#quacksicle

quacksicle for the soul :) an old doodle from a couple years ago!

This one was so much fun. Just. SO much fun! The idea for this fic was actually naturally developed in a conversation with my friend, where I explained the appeal of slime characters to her, especially in a sexual setting and the Possibilities it opened up.

She especially enjoyed when I threw the idea at her of Slime *making* Quackity and Wilbur fuck each other. Her reactions were hilarious and only stoked the fire of my motivation to write this.

It gave me an excuse to look at Quackity and Slime’s relationship more deeply as well.

In my fic, I made him be at the point where he can admit to himself that he loves and trusts Slime. (Trusts him more than anything or anyone, trusts him with his life, with his country, with his legacy, with his heart.) And this trust is pretty fucking sturdy.

In his head, even if Slime does something bad (like not stop the sexual encounter when told/asked to), Quackity still trusts him not to actually hurt him. In some ways, Quackity treats Slime a bit patronizingly, because he knows (or thinks) that Slime will not understand certain things, or at least not in the current context.

The slime sex scene was especially fun to write, though. I've never done a sex scene this complicated, and I had to actually write down and draw out with stick figures how they moved around, which was a first for me.

This fic also continues the tradition of being weird as fuck to place on the 'consent to non-consent' spectrum, because, by all accounts, it starts out as non-consensual, then turns to dubcon (or kind of consensual? I guess?) for Quackity and Wilbur (them resigning themselves to this, because they can't stop it either way) then an even weirder mix of dubcon and con (what with the mindmelting pleasure making them both a lot more agreeable) and near the end, Quackity is fully on board with the whole thing, but then again, fucked out of his mind.

Let's keep going with this one, because thanks to a certain person (Love you dearly, my anon friend) it and its sequel has been on my mind for a bit now.

I don't quite remember how long this one took me, but it does showcase a few of my writing habits in the past year or two. Because most of the time, when I start a fic (that is meant to be a oneshot), I start without a plan for literally anything. That means I don't know the setting, don't know the relationships, don't know the plot, I don't even know what characters will be in it.

How do I start then? Well, it's surprisingly easy. I sort of just do. I sit down at my laptop, usually doing something else before, when the urge to write strikes me. I open up a fresh Libre Office Document (my beloved) and literally just write the first phrase that enters my head. In this case, that was the phrase 'If Quackity had been in a more agreeable mood, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.'

Everything else developed from there, because once I had Quackity, that opened the doors to other characters, of which my mind chose Slime because he was probably the most fitting for that phrase, in the way that my mind could most easily connect him to it.

And it was really fun to write! I noticed at some point recently that when I write smut, a lot of the time it won't be regular old penetration unless I force myself to write it, but some other form of sex. Be that thigh fucking, blowjobs, handjobs, etc. I started to recognise my thought pattern when I did that, and my mind seems to go 'well, we just cannot have them jump straight into penis in ass sex, there has to be foreplay, of course', which is interesting, because it reflects a lot of people's mindset that penetrative sex is the end goal in sex (and orgassm, but that's another can of worms...). Funnily enough, the reason why I do not follow up the thing my mind has declared as 'foreplay' with penetrative sex is because after the foreplay makes the characters orgasm, it's like I was also hit with post nut clarity, and I no longer want to write the penetrative sex, because it feels unnecessary. Ironic, I think.

Same thing happened here, actually. The original scenario I had wanted for this fic, once I got the first sentence down, was :

For Quackity to suffer/enjoy the technically-cockwarming-technically-long-distance-bluetooth-sex-toy

Get interrupted by Wilbur

Get that sexual tension interrupted by Slime

Wilbur gets restrained by Slime

as a show of how much control Quackity has, he would tell Slime to kneel and suck him (Q) off in front of Wilbur

then, to mock him and make him even more jealous, he would have Slime fuck him (Q) right in front of Wilbur's face

Obviously, that last one was cut, or rather never written. I think I shall call this phenomenon 'Secondhand Post Nut Clarity'. It just sounds fun.

I'm a really big fan of Slime and Quackity's relationship. To me, Slime is this strange, powerful but kind and possibly kind of naive creature that only really answers to Quackity, but has his own agency and thoughts -- though they don't always reflect reality super well. He gets things wrong, misunderstands, but he isn't malicious. Quackity knows this, very well, and he really does love Slime, trusts him most of all, despite himself.

Of course, Slime doesn't need to be told these things to know and understand. He loves Quackity dearly, even if he doesn't always understand human rules (social cues, boundaries, play-pretend, lying, morality) and only wants to make him happy.

All this is the reason why Quackity will never be scared of Slime, even when Slime does something really fucked up, even when it involves him.

(You may call me friend! I am hugging and spinning you)

Wilbur waking up to his hip acting up and groaning, reaching around his bed still half asleep, looking for the thing that helps when the pain flares up, only to get hit with horror when he realizes that the thing that he's looking for is Slime, who supports his hip and warms it up and does the nice purr thing when he's having a bad pain day, that just yesterday Wilbur had celebrated finally managing to trick Slime to leave him completly and now he wants him back. He can't even go a day without missing it. He's dependent on it.

Also just. "Your Wilbur" as something Slime goes to get, an object, a material comfort like a blanket or a plushie. "Your Quackity" as a comfort Wilbur is taken to, trapped in. Slime taking over his body, walking him to Quackity's office, to their room. Not always for "play", sometimes covering Wilbur and leaving him half asleep, warm and relaxed and tucked away and safe. "Your Quackity" as a pretty treasure box where Wilbur is kept, one he can't stay away from.

(I am being spun and giggling madly. I am loving this!)

I am biting this, so hard, you don't even know!

I am so weak for this. Wilbur genuinely missing Slime and the comfort he forced upon Wilbur, and absolutely falling apart with self-loathing when he realises his dependency on the creature. He was so happy to be rid of it, reclaim a modicum of freedom, of control, but now that Slime was no longer with him, that control, that freedom, that agency, has gained a sharp and bittter taste in the back of his throat that he struggles to enjoy. But he cannot have the good that Slime gave him (soothing his pain, comfort, warmth that he cannot make or keep by himself) without relinquishing himself. It's horrible that he feels like he cannot live without it, but the cost is hard to bear either way.

Also. How horrifying would it be for Wilbur to have Slime stick a piece of himself to him? No matter how far he runs Slime will be right there, clinging to his shoulders, hiding under his clothes. (How nice is it that no matter where he goes Slime will be warm on his chilled skin, massaging away the tension in them.)

(Never apologize for this, my friend (can I call you that?), this is free dopamine for me; you're doing a good thing!)

ASDFGHJKL Of course! Yes, yes, yes!

The subtle change in how Wilbur is referred to, no longer a person, but an object, a commodity. Slime made the connection with some other item Quackity used frequently to destress and doesn't make the connection that referring to a person the same way is inappropriate. Quackity, of course, doesn't correct him. Yes, that is his Wilbur.

Oh, I wonder how Wilbur would react when eventually, Slime refers to him as Quackity's to his face. Would be he offended? Would he snarl and insult and lash out? Would he wonder if Quackity laid claim on him openly, or if it was one of Slime's misinterpretations of the world? Would he be terrified what it meant? (Would a secret part of him keel over, hand clutching his wildly beating heart, breathing heavy, pupils dilated, in shameful, confusing delight?)

Gods, I love this.

I love the idea of a piece of Slime staying with Wilbur. He'd be terrified, slowly crushed under the weight of the mounting horror when he realises he can't get rid of it. When he realises that Slime (who knows his body so, so well) can make him immobile, make his muscles melt to uselessness (perhaps even take control and bring him to Quackity) at any moment, and there is nothing he could do to stop it.

Even worse, the horror when he finds himself enjoying the warmth that he could not keep on his own; when he finds himself not aware of the Slime most days because he has become such a familiar presence, an ever-present gentle pressure around his shoulders that kept them from getting tense; when he realises he has gotten used to him.

The complete loss of control, the steady removal of agency, the slow deprivation of personhood.

The unwanted comfort, the unrequested warmth, the unfamiliar and terrifying feeling of being desired.

Oh. OH! Oh, I like your mind! Ohhhh, the delicious dread! Fuck, that's good. Honestly, I wish I could capture the horror and dread and sheer conflicting emotions of this.

It's got all the right flavours and scratches my brain so nicely! ASDFGHKL