hiccupologist

[hiccupologist]

and sometime later

[hiccupologist]

the first part of a reader/cassandra xeno + eggpreg + breeding + mental transformation + slime stuffing fic wow that’s a lot of kinks but they’re all central

Your name is not important; a randomly generated pheromone signature married to a mental concept of similarly little significance. The closest translation would be “acetone and unripe peaches mixed with burnt marshmallows, emanating from the image of a green meteorite-glass column”, so let’s call you Peaches. More important is your role in the cosmic ecosystem, synonymous with your species and your gender. You are a Drone, hatched deep in a massive, hollowed-out, hyperdimensional bonehive in the most base depths of the astral plane, more similar to an oceanic abyss or the murky bottom of a pond than any place one would seek enlightenment. A xenobiologist would call you a hyperparasite, vermin who exploits other vermin, but you know drones are more than that. They are an elevator race. You exist to worship and exalt worthy predators so that they may conquer and reproduce at maximum efficiency, build empires sprawling across solar systems, galaxies, realities.

Every drone is raised knowing that they will one day lock onto the psychic signature of their Queen. Queens are not necessarily female, but they will all eventually be equipped to lay eggs, for eggs are the most mathematically sound way to produce lots and lots of young with varied genetic donors. They can be stored, scanned, sorted, all number of things impossible with wriggly live births, which are so much more time-consuming to gestate as well. That’s part of what makes you so special; all drones are able to secrete royal jelly from their crop, and you like to think yours is particularly appetizing, although truly it’s just your average mildly sweet, implacably botanical-tasting slime. Regardless, it’s full of beneficial hormones and folding proteins and genetic retroviruses that will help your queen live up to their full potential, and as a bonus you get to kiss them! You won’t get to mate with them, of course, but you’ve been told your bond will be even deeper than any they may have with their concubines. For while they only need sperm from their lovers, you will be the one who loyally cares for them and is constantly at their side.

And you’ve finally met her, your patron, your queen, and she’s even more wonderful and terrifying than you could have imagined. Her thought signature is strong, but admittedly that wasn’t what initially alerted you to her presence. It was the echoes of a massive psychic predation event, like a halo of sun-bleached bones floating around her planet. Scraps of stale pain left in the atmosphere. Awed, you drew closer to investigate, and that was when you picked it up. A raging, roiling, magma-red spire that pierced up through your loins and into your heart, pinning you together. You could smell the bitter, damp scent of writhing bugs. Immediate and binding.

You shaped your body into a woman, because you could tell that she thought women were especially pretty. You dressed it in the fashions of her world and learned the things that a young woman would say to court her; words like “paradigm” and “discord” and “radicalization”. You learned that a helpful person in a nice outfit would have a card and some papers in a briefcase, although you weren’t quite sure what they were for. Cassandra saw through them immediately, anyway. It was quite embarrassing, having your first attempt at a psychic illusion so quickly dismantled, but then again she was much more powerful than you.

“There’s nothing written on here, chickadee. Did you forget?” She asked, cocking her head knowingly. You were already in love with the ways her eyes creased under her dark lower lashes as she held back a smirk. “I ask again: who are you? Or rather, what are you?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, making wet meat sounds, because you had not prepared for this question. “I am an iconoclast.” You said, and unbuttoned your blouse to show her the fine silver insectoid filigree along your ribs. She swept her shockingly blue eyes over them, and her bemused expression turned into an intrigued smile.

“It seems you are, young lady.” She did not hesitate to explore you, embracing the gills at your waist with her long, graceful claws as she dipped the forepalps of her ego into your mind. Your brain is like a welcoming flower to a bee, a vice grip dripping with sugary endorphins and dopamine, and it felt nice for both of you as she rummaged inside it.

[hiccupologist]

[jeannette/ragdoll intoxication femdom excerpt]

“Forgive me for questioning your logic, but if you were truly so concerned about my level of intoxication, I don’t see how pouring more liquor down my throat will help matters.”

“Ah, but don’t you see? Now that you’re safely tucked away in my inner sanctum, you can drink to your heart’s content with no worries of being ambushed or… taken advantage of.” Jeanette is preparing a crystal glass of syrupy, dark red liquid for him. He can smell it, a perfume of candied cherries, which suggests to him that it’s masking a stupefying alcohol content. Oh dear. Tonight will be interesting, at least.

“I can’t help but get the sense that you’re trying to ‘take advantage of me’. I feel quite like a poor helpless insect that’s let a spider take him home. Forgive me if I betray my arousal.”

“How very astute of you, little doll. Now, be a good plaything and drink your brandy.” She sat atop his pelvis on the sofa, careful not to crush him, and lifted his bony torso with one hand. The glass was placed against his lips, cold and thickly faceted, and she locked eyes with him as he swallowed. She smiled with satisfaction as his expression faltered with the shock of warm, dizzying, concentrated alcohol that had just hit his stomach. “Betray all you want. You’ll not be able to control yourself any longer very soon, in any case. I’ve already started making short work of that lovely smart mouth. I wonder what you sound like when you can’t remember how words fit together.”

“Well,” he swallowed a few times, as his mouth was suddenly filling with saliva like he was about to be sick, but it subsided. “You may be disappointed. My speech centers are a black box.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you’re already struggling. Your enunciation is getting sloppy, Peter.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my enenunciation.” His face turned pink as he realized what had just happened, and leaned back a little more into the pillows, blinking heavily. Making him stumble seemed to have forcefully acquainted his blood alcohol level with his brain. “Ohh. That was such a dirty trick.”

“The issue with you is that you’re always wearing a mask. I don’t mean it so literally, but rather, you can’t seem to let your genuine reactions show without a layer of affectation. Preening dandies are certainly cute, but what’s really fun is making them lose control of themselves.” Another glass is in front of him, and her weight is on him again. He’s not entirely sure he wants to drink more; he hadn’t expected the first round to leave him so lightheaded. But on the other hand, Jeanette was beautiful and had incredible grip strength and he was too aroused to make good decisions. “Ah, that’s a good doll. So sweet and obedient.” She kissed him right between where his eyebrows should have been, and this chaste display of approval made him just as melty and sticky inside as he felt from being degraded.

[hiccupologist]

sounds like an easy way to get magically lobotomized but what do I know

[hiccupologist]

wip: that time ragdoll got impaled [whump, guro, comedic hijinks]

“…that one of you has to stay with him for extraction! He’s not made of rubber, he has the lowest durability grade out of all of us.”

“Wait, since when do people have a durability grade?”

“They’re cold calculations, but what can I say? It’s a business and I have to be head of HR or everyone will die.”

Peter was momentarily confused, surfacing into consciousness in a dim, starry void, distantly aware of Scandal and Thomas conversing near him. He then realized that he must have been unconscious, and the dark sky was the ceiling upholstery of the jet. Relief washed over him; the mission was safely over, and someone had even been kind enough to retrieve him.

“That doesn’t make any sense to me, if I’m being honest.”, he heard Deadshot say. “If ‘Doll is so fragile, what’s he doing on a hit squad?”

Peter gave a little irritated huff. “Fragile or not, you’re free to compare our kill rates.” Odd. His voice sounded off, and his throat felt constricted and scratchy.

Floyd jolted in his seat. “Shit!”

“Oh, you thought I couldn’t hear you?” He attempted to pull himself up further in his seat, which was when he realized that he wasn’t in a seat and also couldn’t move and that incidentally everything felt strange and that he was still, in fact, confused.

“Oh god damn it.” Scandal groaned and rubbed her forehead, a purple latex glove on her hand. “You weren’t supposed to wake up yet, Peter. Go back to sleep.”

“What’s going on?” Panic was beginning to creep in from the edges. Why was he strapped down? Oh! He was able to move his arm. Right or left? Not important now. He scrambled it over his torso, instinctively feeling for restraints.

“How is he fucking talking?!” Deadshot asked.

“No touching!” Scandal slapped his hand away from what he was now able to register as a sharp, rusty piece of metal rebar impaled straight through his solar plexus. And it seemed to have a few friends keeping it company, and his other arm was, well. Red. That did explain quite a lot. She stood up and loaded a syringe from the medikit into the IV bag mounted on a conveniently installed coat hook. “I’m giving you more drugs so you don’t fuck yourself up even worse before you get to the hospital, okay?”

[hiccupologist]

[hiccupologist]

[hiccupologist]

thoughts on character dynamics re: cassandra and preg kink

so like, im pretty sure when that one dude whose name has escaped my brain grasps and I can’t be bothered to google right now was planning a pregnancy arc for her it was conceptualized as more of a cosmic threat body horror thing than a character exploration thing, but the idea of like… the possibility of mummudrai larvae or pups or whatever being born in the physical plane being hazardous on some level, and cassandra at first being slotted into her usual antagonistic role but she’s immediately like um excuse me it’s not like I did this on purpose or am actually happy about it occurring or like, even know anything about my own reproductive system and you’re talking about me like I’m some kind of specimen and kind of implying that I WANT to be gestating eggs like a fucking uneducated unevolved cockroach right now?? FUCKING FIGURE OUT CONCEPTUAL ABORTION, MCCOY

this tiny old lady is fucking SCARED dude and is processing it as anger you need to at least give her a heated towel to hold or some shit

[hiccupologist]

cassandra having really complex cryptic hyperspatially-chambered organs and this being a complication to her medical care; having to endure the maze of her digestive tract being thoroughly explored and mapped with an endoscope just because she’s having stomach pains

[hiccupologist]

she thinks that if she just fights her nervous system hard enough she can stop hiccuping which is like, to be fair she did absorb a dude’s entire genetic code and also inject herself in the neck with mad cow disease, give her a chance

she’s naked bc i think it would be cute if cassie were so unfamiliar with having uncontrollable movements of any kind that she ran off and locked herself in a room somewhere and just like… stripped off all her clothes and went into internal crisis mode trying to fight her own body. she grew up in the sewer with no body* okay she’s allowed to overreact a little bit

*this sounds like a character Strong Bad would mention in an email

[hiccupologist]

coffee gut

[hiccupologist]

the IMPLICATION of hiccups okay

[hiccupologist]

no don’t trust her she’s a bug with four hearts she can’t follow basic instructions and she eats raw organs

[hiccupologist]

Cassie doodles of varying style and quality; contains pregnancy kink, mild weight gain, stuffing or possibly implied vore if you’re gross, intoxication

[hiccupologist]

lori. my dude. do you actually know what kind of magic you’re handling right now or is it kind of just vibes based.

[hiccupologist]

skin - fucked up and leathery, skeleton - osteoarthritic, ovaries - good to go

[hiccupologist]

fetish radar engaged