Noodles (part 2)
Part the second, because the post was so large it broke LJ.
Back to part 1...
“Now what?”
“Now we wait, Your Majesty.”
“Wait for what?”
“The high priest will call you when the spell is complete.” Gunter said.
The leader of the cult held the torchic over his head and began to chant in an ancient tongue. It was not the modern Mazoku language, nor any of the lingua francas they used to communicate with the human nations of this world. It definitely wasn’t any Earth language that Yuuri knew of.
“Adgt vpaah zong om faaip sald chicken cacciatore!”
Somehow, though, some of the words sounded... familiar... He shook his head. “So then what? When do the noodles come into the picture?”
“Micama goho Satan, zir comselh pesto carbonara stroganoff!”
“The flame and the black mist will rise; the noodles will descend. So it is written.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Swedish Meatball wgah'nagl fhtagn!”
“Could you be more specific about that?”
A thin trail of blood escaped Gunter’s elegant nose.
“Chow fun! Penne! Chow mein!”
Yuuri whipped his head around so fast he thought for sure he’d get whiplash. He pinched himself because he couldn’t believe he’d heard that.
“I-ya i-ya macaroni-ya! Micaolz bransg prgel-spätzle!”
“It is done,” Gunter said. He indicated for Yuuri to step down to the waiting priests, blood still trickling from his nose.
Yuuri looked to his other friends for moral support, but they appeared as uncomfortable as he felt. Conrad shrugged as if to say Yuuri didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to, but if he wanted to, Conrad would go with him if he asked. Wolfram glowered as if to say that Yuuri was a wimp if he needed Conrad to hold his hand just to go get some stupid noodles. What was he? That one girl who can never go to the toilet without all her friends? If he took Conrad up on that offer, Yuuri would be the wimpiest wimpy wimp among wimpy wimp wimp wimp wimp. Wimp.
(Gwendal continued to stare at the torchic. There were hearts in his eyes.)
~(O-O)~
Murata strode into Shinou’s temple as if he owned the place, which he did. After all, he pretty much owned Shinou, who was a god of sorts. The owner of the owner was the real owner, wasn’t that how things went? Yuuri might have stronger majutsu (due to his being alive) and a more benevolent style of rule, but Shinou was by far the more cunning king, and if they were to seriously battle each other one on one, Murata would put his bets on Shinou if only because the pervert would grope Yuuri to distraction to secure his win. And Murata had Shinou under his thumb. This meant that Murata was, if one were to look at the situation logically, the most powerful entity in all of Shin Makoku, and maybe The World. It was a good thing he was only evil - as opposed to Evil - for the lulz.
Musings aside, he had business to discuss with Shinou, who was currently incorporeal, his spirit spread across the air of the temple’s inner sanctum. Shinou lazily pulsed a ‘hello’ as Murata stepped past the marble columns and to the central dais where Ulrike stood. The priestess bowed to him and left him to speak with the spirit of the first king.
“They’re summoning your noodles,” Murata said.
Shinou pulsed his acknowledgement.
“So I’ll see you there? Or do you want a ride?”
Shinou pulsed in the negative. No, he didn’t want to turn fun-sized and sit on Murata’s shoulder. He would rather join the party in spirit form where he could wreak havoc without people noticing.
“Oh, by the way, I spread Pastafarianism to Earth some years ago. I forgot to mention that to you.”
Shinou was pleased.
~(O-o)~
The high priest held the flaming chicken aloft in one hand while he extended the other to his king. Yuuri sighed through his nose and decided to just get this over with quickly before he changed his mind. He stepped down from the viewing platform to the courtyard, took the priest’s hand, and was led into the circle.
As soon as he was in place, Yuuri felt a rumbling from the ground almost as if Gwendal were creating an earthquake. Instead of cracks appearing in the soil and bedrock, there was a hissing sound, and Yuuri looked down at his feet. Abruptly, the shaking stopped, but the hissing grew louder. Tendrils of black smoke seeped through the ground around Yuuri’s feet, curling around his body, swirling and caressing.
The high priest placed the torchic on Yuuri’s head, and the wispy darkness danced around them both. It thickened and exploded upward in a plume like a mushroom cloud, scattering the cultists in every direction.
Distantly, Yuuri heard Conrad unsheathe his sword and come charging through the inky veil, slipping in right before it thickened into an impenetrable wall and trapped them in the eye of the storm, but the larger part of his mind was distracted by the... thing.
“What is that thing?!”
“Yuuri! Are you all right?”
“Conrad, what is that thing?”
Conrad cocked his head to the side in confusion. When Yuuri insistently pointed at the sky, he tore his gaze away from the Maou-with-a-flaming-chicken-attached-to-his-head and upwards to the... thing.
High above the courtyard, the rising black substance coalesced into a wriggling glob not unlike a hunk of sentient noodles. The flame and the black mist rose; the noodles descended. So it was written, and so it happened.
The thing gracefully fluttered down toward them and daintily set itself down on two noodle-limbs. It waved the others at them and said, “Splortch.”
“I thought Gunter said that stuff about flame and black smoke because they were going to cook noodles, not...” Yuuri waved his hands around, gesturing at the thing. “This. Thing.”
Conrad touched his hand to his chin and contemplated the thing. “Well, that was a prophecy, and you know how ambiguous prophecies usually are.”
“Splortch,” said the thing.
“This sucks.”
Before Conrad could reply, the thing shot out its many noodle-limbs. Yuuri’s eyes widened as he saw them approaching, and he tried to make a break for it, but skidded to a halt before hitting the swirling black wall and tripped over himself trying to turn around. The next thing he knew, slimy noodles had wrapped all around him, covering him like a mummy, and he was being pulled toward the thing.
“Yuuri!” Conrad’s sword swung out, cutting a deep gash in one of the offending tentacles.
The noodle monster roared and lashed out even as its wound healed. Conrad ducked around and came at it from the other side. Each injury he inflicted began to heal as soon as it was received. Sensing that Conrad was more of a threat than Yuuri at this point, the noodles began to go after him en masse.
Conrad, too, was dragged to his carb-laden demise.
~(o-O)~
A crowd had gathered outside the vortex. It was mostly the travelling priests coming together to admire their handiwork, though they were joined by a few of the castle’s maids and the Maou’s remaining retainers.
Lord von Bielefelt, having charged after his brother, remained steadfast in his efforts to break through the barrier created by the raging black winds. He’d been just a moment too late to make it in, and now it seemed impossible. He couldn’t approach, and his magic was of no use. The winds blew all his fire attacks off their course; he didn’t dare try a larger summoning with civilians around.
“Shit! How do you always manage to end up in trouble?” Wolfram cursed the Maou under his breath and stepped back a few paces to size up the obstacle. He had no idea how he was supposed to take down a stationary tornado.
Gwendal, still standing on the viewing platform with Gunter, narrowed his eyes in suspicion at his friend’s uncharacteristic level of calm. Usually, Gunter was the first to fly into hysterics at even the tiniest of dangers coming to their king, but there was not a tear in sight. Gunter was completely dry-eyed, though his nose was a different matter.
“Tell me, Gunter, what’s going on?”
Lord von Kleist dabbed at his nose with his handkerchief, which was spotted with blood. He made the action seem as dignified as possible, which wasn’t very dignified at all even if it was more dignified than anyone else could have managed.
“Rest assured, His Majesty is in no danger.”
“How do you know?”
“The noodles have been summoned before, of course. There are extensive records of past summonings in the archives, and no one has ever come to harm. The noodles formed a pact with Shinou to make love, not war.”
Gwendal shook his head and snorted. “It’s frivolous, all of it. We should have just sent someone to Earth to get cup noodles.”
Gunter gasped his indignation. “Lord von Voltaire! Cup noodles, really? That is an affront to the noodles of Shin Makoku!”
“The noodles of Shin Makoku, whose existence no one even remembered until today, must be ritualistically summoned. Cup noodles are ready in three minutes,” Gwendal said pragmatically.
Gunter was about to object - he had remembered the noodles - but it was then that the Great Sage, Murata Ken, appeared behind the two lords with a large bucket of popcorn. He placed himself front and center. “Best seat in the house! Popcorn, anyone?”
“Oh, thank you.” Gunter graciously accepted a small handful.
“And you, Lord von Voltaire?”
“No thanks.”
Murata shrugged and fixed his attention back on the main event. “Where’s Lord Weller? Is he already in there, too? That would make things easier...”
~(O-O)~
Conrad and Yuuri were covered in some sort of sauce. It looked like tomato, but neither of them wanted to make sure.
It was a strange feeling, being wrapped in squirming noodles that left sauce trails all over one’s body... Yuuri was very freaked out about this; especially the part where it tickled. Conrad was attempting to maintain stoic enough for the both of them, though this was getting increasingly difficult as noodles continued to wetly smack him in the face.
The glob of noodles had two large meatballs, each easily twice the size of a man’s head, which served as... eyes? They were positioned correctly for eyes, but the creature would sometimes lower its meatballs to press a meaty kiss to its captives’ heads, slurpy and wet like an overenthusiastic aunt.
“Hey, Conrad, is the mist disappearing?”
Conrad’s affirmative reply was replaced by a grunt as a noodle flapped across his lips. That was good enough for Yuuri, who squirmed with renewed vigor as he began to notice people-like shapes that he hoped were going to rescue them.
(He also squirmed because, for some inexplicable reason, he thought the noodles were attempting to play footsie with him. Insofar as it was possible for a noodle-limbed creature to play footsie...)
“Guys, a little help here?” he called to the crowd. “We’re stuck! This thing won’t let us go and oh my god where is it touching?! We have to do something, Conrad, th-they’re touching me!”
“Hang on! We’ll get through--”
Conrad was abruptly cut off. Yuuri looked over to see his friend’s eyes had gone wide. The noodles had decided to go a bit further than playing footsie.
…
Yuuri’s strangled scream cut across the courtyard as the last of the smoke dissipated. The noodles had begun to squish under his clothes, and it was this sight that the onlookers were treated to as the curtains parted: the Maou and his guard, standing waist-deep in a mass of sleazy tentacles doing unspeakably dirty things to them.
The noodle creature carried its prey with it as it rose to hover a few feet off the ground. It jiggled a bit and produced the tiny torchic that had gotten lost within its noodling, spitting the bird out to roll off in an unconscious heap of singed feathers.
Wolfram readied his sword and frantically tried to think up battle plans. Strategy was failing him when faced with that thing and what it was doing. The overriding thought in his mind was that he had to do something before this abominable violation became more of a public spectacle than it already was. He gripped the blade tighter and prepared to charge.
“Wolfram, help!”
“Stay back!” Conrad shouted at the same time.
The warning came too late. Wolfram had already dashed within reach of the noodles and was attempting to clear a path through them.
“No! Get out while you still can!”
Again, too late. Lord Weller’s valiant attempts to spare his brother this indignity were in vain. When Wolfram came to the realization that his attacks didn’t bother the monster at all, a noodle had already wrapped around his ankle. And when he decided it would be best to heed his honorable brother’s advice to live and roast monsters another day, a frisky noodle spanked his bum and caused him to lose his concentration for just that one second necessary to bring the proud prince down.
Wolfram’s hands scrabbled against the dirt for his sword. The noodles dragged him in feet first.
~(O-o)~
Gunter’s nosebleed had died down as he enjoyed the popcorn, but returned full force at the sight of his beloved Maou writhing and panting in mid-air. The blood gushed out of his nostrils, spraying like a garden hose. When he fell, horribly staining his white uniform in the process, the resulting picture was like that of a messy crime scene. Lord von Kleist was down for the count. The only point of contention was whether he had passed out from blood loss, from the sudden southerly flow of said blood, or a combination of both.
“It’s a pity he won’t get to see the rest of the show,” Murata said. He waved some guards over to take care of their downed companion before returning to his popcorn. “Whoo! Go Shinou!”
“Haile Shinou!” the priests chorused.
Gwendal took this moment to bury his head in his hands. Then he sighed and, leaving the idiots to do whatever idiocy would take to stop the idiocy, he went to pick up that poor torchic, being very careful to stay away from Mr. Grabby-tentacles. He steadfastly kept his eyes from meeting the pleading ones of the Maou.
Once the torchic was safe in his arms, Gwendal allowed himself a secret dopey smile.
~(o-O)~
Yuuri’s control over his majutsu had improved a lot over the years, but it still wasn’t the best; not by a long shot. He was good at healing, and making rain - misty drizzles and sparse fat droplets were his favorites - and going into a berserker rage and destroying everything within a five mile radius. So yeah, there was room for improvement.
It was that vast middle ground between healing and total annihilation that he had trouble with. This was very inconvenient, because the good stuff was always in the creamy center.
Currently, Yuuri was trying to remain in control, as panic had the unfortunate effect of bringing out his OMGKILLITDEAD side. There were good people around (and some disco-Satanists). He did not want to kill them dead (except maybe the Satanists). If the situation were different - perhaps less holy-shit-noodles-are-crawling-up-my-pant-leg, he could have mustered up a decent water dragon that would attack the noodles without also bringing a flood down on his own citizens and smashing down some castle walls.
Yuuri could feel a stinging behind his eyes that alerted him to how close he was to losing it and going JUSTICE on this thing’s ass, consequences be damned. Looking over at Conrad and Wolfram’s struggling only made it worse.
The brothers were pressed together, chest to chest as the noodles slipped and slid around them. They were bound in a sensuous dance, forced to rub against each other with the lubricating sauce between them. Wolfram, brave and headstrong as he was, had attempted to gnaw the tentacles to death, but that just let the monster shove its indestructible noodles in his mouth.
And poor Conrad kept apologizing in hushed whispers even though none of it was his fault in the slightest, it was just...
YOU WILL NOT TENTACLE RAPE MY FRIENDS IN MY CASTLE, NOT WHILE I’M KING.
He blew up.
~(O-O)~
When Yuuri came to, it was to the sight of a broken mass of noodles littering the dirt of the courtyard. It said “JUSTICE”.
This was nothing new. What was new was that Conrad and Wolfram were studiously avoiding each other’s eyes, and Murata was only making things worse by saying, “Well, you’re only half-brothers, so it’s only half-incest...” and there was a chicken on top of Wolfram’s head that wouldn’t come down no matter how Gwendal tried to win its affections, and Gwendal was trying not to show how crushed he was even though it was obvious that he always took it hard when he was rejected by cute things, and Gunter was being tended to by the maids because he was still passed out and still sporting a boner, and the disco-Satanists were sitting and weeping in a magic circle around a lone meatball which slowly disintegrated until it was revealed to be a fun-sized Shinou, who had undoubtedly been possessing the creature to do perverted things to Yuuri and his friends just as it had possessed Wolfram to steal Yuuri’s first kiss back in the day, that dirty rotten bastard, and it was the
“Worst. Birthday. Ever. We are never doing this again.”
So sayeth Toilet King, and his vassals obeyed.
~(X-X)~
Notes: I’m going to pretend that everyone got my jokes and references. I totally got my jokes and I still don’t understand half of what I wrote, so it’s not you. It’s really not. I guess I’ll attempt to explain...
Pokemon.
Okay, fine. Notes for real this time...
1) Yes, the disco-Satanists are Rasta-Nazis. Yes, Shinou is Hitler. He is also Haile Selassie.
2) Murata is a backstabbing troll and he only let this happen to get revenge on Shinou for his wandering hands. Being blown up by Yuuri hurt like a bitch, especially the damage that was done to Shinou’s meatballs. Murata found this all to be very lulzy. His advice to Conrad and Wolfram was well-meaning, though, because Murata is also an expert on half-incest, having been shagging his half-brother Shinou for thousands of years.
3) The line breaks are little FSMs. If you put them all together, it kind of looks like they’re dancing with their cute little meatball-eyes. Except that last one. It’s dead. In his house at Meatball, dead Swedish waits dreaming.
4) This is what happens when KKM gets simmered in the juices of the Cthulhu mythos and served at a Pastafarian potluck alongside magic brownies. I threw in some copypasta phrases from LaVeyan Satanic chants for extra flavor. RAmen!
5) ...But seriously, though, Wolfram and his torchic were having such a great time together that Yuuri eventually got himself a mudkip, and then Gwendal was even more jealous and scoured the world before he ended up with a cute baby dwebble. Effin’ cutest thing EVAR. (Conrad has a jigglypuff lololol. And Josak has a skitty and Gunter has a beautifly. Shut up. You know it fits.)
6) ...But for real for serious, I tried to make this a ConYuuWolf threesome. Honestly, I tried. They were supposed to have bonding times while being groped by noodle tentacles, and in the happy ending, Wolfram was supposed to be like, “You’re a shitty fiance, Yuuri. You want to screw my brother? I’ll show you how to screw my brother!!1!” and then he tops the hell out of Conrad. It’s just that, somewhere along the way... I failed terribly.
Back to part 1...
“Now what?”
“Now we wait, Your Majesty.”
“Wait for what?”
“The high priest will call you when the spell is complete.” Gunter said.
The leader of the cult held the torchic over his head and began to chant in an ancient tongue. It was not the modern Mazoku language, nor any of the lingua francas they used to communicate with the human nations of this world. It definitely wasn’t any Earth language that Yuuri knew of.
“Adgt vpaah zong om faaip sald chicken cacciatore!”
Somehow, though, some of the words sounded... familiar... He shook his head. “So then what? When do the noodles come into the picture?”
“Micama goho Satan, zir comselh pesto carbonara stroganoff!”
“The flame and the black mist will rise; the noodles will descend. So it is written.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Swedish Meatball wgah'nagl fhtagn!”
“Could you be more specific about that?”
A thin trail of blood escaped Gunter’s elegant nose.
“Chow fun! Penne! Chow mein!”
Yuuri whipped his head around so fast he thought for sure he’d get whiplash. He pinched himself because he couldn’t believe he’d heard that.
“I-ya i-ya macaroni-ya! Micaolz bransg prgel-spätzle!”
“It is done,” Gunter said. He indicated for Yuuri to step down to the waiting priests, blood still trickling from his nose.
Yuuri looked to his other friends for moral support, but they appeared as uncomfortable as he felt. Conrad shrugged as if to say Yuuri didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to, but if he wanted to, Conrad would go with him if he asked. Wolfram glowered as if to say that Yuuri was a wimp if he needed Conrad to hold his hand just to go get some stupid noodles. What was he? That one girl who can never go to the toilet without all her friends? If he took Conrad up on that offer, Yuuri would be the wimpiest wimpy wimp among wimpy wimp wimp wimp wimp. Wimp.
(Gwendal continued to stare at the torchic. There were hearts in his eyes.)
~(O-O)~
Murata strode into Shinou’s temple as if he owned the place, which he did. After all, he pretty much owned Shinou, who was a god of sorts. The owner of the owner was the real owner, wasn’t that how things went? Yuuri might have stronger majutsu (due to his being alive) and a more benevolent style of rule, but Shinou was by far the more cunning king, and if they were to seriously battle each other one on one, Murata would put his bets on Shinou if only because the pervert would grope Yuuri to distraction to secure his win. And Murata had Shinou under his thumb. This meant that Murata was, if one were to look at the situation logically, the most powerful entity in all of Shin Makoku, and maybe The World. It was a good thing he was only evil - as opposed to Evil - for the lulz.
Musings aside, he had business to discuss with Shinou, who was currently incorporeal, his spirit spread across the air of the temple’s inner sanctum. Shinou lazily pulsed a ‘hello’ as Murata stepped past the marble columns and to the central dais where Ulrike stood. The priestess bowed to him and left him to speak with the spirit of the first king.
“They’re summoning your noodles,” Murata said.
Shinou pulsed his acknowledgement.
“So I’ll see you there? Or do you want a ride?”
Shinou pulsed in the negative. No, he didn’t want to turn fun-sized and sit on Murata’s shoulder. He would rather join the party in spirit form where he could wreak havoc without people noticing.
“Oh, by the way, I spread Pastafarianism to Earth some years ago. I forgot to mention that to you.”
Shinou was pleased.
~(O-o)~
The high priest held the flaming chicken aloft in one hand while he extended the other to his king. Yuuri sighed through his nose and decided to just get this over with quickly before he changed his mind. He stepped down from the viewing platform to the courtyard, took the priest’s hand, and was led into the circle.
As soon as he was in place, Yuuri felt a rumbling from the ground almost as if Gwendal were creating an earthquake. Instead of cracks appearing in the soil and bedrock, there was a hissing sound, and Yuuri looked down at his feet. Abruptly, the shaking stopped, but the hissing grew louder. Tendrils of black smoke seeped through the ground around Yuuri’s feet, curling around his body, swirling and caressing.
The high priest placed the torchic on Yuuri’s head, and the wispy darkness danced around them both. It thickened and exploded upward in a plume like a mushroom cloud, scattering the cultists in every direction.
Distantly, Yuuri heard Conrad unsheathe his sword and come charging through the inky veil, slipping in right before it thickened into an impenetrable wall and trapped them in the eye of the storm, but the larger part of his mind was distracted by the... thing.
“What is that thing?!”
“Yuuri! Are you all right?”
“Conrad, what is that thing?”
Conrad cocked his head to the side in confusion. When Yuuri insistently pointed at the sky, he tore his gaze away from the Maou-with-a-flaming-chicken-attached-to-his-head and upwards to the... thing.
High above the courtyard, the rising black substance coalesced into a wriggling glob not unlike a hunk of sentient noodles. The flame and the black mist rose; the noodles descended. So it was written, and so it happened.
The thing gracefully fluttered down toward them and daintily set itself down on two noodle-limbs. It waved the others at them and said, “Splortch.”
“I thought Gunter said that stuff about flame and black smoke because they were going to cook noodles, not...” Yuuri waved his hands around, gesturing at the thing. “This. Thing.”
Conrad touched his hand to his chin and contemplated the thing. “Well, that was a prophecy, and you know how ambiguous prophecies usually are.”
“Splortch,” said the thing.
“This sucks.”
Before Conrad could reply, the thing shot out its many noodle-limbs. Yuuri’s eyes widened as he saw them approaching, and he tried to make a break for it, but skidded to a halt before hitting the swirling black wall and tripped over himself trying to turn around. The next thing he knew, slimy noodles had wrapped all around him, covering him like a mummy, and he was being pulled toward the thing.
“Yuuri!” Conrad’s sword swung out, cutting a deep gash in one of the offending tentacles.
The noodle monster roared and lashed out even as its wound healed. Conrad ducked around and came at it from the other side. Each injury he inflicted began to heal as soon as it was received. Sensing that Conrad was more of a threat than Yuuri at this point, the noodles began to go after him en masse.
Conrad, too, was dragged to his carb-laden demise.
~(o-O)~
A crowd had gathered outside the vortex. It was mostly the travelling priests coming together to admire their handiwork, though they were joined by a few of the castle’s maids and the Maou’s remaining retainers.
Lord von Bielefelt, having charged after his brother, remained steadfast in his efforts to break through the barrier created by the raging black winds. He’d been just a moment too late to make it in, and now it seemed impossible. He couldn’t approach, and his magic was of no use. The winds blew all his fire attacks off their course; he didn’t dare try a larger summoning with civilians around.
“Shit! How do you always manage to end up in trouble?” Wolfram cursed the Maou under his breath and stepped back a few paces to size up the obstacle. He had no idea how he was supposed to take down a stationary tornado.
Gwendal, still standing on the viewing platform with Gunter, narrowed his eyes in suspicion at his friend’s uncharacteristic level of calm. Usually, Gunter was the first to fly into hysterics at even the tiniest of dangers coming to their king, but there was not a tear in sight. Gunter was completely dry-eyed, though his nose was a different matter.
“Tell me, Gunter, what’s going on?”
Lord von Kleist dabbed at his nose with his handkerchief, which was spotted with blood. He made the action seem as dignified as possible, which wasn’t very dignified at all even if it was more dignified than anyone else could have managed.
“Rest assured, His Majesty is in no danger.”
“How do you know?”
“The noodles have been summoned before, of course. There are extensive records of past summonings in the archives, and no one has ever come to harm. The noodles formed a pact with Shinou to make love, not war.”
Gwendal shook his head and snorted. “It’s frivolous, all of it. We should have just sent someone to Earth to get cup noodles.”
Gunter gasped his indignation. “Lord von Voltaire! Cup noodles, really? That is an affront to the noodles of Shin Makoku!”
“The noodles of Shin Makoku, whose existence no one even remembered until today, must be ritualistically summoned. Cup noodles are ready in three minutes,” Gwendal said pragmatically.
Gunter was about to object - he had remembered the noodles - but it was then that the Great Sage, Murata Ken, appeared behind the two lords with a large bucket of popcorn. He placed himself front and center. “Best seat in the house! Popcorn, anyone?”
“Oh, thank you.” Gunter graciously accepted a small handful.
“And you, Lord von Voltaire?”
“No thanks.”
Murata shrugged and fixed his attention back on the main event. “Where’s Lord Weller? Is he already in there, too? That would make things easier...”
~(O-O)~
Conrad and Yuuri were covered in some sort of sauce. It looked like tomato, but neither of them wanted to make sure.
It was a strange feeling, being wrapped in squirming noodles that left sauce trails all over one’s body... Yuuri was very freaked out about this; especially the part where it tickled. Conrad was attempting to maintain stoic enough for the both of them, though this was getting increasingly difficult as noodles continued to wetly smack him in the face.
The glob of noodles had two large meatballs, each easily twice the size of a man’s head, which served as... eyes? They were positioned correctly for eyes, but the creature would sometimes lower its meatballs to press a meaty kiss to its captives’ heads, slurpy and wet like an overenthusiastic aunt.
“Hey, Conrad, is the mist disappearing?”
Conrad’s affirmative reply was replaced by a grunt as a noodle flapped across his lips. That was good enough for Yuuri, who squirmed with renewed vigor as he began to notice people-like shapes that he hoped were going to rescue them.
(He also squirmed because, for some inexplicable reason, he thought the noodles were attempting to play footsie with him. Insofar as it was possible for a noodle-limbed creature to play footsie...)
“Guys, a little help here?” he called to the crowd. “We’re stuck! This thing won’t let us go and oh my god where is it touching?! We have to do something, Conrad, th-they’re touching me!”
“Hang on! We’ll get through--”
Conrad was abruptly cut off. Yuuri looked over to see his friend’s eyes had gone wide. The noodles had decided to go a bit further than playing footsie.
…
Yuuri’s strangled scream cut across the courtyard as the last of the smoke dissipated. The noodles had begun to squish under his clothes, and it was this sight that the onlookers were treated to as the curtains parted: the Maou and his guard, standing waist-deep in a mass of sleazy tentacles doing unspeakably dirty things to them.
The noodle creature carried its prey with it as it rose to hover a few feet off the ground. It jiggled a bit and produced the tiny torchic that had gotten lost within its noodling, spitting the bird out to roll off in an unconscious heap of singed feathers.
Wolfram readied his sword and frantically tried to think up battle plans. Strategy was failing him when faced with that thing and what it was doing. The overriding thought in his mind was that he had to do something before this abominable violation became more of a public spectacle than it already was. He gripped the blade tighter and prepared to charge.
“Wolfram, help!”
“Stay back!” Conrad shouted at the same time.
The warning came too late. Wolfram had already dashed within reach of the noodles and was attempting to clear a path through them.
“No! Get out while you still can!”
Again, too late. Lord Weller’s valiant attempts to spare his brother this indignity were in vain. When Wolfram came to the realization that his attacks didn’t bother the monster at all, a noodle had already wrapped around his ankle. And when he decided it would be best to heed his honorable brother’s advice to live and roast monsters another day, a frisky noodle spanked his bum and caused him to lose his concentration for just that one second necessary to bring the proud prince down.
Wolfram’s hands scrabbled against the dirt for his sword. The noodles dragged him in feet first.
~(O-o)~
Gunter’s nosebleed had died down as he enjoyed the popcorn, but returned full force at the sight of his beloved Maou writhing and panting in mid-air. The blood gushed out of his nostrils, spraying like a garden hose. When he fell, horribly staining his white uniform in the process, the resulting picture was like that of a messy crime scene. Lord von Kleist was down for the count. The only point of contention was whether he had passed out from blood loss, from the sudden southerly flow of said blood, or a combination of both.
“It’s a pity he won’t get to see the rest of the show,” Murata said. He waved some guards over to take care of their downed companion before returning to his popcorn. “Whoo! Go Shinou!”
“Haile Shinou!” the priests chorused.
Gwendal took this moment to bury his head in his hands. Then he sighed and, leaving the idiots to do whatever idiocy would take to stop the idiocy, he went to pick up that poor torchic, being very careful to stay away from Mr. Grabby-tentacles. He steadfastly kept his eyes from meeting the pleading ones of the Maou.
Once the torchic was safe in his arms, Gwendal allowed himself a secret dopey smile.
~(o-O)~
Yuuri’s control over his majutsu had improved a lot over the years, but it still wasn’t the best; not by a long shot. He was good at healing, and making rain - misty drizzles and sparse fat droplets were his favorites - and going into a berserker rage and destroying everything within a five mile radius. So yeah, there was room for improvement.
It was that vast middle ground between healing and total annihilation that he had trouble with. This was very inconvenient, because the good stuff was always in the creamy center.
Currently, Yuuri was trying to remain in control, as panic had the unfortunate effect of bringing out his OMGKILLITDEAD side. There were good people around (and some disco-Satanists). He did not want to kill them dead (except maybe the Satanists). If the situation were different - perhaps less holy-shit-noodles-are-crawling-up-my-pant-leg, he could have mustered up a decent water dragon that would attack the noodles without also bringing a flood down on his own citizens and smashing down some castle walls.
Yuuri could feel a stinging behind his eyes that alerted him to how close he was to losing it and going JUSTICE on this thing’s ass, consequences be damned. Looking over at Conrad and Wolfram’s struggling only made it worse.
The brothers were pressed together, chest to chest as the noodles slipped and slid around them. They were bound in a sensuous dance, forced to rub against each other with the lubricating sauce between them. Wolfram, brave and headstrong as he was, had attempted to gnaw the tentacles to death, but that just let the monster shove its indestructible noodles in his mouth.
And poor Conrad kept apologizing in hushed whispers even though none of it was his fault in the slightest, it was just...
YOU WILL NOT TENTACLE RAPE MY FRIENDS IN MY CASTLE, NOT WHILE I’M KING.
He blew up.
~(O-O)~
When Yuuri came to, it was to the sight of a broken mass of noodles littering the dirt of the courtyard. It said “JUSTICE”.
This was nothing new. What was new was that Conrad and Wolfram were studiously avoiding each other’s eyes, and Murata was only making things worse by saying, “Well, you’re only half-brothers, so it’s only half-incest...” and there was a chicken on top of Wolfram’s head that wouldn’t come down no matter how Gwendal tried to win its affections, and Gwendal was trying not to show how crushed he was even though it was obvious that he always took it hard when he was rejected by cute things, and Gunter was being tended to by the maids because he was still passed out and still sporting a boner, and the disco-Satanists were sitting and weeping in a magic circle around a lone meatball which slowly disintegrated until it was revealed to be a fun-sized Shinou, who had undoubtedly been possessing the creature to do perverted things to Yuuri and his friends just as it had possessed Wolfram to steal Yuuri’s first kiss back in the day, that dirty rotten bastard, and it was the
“Worst. Birthday. Ever. We are never doing this again.”
So sayeth Toilet King, and his vassals obeyed.
~(X-X)~
Notes: I’m going to pretend that everyone got my jokes and references. I totally got my jokes and I still don’t understand half of what I wrote, so it’s not you. It’s really not. I guess I’ll attempt to explain...
Pokemon.
Okay, fine. Notes for real this time...
1) Yes, the disco-Satanists are Rasta-Nazis. Yes, Shinou is Hitler. He is also Haile Selassie.
2) Murata is a backstabbing troll and he only let this happen to get revenge on Shinou for his wandering hands. Being blown up by Yuuri hurt like a bitch, especially the damage that was done to Shinou’s meatballs. Murata found this all to be very lulzy. His advice to Conrad and Wolfram was well-meaning, though, because Murata is also an expert on half-incest, having been shagging his half-brother Shinou for thousands of years.
3) The line breaks are little FSMs. If you put them all together, it kind of looks like they’re dancing with their cute little meatball-eyes. Except that last one. It’s dead. In his house at Meatball, dead Swedish waits dreaming.
4) This is what happens when KKM gets simmered in the juices of the Cthulhu mythos and served at a Pastafarian potluck alongside magic brownies. I threw in some copypasta phrases from LaVeyan Satanic chants for extra flavor. RAmen!
5) ...But seriously, though, Wolfram and his torchic were having such a great time together that Yuuri eventually got himself a mudkip, and then Gwendal was even more jealous and scoured the world before he ended up with a cute baby dwebble. Effin’ cutest thing EVAR. (Conrad has a jigglypuff lololol. And Josak has a skitty and Gunter has a beautifly. Shut up. You know it fits.)
6) ...But for real for serious, I tried to make this a ConYuuWolf threesome. Honestly, I tried. They were supposed to have bonding times while being groped by noodle tentacles, and in the happy ending, Wolfram was supposed to be like, “You’re a shitty fiance, Yuuri. You want to screw my brother? I’ll show you how to screw my brother!!1!” and then he tops the hell out of Conrad. It’s just that, somewhere along the way... I failed terribly.