and I got up myself, my face leaving that gas trap, finally sitting down normally on the couch.

I took a good look at Dave: he was indeed tired, sweaty, sporting a silly smirk.

“Is that how you look like after sex?” I dared to joke.

My friend laughed. “Hey, I love you bro, but you gotta settle for my farts.”

I patted one of his legs in response, as a cheesy way to thank him, and hopefully he knew how thankful I was. I mean, he already knew how aroused I was anyway, so why keep the fact that I’m grateful a secret?

Dave too adjusted his position, this time kicking me on purpose while doing it, and sat back normally.

“I gotta say, I didn’t except you to win.” he admitted.

“…win?!” I replied. “Bro… I was basically done. That last one almost killed me.”

We both laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“Let’s call it a tie then.” he proposed. “Until next time at least.” he just casually said.

I simply turned to the TV, only to find out that the movie was over.

Did Dave just face-farted me for like… 30 minutes?! Time truly flew by.

My friend then reached for his beer and the remote. We some on-demand features on our TV and, after navigating the UI for a few seconds, he started downloading “Bullet Gore 2”.

“Really?” I asked.

“Well, if you can endure all of that gas, I can sit through a turd of a movie.”

I think he was gonna watch this movie with me either way, regardless of any bet, just like I’m more than happy to offer him a beer whenever I could, so all of this fart-bet was for nothing.

Then again, weirdos attract each other naturally...

End of Episode 25

#eproctophilia #davefarts #fart kink #fart story #malefarts

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blasphemecel · 1 year

Text

Miya Osamu, Suna Rintaro — Parabola

PAIRING(S): Miya Osamu/Reader, Suna Rintaro/Reader WORD COUNT: 8k TYPE: Childhood Friends, Pining, Coming of Age, Angst, Fluff, Humor WARNING(S): Mention of an animal/pet dying (non-graphic), smoking cigarettes and drinking, there is a kiss that happens while both parties are drunk

ACT I: MISFORTUNE

For Osamu, it starts in the womb because Atsumu is his brother.

ACT II: LOVE IS NASTY

“The heart,” you say, “is an organ.”

Osamu is thirteen years old and this is the worst presentation he has ever seen, which is an impressive feat on your part. It’s obvious you haven’t memorized any of this and are ‘subtly’ reading from both the smudged handwriting on your palm and the crumpled sheet of paper in your grasp, so how this is the best you managed to come up with is beyond him. Sometimes your idiocy is on-par with Atsumu’s.

Your tone is bored and your eyes glaze over like you’re not thinking about it at all. This is literature class, and a statement as clinical as ‘the heart is an organ’ probably wouldn’t be present in a half-decent interpretation of a poem.

He has known you since he was in diapers. Such sensitivities are outside your element, he’s aware of that.

Osamu wonders what he would’ve done if he got your topic when they all drew lots a few weeks ago. It’s a love poem, and as such, the subject matter is a bit disgusting to him. When he thinks about love, he thinks of his parents being embarrassing in the parking lot and the grocery store, and when Atsumu’s first crush got lice and he tried to contract them so they’d ‘understand each other better.’

After some musing, Osamu decides the heart is indeed an organ.

Your desk is next to his, and when you sit back down, you ask, “Was it really that bad?”

“I hope I never get ya as a presentation partner,” he says.

ACT III, BACKTRACK: ‘TSUMU IS LAME

Atsumu struts up to you like he has life changing news. You raise an eyebrow.

“We’ve got new names,” he announces and expects amazement. Osamu lingers behind him with the same vacant look on his face.

You ask, “Yeah? And what are they?”

“I’m ‘Tsumu and he’s ‘Samu.”

“But that’s so stupid,” you say. “Those are just yer names without the first letters. They ain’t new.”

“... Shut it, you,” Atsumu settles on once it’s clear he can’t refute your statement, balling his hands into fists.

“Whatever,” you say. “Are ya still gonna compete over who can push me harder on the swings?”

“No! Screw you. Not after this disrespect,” he dramaticizes, and when you don’t immediately grovel for forgiveness, he stomps away. “Not in a million years,” he calls over his shoulders, words growing quieter the farther he disappears. “Never again!”

You blow a farting noise at him in his departure.

Osamu sighs as if this is incredibly inconvenient. “Fine. I guess I hafta do it.”

“If it was me, I’d change my name to Don Widdershins.”

“Don Widdershins?”

“Ya know, Don,” you gesture vaguely in the air, “like in the mafia.”

ACT IV: ‘SAMU IS COOL

The way you and Atsumu are staring at him, someone would think Osamu has revealed he’s versed in the craft of wizardry, or that casting spells is possible at all. You’re wearing your embarrassing Buzz Lightyear shorts and ‘Tsumu is smacking him on the shoulder. “C’mon, hurry up.”

“That’s not how the stove works,” Osamu barks.

“Not with that attitude, no. You said it’s a quick meal.”

Osamu shoves him away. “Get out!”

“What?! So [Y/n] gets to stay, but I don’t?”

You pull down on your eyelid and stick out your tongue at him. “‘Tsumu, ya know your brother loves me more than you.”

Osamu is now tempted to get rid of you, too. Really, he doesn’t see why two shitheads need to interrupt something that’s supposed to be soothing for him, but at least the smell of the sukiyaki he’s preparing calms him.

“Shut up,” Atsumu says before he invades his brother’s personal space to clutch onto his shirt and shake him back and forth. He slaps him off and mutters something about ‘Do ya know how dangerous that is?!’ but Atsumu is inconsolable in his whining. “‘Samu, say it’s not true!”

“Ha, I knew it.” You back away and point your index finger in the air with a sense of triumph. “Ya don’t really hate him.”

“What did you say?”

At least when the two of you are chasing each other, no one can bother him.

ACT V: GIANT BABA

Atsumu is sprawled over the couch, hogging it as usual. You’re sitting next to Osamu on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, and he has one hand around your shoulders. Or not really: he’s brushing it against the edge of the couch, not touching you at all, but in his head he has his arm around your shoulders. There’s the usual pronounced boredom on his face while he clicks through the TV channels.

“Who said you can take charge of the remote?” asks Atsumu, poking the back of Osamu’s head with his finger.

“When ya decided to monopolize the couch, I got remote rights.”

Atsumu repeats in a sardonic tone, “When I decided to monopolize the couch.”

Everything seems boring until he ends up on a sports channel. For a second he wonders if it’s going to be volleyball, but it’s a rerun of an old wrestling match. He’s about to go onto the next broadcast, but he glances at you from the corner of his eye and notices an unfamiliar spark on your face, so he discards the remote to his side.

“Ya know, I wanna be a wrestler.”

Osamu thinks this is an incredibly stupid aspiration, but he prides himself on being the more considerate one. “What’s yer stage name gonna be? Don Widdershins?”

“Oh, you still remember that? Yer so weird, ‘Samu.”

For a split second, he is embarrassed.

“The hell does widdershins mean?” Atsumu asks.

“It’s the opposite of clockwise,” you say.

Huh. When he first heard it, Osamu just assumed you made that word up. “Why’d ya wanna be named that?”

“‘Cause shins means crotch, and that’s funny.”

“No, idiot. That’s yer knee to yer ankle,” corrects Atsumu.

“The crotch is not in the ankle.”

Atsumu sits up, lunges over, and tries to put you in a chokehold. Lightly.

ACT VI: YOU’RE LAME

This is the worst summer Osamu has ever had. Not because anything bad has happened, but because, every day, when he sees you, it’s like you have spawned another pair of unbelievably hideous shorts. He wonders if this is some kind of sick joke when he sees Rey Mysterio’s face on the back of your leg. He wonders when he gained the ability to recognize Rey Mysterio at all. “Where do ya keep getting these?”

“They’re custom-made,” you say.

“Why would you do that.”

“In the name of style.”

ACT VII: THE PURCHASE

There is nothing particularly compelling about a rack with sunglasses at a store which sells a random assortment of things. Atsumu wanted to buy knee pads and Osamu has a package of frozen vegetables in his hand. There is no rhyme or reason for the variety of products at this shop.

You’re crouching down and leafing through the price tags. There’s a crease in the print of your shorts in this position that makes it look like Spongebob has no nose and Patrick has been decapitated. He says, “You’ve been staring at ‘em for, like, fifteen minutes.”

“I wanna buy some,” you reason before you seemingly make up your mind and pick a pair.

“But you’ve already got sunglasses.”

“Yeah, but they’re for TINY BABIES who SHIT THEIR PANTS,” you say, and Osamu backs away from you at your outburst. “So, I need new ones. For graduation day.”

“... Sure,” he concedes. Osamu isn’t sure what sunglasses have to do with graduation day, but it is true that the ceremony is two weeks away.

“Thank you.”

ACT VIII: LOVE IS CONDITIONAL

The heart, Osamu thinks, is a stupid organ.

There’s no reason for lunch at school to be his favorite part of his routine, except maybe the food.

Atsumu pushes all the things off his tray and flings it at you. “Yer late again, asshole!”

You dodge as skillfully as usual and pull out a chair with uncanny nonchalance. Your coordination is a bit surprising considering the latest hindrance to your vision, but Osamu supposes you must’ve gotten used to everything being slightly dim with how often you do this bullshit. “I do a ton a’ crappin’.”

“Don’t talk about that when I’m eating, ass,” Osamu scolds, elbowing you when you settle in the space next to him. Sometimes, he thinks his role in this seating arrangement is to prevent a casualty from happening between you and his brother.

He has revised some of his opinions now. Seeing as he’s no longer eleven, Osamu doesn’t believe in cooties or other similar mythological figures, but he’s still not entirely sold on the idea. No matter how many times Atsumu mocks him for ‘liking you,’ he’ll never accept it.

For love to not be nasty, it must fulfill certain conditions.

Osamu has a list for why he doesn’t — and will never — like you like that:

You wear sunglasses indoors.

You own a pair of shorts with the minions on them.

You have a cardboard cut-out of John Cena somewhere in your room.

You ruin meal time by talking about your shitting habits.

You tried to suplex him once.

Similarly, whenever you insist he and Atsumu don’t really hate each other, he refutes you. There are several reasons Osamu hates his brother:

Everyone else does.

He’s incredibly annoying.

He’s a jerk.

He always wins when it matters.

Sometimes, Osamu gets the impression Atsumu can’t stand him much at all.

So, again, he doesn’t know why these moments make him the happiest.

He wonders if there will still be days like these in high school.

ACT IX: THE MEDIATOR

On the way there, you’re wearing your sunglasses again, but at least it’s not indoors. The pavement smells weird — burnt — from the unusual heat of this summer. You’re also lugging around a water gun, but Osamu decides not to question it, even though Atsumu does. “Why do ya have that?”

“Didn’t you hear? Yosano from our class wants to have a water gun fight in the park after the ceremony.”

Not really. The thing is, no one (besides you; anyone who is sound of mind) invites them to play games anymore ‘cause they’re always winning and it’s not fun.

“Is it loaded?” asks Atsumu again.

“I know [Y/n] likes to pretend to be in the mafia and all, but that’s not a real gun, idiot,” Osamu says, voice even.

Atsumu snaps his neck in Osamu’s direction. “Shut up, I know it ain’t.” He shoves him, and that provokes Osamu into shoving him back, and before you can even rationalize all this, you turn back around to ask them why they’re dawdling behind only to see they’re already in a scuffle.

Suddenly, water is trickling down Atsumu’s forehead.

They snap up to scrutinize you from their position, with Osamu toppled over on the ground and Atsumu half-assedly pretending he’s really going to kick him in the face, and they see you aiming the water gun at them. Atsumu backs away from him completely and hurries to lunge at you instead. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that!”

He doesn’t even make it half-way to where you’re standing before you spurt more water at him, leaving him to still with his hands mid-air. Osamu sits up, face as indifferent as ever, but in his mind he finds this relatively funny.

Another step. You pull the trigger and laugh at him. “Ya remind me of a wet owl. They’re hideous like that, I saw a picture the other night.”

It is predictable that Atsumu reaches out to murder you in broad daylight, so your instantaneous reaction isn’t a display of impressive reflexes. More water spritzes at him, and Atsumu shakes his head around like a wet dog.

Osamu isn’t one to laugh, but he exhales slightly more air from his nose at this.

“Stop that, you jerk. I’m gonna be drenched at the ceremony. And-” he slaps Osamu on the neck, “-quit laughing. You’d look like a wet owl, too.”

You shake the water gun. “I think I’ll call this The Twin Repellant.”

“Ya think yer funny,” says Atsumu with narrowed eyes, and then he huffs and puts his hands on his hips. “How come ‘Samu didn’t get sprayed? I concur!”

“Concur,” you repeat. “Such a big word, ‘Tsumu. But that means agree, not disagree.”

“Yeah, well, you think shins means crotch.”

“I was fourteen!”

“Yeah, grow up,” Osamu chimes in, and then inches closer to you to flick the water gun. “Ya should name that thing The ‘Tsumu Repellant instead.”

ACT X: THE SECOND COMING OF THE JAPANESE BUZZSAW

“Do ya need to wear these everywhere?” asks Osamu when he spares you a glance and lets the onigiri he’d been eating drop down to his plate before he tries to snatch away your sunglasses, and his willingness to ignore his food for a second is probably a testament to how much he hates them. As usual, you’re late for lunch, and as usual, you duck out of the way without much effort.

You believe a flash of your middle finger suffices as an answer. Your chair scrapes against the floor, resulting in a noise that makes him cringe.

Atsumu — tapping into his otherwise unused potential to be aware of others — senses abnormal levels of smugness radiating from you. “You got somethin’ to be happy about, twerp?”

You lean back in your seat and grin, perhaps ruminating the fruits of your labor, whatever they may be. To bring you back to Earth, Osamu nudges you. “Well?” he asks, and though his tone suggests he doesn’t care, you know he wouldn’t be insisting to hear it if he didn’t.

“Ladies an’ gentlemen-”

“Where are the ladies?” Atsumu asks, shifting his eyes to Osamu, and then at his reflection in his tray.

“-you’re lookin’ at the new MMA club captain.”

“We don’t have an MMA club,” says Atsumu, tilting his head.

“Yeah, ‘cause I just made it yesterday.”

“But I thought you liked wrestling?” Osamu presses.

“Well, they didn’t approve of wrestling. So it’s an MMA club, but in my heart, it’s a wrestling club,” you say, leaning the weight of your head against your palm. Sure, there are only four members in your club and the supervisor said he’d be absent most days, but who cares? That’s all you had needed to officiate it.

“Sounds like an excuse to beat on each other to me,” says Osamu. You’ve always had a penchant for violence despite not having a particularly aggressive disposition. It confuses him.

You smirk, adjusting your sunglasses. He thinks one of these days you’ll fall down the stairs and hit your head. “Maybe.”

ACT XI: ‘TSUMU IS LAME

“‘Tsumu,” you begin, walking along with them after the first big official match of the year. Osamu and Suna are trailing behind you two, watching something on Suna’s phone. “You’re such an asshole.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ya know, in moments like these, yer supposed to be cheering me on for my good plays, not chewing me out.”

“I can’t believe you called those girls pigs.” Osamu doesn’t quite remember another instance of your voice sounding so… reprimanding.

“They were annoyin’ me,” he says, like someone being irritating justifies calling them names.

“And,” you imitate his signal for when he wants your school’s side of the court to go quiet, “the hell’s that?”

Osamu pipes up, “I always tell him that shit’s lame, but he won’t listen.”

“Agh! I hate it when you guys gang up on me.” He blows a raspberry in your direction and Osamu kicks him in the butt, which makes him jump.

You sigh, close your eyes and intertwine your fingers behind your head. “Man, I wish I had fans. I’d treat ‘em so much better.”

“Aha, so you’re jealous of me.”

ACT XII, BACKTRACK: YOU’RE LAME

Much to your dismay, the first time they come over, Atsumu doesn’t care much about your fish, passing by his aquarium without a second thought. You frown, and in a bout of pity, Osamu halts in front of it and examines him with the blankest look possible. He seems kinda big — for a fish, anyway, but the tank seems just fine — and he doesn’t know the name of the species. A black body with red splotches and a sheen of silver here and there, and his face is kinda… grumpy. Frowny.

“What kinda fish is this?” asks Osamu once he deems enough time of him staring at your pet has passed.

“He’s a tiger oscar.”

“Oh, let me guess. His name’s Oscar, right?”

“No,” you say. “It’s The Codfather.”

Osamu blinks, and then he groans, and then he drags his hand down his face.

ACT XIII: SUNARIN IS AN ENEMY

It’s not like Osamu needs to introduce you to Suna. You know who Suna is, and he knows who you are, and the three of you are all in the same class. This is a tad too absurd for him — you think some shit like this would suit Atsumu more — but whatever. You’re here now, and you’re being introduced to Osamu’s friend, and you suppose this might be a hint that you’ll be seeing more of him at lunch.

You cross your arms and turn up your nose. “I’m ‘Samu’s best friend.”

Suna stares at you impassively. “… Ok.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

“I don’t think so,” Suna says without elaborating, though it is true that because of volleyball, Osamu spends more time with him now. While he couldn’t care less about what you were talking about, he loves fucking with people far too much not to try checking how short your fuse is.

Osamu elbows you once he realizes you’re about to say something embarrassing. “Stop.”

You elbow him back. “I’m fighting for yer honor!”

“No, you ain’t.”

Suna takes a picture of you nudging and baring your teeth and throwing food at each other and writes #besties in Comic Sans with the editor on his phone.

ACT XIV, REPRISE: THE MEDIATOR

To claim you’ve never seen Atsumu and Osamu get into a petty argument and try to solve it by exterminating the other would be a bold-faced lie. Suna already has his phone out to record it all, but this is the first time you’re both present during one of their brawls.

Carrying a water gun to school everyday wouldn’t be viable, so The Twin Repellent has gone under some revisions ever since your genius mind first incorporated it. You sling over your bag and touch around for something while Suna struggles to remember what they’re even fighting about, but quickly concludes it doesn’t matter. A look of eureka flares over your face and you unhinge your jaw to grin an unnaturally wide smile when you find what you were scouting for.

First it was an empty spray paint can you refilled, but now it’s a real water spray… The new and improved Twin Repellent. You wave it in the air before you stagger into frame and Suna raises an eyebrow at your intrusion, hoping your figure won’t block his angle for recording the action. But then you’re dousing them, and Osamu hisses like he’s demonic and the water is holy, and Atsumu is covering his face and screaming, “Stop it! Stoooop!”

Holy shit. This is the best recording he has yet.

And this is when Suna decides that despite your annoying and sometimes embarrassing demeanor, he likes you just fine.

Later, when you’re watching them practice, Suna asks you what that was.

You pull out the water spray and trail your finger from top to bottom like it is your greatest treasure. “This is The Twin Repellent.”

“Give me that.” He snatches it out of your grasp and you pout before saying,

“Use it wisely.”

Suna marches up to Atsumu and drizzles him for no reason.

ACT XV: SUNARIN IS SOMETIMES AN ALLY

Osamu ends up confiscating The Twin Repellent from Suna. For a second, he wonders if revenge will befall him, but instead Osamu sprays you in the face and says, “Take ‘em off.”

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him with a semblance of hatred before you try to wipe your sunglasses on your shirt. They’re smudged now.

It is not long after that Suna reappears and takes hold of it once more and aims for his forehead instead of Atsumu’s. Osamu squeezes his eyes shut and says, “You two-faced backstabber…”

You’re about to celebrate — perhaps go for a high-five — but he stops you in your tracks by spraying you, too.

ACT XVI: SERIOUS BUSINESS

“MMA Club?” asks Suna. The filling of his strange sandwich is dripping all over the table. “Never heard of it. You don’t even look like you can throw hands.”

“Ha?!” With that, you stand up and perform a spinning kick dangerously close to Osamu’s head, and he puts his hand on your ankle and lowers your leg without so much as flinching. “Ya don’t wanna tussle with me, I promise.”

Suna considers it before he shrugs, the jerk of his shoulders letting the miserable contents of his sandwich crawl out and spill. Then, with his tongue poking out, Atsumu dips his finger in and draws a smiley face on his side of the table. “Probably not. I’m a pretty boy, I don’t fight. I only laugh at the people doing it.”

ACT XVII: YOU’RE COOL

“Hurry, hurry,” Atsumu urges, which is unusual since he’s always the one who’s late to things that don’t pertain to volleyball. “I wanna see [Y/n] beat the shit outta someone.”

“I don’t think that’s how MMA works,” says Suna before he kicks away a stray pebble to the side. It lands between Osamu’s shoes, and he boots it out of sight with a dusty drag of his foot against the pavement. Suna watches this unfold like it is way more riveting than your match could possibly be. The fact that you arranged a match with a club from a different school is anomalous enough.

It had been Osamu’s idea to show up, not Atsumu’s. While he’s not thrilled about MMA, or wrestling, or whatever, he thinks they kind of owe it to you for showing up to every game.

Five minutes of watching pass, and he doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he thinks you might be winning. With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, he raises his fist in the air and says, “Go for the neck.”

While it’s not loud enough for you to hear, when Atsumu stands up and yells, “Go for the neck! Go for the neck!” that definitely should be.

You do not go for the neck. This time, Suna doesn’t tell them he believes punching the throat is against the rules, and Osamu takes a glimpse at him and sees he’s recording.

Your lip is busted, but you win, and after the celebration at some shitty near-by fast food place — much to Osamu’s horror — he asks Suna to show him the video. It takes exactly twenty seconds to load and during half of it, his shoes are in frame rather than the fight.

Instead of criticizing his cinematography, Osamu says, “Yer camera’s really shitty. I can count the pixels.”

“But that’s what makes it funny,” Suna argues, even though he has not let out even a giggle ever since he pressed play.

ACT XVIII: THE GODFATHER

He can’t believe he’s attending a funeral for a fish at his age. It’s even raining (would a hypothetical omnipresent higher power cry over the loss of a fish?) and he thinks if this was a scene in a movie, he’d laugh, but you’re anything but amused.

His hair is sticking to his forehead and his clothes are drenched and he’s vaguely aware that there’s mud on his ass. When it first began raining, as an act of consolation, he threw his tracksuit over your head, but the downpour has been so severe that it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s like getting disciplined with The Twin Repellant until it runs out fifty times in a row.

Osamu has known you for many years, but he can’t say he has seen you sob before. The tombstone — a plant marker you wrote ‘THE CODFATHER 2002-2013’ over with a marker — almost topples over and he reaches out to adjust it. He tries, “He lived a long life.”

“They can make it to twenty,” you say, burying your face in your arms, hiding it from view.

“Is this good for the garden?”

“I don’t give a shit about the garden.”

So maybe Osamu wasn’t ever The Codfather’s friend, but it is a fact that he stays out for the funeral until lights out, and it is a fact that he gets sick because of it.

ACT XIX: THE THINGS YOU LIKE COME WITH A WARNING

Suna lights up the cigarette and you can tell it’s not his first time. He’s silent when he joins you on the curb, throwing one leg over the other, and you didn’t know that about him, and he didn’t know that about you. Your neighborhood has always been quiet enough, not that many cars passing by, so the fear of getting your feet run over for sitting here like this doesn’t cross your mind much.

Conversationally, he says, “I heard you got depressed over a fish.”

You narrow your eyes at him in distaste, but he can’t really see under the sunglasses. “Not even one bad word about The Codfather.”

You’d probably whoop him so he resists the urge to repeat ‘The Codfather?’ in an incredulous tone. He’s not taking any chances today. “No, but Atsumu called Osamu weak trash for missing practice.”

“Yeah, you’re an athlete, why are ya smokin’?” you ask, changing the topic.

Suna wrinkles his nose. “So are you.”

“C’mon, ya barely consider the MMA club a real club.”

“But I do,” he says. “I just like to give you shit for it.”

“If the body is a temple, mine’s like, like… The kind animals shit in.” You smile at him.

He smiles at you just a little. “If Kita caught me, he’d say something like ‘That is incredibly irresponsible. Besides, the box says smoking kills. Can’t you read?’ and I’d quit.”

“You know, I never realized, but yer kinda funny.”

“You never realized,” he repeats. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve bought his apathy and thought he wasn’t offended.

ACT XX: BAD NURSE NAKAMURA

Osamu doesn’t think it should be feasible for life to kick someone when they’re already down.

He wipes his snot with his sleeve after a ‘hefty’ recovery, which may or may not have been motivated by Atsumu whining at him all night until he agreed to go to school today, then sniffles. What the fuck is wrong with him, he thinks, and he doesn’t know if he’s thinking it about his brother or about himself.

You look like a sad puppy when he first sees you that morning. Like, the ones that are at the shelter because they got abandoned by who they thought were their loving owners.

“Is something wrong?” he asks. He’s not in the mood for another funeral. (More importantly, he wants you to stop looking so glum.)

“The club disbanded.”

It’s not that strange for a club with only six members to fall apart, but just to fill the space, Osamu asks, “Why?”

“They said it reflects badly on the school.”

“That sucks ass and is stupid as fuck.” Osamu wraps his hand around your shoulder in a shitty, stiff kind of way. And he’s not one to give speeches, doesn’t know what to do about this, but he gives you his bento for lunch and helps Atsumu write a ‘strongly-worded’ letter addressing the staff and hopes it’s enough.

ACT XXI: KITA IS NO-NONSENSE

“The volleyball club,” Kita asserts, “doesn’t need a bodyguard. We’ve been over this.”

“You don’t have a manager, though,” you say, rubbing your chin.

“The manager isn’t a bodyguard.”

“‘Samu and ‘Tsumu have fans. They could die.”

“Hey… I have fans too,” interrupts Aran, but he sounds kind of shy when he says it.

“Also, why are you wearing sunglasses? We’re indoors and the weather is bad. What if something happened to you because you couldn’t see? Or if you ran into somebody else?” Kita asks, disregarding your previous point. His tone has been extremely neutral during this entire exchange. You wonder if there’s something about being unbothered that lands people in the Inarizaki VBC.

“‘Cause bodyguards wear sunglasses.”

“You’re not a bodyguard. Take them off.”

Suna humors you, “I need security.”

“Yer not the one with the bloodthirsty fans, though,” you say.

ACT XXII, REPRISE: YOU’RE COOL

Some little guy with offensively orange hair hits you in what you imagine to be your rock hard abs on accident. The halls are crowded, it’s bound to happen. You turn to examine him, lips set in a thin line, and you realize he’s wearing the uniform of the team your school will be playing today.

This all happens near the bathroom. The toilet is a dangerous place where dangerous people hang around, Hinata thinks, and you look like a character from a yakuza movie.

“I’m sorry-”

“I-” you crane your neck to look at the ceiling but also wishing you hadn’t because the lights are burning your retinas, “-’m Inarizaki’s bodyguard.”

Hinata’s jaw hangs open. Inarizaki High has a bodyguard? And it’s you, the person he just bumped into? Maybe if they get a bodyguard, he’ll stop getting in trouble near the bathroom. He will be asking Shimizu-san about this later.

ACT XXIII, BACKTRACK: ABNORMAL

Even if Atsumu always wins when it counts, at least Osamu knows he’s your favorite twin.

ACT XXIV: THE APOCALYPSE

“‘Tsumu’s throwing a tantrum,” Osamu announces. He’s looking off into the distance and you don’t know what’s so poetic about the supermarket, but you’ll allow it if this is his new way of brooding.

“Isn’t he always?”

“He said I’m abandoning him.”

“Huh,” you say intelligently.

“It’s ‘cause I told him I’ll quit volleyball after high-school, so he’s being all dramatic about it,” he says. “But I dunno… I don’t wanna leave him or anything. Or. Maybe I do. I can’t stand him, but- I don’t really wanna!”

“Yer not abandoning him, you know that.” You pat him on the back. “He just doesn’t wanna be apart from you. Give him some time, it’ll be fine.”

“Ya think so?”

“I mean, yeah.”

Still, Osamu crosses his arms and huffs. “Well, he should knock that shit off. It’s annoying.”

“Aw. You don’t need to hide your sensitive side.”

“I don’t have a sensitive side,” he snaps, leaning away from you once you try to pull on his cheek.

“If you’re not gonna go pro, what are your plans?” you ask, lowering your hand.

He doesn’t yet stop ducking in case you’re trying to lure him into a false sense of security. “I wanna open a restaurant.”

“Yer a lil’ chef, aren’t ya?”

“How do ya make it sound belittling?”

After some contemplation, you say, “I think it’d fit you.”

ACT XXV: LOVE IS ABSTRACT

The heart, Osamu thinks, is an unreasonable organ.

He generally doesn’t consider himself to be a jealous toddler, and he’d say he leans more on the ‘relatively sane’ side of the spectrum. This is beyond stupid, and he can’t believe he’s behaving like Atsumu. But then again, Atsumu wouldn’t understand this, so it’s not like he can tell him about it. He has a volleyball instead of a brain.

Osamu digs into his tuna with uncharacteristic vice and, in a dramatic turn of events, almost tries to choke himself on it. Not because he’s angry or anything, but because he’s being so embarrassing lately he might as well spare himself the misery.

Under the table, Suna nudges your thigh with his like Osamu isn’t right there and can’t see, and your lips quirk up at his anger, and this is exactly the problem. Even his brother has the gall to look amused. At this moment, Osamu feels like he hasn’t laughed a day in his life.

It’s not like he’s that in touch with… it, but:

Love is when Suna is pretending to take videos of the three of you fighting, but really he’s just trying to record you.

Love is when Suna watches one of said videos five times before an important game with a blank expression like some kind of creep.

Love is when you and Suna go out for a smoke on the patio when you’re supposed to be watching a movie with him and ‘Tsumu.

Love is when Suna tries to encourage your nonsensical bullshit.

And, worst of all: love is cooking you lunch every night, love is attending a fucking fish’s funeral during a rainstorm and not regretting it, love is searching up ‘cool rare wrestling facts’ to try to impress someone like some kind of moron.

He’s not really talking about Suna anymore.

In complete honesty, this wasn’t supposed to happen. It just wasn’t. You’re his stupid childhood friend who he used to push on the swings because you thought getting dizzy and throwing up was funny, which is a testament to how much he should not like you. He swore an oath about it and everything.

For fuck’s sake, you used to wear shorts with Spongebob x Patrick yaoi on them. In public. Where people saw him with you.

So, in conclusion, his attempt to asphyxiate himself is entirely justified.

ACT XXVI: WE DON’T NEED THINGS LIKE MEMORIES

“You can’t be serious,” says Suna, looking at you from the corner of his eye before he caves in and shifts his gaze to you altogether.

“About the glasses? Or the balloon?”

“This is probably the first time the glasses have been appropriate,” he tells you. “Considering we’re outside and all.”

There’s a balloon wrapped around your neck by the string. Undoubtedly, you look more idiotic than usual. Atsumu almost seems exiled since he has to stand with his classmates in a different spot. You pretended to reach out for him like he was in jail many times throughout the principal’s speech.

“I think the balloons are for children,” Osamu says.

“What children?” you ask.

“Ya know, the ones seein’ their older relatives graduate?”

“I think forcing kids to attend someone else’s graduation ceremony should be considered child abuse.”

Suna turns around to double over laughing even though it’s not that funny, and Osamu takes a sudden and keen interest in the soles of his own shoes. It’s sunny outside today and he thinks if this oration goes on any longer, his forehead will flare red with a sunburn.

“You hot?” you ask, kicking him lightly to get his attention. “I’ve got just the thing.”

That doesn’t sound good, whatever it may mean. You reach inside your bag and, on second thought, he should’ve known exactly what you had in mind. Before he can curse you out, you’ve Twin Repellent’d all over him and Suna.

The three of you do get let go earlier for ‘ruining the ceremony.’ And he can’t argue that getting drenched cooled him down, so overall, your stupidity comes out at a net positive. An hour and a half later, Atsumu pulls up to where you’re at and complains about you guys ditching him like everything is normal, and Osamu finds that coming to terms with finishing high school is a tad more complicated than he assumed.

ACT XXVII: SUNARIN ISN’T ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR

Two weeks after, some students from your year already try to organize a reunion party, or a post-graduation party, or whatever. To Osamu’s face, you call them ‘SAPPY SENTIMENTAL LAMES’ before immediately replying that you’ll be there.

He’s not much of a party-goer. It’s much more your and Atsumu’s scene and, even then, you’d both rarely attend, but he doesn’t see much harm in going. He picks you up with his brother in tow and you show up together because bad things come in threes.

Suna is somehow already there, which Osamu finds uncharacteristic. A dim room, bad electronic music and people with shitty dance moves greet him when he opens the door to invite himself in, the two of you trailing behind him.

“You guys think I look good?” asks Suna, but Osamu only sighs because he knows the question is just directed at you.

“I’m not gonna front with ya, Suna, I can’t really see ya well at all right now,” you say.

At this, Osamu sighs even harder.

Ready to push him out of the way so he can find something fun to do, Atsumu adds, “And ya still have labia bangs, so.”

It is an incredible feat of self-restraint that Suna doesn’t lunge at him and murder him in cold blood in front of about fifty witnesses for this. To sate his bloodlust before a more secluded area becomes available, he steps on Atsumu’s toe with a surprising amount of force, drawing out an ouch.

Now that your guard is low, Osamu plucks your sunglasses and places them over the top of his head. You whip back around to stare at him in betrayal.

“Yer gonna fall over and die and get trampled on-”

“How optimistic!” you interrupt, shuddering.

“-like this, so just leave ‘em to me. Sharing is caring or whatever they say.” And with that, he pushes you in Suna’s direction before he tries to make his way around the crowd to follow after Atsumu.

You part your lips in slight puzzlement. “Woah, he totally doesn’t want our asses around him.”

Suna shrugs. “His loss. You wanna dance?”

“I dunno. I don’t know how,” you say, which is your usual excuse for when you’re not in the mood to dance. That, and you like seeing people embarrass themselves by convincing you they’ll teach you.

“Neither does anyone else here,” he quips before he imitates the way a guy with his back turned to the two of you is dancing. It seems to involve pretending to be swinging a lasso with one hand and whipping with the other.

You press your palm against your mouth to stifle your laughter. “I can’t believe ya just did that. You only asked so you could make fun of him, didn’t ya?”

“I mean, you already know.”

“Good ol’ Rin,” you say before you find the alcohol terribly unwatched, bringing up a bottle of whiskey to eye-level then resolving to ‘borrow’ it.

“They’ve got ‘em red cups. So cliche.” Even though he’s complaining, he pops open a can of beer and pours some for both of you.

“Good idea, I need a couple a’ drinks before I start strippin’ on tables.”

He takes his first sip. “This is gonna be our last night with most of these people. I mean, shit, they’re cornballs that I hate, but… I dunno, it’s so bizarre.”

“Right, I get ya.” You nod sagely before you collapse on a nearby couch, putting your legs over the table and knocking over something that suspiciously looks like a porcelain vase. Instead of wallowing in guilt over it, you think that it’s a strange placement for a vase. “Couldn’t live without seeing the cowboy dance move.”

“God, that was busted as hell,” he says, and though he sounds indifferent like usual, you can see that deep down he’s rattled by secondhand embarrassment. Then he kicks your legs off of the table to replace them with his, and you start nudging and wrestling each other.

While passing the whiskey bottle back and forth, you talk about endless nonsense. You tell him about some conspiracy theory about McDonald’s putting horse meat in chicken nuggets you read on a forum and he tells you about how he spent half an afternoon watching a spider in his house trap and eat a stink bug, and the conversation doesn’t get any more intellectual from there on.

Apparently the two of you have similar alcohol tolerance because you reach the stage of inebriation where you start making bad decisions at around the same time. Despite how close you already are because of all the pushing and play-fighting, he invades your personal space even further and asks, “You wanna make out?”

“Sure.”

It’s not like either of you is a kissless virgin, so you reason it can’t go that bad.

He slides an arm around your waist and pushes you with your back against the couch, straddling you. Maybe just to flex your MMA prowess, you flip over your positions, and he decides he doesn’t care enough to fight you on it.

Then, tyranny possesses you because you run your hands down his sides and start tickling him.

“The fuck’s with you?” he asks, pushing your hands away between laughter.

“Ya never laugh,” you say. “Just stand there like…” Then you set your eyebrows straight and let your mouth go slack, wiping all emotion from your face.

“Yeah, so stop, shh. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

“I was just curious. Don’t blame me!”

Then, there is a moment of silence when you stare into each other’s eyes.

ACT XVIII: ‘SAMU IS LAME

When Osamu catches a glimpse of you making out with Suna from across the room, he reacts like any reasonable adult would.

With a tap, he lets your sunglasses slide down his forehead and settle over his eyes.

ACT XIX, REPRISE: MISFORTUNE

Suna doesn’t know what the two of you are, which probably means you’re not anything. Which is fine, but may be a bit inconvenient now that the two of you will be living together. You agreed that rooming with a stranger for university would be marginally worse than going with a friend, and here you are.

You’d been on vacation when he first settled inside the apartment, so he arrived two weeks earlier than you, and now he’s stuck helping you carry and unpack your stuff.

He appraises the cardboard cutout that you’re embracing like a lover with a judgemental gaze. “Does Cena-san need to move in with us?”

“He’s my friend,” you justify, turning up your nose.

He still remembers the texture of your lips and the warmth of your skin and the weight of you, so real, with your stomach pressed against his and other similar things that make him feel grossly compromised. The memory is hazy, yes, but to get it off his mind, he says, “That’s a bit sad.”

“He promises he won’t go outside my room.”

“… I fuckin’ hope not.”

ACT XXX: LOVE IS LETTING GO

The heart, Osamu would think, is a dramatic organ.

Which is exactly why this sucks so many balls, if it were up to Suna to word it. It’s not like he signed up to be your fairy godmother or anything, but he needs to tell you.

The kiss was a mistake, but in his defense, he was as piss drunk as you were. He knows you and Osamu are in love with each other. It’s not a grand, disgusting kind of love, but it’s big enough for him to see it.

And Suna is mischievous sometimes, but he’s not malicious. He wanted to be selfish for the night — kiss you once, get you out of his system, and here’s how well that went. So he’ll fix it.

You’re smoking with him outside and it’s cold, the sky is gray, obscured by clouds. He says, “You know, I think you should tell him.”

You flutter your stupid eyelashes and look at him in genuine confusion. “Hm?”

Suna remembers the pain scales with ugly emoticon drawings they hang up at hospitals, and he thinks he’s currently at an ‘inflamed internal bleeding slight wince’ 7. “Osamu. Tell him.”

“Tell him what? He doesn’t need to know I messed up the laundry.”

“No. Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“This is gross.” Suna furrows his eyebrows and fakes gagging in an unusual show of emotions. “Tell Osamu you’re in love with him.”

“Why?”

What kind of question is that? Are you not even going to deny it?

“He’s been avoiding us and making inbred dog faces ever since he saw us kiss at the party. You do the math.” Suna takes another drag, then exhales. “C’mon, I miss my best friend. And Atsumu, I guess.”

“I’m ‘Samu’s best friend,” you say on reflex, glaring at him before you punch him in the shoulder. “How many times do we need to have this conversation?”

“Not for long.”

You stare, and to your horror Suna stares back, and then you redirect your gaze to the ground with a distasteful purse of your mouth. “If I get rejected, yer gonna wash the dishes for a month.”

He snorts like your suggestion is any way comical. “Blow me. I won’t.”

ACT XXXI: LOVE IS

“I like goin’ out with you an’ all, but we’ve been sitting in silence for thirty minutes,” Osamu says. It’s a nice restaurant with comfortable seats and an expensive menu, but. What. Not to mention, all you did was send him the location and write ‘code red,’ making him believe this was in any way urgent.

You fondle with your free glass of water in a way that’s not at all awkward or unnatural. “Lots a’ weather we’ve been having lately.”

“Sure,” he says after some deliberation over your statement. Better not question it, he figures.

You twist your face and it looks like you’re about to shit yourself for a moment. “You wanna be my boyfriend?”

In this exact moment, you think you see Osamu malfunction. First it starts with heresy: he drops his chopsticks mid-air and they clatter on the table, letting the sushi roll slip. Then he unhinges his jaw and gapes at you with a vague sense of something you can’t quite decipher. It’s not like you didn’t try to be casual, so what’s with the overreaction?

“Don’t say shit like that outta nowhere! Ya almost sent me into cardiac arrest,” he says, reaching over to flick you on the forehead.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” you say, rubbing the spot.

“Do ya…? For how long?”

You frown because why does it matter right now? “I don’t know.”

“Outside,” he says in a panic. “Let’s go out. For a bit.”

“Ya wanna fight?”

“No? What’s wrong with you?”

“I dunno,” you say. “There is a dingy alleyway in the back.”

The dingy alleyway, Osamu thinks as he examines it, would be convenient if he were to rob someone. But he doesn’t want to do that, and he thinks you must be rubbing off on him for that to even cross his mind. It’s also hardly a romantic setting, but whatever. You wanted to be a mafioso, so it could be perfect for all he knows.

“I, umm,” he starts and the words don’t make it past his thoughts, at least not the ones he wants to say, but he can show you if you let him. “Can I…?”

“Sure,” you say. It occurs to you that it is incredibly concerning that this is the blase response you give every time someone wants to exchange germs with you.

When Osamu leans down to kiss you, it’s not special because it feels any different. Lips, you think, are skin flaps, and there’s nothing remarkable about any of them. But it’s special because you can sense emotion behind it for the first time — the tenderness, the longing, the surrender, anything else he can’t say. Because it’s Osamu.

And when you pull away, your hold is still firm around his waist and he doesn’t let go of your face yet. You ask, “So does that mean…?”

“Uh, shit. I mean, yeah. Obviously,” and he sweeps in for another kiss.

So maybe you did think shins means crotch, and maybe Osamu did pretend to have his arm over your shoulder in his head that one time, and maybe you are still crazy about each other in the most self-contained way possible.

ACT XXXII: FORTUNE

For Osamu, it starts in the womb because Atsumu is his brother.

#osamu x reader #osamu x you #miya osamu x reader #suna x you #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu imagine #one shot

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ghostdrool1 · 3 months

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Heyy, I'm ghostdrool

Finally decided to post after what, a year or so.? Honestly didn't think I was going to post on this platform when I joined Tumblr but here we are🙌

Anyway a little bit about me:

I'm the very ripe age of 18, but I'll be 19 in July 🎊

Mainly on here for Tummy content, SFW preferred on this blog.

I can do art but it'll be rare because I'm not too sure about my skills, and I have like, no time to draw because of work and classes. That also adds onto how often I post because I have no time to do anything I swear, but I'll try to at least post once a month lmao.

It's mentioned in my bio that I am indeed taken by a lovely autistic so please stop DMing me and proceeding to ask for my snap, I'm so tired of it. On the other hand I'm very open to having new friends here, so please don't be shy if you wanna be buddies 🫶

What you'll see here:

Stuff I do/allow:

• Stuffing

• Starvation

• Stomach Noises

• Soft Vore

• Hard Vore (not preferred)

• G/T Vore

• Same Size Vore (not preferred)

• Burps

• Tummy Rubs

• Sick/Queasy Tummies

• Slight Weight Gain

• Mpreg (not preferred)

• Mouth Play

• Food Play

• BDSM

• LGBTQ+

• Monsters

• Masks

• Soft Torture

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stuff I do NOT do/allow:

• Zoophilia

• Pedophilia

• Anal/Cock Vore

• Extreme Weight Gain

• Giant Inflation

• Farts

• Vomit

• Scat

• Eating Disorders

• Birthing

• Gore

• Feet

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few more things..

I'm very fond of faceless or masked characters, so most of my content will consist of many masked/faceless characters and Oc's. So be prepared for that lol.

Also, I'm a straight female, meaning a lot of my content will be mostly male's. Although if asked I will do some things with females or other genders if asked. 💜 Speaking of that, I do really enjoy Male on Male things, so I'm open to that stuff as well🫶

I am not much of a fan of Furry content, not that I have anything against them at all, they're really cool people and their art is adorable, but I don't really enjoy furry art/posts when it comes to belly kinks. It's just not my thing, but no harm toward that amazing community ♡♡

I'm a SFW content creator, I tend to enjoy bellies and Vore in a non-sexual way, so there won't be too much sexual related posts on my blog, but just be aware it might be possibility.

►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄►◄

That's about it! Please don't be shy to DM me or send an Ask, I'm nice, I promise! No ask is too weird or gross🫶 (unless it's in my list of not allowed)

Thank you. ❤

#sfw vore #g/t vore #soft vore #stomach noises #tummy kink #belly k!nk #hunger kink #vore post

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making-my-wey-down-town · 1 year

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The Famous Introduction Pinned Post

Hi, Hola! You have found the way!

Not any way tho. Me, Wey. You found me! Hola! Que pedo? Pásale a lo barrido 🧹

(2024 note: I need to update this)

That hooman that you see there. Si ese! That’s my sona. A pleasure to meet you. (Outfits change often lol) (Also! The formal clothes supposedly gives the hint that I work as a security guard on the game :v)

More about me: I’m a lazy simp artist. *bows with no shame* Yeah, that’s all of my self presentation :3

As you can see, I’m very much currently hyped with The Daycare Attendants. The scrunckly bois ❤️ I don’t have a specific way to draw the bot bois tho.

So in my blog you will find mostly reblogs of them than my own art. But I will try to share more of my doodles and ideas in the future. (Cuz can’t be considered an artist if I don’t do or share shid right? :v)

Besides being on the FNAF SB fandom I’m also interested in Welcome Home, The Arcana, MHA.

All my art is under #wey draws

My main OC’s are under #wiggles and giggles the clown twins (watch their very first Halloween experience #quick doodle , they are cosplaying as Skid and Pump!)

Here their reference sheet: (old reference btw, their shoes are bigger now etc)

Gremlins dressed up as clowns basically. My babies 💜 (they were born after i got hooked on the game of FNAF SB)

Facts about them:

Both of them are boys. So he/him pronouns to each

3’6ft

Small animatronics that love to entertain families with their clown acts in the Pizzaplex

Their pants have hidden pockets, stuffed with materials and items for their clown acts. Mostly balloons. (Their hats have stuff too)

On birthday parties they always end up covered in cake

Free to roam around where the public is. Need employee permission or escort to go to restricted areas

Often seen in the daycare where there is a lot of kids to play with. Sun doesn’t always enjoy their visit (such troublemakers sometimes)

At night, when the Pizzaplex closes they immediately go to the daycare. To play with Sun and accompany Moon in his patrols (Moon will never admit he appreciates the company)

They can’t be separated. It causes an extreme anxiety for both, especially if it’s forced

Twin telepathy. Normally knowing what the other thinks. Often saying stuff at the same time and finishing each other sentences

They rarely fight with each other

Both love the attention

None of them knows personal space

They either help or create chaos (Both? Excellent partners in crime)

Press their nose, it does honk noises. They also have a feature to make their shoes do funny sounds

Fart jokes (noises) are hilarious for them

They are indeed high intelligent AI’s but they have the knowledge of a child. Teach and treat them like a kid

Can handle a limited amount of water if they get wet. Preferably to avoid it

Their white eyes can turn black with red pupils when turned in security mode. It is only to intimidate intruders and potentially dangerous people. (Can act scary if their target doesn’t normalize)

They have no virus! But that doesn’t mean they can’t obtain it 👁️👁️

Facts of each clown:

Giggles (Gig):

Likes the color blue and sharks

Normally the one who makes troubles (nothing serious, just mischievous child behavior)

Loves to make people smile and laugh but also get in their nerves (depending the person and situation)

Wiggles (Wig):

Likes the color pink and bunnies

The more responsible one of the two but still gets involved in troubles

Loves to make people have fun (specially if it’s done by his clown acts)

In the future I would like to share some ideas of AU’s I have in mind (idk if they are good enough lol) but for now my goal is to finish art projects that are meant for many friends and awesome artists.

—————————————————

AU’S Que Hice!

Ahoy! Mateys (AU mermay) - The journey of a high spirit kid named Y/N!

Dreaming of becoming a pirate one day!

Sailing the ocean in search of grand treasures and fun adventures with the unbelievable help of two sirens, their best friends!

Who and which said sea creatures seem conflicted with their actions and feelings when it comes to Y/N.

(non-romance just to clarify)

As it’s very known that these two species can never get along.

Will their friendship overcome the stereotypes?

Jump aboard and find out!

—————————————————

My social skills are terrible very good. I have a messed up social battery, it comes and goes. So is very common to find me active some days and then gone for some weeks (months). But frens, moots feel free to reach me anytime. Bother me. Tag me. Be random. Quick chat or a question. I’m okay with all that. I also like it, feels like I’m not forgotten (I’m not the greatest to initiate the conversation but I will totally respond to whatever I get included on 🫂💞)

As for strangers, people who follows me. (Actual real people and not bots lol) Feel free to send asks. Just don’t expect a genius answer from my part heh. Remain respectful, and yup :)

Thank you for your time and attention until the end if you got this far. *hugs ya and gifts ya a real Mexican taco 🌮* Have a nice day/night! Te quiero güey ❤️

#wey draws #my sona #my ocs #wiggles and giggles the clown twins #pinned post #introductory post #blog info #fnaf sb dca #will update this as time goes

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rainydaysie · 4 months

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Alistair pressed a kiss ever-so gently to her temple, and for a moment she felt his lip quivering as it departed. She turned and blinked up at him in a question, though he didn’t catch the look as he averted his gaze to the ground they both sat upon. A hand cupped against the boy’s right cheek and softly guided his gaze back towards his lover.

“What’s the matter? I don’t taste awful, do I?”

He grinned sheepishly and leaned forward, briefly connecting their lips in a peck. The firelight illuminated the tent flap, giving vague insight to the figures moving about the camp.

“Not at all, love, I’m afraid I’m just a bit… lost in thought, is all. Apologies.”

The elven mage quirked a brow in suspicion and patted the cheek she’d been cupping, moving her hands down to grasp his own instead.

“Thinking about something other than this steamy moment we’re sharing? I can’t believe you,” she teased him, but there was something so tender behind her voice. Alistair recognized that she was asking him what was wrong, and not poking fun at him for being emotional. It had taken some time to get used to the taste of his own medicine, but he’s practically an expert now.

“What happens after the fact, do you think?” He began, lightly squeezing the hands that securely held his own, “what happens after we save Ferelden, and everything’s calm again? What do we do with our lives, what with the little we’ll have left to spare? I-”

His head hung low and he once again lost the ability to meet Fox’s eyes.

“I can’t give you the long, comfortable life you deserve,” he continued, “I can’t give you many sunsets on the porch, I will never know what you look like grey and fragile. I want to be fragile with you.”

As Alistair’s shoulders shook as he choked on his own tears, he was surprised to hear a quiet chuckling noise coming from Fox. He looked up, startled, to be met with the smiling and yes, indeed laughing elf. “Al-,” they start, getting interrupted by a short burst of giggles. Alistair releases their hands and winces softly.

“Wha- I pour my heart out to you, and you just–” but he is cut off by a hand covering his mouth. He gives a muffled, exasperated noise just as Fox’s giggling faded. A smile lingered on their face, though, as they continued.

“Alistair Theirin. You are by far the goofiest, most chivalrous, bravest and stupidest man I know.”

What the hell?

He felt his hands grabbed once again, this time more tightly, matching the sudden firm look in Fox’s eyes.

“I do not give a Maker’s fart about living a comfortable life. I don’t care to see you grow old, and I don’t care to sit on a porch as we die slowly and peacefully. Look at me.”

He does.

“That’s all I need. For you to be looking at me right here, right now. I have never cared for the future, and I don’t intend on starting anytime soon. You’d feel guilty about my stew being cold even if I were the one to leave it out all night.”

Fox gave him a look as he opened his mouth, either to agree or argue, and he closed it just as quickly. So she continues.

“I want you to kiss me now, and enjoy it right now. Don’t worry if my lips will chap, or be sore, or if you’ll leave a mark on my neck. I don’t care.”

There was nothing left for either of them to say. At least, it didn’t seem Fox had anything to say as quickly as they kissed him. Hungrily, drinking in the feeling of it like he was water. Warm hands met her waist and pulled her into his lap as they kissed as though there was no tomorrow; and maybe there wouldn’t be.

#alistair theirin #alistair dao #dragon age #dragon age alistair #dragon age surana #dao surana #dragon age origins #writing #writing in the rain #EXTREMELY self indulgent #i know the format is confusing #it’s just how i write #i hope yall like :P #havent written anything in YEARS

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nutria--oscura · 10 months

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Hey, Dude! I love you guys!

~S2 Ep39 spoilersss~

#fuck willy stampler 👍

Taylor(not that one)'s Version.... Taylor(Freddy's Version)'s Version

"is that the thing with the grimace shakes? is that they make you nut?" *proceeds to talk about mcdonalds meals that make you come* this. this is why i listen to this podcast y'all (/lh)

GUYS I LOVE THE DOODLER

(yes i paused the episode to make this)

so willy hasn't deleveled scary yet?

oh yeAH THE ZONE OF TRUTH

"you don't lie to people you love" have you listened to the podcast

oh yeAH THE KIDDADS ARE HERE

oh no-

that black/purple blood on normal is gonna cause something else isn't it? like not just the 2 d10, like something's gonna hppen with the kiddads or something isn't it? (please no-)

every episode their plains get weirder and more chaotic - its fucking amazing

CATBUS TIMEEE

definitely a normal melee attack

they remembered nick & hermie! win!

"it terms of thing nicky can do that are non-violent: he cant"

wasnt nicky at cassandras?

YAS HERMIE NAT 20 ON ACTING LEZ GO

yea nick still has no cha(riz)ma

let normal go feral. please. as a treat.

"ive got an idea but its kinda stupid" "welcome to the podcast"

4 LEVELS- OH SHTE

doodler bestie no- please no-

IN SCARY?WHAT-

THE SKYS BACKKK OH-

PERSONIFIED DOODLER!!!

"it smells like some kind of teen spirit" YES

"you see your own anxietys reflected back at you"

taylor is indeed perfect and doesnt need to change <3 (says that avid angst reader who loves taylor angst cause that boy needs to process the shit hes been though)

LARK NO

SPIDER BOI DOODLER

i know we were saying link needs to adopt the catbus but- ya know- i think the doodler should have it

oh yea- willys he- FUCK THE COLLAR

" business up front party in the back" "i don't think willy has the confidence to be pegged" "peeing is business but poop is for pleasure" no comments necessary-

"don't make me hate you as much as you hate him[henry]" OH SHIT-

lark & normal <3

LARK YES

LARK oh-

aaaaaaaaaand hes gone-

"you wanna make rhinestone bracelets together?" "oh mygod~ i mean- eh-"

dude, ya know, short for doodler

HANDSHAKES FEEL FAMILIAR??? AHHHH

LINK- "you guys hear abunch of farting noises? like shit coming out of nowhere?" BRUTAL MAN-

MAE IS BACK

TERRY JR?! PLEASE

RON?!?!?!?!

no way rons in heaven- he said bitch like 4 times in s1 (/j but ya know, canon)

DAY 9855 DAM OK-

SO THE LETTERS WERE TO TERRY JR? CAUSE "YOUR STEPFATHER" RIGHT?

IS RON SCARYS PATRON? SOMEHOW? PLEASE?

in conclusion:

also,

Ron <3

#RON IS BACK Y'ALL #LETS GOOO #a second before they said “let's just call him dude!” i saw the ep title and it clicked in my brain like an epiphany if you will #fuck willy stampler #dndads #dndads spoilers #dungeons and daddies #screaming crying sobbing #whispers of the raine

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tranzfalgar · 1 year

Text

Yamato NSFW Alphabet

I honesty have no idea why i did this i was bored but i hope u guys like it ! if u want me to write this for someone else, lmk :3

warnings: nsfw, praise kink, & body worship

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

The king of aftercare, since he knows how rough he can get with you. While sex is quite rough and passionate, his sweet side comes back immediately after he comes off his high. He’ll hold you for a little bit before getting up to run the both of you a bath. He’ll tell you to pick out a bath bomb or bubble bath and get in, and he’ll join you after he changes the sheets and lights a candle in the bedroom. He likes to massage your shoulders while you lay with your back against his chest. Sometimes he’ll even wash your hair for you, and pepper your soapy scalp with kisses. After your bath, there is a 50/50 shot that you will run naked back to your room, since you forgot your pajamas.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part of his own is his arms. He has very well-defined arms, and he really likes how they look, but he also likes them because he can carry you with them. He knows that his arms are the reason he can do everything he can. He can protect his friends, his village, and most importantly, you. Also, you really love his arms, so that transferred over to him as well.

His favorite body part of yours would definitely be your nose. It’s definitely weird, but he just finds it cute when you express stuff with your nose, such as scrunching it up. He loves giving you kisses on the nose, expect to get at least twenty every single day. Sometimes he will bite your nose if he is feeling a little silly and goofy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Since Yamato has such high stamina, his favorite thing to do is make you cum so many times that you can’t really walk or remember your name at all. Again, he is quite rough sometimes, and can get caught up in just seeing your face when you cum, since it is very pretty when your eyes roll back just because he is making you feel that good.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wears lingerie sometimes just to catch you off guard. Also, he has a very defined ass, and with him wearing some black lace panties? Goddamn does his ass look absolutely delectable. *licks lips*

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing before he met you. He never felt he deserved to be loved or pleasured, until you showed him how much of a darling he is, and that he is more than deserving of love and affection! Though, he is a very fast learner, so the awkward stages of sex pass by very quickly as you get in tune with each other.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position which allows him to see your face. Missionary, off the edge of the bed, etc. He can’t help wanting to look at your pretty face while he makes your eyes roll back in your head and your legs start to shake. Also, he wants to be able to see your lips if, god forbid, you need to utter your safe word, and your words aren’t strong enough to be heard over, well, the sex.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be goofy sometimes, but mostly he is serious. Sometimes he’ll push your tits together and make fart noises with his mouth between them. If he slips out by accident, he’ll make a pop noise with his mouth and giggle before slipping back in. He’s just a silly little guy sometimes, even while rearranging your insides, he can’t help it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Very, and I mean very, well groomed. The carpets match the drapes indeed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

So goddamn romantic, dear god. He will call you ‘my love’ or ‘darling’ while dirty talking, and hold your cheeks and press kisses all over your skin while you’re having sex. Sometimes, when he’s feeling extra romantic, he will set up a whole afternoon for the two of you. He’ll make you a romantic dinner for when you come back from work, have rose petals leading into the bedroom with candles all laid out ahead of time, and he has everything already set up for a bubble bath afterwards. He truly feels that sex isn’t just about pleasure, but equally about the romantic connection between the two of you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

If you’re away on missions for too long, he definitely will, but never when you are home, since the two of you are on the same page about communicating your sexual needs to each other. When you are gone though, he does have a few pictures that you took of yourself, but nothing really compares to the real thing. Sometimes he even gets really sad with post nut clarity because he really doesn’t want to masterbate, he wants to fuck you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise and degradation kink, the absolute double whammy. He loves it when you praise him for making you cum telling him “oh you are such a good boy making me cum like that,” yet he also likes to be called your manwhore. That shit riles him up, makes him go much more rough and hard than before.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Kind of a basic bitch answer but he loves just the classic bedroom sex. Your room is just super special to the both of you, and you put a lot of thought into creating the perfect space for the two of you. It’s full of plants, candles, photos, and the softest of materials. Also, you have a drawer that’s full of sex toys right by the bed which is perfect for quick access when you need them!

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tease him. Crack down that calm, composed man and make him want you so fucking bad. Tell him you need his big cock inside you, tell him you’re gonna make him cum, how you’ll suck his dick, etc. He’ll be pulling you to the bedroom telling you ‘I’m gonna give you the world, baby girl just you wait.’

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Yamato would rather die than have anything to do with piss or shit. That shit makes him gag, it's so vile to him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

An absolute yes to both of them, no questions asked. He’s got quite a large cock, so watching you try to fit the entirety of his dick in your mouth turns him on just by itself, but he’ll buck his hips up into your mouth, and he loves it when you let him cum on your tongue and swallow it.

For eating you out, he clearly has a lot to learn. You have to help him out verbally a lot, telling him what feels good and praising him when he makes you cum all over his calloused fingers, but eventually he gets really, REALLY good at it. Yamato can even extend the length of his fingers to hit your A and G spots at the same time while he flicks his tongue across your pretty clit, making you squirt in his face.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rough and fast, yet still somehow sensual. Yamato can do it all, a man of many talents. It’s probably due to his stamina, but he could be pounding you into the fucking mattress and still give you the sweetest kiss on the nose and whisper ‘you’re taking that cock so good for me,’ and goddamn does that shit make you SWOON.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

No, probably not, he likes to make a whole experience out of sex between the both of you. Plus, since he can last so long, he always wants to keep destroying your pussy until you’re quivering and begging and squirting. He also quite loves the aftercare, as he just loves taking care of you after fucking your brains out, you screaming him name.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He will try everything once, that’s just the man he is. Yet there’s two things he’s quite curious about. One of those things is bondage. Since he has wood release, he’s been practicing how to make the wood less splintering so he doesn’t hurt you. He just really likes the idea of you being unable to squirm too much, since he’d be able to hit your spots much easier if you aren’t moving constantly. The second thing is pegging, or just anal in general. While Yamato is very much of a dominant man, and loves to wreck your pussy, he wonders what it would feel like giving you the reins, letting you stuff him with your cock and make him scream your name. Plus, you’ve shown interest in both of these things as well, so they’re on your to-do list!

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Hashirama’s cells must have done something because this man can go round after round with little to no breaks in between. His current record is 7 rounds, 7 cumshots for him, and a total of 20-ish orgasms for you. Not only can he cum a lot, but he has the muscle strength and stamina for it too. He’s able to keep thrusting so damn fast for hours, holding you up some of the time too. It’s damn impressive.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yes, you have a lot of toys!! Mostly they are vibrators and buttplugs for you, all with cute little styles, but there is also a cock ring for Yamato, which he really loves to use when he knows he’s gonna nut fast. Also, the shit makes him feel so fucking good when he finally does cum.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not a tease at all, he loves to praise you so much more, focusing on making you feel good and driving you crazy. He, however, loves being teased. He loves being edged, being told he’s not allowed to cum unless it’s in your mouth, or because he’s been naughty. He loves when you whisper to him throughout the day very sexually charged things, and it gets him all wound up and ready to pulverize your pretty pussy and fill it with his cum.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is quite loud actually. Despite his calmer demeanor in public spaces, he gets very wound up in the bedroom. He’ll moan in your ear while nipping at your earlobe, grunting and breathing heavily too. He’ll call you his love, then grunt loudly in your ear as he cums deep inside your pussy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has a thing for body worship, whether it be for you or from you. He loves kissing each part of your body, covering you in hickies and telling you how beautiful you are and how happy he is to be yours. He also loves it when you do the same for him, he quite likes being called pretty by his pretty lady!! If you cover him in hickies, and call him a beautiful good boy, he will blush so hard and maybe cry tears of joy at feeling such intense love from someone for the first time in his life.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is so goddamn toned it’s insane. He has scars littering his entire body, as well as light freckles on his chest and upper arms. He has a bit of extra fat on his love handles (which u love to cover with hickies) and it’s so beautiful. He has man tits, god them fucking tits. They’re almost big enough to motorboat. also, he’s got a relatively big dick, around 7 inches and very thick!

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He is more of a quality over quantity type of person. While his sex drive is slightly above average due to his prior lack of experience, he knows that his and your job won’t allow him to have sex all the time. So, in order to counteract this, you guys always take your time whenever you do have sex, putting a lot of time into foreplay and making each other feel insanely loved.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Again, he is the king of aftercare, so when you guys are done, he doesn’t really fall asleep until you're curled in his arms, fast asleep. He’s just really protective of you, and wants to make sure you’re safe before he allows himself rest.

#yamato tenzo #tenzo yamato #yamato x reader #yamato x y/n #yamato x you #i have sinned spare me

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yourtongzhihazel · 4 months

Text

Discrete Fourier Transform, or, How Voice Training Helped Me Understand Filters and Wireless Communications

Discrete Fourier Transform and its associated algorithm Fast Fourier Transform (FFT) is the backbone of modern communications theory. What is a Fourier Transformation? Well! We've all seen Fourier Fish, yes? (if not, go see it). Any periodic function can be approximated as an infinite sum of periodic functions (sines or cosines). In the case of Fourier fish, if you treat the complex plane as a 2-d vector space, you can analogize the real and imaginary components of the Fourier series as the X and Y components of a 2-d vector respectively and use (relatively tedious) vector arithmetic to compute a fish. Each arm of the spinning circle represents one incrementation of the Fourier series; the infinite sum of periodic functions. A Fourier transform, then, is the reverse process of that, and indeed, how you can turn any picture into a Fourier series.

In short, what the Fourier Transform does is take a big ol' mess (perhaps, a crude drawing of a fish (done in one line! (this makes it continuous and therefore analogous to periodic))) and extract from it the frequency components of the Fourier series, which you can then plug into the periodic functions in the Fourier series to get your picture. In Fourier Fish's case, how you actually compute the necessary frequency component for each point is a bit beyond my scope, but in short, it involves a bunch of integrals. As you might have noticed in the original video, the fish is drawn in time; the function is in the time domain. The Fourier Transform goes from the time domain to the frequency domain (little omega) or vice versa. The ability to do this quickly and with discrete intervals of a signal gives rise to the FFT algorithm and its usefulness in modern applications.

What is the voice? Its what your mouth and throat and vocal chords (and other stuff but im not a biologist (sorry!))do to make cute noises and that make me want to give out headpats, of course! But fundamentally, it is vibrations of the air. Your vocal chords vibrate very very fast (some 300-3500 times per second!) to produce a base sound, a fundamental harmonic, if you will. This sound then passes through the larynx which, like a trumpet, will have some resonant frequency that alters the base sound adding its frequency to it, a harmonic, and altering the sound, perhaps constructively and destructively interfering in places; like a filter. The sound travels up your throat and into your mouth which, depending on the position of your tongue, teeth, and other stuff, further shape the sound by added its fundamental frequency; a second harmonic! By changing the shape/position of the muscles in these areas, you can shape your voice!

[fig 1: two sine functions with different frequencies (green is omega=0.5pi. blue is omega=6pi) and their sum (red)]

Vibrations are periodic. Even the most croaky, rumbly voice is represented by air waves. We have just seen how you can turn any periodic function into an infinite series of periodic functions. The voice, more specifically, its sound, is no different. Therefore, it can be mathematically modeled. Likewise, your larynx and mouth can be modeled as modulators or filters of the sound, letting certain frequencies pass and eliminating others in order to produce your beautiful voice!

What is a radio? It is a form of wireless communication using electromagnetic radiation (EM) as a method of carrying messages without wires. The physical foundation behind the technology is fascinating involving some of the most beautiful equations known to physics (Maxwell's equations) but also the worst fucking math I have ever done in my life and I would rather not talk about it thank you not taking questions on that. So how do you get, what is essentially light, to carry your fart joke to someone in ohio? Well you need a base carrier signal, a sine wave maybe. Then you have to add your message on it. In AM (amplitude modulation) radio, you would multiply your message with the amplitude of the baseband signal (basically, how much voltage or power it is); in FM (frequency modulation), you modulate the actual frequency of the baseband signal to carry your message (don't ask me how to do that). Then that goes off to the antenna to find a receiver antenna through the aether. Once it gets to the target, it climbs down the antenna, through a filter which removes unwanted frequencies, a demodulator to remove the baseband signal, and voila! Fart, from ohio, in your earhole! Amazing!

It is, by and large, an absolute miracle that you, reader, can read this shit on your phone or puter or tablet or smart toilet or whatever. THe amount of bullshit that each layer does to send data is, putting it mildly, fucked up. All of it relies on the fundamental concept of waves being periodic functions which can add up linearly and can be broken down into different frequencies through the Fourier transform.

And I realized all this when I started doing voice training 3.5 months ago.

#mmp #I was not sober when i wrote this but i wanna find it later if i ever see something i did wrong which i most definitely did #fuck my baka life

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benjaminthewolfnsfw · 8 months

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The Bully Rumbling Cave

Another trade story I wrote for @luci-voracious-blog, a crossover between Pikmin, and Ripper from total drama. Odd combination, I know, but it works.

****

The sun bore its rays down upon the open, grassy dirt grounds of the Sun-Speckled Terrace. The few, spread-out trees in the region swayed gently within the silent breeze, as the native birds chirped and warbled over the skies. The population of Pikmin in this region had been increasing significantly ever since the Rescue Corps had introduced new sub-species (such as Red Pikmin and Glow Pikmin) to the area. This meant that the recently imported Pikmin living in the terrace would have to learn how to adapt to their new environment, a process which had mostly been guided by the native sub-species themselves.

Thus, as one, singular, lone Red Pikmin apprehensively parted a clump of taller grass to peer through, a solemn “Wa-squee?” noise rang out a couple of centimeters from his miniscule form. Destined only to die out and sink down towards the sparsely-short-grass-covered dirt of the area now before him. The area in question was the one which featured many strange inorganic objects, such as the cube-shaped, brightly colored wood that wasn’t a part of any tree, nor bore any leaves, which no Pikmin had ever been able to fully comprehend.

The Red Pikmin eventually stepped through the aforementioned clump of grass, and took a moment to gaze around for his friends. It had only been a couple of minutes since he had last seen them. He knew they had gone somewhere behind the tree located closest to the strange tall, gray object standing firmly upon the forest floor, but where they could’ve gone after that was a complete and total mystery to the poor Red Pikmin. Since he had no other leads, however, it would only come as a natural decision that the tree would be the best place to go and search around for the moment. So, the tiny plant-like individual heaved out a high-pitched “Haaah~” before at last, he embarked upon the awfully long journey towards the tree, plodding along with his two thin, stumpy legs, and attentively scanning his surroundings for helpful details.

In the end, however, the unfortunate, miniscule, sole Red Pikmin would not even need to make it halfway, before all of the gigantic, horrific details that the teensy creature would possibly need to know decided to do the revealing all by himself.

*THUMP!*

“Eep? WAAAA!”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! OH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, LITTLE GUY? YA LOOKIN’ FOR ALL YOUR EQUALLY INSIGNIFICANT FRIENDS? OH WAIT! THAT’S RIGHT! I ATE ALL YOUR FRIENDS! *PFFFFFFFT*!”

Instantly petrifying the feeble Pikmin into stiffened paralysis as a considerable amount of rouge spit from the mocking fart noise succumb to gravity and landed down onto his stagnant form, it was thus only a matter of bending down and hauling the terrified Pikmin up by the leaf for the decidedly out-of-place Total Drama contestant known as Ripper. Forming a crooked and devious grin as he brought the tiny creature up to his face, Ripper wasted absolutely zero time in further traumatizing his prey by resuming his bout of vulgar yelling the very next moment.

“ALSO, YOU CAN’T UNDERSTAND ME ANYWAY, SO I’M SURE YOU WON’T MIND IF I GO AHEAD AND MAKE YOU USEFUL FOR SOMETHING!”

Now inescapably captured within the merciless grasp of the relative giant, the utterly shocked and wholly stunned Red Pikmin (who, indeed, couldn’t comprehend English), could only dangle there in horrific agony as his fate remained locked in the clutch of the humongous Ripper.

Steadily narrowing his eyes as he began to lift the Pikmin above his head, Ripper thus prepared himself for one last bout of self-serving screeching, before he revealed to his prey his fate.

“WELP, ENOUGH MESSING AROUND!”

he thus hollered out with a scoff,

“TIME TO JOIN THEM!”

The Red Pikmin, of course, had absolutely no way of understanding what Ripper was actually planning to do with him. All he had been able to determine thus far was that whoever this strange giant was, he was most definitely not a friend. It was for this exact reason then, that the miniature plant-like critter only began to freak out once the characteristically unlikable man finally parted his two jaws. Revealing at long last, his warm, slimy, pinkish, gaping maw.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Ripper teasingly let out with a still very prominent smirk on his face, rubbing his fingers between the Red Pikmin’s leaf, as said Pikmin, now knowing what Ripper wanted to do, naturally began to desperately flair around and squeal in nothing but pure terror for his very life.

“Awwwww, now isn’t that cute?” Ripper sarcastically, though slightly laboriously mumbled out from his still-open maw. “What, do you think you’re gonna make me feel sorry with that kind of begging?”

The Red Pikmin only continued to squeak and thrash around in utter hysteria.

“WELL TOO BAD FOR YOU! HAH!”

And with that, Ripper released his two fingers from the leaf, and observed the following seconds in pure bliss. His prey was now left with zero choice but to tumble downwards through the air, plunging past his widened jaws in due time, until eventually, landing on the tongue.

The instant that Ripper felt the impact on the middle of the squishy, wet muscle was the instant he snapped his jaws shut, and brought his head back down to its natural position. Not only was this to prevent any possibility of escape, but also to further distill unfiltered dread into the Red Pikmin, as he steadily raised his tongue up towards the maw’s very top.

The jittering Red Pikmin within could only give an instantaneous “EEE-WEEH!” noise upon sensing his leaf scraping against the rough ridges at the roof of Ripper’s maw. Due to this jolt, his being was no longer in a position where he could consciously process the area around him. Subconsciously, however, the poor, teeny creature’s chest, and the lower sides of all four limbs, were soaking up far more heat than the rest of his body, as they were right up against Ripper’s tongue. This was mostly the same with the sensation of wetness, but since several drops of thick saliva had been constantly dripping down onto his form from the hard palate above, the sense was not elusive to that region.

In terms of sound, Ripper had naturally been taking breaths in and out through his nose, which connected with the maw through the nasopharynx and trachea in the back. In true Ripper fashion, though, he had been deliberately increasing the intensity with which he took in and released said breaths, causing non-stop heavings of air to echo about the sealed chamber, only compounding the terror the Red Pikmin was experiencing, and ensuring it would only get worse once the plant-like-critter slid closer to up to Ripper’s pharynx.

In order to accomplish this further insulation of trauma, however, Ripper would first need to tilt his head back once again, causing the Red Pikmin within to slip just a little ways deeper upon the downwards sloping muscle of the tongue. Luckily for him, however, due to the fact that hard palate didn’t follow this curve, he wasn’t at risk of getting his leaf scraped up anymore. On the subject of the hard palate, though, Ripper on the outside was very well aware that if it was lowered down this far, as it currently was, his prey would not be able to get a preview of the pharynx, much less the laryngopharynx, until he was fully gulped down. As a result, Ripper raised up the natural roof of the maw to just as far as it could stretch, without parting the lips and allowing escape. Now, he was ready at last to swallow the Pikmin.

Back on the inside of the maw, it was only after this was completed that the unfortunate, doomed, poor Red Pikmin was able to view the swaying, plump, bulbous uvula, as it dangled down from the soft palate, in all its glory. Suddenly snapping his gaze directly upwards in a newfound, unexplainable fascination with the organ, the tiny, wide-eyed, minute being went on to give a transfixed “Aaaaaaaah!”, at the swaying sack of flesh which would naturally distract him temporarily from the fact that he was still sliding down the length of the tongue, whilst surrounded by the reverberating huffs of Ripper’s breathing.

The positively mesmerized Red Pikmin was only snapped back to reality, in fact, once the upwards shooting, high-pressure geyser of air expelling outwards from Ripper’s windpipe finally struck his miniature form.

“WHEEP!” the poor creature squealed out as he now stared down into the larynx, the multiple folds of the vocal cords wavering greatly, as Ripper let out a final villainous gaggle out towards his shuddering prey. A second later, at long last, the maniacal man’s epiglottis covered up the larynx’s entryway, so that the Pikmin would be squeezed into the upper esophageal sphincter instead, where the esophagus would guide him towards his stomach.

The Red Pikmin squeaked out a flurry of cries in visceral terror as the sphincter squelched him past the region of the pharynx, forcing him past the slim threads of prior hope, and leaving him quivering and trilling in despair, as the involuntary motions of peristalsis ensured his eventual arrival into the churning, deadly chamber below.

Due to the fact that his width was far lesser than the resting width of the esophagus, the experience of peristalsis for the Red Pikmin was not as claustrophobic as it would be for most hypothetical prey moving down. Each time the longitudinal muscles contracted at his feet and his head to push him further along, the region in the middle, (the muscles currently relaxed in their resting position), gave him just enough room to move his arms. Fruitlessly attempting to utilize this fact in order to stick himself in place by pushing against the esophageal walls, in irrational hopes of possibly halting his dreadful journey altogether, the slowly draining reserves of not just said hope but also sanity only continued to lower with each shove deeper into Ripper’s body. The Red Pikmin knew for a tentative fact that this action would not save him in the slightest. Yet as long as said fact remained tentative, and not absolute, he refused to give up his desperate trying.

Ripper on the outside was actually somewhat able to feel all this going on. And so, simply due to the fact that Ripper was Ripper, a heaving guffaw and an aggressive knee-slap was the singular possible instantaneous response that could have ever come out of the man. Heavy chortles from this display of attempted survival strained his lungs into panting and gagging. A couple of tears of unfathomable hilarity dripped outwards from his tear ducts to the ground, as he incessantly wheezed, now hunched over, both hands on his knees in wobbly elation. The Red Pikmin was, in turn, somewhat able to hear this within. It was, however, significantly muffled, and something which the tiny critter had absolutely no clue the meaning of, anyway. Utterly incomprehensible in almost exactly the same manner as the sudden deep pounding crescendoing by the second down ahead made no sense to the Pikmin either.

This pounding, of course, regardless of its unrecognizability to the Pikmin, was the thumping of Ripper’s human heart, the speed of which had significantly increased since the non-stop bout of cruel laughter had begun just a minute ago. The Red Pikmin squeaked forth a soft “Eep?” in confusion to this new sound, but still, was focused mainly on staying alive. Ultimately, however, the two centimeter tall, single, feeble, fragile Red Pikmin had absolutely no way to escape the inevitable. Due to the fact that Ripper’s heart was pounding harder than it normally would be, the Red Pikmin had been unable to detect the signature growling emulating from the stomach as the esophagus ensured he approached it. This, quite unfortunately, meant that the Pikmin had absolutely no clue when he was going to exit the esophagus until the lower esophageal sphincter finally entered into his view.

“EEP! WEE-EHE! EEEEEEE!” the ill-fated creature cried out, as the sphincter squelched him out, and into the cavernous, deadly chamber of Ripper’s gurgling stomach at last.

“WEEH-WEEH!” the Red Pikmin screeched out as he fell. Unable to see, well, anything, due to the lack of any light inside the stomach, there was absolutely nothing that he could do in order to preemptively prepare himself for the impact.

“EEK!” he yelped out upon the inescapable collision, causing, as a result, the poor Pikmin’s full being to wholly stall. Whatever he had ended up landing on, ( again, there was no way he could tell without light), it was somewhat squishy and damp, which meant that he was not immediately splattered into gunk upon the initial landing. Yet, the shock still thoroughly remained. Thus, the Red Pikmin remained unmoving, incapable of any complex thought for the moment. He had absolutely no idea how long he would remain this way. Nor did he have any idea that he lacked a way of knowing this in the first place.

****

“Eep?”

“Ee-woop?”

“Wah?”

“WAH! EEP-BA!”

“Woh~”

“Bee-wap! Ah-eee!”

It could have been anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours when the Red Pikmin could begin to comprehend these sounds once more. With his being still jolted and frazzled, the little critter was still unable to process every single one of the implications behind what, exactly, he was hearing. Yet, he still understood, but implicitly, what they were. And that, for him, was the realization that snapped him aware.

“WEEP!” he let out in startled excitement. In this oncoming bout of newfound energy, the Red Pikmin found himself nearly bouncing his way to his feet, giving a spontaneous “O?” in the midst, from the sudden observation that somehow there was now light around him. And then, when he landed, everything finally snapped into place.

“WEEEE!”

“AHH!”

“WEEP-WOOP!”

“BEEBEE!”

“WAAAH!”

The Red Pikmin was positively flooded with an onset, rushing feeling of glee. Blissfully bouncing up and down at the sight of his three Pikmin friends right before him, with his friends soon after following suit, the Red Pikmin only continued beeping rapidly in surgeing euphoria, whilst his Yellow Pikmin, Blue Pikmin, and Glow Pikmin friends squeaked back far more calmly at him; in order to swiftly fill in their friend on what, precisely, had happened after they had been initially separated.

Just as Ripper had screeched himself a while ago, the group of three had been previously captured and swallowed by the man, a little after they had gone behind the tree. Then, with the help of the Glow Pikmin’s bioluminescence, they had been wandering around the edge of the acid pool in the stomach (the Blue Pikmin figured out the liquid was acid the hard way, after initially dipping in his foot), yet were unable to find a way out.

Once he had been told all of this, the Red Pikmin gave an understanding: “Ah!” in response. That did explain quite a lot. Including the fact that he hadn’t been initially sizzled away in the acids upon his paralyzing entry.

A little while after the Red Pikmin had finished contemplating everything, then, due to the fact that they didn't really have any other options, the newfound group of four ultimately decided together that they needed to continue exploring, in hopes of finally discovering a way out.

Giving a firm nod to himself, then, and preparing his being for the journey ahead, the Red Pikmin thus gave a friendly motion towards the Glow Pikmin, who, due to his bioluminescence, had essentially become the leader by default.

Responding with a small nod of his own, and as a result, confirming that the group should get going again, the Glow Pikmin proceeded to float ahead of his three Piknin friends. His ghost-like tail went on to gently sway behind all of them, as they casually plodded behind in readied resolve.

****

“Haaaaaahhhhhhh~” The Red Pikmin sighed out rather lightly, his fall-exhausted, terror-recovering being hunched over just slightly as he continued.

The Blue Pikmin and Yellow Pikmin at his sides gave a slightly concerned “Wee?”at this sight, but the Red Pikmin only gently shook his head in response, knowing that finding an exit was far more important than stopping for a rest at the moment.

With his eyes now diverted down towards the rather squishy stomach floor, the Red Pikmin consequently examined its movements. On the floor, the muscles made occasional small, wave-like rippling movements. That was something which wasn’t exactly a large hindrance for any in the group, but nonetheless, it still ensured that everyone needed to pay attention, so they wouldn’t accidentally trip over one of the waves and splat downwards right onto their face. The Red Pikmin then glanced upwards towards his floating Glow Pikmin friend. Internally, he groaned just a bit, wishing tremendously that he could float just like him.

The path along the edge of the acid pool was wide enough that all three Pikmin in the back could move along on the same row without getting uncomfortably close to each other, but narrow enough to where the Glow Pikmin’s glow still illuminated the stomach wall to their left, as well as bit of the pool to their right. Shifting his eyes to the left first, the Red Pikmin was able to study the movements of said wall far more closely. The very first thing he noticed in doing this was that the walls’ motions were far more pronounced and frequent than that of the floor’s. Outwards, then inwards they churned, sometimes shoving against their own protruding, slickened parts as they did. When this happened, the air would be swiftly squeezed out of the region, causing a gurgle or glorping sound to be released.

Finally, the Red Pikmin gazed over to the right of the path, and onto the acid pool as a result. A horrific, visceral shudder jostled through his minute being as he did. The liquids really did appear water-like at first.

Tightening up his jittering body as he glanced down at the slight acid burn upon his Blue Pikmin buddy’s left foot, The Red Pikmin suppressed a squeak of fright, as his eyes glanced back over at the pool. Sloshing and churning around against the edges of the path the group was taking, the acids, upon a closer inspection of their motions, actually appeared to be the thing that was producing the most ambiance in the stomach. Not only with the swishing around of their contents, and the rapid sizzling away of any kind of solid object inside, but also with the growling which resulted whenever any air was sucked down into their waves. Spontaneously releasing upwards with a pop, the acids would only drag them back down again towards their depths. And thus, this dastardly cycle would repeat ad infinitum. Or, for just as long as the organ could operate. The Red Pikmin could not hold it back any longer.

Releasing a high-pitched, quivering “EEEEEEEEEEE!” after so long in the cruel water’s sight, The Red Pikmin shuddered visibly onto the rest of the Pikmin group. Eventually, he was met with a sympathetic “Aaaaah-” from his friends, with the Blue Pikmin even patting him on the back. This seemed to indicate for the Red Pikmin that his friends understood how he felt. They knew it was horrible, as well, and that now, they knew with absolute certainty that they did NOT want to go down there.

“Hu?” the Red Pikmin perked up in confusion. His three friends immediately, though silently, pointed over towards something that was out of his current line of sight, (since he was still hunching over significantly). Then, the Red Pikmin’s two pupils instantly dilated.

Though none of the Pikmin had any knowledge of its name, that was indeed the pylorus. The Glow Pikmin’s light illuminated its opening into the duodenum, allowing a lot of thoroughly digested chime to flow through. Eventually, the sphincter closed again, and the four Pikmin were left utterly speechless.

“Oooh-pea-waah?” the Yellow Pikmin eventually spoke, so the group could try to figure out what to do next. Between the traveling they had done before the Red Pikmin joined them, and all of the subsequent traveling thereafter, the group had essentially traversed the entire arc length of the path that lay just beyond the acid pool. The only potential exits they had discovered in all that time were the one that they had entered in from, and this newfound pylorus, which quite obviously did not lead outside.

So, then what were the four to do?

“Hmmm-ee-pah?” The Blue Pikmin suggested moments later.

“Aa-nee-haaah.” The Glow Pikmin responded to his friend. He was a little skeptical at first that the Blue Pikmin’s idea was any good, but still, it was a potential possibility.

“Wap-hee!” The Yellow Pikmin added in, reminding everyone that as long as they were stuck down here, causing their capturer pain was the very least they could do to get some recompense.

This comment immediately caused the Glow Pikmin to perk up. That was very true after all.

“EET! YEEWAH!” the Red Pikmin called out in realization. The other three immediately turned their attention towards him. The Red Pikmin proceeded to gently stroke his head stem and his leaf. And just like that, the other three Pikmin knew exactly what they needed to do.

****

“Ahhhhhhh……well. That was…expectedly easy.” Ripper boasted to himself with a scoff, as he placed both his hands over his abdomen.

At this point in time, Ripper had sat himself down up against the very tree that he’d ambushed the first three Pikmin behind. He’d placed his left leg over his right, and was now just purely enjoying himself. He was all but expecting the four tiny creatures he’d eaten to be fully digested and dead by now, and hardly expected any problems at all to pop up because of his consumption of all of said critters.

And that was when Ripper lurched upwards, whilst instinctively gasping in air.

“W-AH-WHA-” he attempted to formulate into a sentence through sudden abdominal pain.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON DOWN THERE?”

He finally managed to get the words out whilst viciously clutching his stomach, and rapidly breathing in and out in sheer agony.

“H OW-I-HUH? THIS DOESN’T MAKE SENSE AT ALL!”

Yet, to the four resilient Pikmin inside, it not only made total sense, but caused them to giggle out in glee as they continued to hop and slap about their stems, whipping them against Ripper’s stomach wall, as well as the floor which they had fallen on, in non-stop ecstasy and joy.

“WEE-HEE!”

“WA-HOO!”

“WEE-BEEEE!”

They continuously cried out to each other.

None of them knew whether this little affair would help them escape, or if they would still be stuck down here after its eventual closure. And yet, in the moment, none of that even mattered in the slightest. All that the four Pikmin cared about was the fact that their capturer, the one who had swallowed them whole, the one who was now collapsed face-first on the floor in writhing anguish, and the one who had never stopped for even a millisecond to truly think about his actions at all, was now facing consequences at last.

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