Requested

“Y-YEEouUCHHHHH—!”

The very CRACK was the unmistakable sound of Bluudud’s spine tapping out. The poor blue boy flinched crisscrossed applesauce— twisted, then writhed like a worm on sun-scorched asphalt. All you had done was apply your thumbs, gently, mind you..to his back, and suddenly he was screeching . He cast you a look of sheer betrayal, squinting through a scowl that clearly said, ”How dare you." Even if he was the one who established that you help him in placing his posture right

To be fair, perhaps your daily commentary on his tragic excuse for posture hadn’t helped your case. But come on, it was a legitimate concern. The kid wasn’t even a teenager yet and was already embracing a Notre Dame hunch like it was a personal lifestyle. His mother was worried. His fans taken to making jokes. And Bluudud had it. The final straw was probably when someone in chat called him “Quasi-bludo”

Still, despite his noble quest to sit like a functioning human being, the moment your hands approached his back, he shrieked like a banshee surprised by a cold shower. He tried(—bless him…) to sit upright, but ended up resembling a malfunctioning marionette as you began what could only be described as a very basic massage.

“OOUWWWIEE! Can’t you be gentler?!” Bluudud whined, his voice cracking as dramatically as his spine had mere seconds before.