Figured I’d make one? It feels more intuitive than the tumblr description I guess.
Hey! You can call me Jake (or like, any variation of Dog pff). I’ve been lurking the tumblr tickle community for several years but now I have a blog to interact with people! Mostly here to have fun and make friends :] (and forgive me for lengthy response times, sometimes I forget about tumblr for a while)
I’d consider myself a lee leaning switch, but overall I don’t have a whole lot of irl experience. I’m aromantic and avoidant, so that makes it hard to get close to people haha. I’m always open for asks and messages about anything, sfw or nsfw, tickle related or not.
I’d prefer not to chat with those 17 and under here.
That’s all, thanks for reading all the way through ✨
Desperately in the mood to be tied down and tickled all over >_< my brain keeps jumping between craving worming fingers between ribs, gentle scritches on the lower tummy, feathers gliding over the neck and ears, and nails tormenting the soles and toes@w@ just need to laugh my head off and plead for mercy without it ever being given to me, and spiral into a ticklish mirth where the passage of time slows to a crawl >////>
Notes: Commission for anonymous. Thank you so much for commissioning! I had such a fun time working on this and writing Bolin as a ruthless ler. I hope you enjoy ^^
Summary: Korra asks to be tied up and tickled, and Bolin is happy to help test her limits.
“Comfy?”
The avatar snorted, rolling her shoulders. “Exceedingly. I don’t know if you applied these correctly, I feel like I could get out of this easily if I wanted to.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t want to then.”
Korra flushed, averting her gaze. “You don’t have to point it out like that.”
Despite her grumbling, Korra only had herself to blame for the current situation she found herself in. Not that she really minded her circumstances, as Bolin had been so quick to point out to her. The conversation had come a week beforehand, somewhere late into the night when reason had left her side and her inhibitions were lost under the relaxing gaze of the stars. Bolin and she had been wrestling up on the roof. They had a tournament the next day and so the two of them stayed up practicing long after Mako had bid them goodnight.
“You’ll need your sleep too, you know,” he’d said, casting them both disapproving looks. They’d only rolled their eyes in response.
Mako was correct, as always, and their practice quickly lost all form as sleep tugged at them, turning into playful jabs and giggle fits as they lazily fumbled around, any actual bending done for the night in favor of the friendly tussling. At one point, Bolin had her pinned under him with one hand, her legs struggling futilely to curl around his waist and throw him off. She managed to dig her heel hard into his hip and he grunted, squeezing her side in retaliation. Which was, really, just entirely unfair. Korra had squealed, tugging harder at her arms now, but it was too late. A flurry of pokes rained down on her sides for several minutes while she giggled and pleaded for a break to no avail.
Bolin was no stranger to her love for tickling. He’d gotten that confession out of her a while ago. Ever since then, he’d made sure to sneak tickling in whenever he could: tasing her from behind while she was getting ready, poking her side to get her attention, scribbling fingers over her neck when she and Mako were being gross with each other.
But all those times, as with this time, were over in a flash. Bolin let her go, flopping down by her side and closing his eyes as he laid back on the roof, unaware of the roiling in her gut.
“Bolin,” she said slowly after she’d sat back up. She picked at her nails, grateful that the moonlight was faint tonight and her features were hidden in the darkness. “W-Would you ever want to tickle me more?”
There was a snort. “Korra, I tickle you every day. I mean, I’m willing, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”
“Like…” Korra waved her hand ambiguously. “Like for longer, I guess.”
She could feel Bolin staring at her, but she didn’t dare glance his way. “I mean, I would, but I can barely hold you still for the bit that I do.”
Korra inhaled sharply. It was now or never.
“I bet you could if I was tied up.”
That moment seemed so long ago now, with Bolin straddling her waist and her arms and legs restrained around the edges of their futon. It had seemed so exciting then, her mind racing with the possibilities when he’d agreed to a full hour of this. Now, exposed, restrained, and helpless, she began to worry that maybe she might have bitten off more than she could chew.
She tugged on her restraints, staring unflinchingly at Bolin even though everything in her screamed to look away and hide. They didn’t budge. She tried again, this time truly exerting effort. They didn’t move so much as an inch. Her breathing quickened.
“Someone feeling a bit stuck?” he teased, cocking a brow as reached over to grab the bottle of lotion Korra had let him borrow for this. He set it on the table beside them. Its very presence was ominous. “What’s wrong? Worried you’re a bit too ticklish for something like this?”
Korra blushed, just the mention of the word ticklish making her stomach squirm. “No. I’ll be fine. You’ve tickled me tons of times before.”
“I have,” he agreed, and the look he gave her then sent a shiver down her spine. “But I think you’ve forgotten that all those times mean that I know exactly where you’re ticklish. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me this time.”
Before Korra could get any retort out, Bolin started. She flinched sharply as both hands landed on her stomach, his fingers curled forward into giant spiders. Then they began to move. Her eyes widened. She bit her lip, concentrating, but it took mere seconds before she was bursting into giggles, struggling to shift her hips away from his hands. Instinctively, she pulled on her arms before being reminded once more that she couldn’t move them. She inhaled sharply. Fuck. Fuck.
“Wow,” Bolin said lightly, appraising her. “You don’t normally get so reactive so quickly.”
Korra was absolutely not about to admit how the restraints were making it worse, that being so vulnerable was making it impossibly more ticklish, so instead she stuck her tongue out in an admittedly childish gesture.
Bolin’s brows shot up. “Woah-hoh, someone’s asking for it now. Get ready to squeal, Korra.”
Ten fingers buzzed into her stomach all at once and Korra twitched violently before throwing her head back in a cackling fit. “B-Bohoholin! Thahahat tihihickles!”
“Good. That must mean I’m doing something right.”
“Stahahap s-stop plehehease!”
“Mmm, I’ll think about it and get back to you, if that’s okay.”
That cheeky…! Korra attempted to glare at him, but her wide, helpless grin ruined the effect somewhat. Going for her stomach right away was cheating! The thin fabric of her top barely helped at all, and if anything, it made his fingers glide easier over the ticklish spot. She shook her head, trying to block out the sensations as best as she could, but Bolin was too good at this.
After several minutes of giggling her head off like a maniac, Korra tried to negotiate. “Okahay, okay, okay, j-just gohoho somewhere else for a biHIHIT!”
Bolin slipped his hands under her shirt and nope, she was wrong, the shirt had been doing so much for her. She squeaked, her stomach trembling under the assault. “What’s in it for me? Or better yet, what’s in it for you? You wanted to be tickled, right?”
“Ihihi—”
“Right?”
She nodded, blushing to her ears. He was never this teasy when she was free, why was he being like this now, when she just had to take it?
“So, if that’s the case,” he reasoned, as casually as though they were discussing strategies for their next tournament. “Then if this really tickles as bad as you say it does, maybe I should just stay here.”
Korra gaped at him before bursting into laughter anew as his fingers scribbled mercilessly under her naval. She kicked as much as she could, the ticklish sensations bursting chaotically through her system. How was she supposed to take an hour of this??
Sensing her distress, Bolin slowed down just a bit—not enough that Korra could quite get ahold of her laughter, though. “Here, I’ll cut you a deal. We want to make this tickle, right? So, if you can offer me a more ticklish spot, I’ll go there and leave your poor stomach alone. Sound fair?”
“Nohohoho!” Korra squawked indignantly, but Bolin only laughed, continuing to torment her ruthlessly.
“Fine then. But I’m not stopping until you do.”
It was a stupidly unfair deal. More than that, it barely made any sense at all. Strategically, it made sense to just let him keep tickling her stomach and spare herself from anything worse. But there was something about the unending nature of the tickling that was driving her up the wall. There was no change of pace or technique, just the same, relentless spidering that made her stomach tremble and her resolve crumble.
“M-my thihihighs!” she blurted, inspiration coming to her, but Bolin just shook his head.
“Nope, I said more ticklish. I know all your spots, remember? It has to be a real answer or I’m not going for it.”
Curse him. Korra scrunched her face up in a tough resolve that lasted all of five seconds as the ticklish feeling wheedled into her brain once more. Fuck it. Besides, a part of her was somewhat excited at the idea that it was going to get more ticklish than this, even as it filled her stomach with dread.
“My rihihihibs!”
“Heard.”
So. Much. Worse. Korra yelped as he dug into her ribs, his fingers vibrating in between the slots of each bone so that the tickling reverberated through her core and down her spine. She arched her back, letting out a slew of curses. Bolin chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he continued. “I’m impressed. I would have thought you’d gone for a smaller jump up, like your sides or something. But now that we’re here, you know the rules: we stay here until you suggest somewhere else.”
“S-Shuhuhut up with your ahaa p-patronizing vohohoice!” she wailed, grinning ear-to-ear as she squirmed all around the futon. He was right. She should have picked somewhere else. She always forgot how ticklish this spot was. It was as though he’d gotten his fingers inside of her and was playing with her nerves themselves. It was an intensely vulnerable and hyper ticklish feeling that forced her into wild cackles and begging, all of which was ignored, of course.
The rest of their time was spent with Korra constantly shifting between feeling happier than she’d felt in weeks and like she wanted to kill Bolin. She managed her ribs for longer than she had thought she’d be able to but could only feel proud of it for a moment before she stupidly suggested her feet and spent her time squeaking and attempting to cover them up with one another to save herself. Eventually, Bolin sat on top of her left foot, isolating it from the other’s protection. He grabbed the lotion, squirting some onto his hands and rubbing it in. For a moment, Korra thought he was possibly switching to a welcome massage. Instead, she felt something so intensely ticklish that a burst of air smashed into a table behind them, knocking it over entirely.
Bolin’s eyes widened, though to his credit he didn’t slow down at all. “Woah, calm down. Mako’s gonna get suspicious if this place is a wreck when he gets back.”
“Gehehehehet ohohoff! Get off get off get ohohoff!” Korra was too forgone to engage in teasing, only able to laugh and tug frantically at her trapped foot. “Plehehehease!”
The feeling was hundreds of blunt pinpricks running over her soles, frazzling the nerves in her feet so that she couldn’t ever adjust to the feeling. Later, she would discover it was one of the grooming gloves she used for Naga.
When he went for the ball of her foot, she let out a sound that could only be described as a shriek before losing it all over again.
“Stahahap ihihit!” she begged, true sincerity in her voice, though the lack of a safeword said everything about how much she actually meant it. “Ihihit tihihihickles! Ihihi cahahan’t p-please!”
“You know the rules~”
She did. She hated that she did, but she did. There was only one spot left—under her arms. Her feet had been such a dramatic leap that it was the only spot more ticklish. She considered whether it was truly worth it to stop this, but when Bolin started wiggling his fingers under her toes at the same time, she couldn’t stop it.
“Fuhuhucking ahaharmpits, juhuhust stahahap!”
She would learn quickly what a mistake that was.
Seconds later, Bolin was straddling her once more, the lotion in his hands. He squeezed some onto his hands once more, rubbing it under her arms. It tickled a little but was mostly soothing after everything she’d been through. Korra hummed softly, knowing it was a bad idea to relax now and not being able to help it.
Bolin shot her a grin. “Ready?”
Korra tensed, giggling nervously already. “No.”
“Too bad.”
She squealed as he began scribbling under her arms, tugging frantically at her restraints. Why had they made these things so sturdy?? The lotion was making it so much worse. Unlike with her stomach, she had no cloth to protect her, and his nails skittered like evil little spiders over the spot. She threw her head back, whining at the helplessness of the situation, that she had put herself there, that this tickled so much.
“Are you ready for me to pull out my ultimate move?” Bolin asked, arching a brow.
Korra’s eyes shot open. “No. No nohohoho no, whahahatever it ihis no—ahahaha BOHOHOLIN!”
Bolin held one finger under each arm and wiggled them into the spot right above her ribs, in the divot under her arms that really drove her crazy. She couldn’t speak for laughing, could only thrash about it and hope for a mercy that wasn’t about to come. He’d never done this before. She had no idea something could tickle so much. She certainly wouldn’t have agreed to be tied down for this if she had known.
Air burst chaotically around the room once more, knocking over chairs and tugging down curtains. Bolin burst into laughter alongside her, shaking his head. “Get it together, holy shit! If only your enemies knew this was your weakness. You’d never catch a break.”
Korra didn’t want to think about that, even if it made her stomach squirm and flutter not unpleasantly. The safeword danced on the tip of her tongue. Even just holding his fingers there tickled but actually moving them made her want to squirm out of her own skin. The indecision must have shown on her face, because Bolin slowed down briefly.
“Got something you want to say? A certain word, perhaps?”
With the tickling gone and that condescending smirk glittering on his features, Korra’s pride flared up unwisely. Turning her head to the side, she shrugged, ignoring how breathless she sounded. “Please. I could have easily bucked you off. That barely even tickled.”
Bolin blinked in surprise. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re asking for it, miss avatar. I’m about to make you scream. Better hope you remember the safeword then.”
Korra had only a moment to regret her words before she was bursting into laughter anew, flopping like a fish out of water to escape. Bolin was even more ruthless now, and she had to fight not to safeword immediately as the sensations overtook her.
in which you fall victim to a giant spider and its many, many, many children
aaa hello,,! pls enjoy another drabble type thing feat another scenario i think abt sometimes and have. very normal feelings abt i. promise
~2.6k words, cw: tickling (sfw but with kink in mind + slightly intense), lee!reader, inhuman/monster!ler, multiple lers, teeny tiny lers, stuck in place, spiders, nearly full body tickling (stomach, bellybutton, chest, neck, ears, back of knees, etc)
The first thing you notice when you wake up is the stickiness on your arms and legs. It’s slightly soft, not gooey or greasy, but strong in its grip. You try to wriggle and are met with firm resistance. Panic begins to creep in through the haziness of your still sleepy mind and you take a few quick, deep breaths, trying to keep yourself calm as you survey exactly what sort of trouble you’ve landed in.
You aren’t hurt, which is good. The last thing you could remember from before losing consciousness was falling for what felt like–– well, not that long, actually. Time had stilled for seemingly a moment or two and then there was nothing. You must have passed out before you’d landed in…. what exactly did you land in? You shift your head from side to side as much as you can in order to get a better view of your surroundings.
At the far edges of your vision, you can see the dark grey rock walls of a cavern. You aren’t sure how big it is because you can’t quite see the cave room floor, the little bit of sunlight trickling in from above quickly being swallowed up by shadow. Around you, intricately braided ropes of white stretch from wall to wall, forming a spindly basket of shapes and patterns that glisten like crystal shards.
It’s a web. A gigantic spiderweb.
All the warnings you’d been given about the humongous arachnids local to the area start flooding back to you. ‘Avoid the deeper parts of the forest,’ your neighbor had told you when you’d first been moving into your new cottage. ‘The underbrush is so dense, it makes the entrance to underground caves— spider holes, we call ‘em— almost invisible. If you’re not careful, you’ll fall right in!’
Internally you curse yourself for not heeding their advice. If you had listened more seriously to their rambling, maybe you’d have some idea of how to get out of this situation, but as it stands, you’re stuck. Which is not ideal.
You spend a few minutes attempting to tug yourself free, practically thrashing in your efforts, but the web holds you tight, merely bouncing back and forth with your movement. You go until you’re panting hard before finally relenting and relaxing again. It’s probably best to conserve your energy. You take a few minutes to catch your breath, feeling the web slowly return to its previous stillness beneath you.
And then it wobbles again.
You freeze. The dip you feel can only be caused by something very large and very heavy. Your eyes jump from shadowy crevice to shadowy crevice, searching frantically for whatever had just made its presence so purposefully known, and then your gaze flits upwards and your stomach drops.
Eight eyes, black and glittering, stare down at you from the dark. Despite not being able to see its full form, you can tell the spider is monstrously huge. It keeps itself hidden, tucked away from the sunbeam peaking in through the canopy. You’re frozen in place, both literally and figuratively. There is a long moment where nothing moves but the web, still swaying slightly under the spider’s weight, before something suddenly crawls out from the shadows beneath the giant arachnid. It takes a second for you to register what exactly it is.
Another spider: much, much smaller than the first, so small its presence doesn’t disturb the web at all. It creeps down towards you in graceful, careful strides, its movement slow, almost hesitant. You feel like you should be trying to get away from it, but instead you just watch, stiff as a board, as the little thing stops an inch from your face, its multiple tiny eyes surveying you with what seems like curiosity.
It shifts a bit closer, and you can almost picture it cocking its head to the side like a puppy. One minuscule leg reaches out, brushing against your cheek, so light it almost feels like the tip of a feather. You’re so baffled by the sensation that you don’t even realize the spider has moved until you register it crawling onto your head.
Your face screws up in discomfort and you go even more still, as though maybe if you just didn’t move, the spider would grow bored of you and scurry away. It doesn’t. You clench your fists tight as you feel it move from your hair, to your forehead, to your temple, down your cheek, under your chin…
Oh. That tickles.
Your expression scrunches for a very different reason now. The spider’s little legs slowly making their way across your throat feel like someone is brushing a miniature feather duster across your skin. You try very hard not to react, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your lips together in a stubborn attempt to supress the wobbly smile spreading across your face. It’ll move away from your neck eventually. You can handle this. It’s not that bad.
Something tiny and soft rubs up against your wrist and your eyes shoot open.
It seems you’d been so focused on that one baby spider’s actions, you’d failed to notice the arrival of many, many more, none of them larger than your fist, some of them smaller than a coin. They surround you almost completely, blinking at you with the same curiosity as their sibling. You and the army of little spiders stare at each other for a long second… and then you jolt when the one by your wrist begins to crawl up your arm, a handful of its brethren following suit.
The sensation of them on your forearm isn’t too horribly ticklish, but you can feel your sensitivity rising as their feathery feet move towards your shoulder. You squish your lips together in a tight line to try and fight off the inevitable as one spider meanders across your collarbone, another lingers in the crease of your elbow, another slips beneath your sleeve, and very quickly all your defenses collapse. Your upper body jerks, making the web twinge yet again, and the remaining spiders shift and scurry around you, drawn in by the sudden motion.
“Ah–– eehee––! Wait!” You squeak a little as more tiny tormentors start to close in. “W–– Wait! Wait!”
Your protests fall on deaf ears, the spiders seemingly only encouraged by the sound of your voice. One wiggles its way under the fabric of your tunic and you can feel it taking slow, exploratory steps across your lower stomach. When it reaches your naval, it stumbles, surprised by the sudden dip in terrain, its fuzzy leg falling into the depths of your bellybutton. This earns another squeak from you.
“Ack––! Get–– get out ohohof there–!”
You wiggle your hips in a fruitless attempt to dislodge the spider, and you can hear it softly clicking in distress as you do. Unfortunately this does little more than bring more of its concerned siblings beneath your shirt to investigate the commotion, their downy feather bodies brushing like teasing fingertips over the sensitive stretch of your tummy.
Crap, crap, crap. The little spiders aren’t stopping. They’re also not attacking you, or trying to eat you, which you suppose is a good thing, though it’s hard to appreciate your luck when you’re busy trying not to dissolve into helpless laughter. Your eyes frantically jump from side to side before landing on where the giant mama spider is still skulking in its shadowy corner. Its multitude of eyes haven’t left your squirming form for a single moment.
What is the purpose of this? Is this what giant arachnids are known for? Are they tenderizing you, preparing your body for consumption in some weird, horribly ticklish way? Or maybe they’re just genuinely curious about your warm squishy flesh and the way it writhes when touched. Your neighbor had spoken like people falling into spider holes was commonplace, but maybe they were exaggerating and this is the first time these creatures have ever seen a human. Gods, you wish you’d taken the time to learn more about the stupid magic forest surrounding your town. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t have—
“Aha–– eeheehee––!” Breathless laughter interrupts your thoughts. “Nn––nnnahahaha!”
One of the baby spiders moves up your side and your giggles jump as it softly crawls over your right ribcage. There are a lot of them on you now. Thankfully only a select few have figured out how to access the soft, sensitive skin beneath your clothes, but the ones that had are quickly proving to be your biggest concern, finding tickle spots even you were unaware of.
A particularly small spider nestles itself into your navel. When it reaches the bottom, it keeps crawling, trying to move deeper and supposedly very confused by the warm little tunnel ending so abruptly. The sensation makes you squeal and thrash. A separate but equally effective spider skitters around your ear, barely a whisper against the cartilage. The waistband of your trousers are— thank the gods— too tight for any of the little pests to wiggle past, but your relief at this quickly morphs into even gigglier distress as one of the ones by your left boot finds it way under your pant leg. You try your hardest to kick your feet in instinctive protest as you feel it crawl from your ankle, to your calf, to the back of your knee, where it seems to settle itself comfortably into that sensitive concavity.
“Ahaahaha! Oh–– Ohoho gohohods–– stop ihihit!”
Your voice pitches up into a squeaky hiccup. There’s so many of them and they’re everywhere, only a few precious stretches of your skin left untouched by the spiders’ ticklish skittering. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-encompassing, it feels like it will never end, and then, out of nowhere, all movement stops. The tiny creatures on your body come to an abrupt halt and everything around you stills.
Almost everything around you stills.
The web is wobbling yet again. It moves in deep, dipping shudders as something very large and very purposeful makes its way down towards your trapped, helpless form. You want to run; you want to tear yourself from the sticky prison encasing you and hightail it all the way back to your little cottage, but your limbs are too tired from squirming to even attempt an escape. You pant, skin prickling under the frozen touch of the baby spiders covering it, and wait for the inevitable with your eyes shut tight.
But the inevitable doesn’t come. A gargantuan shadow is cast behind your eyelids and you tense yourself in preparation for the sting of a bite, yet in place of white hot pain you instead feel a small, careful tug at your tunic. As your mind races to grapple with the lack of fangs sinking into you, the fabric of your blouse is gently but unceremoniously ripped open. Goosebumps erupt as the cool air of the cavern hits your torso and your eyes shoot open.
Those eight glittering eyes stare down at you, each one as large as your head with a color akin to polished obsidian, your own terrified face reflected back at you from within their inky black depths. The spider shifts its giant maw downwards, fangs speckled with saliva, inching closer and closer to your now very exposed and very vulnerable stomach.
I’m gonna die, you think. I’m going to get eaten by a giant spider and I’m gonna die. And I just paid off the mortgage on my stupid cottage.
Except the giant spider does not eat you. The feeling of its jaws pressing into your skin is not followed by white-hot pain; in fact you don’t think it even broke the skin. For a moment you’re completely baffled as to its motivation, the reason behind its apparent mercy, and then everything clicks into place when its mandibles twitch, gently tweaking the sensitive bit of tummy beneath your bellybutton.
“Wh–– wha––ahahAHA––!”
You can’t even properly react to the new stimulation before the various baby spiders dotting your body start to chirp and shift, almost vibrating with contentment, seemingly very happy that their mother is joining in on this new experimentation of theirs. You’re instantly overcome by squealing laughter as your trapped form is riddled once again with soft, quick, horribly ticklish sensations, now with the added torment of the giant spider’s gentle mandibles squeezing and pinching your stomach.
If the little spiders’ fuzzy bodies were akin to feather dusters, their mother’s rounded fangs are like deft, nimble fingers. It’s an absolutely torturous combination. You aren’t quite sure what tickles more: the ghosting of barely there plumage all over your skin or the pointed, concentrated teasing above your waistline, practically digging into your sensitive flesh.
“AhahAHAHA! St–– stohoHOHOP–– EEHEEP––!” Your noises hit their crescendo. The giant spider, silent and stoic in the face of your helpless hysterics, stares down at you as it pokes and prods and pinches endlessly. “I–– I cahahAHAHA–– I cahahan’t–– pleaHEEHEEHEASE––!!”
Every inch of you is thrashing against torturously ticklish touches both light and forceful; it’s all you can feel. Even the stickiness of the web entrapping you has long since faded into the background. In the deepest recesses of your mind you suppose you should probably still be worried about being eaten, but currently all you can think about is the sensation of little eight-legged menaces scurrying over your overly sensitive body and how their mother’s mandibles are so, so horribly effective at tickling that you almost wonder if they were designed specifically for tormenting you in this way.
Your vision blurs; your insides hurt from laughter. You aren’t quite sure where you are anymore. Is this your life now? Are the spiders going to tickle you until you pass out, or explode, or die? Any or all of those options feel equally likely with the way your brain is starting to melt, lost in the overwhelming experience of being utterly and completely overcome with tickles. You think you might not be able to take a single second more…..
And finally, finally, it stops.
It takes you a moment to realize the spiders are retreating. The feeling of them slipping off of you is so similar to the earlier tickling, you don’t notice your torment has been paused until suddenly your skin is a lot more bare than before. Your ears are ringing. All you can hear is your own ragged breath as you take in gulps of cool cavern air. When your eyelids crack open slightly, you just barely register the gigantic blurry shape of the mother spider and its hundreds of children backing away from your exhausted form. God, are you exhausted. You’ve never felt so tired in your life. You can’t fall asleep here, you absolutely should not fall asleep here, but despite your best efforts you can feel yourself slipping into the oh-so tempting arms of unconsciousness.
You wake up, much to your surprise, in the infirmary. As your village’s healer feeds you a foul-tasting concoction, you learn that apparently unsuspecting townsfolk falling into spider holes is a regular occurrence, even more so than your anxious neighbor had implied. It’s so regular, in fact, that there are nightly patrols of the forest and underground caves to check for any unfortunate victims. You want very much to ask if every person who finds themself stuck in a giant spider’s web winds up being tickled to tears, but you can’t quite force the words out. Perhaps you really were just particularly unlucky.
You decide to pointedly ignore the part of yourself–– the incredibly stupid, deeply embarrassing, morbidly curious part of yourself–– that kind of wants to go trekking back into the woods to see if the experience can be replicated. If only for the sake of science.
tickling is hottest when it’s silly to the point of being overindulgent. teasing that is insufferably sweet, where it feels like your mind is being filled with cotton candy. tickling machines painted with suns and rainbows and hearts, symbols of the unabashed joy and boundless mirth which befall those within their grasp. targeting of the most sensitive spots on the most bitter and reserved of souls, proving that no one is above the laws of flesh. not even the most absurd boundaries and penalties that the contract of the body has to offer.
the absurdity is its main selling point. the tooth-rottingly saccharine flavor profile of the humiliation it provides is unparalleled, and must be savored with every neuron. touch alone simply cannot do it justice.
Squirmles love to lick up sweat excreted from apocrine glands during a "feeding" session. This stress sweat is high in fatty acids and nutrients.
Sweat from tickling is also a natural human defense, intended to make skin more slippery to dislodge attackers like insects. Squirmles must keep their fuzzy grip to slither around, so they make sure to keep their prey clean.
