#I have since covered the food holes in the lid with heavy objects

[warriormoustache]

Got my first shrimp goby pair last week and this is my impression of them so far.

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, Worthless, 10: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren’t touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren’t made from valuable materials and aren’t particularly useful even if they aren’t damaged.

A burlap bag containing a dozen assorted doorknobs.

A rather large and dead hairy spider that looks as if someone tried to make a wig out of it.

A small beige oilcloth sack embroidered neatly with the word ‘CHEESE.’ You can smell it from halfway across the room.

An expertly taxidermied rat with a built in candle holder capable of bearing a small tea candle. The mouse is posed as if scurrying

A lump of coal with runes carved into it.

A five pound pyrite (Fools gold) ingot.

A worn minotaur’s nose ring that has been bent and beaten back into shape many times.

A lacquered wooden coin engraved with the holy symbol of a minor God of Random Neutral Domain.

A smooth, flat, black river stone.

A small, tattered canvas sack containing a dozen half-rotted teeth that are as long as a thumb, but are decidedly identifiable as human.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A burlap bag containing a dozen assorted doorknobs.

A rather large and dead hairy spider that looks as if someone tried to make a wig out of it.

A small beige oilcloth sack embroidered neatly with the word ‘CHEESE.’ You can smell it from halfway across the room.

An expertly taxidermied rat with a built in candle holder capable of bearing a small tea candle. The mouse is posed as if scurrying

A lump of coal with runes carved into it.

A five pound pyrite (Fools gold) ingot.

A worn minotaur’s nose ring that has been bent and beaten back into shape many times.

A lacquered wooden coin engraved with the holy symbol of a minor God of Random Neutral Domain.

A smooth, flat, black river stone.

A small, tattered canvas sack containing a dozen half-rotted teeth that are as long as a thumb, but are decidedly identifiable as human.

A single feather hanging from a chain of slender twigs reminiscent of a bird’s nest.

A dull-red, cloth pouch filled with five pounds of finely ground, rust flakes.

A pair of minotaur horns, which were well used by their original owner.

A tangled mess of metal wires fused together with heat and attached to a wooden plaque. It may be a worthless mess of twisted scrap metal or a priceless piece of inspired artwork.

A heavily used hand cranked wood drill that creaks loudly when used.

A foggy hand mirror that when cleaned, immediately fogs back up.

A cracked and weathered hourglass that only has some sand remaining

A battered leather satchel filled with dried red beans.

A fishing hook that cannot be bent.

A large tin canister whose lid is crudely stamped with the word “JURKY”, which contains dozens of sticks of meat jerky. Any creature can clearly identify the jerky as “meat” but as to the exact animal the dried “food” came from, (If it is only from a single species of animal) is impossible to tell.

A battered stone shaped like a heart.

A child's wooden doll that makes whoever looks at it uncomfortable.

A cloth sack packed to the brim with cat fur.

A cloth sack packed to the brim with dog fur.

A flat, round, dark gray stone speckled with reddish flecks, and about six inches across.

A sewing thimble that, when poked by a needle, will roughly squeeze the bearer's thumb.

A small brass key.

A hand mirror with a horn handle. Instead of actually functioning correctly, the mirror reflects all creature's image as a specific bald human of unknown origin.

A very roughly drawn map of the surrounding area. A knowledgeable creature is able to tell that the map is not to scale and is barely useable for actual navigation.

A spindly iron key.

A chipped nautilus shell.

A moth eaten, gray velvet clutch purse.

A fairly convincing but ultimately inaccurate map, with a single red dot marking “You are here���.

An old scratched up lyre, strung with well-worn cat gut strings.

A Random Humanoid Race’s rotting, severed head.

A crudely made staff topped by a small skull.

An uneven, gnarled length of wood from a grotesque tree.

An old and cracked velum scroll whose script has been rendered illegible by the ravages of time.

A simple, springy rod made of twisting vines and twigs.

A rotting wooden goblet filled with a festering brew of pus, blood, wriggling maggots and worms that spill from the froth on the liquid's surface.

A dusty old pair of half-moon glasses of such a strong prescription that they are unwearable for most creatures.

A cracked glass jar containing a crudely removed bear claw.

A poorly embroidered handkerchief with the words “I love you dad” crudely stitched into it.

A red, child sized, fuzzy blanket that smells of mold and mildew.

A desiccated hoof that once belonged to a large, male elk.

A simple dusty scroll has no marking, seal nor text on it. By all appearances, it is a standard sheet of writing material that is bound by a single hemp thread.

A stone jar of filled with acid. The jar's lid is badly fitting, and the acid bubbles and froths as it moves. The object's sole markings are a skull symbol resting overtop of a warning written in Dwarvish.

A bedroll that is covered in a large, dark stain, but is in otherwise fair condition.

A set of crude fishing supplies, including a box of maggots, several bent hooks and a ten foot length of wire.

A set of clothes, appearing halfling in size and design. They appear partially burnt and have a large, black stain on the chest.

A primitive woolen bag filled with bones.

A rough bag full of leaves and stems of an unknown plant.

A crude animal cage. Inside there are two dead rats a dead bat and a large number of healthy maggots feeding on the aforementioned corpses.  

A badly water damaged book whose pages cannot be read.

A set of badly maintained scientific instruments, including a compass, measuring rods, quills and ink. With some repair, they could form a cartographer's toolkit.

A humanoid skull that has been cleaned and bleached white. It has a large, drilled hole in the center of the crown and several abyssal symbols are crudely carved into the temples.

A long clock hand of dark metal, the end raggedly pointed and stained with old blood.

A dusty glass bottle that still holds a few drops of viscous red liquid.

A page torn from a hymnal book dedicated to a god of war.

A clay tablet with indecipherable symbols.

A padlock that any key can open.

A bundle of crumpled papers, each having a partially completed love poem on them. Most of the words are scribbled out and are illegible, but the intended recipient appears to be a woman by the name of Neurelia.

The skull of a bird with an iron nail driven through it.

A crude wooden mask featuring a head crest of branches. The entirety of the mask is scorched wood and it smells like charcoal.

A beaten crate filled with rotted children’s clothing and old toys.

An alligator skull that reeks of sulfur and bog water. The druidic rune for “Preserve” is carved into the forehead.

A stone statue of a goblin, paper-thin and hollow. If the statue is broken, goblin bones tumble out.

A rusty dagger with a blade that is wildly unsuited for any sort of cutting whatsoever. Dangling from the pommel-nut is a leather thong strung with teeth and walnut shells.

A latticed or deformed stone that's possibly a meteorite

A malformed doll with a strange leer that wears a sackcloth dress.

A stitched up bear composed of multiple parts from different teddy bears.

A lady’s brush, elegantly carved of ivory with boar bristle. The ivory is stained and cracked, and many of the bristles are missing.

A hefty book full of notes written by many authors and inserted pages from other books. There are bite marks and slashes on the covers and some dirt might slip from between the pages when shaken.

A wizard's spellbook that was enchanted to repel liquids. Unfortunately, the enchantment is so strong that the pages cannot be written on rendering it completely unusable.

A reasonably shiny pebble.

A plank of wood whose knots and grain, crudely (At best) depict a lesser known deity of Random Domain.

A corroded metal cylinder bearing forbidden writing. The runic script bears little coherence, appearing like mad ramblings about the things beyond.

A set of brass lockpicks that couldn't possibly fit into any known style of lock.

A sheaf of poorly rendered sketches made by children.

A torn flag of an ancient city long since fallen into ruin.

A dissected and flayed corpse of a tiny fey creature.

A syringe with a squared-off crystal barrel. The plunger, flange, and needle hardware are nickel alloy ornately etched in twining, serpentine coils. Though it has no needle, and the plunger no longer seals, it is finely made, given its age.

A rotting quarterstaff made of oak wood. The staff has grips wrapped in slimy brown ape skin.

An old pair of trousers that are almost entirely made of patches and stitches, having been kept in service long past their time.

A crooked rod of dark wood with a possum skull lashed to the top.

An antique sword, rusted to its mildewy scabbard.

A length of heavy rusty chain, entangled in an impossible knot.

A thick waxy candle the colour of sickly pallid skin. When burned, the smoky odor of roasting ghoulflesh fills the room, ideal for setting the mood for foul necromantic rituals, preparing volunteers for human sacrifice, and all manner of depraved acts involving corpses.

A large bird's nest that has human finger bones woven into it.

A thick shirt of coarse brown horsehair.

A small leather pouch containing a double handful of seemingly fresh tree nuts, still in their shells.

An ugly gray wine skin, heavier than it looks, sloshes and gurgles in response to any movement.

A large, cast pewter vial containing a quantity of strangely textured sand. It clumps and sticks in a single doughy mass.

A piece of parchment bearing an unusual symbol drawn in iridescent green ink.

A long and tangled piece of twine with tiny brass bells knotted into it every few feet.

A dingy, brown leather collar with a sea serpent branded along its length is stuck on a jagged piece of splintered wood.

An intricate and spiky ball of cat and rat whiskers.

A heavy shot glass with a cat's face carved into the bottom.

A copper coin with a small hole drilled at the top and attached to a long length of fishing line.

A small, stained sack with a crudely painted figure of a halfling on the side. Opening the sack releases an odour that invokes tears and gagging to those nearby. The sack itself contains a number of crude items designed to disguise a goblin as a halfling. Laying the kit’s inventory out on the ground, you assess its value as a tool for subterfuge and determine a figure of zero. The wig leaves an odor of wet dog on your hands. The goblin disguise kit contains the following items: a chopped and damp wig made from worg fur, flesh-toned paste that burns when applied, a set of incomprehensibly disgusting false teeth, a canvas tunic with a poorly painted “shirt front,” and a pair of greasy gloves.

[ruckystarnes]

Author: RuckyStarnes

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff/Bucky Barnes (Black Starbucks/Righteous Assassins)

Warnings: swearing, probably plot holes, restraints, teasing, oral, vaginal and anal, cum cleaning, dirty talk, it’s just 100% filth

Words: 2,408

Square Filled/Daily Challenge/Prompt: G5 - ties / Feb 18 - Going into Battle/side by side

Written for/Dedicated to: @mcukinkbingo kink bingo / @captain-rogers-beard Love all Marvel Ships

Summary: Steve, Bucky, and Natasha prepare to retrieve an object of the occult which ends up Steve pulling a stunt that has Bucky upset and Natasha tries to ease the tension on the flight home.

A/N: My kink bingo square was ties, but i am bending it a bit by using zip ties. I know, it’s not even that gray LOL Also, this is my first time with a threesome so I feel like I had a hard time with pronoun usage

“Red line, check?” Steve spoke softly to his wrist, eyes moving along the paper that he held in his other hand.

“Doll, you’re always going to be Red. Steve’s always Blue. I’m always Black. It’s how it works.”

“I find it ridiculous that I have to be Red,” Natasha replied through the earpiece in his ear and he heard Bucky next.

“Shut it, Barnes,” Natasha snapped. Steve could hear something being thrown across the small space of the Quinjet and Bucky’s protest of being hit with one of Natasha’s disks. “You liked it, so stop your bitchin’. You couldn’t have prevented it from every touching your body.”

“Guys, c’mon,” Steve started, exasperation heavy in his tone as he looked up at his two teammates. “Listen, you two can fuck each other once we take care of this base and retrieve the spear. Alright? Just...wait until we get back before you do that? And preferably at Natasha’s place.”

“Aw, what’s the matter Steve? Jealous because I can get some?” Bucky smirked, tossing the now discharged disk at the blond, the laughter reaching his eyes. “Or are you just upset that we ended and Nat and I are a thing now?”

“James,” Natasha chided, her brow creasing as she glared at the brunet before giving Steve a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry Steve, I’ll make sure he gets punished when we get back.” That line was enough to make Bucky gulp, which made Steve amused.

“I might like to witness that,” Steve teased his friend, sending a wink towards Natasha. “But right now, we need to focus on what we are going to do. Intel isn’t as strong as the others, but we all know what the spear can do, so no one touch it. We don’t want shit to happen that could possibly change the present or alter influences. It’ll be the forties all over again.” Both nodded their agreement as they each assessed their weapons. Steve avoided looking at them, pushing thoughts from his head as he readied himself for this mission. It wasn’t that it was a rare occurrence that they had to recover occult objects, but this was for level seven or above clearance, something he had to fight Fury and Hill over on giving Bucky.

The AI called through the plane that they were approaching the drop zone and Bucky shoved a pack into Steve’s chest. “Wear it or you’ll be the one that will be punished, punk,” he griped, pulling the straps tight on his own pack. “I take it that you, Nat, than I?” Steve nodded as he reluctantly put the pack on, eyes shifting to his friend occasionally.

***

“That was reckless as it can get Rogers!” Bucky yelled, tossing his vest onto the bench, hair hanging in his face as he bent down to assess his leg. Thankfully the bullet grazed his thigh, making things much easier to deal with once he ripped into Steve more. “Ever since you took that shield up you have threw caution to the wind and care very little for your own well being. Have you ever thought about the ones who care about you? What we might possibly feel if you ended up fucking dead?”

“James, please,” Natasha hushed, her hand moving to undo the closure at Steve’s neck to assess the damage near his neck and shoulder. “Well, thankfully it’s just a flesh wound. James, through me the butterfly bandages.” She caught the white box effortlessly, ignoring Steve’s remarks of being alright. “You know, we’ve known each other for over a decade now Rogers, you don’t need to act like you have to take care of everything. Including yourself. Just let us.” There was something in her eyes that held double meaning and with a look at Bucky he knew it was meant the way she said it.

“Let’s just get this back to SHIELD before an accident happens,” he forced out, moving away from the redhead the moment she was done applying the bandages. He needed a shower, food, and sleep. “I don’t need to be looked after.”

“Says the punk who got himself into fights with dozen of guys who were twice, sometimes thrice, his size,” Bucky scoffed, “and I needed to keep them from killing you.”

“Things were different then,” Steve interjected, heat in his words, “I’m not 90 pounds of skin and bones anymore.”

“And you’re not Logan!” Bucky hollered, “Dammit, he would be saying the same shit that I am right now. Do you know how fucking hard ---”

Natasha’s hand rested on Bucky’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear which changed his demeanor to be soft and quiet, only something she was able to do for him. “Steve, you know I don’t like challenging you, but you’re wrong on so many levels.” Her hand went to his chest, pressing slightly into him as she walked towards him, forcing him to walk backwards. His knees hit the bench, forcing him to sit to put distance between them. He had only seen this look on her when Bucky was out of line, and, because of Bucky, Steve knew what that look meant.

“Best not to argue with her Steve,” Bucky said softly, sitting next to him, handing Natasha a handful of zipties. “Use спор at any time, but I hope you will let us take care of you, like how I did back then.” Bucky’s hand squeezed Steve’s thigh, fingers inching upwards and Steve could barely tear his gaze off of the hand, but the delicate fingers that worked the closures of his uniform distracted him only slightly.

“Guys, I’m ---”

“Don’t you dare say fine, Steve,” Natasha warned, her long fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his arm up and had Bucky assist in securing his wrist in a zip tie against the hand bar above. “You know, we’ve talked about having you join us for a while now. Frustrations have risen to a point where we found it was time for us to show you that people do care about you Steve. Love you even.” His other hand joined in being zip tied to the hand bar, and it was then he realized between the two of them, Bucky and Natasha had managed to get him out the top half of his uniform. He was hyper aware of each of them, his breathing was still regular but had increased due to closeness of Bucky to his right and Natasha practically straddling his thigh.

“Relax, Steve,” Bucky whispered against Steve’s neck, his flesh hand moving to cup his face, pressing his lips to Steve’s pulse, sucking a mark. Natasha was combing her fingers through Bucky’s messy brown locks as she watching her boyfriend mark Steve. There was a moment where Steve closed his eyes, giving in to the touches, which caused him to moan softly.

“I think he’s finally accepting,” Natasha smirked, leaning in to place a feather light kiss to Steve’s lips, coaxing him to return it by running her nails over his scalp. Each of them knew that Steve could easily break the zip ties if he wanted, but the straining he did was showing his control and his submission to both of them. He leaned in to deepen the kiss with Natasha only for her to pull back with a smirk, clucking her tongue as she wagged her finger.

“Oh no, Rogers. We get to call the shots unless you safe word out.”

Bucky smirked himself before nipping Steve’s earlobe, metal hand squeezing his upper thigh. “Just relax, punk,” he muttered, both hands now working at the closure of Steve’s pants, pulling his friend out to hold his heavy length in his hand and started slow, deliberate strokes to the growing length. “Моя любовь хочет попробовать первым?” he asked Natasha who licked her lips and nodded, moving to kneel in front of Steve as she pushed his legs apart to settle between them. Bucky wrapped his forefinger and thumb around the base of Steve, who was now hard and panting as he watched his closest friends work him. Natasha’s mouth was sinfully talented, working him just as well as Bucky use to, even swirling her tongue around the underside of him that made him moan animalistically. She released him with an soft ‘pop’, smiling at him through her lashes.

“You were right Bucky, he does love that tongue thing,” she quipped, her fingers moving to fondle Steve as Bucky took over stroking Steve’s shaft, bringing in Natasha for a kiss.

There was something about the two of them being on the same wavelength because a word was never spoken and they moved as they knew what was expected. Bucky’s hand left Steve only for Natasha to take over, her lips once again wrapping around his cock, working him slowly. Steve watching through heavy lidded eyes as Bucky worked to undo the buckle at his pants, pushing them down, taking Natasha’s free hand and guiding it towards his own turgid length before capturing Steve’s lips in a heated kiss. It has been ages since the two of them had shared such an intimate moment, but having Natasha there made it much hotter, something that had both men moaning into each other’s mouths.

“Fuck,” Steve growled against Bucky’s lips as Natasha took him all the way, her nose buried against the golden curls of Steve’s treasure trail, her free hand moving along her chest, pulling down the zipper to release the compression hold on her lace covered breasts. Steve pulled on the restraints, the need to actually touch was growing, but Bucky moved his metal hand to his, wrapping the strong digits around both wrists and held.

“Not yet,” Bucky breathed, flesh finger trailing over Steve’s collarbone before moving to circle around one of his nipples, pinching harshly, “I wanna see my little блядь suck you off. You know, she loves it when you cum on her. I would love to see you cum on her tits before I bury my cock in her and watch her finger you until you weep.” His words made Steve cuss, warning about his release, which made Natasha pull off him harshly and start to work both of them furiously with her hands, shaking her hair behind her as she looked up at the two men with a slight devilish smile.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, shifting to straddle Steve’s foot and proceeded to grind down onto his boot for her own pleasure. The sight alone was enough for Bucky to give in first, cumming with a growl as Natasha directed it all over her chest, grinding harder down onto Steve’s boot. She looked at Steve with earnest eyes, her cheeks starting to flush with her own growing need as she silently begged him to mark her as well which he complied with a grunt of his own, covering her chest even more with his hot, sticky seed. Bucky had pulled her up the moment his friend finished, stripping the redhead of her catsuit and buried himself into her from behind before walking them forward so Steve could be close enough, and released Natasha’s breast by snapping the bra off and reaching up to break the zip ties.

“Clean her tits,” Bucky growled, his hips slamming into his girl as his friend obliged, tongue moving slowly over each cooling, thick ribbon that painted her chest. Steve moved his hands to cup Natasha’s breasts, occasionally sucking and nipping her nipples before cleaning more of the cum off of her. Once he had Natasha clean, her hand moved to Steve’s shoulder for balance as she leaned forward. Her hand moved between her legs to gather some of her wetness, biting back a moan as Bucky fucked her relentlessly, before sliding her fingers behind Steve’s balls and began to finger the tight entrance, slipping her middle finger in after a few moments.

“Shit, Nat,” Bucky panted, “should see his face. He loves it. You want me to fuck your ass Steve? Like old times? Maybe clean Nat’s pussy too?” His hand reached over to grip Steve’s hair, pulling him in for a heated kiss, hips stalling so he could taste the two of them on his ex’s tongue. “You look wrecked and it’s only Nat’s fingers,” Bucky moaned when he pulled back, his hips resuming their brutal pace until he was spilling inside Natasha.

Bodies shifted, Steve followed through with what he was told to do, his hands holding Natasha open for him as his tongue lapped at her folds, delving into her cum filled heat as he felt Bucky spit on his ass before pushing a finger into him, making Steve moan into Natasha. He chanced a look at her, his cock twitching at the sight of her playing with her breasts: pinching, pulling, and twister her nipples as her hips gyrated against his mouth, filthy Russian pouring from her lips.

“He does look pretty, doesn’t he,” Bucky chuckled as he removed his fingers, making Steve stop to look over his shoulder with a slight smile before he continued to work at Natasha’s core, moaning when Bucky pushed his rigid cock into his ass. The pace was slow and agonizing causing Steve to momentarily stop his licking, forehead pressed into Natasha’s thigh. Unlike with Natasha, Bucky kept his pace slow, knowing it has been a long time since his friend and he have been together. Natasha took the moment to sit up, her fingers going through Steve’s hair as she watching her boyfriend bury himself repeatedly into the blond.

“Steve,” she eased, her finger finding Steve’s chin to make him look at her, “does it feel good to have him buried inside you again?” She had reached under him to take him in her hand, stroking him to match the pace Bucky had set. Steve nodded as his second orgasm reached him as he felt Bucky spill into him.

They were a tangled mess of limbs for several minutes after, each of them had arms wrapped around Steve, Bucky smoothing Steve’s hair, placing kisses along his temple and forehead.

“You get what we were saying?” Natasha asked softly, her finger tracing the dips of his abs.

“Yeah,” Steve breathe, his eyes closing as he smiled and relished in the comfort.

“Just so you know, you are more than welcome to join us anytime,” Bucky sighed, hand reaching for Steve’s, Natasha covering his with hers.

[sterling-starlight]

Chapter 12: Low Tide

His internal clock always woke him up before his actual physical alarm did.  It took Ingo a few moments of staring blearily up at the ceiling, however, to remember that his alarm wouldn’t shriek at him this morning because it was the weekend.  There weren’t any battles scheduled, which meant that he could sleep well into the afternoon if he so desired.  Not that he ever did, since that would throw his entire  circadian rhythm off balance and make the next work week miserable. But still. He could.    Ingo settled back underneath the duvet with a small sigh, resolving to get at least one more hour of sleep in before he began his day properly. He tightened his grip around the soft, cool object at his side and began drifting off again. Whatever it was, it had allowed him to get the best sleep he had had since…

Hold a moment. Wait. Stop.

Suddenly (unfortunately) awake, Ingo’s eyes darted to his left side. The first thing he saw was the wild mane of White’s hair, freed from its usual ponytail and allowed go anywhere and everywhere it pleased.  She had one arm draped over his stomach to keep him in place, while the other gripped her pelt. Now that he was up close, he couldn’t help but realize how… unnerving her pelt was up close. Every part of his mind told him that seeing her like this,  with her pelt undisguised and vulnerable, was unnatural.  And yet, despite looking like she had wrapped herself in the skin of a freshly killed Dewgong, White looked peaceful. Far more peaceful than the way he’d found her last night, huddled outside his bedroom door like a frightened child.  He reached out and brushed some hair from her face, before drawing his hand back like it had been burned.  He covered his face with his hand and turned his head away.  Sweet Arceus, he really was deep in the hole, wasn’t he? It was bad enough that he had almost kissed her in a moment of weakness.  He could almost see to miniature versions of himself in his mind’s eye. One of them, the logical one, was trying to rationalize his growing affections and figure out a plan to not chase White away. The other one was cackling like a madman, setting Logical’s carefully crafted plans on fire, and urging him to just kiss her and be done with it.  

White stirred at his side and groaned. Clearly she had no inhibitions about waking up in the same bed with someone else. On the contrary, this seemed to be completely normal to her. She pushed herself up, rubbed one of her eyes with her hands, and then flopped  herself across Ingo’s chest.  

“White-“ He began, somewhat strangled. She pushed herself up, half-lidded eyes meeting his, before she muttered something he wasn’t even sure was English and pressed their noses together. And then, as if nothing happened, she laid back down with a heavy, contented sigh and tucked her head under his chin.  She looked completely at peace. Ingo, in sharp contrast, felt his cheeks burn like he had a fever. His heart threatened to kick its way out of his chest, and he swallowed thickly.  As much as he wanted to just stay in bed all day with her, he was completely awake now. Sleep was no longer an option. He steeled himself and spoke again. “White,” his voice was louder and firmer, and it seemed to finally cause her to stir awake.

“Gnnnnnnaaaah?” Was the response he got. A deep sound from the back of her throat that sounded more animalistic than human. She muttered something into the crook of his neck. A series of grunts and guttural sounds that didn’t sound right coming from human vocal chords. Slowly, White realized she wasn’t speaking English and sluggishly corrected herself. “Early,” she croaked.

“Be the that as it may, I need to get up.”

“Why?”

Truthfully, he didn’t have a reason. He was certain he would come up with one once he was fully awake and thinking like a functioning person. “I have chores to do,” he supplied smoothly. 

White wasn’t happy, but she relented eventually and rolled off him, taking most of the blankets along with her.  Ingo murmured his thanks and hauled himself off his bed. He plucked White’s Seel plush off the floor (it must have fallen during the night), and  placed it next to the roll of blankets his guest had wrapped herself in. 

——————

Ingo stumbled into the living area to find a hand written note from Emmet cheerfully wishing a good morning/afternoon/whenever, and informing Ingo that their Pokémon had all already been fed and taken out to stretch and do their business. It continued:  Emmet had gone out to meet Elesa before her photo shoot, and wouldn’t be back home until late, probably. 

“Have a good day~ <3 

Love, Emmet. 

P.S. Mahogany is still grumpy and wouldn’t let me brush her.” The note concluded. 

Ingo smilled and rolled his eyes when he noticed the arrow pointed to Mahogany’s Pokeball with “rude!!” Written in uppercase letters. He grabbed the Pokeball, the grooming supplies from under the sink, and released Mahogony in the living room.

His Excadrill shook herself out, stretched and yawned widely, being mindful of her claws so they wouldn’t snag on the rug. She sniffed at the couch and very, very loudly made her displeasure at the unknown scent known. She squeaked indignantly at Ingo as he approached, staring up at him like he had done some horrendous act against her in particular. 

“Yes, she’s still here,” Ingo said plainly. It was odd that he had never noticed it before, but Mahogany had been even more antsy ever since White became a frequent visitor. Did White smell like a Dewgong to  her? Were ground types naturally distrusting to whatever scent water types had due to the type disadvantage? Definitely something to think about some other time.  He clicked his tongue and sat down on the floor, grooming supplies at his side. Reluctantly,  Mahogany plodded over to him and nestled into Ingo’s lap for her morning pampering. 

There was something therapeutic about grooming Pokémon. In another lifetime,  he may have forgone competitive battling all together in favor of grooming. Competitive battling had a much more lucrative pay, however, which was preferable for two boys who barely had enough money for food.  Maybe when Ingo retired, he’d pursue that old pipe dream. For now, he had to focus on not cutting himself on the Excadrill’s blades.

Some time later, long enough for Ingo to put a new pot of coffee on while he finished polishing Mahogany’s blades, White padded into the room. “Behave,” Ingo told his Pokémon firmly as she growled in White’s direction.  He wiped away the residual polish before packing everything back into the grooming kit.  There was a second growl, deep and guttural, that came from White’s general direction and Ingo pinched the bridge of his nose. “That goes for you, too.”

“She started it,” White said indignantly. 

“Yes, well. I am ending it,” Ingo said resolutely. He patted Mahogany’s head comfortingly and, not wanting the two of them to get into a spat of some kind the second he turned his back, returned her to her Pokeball.  He could practically feel Mahogany’s annoyance and perceived betrayal emitting from the capsule, and knew he would have to earn her affection back with treats the next time he let her out.  

White huffed and muttered something that sounded vaguely like “stupid dirt rat”, and kicked at the floor.  It partially confirmed his theory that water and ground types seemed to naturally be antagonistic towards each other. A useful little nugget of knowledge that Ingo could, perhaps, store away for another time.   “Would you like breakfast?” He called as he walked back into the kitchen to return the grooming kit to it’s rightful place. “We have coffee as well, if you would like some.”

White approached the counter and leaned over it, sniffing the air in the kitchen curiously. Her nose crinkled in distaste and she recoiled as if the scent had purposely offended her. “Is that what that smell is? Ugh, No. Tea please.” She had asked the question like she had done so for years and years, rather than what was, most likely, a little more than a week of actually spending time with Ingo and Emmet in their home. Her revived familiarity and comfort made Ingo’s chest warm and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. 

White wandered into the kitchen as the electric kettle was heating water for tea up, following Ingo around like a lost Lillipup and staring the supposed marvel of preparing a simple breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs. 

“Have you never watched anyone cook?” He asked as he nudged White away from the frying pan of eggs as she tried to, once again, sniff them. 

“In the wild, we eat our food as nature intended; raw.” She replied proudly, straightening up and tugging her skin tighter around her shoulders.  “Nothing at all like... whatever that is.” She pointed a finger at the sizzling mass egg dismissively. “At the shelter though,” she continued, “they serve us soup and veggies and crackers. We get fish and meat sometimes, but only on special days.” 

Ingo hummed in response. Sad as it was, it did make sense that a homeless shelter couldn’t afford to give their tenants anything other than what would sustain them. It ran entirely on the good will of people, and there were some who didn’t have any to spare. “I’ve tried to bring some fish back, but Eva keeps on telling me it’s unsa-...unsana...Unnnnnnn-”

“Unsanitary?”

“Yeah, that!” 

Into took the pan off the heat and separated the eggs onto two plates, ushering White aside so he could set the table and not get steaming hot egg on either one of them. “And I asked her: ‘What’s unsaans -tsk, that word you said- about fresh caught Basculin? They’re tasty and good for your skin!” She stroked her pelt lovingly to accentuate the soft gleam it had to it. “But she still told me to stop.” She finished her rant with a pout as Ingo set his and her plates on opposite sides of the table. It was a futile attempt, because just as quickly she slid hers as close as possible and occupied that chair. 

“She feared parasites, maybe?” Ingo suggested as he pulled a mug and a lemon tea bag down from the wall-mounted shelf above the counter. He paused, contemplative, before continuing cautiously. “Am I correct in assuming that, even in your human form, your digestive system is the same as when you’re a Dewgong?”

“Kiiiiinda..?” White replied. “When we shift, our guts have to be moved around so they fit our human bodies. It takes a while before we can eat anything in big amounts. We get used to it though, if we eat our normal diet.”

“Does it hurt?” He continued, placing White’s steaming mug of tea in front of her. “Shifting?”  The question left his mouth before he could fully process it, and he fought back the urge to clasp a hand over it for asking such an intrusive and rude question.  He was about to apologize for his brashness but noticed that, rather than insulted or disgusted, White’s eyes were shining with joy. Slowly a smile split her face and she began bouncing excitedly in her chair. 

“More painful than you can imagine,” she replied a touch too cheerfully for such an admission. “It feels like your skin is peeling off, and your bones are breaking and fixing themselves into a human shape -you guys have weird shapes, by the way- and our guts have to move around because -Sweet Kyogre! We’re human now! And-” White paused when she noticed Ingo’s increasingly horrified expression as she continued her explanation.  “...What?”

“Why would you do that,” He muttered, aghast. “Mutilate yourself yourself?”

“That’s only the first few times!” She amended quickly, “after a few times, it doesn’t hurt at all.”  Ingo sighed in relief as White, sheepishly, began smashing her eggs even further with the blunt of her fork. 

“...That raises another question,” he began. He took a bite of his food and sipped his coffee to steel himself before continuing. “Why did Selkies come on land in the first place? In the stories I’ve read-”

“-You read stories about me?” White chirped, grin returning. 

“-I’ve read stories about your...” Ingo cleared his throat, “about Selkies. There are some consistencies; some stories you come ashore to seduce dissatisfied men and women,” 

White scoffed and smushed her eggs even further. before tepidly taking a bite.

“Others say that you are called to the shore by distressed widows and give them comfort and love.”

No response but she sound of her being more bold with this new and interesting food. 

“There are others...” Ingo paused again and took a breath through his nose. “That claim that you are fallen angels. Betrayers of Arceus’ holy decree and condemned to a life among mortals.” 

White stifled a cough, then shamelessly hacked out some chunks of egg onto her almost completely clean plate.  She gulped her tea, thankfully avoiding swallowing the teabag, before she she composed herself. 

Her reaction made Ingo’s shoulders stiffen. Based on her reaction, was that the truth? Was she -and others like her- divine creatures who had been cast from grace for some sin so atrocious that even Arceus, in their never-ending benevolence, abandoned them?  

Echoes of the sermons he and Emmet had been forced to attend when they were children echoed in the back of his mind. Herald Matthew, with a voice that beckoned all of Celestic Town to listen, detailing the damnation and absolute nothingness that awaited those who sinned against The First Born.  The cold sharpness when he had told Ingo, naught but a terrified eight year old, that his parents were in prison and his little brother was plagued with seizures and nightmares because Arceus was cursing his family for aiding in Team Galactic’s heresy.... 

“-go? Ingo?” White’s alarmed voice and her hand patting against his cheek thankfully brought him back from whatever dark place his mind had decided to drag him off to. He blinked and, cheeks suddenly flaming red, realized just how close White’s face was to his. The tips of their noses touching. He could feel her breath on his face. 

“Just a little more and you’d be kissing her,” The illogical side of his mind from earlier that morning whispered giddily. “Just a little taste. You know you want to~” 

“I’m fine,” Ingo said with a chocked voice. He licked his lips, breathing in through his nose, counted to ten, then exhaled through his mouth. “I’m fine,” he repeated more confidently.  “Your reaction just.. caught me off guard.”

White frowned, several emotions flashing across her face before she pulled away and began twisting a lock of hair around her fingers. Her breathing came out in ghostly white puffs as she trained her eyes on her feet. 

“They got it wrong...” She hissed in a voice barely above a whisper. “The humans from when my mother’s, mother’s, mother was alive. “Aoife didn’t know what would happen. And the humans... the humans.” Ice sprang up from her fingertips I as she muttered the last two words like they were a wretched, disgusting curse. When Ingo noticed that ice was also creeping up her legs.  Slowly and carefully, so carefully, like she would shatter like the ice she was creating if he so much as grazed her,  reached out and touched a hand to her shoulder. Even through the thick fur of her pelt, she felt almost dangerously cold. Like if he maintained this contact for too long, she would freeze him.  White sucked in a breath through her teeth at the contact, eyes flashing frigidly blue for a fraction before slowly melting into the deep blue that Ingo knew so well. 

“I apologize,” Ingo said evenly.  White shook her head and clasped a hand over his.

“What for? You didn’t know. How could you? That story is hundreds of years old and humans back then... didn’t like anything that wasn’t entirely human. So we’re told.”  White smiled reassuringly at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes or her voice.  “Humans now are different. You’re different.” There was something hidden in the way White emphasized ‘you’re’. Something hiding underneath a thin veil that Ingo could see if he wasn’t such a Gods damned coward. 

“I-I mean... you’re understanding ...and stuff...” White finished lamely. She kicked at the ice at her feet and sighed. “I’ll clean this up.” She stepped out of the ice she had created with a sharp crack and kneeled down beside it. Her eyes narrowed in concentration and her hands trembled slightly as she hovered her hands above the ice. She gave out a long exhale and Ingo watched, transfixed, as the ice melted, gathered into a glowing sphere of water that hovered at least two inches above the ground and, in a flash, refroze and fell harmlessly into White’s awaiting hands. A large crack cut through the sphere from the sudden and drastic change in temperature, but remained in one piece. “It’s harder to do that as a human,” White informed tepidly. She gave Ingo a sheepish, lukewarm smile before walking over to harmlessly deposit the ice in the sink. 

Ingo knew that he should’t have been surprised. Despite all appearances to the contrary, White wasn’t a human.  The real her -no, no that wasn’t right. White was always the “real” White- the her that she had been born as was a water and ice type. A Dewgong who could probably drown a man with a thought if she so desired. 

Ingo took another bite of his eggs, swallowing heavily when he felt how cold they were on his tongue. As if he needed more cold to add to the growing feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

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Previous chapter (Comic) is here! http://gcqaiumi.tumblr.com/post/177666287385