#anon brickling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brick-a-doodle-do · 9 months

Note

Story idea! Which will contain tiny!tubbo tiny!baby michael and giant!ranboo

Tubbo lives alone in the tundra lands of snowchester with his son Michael, tubbo is known for studying and hunting mythical creatures, but after a harsh snowstorm and lack of food he ventures out one night and ends up meeting one of the mythical creatures he has been desperately searching for.

Noms are up to you, btw

yay no more creative slump! thanks anon :D

i kinda switched this around s little bit but i think it's still alright? i mean i didn't read it but eh

(bonus points if you know what the title's from! :3)

agony drips from me, poisonous remedy

wc: 2519

cw: sfw vore (unwilling prey + miscommunication/no communication), panic

—–—

Call him an idiot, call him insane, call his work useless, but he prefers ‘over it’. Because in the depths of all of his pinned up papers, half-finished sketches littering the floors and a thousand theories blurring his head, he has a son, who’s obvious struggles haven't gone unnoticed from Tubbo, and he is over his weird hobby.

He does try, he keeps up with Micheal’s schedule, making sure he’s clean and well-fed and gets to sleep on time, (Although he can't be positive on that because unless his frenzy has kicked up hallucinations, he’s fairly positive he’s heard Micheal’s muffled snorts from just outside his office.)

Tubbo knew about that. He knew his son was distressed and isolated and tired and curious, yet he still persisted with the thing he couldn't even call work, it was just a hobby he clung onto desperately like it was pumping air into his lungs.

So, the recent storm was rather eye-opening. At the first crack of thunder and blast of lighting, Tubbo found it mildly distracting, while Micheal’s panicked squeals had traveled through the mansion and right to Tubbo's office, where the boy then threw himself at his father, burying his face into Tubbo’s chest with panicked breath. Tubbo had jumped at the contact and shuffled his papers around before scooting back to tend to his son.

“Hey, hey, it’s just a storm, the thunder can’t hurt us,” Tubbo reassures, rubbing circles into the kid’s back. Micheal squeals as another clap of thunder echoes from the sky and rattles the windows of the office. Micheal’s grip on Tubbo’s vest tightens and he has to suppress the urge to wince under the pressure of his forming claws. “It's just passing over us,” Tubbo says, although he can't be sure about that, the weather has been showing signs of storms all week.

Another flash of lightning leaves Tubbo jumping at the way the windows light up at the streak, just a mile too close for his word to stay true. Presumably having felt Tubbo’s jolt of fear, Micheal sobs a little, still huddling close to his father for comfort. Tubbo sighs, tearing his wary attention away from the window and turning to focus on his papers, bullet points about a deity blurring together even more than usual at his worry. He moves his attention from his work and focuses on his son, still shaking with sobs. A wet spot has formed on his jumper from the kid’s tears, meanwhile Tubbo is stunned at what to say. He’s never been the most emotionally available, or if he was he wasted it all on useless attempts at humor to try and calm down Tommy.

This was his son, and this was not a laughing matter. He stands, his chair sliding back along the wooden floor with a wince-inducing scrape, to which he ignores and focuses on supporting his son. “We haven't had thunder for a while, so, you know what that means?” Tubbo asks, using old techniques Schlatt had used when Tubbo wouldn't be quiet.

“What?” Micheal asks, smally, voice broken from his tears.

Another clap of thunder. Micheal gasps softly at the sound.

“When there's a clap of thunder, you count the seconds between it, and that's how many miles away it is,” Tubbo informs him, still rubbing along his back as he navigates through the mansion.

The hybrid pulls away from his chest, still secure in Tubbo’s grasp but now facing him eye-to-eye, looking a little suspicious of Tubbo's claim. “Not true?” Micheal inquires. Tubbo cracks a smile and shakes his head.

“It's true! Listen, let's wait for the next one,” he says, heading down the grand staircase to find their way to the family room.

Micheal’s eyes avert his gaze and instead move beyond him to watch the windows, spirit enlightened. Tubbo finds the lift in demeanor satisfying, though without a problem to worry about he finds his mind traveling back to the creature studies sat in his office. Supposedly considered deity amongst the End and the Nether, and the very last creature he has in an old book of monsters he found as a kid.

He’s never been so riled up over finding something, but Ranboo proved so important that Tubbo would forget his own son in their time of panic.

Tubbo plops on the couch, Micheal falling with him, just in time for another clap of thunder. “Alright! One, two, three—” Tubbo is cut off as Micheal takes over.

“Four, five—” Boom! The windows rattle and a few pieces of lopsided furniture shudder. That’s odd. It hadn't been so close before…boom!

Micheal squeals. That was loud.

“Hey, hey, bossman, you're alright! It's just thunder,” Tubbo says, holding his boy tight while keeping his eyes glued to the pitch-black windows.

“Too close!” Micheal squeals out, his hybrid coming out in a fit of snorts and whines that make Tubbo’s heart ache. Why did he tell him about the distance method?

He considers calling Phil, but he doubts his communicator will work in this storm. The loud rush of rain hitting the window becomes apparent to him the more it picks up, rapidly thumping on the glass panes. Micheal’s crying again, his body quivering with every hiccup.

“Hey, baby, you're okay,” Tubbo whispers. He can't handle this. Boom! “Bud, how about a special trip to old man Phil? I bet he and Technoblade can help, huh?” He asks, bouncing the hybrid on his knee. All that Michael responds with is a childish sob.

His heart twists. Tubbo pulls him close, picking the kid up. He can make it to Phil and Technoblade's cabin, and then he can just…pick up where he left off with his work. You know, unless he dies.

Tubbo’s footsteps softly echo around the high ceilings, just barely audible against Micheal’s crying. “We’re going to go out to uncle Technoblade and old man Phil’s cabin, alright Micheal? They’ll know what to do,” Tubbo informs, sliding into his shoes and setting the kid down by the door. “Which coat do you want, bossman?”

Micheal hiccups, staring up at Tubbo with confusion in his eyes. For the most part, it goes unnoticed while he opens up the chest of their jackets and shoes.

“I don't want to be in storm,” Micheal says, frowning. Tubbo pulls a coat from the chest and pulls it around himself, grabbing another one for extra good measure. He zips the two up then crouches down to eye level with the piglin.

“I know, I know. We just need to get somewhere a little safer, okay? Their houses are more prepared for this,” he lies, knowing full well that while he knows the storm is coming closer, he really was orchestrating this so he could just get some quiet work time, no matter how bad he felt about it.

Micheal, at the very least, seems to buy it. “Okay…I want red, Techno color!” the piglin says, squealing in delight at his own mention of Technoblade.

“Ah, what did I expect,” he chuckles, pulling out a red raincoat from the chest and carefully pulling Micheal’s arms through each sleeve, then buttoning it up gently. Micheal flaps his hand as Tubbo pats his chest to let him know he’s ready to go. Tubbo pulls out his wellies, a blue pair to take after Tommy, (Who he’s quite sure took after Ghostbur), then hands them to micheal to fit on. In the end, Tubbo is fighting down his overwhelming guilt of letting Micheal go for the storm.

He's adorable, already abandoning fear because he looks like his uncles, (And his flaunting his excitement of the fact). Techno’s old raincoat almost pools at Micheal’s feet, the faded thing barely fitting yet somehow keeping Micheal in complete bliss.

“You look dapper,” Tubbo compliments, one last time reaching into the chest and grabbing out an umbrella before closing it. “Ready to go visit Philza, bossman?”

Ultimately, Micheal looks a little uncomfortable at the thought of going out into the storm, although the thunder has been distant recently and Tubbo can tell Micheal has registered that.

“I think!” he responds, voice wavering before gaining confidence near the end. He smiles shallowly.

With one arm, Tubbo lifts Micheal up into his hold again, the piglin snorting at the quick movement. He switches the umbrella to the hand holding Micheal and opens the front door, pulling at it until it finally opens with a pop!, leaving him stumbling at the sudden jerk. He keeps it open with his foot and steps out, shielded from the pouring rain under the thin awning. The door slams shut behind him, nearly causing him to drop the umbrella as Micheal jumps at the sound and digs his fingers into Tubbo’s already-sore sides.

He huffs out his pain and slides open the umbrella, which clicks as it locks. Tubbo raises it above their heads and steps out into the storm. Immediately, the constant stream of rain against the material above their heads pounds in Tubbo’s ears, even as damaged as they are.

Boom!

Immediately, Tubbo hears Micheal whisper under his breath: “One, two, three four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—” Boom!

“Ten miles is pretty far,” Tubbo comments, trudging through the thin layer of snow that he’d just shoveled earlier today. It mixes into a sludge with the rain, crunching under his boots in a pleasing manner, something to distract him from his desire to study and his worry of making it through the path to Techno’s cabin. It also distracts him from the impending feeling like he’s being watched.

He tries to convince himself that isn't true, for the most part, even though he does give in with a quick look around his surroundings. The only thing he’s ever met with is the comfort of being alone with just him and his boy.

Wind laps around them, the thunder and lightning seemingly having passed already, the only applicable features of the storm remaining being the strong rain and the surprisingly aggressive winds. He can barely see anything, let alone hear anything outside of the wind in his ears, Micheal’s hushed shivers and whimpers, and the rain on the umbrella. All the mobs have taken a rest for the night, thankfully, but it only leaves him in suspense.

Who had eyes on him if not a zombie or a creeper?

Who was watching him from above, threatening the security of him and his son?

About halfway through the forest to Techno’s cabin, he pauses at the sound of something shuffling. Micheal hums at the motion, his attention also caught on the noise. Perhaps he would've passed it off as a victim of the storm, but it seemed too orchestrated, like something running into a bush. He tries putting it behind him, whispering a reassurance to both himself and the boy.

Tubbo makes it two steps before there's another rustle. Now, he stops. Full-fledged freezes, subconsciously holding Micheal a little closer. His grip on the umbrella handle tightens until his knuckles run pale while he spins around against the wind to look around.

The hue of something red and green catches his eye. Too large to be anyone's communicator or any of the server’s eyes. Too vibrant for a coat or anything of the sorts, too colorful for an animal, no, this was the watchful gaze of Ranboo.

It fit the description of their eyes, the giant creature often hunched low to the forest floor, said to be a nod to their connection with the Nether.

Tubbo can’t help the excitement that flares up against the fear. Ranboo was feet from him. He has been searching for so long—he finally can care about his son the way he needed to.

“Papa?” Micheal inquires, presumably noticing the way Tubbo has stopped in his tracks again.

Tubbo shushes the piglin. “Hold on for a second, bud,” he says, hiking up the kid before he slips out of his hold. Micheal seems to relax, resting his head on Tubbo’s shoulder while he waits.

Meanwhile, Tubbo stands, staring at the vibrant eyes in the foliage ahead.

“Ranboo,” he whispers. The eyes lift up a bit, like the mention of their name intrigued them. Tubbo’s spirit lightens immensely.

A crack of lightning charges through the sky, lighting it up enough for him to make out a rough outline of the crouching monster. “Woah..yeah, that's you, Ranboo!” He says slowly, more of a reassurance to himself than anything.

“You're Ranboo, right?” Tubbo calls out to the forest. The eyes disappear for a moment before reappearing as the creature blinks.

There's a small vwoop! that echoes through the forest. Micheal perks up at that, turning his head in the direction of Ranboo. Against his fingertips, even through the raincoat, Tubbo's feels as Micheal tenses up.

“What's that?!” the kid demands, fear inflicted in his voice. His pink fur has risen at the fear he emits.

“It's nothing to be afraid of, just an important thing I've been looking for,” he informs the kid. Micheal doesn't seem to relax.

Ranvoo releases another vwoop! which is shadowed with a glk! that echoes from their throat.

Suddenly, a thick tail with a furry, split-colored tuft is extending from the forest and into the clearing, rising high above them before, strangely prehensile as it curls around Micheal’s small form, somehow breaking the boy's contact with Tubbo. Micheal squeals at it, crying out for his dad. Before he has the time to react, Micheal is plucked from his grasp and swept up in Ranboo's tail, becoming a speck of pink amongst a sea of black and white.

“Hey! What the fuck?!” Tubbo yells, immediately dropping the umbrella to run after the retracting tail. The rain pours into him immediately, wind rushing in his ears and pushing him as he trails after Micheal quickly. He stumbles over his feet, ankles rolling at his attempts to stay sturdy in snow.

Tubbo can just barely hear Micheal’s panicked squeals and snorts while re-entering the forest, quickly behind the tail as he runs uselessly towards his son. “Ran-Ranboo! Sir–um, oh my god, surely you doing need to do that!” Tubbo calls up, watching from the shadows as Micheal is lifted effortlessly into Ranboo's two-finger hold, dangling him in open air, infuriatingly oblivious to his panic and sobs.

Tubbo’s heart sinks when he watches through another streak of lightning illumates the forest around them, as his son is drawn to Ranboo’s open maw, a fit of sobs and garbled calls for his dad and screams to stop.

Immediately, he runs closer to the giant, who’s still crouched over the clearing.

“Oh god, oh my god, what the—RANBOO!” Tubbo yells, hands cupped over his mouth desperately. Rain pours down into him as he runs, causing him to stumble in the mud. As he approaches, he realizes quickly he can barely reach the edge of Ranboo's leg despite his immediate attempts to jump at it, and at another clap of thunder and bolt of lightning, he’s craning his neck in horror as he watches a lump in the deity’s throat travel down.

—–—

taglist: @i-am-beckyu, @skullsnbruises, @nobodywritingao3, @krazycat49, @da3dm, @a-xyz-s // taglist request

#brickquiries #anon brickling #mw #brickfic #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #dsmp g/t #dsmp gt #dream smp g/t #dream smp gt #t!micheal #t!tubbo #g!ranboo #tw vore #safe vore

71 notes · View notes

nu-metal-confessions · 1 year

Note

I want to make ice cream out of the slipknot members cum and I will call slipcum or cumknot

#good lord anon #very clever but the only correct answer is Wait and Cream #do they all have their own flavors orrrr??#do you add any additional flavor?#if so Corey would be peach with graham crackers or some shit #Joey would be cherry and dark chocolate ribbon #Sid would be lime with crushed up candy #Shawn would be butter brickle because old man #goddamnit anon why are you making me think about this #are you in cahoots with the cumbust anon??#are you one in the same?!?#good god I'm going insane #slipknot #nu metal #nu metal confessions

4 notes · View notes

secretobsessionstuff · 2 years

Note

Love your writing, and as a person currently accepting she's bisexual, your Blair stories especially have been a treat when I'm in an emeto mood. I wanted to request a story, if you're up for it, with Blair overeating something delicious, but heavy, and getting burpy/gassy for a bit before throwing up for a few rounds. Comfort from Dakota great, but my special request would be that Blair gets to feel good and relieved afterwards. Love the relief portions of your fics! TY for your amazing writing, please keep it up. <3

Hello lovely Anon! I too get the bi panic over Blair. I had so much fun with your request! I hope you like it 💗💜💙

--------------------

Cheesecake.

That was the only thing on Blair’s mind. Full stop. There was no more to that sentence. Only one word was necessary to convey her feelings. Blair didn’t know if cheesecake could be classified as an emotion, but she was certainly feeling it.

She thought of one particular piece of cheesecake, and it currently sat in her fridge at home, waiting to be eaten. All day, that singular slice called out to her. This was a very attractive slice of cake because it came from The Cheesecake Factory.

She’s been surprised when Dakota suggested such an expensive restaurant for date night. Not that she was complaining. They didn’t go often, but when they did, they came home with their own personal slice of cheesecake. Dinner had been much too filling for dessert, but that never stopped them from taking their cakes to go. Dakota had gotten a Reese’s peanut butter chocolate cake and Blair got Dulce De Leche Caramel Cheesecake.

Dulce De Leche roughly translates to ‘the sweetest substance known to man’, or at least that was Blair’s translation given that she didn’t speak Spanish. As far as she was concerned, that was the only definition required. It was some kind of caramelized milk made with sugar. By itself, it was spreadable happiness, but bake that into cheesecake and it becomes the dessert of gods. Like ambrosia, it had a rich, golden colour.

As she came home from work, she checked the fridge to make sure it was still there. It wasn’t that she thought Dakota would eat her dessert (he had his own after all), but her one-track mind was ripe for paranoia. Both cakes were in takeout containers. Good at least they were both there. But that wasn’t enough; she had to see the whole and entire cake for herself.

The first one she grabbed happened to be her own. It was still perfect, with caramel drizzled across the top and flawless dollops of whip cream adorning the sides.

Spoiler alert: taking the cake out of the fridge had been a bad decision because now she couldn’t bring herself to put it back.

Blair dipped her finger into the cloud of whip cream, and melted.

Okay maybe she could have a few bites before dinner. So what if the frozen chicken sat on the counter, waiting to be cooked? Dessert didn’t necessarily need to come at the end of a meal. Maybe she could take small bites while she cooked the chicken and steamed the vegetables.

Yes, that is what she would do. It was a good plan. This way she got to satiate her immediate craving and potentially still have cake to eat after dinner.

First, Blair took the frozen chicken out of its package. She didn’t want to be eating while handling the raw meat, so she made sure to finish that step, and thoroughly wash her hands, before indulging in the cake.

With the chicken seasoned and in the oven, she scooped a portion of the cake onto a fork. The creamy texture of the cheesecake set her tastebuds ablaze. She closed her eyes and moaned. It was exactly as she imagined it all day. Soft and airy caramel mouse. Crunchy almond brickle. Sweet and smooth Dulce De Leche filling. The cheesecake itself was dense. Already she felt her appetite go down a notch, but it was worth it.

“Okay, okay,” Blair mumbled to herself through a mouthful of paradise. “You can have more when the vegetables are in the pot.” And she figured that second bite of cake would be the last one until the real dessert. She still had to save some to enjoy with Dakota.

But putting the vegetables in the pot was not a single task. She had to cut the broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots into pieces. She had to wait for the water boil. Then she had to wait for the vegetables to soften over the steam. Of course, after each new step, she took another bite of cake.

Veggies chopped to desired size? Check.

Cheesecake.

Water taking a million years to boil? Obviously.

Two more bites.

Water boiling and ready for veggies? Yep.

More cheesecake!

Once every part of the meal was cooking on its own, leaving Blair with nothing to do but wait, she turned back to her dessert. To her utter shock and dismay, there was only a single bite left to the cake. Blair could swoon. Where had it all gone?

The sudden gurgle in her belly answered that question quite well. She looked down at her full tummy, noticing for the first time that it was bloated. Now that Blair was no longer puttering around the kitchen, going back and forth between the stove and the sweet treat, she realized how full she had gotten. She exhaled deeply, letting her cheeks empty slowly of air.

She punctuated that long breath with a chesty burp. The belch brought the taste of caramel back to her mouth. It did not taste as good coming from that way.

Blair frowned, realizing that she wasn’t terribly hungry anymore. In fact, she was terribly full. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle another burp. She wasn’t sure why she felt to need to supress it, but she did so anyway. Maybe it was the guilt over eating her dessert so quickly and without noticing her gluttony. The cake had been there a second and gone the next, leaving Blair with no desire to eat the dinner that she was making.

The spices on the chicken—paprika, rosemary, and garlic powder—filled the kitchen with an intense aroma. It was not a pleasant smell to Blair. It reminded her of how tight her stomach was.

And here’s the worst part: even though Blair didn’t want to eat the healthy meal, she still turned back to that last bite of cheesecake. It was small, but it had everything. Oozing caramel. A small drop of whip cream. Vanilla crust. It was the perfect last bite. She couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t like she was going to save such a small portion for after dinner. That would have been disappointing.

In a split second, the cake was gone. Blair closed her eyes again, intent on savoring her last remaining moments with the dessert.

Alas, the ending was bittersweet. More bitter than sweet because her tastebuds were oversaturated with the flavour of caramel. It tasted like…nothing. Just a dense glob of cheesecake that she rolled around her mouth.

The treat did not feel any better in her belly compared to her mouth. Her already full stomach whined at the addition of more sugar. Almost immediately after swallowing, she let out a thick belch. The burp was so thick that she feared the food was making an escape up her throat.

Luckily, everything stayed down. For now

Blair groaned and rubbed her hand over her abdomen. She felt heavy and sluggish as she took the cooked chicken out of the over. She moved lazily, setting the steamed vegetables aside. She did not bother dumping the pot of boiling water; it would have been too heavy for her tired muscles.

The drowsiness stuck with her even when Dakota got home from work. The first thing he did was lift his nose in the air and inhaled deeply.

“Smells good,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. He eyed the steam coming off the food and smiled. “Thanks for making dinner, Bee.” He gave her a side hug because Blair didn’t turn to greet him. He kissed the side of her head before grabbing a plate from the cupboard.

When Blair still did not move, Dakota said, “What are you waiting for? You must be starving. When did you get home?”

“Maybe an hour ago.” Blair went through the motions of putting chicken and vegetables on her plate. “I’m tired now.”

“Well sit, sit.” Dakota pulled her chair out from the table. “I’ll do all the talking, because ooh boy, there’s a new guy at work and he is a train wreck.”

Blair sat down at the table with him, forcing a smile on her face. “Don’t you always do all the talking?”

“Shh,” he said as if he were drunk. “Story time is about to begin.” Blair had no idea how he could come home from work and still have all this energy. She envied him sometimes.

Dakota was about to launch into his story, but he paused with his fork halfway to his mouth to look worriedly at Blair. “You do look very tired. Would you rather eat in peaceful silence?”

“No. That’s okay.” This time she smiled for real. He was too loveable. “Tell me about your day.”

…

“And that’s the story of how Tim almost burned down the fitness centre,” Dakota concluded as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Wow this guy sounds like a real menace.”

“Nah, he’s good dude. He just needs to adjust to the new job,” Dakota said, rising from the table. He reached for Blair’s plate but paused. There was still a lot of food left on it. “Are you finished?”

Blair looked down at her lap. “Yeah.” If by finished he meant that she was close to throwing up at the table, then yes, she was absolutely finished.

She had managed to eat only a few pieces of carrots and broccoli. The chicken she hardly touched. During the meal and Dakota’s enthralling anecdote, she had cut the meat into smaller sections just to give her something to do while he inhaled his food. Her belly never stopped making noises. Thankfully, Dakota spoked loudly that it drowned out the sick grumbles.

He was quiet now as he carried their dishes to the sink. “You didn’t eat very much,” he remarked as he piled her leftover food into a container. “Were you not hungry?”

“Not really.” Blair shrugged her shoulders, trying to make it seem like a lesser deal than it was.

“Are you sick?”

“No, just full.”

“Alright,” he said slowly. Blair thought he was going to press the matter further, but a sudden realization dawned in his eyes. His face lit up. “Hey! We have leftover cake!”

He hurriedly opened the fridge, easily finding his dessert from last night. He set it down on the counter and took peek to make sure that it was his, before going back for another look. “Where’s yours?”

Blair did not say anything until he was out of the fridge, wearing a puzzled expression. As if to mock her, her belly gave a nauseous flip, forcing her to rest her hand over her churning middle.

“Hey, Bee, I don’t see your cake in the fridge. Did you already eat it?”

There was nothing she could say but the truth. And why not the truth? Dakota wasn’t going to judge her. Still, she was embarrassed about how sick she made herself. Dakota was still looking at her, so she admitted to her moment of weakness.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“When?”

“When I got home.”

“Just now before dinner?”

Before she could answer, she felt a pocket of air bubble and move beneath her hand. The pressure rumbled up from her belly, coming out of her mouth as a small burp. She swallowed thickly. “…Yeah.”

“Oh, babe,” Dakota said with a laugh. “No wonder you weren’t hungry. Those things are filling.” His playful smile started to fade as he watched his girlfriend’s throat bob with a rising burp. The next belch was loud and burst out of her mouth with a wet sounding squelch.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You don’t feel good, do you?”

Blair shook her head with her hand clamped over her mouth. Her shoulders jumped as a hiccupped seized her diaphragm. It hurt her chest, making her groan.

“Ugh, Kota. My belly hurts so bad.” She looked at him with big, pleading eyes, as if he could make the stomach-ache go away. “I shouldn’t have eaten the whole thing all at once.”

For some reason, Dakota found this entire scenario quite humorous. He didn’t want Blair to think he was laughing at her pain. He wasn’t. She just looked so small and regretful, burping into her fist. It was so very different from how she usually acted.

“Ah Bee, it’s okay. You just ate too much. It’ll pass.”

Blair shook her head, still burping up the taste of cheesecake and now broccoli. “I really don’t feel good. I think I need to be sick.”

As much as Dakota was taking this lightly, he absolutely did not want to see his girlfriend throw up, especially not beloved cheesecake from one of the best restaurants. “You sure?”

“Pretty sure.” Blair stood up from the table on shaky legs. She thought the lump in her throat was from a burp, but it turned into a gag. The suddenness of the gag made her lurched forward, bracing herself with her palms on the table.

“Oh whoa.” Dakota was next to her in a flash, taking her by the elbows. “Come on, to the bathroom. That’s it.”

Blair stumbled her way down the hall, letting Dakota guide her. The roiling of her belly was the only thing on her mind. This was not as fun to think about as cheesecake. Unfortunately, the last thing Blair wanted to think about just then was food.

She plopped down on her knees in front of the toilet with saliva dripping from her lips. She was so close to losing it that a shiver ran up her spine. “Mm…I’m so—hic—nauseous.”

“I know,” Dakota said softly, gliding his hand up and down her back. “You’re gonna feel much better in a minute.”

Blair gagged over the toilet bowl, hoping that he was right.

A minute passed.

Two minutes passed and Blair was still suffering on her knees. Her poor full belly ached and sloshed, but still nothing was happening. Every wet burp, every empty gag left her feeling even queasier.

“Ugh, why won’t it just happen?” she groaned. At least during this time, she had the chance to tie her hair up in a ponytail.

“Be patient, honey,” Dakota replied. “Your body will tell you what it needs.”

“Yeah, well it didn’t tell me to stop eating earlier."

“Can’t argue with that.” Dakota laughed. “Was the cake good at least? Caramel or something like that, wasn’t it?”

Blair gagged harshly as the ghost of gooey caramel filling coated her throat. She spat into the bowl. “Stop that."

“What? I thought it would help.” Dakota said, ever so flippantly. He raised his hands in surrender when Blair shot daggers at him. “Fine. Maybe you should try drinking water. Get things started, you know?”

Blair was not keen on filling her stomach more, but she’d try anything if it meant relief. She took the glass of water that Dakota handed her and knocked it back like a pint of beer. Even that image was enough to make her stomach rise in her throat. She kept drinking, feeling her throat work to get the water down.

When the glass was empty, she let out a big sigh and wiped her mouth. Her belly was really gurgling now. The water sloshed around in her insides as the need to burp grew.

Dakota could hear the noises from her stomach as well. He put his hand between her shoulder blades, easing her back over the toilet bowl. “Here we go, you got this.”

An enormous liquid belch burst from her mouth then. Trickles of water dripped from her lips. She felt the contents of her belly move, just as the muscles in her abdomen tightened. What started as the next wet belch turned into a productive heave, sending a sludge of vomit up her throat.

“That’s it,” Dakota encouraged. He was shocked to see the thick torrent rush from her mouth but pleased that she really would start feeling better in a minute.

For Blair, it felt like that minute would last a lifetime as her belly continued to squeeze painfully. She rocked forward, keeping a tight grip on the edge of the toilet.

Another weighty wave splattered into the water below. She tried not to think about the underlying taste of cheesecake and caramel, or else those flavours would be ruined for quite some time. In any case, she didn’t think she’d be asking for that specific dessert for a while.

Each wave made her feel lighter than the last, but she never got a chance to appreciate it because her stomach never stopped spasming long enough for her to catch her breath.

Dakota acted like her coach through the whole, giving her firm pats on her back. “Good job. Keep it up, Bee.”

She kept up this momentum up for four large waves before she finally caught a break. Her belly was sore from the workout, her throat felt raw, and her fingers wouldn’t uncurl themselves, but she felt so much better.

She exhaled and leaned back against Dakota who was not prepared for it.

“Okay,” he said, clumsily catching her. “I guess I’m a pillow now.”

“You’re the best pillow,” she mumbled sleepily, as if she were high. In Blair’s mind she was. She was so high in the air, floating on the lightest cloud. Everything was light and airy. She was weightless. “God, I needed that,” she said breathlessly.

Dakota chuckled. “You really did.” He kissed her on the top of her head. “Do you think you’re gonna go again?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m good. So good.”

“Good.”

“So good,” Blair repeated dreamily.

Dakota’s laugh was easy and light-hearted. “You’re so cute. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Me too.” And she meant it. God, she meant it.

55 notes · View notes

the-wild-candy · 2 years

Text

Mini game

Hii! Welcome to my blog <3

⍝ it's been a while since I have posted anything. I apologize for the late replies and the pending exchanges. I have a lot going on as of now but I'll give the exchanges back side by side. I have been active after so long, I barely interacted with anyone here, therefore, I am introducing a new game!

⍝ Pick one icecream flavour

Blue moon - your next month

Butter brickle - your next friend group

Raspberry sorbet - your next job

Rum and raisin - your next date

Cookies and cream - your next partner

Salted caramel - a channeled song for you and your fs

⍝ Rules

Like and reblog this post + follow me

Please be respectful and polite

As for my anons, please mention any emoji for reference

The reading will be only a few words which will give you hints about the events you choose to get answered. Do not expect more.

I will only answer as much as my energy allows

You can only choose one question

Add 🍨 in your ask

Feedbacks are necessary. Many of you hesitate to even say a simple thank you. Appreciate the readers fr tho.

⍝ Status - Closed

#the wild candy #mini game #any ask sent after this won't be accepted.#thank you for participating! <3

173 notes · View notes

wtflife01 · 2 years

Note

Can you elaborate more? Where did you meet them? 👀 // nothing special, i was shopping in brickle with my mom, saw max there, asked for a picture and nothing. i ignored her because i just wanted a picture with max. she was either not happy with me (absolutely no one) ignoring her or she has the biggest resting bitch face and worst vibe ever. to that anon who says trust me bro, if you believe me good for you, and if you don’t, good for you to. i only wanted to share this since i’ve seen many people sharing their experiences with exposing pages and because nothing out of the ordinary happened, it’s not worth it to be sharing it with queenkellypq or kellyteaquet 💜

0 notes

refusemyreality-blog · 6 years

Text

Doin’ Good, Anon

“I cannot even tell my boss I grew up in a mobile home,” she says to me. She’s my sister, not quite three years my junior.

She’s at the top of a large non-profit in DC. She still shops at thrift stores, buys groceries at Aldi, and drives used cars. Her thrift is #TBT. It’s a matter of pride to pare down our closets and pay five bucks for a nice jacket. It’s a gift from our mother who garage saled, goodwilled, resaled us through childhood and adolescence. We grew up “kind of poor,” like one pair of flip flops for warm months, one pair of quality mary janes for church during the school year. When we ruled the trailer parks, rugrats on bikes, we wore twenty-five cent knotty knit jumpers from garage sales or my hand-me-downs. It comforted me to be stacked three girls to a bedroom.

My sister and I had one authentic Cabbage Patch to our names. The third one of us got one my mom made from a kit. Cute as ours but not the brand and it did have that funny nose- two little upraised handlebars instead of a pert little nose. My sister’s had a funny name though. She could have sent in adoption papers to have it changed, but she kept it. At least the sister with the handcrafted patch doll got to name her own.

We each had stuffed animals of our favorite type. She had a mother-child monkey set. The baby sucked its thumb. All other toys were in the shared pool: battered tin kitchen set, Fisher price put-together train, riding horse, mini-tupperware dishes, fake food and grocery cart, plastic record player, Muffin Family Bible storybooks, and a box of cast off dresses for costuming.

Mom cut coupons on Sundays after dad picked out the parts of the paper he read with us on our orange swivel chairs in the living room. We’d help her organize them on those rare occasions she let us. Every morning, mom brushed our long locks into tight ponytails and trimmed the ends in the bathroom of our trailer (Baby curls trimmed by yours truly in great-grandma’s white bathroom while our parents were visiting. My mother discovered it the next morning and never let me forget that the gorgeous sweat curls around my sisters’ faces had be shorn away by me. Like I’d absconded with their beauty and made them plain jane white girls too early.)

I was the oldest of seven kids (eight if we count the one wasn’t born). Most of them came home to the trailer and several came in seventeen months succession. (Them winters was cold?) The big fat break between this sister and me is one of the longest. Almost three years, because mom was sixteen when my dad knocked her up. They married a few weeks after he graduated high school. While she finished up her junior and senior years, my grandmother babysat me. My parents cleaned up before this sister. They quit toking up, smoking, found Jesus and moved into a bigger trailer across the street.

This sister has a MA in Non-Profit Development from a swanky Philadelphia private university. She’s newly minted on the board of an East Coast private college in her denomination. She keeps her hair in a bob that she never has to curl. She barely blows it dry. She wears almost no makeup except black mascara to emphasize her eternally thick long lashes. She looks exceptional in a scoop neck shirt because she has thin broad shoulders that make her clavicles stand out. That’s a white girl beauty standard.

She carries herself like a queen. She’s barely been in debt since high school. She’s a saver, not a spender. A half-glass of wine makes her tipsy so she rarely drinks. She’s never smoked. Her skin has always been flawless except for that one well-placed beauty mark.

People say she and I are alike. We share traits. But not beauty. I’m thicker in the face. I have dad’s nose and everything about his side of the family. Bulbous nose, dangerous incisors (they’ve been ground to look more normal but still stand sentry in front of all my other teeth. We were too poor to get the traditional American braces. This makes me relate more to the Brits. Mind my gap.) I have narrow shoulders, thick bones, mousy brown hair that gets nappy on the underside. And zits, still.

I’m over forty and I still get zits. In high school I slathered them in toothpaste all night (some brute pranked me and said toothpaste would dry those red bumps. They only grew.) During the winter I smeared orange foundation from Big Lots over them. In the summer I baked them in the sun, then slathered more orange foundation on them.

But it’s not the variation in beauty that matters. It’s her comment.

“Why? You raise money for poor mothers and children.” Her organization gets women off the streets, provides medical care, connects mothers and children to basic assistance along with housing and education. I thought our upbringing motivated, at least in part, or that it would give her cred.

Granted our poverty is not like the women of color she raises money to help. We grew in Rust Belt white urban poverty. My mom organized and handled the church food pantry so she could work for the with government cheese and donations like endless pints of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, dented cans of vegetables and freezer burnt gas station sandwiches that we ate once there were six of us. (Gardening to feed six kids? She’d have to crazy on caffeine. She gave up on gardens after two years of building a house while home-schooling the lot of us.)

We were never homeless. We had a safety net. My grandfather owned the trailer court. He gave my parents “free” rental space in exchange for tapping my dad for snow plowing, road work and cement laying on my grandfather’s schedule, of course. (Um, yeah, I’m gonna need all day Saturday to help me lay cement for.... Sigh. My father just wanted a day off. Maybe that’s why he volunteered to lead worship, Saturday night church school, the youth group and a crap ton of outings for our church.)

When dad got itchy to get out of the trailer life-- Quote: “I don’t want boys coming to pick my daughters up for dates in a mobile home park.” -- grandpa gave my mother her inheritance of five acres of land and we moved into a camper for nine months so my parents could build the house. Not have the house built. No. They built it. The aunts and uncles and grandparents and church folk kicked in so we could have a real house.

So we grew up thrifty, boot-strappy, bleeding heart volunteering-types. Most of my siblings work with at-risk populations. Two work with addicts who have mental illnesses. My dead sister worked with high school girls in lock-up till she had kids and couldn’t afford daycare. Her husband works with teens on disability. One sibling is a nurse. Another sibling a programmer who adopted two kids with physical disabilities from the Philippines.

I teach at risk high schoolers. Most of my students have failed so many classes or grades they are just waiting on eighteen and the right to drop out. The ones who stay have babies, parents who are dependents, crippling anxiety and depression or other mental illness, full time jobs, a history of missing thirty or more days of school most years, or physical illnesses or disabilities. Almost all of them grew up in need. When my assistant principal pitched the program, she recruited me because we both grew up white poor. I didn’t want to say yes. Teaching general education high schoolers is daily triage. And, I would be aiming right for the hardest luck cases.

My other grade level teachers begged me not to go to the program. I tried some hang-ringing and soul searching and self-cajoling because this group of kids takes all my energy, but I couldn’t say no. I grew up around these kids, with single moms who have bad chunky highlights and don’t use the helping verbs before participles because they speak Hoosier. I might have been one, but I had what many of them don’t- a lot of breaks: my parents stayed together, my mom and dad kicked the TV out of the house and made music, talk radio and books our entertainment, then mom home-schooled us (with a rigor that surpasses most elite private schools, like “You will read the ENTIRE history textbook, answer all the questions and ace those tests. I don’t care how boring it is. Oh, and yes you will do thirty algebra-trig-geometry problems a day. I know you are cheating on the evens because the answers are in the back of the book and you didn’t show your work. Do you think I’m stupid?”).

We had a healthy diet, mostly. My mom and dad gardened a big ass garden and my mother canned most of our vegetables for years. She sweated with the pressure cooker and the bulging veins of a constantly pregnant woman while shooing us outside to either A) shuck the corn so she could freeze cobs, B) ride your bikes and stop letting all the cold air out. Do you think we are air conditioning the neighborhood?, or C) swing on the swings, go the park or just disappear peacefully for a while because I’m canning while a baby is attached to my boob.

Just after three pm, my father arrived from the warehouse. We’d spy his orange VW Rabbit coming down the road and run into the house slamming the aluminum screen door several times in succession and scream as we ran down the hall to “hide” so we could jump him as soon as he entered the house. Dad’s return highlighted our day. He’d shrugged us off after a lot of giggling and my mother chewing us out for waking whichever baby was sleeping. Saturday nights, after church, when we had popcorn and ice cream were the sanctioned “attack dad” nights. We throttled him with our pillows while he tried to tickle us. He laid on the ground while we beat him and he crawled at us threatening to tickle more than achieving it. Just the threat of his tickle made our sides hurt from laughing. Then he’d lay there, tossing us up and over his head in a twist, time after time until the butter brickle ice cream high, from servings the size of a tub of margarine, wore off.

The next morning, he made us pancakes and fake maple syrup and took us to church where we slept off our sugar haze during a two or three hour song and sermon service. In the middle, we saw some Pentecostal action- flags waved, people dancing in the spirit, blowing a shofar (an animal horn), and getting anointed then “slain in the spirit.” In other words, we had extraordinary loving parents with a great work ethic and a network of friends who spoke ancient tales and metaphors to embed in us all the advantages that working poverty can offer. Most of my students lack those safety nets.Our poor life wasn’t perfect but it was good. I keep thinking it was a life worth living and one worth telling.

0 notes

brick-a-doodle-do · 11 months

Note

"they frantically shoved another handful of swedish fish in their mouth"

rhhrhrhrh i had trouble with this but now i got it all figured out! i also switched the characters so many times and we eventually ended up with bedrockbros so yippeee ! ?

blinded by imperfect form

wc: 589

cw: intrusive thoughts, uninvited vore-related instincts, swearing

—–—

Light from the television hung lowly over Tommy's face, which Techno had only noticed because....well, because he was watching Tommy. Not stalking him, or plotting his murder, just, Tommy was in eyeshot, and he was small, and Techno happened to have rather entitled voices holding Tommy and his fragile form captive, and he found it soothing to watch the way the tiny moved.

The tiny was propped on a pillow supported by Techno's legs, who laid along the couch with a blanket keeping him warm from the winter air. The rest of the blanket had ended up around Tommy, who leant into it like he owned it.

And that was partially true, because some part of him had picked apart a sewing hobby over a boring coarse of life and decided it was worth it to present the boy with a gift.

Only, again, because of his voices.

Normally he wouldn't indulge in the activities his voices prompted, but this seemed harmless enough; it's not like Tommy was bothered by giant gifts and the occasional prowl.

Speaking of which, Tommy had seemed to tear his attention from the screen (which was playing Moana on a very convincing three-step plan that Techno had ended up giving into on account of his own pity of Tommy) to ask Techno for another piece of food.

Instead of asking, he stopped short and tensed at the intent eye-contact from Techno.

"Uh, Techno?" Tommy asks.

Techno's eyes never falter around Tommy as he responds. "Hh, yep?"

"Any reason you've decided to stare at me 'n shit?"

Techno shrugs. "You're unusually small, if you haven't noticed. Don't wanna lose you, Phil'd have something strong to say about that," he says. Okay, it had been made up on the spot, but it's not as if Tommy was anything unfamiliar with his voices, although admitting of his instincts only dug an opportunity for embarrassment.

Tommy blinks. "Wh– Techno I'm not gonna fall or something! I'm not fucking stupid," Tommy says, defensively.

It would be much easier for him to not fall if he was somewhere safer, a voice muses as his eyes drift onto the floor; more importantly the tumbling fall that'd injure the tiny without a second thought.

"Whatever, 'Creep-no-blade', I want food," Tommy demands, just as Techno had assumed.

"Yeah? And what food would that be?" he asks, eyes finding the various bags of snacks that had accumulated near Techno.

"Uh..." Tommy trails off as he gazes over his options: popcorn, Swedish Fish, M&M's, chip's, and... oh, well, there was a bag of donuts.

As Tommy decides, a voice chimes in with an peskily persuasive reminder as to what he wants for a snack.

"Techno? You with me, big man?" Tommy asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. He swallows, for the first time in a long time feeling genuine uncertainty.

"Ah, I hope so. What'd you say?"

"Popcorn," Tommy repeats.

He obliges, digging into the bag of popcorn and grabbing a piece, then handing it over to Tommy. The tiny's hands grab at it, two needed to support the almost air-like weight of it.

How easy it would be to grab Tommy right there and put him where he needs to be.

Techno's throat swallows impulsively as he imagines Tommy travelling down his gullet and finding a soft spot in his storage.

Instantly, upon his now-troubled self, he ignores his impulsivities and grabs at a bag beside him, frantically shoving a handful of Swedish Fish into his mouth to try and dampen his urges.

—–—

#brickquiries #brickfic #drabbles #anon brickling #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #dsmp g/t #dsmp gt #dream smp g/t #dream smp gt #t!tommy #g!techno #cw vore mention #ahhhh i love some instinct-ridden technoblade <3 #thanks for the prompt! :3

77 notes · View notes

brick-a-doodle-do · 7 months

Note

Story time! Ranboo and tubbo adopt tiny!Michael after finding him in the streets on their way home. Soon, it becomes obvious that Michael had been abused the last time he was adopted, now ranboo and tubbo, make it their mission to help Michael and be the best parents.

Bonus if there's noms involved, but only if you want

AHHH this is really cute! i have so so so so so so SOOOO many beeduo/bee n boo family prompts so i'm just gonna respond to this in bullet points!

tubbo and ranboo had been lingering around a human neighborhood just to make sure one of their human friends (tommy) got home safely

after they watched tommy get home, they make their way back to their own giant neighborhood.

on the walk back, ranboo picks up a scent but thinks nothing of it. that is, until tubbo speaks up about the very same thing.

so they're not really panicking cause yk they were just near humans, but even as they finally got back to their neighborhood, they still picked up on the smell.

the two look around, then after a while they find a tiny micheal, who had been struggling to keep up with the giants' footsteps but finally got the attention of the two giants and immediately started motioning to be picked up.

the two were unsure at first, but it seemed harmless so tubbo picks the kid up. the very first thing they notice is the bruises, cuts, and scars covering his skin. and the little sobs and bloodshot eyes from the kid aren't anything to help the obvious hypothesis that the kid had been less than lucky with a family.

despite their hesitance and general lack of knowledge about children, especially young humans, they take the kid back to their house and try to patch him up. it goes well, except for the fact that the kid barely talks, even though he looks the age where he should.

a few days later and the pair have made a little progress. they've adorned the kid with a name and have seen improvement in the injuries.

then, one day, tommy comes over unprompted. it was a startling discovery considering that tubbo and ranboo always make an effort to save tommy the trouble and danger of walking through giant territory. but, tommy seemed persistent with his dire need to come over. apparently, some adult had been parading the streets yelling out for a kid and proceeding to knock on every door in search of them. tommy decided to leave before the "obviously drunk, and really loud drugged up dude" got to his place.

anyone feel free to use this! i WOULD write but i just have been soo out of it and just never want to touch google docs for a good few days. thank you for the idea tho! maybe i'll attempt some art, no promises tho cause the creative juices are really scarce 😓

#brickquiries #anon brickling #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #dsmp g/t #dsmp gt #t!micheal #t!tommy #g!tubbo #g!ranboo #i didn't really touch on any of micheal's responses to being abused cause idk it didn't strike my mind. i'm SO tired AAAAA

14 notes · View notes

brick-a-doodle-do · 4 months

Note

Dream gets shrunk somehow, escapes prison soner and while lost is found by tommy who (after some well needed therapy with puffy) honestly can't bring himself to hurt or return dream after seeing his state

im not sure if this is a prompt but i won't take it as such cause i feel bad for keeping it in my askbox for so long eueue

anyway i really like this! i came up with the idea that when tommy finds dream, even though he doesn't explicitly hurt dream, he still doesn't want to give dream paradise. so he kind of recreates exile for dream, just posing exactly as possessive and unfair as dream was to tommy in exile :) so dream just trails behind tommy doing day-to-day stuff :0!!!

then i guess slowly it just becomes like Old Times >:)

#brickquiries #anon brickling #anon ideas #if you did want me to write this lmk and ill givce it a shot but no promises lmao i have a long list of fics to get done this year eueueu

8 notes · View notes

brick-a-doodle-do · 1 year

Note

vore thoughts you say, hm? 👀

beeduo noms?? maybe just a fluffy unaware scenario if you’re up for that?

I have a soft spot for prank noms, so maybe Tubbo just hiding in Ranboo’s food and Ranboo accidentally noms him. Bonus points if Tommy’s there too and helps Tubbo with said prank.

aha i'm finally getting to the asks i've been letting marinate! all but one because one of them is for tiny workers and i want to at least post a first chapter before i branch off. anyways! this is a really cute idea, ty for it !! :]

ps. sorry i leaned into clingy a bit too much sdjfsd

feeble disguise

words: 1499

cw: sfw vore, swearing, brief panic

—–—

“Open your mouth!” Tommy instructed, still struggling through giggles initiated by Tubbo’s aimless struggles from when he’d initially asked.

In the blond’s hand, a small piece of diced apple was turning dingier shades of brown by every passing second it spent in Tommy's hand, and not in Tubbo’s mouth, like Tommy was trying to accomplish. But, Tubbo was stubborn, thus his continuation of dramatic protests.

“No! Fuck you, I’m not a fucking pig, Tommy! I am going to kill you when I’m back!” Tubbo complained, struggling gently against the Alfredo noodles the two of them had managed to score while Ranboo was momentarily distracted in the other room.

He was careful not to break it, but it put enough emphasis on what he wanted to get through to his friend. Tommy snickered and cocked his head to the side, “But it’s funnier this way! Please, Tubbo?”

“No! Alfredo is not even a food you’d put a pig it” He frowned, shaking his head and looking at Tommy with a dull glare.

Tubbo’s mouth quivered as he fought the muscles tugging his lips up.

There was a beat, and another, and Tommy was then yelling and launching himself at the defenseless borrower, using the most of his upper hand—definitely not his strength, or lack thereof—to knock Tubbo down and have him narrowly miss hitting his head on the spot of bare-floor where carpet met the dusty interior of the walls.

Tubbo cried out and tried moving his arms, desperately trying to get his arms free to stop Tommy from getting victory. The heap of noodles that Tommy had tied impossibly tight around him stayed secure, and Tubbo resorted to something else.

When the moment struck, Tubbo snapped his head forward and sunk his teeth into Tommy’s wrist. The blond yelled and dropped the apple immediately, right onto the dirty floor, where it would become decidedly unusable.

He grinned and watched Tommy’s pained expression shift into a playfully irked one.

Tubbo smiled. “I’m literally wrapped in Alfredo and I won.” he laughs.

Tommy gawks, “Oi! Fuck you, that’s because you bit me! Who does that?”

“It was my way of defense!” he claims, then grunts in distress. “Please help me up, boss man, I don’t want Ranboo eating dust.”

Tommy complies and maneuvers around their room to push Tubbo up. He hears Tommy straining and murmuring to himself, and he can’t help but laugh.

His friend smacks him on the head but gets him upright all the same, studying his mummified-esque outfit, which is more or less intact after the sudden attack from Tommy.

It’s quiet for a brief moment as they both listen out for Ranboo. It's quiet, but Ranboo is always quiet, so it's unbelievably difficult to tell whether or not the human is out in the kitchen or still distracted in another room.

“...Can we go?” Tommy asks, noticing how focused Tubbo is. Tubbo assumes the problem is mutual.

“I can't tell,” he says, pursing his lips to the side, deep in concentration, “but, I'm ... eighty percent sure we can.”

Tommy nods and takes the easy lead, only looking back once to see if Tubbo’s struggling to walk before blending in with the dim part of the walls.

Tubbo follows at a considerable pace, and that's saying a lot given his condition.

When the two of them reached the narrow and crooked cutout Tommy had made months prior, Tubbo jumps ahead of Tommy to get a look into the kitchen, where Ranboo stood with a plate in hand, dishing a portion of the Alfredo.

He looks tired, and Tubbo considers this idea for just a moment.

But, before he can do much, his brain shifts to autopilot and he watches with devious eyes as Ranboo sets the nearly-full dish down and bends over to attend to their chirping feline.

He looks back briefly and Tommy gives him an eager look and a thumbs up.

While the human is still distracted, Tubbo slips from within the walls and treads across the kitchen counter as fast as his loosely-tied legs would let him.

The dish’s lip makes it extremely difficult for him to actually get into the bowl, and he swears he can hear Tommy’s annoying-ass laughter from the walls at his awkward maneuvering.

He bites his tongue to suppress a cry out when he falls into the food finally, sputtering when sauce gets in his mouth.

After a moment, can hear Ranboo bid a soft, high-pitched goodbye to their cat, to which he spits out a curse and finds his way deeper down into the noodle dish, the warm food surrounding him until it’s nearly pitch-black and he’s overly positive that Ranboo would never spot him.

In just one more short moment, his stomach shifts excitedly—and admittedly, the scare has left his heart beating in a pace more rapid than usual—as he feels the bowl shift up at a quick rate.

It’s quiet, save for Ranboo’s muffled footsteps and the soft sound of their breathing. Tubbo is pretty sure he can hear the Alfredo noodles shift around and create squelching noises.

But, other than that, he almost feels awkward with how quiet it is.

His heart flurries again when the bowl is set down with a defined clink.

It’s become noticeably darker than when he’d been in the kitchen, so dark it nearly reminded him of Tommy and his room in the walls, but he knew Ranboo bathed in darkness, so it didn’t feel out of place. It must be his anxious brain making him over-analyze things as an attempt to get him to back out last-minute.

He didn’t, though.

Tubbo just sat and waited, tugging a bit at the wrapping on him.

Ranboo had taken three forkfuls of Alfredo by the time he’d touched the area by Tubbo.

He crossed his fingers—or, attempted to, anyway—and hoped that the human would be distracted enough to miss Tubbo.

And, surprisingly, though Ranboo glanced down at the bowl for a brief moment and lingered their gaze, he just picked at the noodles around him and eventually the ones under him.

Tubbo’s gut churned.

Fear wasn’t prominent, if it was there at all.

There was just … something about what was happening.

Yes, his mind was chanting for this to go well so the prank would be fulfilled and he’d be satisfied, but then again, Ranboo’s comfort in this scenario was non-existent, and he was really overstepping his bounds by doing this.

Something about the future toyed with him.

Images of him and Tommy laughing it over or Ranboo becoming more comfortable with swallowing Tubbo and hopefully Tommy passed in his mind, and his smile widened as Ranboo drew his fork near his mouth and pushed the mouthful of food in.

Tubbo rolled off easily, feeling the spacious and certainly humid maw of Ranboo’s.

Their jaw snaps shut with an echoing click! and Tubbo is sealed in darkness, where he nearly yells out as Ranboo bites down right near him. The bones graze at the noodles wrapping him and thankfully cut them off, sending Tubbo tumbling to the side. He uses his now-free hands to gently brace himself, laughing out softly when he realizes Ranboo is still chewing and otherwise oblivious to himself.

He had done it!

Something about it is so rewarding he has to clamp excited hands over his mouth to avoid his glee.

Ranboo swallows, sending Tubbo to the back of his throat, which Tubbo hates.

It feels distant to be so out of control. But again, he’s not afraid; the gesture had only caught him off guard.

He’s pulled down into Ranboo’s gullet, where an arrangement of churns and gurgles, and the loudest, thumps from Ranboo’s heartbeat, fill his ears.

Wilbur had done this once with him, when they’d suggested this plan and their need for the human’s help.

It’s not terribly dissimilar to when Wilbur did it, but then again it’s not exactly something he’s familiar with. Yet, his mind supplies hopefully.

—

When Ranboo swallows, his heartbeat picks up as a lump in his throat—maybe a noodle or a spare piece of chicken he’d forgotten to chew all the way through pushes through his throat.

He holds two fingers to it, swallowing again to ensure he wasn’t choking.

It slid down with ease, and he relaxed.

But a thing of equal size falls into a spot in his body that doesn’t feel like his stomach, if anything it felt further up.

Their mind jumps to Tubbo, but the thoughts die down as they dismiss it.

Tubbo would not attempt something like that– actually, that’s a lie, he totally, totally, would.

Ranboo’s thoughts return and spiral further when he can, yes, feel definitive movement within his gut—upper, gut. His heartbeat picks at his ears when he curiously places a hand to his gut and presses incredulously at it, which is almost immediately returned with a hand—smaller in size, just further confirming his terrible, but painfully correct, theory.

“Ranboo!” Tubbo's voice chirps.

“Tubbo…?”

───────────────────────────────────────────

60 notes · View notes