lostcarnival | welcome to the toaster oven

Entry tags:

welcome to the toaster oven

Who: Foster and Taako.
When: Day 150
Where: Trailer 18
What: Taako and Foster hang out in their newly-shared trailer and talk. It turns predictably nsfw.
Warnings: nsfw conversation, and potentially nsfw acts? Who knows with these two. UPDATE: holy shit this thread got messy and gross. PROBABLY SKIP THIS IF YOU AREN'T RAILE OR ME.

Taako is bored. It's not an unusual sensation for him, given just how quiet things have been since their return from Portland, but it never gets any easier to deal with; at least his recent change of residence has done something to liven things up.

Life with Foster is... well, unpredictable, though he's actually been keeping somewhat more quiet, himself, than Taako had previously expected. Honestly, the two of them have rarely had time to sit down and chat when there wasn't some kind of crisis going on, whether emotional or otherwise, leaving Taako entirely unsure of what, exactly, he was signing up for when he decided to move in with him... which is an act that even he isn't sure of his motivation for. However, he has become aware, since Zim's disappearance, of one thing about himself that he never plans to reveal to anyone: quiet makes him nervous. Not quiet as in a slow day, lazing around with no major plans or battles to fight, but true quiet, as in the entire absence of some kind of background noise or presence.

Is it kind of like loneliness? Taako, the aloof and self-serving, feeling lonely. That's a laugh.

Either way, at least, since he's changed residences, that sense of unease, whatever it may be, has disappeared, though it's left him with the entirely new unease of daily life with Foster. For as inwardly-focused as Foster is from day to day, the moments in which he speaks out loud are always... surreal. Primarily because Foster seems to be... fairly detached, and not in the same way that Taako is, although they do also seem to share a sense of emotional distance from most others. Honestly, Taako prefers his roommates this way; no digging into his business and his feelings, trying to get juicy tidbits about the life and times of Taako out of him. They just coexist and try to survive together.

But no, Foster also seems to be detached from things in a more literal way; like he sees a different world from the one Taako does. Admittedly, the shit he said before, about blood and needing to hurt and all that, was pretty offputting-- but the more Taako talks to him about it, the more he kind of begins to understand what he means, and the more it--

Well, "makes sense" isn't really the right choice of words, but at least Taako is pretty sure the guy isn't some walking sadomasochistic horror story. Or, well, okay, he is, but not one Taako has reason to be personally afraid of, anyway. The only person he really seems to have it out for is himself. As long as that violence stays inwardly-focused, Taako's chill with him, although he does hope he's not going to try and do something weird and spooky like store his own blood in their room again. That was weird, and not in a good way.

At least he's pretty sure Foster isn't about to go on a slasher movie-style massacre across the circus, though he also wouldn't be hugely shocked if he did.

Maybe he could have chosen a safer roommate. Oh well. Too late now.

At any rate, today is a slow day on which Taako is simply sprawled across his chosen bed-- the bed Foster's previous roommate used to inhabit. The mattress isn't stained with old blood, like Foster's own bed is, and he's not exactly about to uproot the guy from his own bed anyway, or start sharing it with him just because they maybe boned that one time.

Just the once.

Using Levitate, Taako is currently attempting to gingerly stack random items from around the room into a tower on the table. Carefully, he turns the Mockingbird gum he brought with him onto its end, trying to set it atop the book he placed underneath it.

It immediately falls off and topples to the floor.

"Fuck me."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Foster's opinion on Taako is similarly complicated, but his interest in having Taako as a roommate is significantly less humanising. Annabelle hadn't been an especially busy roommate, but her absence left his trailer dismally silent and empty, this was true.

Instead of being bothered by the echoing silence, however, he'd felt... relief. Which felt... mmm. He should have been grateful to her for her willingness to tolerate him. Should have appreciated the way she knew exactly how to keep him in his place--effortlessly, with no hesitation or waver.

Instead, he was only glad to be alone again.

Knowing it wouldn't last, though... knowing he would have to endure an introduction again, an imposition again, a presence again--

At least Taako knew, marginally, what he was getting into.

Or so the logic went, anyway.

It hadn't been too bad, honestly. Taako kept out of his way, Foster kept out of Taako's. Honestly, if he'd known that the elf was concerned about him prying into his personal life, he would have started laughing.

Why would he ever care?

Right now, though... 'slow' doesn't even begin to describe the passage of time. He's been restless lately--no moreso than the usual, maybe, but over time it builds, and he knows eventually it will become an intolerability. Watching Taako's idle tower-building is a very weak distraction. But it's something.

Or it was. Now it's on the floor.

"Is that the only trick you know?"

Taako quirks an eyebrow in mild irritation.

"Nope. Check this out."

He slips off his Arcane Trickster's Glove temporarily, and then uses Mage Hand, summoning up a large, spectral hand... which he then proceeds to flip Foster off with.

"Ta-daaaahh." He does jazz hands with his hand that isn't controlling the spectral one, and then dismisses the latter, picking himself up with a sigh. "You'd think living in a fuckin' carnival would be a little more lively. Then again, uh, the Ringmaster isn't usually dead in most carnivals? So..."

There was about a 50% chance Taako's little stunt was going to make Foster laugh, but not this time, apparently--he just ponders it for a moment, stretched out on his stomach on his bed.

".....hmmm." His paws are folded over his pillow, which is slightly... damp under his pawpads. Excitement isn't the only time he develops an inability to swallow. Sleep, too, tends to be accompanied by a lot of drooling.

"That's still the same thing, though."

"Hey, what do you want, a light show? Oh wait, I can totally do that, too."

He doesn't even bother with his staff this time; he just waves his hands through the air, and sparks and beams of light shine from them. He hums a little song, wiggling his fingers at Foster, his expression still mostly bored as hell.

"Fukken Christ," is Foster's response--he doesn't look impressed, just kind of... uh.

Well, he raises his paws to his face and makes as though to drag his claws up, through his hair--but they hit the hair clip and he drags them down instead.

"Forget I asked," he says, but he laughs a little when he does. This is really stupid.

Yeah. Taako would have to agree.

Of course, it's then that he breaks into a dry kind of smirk, and settles back down against his bed, sighing.

"You're not gonna be impressed until I summon up my tentacles, are you?"

Foster looks at Taako like he's crawled naked and wet and earth-covered from underneath the garden shed, and rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to almost--almost--ask why he'd care about tentacles specifically. His first thought, honestly, is that tentacles do the exact same thing as hands.

Then it dawns on him.

It dawns on him through his whole body, and he grips his pillow a little tighter between his claws. He has the basic awareness to know that rolling his hips into his mattress is inappropriate, but--

"You can do that?" he asks, stiffly.

"I sure can, my good man," comes Taako's almost smug response; he grins at Foster, almost catlike, and then quirks an eyebrow, just slightly, at that shift of posture, the stiffness in his tone.

He's really into that idea, huh?

"Maybe I'll give you a demonstration sometime, if you're into that. And also okay with the fact that I haven't nailed down how to stop them completely from just flailing wildly sometimes."

If he's into that...?

Foster is briefly paralysed by the combined frustration of his current state and the absurdity of that qualifier. If. Honestly, he'd be thrilled if one of those tentacles wrapped around his neck during the process and choked him out while--

"Ugggghhh."

He makes a loud groaning sound and buries his face in his pillow, ready to just fucking die right there.

"Please....!" It's particularly indecent, almost an outright moan. He digs his claws into the padding of his pillow and lifts his head--an act of sheer will, honestly, because what he really wants to do is grind his hips into the mattress, to bite his pillow and not forget Taako is there, but instead do it right there with Taako watching, let his own obscenity repulse or thrill the elf as he gives in to his own desperate, vulgar nature. Give him a real show, then he could at least have a momentary high before the crash.

"Don't... fucking joke."

Well. Taako knows what that sound is-- hell, he's heard it from Foster before, though it's been a little while since then now, and recollection actually manages to draw a bit of a deep-colored flush beneath his dark skin.

His attitude doesn't change at all, however. He quirks a well-groomed eyebrow at Foster, smirking as he leans in just a bit.

"... uh, are you okay over there? You seem a little... frustrated."

That's a fucking understatement, though he has no idea just how severe it really is.

"Hahahaha!"

Laughter is generally not the right response to anything Foster laughs at; instead of elaborating, he buries his face back in the pillow as though trying to smother it.

Or smother himself, or his desperation or his need or whatever else it is bubbling up out of his chest and through his throat in the familiar form of uncontrollable laughter.

"Hahaha... hahaha. Fuck." He ends up with a mouthful of pillowcase, sponging up his saliva while his teeth pierce new holes in the already-frayed fabric.

Is Taako doing this on purpose? Foster almost hopes--

No. The smirk, the raised brow... the real question isn't whether, but why. He finds some kind of strange composure in the realisation.

He still can't guess Taako's motive--maybe anger of some kind, a punishment for being so insatiably obscene? Outright malice? Or is it just sadism? He wouldn't be so lucky as to inspire Taako to something openly predatory. Which is...

"If you're such a wizard, tell me where to find fokken toys in this backward-ass god damn multiverse."

Taako's eyebrows shoot up into his fluffy bangs; and then he glances at Foster's paws, and he suddenly gets it. Holy shit, the poor guy. He can't help it-- he breaks into a fit of giggles when he figures it out, a hand going to press over his mouth after a moment, to try and contain it, seem like less of an asshole, at least.

"-- sorry, sorry sorry, I just, uh... wow. They really picked the wrong person to strap claws to, didn't they?" He's still giggling, but sobering just a bit as he pulls himself up to a proper sitting position where he's been spilled across his bed, tucking his legs underneath him. "Well, uh... I don't know about, like, buying them, but you could just make some, if you're feeling creative. I mean, I'm no master craftsman, but even I could probably transmute something up if I wanted to."

You know what?

Yeah. Yeah, Foster can't even disagree. He laughs with Taako, although it's not as... sincere in its source of mirth. They're both saved the inevitable progression of that, however, by Taako's... suggested solution.

"....what?" Foster is suddenly very attentive; it's an instantaneous shift in intensity, or rather where that intensity is directed. It's still about the same thing, but now, instead of endless frustration, constant miserable craving...

That there could be such an easy solution to his affliction is almost too good to be true.

"................... prove it."

Full offence, really. Anything that seems easy, or even desirable to him is not generally that simple. Normally he'd just let it play out; however things play out, he's in no position to complain anyway. But that doesn't stop him from wanting it to be true. He's as human--or whatever--as anyone else.

His own breathing, with his erection pressed between his hips and mattress, is just a little... extra incentive.

Edited 2017-09-03 00:58 (UTC)

"Transmutation, homie. That's my specialty." Taako retrieves his staff, holding it up so that Foster can see it. "It's how I do. Changing one thing into another thing and all that jazz. I could definitely turn whatever into the pretend dick or your dreams, and honestly, any transmutation specialist who's never even considered that before is lying."

He just lets that implication hang there for a beat before moving on. What he moves on to is the following statement:

"Pick me out a material and it's all yours. I just need something to work with first."

If by 'implication,' Taako means the all but explicit admission that he's made his own dream dildo via irresponsible applications of powerful magic, then yes, Foster caught his drift.

But that kind of misuse isn't really unique to Taako's universe. More than one necromancer had been charged with more than just the usual handful of felonies (magical and otherwise) for their magic for that very reason.

Foster looks totally blank, though. His chin sinks into the pillow as he thinks about that.

A material...

The issue of whether or not something would make a decent dick is almost irrelevant, because outside of his bed and clothing, he owns effectively nothing. The immediate thought is the same one that provides him with material for his own magic: vermin are effectively free.

"The carnival has no shortage of mice and birds," he says abruptly, with unerring candour. "If not..." His eyes shutter partway as he glances towards the little trailer kitchen, with its sink and cabinets. "... we have drinking glasses."

"... uh."

It's a very long moment before Taako is honestly able to give any other response to that statement.

Mice and birds?

"... wait, are you fuckin' telling me that you'd seriously bone down using a dick made from a fuckin' mouse?"

Taako suddenly has a whole lot of questions.

"Why, should I not?"

It's a legitimate question, though its delivery is so pointed as to be borderline provocative. Foster can't think of a particular reason why he wouldn't, and the more he thinks about it, the less he can find one. It's not a mouse any more, and even if it was returned to being a mouse, it wasn't a mouse during the relevant time period. Does it retain the mouse's consciousness? That's solvable just by virtue of the possibility of killing the mouse beforehand, but there's arguably something especially vulgar about the idea of using a living thing in such an.. obscene way. Thinking about which is not really helping his boner.

Unless the object in question retained a fur coat and a pulse, he really can't think of anything truly objectionable here.

Edited 2017-09-03 19:05 (UTC)

"I... uh." Taako honestly has no idea how to even answer that question. Where do you even begin? It takes him a very long moment to work out how he wants to approach responding, a finger pressed hard against his lips as he thinks it out.

"... okay. I guess... I mean. Is the mouse aware of what you're doing? And, like, it's a fuckin' mouse, like-- would it suffocate up in there? Does a sex toy need to breathe?" And then Taako quickly shakes his head, whipping his blond curls quickly. "No, you know what, don't you dare answer that, I don't want to think about this anymore. I'm done. Next subject. Drinking glasses, you said? Are you into glass toys, I guess?"

Foster never feels especially driven to defend himself; if anything, the idea of defending himself is in itself kind of beyond him. So his response to Taako is focused exclusively on the elf's words and his reaction, or not the sentiment behind them.

"Why would it need to breathe?" His face twists in brief but genuine discomfort at that idea, revealing that he probably has at least one line he's not interested in crossing. At least, not immediately.

"Hahaha... that's disgusting. Being alive and aware while someone uses you to satisfy themselves.... An inanimate object being used... used, haha, who cares, glass, metal, aware of it every moment, trapped as an immobile--an immobile thing--even if it's still aware, it's not like it can do anything about it!" He's distracted now, the saliva gathering in his mouth finally exceeding his capacity to hold it in, a thin sliver of drool running down his chin.

Taako simply watches Foster as he does... that, an odd mix of amusement and discomfort twisting his face into a very strange kind of smirk, his eyes a bit wide.

"... uh huh," he says, his voice a bit too high. "Okay, well, this is a real treat. I'm gonna go get those glasses and see if I can't set you up so you can, uh, work all this out."

With that, he picks himself up, heading over to retrieve them from the trailer's little kitchen. They're clean, which is nice, and there are a few, which is also nice: plenty of material to work with. Taako carefully stacks a few, and then brings them back to where he's sure Foster can see; he catches his eye, and then smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Got any special shape or size in mind?"

Foster hadn't 'forgotten' the point of their conversation, but the concrete result of it had been... suspended, briefly, as the freefall flight of ideas took over, escalating so quickly, spinning out of control so easily, so... so...!

It's an intensifying excitement, standing in its spiral as it consumes him, escalating and enveloping him and holding him, the hooks inside his head keeping him captive to his own thoughts as fantasy overtakes reality yet again.

It's not hard to do. What happens inside his head, is, after all, so absorbing--so much more real, something fulfilling in a way the outside world generally... fails him.

And the improbability that it could really be that simple made it a lot harder for Foster to hold onto; the physical product of the conversation had been sort of lost in the process.

He's briefly perplexed by Taako's return to a concrete product as a result, and makes eye contact with Taako only fleetingly before his gaze fixes pensively on the glasses. Ostensibly, this is not a question he should have any difficulty with; if anything, it's hard only because he knows the specifics so thoroughly that articulating it is... baffling.

"...uh. Fuck. Haha." Thinking about the physical object makes him want it more--it's tangibly harder to think about simply because he's thinking about it. "Wait. uh. Does your... elf world have... uh, vibrators?"

"I mean... yes?" As though Foster should have been able to just assume that. Taako stacks the cups one inside of the other, and then sits at the table beside the stack, leaning to rest his chin in his palm, elbow on the countertop.

"That's a whole other enchantment that I'm not all that familiar with, though, seeing as I don't spend a whole lot of time magically crafting pretend dicks, so, uh... sorry."

Isn't Taako is the one who just finished telling him about how he'd made the dick of his dreams?

Foster is actually no longer sure; he's certain, in his current state, that he could have imagined it, could have made it all up...?!

He doesn't know, and so doesn't question it. Instead he closes his eyes, trying to think--to (not?) feel, to remember what he wants.

"Just... some texture. And like... two...? Two inches. Or--I don't care. Just... something." He's slightly out of breath, breathless, breathy. Or maybe it's just too... wet... to sound normal. He's forgetting to swallow again, forgetting how to swallow. Or both. He's not very attractive, anyway.

Yeah. You can say that again. It's actually pretty unfortunate, considering that, when he isn't drooling all over himself or yelling about blood, Foster is honestly not that bad-looking.

Maybe Taako is biased, given they had an entire argument based on the fact that they look somewhat similar, but still.

At any rate, Taako quirks an eyebrow, and entertains the thought of teasing Foster about his specifications being so vague- and that he hasn't specified exactly which direction he wants it to be "two inches" in-- but he figures that, if he does that, he risks pushing the dude right off the deep end and into another discourse meltdown, and he's really not in the mood for it at the moment. So, instead, he rests a hand on the glasses, winks at Foster (why?), and then begins transmuting the glass-- really, just using transmutation to reshape it, since he isn't actually changing the physical properties...

That's nerd shit. Anyway, he starts his work, the toy taking shape on the tabletop, sitting up on its end; he shapes it to Foster's specification, and throws some texture in, as requested, in the form of some ripples and nubs.

After a few seconds of focus, of shaping, the glasses are mostly gone, save for some odds and ends of glass shaped as though they've been melted; beneath Taako's other hand lays a freshly-created glass dildo, shiny and thick and ribbed for Foster's pleasure.

"There you go, my man. How's this work for you?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

welcome to the toaster oven

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

And from here it gets increasingly nsfw

WHOOPS

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Warning: I hate this. (Foster is especially gross.)

no subject

THANKS, I HATE IT.

WE ALL DO

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject