#muzzle wisp

[raccoonbug]

These kids were filthy, Eggman swears.

Sonic was easy enough to care for. Quills we’re easy to manage, and with such short fur, knots brushed out easily.

Tails, though?

It drove Eggman crazy. At first, he’d wanted to leave the kit alone, to allow his youngest the chance to manage his fur himself. At this point, though, it was getting ridiculous. Long gold fur tangled horrifically, with the white wisps along his muzzle slowly looking more like a birds nest was glued to his face. Honestly, it’s a miracle the boy hadn’t started matting!

Thankfully, Robotnik had purchased a brush for just this situation.

That’s how they’d gotten here. Tails sat perched in the man’s lap, fiddling anxiously with his namesakes. Eggman was poised behind him with a detangling brush made for the fox’s fur.

“You’ll be fine, my boy.” Eggman reassured, giving the kit a soft pat on the head. “I’ll be careful not to pull, and you’ll feel much better once I’m done.”

Tails nodded, but stayed quiet. The only person who’d ever brushed him before was Sonic, and the hoglet didn’t ever do things like this thoroughly. Besides, helping with fur was usually meant for families.

Did Eggy see them as family?

The thought made the kit happy. Finally having a whole family set tiny fireworks off in the boys heart. Meeting Sonic, his brother in all but blood, had done much the same.

At the same, though, he felt nervous. Did Eggman truly see them as family? Or was this a was to make the boys less of a hassle while they lived here? Was this permanent? Would Eggman cast him aside, too? Would the doctor leave him all alone, just as his parents had four years ago?

Before he could continue spiraling, Eggman’s brush made contact with his fur. The man was as gentle as he could be, brush peeling knots out of fur like a peeler did skin off of vegetables. Gloved hands tug-tug-tugged at particularly stubborn knots, each time met with a soft whine. This sound was answered with soft hushing, and careful hands soothing the area, before the brushing continued

For Eggman, it was almost hypnotic. A soothing, repetitive motion to calm his usually racing thoughts. Privately, he thought it felt nice, being able to care for someone who meant so much to him. Not like the scientist would ever admit to the parental feelings blossoming in his chest like flowers in the sunlight.

On Tails’ end, the brushing was a bit irritating at first. The tugging hurt, even if it was only a little, and he didn’t like staying still so long. He wanted the doctor to hurry up, to get this over with so the six year old could get up and go play.

Then the humming started.

Soft melodies drifted into the kit’s ears. He couldn’t place the tune, but it soothed his fraying nerves. Tails could feel Eggman’s chest rumble with the soft sound, and as the tender care continued, the boy began to be lulled.

The doctor brushed and brushed for what felt like hours, until no more knots could be found squirreled away in his youngest’s dense coat. For a moment, he looked the boy over, pride swelling in his chest at the sight of the kit looking so clean and well-kept.

Only as Eggman made to move, though, did he realize. The kit, now leaning heavily against his chest, was sound asleep, purring all the while.

He supposed it made sense. This sort of thing was usually soothing for mobians, and Eggman had had to hold the boy just a touch forward for the last twenty minutes to properly brush his back.

Well, he thought, it couldn’t be helped. Best to let the boy sleep. Eggman would likely be stuck here for a while until the kit woke up.

…wait.

…

…

He had to use the bathroom.

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 53]

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-

After a tense conversation in the cafeteria, Nia and Tobias make plans with Team Evergreen for a team-up mission.

-

Conversation bubbles up naturally between Team Scarlet and Team Shellshock as they head down the Lexym Tree in search of food. Nia is delighted when Tobias even joins the conversation of his own volition, bantering with Xander about nearly taking him down with dragon rage during their joint training session. When the group stops by the nursery to grab Xander’s siblings to join them, the shinx cubs tackle first Xander and then Tobias with shrieks of excitement, rubbing their faces against the two with loud purrs.

On the cafeteria floor, Xander’s team splits off to the far end of the room to join the other food line, calling that they’ll grab a table. Nia and Tobias enter the closer line, picking up trays and stepping into the queue behind a weasel-like Pokemon balancing on two paws. Her long fur is tan with streaks of darker brown, and her blue eyes are sharp. The Pokemon scowls at Nia as she gets into line, muzzle twitching, before looking forward again.

Nia tries not to let the brief look bother her, but lowers her voice as Tobias plots how to beat Kry the next time the two of them spar. As the two of them chat, the line slowly moves, Nia holding out her tray to accept food from the grass type behind the counter. She hasn’t noticed the fiery chicken Pokemon working as a chef since the first time she ate here. Maybe they were just working here temporarily? Tobias is still the only fire type she sees regularly around the Haven.

The humanoid Pokemon behind the counter today has olives in her hair (or maybe they are her hair?), and plops two large spoonfuls of something onto Nia’s tray. Usually, Nia doesn’t even question the guild’s meals anymore since the cooking is always delicious, but the food today throws her. Rice, paired with what looks like veggies or berries in an orange-brown sauce.

“Is this…curry?” Nia whispers, just loud enough for Tobias to hear. She pulls her tray closer to eye it. The rich smell of the sauce makes her mouth water.

Tobias squints at his own serving, then shrugs. “Dunno. Smells good.”

Nia hums, fascinated, and shuffles sideways to keep up with the line. “Any idea what it’s made of? The smell kind of reminds me of—"

She’s so distracted that she bumps into the weasel Pokemon in front of her.

Before she can apologize, the weasel bares her teeth in a snarl. “Watch it!”

Nia jumps back a step, startled by the animosity in the other Pokemon’s voice. “S-Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I wasn’t paying attention—”

“Clearly!”

“Sorry! I was just, um. I’ll be sure to look out better in the future so I don’t bump into anyone. I mean, I wasn’t trying to right now, of course, but—"

“Just watch where you’re walking, human.”

Human. While Nia is long since used to eager Pokemon running up to ask if she really used to be human, this feels…different. This feels like Ghatha. Like Fort Asra. Maybe there’s a reason why this Pokemon seemed to drop into a foul mood as soon as Nia stepped into line.

“Lay off,” Tobias says, tuning into the conversation. “She already apologized.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, wisp!”

There’s a notable drop in volume from the voices around them.

…Wisp?

Tobias’ expression darkens further. “Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. You really want—"

“I-I’ll be more careful!” Nia cuts in, ready for this conversation to be over. “I’m really sorry again.”

“Stop apologizing!” Tobias hisses. “You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Her being here is wrong,” the weasel snaps. “And if you’re really sorry you’ll go back where you came from and leave us alone.”

Nia takes another panicked step back, nearly toppling both her and Tobias.

“That’s it,” Tobias says, a bit louder. He shoves his tray towards Nia. “Nia, hold my tray.”

“What?! No!”

She doesn’t want this to escalate. Already Nia can hear the quiet murmurs around them growing louder, can feel a tension building in the air as the weasel’s striped fur spikes. So Nia panics and backs out of line, pulling Tobias with her despite his protests. They’re only missing dessert, anyways.

Even if that is her favorite.

The weasel snorts something that sounds suspiciously like coward before continuing forward in line like nothing happened. Nia's eyes stay glued to the weasel’s back as she moves away. Her heart beats loud and nervous in her ears.

She…wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to for that kind of hostility in the guild. Sure, it was from someone who clearly wanted a fight, but still. The weasel had decided that Nia being human was enough to make her a target. That because she's human, she's allowed to be a target.

Nia thought it was safe here.

They've ran into scared Pokemon taking their fear out on humans a couple of times now, namely in Ghatha and Asra. But not here, where everyone has been neutral towards her humanity at worst. She heard August, she knows the sentiment has been spreading, but…

It isn’t even our fault, Nia thinks, hollowly. Now that she’s talked to Giratina, now that she knows it isn’t anything the humans have done, knows that their displacement is just an unfortunate side-effect of the dimension’s borders breaking down, the accusations hurt even more. They aren’t doing anything wrong. They’re just existing. Trying to fit in and find somewhere to belong until they can go home.

Nia sniffs, blinking back tears. Her throat is tight. She stares down at her tray and the cooling curry. She isn’t so hungry anymore.

Tobias, who had been grumbling insults at the weasel’s back, turns to Nia. “C’mon, you can’t take anything that idiot says to heart. She was a jerk to both of us so she probably walks around everywhere with that terrible attitude.”

That does remind Nia of a beat in the conversation that had confused her more than it had upset her.

She frowns at Tobias. “You mean when she called you…wisp? Is that bad?”

Tobias' expression twists. “Maybe don’t say that too loud. It doesn’t bother me anymore, but it’s, uh…kind of an insult for fire types. Like…saying that we’re so weak our fire got snuffed out.”

Nia’s eyes widen. “That’s horrible! B-But Azami calls you Spitfire. And Andyn calls you flame-brain and stuff—are those..?”

Tobias snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Nah, those are fine.”

Nia knows she looks as unsure as she feels. Tobias elaborates.

“Seriously, Nia. You’d know if they were actually insulting me. It’s more…playful than that, I guess? They poke at me being a fire type, sure, but they aren’t really implying anything…bad with it.”

“Flame-brain doesn’t sound very nice.”

“Neither does ‘kindling,’ but Arceus themself will not stop me from calling your stupid deerling friend that. It’s not any worse than us just calling each other dummy. Wisp just has…a different tone to it.”

Nia slowly nods, brow knitting. So it’s something about the social context that makes it different. Makes one worse than the others. She supposes human slang is equally confusing, if she really thinks about it.

“C’mon,” Tobias says with a jerk of his head. “We still need to eat.”

Nia takes a breath and nods. Not like they can do much about the weasel right now anyways. They could go tell Maggie or August, she supposes, and August did say long ago to let him know if anyone gave her trouble, but…

“Should we tell August about this?” Nia asks.

Tobias shakes his head immediately. “No. August means well, but all that would do is make that linoone angrier. Much as I’d love to set her stupid pelt on fire, we don’t need to be dealing with a fight on top of everything else.”

“But he could tell her to stop, right?”

“Trust me. When I was younger, telling only made them get better at doing stuff like this quietly.”

And isn’t that a loaded statement. Nia stares at Tobias for a moment, suddenly far more upset about how easily he brushes off any insults thrown his way. It speaks of practice.

She thinks of his aura earlier, of how desperately he wanted to hide it away from her, afraid she would hate him. Does he even realize how much his isolation from the rest of the guild these past eight years has affected how he sees himself?

Tobias raises a brow at her, so Nia gives a weak smile and gestures for him to lead the way. She’d been so excited to come down here to eat with everyone, and now it feels like her heart is hanging heavy in her chest. But they might as well join their friends.

Tobias takes the lead and Nia trails after the charmander to the table, where Xander’s team and the shinx kids are already sitting with their food, talking as they eat. Tobias moves around the table to sit by Laine, giving the cub a noogie as he sits that makes her shriek and duck away.

Nia heads for the empty spot on the closer side, next to Felix. The wartortle is seated oddly on the wooden bench, one short leg thrown over it so he’s perched sideways as if he’d been about to get up. He meets Nia’s gaze as she approaches, his usual jovial expression subdued.

Felix leans closer as she sits, brow furrowed. “You all right?”

Nia blinks, surprised. Is it that obvious that she’s still upset?

“Heard what happened in line,” Felix whispers. His fluffy ears wiggle. “These aren’t just for show. So. You okay?”

The concern make Nia smile a bit more genuinely, some of the tightness wound up in her gut loosening. There may be rude people even here in the guild, but at least there are also sweethearts like Felix.

“I’m all right,” she murmurs. “Thanks for checking in. It just…caught me off-guard, you know? I’m used to the guild being a place I don’t need to worry about that. It’s getting worse, I guess.”

Felix returns her smile, though there’s a crook to his brow that belies his lingering worry. “Well, let us know if anyone starts giving you trouble. Xander and I would be happy to put them in their place—" He winks. “—and I have a feeling we could do it a bit more subtly than your partner.”

Nia laughs and nods. Felix turns back to his food, but Nia sees him send Tobias a covert look, as if to check on the charmander while knowing he wouldn’t want to be fussed over. Nia smiles, warmed by the concern, as she starts picking at her meal—the curry is good, even if it takes her a moment to get used to the soft texture.

Soon enough, both Nia and Tobias are swept into the conversation at the table. Kry is slamming a fist against the wood, the fraxure arguing that yache berries are objectively better than nanab berries, and Avery is fighting an uphill battle against her. The kirlia offers up well-worded reasoning for why nanab berries are superior, but Kry shoots down each argument with counterpoints of, “But they’re pink!” and “They taste like rotten river water!”

Avery stops pointing out that those are subjective opinions after the fourth rebuttal, changing strategies instead to point out the physical benefits of each berry. Xander gives Kry a scolding look (that she promptly ignores) after the third table-rattling slam of her fist, and the shinx cubs laugh and laugh as Felix jumps in to suggest mago berries are actually the best choice, making both Avery and Kry turn to him with offended expressions.

Throughout the lively debate, Nia glances at Tobias to try checking in on him. He seems all right, although Nia can’t help noticing that he isn’t using his flames to cook his berries like he sometimes does. Maybe he just isn’t feeling like cooked berries today, or maybe that Pokemon’s comment got to him more than he wanted to admit.

Eventually, Felix moves the conversation on to regaling both the shinx kids and Nia and Tobias with the daring tale of Team Shellshock’s latest dungeon crawl. Nia has a feeling a few embellishments were made to make their team sound extra cool—Xander rolling his eyes and Kry’s snort all but confirm it—but she enjoys it all the same.

“I wish we could go exploring already,” Laine sighs when the story is done.

“We’ll be a team soon too!” Luca says, little paws on the table so he can stand up in his seat. “Me ‘n you, Lainey!”

“Oh? What about Leor?” Avery asks.

As all eyes turn to the shyest shinx cub, Leor squeaks and huddles down on the bench, wide gold eyes peering over the table.

“He’s gonna be a medic,” Luca says, chin tilted proudly.

“Like Fen!” Laine adds.

Xander looks as surprised about this news as Nia is, leaning down to meet his younger brother's eyes. “This true?”

Leor looks nervous, but glances over at Tobias before giving the barest nod.

Xander grins, one giant paw squeezing the cub closer. “That’s great, Lee! You would be a fantastic medic.”

“Really?” Leor asks, looking unsure.

“Of course! You three can do whatever you set your minds to. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your brother.”

Luca and Laine cheer while Leor leans into Xander’s side. The luxio purrs and nuzzles the top of his little brother’s head.

It’s a sweet moment, but Nia can see the instant Leor’s eyes crack open and he registers most of the table watching the exchange. He squeaks and wriggles free of Xander’s hold. Xander laughs and lets him go, and the cub almost tumbles himself right off the bench.

“Leor’s gonna train under Fen, and Laine and I are gonna make a Seekers team together!” Luca says, little tail lashing. “Team Thunderspark! And we’re gonna be stronger than any other team!”

“Even ours?” Felix goads, grinning.

“Duh!” Laine says. “You’re a water type! You won’t stand a chance!”

Felix laughs, then tilts his head towards Kry. “True, but our team’s also got the meanest ‘mon this side of the continent.”

Kry looks torn between taking that as a compliment and an insult, and eventually just flicks a piece of rice at the wartortle as punishment.

“You’re going to be great Seekers,” Xander agrees, popping a berry into his mouth. “When you’re old enough.”

Laine and Luca whine in unison, the latter plopping his chin down onto his tray.

“Do we have to wait that long? We’re already strong!” Laine protests.

“Yeah! We should be able to make our own decisions by now,” Luca grumbles, batting a berry around his tray.

“Those are the rules,” Xander says, giving them both a stern look. “It’s only a few more years. If you two can stay out of trouble and stop tormenting poor Arlo, that is.”

The kids groan again, and Nia bites back a smile as she chews. Xander is sweet with his siblings. Sometimes he acts more like a father to them than a brother, but Nia supposes that’s to be expected, between how they were brought here and raised in the nursery their whole lives, plus Xander’s protective nature. It reminds her of her own brother, in a bittersweet way.

Nia feels lighter by the time they finish eating and part ways with Xander’s team. Both Avery and Xander give her a hug before leaving, and Felix offers a fist bump and an easy grin. Kry lightly smacks Nia’s legs with her tail as she passes, and outright punches Tobias in the arm. He glares at her back, but Nia thinks the exchange is a friendly one, somehow.

After the stressful morning talking to Maggie and August, aura training with Val, and the moment in the cafeteria—not to mention the exhaustion still present from their journey—Nia is ready for a nap when they finally make it back to their room. Tobias starts unpacking their bag and taking inventory of their items, so Nia forces herself to write back to Hazel before crashing. She thanks the raichu for the offered discount on a human bed, but explains that they’re pretty busy right now and need to save on money. She’ll absolutely be buying one in the future, though! She also mentions meeting up with Beck and asks her to tell the floatzel and his crew hi.

By the time Nia is finished, her letter sealed up and placed back into the mailbox with the flag up, she's practically asleep on her feet. Tobias has moved over to the window, leafy curtain pulled high to let fresh air and sunlight flood the room. He’s propped against the wall and framed by blue sky, guitar in hand as he starts plucking at scales.

Nia yawns. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

Tobias spares her a glance. “I’ll wake you for supper.”

Nia hums her thanks and moves to their nests to flop down, wiggling to get comfortable on the bed of moss and straw. It’s soft enough, not scratchy at all with her fur as a barrier, and her muscles relax.

Quiet falls over the room, save for Tobias’ playing and the whistle of the wind. A gust blows directly through the window and skims over Nia’s side, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. It’s a little chilly, with fall in full swing and winter fast approaching. Over the past few weeks, even sleeping outside hasn’t been a problem, but…well. Usually Tobias is sleeping at her side, and he gives off heat like a little campfire.

Whining, Nia picks up her head and looks at Tobias, squinting against the bright light of the window. Normally she would be more hesitant about being so needy, but she’s tired and she’s cold so she pushes herself to her feet and stumbles over to him, rubbing her arms. It’s even chillier by the window with the wind wrapping around her.

Tobias stops his playing, looking up.

Nia shifts on her feet. Her brain is mushy with fatigue and tantalizing snatches of sleep. All she manages to say is, “Cold.”

Tobias snorts. He glances at the window. “Want me to close the curtain?”

He doesn’t sound upset about the prospect, but Nia can guess that he likes the chill of the breeze combined with the heat of the sun. His orange scales glow in the light, like embers. Even with her fur, Nia just isn’t built to stay warm like a fire type is.

Nia’s mouth presses into a line. “Can I just sleep by you?”

Tobias blinks, and a flush rises to his cheeks. They usually sleep next to each other nowadays, and Nia hasn’t made it a secret that she enjoys the warmth he puts off, but she admittedly doesn’t usually…ask. Out loud. Somehow putting it into words does make it sound more embarrassing.

But she’s tired, dang it!

After a moment, Tobias wordlessly flicks his tail over to make room. Nia doesn’t let herself hesitate before sinking into the empty spot, curling heavily into his side. Immediately, heat seeps into her fur to warm her up.

“Sure, just make yourself comfy,” Tobias grumbles, no bite to his voice even as she accidentally elbows him in the ribs.

Finally, she settles, melted against his side with a happy hum. It’s like falling asleep cuddling a heater. Even lying closer to the window, she’s immediately warmer.

“Why don’t you guys use blankets?” She mumbles. “We had blankets in Asra. I miss blankets.”

Tobias snorts. “We do use blankets. We just keep them in storage until the end of fall when they’re actually needed.”

Nia picks up her head to give Tobias a despairing look. “I could’ve had blankets this whole time?!”

Tobias visibly bites back a smile. Jerk. “We’ll get you a blanket later if you’re that upset about it, you big baby. I didn’t realize it was a problem.”

“Stupid warm fire types,” Nia gripes, flopping back against Tobias. She’s absolutely getting herself a blanket. For now, Tobias’ heat will suffice.

Slowly, sleep washes over her brain like bathwater, soothing and inviting. Before she slips under completely, she hears Tobias start playing his guitar again, shifting his posture just enough to accommodate her. The cords he picks at are slow and gentle.

She’s asleep in seconds.

She feels like she’s only been asleep for seconds when the door to their room slams open with a bang. A harsh note from the guitar follows, as well as a yell of, “Nia!”

Nia bolts up. She blinks away the haze of sleep, cringing at the late-afternoon sunlight painting their room in bright tones and deep shadows. She must’ve been asleep longer than she thought.

“Ever hear of knocking?” Tobias hisses.

Nia rubs at her eyes, following his voice to look at the doorway, where Andyn, Ezra and Jaz are frozen in the middle of what looks like a grand entrance. The sneasel and stufful seem remorseful despite their comically stiff poses. The deerling, on the other hand, seems strangely flustered, gaze flicking from Nia to Tobias.

“Sorry,” Jaz finally says. “Are we, uh…interrupting?”

“Nia was asleep, you idiots,” Tobias says, sitting back and clutching his guitar close.

Nia yawns. “‘S okay. I shouldn’t nap too long or I won’t sleep tonight.”

The trio that makes up team Evergreen still seem oddly hesitant to enter the room. Nia laughs at the shy behavior and waves them in.

Finally, slowly, they do, sitting down in front of the window as well and getting comfortable.

Ezra’s ruby eyes land on Tobias’ guitar and stay there, going wide. “Whoa, you play guitar?!”

“No,” Tobias lies, removing the instrument from his lap and tucking it behind himself.

“Aw, c’mon!”

“I think it’s great to have a hobby outside of Seeker duties,” Jaz says, meeting Tobias’ sour expression with a smile.

Andyn just looks weirded out, although Nia can’t tell if it’s from the idea of Tobias playing an instrument or something to do with how she keeps looking suspiciously between Nia and Tobias.

Tobias crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

Ezra and Jaz turn to Andyn. The deerling jolts. With a stomp of her delicate hoof, she says, “Right! Since someone didn’t even bother to tell us she was back—honestly, Nia, I had to find out from Kry of all ‘mon—we decided we’d come see you instead!”

“We haven’t even been back a day,” Tobias huffs.

Nia shrugs with an apologetic smile. “I figured you'd still be on a mission."

Andyn narrows her eyes, then lifts her nose into the air with a dainty hmph. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

“Forgiven?” Tobias says, annoyed. “For what? Not checking in? You’re not our mom.”

Andyn gives him an acidic look. “That attitude is why Nia is forgiven and you are not.”

“You have to be trying to pick a fight. Is Kry kicking your tail on the daily not enough for you, you masochistic little—"

Nia claps her hands together with a single sharp sound. “No fighting until I’m awake enough to deal with it!”

Her voice is firm, but she’s more amused than irritated now that she knows Tobias enjoys the bickering on some level. Andyn has to enjoy it too, considering how often she instigates.

“We didn’t come here for Andyn to pick a fight, believe it or not,” Jaz sighs.

“We wanted to see you as soon as you got back!” Ezra adds. “I feel like you two travel a lot more than most low-level Seekers.”

There’s a question in that sentence, subtle enough to decide whether they want to answer it or not. And for a moment, Nia wants to share everything, just like she wanted to with Xander and Avery in the training hall. It would take some weight off her shoulders, to be able to vent about it. To get her friends’ reassurances.

But those same fears hold Nia back. She doesn’t want to be the reason these three lose that playful spark of adventure they bring to every room they enter. She doesn’t want them to feel weighed down as heavily as she does every time she recalls Giratina’s words.

So Nia just smiles and says, “I-I like getting to see more of the Pokemon world, that's all. You know, since I’m not very familiar with it.”

Which isn’t strictly untrue, but the words still leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Are you planning on heading out again soon?” Jaz asks, either not catching onto the half-truth or choosing not to call her out.

Andyn sticks her lip out in a pout and drops her ears, giving Nia the most pitiful baby deer expression possible. Oh no. She’s like Bambi but even sadder. How can you be sadder than Bambi?

“We are,” Tobias says, totally unaffected by the face. “We plan to stick around for a few days and do some missions. Then we’re heading back east.”

Andyn’s pout drops for a genuinely worried expression. “Ghatha again?”

Ezra shifts uncomfortably. “Didn’t you two get caught up in that fire last time you were there?”

“Not Ghatha,” Nia says. “We’re going to find Will. The yamask I told you about? We’re hoping he can help us with something. Um. Human stuff.”

Andyn’s gaze slides to Tobias, as if expecting him to protest. He’s too busy glancing over his shoulder to notice, probably debating whether or not to get his guitar back out even with their current company. Nia knows he’s been trying to get comfortable with the basics again and he hates leaving things unfinished.

“Safe travels,” Jaz finally says. “Especially over the sea. The winds have been rough lately.”

“What hasn’t been rough lately?” Andyn groans. “The world’s unhappy and she’s letting us know it.”

Nia swallows against the lump in her throat. “We'll be careful. But enough about us! What’s going on with you three? What have you been up to?”

Ezra sighs. “We've been even busier than usual. Since more and more disasters and dungeons are popping up, it feels like we're constantly on the go.”

Nia gives the sneasel a sympathetic look.

“We’re racking up Seeker points, though,” Ezra adds with a grin. “And cash.”

“We would have more than enough points to reach C-rank if we could just get another team mission finished,” Jaz says, her dark little eyes trained on Andyn.

The deerling looks away, frowning.

“Oh!” Ezra sits up, feathery red ear flicking. “Right! Remember what we talked about last time you were home? While you’re around, you guys should do a team-up mission with us! I know you’re only E-Rank, but you still need both of your team-ups, right?”

“D-Rank, actually,” Tobias corrects, smug.

“What?!” Andyn’s jaw drops, outraged. “You’re already D-rank? How?!”

“Got an upgrade from the second-in-command in Ghatha,” Tobias says, clearly enjoying every second of this exchange. “For helping in the fire.”

Andyn glares at him, looking like she wants to snap something rude. Then her gaze flicks to Nia and she backs down, huffing.

“Well, congratulations then,” Jaz says, giving her teammate an amused glance. “That’s impressive, considering how recently you formed your team.”

“This means you definitely need to do a team-up with us!” Ezra says, leaning forward. “Since we’re the same rank now we don’t need to worry about trying to find a mission ranked somewhere in the middle!”

“We do need to do our team-up missions at some point,” Tobias grumbles, clearly reluctant. “Cordelia wasn’t impressed by our rank and most other ‘mon won’t be either. We need to keep rising so we don’t get turned away from anything important.”

“Awesome!” Ezra says. “We could—"

“I didn’t say we’d do it with you,” Tobias growls.

“Yeah, Ez,” Andyn agrees. “I mean…technically they’re D-rank but they’re still pretty new, so—"

Uh-oh.

Tobias straightens up at Nia’s side. “You think we can’t keep up with you?”

Andyn scoffs. “I didn’t say that, but if you’re thinking it—"

“You didn’t say it but you sure meant it—"

“Stop,” Nia and Jaz say at the same time, exasperated. Tobias and Andyn shut their mouths.

“Are you really worried we won’t be able to carry our weight?” Nia asks, a little hurt. “I know we’re new, but we are still the same rank as you guys.”

Not to mention Nia and Tobias been through a lot more than most other Seekers their rank. At least from what Tobias has said.

Ezra and Jaz look to Andyn, clearly the one taking issue with the idea. The deerling winces, posture uncharacteristically small.

“It’s not…I do want you there, but it’s just…”

Ezra speaks up. “Andyn’s parents are a bit, uh…tough on her. High expectations. If we ever mess up a mission, then…”

All three members of Team Evergreen shudder.

Nia blinks at them, surprised. “Your…parents?” Honestly, Nia had never given them any thought before.

Andyn nods, looking miserable but trying to hide it. “Yeah. They’re great, really! Just, um. They’re really high-rank Seekers so they kind of expect me to uphold their legacy, you know?”

“Who are your parents?” Tobias asks, brow furrowed. “I’ve been here eight years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”

“You have,” Andyn sighs. “Just…not often. And probably not, um. With me. They’re both sawsbuck so they kind of blend in with all the grass types. They’re Team Sequoia.”

The name doesn’t ring any bells for Nia, but Tobias’ brows lift. He almost looks impressed.

“Yeah,” Ezra laughs. “Big prints to fill. They’re pretty strict, too, so we have to make sure we do our missions well or Andyn gets an earful. Sometimes all of us get it.”

Andyn shoots Ezra a look that clearly says to shut up, so he does.

“That…seems like a lot of pressure,” Nia murmurs, doubly glad now that she didn’t tell Andyn anything about Giratina or the dying world. The deerling clearly doesn’t need more things to worry about.

Andyn suddenly seems to register the gloomy atmosphere and Nia’s concerned expression, because she sits up with a strained laugh. “Sure, but it’s really cool, too! Everyone knows my mom and dad since they’re such amazing Seekers.”

Nia frowns.

“But since they’re so great and they expect me to be great too,” Andyn adds. “That means you two have to keep up with us if you’re going to join us on a mission. Got it?”

Nia wants to push, but Andyn is clearly trying to move the conversation along, so eventually she just nods. Tobias rolls his eyes and finally pulls the guitar out to settle in his lap again, but he doesn’t argue. He refuses to look up from his tuning as he asks, “What kind of things do you even do for a team-up mission?”

“Pretty much anything,” Jaz answers. “At least for D to C rank. It can be dungeon work, cleanup, construction, escort missions, foraging, even guild tasks. As long as both teams do the mission together, it counts.”

Tobias gives her a doubtful look. “That seems...”

“Too easy?” Ezra laughs. “That’s what I said. But I guess they save combat missions as a team-up requirement for B to A rank. This is just getting teams used to working with other ‘mon they usually don’t.”

“That makes sense,” Nia says, purposefully not looking at Tobias as he starts plucking at the guitar strings in a scale. Ezra didn’t get the memo and is watching Tobias’ hands like a transfixed cat, his claws twitching like he wants to try it too. “What kind of mission should we do, then?”

“Easier missions would be, well. Easier. But my parents wouldn’t be impressed.”

Something about that sentiment rubs Nia the wrong way, but she doesn’t interrupt as Andyn goes on.

“And a dungeon would look good but that’s a bit of a risk if we aren’t already familiar with each other’s fighting styles. I don’t trust flame-brain here not to char me to a crisp.”

Tobias stops playing long enough to shoot Andyn a glare.

“So something in the middle,” Nia surmises.

“I guess that would work,” Andyn hedges.

“One average mission will be fine, Anne,” Jaz says. “We don’t need to take on the most difficult mission on the board every single day. Even with your parents.”

Andyn visibly stops herself from retorting, probably with something sharp. She sighs. “Fine. Just don’t be late! Meet us at the job boards at dawn, okay?”

Nia snorts. “I wish I could make Tobias sleep in past dawn. He’s a morning person.”

Ezra’s face screws up. “Gross. So is Andyn. Must be a grass and fire-type thing.”

Andyn and Tobias look disgruntled about being on the same side of something for once. Nia laughs.

With their plan in place, Team Evergreen heads out soon after for an early supper. Nia, now wide awake but not yet hungry enough to eat, turns to Tobias with her best puppy dog eyes.

“What?”

“Blankets?” She says, hopeful.

Tobias seems unimpressed by her pleading expression, but after a moment he sighs and puts his guitar aside to get up. “Fine, fine. Come on. We’ll have to go down to storage to pick ‘em up.”

Nia cheers and hurries to follow him out of the room. They're only halfway down the hall when a thought occurs to her, and she steps up to his side to better see his face.

“Hey, storage is on a lower floor, right? Could we stop stop by the archives on the way back? I bet they have some music books you could check out."

Tobias has been figuring out the basics of his guitar-playing pretty quickly, and she can only imagine he'll want to move on to more actual melodies soon. He just looks so content when he plays that she can't help wanting to encourage the renewed hobby, even with the world teetering on the brink of destruction. Maybe especially because of that. She wants to make sure he takes the time to check out some books before they have to leave again.

Tobias looks thoughtful at the suggestion. Hesitant, but definitely interested. "We could.”

Nia beams.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, Nia wakes to the ground rumbling beneath her.

For a split-second, she thinks she’s back in Asra, the desert town cracking like broken porcelain beneath her and bringing buildings down with it. She scrambles to free herself from the net of her blanket. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Tobias doing the same from the wild movement of his tail flame.

But no—the sliver of moonlight peeking out from the bottom of the curtain isn’t right. The room smells of forest instead of dusty desert. The sound is different, too—a distant rumble, a loud creaking, muted cries of alarm from next door that are higher than Granite and Takeo’s voices.

It takes Nia a few seconds while her brain rattles around inside her skull to realize that they’re at the guild, in the Lexym Tree. It takes a beat longer for her to register that the slowing vibrations are, however, still an earthquake.

Slowly, so slowly it’s hard to tell if it has actually stopped, the earthquake stills. Nia, heart racing, looks wide-eyed at Tobias. The charmander stares back in the dim light of his tail, brow furrowed and expression cautious.

“You okay?” He whispers.

She nods. “You?”

“Yeah.”

Voices start up, quietly, in the hall. Wordlessly, Nia and Tobias stumble to unsteady feet and poke their heads out the door.

Many of the Seekers who live on the floor are standing in the hallway, talking to one another. Some have shaken expressions, while others just look quietly concerned. Nia picks out a few sentences amidst the babble.

“—earthquakes now. I thought the winds were bad enough. How—"

“Do you think there’ll be any aftershocks? What if some ‘mon were down in the tunnels? I don’t—”

“—I’ll be all right. Just scared me, mostly. Terran bumped his head but—"

“What if they get worse? I can’t—"

Nia tunes out the conversations then, everyone else’s nerves and uncertainty only piling onto her own. It looks like in this hall at least there weren’t any serious injuries, but what about everywhere else?

“What should we do?” Nia whispers to Tobias. “Seekers…help, right? Are we supposed to go check on everyone?”

“I don’t know,” Tobias admits. “Nothing like this has happened at the guild before. At least that I can remember.”

The reminder of the increasing number of natural disasters makes Nia’s stomach sink. The linoone’s words from earlier echo in her head. It’s not her fault. It’s not any of the humans’ fault.

(But the other Pokemon don’t know that, do they?)

“Can we go check on Xander and Andyn’s teams?” Nia whispers. “A-And maybe Maggie?”

She won’t be able to sleep if they don’t.

Tobias nods, then leads the way out the door and down the hall. Nia can’t tell if she’s imagining the way some of the other Pokemon send her wary looks as they spot her. She steps closer to Tobias regardless.

Thankfully, everyone seems to be physically fine, save for Felix startling himself right into Team Shellshock's cabinet and knocking off some knick-knacks. The rest of Xander’s team—down one luxio after he ran off to check on his siblings—is unusually quiet and pensive. Andyn, Ezra and Jaz seem equally rattled, trying to cover up their unease with light tones and jokes that fall painfully flat. The tight hug and comforting smile Maggie gives Nia and Tobias helps a little, but not enough.

Eventually, Nia and Tobias try to get a few more hours of sleep before dawn. Their floor of lower-level Seekers was assured by Verene a few minutes prior that the higher ranking ‘mon would take care of checking on the Haven for now. Lower ranks will take the dawn shift.

Nia almost wishes they were asked to head out now. She can’t seem to get her mind to settle despite the exhaustion tugging at her fur and the soft warmth of the blanket around her. From the way Tobias shifts throughout the night at her side, she doesn’t think he gets much rest either.

[ask-the-abomination]

Introductory

The sun would bestow upon this land it's beloved warmth, finally beginning a full start of a new day! The local wild Pokémon would go about their merry way throughout this verdant forest, all the while the Swablus sung in complete harmonic unison. Everything appears to be in a state of perfect tranquility. … Or so one would have assumed.

An odd-colored Scatterbug had grown rather inquisitive about what she had stumbled upon. A metallic device of the sort. But of what purpose does it hold? It doesn't quite appear to hold any beneficial use, as it seems to be way beyond repair and had seem to have already fallen into the grasp's of mother nature. Because of it's fallen structure, it would likely stray the attention of others. At best, many would simply assume that it is nothing more than mere junk. But… If it were to had landed to the eyes of the right Pokémon… Or, in this particular case, a snout--

The Scatterbug shuddered in sheer terror. Her movement fallen completely paralyzed at the sight of someone's muzzle just barging ever so near within her vicinity. The insect felt endangered. Consumed into the assumption that this may be her end. However, despite her fear, the larger Pokémon express zero interest towards her. Instead, they seem to be far more intent on the damaged device on the ground. Sniff… Sniff… They would take a few whiff at the piece of metal. Allowing the fragrance of another's scent to wave around inside their nostrils. Even though nature's aroma had lingered on this object for an unknown amount of time, it hadn't taken long for the canine's thoughts to click.

"-!! HIS SCENT HAS BEEN FOUND!" The canine would growl from beneath her breath, as she spoke. Although, she can't quite hide her words in hush-hush, when the increased amplitude of her tone is heavily audible for many to hear. "NOT A DOUBT THAT THE OTHER IS WITH S-047. BROTHERS, APPROACH! A LEAD HAS BEEN FOUND!". Her call being louder than a Whismur's cry. It wasn't long until two Houndooms would reveal themselves from beyond the luxuriant, grassy path. Though, it didn't particularly seemed like they were too far off from the female Houndoom's location. Nevertheless, they were here. Marking three not-so-welcoming looking hounds in this territory.

The one leaning to the western direction would salivate, as he laughs maniacally. While the other in the eastern side would retain his silence, as the flames wisp through from side to side of his jaw. The lead Houndoom would only growl in a rather overreacted, yet unprovoked irritation. Her voice would explode in volume once more, this time her tone shifting to a sound that is of a mixture between authoritarian and belligerence. Much to the displeasure of the brothers. "CHOP, CHOP, WE HAVE TO LOCATE AT A NINJASK'S PACE! NOT AFTER BREAKFAST, NOT LATER— WE HAVE TO FIND THEM, NOW! WE CANNOT LET THEM OUT FROM THE GRIP OF OUR CLAWS AGAIN! THE MORE TIME WE WASTE, THE GREATER THE OPPORTUNITY ARISES FOR THOSE TWO LESSERS TO ESCAPE!" "DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" Silence. Neither of the brotherly duo have chosen to answer her. "I SAID: DO… I… MAKE… MYSELF… CLEAR?!!" The female Houndoom repeated herself. Beginning to sound increasingly irritable through her voice. It had taken but a very brief moment before the two-eyed brother would widely open his jaws and spoke out. "MMMMMM I THINK NES WOULD SUFFICE! A NO, A YES, A NES! GRAHAHAHA!!" He boomed in absolute laughter at his not-so-funny joke. "… YOU ARE AN IDIOTIC DUNCE! DON'T WASTE MY TIME WITH YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPT OF HUMOR."

Unbeknownst to the trio…

--They were being closely watched by someone from above the trees.

His tail would sway back and forth, as he was not-so-secretly showing the fact that he seemed a little too delightfully chipper at the sight. "It really took these three stooges loooooonnnnnnggggg to arrive here. I was starting to feel pretty bored of not seeing any of their flee-riddle-piss-gobblin' selves, kekeke~." As amused as this slender Sylveon sounded, it became rather short-lived as a smidge of disappointment had settled in. Already he holds full awareness that a particular someone would shrivel in sadness that they have to leave their current 'home'. Something that he doesn't particular look forward to seeing…. Again.

However, before this 'wimp' individual could be informed of such news, the Sylveon had needed to carry out a plan first. Most considering that it does hold importance to the current predicament at hand. That problem being the involvement of the Houndooms that is directly below him. The slender Sylveon would raise up a paw, nearing chin-length. A grim fog would gather around from the very central part of his paw-pad, appearing the same moment that his arm was halted in motion. Soon, the mist appearance would be more of a spherical shape. It was radiating harsh, ominous energy as its form was appearing more and more like a shadowy blob. The elemental skill that he is casting upon is known as none other than Shadow Ball.

When the Ghost-type skill had fully materialized, the Sylveon had seized this chance to thrust his paw forward. Unleashing a dark, powerful orb of ominous energy. However… It would appear that the target of his attack wasn't aimed towards the location of any of the Houndooms. Oh, no, no, no. This Sylveon is quite well aware that a Pokemon like these hounds are not vulnerable against this particular attack. After all, Ghost is ineffective against Dark types. So, he had opted into a more strategic course. One that would prove to be much more beneficial to himself. He had allowed the Shadow Ball to be launched into….

BAM!!! The tree was struck by a powerful blow from the orb! It had already became evident that his goal was to create a distraction. And, well… It became quite a success! The intent was to take advantage of the Houndoom's blindness and bare sense of hearing. Thanks to the sound of the explosion, the trio would immediately snap their head towards its location. Their focus was completely lured into the Sylveon's bait, much like how a Magikarp would immediately bite into a Caterpie strapped onto a hook! Without a moment to lose, the two Houndooms would quickly bolt their way towards the tree. While on the other hand, the one-eyed Houndoom would take a much more slower pace to follow his siblings. It was as if he was intentionally lagging behind… And yet, he spoke nothing of it. Nor did he seem to be expressing any notable, diverted attention. The Sylveon, once seeing the foolish hounds heading towards the distracting direction, would finally have himself come down from the tree. Of course, setting himself at a careful and gentler pacing. After all, he still needs to avoid creating any additional sounds to attract any sort of attention to himself. It wouldn't be ideal to get caught now!

The Sylveon would grant the world his unsettling grin. A smile so wide, it spread from ear to ear and revealed the sharpest of teeth. This creature's disproportionate body would react rather joyous to this small act of success. By, well… Swaying his butt in a rhythmic manner and moving his hips from side to side, exuding a massive amount of confidence. Even his tail was getting all jiggy with it! The eyeball bouncing around as if there were no big deal! It genuinely gave him a shine of immense pleasure to easily deceive these Houndooms once more. As simple of a plan as it was, this still doesn't dissuade the Sylveon's utter proudness.

The female Houndoom howled in anger, as she pace around the broken tree. Furiously sniffing the ground near it, trying her damnest to see if she can capture the scent of their targets. "GRRRR, REVEAL YOURSELVES YOU COWARDS! YOU HAVE ONE CHANCE TO TURN YOURSELVES IN, PEACEFULLY! FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN BRUTE FORCE!!"

The demanded sound would unfortunately fall into death's ears, as the Sylveon had far departed from the hound's location. Only a differing of words would be heard, moreso from the double-cheeked up Starly. The avian's piercing howls, sobbing about their home being destroyed from some uncivilized brute! How someone must pay for such unwarranted demolition!

Soon a transition to the story would shift towards a different creature. One who is located in the same forested area, but not as near to the location of the Houndooms.

"I-I… I don't understand… Why?" "I've looked and couldn't find any answers…" "..." "… I still don't know who, or what I even am…"

The tall amalgamation would clench his paws tightly. He appeared to be very troubled by the thoughts that is racing throughout his head. Uncertainty… Unresolved… Incomplete… "What if…" A moment of pause was brought into attention. His voice have befallen, becoming quieter and quieter. His inner emotion becoming a twisted knot. "… What if I'd never--".

SNAP

His focus had been snapped awake, bringing his attention back into reality. All because of the sudden sound of a cracked branch. One that sounded far too close to him… This would, however, prompt him to be grasped by the state of a feeling: Panicked. It made him felt fearful towards of what—or, more crucially, who—caused that noise. His face, paled in fright, as his fur stand on ends from the terrified sensation coursing throughout his body. In response, he would quickly turn to face towards the direction of the sound. Hindsight doesn't seem to be 20/20 for this taller creature, as he would immediately blabber nervously and loudly to whoever may have caused the sound.

"I-I, UH-- I DON'T TASTE GOOD! REALLY, I HAVE AWFUL FLAVORING! PLEASE! LET ME LIVE! IF YOU WANT, I'LL LEAVE! PLEASE, D-DON'T HURT ME! I HAVE SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR!" … It was at that moment, the mix-match abominable creature would fall deathly silent. Now taking realization of who the culprit was from behind the sound of the snapped branches. That being none other than this fabulously-slender and obviously the most handsome Sylveon!

"Yeesh. If it was this easy to get your fluff-dump to leave, I would of scared the living daylights out of you sooner, kekek~. Then again, it reeeeaaaallllllyyyyyy isn't that hard to make you scareder than a Wimpod, Vin~." Blink, blink, blink. 'Vin' had to blink several times, as his fears was washed away and perplexity had taken its place. He would open his mouth, wanting to question the Sylveon's whereabouts. "Sabor, wh--!!". And yet, he couldn't say anything further than a name. Why? well, it may be because Sabor, the Sylveon, would press both ribbons against the other's lips. Smothering his mouth, keeping him in a hush tone. "You really ought to lower those crusty kissers of yours, Vin~. I really wouldn't want to see either of those boot-licking 'dooms rushing into our place, all because of your wimpy screams. You really need to have some sense of danger~." 'Vin' would stare at the Sylveon, his eyes widen in shock. Based on what information was brought to him, he wished that he could be in disbelief. Hoping to not believe that this disheartening day has finally come. Sure, he wasn't oblivious from the fact that such a day were to come, where the Houndooms would make mark of their location. Undoubtedly, considering that the time of their encounter has exceeded its duration. But 'Vin' emotionally held onto that string of hope. The potential possibility that maybe, just maybe, that the hounds would never make an appearance. That the duo could finally be at peace and no longer could they run from what they avoid. To live a life of normalcy. 'Vin' would softly brush Sabor's ribbons away from his mouth, as he spoke in a rather discouraged tone. "No… They couldn't- shouldn't… Why… W-Why now?…". His head droop like a hanged curtain. Sabor would only wave his paw in a very dismissive manner. He would use one of his ribbon to flick itself onto 'Vin' horn. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look, I know you love this place and all, Vincent. But it's better we get our asses out as soon as we can, before dumb, dumber, and dumbest finds us. I'm not going to stick around and get my ass captured by those rotten flee bags." In truth, Sabor had never felt appealed to take residence in this particular area. It simply just wasn't as ideal as the previous landmarks they've temporarily lived at. So if anything, this was a masked opportunity that had to be seized.

Vincent head would arose. While wishing to speak more of this topic, his eyes seem to have taken notice of something else. Something-- Or moreso SOMEONE, whom stood behind Sabor… Alarmed, Vincent would point towards Sabor. Pointing towards you. " S… Sabor… Who are they?". His tone a little shaken, as he had never expected to see another. The Sylveon's tail would in a flash face its direction towards you, to have its watchful eyes wield a piercing gaze directly AT you. Straight away, Sabor would pull his ribbons away from Vincent. The ribbons would wrap around the air, as sparks of flames begun to emit onto them. It was starting to begin to create shape. Taking form of a curved, sharp blade. A scythe of the sort, engulf into nothing but pure fire. He was manipulating his next set of skill, making it be more weapon-like. This move is known as Mystical Fire.

"T... They don't look like one of them. I think they're friendly...". His words paused for a good moment. Vincent was taking into realization that he doesn't quite have a full grasp of whether or not the being in front of them could possibly have any ill-motives. This caused him to back track a little. "O-Or at least, don't look like someone who would hunt us down like those guys. I, um, r-really don't think you should attack them."

"... Sometimes I think your 'pacifism' will be the death of you someday, dude. You really are a word-to-word textbook definition of a boner killer. Really killing the murder-this-totally-not-so-suspicious-stranger mood here~." Sabor would lower the flaming scythe, letting the flames dissipate into nothingness. However, the Sylveon will remain alerted and held his guard up towards you.

~{ The duo is now available for asks! }~

[sp00kymulderr]

our house of flames

Part 1 - Spark

series masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (no pronouns)

Warnings: M, heavy details of grief, blood, implied canon typical violence, suicidal thoughts, injury, trauma, reader is dealing with death of a loved one, general sadness, kissing. Please let me know if I missed any.

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Years after the outbreak the unthinkable happens and you lose the person who means the most to you. You’ve chosen to give up when Joel Miller finds you and decides to take you in, but is he the best person to help you deal with your grief?

A/N: Whilst this part is M rated, future parts will be very much 18+. This was meant to be v simple pwp but became a different beast entirely oops. If you like it please please comment and/or reblog. To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist

When Joel had found you, you’d thought it was the end.

In some ways you’d hoped it was.

In the years since the outbreak, everything had changed – you’d learnt to fight, to fend for yourself, to trust few and to hold on to those you cared for with everything you had. That was how it had to be now, so different from before. Those people – the ones you loved – had dwindled dramatically over time. Most were lost to the cordyceps, some to hunters or raiders until eventually it was just you and her, your closest friend through life and hell.

You’d spent over a year just the two of you, drifting from town to town looking for somewhere safe, secure, somewhere to rest your heads for more than a few hours. You’d heard rumours of strongholds you desperately wanted to find, but with the infected population increasing by terrifying numbers it was becoming more and more impossible to imagine a haven in this new world.

So while you’d searched and tried not to yearn for what you might find you’d both learnt instead to survive as ghosts, to keep quiet and out of sight – alive and uninfected.

Until you’d made a mistake.

One that cost a life.

Joel had found you blood-stained and afraid, stuck still in a state of shock. You were shivering violently, huddled down next to a body that you couldn’t seem to look at. Blood on your hands, blood on your clothes, it was starting to pool in the snow. The sticky red of it was making you sick. A gun lay thrown to your other side, muzzle partially buried in the snow.

Your breath ragged, puffing out in white clouds as you heaved with panic, and he had looked at you with cold eyes as you shuddered on the icy ground. You were more than sure that he was another threat – another monster – but you were too adrift to run for your life, too lost now to find a way out of this.

You had sobbed, pathetic and broken, and waited for the man to kill you. You thought perhaps it was all you deserved, to die here beside the last person you had cared about. And the man did aim his pistol at you, his first instinct taking over.

Holding up your hands in defeat, those red stained traitorous hands of yours, you watched almost lifeless as he rifled through your pack. You sniffled, the flow of tears streaming steady down your cheeks.

So this was what surviving had gotten you.

“Please” you had sobbed and wiped your cheeks, smearing them red-tinged. He had placed the pack back down having not taken anything from it. You had nothing he needed you guessed. You had nothing, after all.

“Please” again, and truthfully you didn’t know if you were asking him to end your life or spare it.

He’d looked at you then, properly, and you felt you saw pity in the eyes of this stranger. He remained pointing the pistol at you but something had made him hesitate. For a few moments there was only the puff of your still panicked breath, his much calmer and floating above you in disappearing wisps.

“You bit?” he asked, and was clearly relieved when you shook your head. “She was bit, right?” he waved the gun in the direction of the body you dare not look towards.

“She was...she...we were so careful. We were – She just couldn’t outrun them…” you couldn’t say it, not fully, but the missing parts of your words provided the answer for him.

You’d looked up at him then, with wide eyed fear from the horrors you’d seen and watched the man take a long breath, thinking something over.

“I’m sorry” he murmured, hesitant. You braced for the kill shot then, but all that had come was a sigh as he lowered the gun.

He extended a hand, it had shocked you – scared you more than the thought of dying. You flinched, and he just stayed like that, offering his help.

“It’s alright” he muttered “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Looks like you’ve already been through hell” he looked to the scene before him. The blood and the tears and the discarded gun somewhere to your left.

You had finally, nervously, taken his hand and let him pull you up from the ground. You didn’t look behind you, but you saw him eye you and then reach down for your pack and the gun that you never wanted to have to touch again.

“You got anyone else...anyone waiting on you?” he asked, and you saw a sympathy in his eyes when you shook your head timidly.

“Why...why are you helping me?” you questioned cautiously, voice barely there. You had screamed it away.

He didn’t answer, just handed you your pack – but not the gun – and told you “I got a place to sleep, sheltered, gonna be there a few days hopefully before I move on again. You can come with me, while you get your bearings”

“I don’t understand” you stood away from him, wary and confused and he just waited, too calm.

“You’ve been through something. Way I see it, leaving you on your own out here to die – that would be cruel...there’s infected out here, and worse. I’m not blind, you’ve given up fighting – you’re scared and alone. I’ve got enough humanity left in me to know you need help” he had shrugged and started walking.

And maybe it had been foolish, but you followed him. Because what he’d said, how he’d said it, it sparked something in you.

Hope.

If only you’d known how dangerous hope could be.

***

Three weeks later, and you were starting to feel like a person again. Not the person you had once been, no, they were never coming back to you. But more than a husk, with perhaps at least part of your soul intact.

Beyond all odds, the man had spared you. He had helped you, taken you back to shelter and patched you up. Sure, he’d checked you for bites – never quite believing your words for himself – and it had been humiliating to let him inspect you like that but you couldn’t blame him for not trusting you.

Trust was earned, and not often in a world like this one.

“You’re good” he had said, passing your clothes back, and though you hadn’t quite found relief in that you were at least grateful he wouldn’t put you down the way you had had to…

He hadn’t spoken much, in those few weeks between finding you and now. His name was Joel, he had told you between bites of some miserable canned beans, but that was about all you got from him in the first week. Slowly, ever so slowly you had earned tiny snippets of information from him, but it all felt trivial in the shadow of whatever agony he must’ve lived through to be here now. Everyone had gone through something, and he wore his woe like a heavy cloak that he had no choice but to bear.

You learned that Joel was gruff, controlled, clearly capable of enduring on his own, but there was something else to him too – a sadness you knew better than to talk about. A part of him was missing, you could feel it in everything he did and maybe it should’ve scared you but he had saved you, and you would always see that in him first and foremost.

He was ruthless, too. And you realised very soon that you had been lucky in your fate with him. You  learnt quickly of his ferociousness, his base violence, when some raiders had caught up with you and his eyes had gone black – soul leaving him as he did what he had to to survive. You tried not to think about it, about how he surrendered his humanity in those moments of blood and pain and horror and did what needed to be done. He was like another person entirely, you wondered if he even realised it sometimes.

It is all about surviving, though. You see that now, being alone in a way you haven’t been in the last 10 years. The goal now is only to survive, and you could do that with violence like Joels or you could die...or worse. You know in reality he isn’t good, but really what is good now? Does it even really exist? In the time before the outbreak it had all seemed so clear cut but now the morality of good and evil was so blurred and frayed at the edges, the word had so little true meaning to those still breathing. You know he would’ve killed you if he had to, if you had given him a reason, but still it is difficult to be truly scared of his brutality when you know he is the lesser of many, many worse things out there. So maybe you could not call him good, but his heart persists in spite of his wrongs and that matters the most.

Besides, the moments he didn’t have to be steely and cold he happened to be quite nice. Certainly not sunshine and rainbows, but he looked out for you while you travelled together. And even though he was no conversationalist he never once let you feel left completely alone. In his own way, he was kind and caring and full of compassion that he perhaps hid from himself. Every day since meeting you had felt this string of connection forming between the two of you, barely seen thing string but it was there. It felt like you shared something deep, something between your souls that you didn’t expect to find anywhere other than with her. It terrified you.

Every few days, you moved to a new location. He had told you he was travelling north, and you’d said you’d leave him soon but you both knew you weren’t going anywhere, just sticking along for the journey. You had no where else to be after all.

Tonight, you’re staying in another abandoned house in what was once a small, active town. It’s empty, everything is empty, and even though you know no one is coming back to the house it feels like a violation every time you step inside what had once been a home. It makes you shiver, walking through the dark rooms with the dust lining everything, rising and settling as you move through. Once upon a time, not really that long ago at all, the place might have been full of light and dreams and life. And now it is a roof over a head for you and Joel, a place for you to lay your head and pray not to dream or die.

“Hey” you hear him call in that low voice from another room “Boots. Should fit you”

“Score” you make your way to the bedroom, where he’s holding up an old pair of walking boots that, yes, look about your size. They’re tatty but wearable, and your current shoes are in dire need of replacement.

You sit on the bed behind you, sinking on to the soft mattress, and pull off your shoes to try on the others. It feels wrong, but you have to remind yourself no one is ever coming back to claim them. Joel doesn’t seem to have those thoughts, and you envy him for it.

He smiles as you tug on the boots, just a small smile but it sends something jolting through you.

You look at him for a moment, as he busies himself with checking through the rest of the room for any supplies you can use. Joel is handsome, there is absolutely no denying that, even with the dirt and the sweat and the scruff. He looks tired, desperately so, but even so his dark brown eyes have this shine to them, and his smile though rare is a gorgeous thing. You’ve thought about him, of course you have. When you had met you hadn’t noticed it but the more time you spend with him the more you see him. The more you feel for him. He is beautiful.

You feel a pang, and it’s horribly like guilt, as you think of him like that. Is it wrong, so soon after losing someone, to want someone else in your life? It feels wrong, like sin even though doesn’t make sense. You’re relationship with her had been full of love but it had only been platonic, yet it still feels like...like you’re being selfish, letting her go. It feels like a great betrayal and it stabs you through the heart.

In a moment the grief spills like a mighty flood threatening to consume everything in it’s wake. You stop still in tying the laces of the boots as you feel your breathing quicken in panic. There’s a sting in your eyes but know you wouldn’t cry yet. You can’t breathe, but you won’t cry. Can’t cry. You call the tears back in. Those tears are saved for when you are alone; in the moments when you wait for him to come back from a hunt or a scout, when you sit on the forest floor or on a sad, dusty, long-forgotten chair on your own and panic at the feeling of being by yourself. That is the time for misery, not here. Not now.

“You ok?” he turns to you concerned, noticing the change in your demeanour.

You clear your throat and nod, comforted by the way the tone of his deep, sad, voice speak volumes more than his words do. He worries about you, he does. He cares about you, even though he probably doesn’t mean to. It helps, calms you a little.

You’ve both kept your distance for all these weeks, only close when you need to be, but when you don’t answer he comes to sit right besides you. He’s warm. His body is warm. You’ve felt it at night when you share a bed or when he was showing you how to shoot better, but right now he’s just sitting there besides you his shoulder gently bumping yours and you feel the sweep of comforting warmth.

“I’m fine. I just…They’re good boots”

He lets out a grunt of a laugh.

“They must be damn good” he smiles barely but doesn’t press for a real answer.

The grief is a monster that holds you by the throat, and you are relieved he doesn’t make you give name to it.

Joel knows all about not talking about your pain, after all. You feel it every day and every time things get even a little more personal between the two of you as you slowly slowly inch closer together. He’s holding back on something and trying so hard to pretend it’s not there but what he doesn’t seem to realise is it’s always there. In those quiet moment where you’re just sitting, just trying to get through another harsh night.

***

Tonight you agree to share the large bed with the soft mattress in this house that will never again be anyone's home. He never insisted but you agree it’s safer if you’re both trying to sleep that you’re not separated. Usually you’d split a watch shift and sleep alone but you’ve been walking for miles, you’re sore and tired and miserable in your own little ways.

So you share the bed and to being with you keep your ever-dwindling distance as always but tonight...tonight is different. You drift a little closer than before, unintentional but god you just need the comfort of human touch or something right now. Your body begs for it ever since that crashing wave of heartache engulfed you earlier.

You’re filled with the need to erase that feeling. To replace it with something better, something warmer and kinder. It scares you how much you crave to feel his hands on you, how much you want him to wrap his arms around you. It scares you because you’re not even sure if you can face it – intimacy – or the rejection of it.

Still you move closer and you feel him move on his side of the bed...closer or further away? You can’t bring yourself to look.

“Joel?” you whisper after a breath, hoping he’s sleeping.

He kind of grunts a response and you don’t know what to say next so you don’t say anything. The air moves around you in gripping quiet.

“You alright?” he asks in to the silence, the enveloping dark.

He waits for your answer and you lose yourself in his steadiness. How does he do it? How does he manage to appear so composed even when you both know he isn’t? You want to cry or scream or rip your flesh from your bones. Something to stop all this noise in your head.

Silence still and he doesn’t move, doesn’t ask again. You think he’s probably settling back in to sleep and maybe you should just leave him be.

“Does it ever hurt less?” you whisper and your voice shakes. You regret it immediately. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to talk about things like that, he’s never even brought up the past.

He sucks in a breath, quiet, but doesn’t answer and you curl in on yourself. The desire to run floods you, the desire to be anything but you; to be strong and unaffected and more like him. You feel the prickle of tears in your eyes and it makes you hate yourself, hate your grief and your guilt and her for making you hurt like this.

And then you hate yourself even more.

“I’m sorry, darlin’….Wish I could lie to you but..” he sighs and you feel the shift of the mattress as he turns towards you. After a long pause and what you think is a hitched breath you feel the press of his large hand at your waist. “It’ll hurt forever”.

“How…” you force back the tears “How do you live with it?”

“You keep trying” his voice is thick with compassion and something else, “You find a way”.

You just nod and let him pull you closer, his body curving around yours, the weight of his arm over you making you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. You wipe away those treacherous tears and focus on just the feeling of him. It’s more than you had imagined. More than you’d dared to think about. His breath is warm on the back of your neck and it floods every part of you.

He lets out a sigh that sounds like relief. You feel something in him start to relax, just a little.

You want the pain to go away so desperately, at least for this moment. And so does he.

And so, he turns your head gently, thumb under your chin. You feel it leaving you already, some of the anger and pain. His face is above yours for maybe three seconds that feel like an eternity and then he’s kissing you. It’s soft, his lips are chapped but it doesn’t bother you. The kiss envelops you and the air around the two of you shifts.

Everything is pulled away.

Even if just for the briefest moment, he helps you let it go.

[thatshowthingstarted]

Pyxis, Etruscan, 7th-5th century,

Greek · Attic, 5th century B.C.

Molded in the form of a ram’s head, the muzzle black-glazed, with reserved areas along the grooves at the end of the nose, the nostrils and the mouth, the bulging eyes in added white, with thick molded lids, the fleece composed of a series of tiny raised pellets, the underslung horns ribbed, the black-glazed ears emerging from within, wisps along the forehead in dilute glaze

The bowl with the goddess Aphrodite enthroned on a klismos, her right elbow leaning on the back of her chair, her left forearm resting on her leg, a dove standing on the chair beside her, her winged son Eros standing with a fan behind her, a draped female standing before her, wearing a rayed diadem, presenting her with an alabastron in her extended right hand, her drapery held up in her left, Ares further to the right, depicted nude but for a himation pinned at his neck, his dagger secured by a baldric, spears in his left hand, a draped female before him with a phiale in her extended left hand; palmettes on either side of the handle, with two dotted circles in between

The vessel perforated at the ram’s mouth.

Terracotta, L: 21 cm

Courtesy: Phoenix Ancient Art

[thehypedbuddy]

We don’t know much about Aiden yet but I’m gonna guess that he’s gonna be like Whisper and Tangle since he’s already got the same color eyes as them, he seems to have attained Tangle’s tail and is gonna have a trait of Whisper soon. (Maybe being able to talk to wisps without having a device.)

Aiden has already attained a few attributes from Whisper aside from her eye color, his claws, fangs, muzzle, and portions of his fur pattern are examples of said attributes.

Perhaps Aiden will gain more, perhaps he won't, only-

Oh?-

Oh

[jamiesfootball]

🔪🩳⛓️🛌🏼

Oh man, everyone remember this cool ask game that I did? Of course you do. It definitely wasn’t almost three months ago

Three sentences for each fic, with some extra in interest

Some general content warnings for guns, referenced captivity, referenced murder, and implied future claustrophobia. A lot of things being referenced or implied here, but nothing super graphic

Except the platonic cuddles, of course. Content warning for the homie feeling like home or whatever

🔪 - Jamie Murders Zava

Maybe he should just confess.

Problem was that the more he thought about it, the less he remembered about what happened. The bit leading up to it came clear and sharp, and the aftermath — moving the body, stuffing it in between the carjack and the emergency crowbar and an old bag of clothes Jamie didn’t remember putting there — all of that sprinkled in his mind like glass crushed underfoot. Barely noticed until he stepped on a stray bit, and then he was bleeding everywhere, lightheaded and tethered to his body by only the faintest wisp. Hard to remember he was a person when he couldn’t even remember what he’d been doing, what he’d done.

But Jamie had other memories like that. No one had ever noticed or called him out on it. He could probably figure out what he’d done when confronted with the evidence, couldn’t he?

Speaking of the evidence.

He waited for Goodman and O’Brien to pass. Pretended to check his phone. When the coast was clear, he popped the boot open. Closed it.

Dead as yesterday.

He’d call for an Uber.

🩳 - Locked in a Trunk

He waited for the lads in red and white to leave. Then he made his move.

The first trunk he checked was disappointingly full, but the second one he found was only halfway crammed with odds and ends. With one last glance over his shoulder, Jamie tucked himself inside. Taking care to be all quiet-like, he pulled the lid closed and grinned to himself in the resulting darkness.

These equipment trunks didn’t even have locks on them. Honestly, it was like asking for someone to break in.

He settled in, making himself cosy amidst the spare gear, and waited for the others to come and find him.

⛓️ - Muzzled

No.

Someone's standing over him.

Roy snaps his eyes open. A black hooded figure stares back.

A strangled noice curls from his throat. He tries to throw himself back, and hits human hands and human heat and a very human knee that digs into his back and pins him to the fucking bed.

Something cold and metal presses into his hair, flush against his scalp, and clicks.

"Good morning, Mr. Kent,” the hooded figure says in smooth, faintly accented English. “I am going to start by asking for your cooperation."

🛌🏼 - Secret Nap Club

He cracked open his eyes and groaned.

This was much worse.

This time it was Roy who’d crossed the equator line of pillows, crushed right over them so that he could spoon against Jamie’s back. His arms were tucked tight around his middle, crossed possessively over each other like he was afraid of someone stealing his teddy bear.

Meanwhile Jamie slept on, his arms flopped innocently over the edge of the bed, as far away from Roy’s side as he could get without rolling onto the floor. He inhaled in quiet, wheezy little breaths, dead to the world while Roy seethed into the crook of his neck.

Even his snoring was inoffensive. What a fucking prick.

From the looks of it, Jamie had done everything right this time. He’d even worn a T-shirt, a thinning grey scrap that did nothing to spare Roy from his sleep-warmed skin. Or the not completely inoffensive scent of body wash, which was a sort of mix between woodsy and citrusy. For some reason, it brought to mind his host family’s kitchen, and the box fern that used to hang in the window, catching the morning light while the kettle steamed under it.

God, this was the worst fucking start to his day.

He was so busy composing an argument in his head for why this was still Jamie’s fault that he lost track of time, his eyes slid shut, and he fell back asleep.

[anonauthorsworkshop]

I need more of that mha scp au (I'm new here call me 🕸️-annon or 🐾-annon

Of course!! welcome 🕸️ anon!

AU where MC, instead of being transported to the SCPverse, is thrown into MHA, but with a SCP-summoning quirk. i do not know much about this manga/anime, and i apologize for any mischaracterization. if you'd like to see more of this AU, you can look for it under the "pp mha au" tag :)

-

You love your cardboard box. It’s quite cozy, actually. Even if it’s not a soft blanketed bed, it’s yours. Your box is a part of the home you’ve made, hidden and tucked away in the back of an alleyway. As you reside in the narrow aisle, the towering shadows of adjacent buildings cover your tired eyes, giving you the pinch of privacy and comfort you need.

It’s not much, but it’s enough. You’re fine this way. You don’t need more. You’ve survived this long.

At least, you think. That survival record of yours might get cut short if you don’t think quickly now.

You were rudely awoken today by chatter. Usually noise doesn’t bother you — you deal with passing cars and planes flying overhead every hour. But these people were loud, and they sounded awfully close. Irritated, you peered at those who interrupted your slumber.

Then immediately slipped back into your box.

The people in your alleyway appeared to be fighting. Judging by their discussion of 'territory,' it's likely a conflict between two... gangs. Yakuza. Mafia?

You don't care to tell the difference. But they’re definitely fighting in front of your cardboard home.

You squeeze your limbs, compressing them into a curled position. You’d rather stay hidden in your box until the conflict settles instead of entangling yourself in it. Maybe you could even sneak in some naptime.

Listening to the sounds of bones cracking, you retract your statement. No way you’d get any more sleep when they’re being this loud.

Tensing, you hear a groan of pain, and a wisp of wind grazes your face as someone’s body is thrown in your direction. They crash into your box, and you’re knocked outward at the impact. You lay, sprawled on the dirty cement.

Sitting up in a panic, your eyes dart to your beloved home, skidded several feet away from you.

The cardboard… It’s dented!

Your home is ruined!

Amidst your internal dilemma, another dispute occurs as your presence is revealed.

“This is why you’re protecting this turf so badly? Recruiting— No, taking children? Do you have no sense of morality?”

You stare at the crushed parcel. There's no way you'd be able to use that box again; it's beyond repair. You'll have to go garbage dumping for more cardboard.

"Us? Is this child not one of yours?"

Maybe you could scavenge the trash at the nearest appliance store. Or should you go to the postal office?

"You're using another cheap tactic."

"Fine, then."

Body stilling, you're shoved out of your nonplussed state. Cold metal meets your skin, gun pressed to your temple. The change in temperature flings away your drowsy, child-like delusions, and the danger of the situation alights itself on your mind's branch.

"If I'm so 'cheap,' leave our turf." The muzzle felt tight as it burrowed into your skin. "You like maintaining your morals, right?" The metal was pushed so deeply — you're sure your face will be left with a red, burning mark. "Leave."

With the current impasse, your mind scrambles for a way out.

Firearms... Weaponry...

You know which one you need.

The concrete below dims, like a shadow overcast, turning into murk.

The man holding you hostage seems to freeze, a momentary jolt as his muscle tissues squeeze, fibers tightening at a tingling sensation — something spreading from behind.

He collapses, body rotting against cement.

You stand, looming over the misshapen carcass. His abdomen dons a gaping, arm-sized hole, covered in a dripping black mass.

Your gaze turns to the one you summoned.

In a slow, winding movement, the old man brings his wrist to his chest. Unclenching his fist, there lays a clump of flesh, crumbling in his hand.

106 cracks a black, gooey grin.

"Did you enjoy your hunt?"

Tangled heaps of carnage clutter the alleyway. Your place of shelter is littered with dark, corrosive sludge, obscuring the corridor with more shadow.

Ah... You've made a mess.

Maybe you should have called for a different anomaly, but you were on a time crunch. You knew 106 wouldn't be affected by a firing line, no matter how speedy the bullet.

"You had your fun, right?"

106, of course, doesn't respond.

"It's time for you to go back. Thanks for all the help. Without you, I'd be dead meat."

As if from memory, the old man moves his arm in a deliberate, arc-like motion. The maneuver is fast — much faster than his typical movements. Your eyes travel to his fingers, tips touching the top of his eyes.

Is he saluting you?

Your nonchalant expression melts into a smile. You find joy in the oddest of things, it seems.

“There’s no need for that, you know.”

106 drops his arm to his side. You flick your wrist, as if to visualize a movement, and he disappears as you send him back to his intended cosmos.

Sighing, you plop to the ground, encircled by mangled remains. Not only are you going to need a new cardboard box, but you’re going to need a new place to live — no way you’re cleaning up all this…

It was like finding the runt of a litter.

Amidst the alleyway’s umbra, Aizawa spots you, seemingly in deep contemplation.

Immediately, his hero’s instincts kick in upon the sight — a kid, no older than 16, surrounded by a sea of bodies — and takes a step forward.

Something from below hisses. He darts his gaze downward to the tip of his shoe. There’s something eating at it, melting and corroding the material.

He retracts his foot, finding a black mass underneath.

You’ve noticed him by now, it appears, as your gaze latches onto his.

Something is terribly, terribly wrong here, he can’t help but think.

Your eyes are hollow, unbothered by the death around you. He realizes that the dark substance bestrewing the corridor seemed familiar — the same corrosion had been found in previous cases, bodies unrecognizable and perpetrator unknown.

Aizawa then recalls what words he’d received. A description from All Might — one that you fitted perfectly.

“You’re here to kill me.” You say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Not at all, kid. Just here to help you.”

“What?” You scoff, “Like some sort of hero?”

“I’d like to take you to a safer place,” he offers. “There’s some people who’d like to ask you some questions.”

“…Will there be food?”

He nods.

“Oh, okay.”

Aizawa watches as you approach him, stepping over the distorted limbs of each body, and walking atop the dark ooze without a care.

“Count me in, then.”

[pampushky]

Creature (Both Haunted & Holy)

Vinsmoke Sanji/Reader - Chapter 20 - 9.4k

There are a few things that insight rage in Sanji, and he discovers a new one. Nami and yourself talk, as your cycle turns your brain to fog.

oh yeah there's consensual thigh riding too

ao3 | series masterlist | masterlist | next part

Sanji charges straight into the undergrowth without a single thought of himself. He feels thorns pulling at his clothes and hears how the fabric protests, and eventually breaks. But something is deeply wrong because he can’t feel you anymore. It’s odd– he can’t quite explain it, besides just knowing , as if he had always been able to do this. 

It’s a dull throb, like an old bruise that’s turned yellow around the edges, not quite done healing yet. Your scent washes over him, as he sprints towards the last traces of that throb, hoping it doesn’t fade. 

Yet it does when he stumbles across your sunglasses. An item that hadn’t left your head since Zoro had gotten them for you, now shattered in the grass, with a medicinal scent coating the air. And for the first time since his departure from the Baratie, Sanji feels rage.

The poets and muses may sing and speak of the rage once felt by old heroes, raving about the power of their emotions during such a time, clinging to the corpses of lost loves. But they have never felt it as he had. Because he has no idea where you are, and whoever or whatever has hurt you destroyed one of your few treasured items. And the last thing he knew you felt was fear. 

Sanji was willing to burn down the entire world if it meant you would be safe at the end of it.

Dizzy. That was one way to describe how you felt. The world swam around you, as you swung back and forth from the branch of a tree, blinking away the last few wisps of unconsciousness. The medicinal scent nearly gags you, and as you try to gage your surroundings. 

You shudder, trying to wiggle your way out of what binds you. Whatever holds your arms behind your back, and wraps your legs tightly doesn’t budge. It’s cold, and it’s near impossible to move. Carefully, you try to bend at your waist, managing to lift yourself slightly so you can look at your legs. You squint at the light, wishing you had your sunglasses. 

“Stop moving, selkie.” 

Whatever binds your hands makes you straighten out, expanding over your back, and forces your chin to tilt downwards, looking him straight in the eyes, stands the same man from before, scowling at you. Yet the first thing out of your mouth, despite your situation, is—

“Why’s your hair fucking look like that?”

You hear Zoro snort and Nami groan, and as you sway and rotate from your branch, you see Vivi, Zoro, and Nami standing on a… cake. There are two giants bound with the same material as you, and what the cake seems to be made of. 

“Damn, they got you too?” Zoro has laughter in his voice. 

“They broke my sunglasses,” You squint at them, head aching from the light, and now hanging upside down. “Wait, Vivi, how long have I been gone?”

“Enough chatter!” the man snaps, and flicks his wrist. The material turns warm and crawls up your body. It makes you freeze, and you feel it climb up your hips, over your stomach, the man smirking up at you as it settles around your mouth, ridges sinking around your lips so that you can’t ignore it. You’ve been muzzled, pinching your lips shut, and you wriggle violently against the restraint, looking at Nami in panic. 

The navigator looks similarly panicked. 

“Wait— don’t do that! She— she’ll stop!”

“I don’t trust that,” the man growls, and you feel how the warm wax shifts over your head now, anchoring it around your neck. You want to scream, but you can’t, and you feel yourself start to shake, forcefully reminded of— of— 

“You bitch!” 

Arlong tosses you to the other side of the bed, holding the side of his neck. You back yourself against the wall, baring your teeth at him, mouth stained red with his blood as you growl. As he had tried to pin you down to slip himself inside you, you had taken the chance to sink your teeth deep into his neck, biting a chunk from his flesh. 

“I’ll show you!” Arlong grabs you by your throat, dragging you across the floor, and through the door. He stomps down the stairs, and then tosses you into the common room, uncaring that you are bare to his crew’s eyes. 

They have seen you like this and worse, when he decides to have his way with you in the middle of the day, when the sun is at his highest. But now, he is furious and snaps at them to hold you down as he leaves. Chew and Kurobi do so quickly, pinning you to the floor, with your head locked in Kurobi’s arm while Chew barks at Hatchan to hold your arms back. You writhe, unable to get free, hating how they touch you. Arlong returns soon after, holding something that jingles slightly, before he forces it on your face. 

“Teach you to fucking bite me again,” He makes sure it buckles behind your neck and tightens it so it hurts, the two straps that go up past your nose making you cry out. Or, try to. It doesn’t allow you to open your mouth and hardly allows breath to pass through your nose. 

You panic and thrash, but are held still. Hatchan looks away, eyes shut tight, while Kurobi and Chew make sure your arms don’t move, and that your gaze is only on Arlong as he bullies his way into your entrance, sighing in relief as he does so. “Fuckin’ perfect, this cunt is, so fucking tight… going to ruin you for any other man.”

Tears fall and stain the leather, as you tremble, but you can do nothing but close your eyes and hope that it will end soon. 

Nami finds you curled into a ball in the common room , unable to properly sob as you try to pry the muzzle from your face, still sticky with Arlong’s spend leaking from your core, mixing with your blood from his merciless treatment, and too weak to even try to hide yourself as she helps you up and guides you to the only bathroom you’re allowed to use. She helps take the muzzle off and doesn't make you talk about anything that happened. 

The muzzle has a lock the next time Arlong uses it. 

He laughs and says that it’s better because he doesn’t have to hear you cry so long as you wear it and that only he will decide when that ends.

Nami screams when you go completely catatonic, and then shouts until she goes hoarse because the wax slowly envelopes you until you’re completely cocooned, only your head uncovered, aside from the muzzle, eyes glazed over, still stuck in your mind. 

Sanji stumbles upon a hut as he runs around the island searching for you, following the medicinal scent in the air until he finds it. It’s made of wax and is cool to the touch when he runs his hand over it, grimacing when he’s able to open the door. It’s sticky, and the warmth of his hand leaves an indent on the door knob. 

It’s a plain room, nearly asylum-like with sterile walls and rounded furniture lazily planted around the hut. A transponder snail sits in the center of the table and only lazily blinks at him before it goes to sleep, uncaring of his entrance. 

Besides the fact that the hut stands out like a sore thumb in the middle of the jungle, Sanji knows deep in his gut that you’ve been here. Something in the way his head throbs confirms it for him. 

He lets himself come off as calm and collected when the snail starts to purr and ring. He masks his voice and answers it, listening to the man on the other end of the line, feeling his stomach churn with rage when he hears Mr. Zero ask if they’ve captured the selkie yet. 

Sanji lies through his teeth, assuring him that you’re incapacitated, promises that the Straw Hats are no more, and then after he hangs up, stands there in rage. He pulls at his tie, letting out a low, angry breath, just as the promised delivery of an eternal pose to Arabasta is dropped into his hand. The Unluckies, whatever they are meant to be, don’t stand a chance when they go to attack him. Sanji will not risk you being put in any further danger and follows the scent of something burning and melting wax deeper into the forest. 

The hair on the back of his neck rises when he sees you, swinging back and forth from a high branch, hair hanging in loose chunks around your hat. It makes you look like some form of a terrifying moth, half-formed from its chrysalis. Your eyes look empty, as he stands under you, not in the present moment. 

“Oh, what have they done to you?” Sanji murmurs, taking a few steps back to measure how far he will have to jump to catch you. 

In the clearing, is a giant cake made of what he can only assume is the same wax the hut was built from, and now suspends your form in the air. You let out a low growl, swaying slightly, just as Sanji watches Karoo and Usopp burst from the treeline across from him. He takes this as his chance to leap, swinging his foot down on the branch that holds you, and catching you before you can hit the ground. You jolt a bit as you move in his arms, startled gaze settling on Sanji. You let out a muffled groan, and Sanji sets you down and attempts to pull the muzzle from your face. It gives a bit, warming under his touch until you can breathe through your mouth again, letting out a shuddering sob. 

Something in the clearing crashes, and Sanji looks back just in time to see the wax cake in flames, with Nami, Vivi, and Zoro rushing over to where Sanji is prying wax from your body.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Nami screams and starts to help. You’ve gone limp, yet as your crewmates help you, you can’t help but feel cold. 

“Looking for you,” Sanji winces and pulls his hands away, looking at the frost that melts from his palm. “Hey— wait a second—” 

The air grows cold, and your breathing gets more and more ragged. You thrash a bit, frost coating the ground near you as Nami and Sanji back up. Only Zoro stays by your side, kneeling and gripping your shoulders. 

“Seal. You gotta get this in control,” He doesn't even wince when the tips of his fingers start to lose their color, only holding you tighter. “I’m not leaving you like this, idiot.”

That seems to do the trick, the frost no longer growing in a radius around you, though it steams from the contrast of the heat on the tropical island. You thrash again, gaze on Zoro, and the wax shatters as though it’s nothing, and wasn’t as hard as steel just a few minutes before, just as Luffy comes sprinting over to you, partially singed, but tackles you all in a hug, apologizing fervently for not being able to break whatever control the little girl had put him under. You only let out a rumble, enveloped in the scent of your pod, and slip away.

You come to consciousness in Sanji’s arms. Parts of you are still covered in a thin wax film and your body aches. You are aware, however, that the muzzle forced on you is now gone. The clamps that had kept your mouth shut had left deep bruises on your face though, and you let out a small whimper when you’re jostled a bit as he steps over a large root. 

Regret’s pungent scent practically streams off of Sanji in droves the moment the whimper leaves your mouth, and he pulls you a bit closer, whispering an apology to you, with one of his hands shifting to cradle the back of your head, shading your eyes from the sun by keeping your face against his chest. Your sunglasses are long gone, lost as you tried to hunt down Mr. 3, the spectacles cracked under his foot as he stared down at you.  

“I’ve got you,” Sanji keeps you close, holding him tightly, and you feel something like devotion thrum through your mind, and you know it’s his, “I’m not going to let you go, never again.”

You whine, and he looks down at you, gaze softening as your lower lip trembles. “ You came …”

“Of course I did,” He lets his forehead touch yours, and something burning hot fills your mind, and sinks to your stomach, making you warble as you press your face into his, eyes squeezed shut as you start to sniffle. Why did he have to be so kind, why did he have to be so loving, what did you do to deserve him? “ You called .”

Despite all the pain you’re feeling, the deep ache as your cycle sets in when you are held in his arms. Your hindbrain coos for you to present to him, to let him care for you as you need. It makes you whine, and he lays his cheek against your forehead. 

“You’re feverish, are you sick?” The smell of his worry, the sweet smell of a citrusy herbal cigarette that makes you croon, feeling safe in his arms. You’re somewhere on the ship now, letting the scent of your pod wash over you.

“M’cycle,” you slur out, warbling when he moves his cheek away, chasing his touch. “It hurts, Ji.”

“I’m here, don’t you fret,” He lets you tuck your face into his neck, rumbling from deep in his chest. Pod. Safe. “I’ll take care of you, I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Sanji lets you slip into unconsciousness again, continuing to rumble, vowing to keep watch over you until you awaken, so you can finally talk. He holds you close, lets your smell wrap around his head until he feels as though he’s drunk off of you, laying you in his hammock in the boy’s dorms so he can keep a better watch over you, the same part of his brain that always seemed to know when you needed him, helping him find you no matter what coos happily, as you snuggle into his pillow, whimpering as your cycle settles in, falling into a very deep sleep. 

He ties your hair back and out of your face, whispers a promise to return soon, and goes back on the main deck to meet Brogy and Dorry, who help them cast off, sending them flying across the ocean. 

When he returns to you, he gently shakes you awake and laughs at how you let out a protesting rumble, looking at him with a sense of betrayal. 

“C’mon, Ott, we gotta get you cleaned off. You’re covered in wax.” Your brow furrows as you sleepily look up at him, deep in the fog of your cycle, and shake your head at him, pressing deeper into the hammock.

“What do you mean, no? Darling—” He stops, immediately, catching himself, but you purr, loud and happily at his pet name. He can smell your happiness wafting off of you, too. “—c’mon, let’s get you up.” 

Somehow, he manages to get you out of his hammock, and carefully makes his way above deck with you in his arms, carrying you to the bathroom. You groan at the sunlight, and hide your face in his neck, mumbling something into his skin. And Sanji goes beat red from how your lips feel, brushing against his neck. The crew has to do their best not to tease the poor man, with Nami hiding a smile behind her hand and following to help you bathe. 

You, however, are in shock, when the ginger enters, watching her with wide eyes as she connects the dots. Her smile falters and when she moves to leave, you let out a loud, unhappy warble. Nami stops, and turns back to you, approaching carefully, and helps Sanji lay you in the tub. 

“Y’don’t hate me?”

“Wha— no — we can talk about this when you’re not in your cycle—”

Sanji excuses himself after that point, grabbing one of his hoodies and a pair of his boxers for you to wear— the last thing he wants to do is rifle through your drawers to look for underwear— and leaves them outside the bathroom door after knocking once. Just as he turns to leave, he gets pulled back in by his arm, with Nami hissing at him.

“You’re helping with this when I’m done, I can’t move her on my own–”

“S’because I got blubber now, ” You say glumly, fully submerged in the tub, only your head peeking out of the water, “Wish I was skinny, like Vivi. I think Sanji would like me, then.”

Oh, you are incredibly out of it. Nami looks at him pointedly, and he only nods, not saying anything, and continuing to stay out of your view. 

“Blubber is good, I thought,” Nami turns you around so your back is to the door, and Sanji. “You need blubber to be healthy. And you have muscle, now.”

“But it’s not pretty, ” You mumble, “Is that why you like Vivi more, now?”

“I… don’t like Vivi more than you, I just… like her in a different way than you.” Nami bites her lip as she pours some of the water over your head. 

“Oh.” Your voice sounds small, “I still don’t trust her. She tried to kill you.”

“.....Yeah, she did.”

“She tried to kill our pod,” You sink lower and blow bubbles into the water of the tub with your nose, whining when she gently pulls your head back up. “....what if she tries to kill you all again? What if there’s more of that drug– I don’t want you to get hurt .”

“I can take it,” Nami sighs and massages a shampoo into your hair after soaking it, “I don’t need you to protect me, I’m…. we’re, not at Arlong’s mercy anymore.”

Sanji feels like he really shouldn’t be here for this. 

“But I want to,” You sound so distressed at the thought of not doing that, “I love you, Nami.” 

“And I love you too!” Nami freezes with her hands in your hair, “I– I didn’t mean those things I said. I just don’t like the idea of you… not letting yourself heal, and holding onto something.”

“Says you,” you snort, purring when she continues to massage your scalp. “I wish you’d let me help you more. I know you need to heal too.”

“But you’ve gone through so much, the last thing you need is to hear my–”

“And you did too,” You go silent as she rinses out your hair, looking at the bits of wax that float on top of the water. “Please, Nami. I want to help.” 

The conversation dies after that, from a mixture of Nami not wanting to talk, and your lucidity slipping away with every gentle scrub against your head, chasing after her touch with quiet warbles. It’s at this point that both Sanji and Nami leave, letting you clean the rest of your body. 

Sanji isn’t quite sure what to do with himself, so he walks to the galley, followed closely by Nami, who watches his every move as he starts to dice up various ingredients for a soup. Your pelt is tossed over one of the stools on the island, and it causes the back of his mind to itch. It should be better-taken care of, it’s precious to you, something that keeps you warm!

But he pushes that down. He will not touch it without your express permission. Even if it feels wrong to let it lay like that. 

“Mind explaining what’s happening between you two?” Nami narrows her eyes as he starts to chop up carrots, and then onions, after coating the cutting board in lime juice.

“I’d like to court her,” Sanji whispers, “I think I’m in love with her.”

“You think that about every woman!” Nami hisses but looks at how Sanji grimaces to himself as he continues to work at food preparation.

“I don’t,” Sanji looks at Nami, a bit hurt, “I flirt, it’s how I get to know people, however unhealthy it might be— I want to be by her side— is that so bad?”

“Probably not,” Nami massages her temples, “I— I can’t do this right now, does she even have her nest built?”

Sanji thinks of how you had rearranged the quilt and pillows in his hammock and starts to chop onions faster.

“Sort of…..”

“Where?”

“…”

“ Where, Sanji?”

“In… the boys' dorms.”

“ What? ”

Nami slams her hands down on the counter, startling him. He brushes the diced onions into a waiting jar and wipes off his hands. And Nami’s stare hasn’t even wavered, that entire time.

“I panicked! I didn’t know where else to take her! So I put her in my hammock— it was like part of my brain was telling me to! That she’d be safest there!” He doesn’t add that it was because that territorial part of him wanted her there. After all, you’d be with him. 

“ Oh my seas, ” Nami runs her hands down her face, “ You two have been courting this entire time and didn’t notice it. Oh, my fucking seas.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Sanji paces to the other side of the counter, and stares at your pelt guiltily, hesitating even to touch it. But it feels right to, as he holds it in his hands, breathing in your scent, “I don’t want to force her to do anything!”

“You’re not,” Nami sighs while watching how he fiddles with his hands, putting the pelt down onto the counter again after folding it neatly, and looking at her anxiously. “You two just didn’t realize you were doing it."

Confusion is perfectly etched on the cook’s face. 

“Uh. I’ve stolen a few books on Selkenfolk, mainly to help stop her from getting pregnant, and to smuggle her stuff when she was held prisoner,” Nami holds her hands in front of her face, contemplating her next words “…. That spark you felt. That’s the bond, and I didn’t really think it was that, until this,” she gestures to him and the pelt folded so carefully by his hands, “It’s, uh, like sharing how you feel. Communicating. It’s only born through a really, really intense mutual love for each other.”

“It’s…. Ugh, have you ever read or seen those cheesy snail shows? Like, with soulmates?” Nami raises an eyebrow, “They’re based on Selkenfolk courtship and mating rituals. Because that bond is something beyond science. Like, the devil fruits. No one knows how they work exactly, but the fact that you have one, after such a short time,” Nami shakes her head in disbelief, leaning against the wall thoughtfully, “It’s fucking next to impossible.”

The galley is left in silence, as Nami starts to walk towards the bathroom to check on you. “If I bring her to your room…. Can you promise me she’ll be safe there?”

“With my life.” Sanji watches as she nods, and then leaves the room, taking your pelt with her. She delivers the news that Luffy, Usopp, and Zoro will be sharing the girl’s dorm while you spend your cycle in their dorm, to give you privacy. Sanji doesn’t know how they react, but their blankets and pillows are missing when he enters, climbing into his hammock. You look back up at him, drowsy, yet pleased to see him. 

“Waited,” you rumble out to him, pulling the blanket over yourself and him as he climbs in, settling on his chest. You’re wearing his hoodie, with your pelt snuggled against you like a plush. “M’pod… sleep.”

Sanji nearly dies right then and there as you fall asleep in his arms, the bond tingling with bliss as you do. 

You open your eyes to the sound of waves crashing on a beach. The pebbles under your feet are cool, and pieces of sea glass make you chirp happily as you go down to your knees to examine everything. It’s like the beach from your home isles, and you even see bullwhip kelp being set out to dry on long, thin racks, just like the ones that had been under your house.

The tinkling of sea-glass wind chimes fills your ears, and as you look more inland, you can see your little village. Dozens of short houses, some with woven roofs of kelp and others with traditional grass roofs, a few goats even grazing on the house you recognize as one of your aunt’s houses. The laughter of pups, and the loud clanging of boats coming in to harbor— it’s all so… so… familiar. So comforting, 

If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine your momma’s voice calling out to you and your siblings, telling you to come in for dinner, while your mam would hoist you over her shoulders, making you giggle as she blew raspberries against your cheek, dark eyes flashing just like yours when the light caught them. 

“Oh, little one…. you’ve been so far from me,”

You turn on your heel, nearly slipping on the slick rocks as you look at the source of the voice.

Before you stands your mother, Sion. Or at least, something like your mother. She has the same scent, of sweet gin and sage, and her hair even falls the same. Yet she isn’t quite right. It’s in her tone and the way she looks at you. 

You close your eyes, and suddenly you see your grandmother, Sion’s mother, Anweth. You had known her more than Coth, and you breathe heavily, hands forming a fist in the smooth pebbles of the beach. 

“No fear, child. I am your Mother. The first Mother, really.”

Her tone lacks the lilt it once had, the fondness and joy she had spoken for you, as she gave you sweets and kissed your cheeks as a baby. She sits in front of you, criss-cross and smiling at you so lovingly. 

“You… know me?”

“Of course I do,” She tilts her head, laughing a bit. You blink, and she changes again, now Feann, with short-cropped hair and a mischievous smile. “You’ve been brave, braver than any of my children should be.”

“So… you know what happened,” You bring your legs inwards, and hold them awkwardly. 

“Yes,” her expression saddens. “I’m so sorry, little one. I couldn’t save you from him.”

“How… do you know that?” You scoot backward a bit. “You’re not my Mam. Or Momma, or Gran.”

“I’m the Sea Mother, pup,” And she reaches out so easily, and flicks your nose, laughing as you squeak. “I’m every selkie’s mother.”

“You are her!” your eyes widen, “You’re— oh my god did I do something sacrilegious? ”

“No– why would that be your first thought? That’s so concerning, pup— moving on, but I’m here to tell you to move on,” She gestures around her, and you feel your heart sink. She’s changed nearly a dozen times now, into the dozens of selkenfolk you knew from your old pod. “You have a pod, and someone who loves you dearly.”

“Do I?” You look down and play with some of the pebbles. “I don’t— what if he doesn’t really?”

“I promise you, he does,” She presses her lips against your forehead, and turns into a vaguely familiar selkie, with long white hair and the same dark eyes as you. “You must let him help you, though, my pup.”

“Will he…. Want me? As I am?”

“He wants you as you are, even now, and will continue to until death separates you,” She laughs, and it sounds melodic. “The bond is strong, and he is devoted. You are matched, as evenly as possible. Perfectly balanced.”

You bite your lower lip and nod, looking at her. “Will I remember this?”

“I’m afraid not, little one. When you wake up, this will be but a drop in the ocean.”

“Oh.”

“You must be brave though, braver still than you already have been,” she takes your hands in her own, smiling at you. “Your true cycle will start when you wake up. I will wait until you are ready."

“....Will I be okay?” You ask in a small voice. 

“Only you are in control of that.” She sighs but smiles. “I am inclined, however, to say yes.”

The Sea Mother lets you sit on the pebbled shore, watching the waves, for what feels like hours, until you feel ready to truly bid farewell to your village. Her shape doesn’t change again, and she stays as the white-haired selkie for the rest of your vision, her presence warm and comforting as she sits beside you. 

By the time you wake up, you’re feverish. Sanji puts the back of his hand against your forehead and you whimper, shaking a bit. At the back of his mind, he feels something churning. Deep and desperate, eating at his heart, fogging his better judgment—- it’s a want for pleasure. Want for something more, something intimate, no, it’s a need.  

He looks down at you, suddenly hyper-aware of how you shudder at his every touch, trilling weakly when one of his hands brushes against your face, or how you croon for him to go further when his hands rub down your back. 

Nami’s explanation from your first cycle swims in his head. It’s a period of time when selkies are most fertile— when they’re fully grown, of course. It's like… ovulation but on steroids. It can get painful if it’s not properly… uh, treated. But she’s never had a real cycle before, so we should be okay for a year or two. For a real one. He pales, when you let out a small moan, twitching when he adjusts his leg, which is between both of yours. This is much faster than Nami initially thought, and it scares Sanji when he realizes that could be partially his fault.

“Need,” you whine, still not lifting your head for Sanji’s chest, and he keeps one of his hands on your back as you pant. “Please, Ji, it hurts so much…”

“You’re not in your right mind, I’m not going to do that to you,” Sanji hates that you sound so distraught after he says that, whimpering against him as you sluggishly try to move against his thigh. That same, territorial part of his brain makes a little growl and you let out another whimper, stopping, though he hates how your eyes water with unshed tears as you look up at him, not moving against his leg, though he can feel how you squirm, whimpering as you cramp.

You let out another pitiful keen, high-pitched, and desperate against his chest and he rumbles, hoping that it’ll calm some of your nerves, holding your hips when you make a move against his thigh again, a pitiful little moan slipping out of your throat when you manage to push down on him once before he forcefully stills you, growling again when he submits to the primal side of his mind that seems to be helping out most here. This time, you look at him with wide eyes but don’t try it again. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you that way,” Sanji rubs your back as you let out a sad cry into his chest, “It wouldn't be right— you’re not— you’re not sober, I can’t— this isn’t how I want to do this—”

You let out another whine, curling into his chest when another cramp racks your body, and in that same primal, territorial part of his mind, he can feel your pain, seeping through into his own body somehow, as well as how it nags at him to let you continue, insisting that it knows what to do, and what is best. But he battles it. Because Sanji, ultimately, is human and does not have to bow to the instincts of a cycle. He does not, and even if he were to be mated to you, would not be able to feel what it is truly like to enter one. He will never understand the ache, laced with instinct and desperation, that you currently feel fogging your logical capabilities. It only seems natural, to want to spend this time with Sanji, as the man you are attracted to and have fallen for, with his gentle nature and kind words for you. 

To spend a cycle with him was logical. He was kind, and protective, and made you feel safe. His scent was comforting, and his touch was soft, never harsh or tight, against you. There was even the bonus of the sweet bond that had formed, through your accidentally-encouraged courtship. 

So why didn’t he want you to present?  

It made you whine, your poor, cycle-addled brain confused and afraid at the idea of rejection. Because this is what was natural. A potential mate who made you feel safe, who had welcomed you into his pod happily, and now held you in his own nest, caring for you, and dressing you in his clothes, scenting you as best any human could, while never wearing your pelt for himself. This was courtship!

Were you missing something here? Had you massively miss-read that conversation on Little Garden? The scent of his affection, the regret, everything that he had done as he took you to the ship. 

You came…?

Of course I did, you called. 

Your head aches, and your heart cries out to its other half, not knowing that he can feel that cry deep in his soul. 

So Sanji holds you, rubs your back, and apologizes when you beg him to help. He gives you a tea that puts you to sleep and makes sure you’re always wrapped up in a blanket. This continues for the next three days, a repetition of him occasionally leaving to perform his duties as a cook, coming back to you warbling out for him quietly, confused as to why he’s left, and why he won’t help you as you need him to. 

He comes to live with that guilt. Because he cannot do that to you. So when it’s his turn to take the night’s watch, he takes it, giving you tea to help you sleep through the night, and distracts himself from all of the intrusive thoughts in his head in the crow's nest. 

It’s around 9:00 when you wake up somewhat lucid. Enough so that you manage to stumble out of the hammock, feeling disappointed that Sanji isn’t there with you, even if you’re conflicted as to whether you should even feel relieved he opted to spend your cycle with you. The logical and instinctual sides of your mind, as usual, wage war against each other, but now on the opposite side to what they were once on.

Sanji had chosen to spend it with you, took time out of his day, had spoken about how this wasn’t how he wanted to become intimate with you (the thought of that made you flush a deep gray, as you realized he had said that) while your instincts have gone sour. Though he doesn’t smell like rejection, your hindbrain is convinced it will only be a matter of time. To be asked to help a selkie during their cycle is an honor— a deep show of trust— and even if you were lucid or not, Sanji hadn’t been willing to do that for you.

Because we weren’t lucid! You can almost imagine your logical half snapping, and you can hear how your instincts huff childishly. 

When is anyone lucid during their cycle? That's the entire point of it!

You… don’t have time to imagine this. Especially when you stumble and nearly fall flat on your ass as you walk up onto the deck for the first time in three days. The fresh air feels like a splash of cold water on a drunken person’s face, and you are hit with every mortifying thing you’ve said to Sanji, and begging for him to let you grind on his leg. 

“Oh my god ,” you bring your hands up to your face and then look at what you’re wearing, feeling like you’ve just made the stupidest mistake of your life. Sanji’s hoodie, and based on how the waistband of the pants you’re wearing are knotted with a hair tie to make them fit, a pair of his boxers, too. 

You can’t even pretend you don’t feel incredibly safe being so enveloped in his scent, or you don’t get a sense of joy knowing that he had brought you to his hammock, rather than putting you in your dorm. You don’t know what to feel. Happiness, perhaps, because it seems that Sanji has chosen you over Vivi. Guilt, that he is now saddled with the burden of caring for you. And a deep confusion.

Why had he left? 

The scent of the deck is muddled and eclectic, but you can still see a wisp of smoke in the night air, coming from the crow’s nest. You nod to yourself, staying put near the galley, not entirely ready to expose yourself like this, especially not while you have your lucidity. You could go downstairs now, and sleep in your own bed, but right as you’re going to turn and go back down, only to have your ankle caught on something, making you fall flat on your face, a loud thwack echoing around the deck.

It was so loud, that you froze the moment you hit, despite the warm, sticky feeling on your face, and somewhat-panicked footsteps on the wood. Sanji, in all his glory, holds a lantern in one hand, and looks down at you in shock, before dashing over to check on you. He’s… oddly casual, in his current dress. A pair of dark sweatpants, slides, and a long-sleeve shirt, gasping when he sees the bloody nose you sport, saying your name in surprise.

“What are you doing out of the room? Let's get you fixed up.” 

His gentle hold on your upper arm lifts you upwards as you hold your hands over your nose, the cook guiding you into the galley and flicking a light on. He rolls up a cloth to plug your nose and pinches the bridge of it gently. You can’t meet his eyes, but you do know that there is a heat rising in your stomach just from his attention, whining for more.

“You didn’t say why you were out,” He checks to see if you’re still bleeding, satisfied that you aren’t, and then goes to fetch a wet cloth to wipe away the blood on your face. 

“Do I need permission to be out?” You don’t look at him, desperately wanting that warmth in your stomach to go away.

“Uh… no? But, you’re sick, and I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Sanji turns back to you, and has a bit of a confused expression on his face.

You keep your gaze down, fiddling with the edge of your hoodie. 

“Hey– I’m not mad or anything like that—”

“Then why do you care?” 

You don’t mean for it to come out so harshly, and regret it when you see the hurt in his eyes. Sanji feels his heart beat a bit faster, as you scrunch your hands into fists at the edge of your sleeves— the sleeves of his hoodie— when he decides to say screw it and let it all come out.

“Because I love you?”

You freeze, looking at him with an expression of utter shock. 

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” Sanji insists, and you scoff, folding your arms. He mirrors you, frowning at your insistence.

“Why would you? You could have Vivi—”

“Why would I want Vivi?

“Because you don’t deserve my baggage— all of this shit that’s wrong with me—” You back away a bit, shaking your head. The counter behind you reminds you that you're a bit cornered, and you hate how panicked that makes you feel, trapped yet again, “You— you don’t love me, you love the idea of me,” You look at Sanji, utterly terrified. “This— This idea, of the witty, snarky selkie, that’s what you– that is what you love. Not my emotions. Not my baggage—”

Sanji kisses you before you can answer, holding your face so gently, and pulling away before you have the chance to reject him, looking down at you, bright red, while you also start to flush a darker shade, touching your lips, and breathing heavily.

“For the record— I do love the idea of you. But also just you. If it’s you, I love it.” He somehow blushes heavier, as you continue to touch your lips, still dazed. “Fuck, I— I should have asked— I’m so sorry— I should have asked, fuck—"

Before he can finish you pull him into another kiss, happy trilling in the back of your throat as he braces one of his hands against the back of your head, laughing only briefly to break away for air before you’re both just grinning and laughing and hugging between messy pecks and kisses. Sanji just holds you close by your waist, spinning you around and pressing his lips all over your face. 

“I love all of you.” Sanji finally manages to get out, stilling and just holding you to him, looking up at you as though you are the moon, and he is a moth attracted to the light. “Every scar. Every fear. Every snarl. Every little thing. So long as it’s you.” And just lets you hug him tightly, hands laced through his hair.

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth. Give up on my hopes and dreams, if it meant I could stay by your side,” he whispers as you both sway. “As long as you will have me, I will be with you, always.”

Even then, he kisses away the tears when you start to sniffle, making you laugh rather wetly. He just holds you, until you’re smiling again, still kissing away any stray tears that manage to make it down your cheeks, until you’ve calmed down a bit, wiping at your face with one of your hands. Your heart beats loud enough for him to hear it, gently pressing another kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you.” He murmurs, and he can hear how you trill, looking up at him, still shy, still uncertain, even with how he’s kissed and held you. “I’ll wait forever until you’re ready. Because I just want you.”

Sanji doesn’t let you walk a single step after he confesses to you. He carries you, with your arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist into the boy’s dorms. You keep your face hidden in his neck, trying your best not to let any of your current pain deep through the bond. You fail at this when he runs a hand down your back and whispers an apology for not helping sooner. 

Your hindbrain is in heaven when he sets you into the hammock, and he looks down at you so lovingly, as you squirm from the heat in your stomach, needing him. 

“Ji’ please —” You hate how desperate you sound at that moment, but it just hurts so much, and all you want is for your courted to truly hold you, and provide you a comfort only he can. 

The hammock sways as he climbs in, butting his forehead against yours gently, and settling next to you. You curl into his arms immediately, basking in his scent, surrounded by his warmth, tangling your legs with his so easily it’s almost second nature to you. It shouldn’t be so simple, yet it is. Sanji has worked his way into your heart, cracking open your ribcage and bearing down upon your very soul as though it’s nothing, as he looks at you with such love in his eyes. 

And you want it all. Want to be so intoxicated by his presence that you’re essentially left at his mercy, clay formed by his hand and shaped into whatever he may want of you. A single brush of his lips against your forehead is enough to have pleasure thrum through the bond, leaving you dizzy and keening against him. But it’s so, so gentle. The way he tilts your chin upwards with his warm fingers, and pulls the hoodie down so it covers you a bit more when you shiver. Every single whisper of a question before he does anything to you, eyes on your own, hands entwined together as he holds you. 

You’ve never felt such gentle love before. All he wants to do is give. It’s confusing, still. Because as much as your hindbrain coos to accept it all, your learned responses, the damage inflicted on you by the hands, teeth, and claws of another, has you thinking of what Sanji may want. These hiss in your ear, telling you to submit and let him do with you as he will, and to let him take all of you. That is his right, to claim you as his own, the voice of Arlong hisses to you, You exist to please him. Be his toy, a hole to fill. Greedy, selfish selkie, thinking he will please you.

Yet every time you try to present to him, to let him sink deep into you and take what he may need, to claim you as his, you feel his shock. How he closes your legs without even looking, instead aiming to get that dizzy, happy feeling thrumming through the bond again, quite literally, kissing you silly. He does nip, but it’s playful, keeping your attention on him, and never hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn’t let you objectify yourself, or slip back into the old routine Arlong had instilled in you. He kisses you, instead, gently pushing into the bond, to let him help you. 

“What do you need from me ?” Sanji holds your face as though you’re the very epicenter of his world, hovering over you. “How can I make this better for you, my beloved?”

Your stomach flips at that, and you sob into his embrace, letting him kiss away the tears that stain your cheeks, and feel how his lips ghost over the scars on your face. 

“I— I don’t know, 'm sorry— I’m a bad courted—”

“Nonsense,” Sanji presses down on the bond, and you feel a taste of his frustration for a second, yet not at you. “You’re my courted. And I’ll not have you speak about yourself that way.”

You submit after that, keening as his scent grows stronger, sobbing into his arms. “‘M sorry— ‘m sorry— you’re mad at me—”

“Never think I’m mad at you,” Sanji nudges his nose against yours, foreheads pressed together. “I’m here for you, always. Just you, and your wonderful voice, and beautiful brain, and those sweet, smart eyes.”

You keen loudly, and he just holds you, gently soothing your hiccups and sobs by kissing away your tears and wiping at your runny nose with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“I love you, I’m right here,” Sanji lets you cry, his lips on your forehead as you sob. 

He simply holds you, looking down at you lovingly, listening as your sobs quiet into sniffles, and then into steady breathing, just holding him close. 

“You still awake?” Sanji shifts a bit, and you peek up at him from where you’ve hidden your face, eyes a bit puffy and tender, but very alert. “There’s my girl, look at those pretty eyes.”

“You’re so stupid,” You groan, a bit more lucid, and now embarrassed, and he chuckles, kissing your forehead. “.....I love you too.”

“Yeah?” Sanji teases, leaning back a bit as you settle on his lap, straddling him. 

“Yeah– hey! ”  You yelp, when his thigh presses against your core, cheeks darkening as you balance yourself by pressing your hands to his chest, groaning a bit as the heat in your stomach returns, the dull ache no longer kept at bay by Sanji’s presence. 

“My bad, my bad,” Sanji braces one of his hands against your back, looking at you with a worried frown. “Are you in pain? I can get a warm water bottle—”

“Won’t… help,” You bite the inside of your cheek, closing your eyes tightly. “M’cramping, need… uhm…”

A darker color tints your cheeks, and Sanji’s mouth turns into an ‘o’, as you stay as still as possible, with his thigh still between your legs, the apex of your thighs resting on his leg. 

“You… can use my leg, if you’d like,” Sanji suggests, gently tilting your face towards his and getting you to open your eyes, “If it’ll help you, I want you to do it.”

“That’s….” You feel the way your muscles start to tighten in your abdomen, and the foggy feeling of your cycle makes you groan, “....can’t do that to you, I shouldn’t—”

“I’m asking you to use me as you need,” Sanji brings his other hand up to your face, brow creased with worry as he gently says your name, “Please, I don’t want you to be in pain if I can help it.”

“Can’t,” you sob, leaning into his touch, “Y’don’t— m’body’s—”

“Your body is beautiful,” Sanji whispers, “You are beautiful. Please, let me help you.”

He kisses you gently, hands on your hips, guiding you to stay perched on his thigh. Whispering praise when you pull from the kiss, whimpering as you lean against his chest. 

“Y’sure?” Your voice starts to slur, want for Sanji clouding your mind, tugging on the bond to try and stay lucid. 

“Absolutely,” Sanji pecks at your lips and then lets you lean against him again, watching as you pull his boxers off of yourself, shyly not meeting his gaze and cuddling deep into the hoodie he let you borrow as he pulls his sweatpants down enough to expose his thighs. You whimper, gently setting yourself onto his thigh, fidgeting a bit as you adjust to the feeling of his skin against your core. 

You sit there for a bit, occasionally moving back and forth to get used to it, though that doesn’t stop the moans you let out when you do move, and Sanji has to pinch the bridge of his nose tightly to stop the trickle that’s started as he watches you do this, breathing heavily. When it does stop, he takes his hand away from his nose to rest on your hips, massaging the skin through the hoodie. You are panting, holding tightly to his shirt as you start to move more regularly.

The first roll of your hips against his thigh has you moaning loudly, slumping into Sanji’s chest as his hands help to guide your hips to move back and forth. You feel bliss warming your belly, when his thigh tenses under you, and your hindbrain coos. His skin is warm against your core, and his hands on your hips gently massage the tension.

“So, so beautiful,” Sanji finds himself murmuring, and you let out a low rumble against his chest, hiding in his hoodie, but he keeps watching.

He can feel your slickness on his thigh, the warmth of your core rubbing back and forth against him. It’s intoxicating, and as he takes a deep breath through his nose, Sanji can smell you. It’s salty, and somehow pine-like, as you pant against his chest, gripping onto his sleep shirt with loose fists. 

Experimentally, Sanji holds your hips a bit tighter and pushes you down onto his thigh. Oh, and it feels electric, the bond between the two of you making his entire body thrum, as though he’s sitting on top of the amp to a bass guitar. You let out a loud gasp at that, head tilting back a bit as you look up at him with wide eyes. 

“That’s it, keep moving,” He encourages you, nudging his nose against your own, and nips at your lips, reveling in your little whimper when he sucks your lower lip into his mouth. “I can feel how wet you are, ma moitié, doing so wonderful.”

You push yourself down, groaning into his mouth when you feel the sweet drag of your clit against his skin. He’s so warm, somehow so filling, even without being within you. It drives you insane, when he lets your lower lip go, pressing teasing kisses against the corner of your mouth, 

“D-don’t stop—” You blush heavily, falling into his chest as Sanji presses you down onto his thigh, flexing his muscles just right to have those beautiful whimpers fall from your mouth. “ Sanji— ”

“M’right here,” Sanji squeezes your hips, and has you grinding harder on him. You let out another sob, rolling your hips and chasing your high on his leg. “So, so good, what do you need from me, pretty girl?”

“H - hhn —-hands, please, need— haaa— need your hands— please, please, please —” You look up at him, open-mouthed and gasping for him, “Sanij, please, kiss—” Gently but quickly, he tilts your chin up to capture your lips in his own, and you groan into his mouth, fully at his mercy as you slump against him, pawing at his shirt. 

His tongue slips into your mouth, and you feel as though you are being consumed by him, letting him prod and experiment with your own tongue, teeth clashing against teeth. The tip of his tongue lightly ghosts over the sharpness of your teeth, and then presses against your tongue, wrapping around it as best he can as if to sample your flavor. And he groans, leaning forward and deepening the kiss, head over yours until he gently moves you to lay on your back, thigh still between your legs, hands lifting your body to drag your weeping cunt against his leg. 

You want to sob, so fully desperate for everything he gives you, wanting him to mark you and claim you so badly. Anything he will give you, you will take it without any fight, only wanting to be his. 

One of his hands inches a bit closer, adjusting so that he’s holding you at an angle, bent over you, still with his tongue practically down your throat. When his thumb finally, finally rubs against your clit, you lean your head back, breaking the kiss, and let out a loud, wailing trill. Quick, harsh circles are rubbed right into your bud while Sanji brings his other hand to cradle the back of your head, hovering over you as you look up at him, unable to form any real words. You somehow manage to loop your arms around his neck, trilling, and whimpering as he continues. 

“Ss— Sssaan —-Sanjiiee eeee! ” you slur out, looking down to where his hand is, sobbing as his thumb moves quicker, bringing you closer and closer until you tip over the edge with a cry. 

You had never felt a love like this. Gentle, caring love, with Sanji’s fingers working your clit through your high until you let out a whine of overstimulation. 

Sanji guides you down, kissing your face sweetly, and leaves only to collect a cool cloth to help clean his thigh and your core. You whine at his touch, sensitive, but purr happily when he lets you snuggle on top of his chest. Through the bond, he feels your satisfaction, and the bliss you ride on, basking in his scent and love. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else as you fall asleep in his arms, a blanket pulled over your form.

“Sweet dreams, my pearl,” Sanji whispers into your hair, smiling as your arms wind around him tighter. 

The waves rock the boat gently, back and forth, back and forth, until Sanji himself is asleep, holding you in his arms, the two of you are asleep without nightmares for the first time in a very long time. Distantly, across the void, in the stretches of mortality and life, your mothers brush their hands down your back and smile down upon you and your courted, sweeping the bangs from his eyes, and welcoming him into their pod, before stepping away into the void again, leaving you and your courted to sleep.

[cha0s-boyy]

image descriptions in alt and in plain text below the cut

[ID: six digital reference sheets of anthro canines. each has two 3/4 view fullbodies, one showing the characters' fronts and the other their backs. they all have a name at the top, notes around the characters, and an info panel in the middles 1. Ringo! he has mostly white fur, mint green ears and tail, black forearms, lower legs, and x-markings on his snout and back, and violet around his eyes. the notes say, "notch in ear from barfight," "drunk," "narrow shoulders," "wide hips," and "big tail." the info is: coyote, male (cis) he/any, the pan flag, the saggitarius symbol, 5 foot 7, and 160 lbs. the background is pale violet and has an overlay of alcohol being poured. 2. Laurel. she has pale peachy fur, with large darker splotches on her snout and lower back and thighs, pale pink skin, and pale blue eyes. she also has human-like hair the same color as her markings. the notes say, "finger waves," "usually wears choker," "moderate bust," and "long feathered fur." the info is: coyote, female (cis) she/her, the bi flag, the gemini symbol, 5 foot 6, and 140 lbs. the background is pale pink and has an overlay of bubbles in a sparkling drink. 3. Freck. he has mostly white fur, with a light gray head and tail with small white spots on his snout and tail, and blue skin and eyes. the notes say, "thick spiky fur" and "spots only on base and tip of tail." the info is: wolf, male (cis) he/him, a pride flag with a black and white striped hetero base flag overlayed by a heart with the bi flag, the cancer symbol, 6 foot 0, and 240 lbs. the background is pale blue and has an overlay of a cloud of powder or dust. 4. Reline. he has mostly red fur, with a yellow on his chin, chest, tail tip, fingers, and toes, and black Xs on his cheeks, upper arms, and thighs. he also has yellow eyes and skin. the notes say, "sleek fur," "Xs face out" (on the arms), and "Xs on knees." the info is: jackal, male (cis) he/him, a pride flag that is split bi and ace-spectrum as the base and overlayed by a heart with the aro flag, the taurus symbol, 5 foot 9, and 130 lbs. the background is pale yellow and has an overlay of oil spilled on a corroded surface. 5. cyx. she has mostly beige fur, with orange ringed by white on her ears, muzzle, and paws, a gray tail, and gray skin and eyes. the notes say, "smokes," "normally wears leather jacket," "small bust," and "muscular." the info is: fox, female (cis) she/any, the bi flag, the scorpio symbol, 5 foot 2, and 130 lbs. the background is pale peach and has an overlay of wisps of smoke. 6. Smoke Alarm. he has dark gray and black fur, and dark red skin and eyes. he also has human-like hair, styled forward somewhere between a faux-hawk and emo bangs. the notes say, "scar on left cheek," "mane of hair," "muscular," "arm band hides gear," and "thick fur." the info is: wolf, male (cis) he/him, the ally flag, the virgo symbol, 6 foot 2, and 220 lbs. the gender, pronouns, and flag all have other things written behind them but scribbled out. the background is pale red-brown and has an overlay of billowing smoke. /end ID]

[nutteu]

a discarded scene from cattonquick abo au alpha/alpha

Oliver said this, on a Monday morning as the city bustled about four floors below, the sun barely scraping the horizon and the tang of liquor still clinging to the back of Felix’s throat: “I want to die like a shooting star.”

Felix traced the scattered bruises on Oliver’s bare skin, as if mapping sins after sins. He asked, “Why so, darling boy?”

“So you can wish on me, and I’ll carry it to my demise,” Oliver whispered, a smile on the curve of his lips. There was a moment of cliché, in this early morning: the wisp of sunlight in the room, the ruckus of a city coming alive; the softness of Oliver’s voice, the heartache in his eyes, the acceptance of a looming storm circling above their heads. He was ethereal, and he was Felix’s beautiful boy, in the darkness of the shadows, in the secrets they heaved into each other’s lungs, into the future that kept slipping through their fingers.

Felix gave him a smile in return, pulled him into his lap, caressed the back of his hair. He said, “In this universe, pretty darling, you will always live as the stardust. There should be no end for the wishes I have for you; they will be eternal, though unseen by many.”

Oliver laughed, low and pleasant, cradling Felix’s face gently. “Will you scatter across the universe when you perish, my Lord? Trying to find me in a never-ending chase.”

“If I must,” Felix said, closing his eyes and leaned his head on Oliver’s chest, counting his heartbeat, like counting the days to a wedding, where a groom would stand tall, a faceless bride by his side, and Oliver—sweet, darling Oliver, standing amongst the throngs of people in his beautiful dress, so that they’d know he’d been shaped into an abomination by a selfish love. Oliver, letting go of what could never be, and Felix, letting go of what he could never have. He echoed, pulling his darling boy closer still, “If I must.”

The silence was a loaded gun, and they knew they were pointing the muzzles to each other’s chest. It was alright; they had experienced the death of wishes a thousand times over. This should be no different, for the future would never change: unattainable, elusive. The city started its crawl towards the day, and inside the apartment suffocated by their entwined scents, they stayed.

-

[rambling compilation]

[nallchange]

Just a wisp of moonlight, dancing in the air.

And where it touches, fluff pops up. Claws press out. Ears get longer. Muzzle too.

You're going to be a werewolf.

Shivers down your spine. Clothes give way to fur and a tail. Taller, broader. Heavy paws.

Catching the wisp in your fores, and, gulp; swallowing it up. Warm and satisfying.

There was enough magic there to make more werewolves, but that's up to you now: claws bright, eyes glow. Toothy grin.

Who to visit first?~

[silvokrent]

Ennui - 3

ennui /ɒnˈwiː/ n. a gripping listlessness or melancholy caused by boredom; depression.

Anger did a lot to deaden a person to their surroundings. At least, that was Flint’s impression when he finally noticed where his pacing had taken him.

It said more about his current emotional state than he’d care to admit, that he’d wandered this way on reflex. His first impulse was to keep walking, let the fatigue gradually creep in until he no longer had the energy to feel.

Does this conversation have a point?

What are you doing here?

“The hell if I know,” Flint sighed, as he pushed open the door, and let himself in.

But he needed answers.

Personally, Flint had always liked the café, if for no other reason than how obnoxiously its rustic vibe clashed with the rest of Sunyshore’s aesthetic. The barrels and weathered floorboards wouldn’t have looked out of place somewhere pastoral—Solaceon came to mind—but the effect was jarring. He suspected the dissonance had been somewhat intentional.

The Houndoom lounging below the window barely reacted to Flint’s presence, beyond a cursory glance in his direction. Not all that surprising, given the gray streaks on his muzzle.

“It’s been a while, Dante.” The Houndoom dropped his chin back onto his paws, a cracked eye tracking Flint’s movements without any particular sense of urgency. “I don’t suppose your owner’s around?”

Dante yawned, and flicked his barbed tail in the direction of the kitchen.

Right on cue. The mahogany door swung on its hinges as a familiar figure stepped past, a stack of plates balanced (a bit precariously) in his arms. “We’re still eighty-six on the half-and-half,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Just toss the heavy cream and milk in a pitcher for now. We can update the inventory later—”

“I’ll take a coffee, when you have a second,” Flint said.

The Proprietor’s head whipped around.

Flint leaned against the bar counter. “Glad to see the hairline’s still receding, old man.”

“‘Old man.’” The Proprietor let out a huff, as he strode behind the bar and began shelving the dishes. “I’m sixty-two, not dead, you insolent punk. They haven’t buried me yet.”

“Give it time.”

They held each other’s gaze.

The Proprietor was the first to cave. His lip twitched, before widening into a grin. “It’s good to see you, Flint.”

“Same.”

“What was it you said, a coffee?” He ducked below the counter. The telltale clink of ceramic was followed by him resurfacing a moment later, a mug in hand. “I’ve got a pot brewing in the back. Let me guess, the usual?” He didn’t bother waiting for a response as he retreated toward the kitchen. “Give me a second. Sit, pull up a chair. You know the drill.”

Flint waited until he disappeared into the back, before his smile wavered. The stool creaked as he sank onto it. Without the fear of an audience, Flint capitulated, and buried his face in his arms.

He was almost tempted to ask that he substitute the coffee for something stronger. Almost.

“Sorry for the wait.” Only when the sandwich and chips were slid across the counter did Flint grudgingly resurface. A carafe was unceremoniously plunked next to it, before the Proprietor wove around the counter.

“I didn’t forget about you.” Dante hauled himself up onto his haunches as a plate was set in front of him. “The brisket’s already seared, so don’t get any ideas. I’m not wasting another fire extinguisher because you like your meat charred.”

The Houndoom made a low, gravelly noise of assent, as he pulled the plate closer with his paws. The second the Proprietor had his back turned, he dipped his head, and exhaled a small jet of flame.

“Now, since you’re here”—he circled back behind the bar, and retrieved the carafe—“I’d appreciate a favor.” Thick wisps of steam curled above the mug as he poured. “If you’re going to be loitering in my establishment, then you’re volunteering as a test subject. I need a second opinion before I add it to the menu.”

“Not sure if I should be flattered, or offended.” In spite of himself, Flint peered at the foam with some interest. “What’s this poison called?”

“Komala roast,” he said. His glasses were starting to fog. “It’s an Alolan import, though for the life of me I can’t remember which island it was harvested from.”

“Maybe it’s the one with the Komalas on it.”

He slid the drink in front of him. “Less talking, more drinking.”

Flint picked up the mug, and squinted at its contents. “Do you think they roast the Komalas while they’re still alive, or do they—”

“Drink, or I’m throwing you out.”

He decided not to call his bluff. With a shrug, Flint lifted it to his face, and cautiously took a sip.

The Proprietor watched him with connoisseurial scrutiny. “And?” he prompted.

“Mellow, but not in a bad way,” said Flint. “There’s a lingering sweetness to it, if that makes any sense.” He went to take another sip.

“That would be the low acidity.” The Proprietor relocated the carafe to the back shelf. “The coffee beans lose some of the bitterness when they’re fermented in their intestines.”

Flint spat the drink back into his cup.

He could hear the Proprietor still laughing as he coughed over the edge of the counter. “Why’d you think they call it Komala coffee?”

It took a few seconds to compose himself, before Flint pushed the offending beverage out of his vicinity. “You know, I think I would have preferred if you actually poisoned me.” He glowered. “You’re going to lose customers if you add that to the menu.”

“Never underestimate the consumer’s love for novelty.” From somewhere on his person, he’d produced a rag, and begun polishing a glass. “Besides, I have your personal testimony. Mellow with a lingering sweetness. Sounds like a good sales pitch, don’t you think?”

“Please don’t quote me on that.”

“Fine, fine. Rob me of business.” He exchanged the glass for a tumbler. “Speaking of which, what brings you to Sunyshore?”

Did the League send you? Or did you volunteer?

The basket liner crinkled as Flint picked at a chip. “Why is it,” he asked, without looking up, “that I’m only just now hearing about these blackouts?”

“Ah.” The tumbler let out a dull thud as it was placed on the counter, and set aside. “I wondered when you would catch wind of them.”

The Proprietor cleared his throat.

“The first outage was pretty minor, all things considered. It only knocked out the Gym and a couple of nearby buildings. No one complained since the damage was negligible, and we figured it was an accident. Second one was a bit more inconvenient—everything within sixteen blocks of the Gym lost power. Annoying, sure, but the engineers had it fixed in two hours, so why fuss?” He snorted. “You know what people around here are like—they worship Volkner.”

It wasn’t as if Volkner had his reputation for nothing, although Flint kept that comment to himself. “What about now?”

“Now I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s pissed off half the city. Their tolerance is evaporating, and I can’t say I blame them.” His lips thinned. “The last outage caused some of the perishables in my walk-in to go bad. The only reason I didn’t lose more is because I triaged what was left, and cooked it before it could spoil.”

Flint opened his mouth to—what, apologize on his friend’s behalf?—only to stop, when he began to toy with that loose strand of logic. “How the hell did you cook if you had no power?”

To which the Proprietor jerked a thumb toward the corner, where his Houndoom was still demolishing the (now burnt) brisket. “Dante’s fire easily tops six hundred and fifty degrees. He’s a furnace with legs.”

Dante snorted, as he tore off another strip.

“None of this is adding up,” Flint muttered, half to himself. “This isn’t like Volkner.” His brow furrowed, as he studied the wood grains in the counter. Looking for a pattern that wasn't there. “Has he said anything when he comes by? Anything that seemed off?”

“Flint.” The Proprietor braced his arms against the counter, and leaned forward. “Volkner hasn’t been here in weeks.”

Flint jerked up. “What?”

“You heard me.” There was an unmistakable frustration permeating his movements, as he returned to polishing the glassware. “Trying to get a hold of him has been like pulling teeth. I can’t just demand an audience with him at the Gym, and I work late hours as it is. I’ve tried calling, but—”

“He’s ignoring your calls,” Flint finished. If he’d had an appetite before, it was long gone.

The Proprietor’s cleaning lost some of its intensity. “Were you able to talk to him?”

“Briefly.” One of the privileges of his title, as a member of the Elite Four. One which Flint despised having to invoke. “Not that it was a productive conversation. He pretty much kicked me out.”

“Figures,” he said under his breath. “He’s avoiding us, you realize.”

He did. But it didn’t exactly assuage his concerns.

“This is ridiculous,” Flint said, when the gap in conversation began to stretch uncomfortably long. “First the blackouts, and now this? And his staff are on edge. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that I walked in as they were about to stage a mutiny.”

To his surprise, the Proprietor scoffed. “Well, what did you expect? I’d be on edge too if my boss’s boss showed up at my job to inspect my workplace. Like it or not, you represent the League. They probably thought you were there to shut the place down for non-compliance, since the Gym hasn’t handed out a badge in over a month.”

A chill crept down his spine.

The stool protested as Flint sat back. “What do you mean,” he repeated, slowly, “that the Gym hasn’t been handing out badges?”

The Proprietor registered the shift in tone, and set the rag down, with a look of renewed consideration. “You didn’t hear?”

Flint shook his head.

“I don’t know all the details,” he began. “But word is, Volkner’s been destroying anyone that comes to fight him. I’ve had a few trainers swing by after their matches. It’s the same story, over and over.”

It was expected that some challengers wouldn’t succeed on their first try. But none?

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Flint said. “Is he not adjusting team line-ups between matches? He’s not pitting low-tier trainers against the roster he reserves for seventh- and eighth-badge fights, is he? Why would—”

The Proprietor held up his hands. “Like I said, I don’t know the details. That’s just what I’ve heard from gossip.”

Flint was quiet for a moment. “What else have you heard?”

“Well, I haven’t been able to verify it,” the Proprietor said, “but some folks have said that Volkner’s been hanging out at the lighthouse in his downtime. Apparently, he’s been going there to brood.”

Flint scowled. “Volkner doesn’t brood.”

The Proprietor silently peered over the rim of his shades, and Flint fought the impulse to shift under his stare. He wondered, a little distantly, if he hadn’t made that comment specifically to gauge how he would react.

The chair legs scraped over the floorboards, as Flint stood. “Thanks for lunch.”

While unsurprised, the Proprietor did frown in disapproval. “You didn’t even touch your food.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said. “Just give it to Dante or something.”

At the sound of his name, Dante looked up from the bone he’d been gnawing on. He didn’t appear to object to the idea.

“What do I owe you for lunch?” he asked.

At that, the Proprietor barked a laugh. “Flint, you haven’t paid for so much as a ketchup packet in fifteen years. Don’t insult me by asking now.” He waved the question aside. “It’s on the house.”

Flint smiled, a bit humorlessly. “Thanks.”

The bell above the door chimed as it closed behind him.

Late afternoon sunlight gilded the boats and rocky spurs that jutted from the harbor. The view from the elevator had always been impressive, regardless of the time of day.

As the lift ascended, Flint found himself wishing he could have enjoyed it.

When he dismounted, he was relieved to find the gallery room empty. At least he wouldn’t have an audience for what was about to come.

The door slid on its tracks as Flint pushed it aside, and stepped out onto the deck.

The Proprietor’s sources weren’t mistaken, as much as Flint would have preferred otherwise. Volkner was leaning into the railing, his back turned. Either he didn’t notice—or more likely, didn’t care about—the intrusion. Flint cycled through several false starts as he approached, debating which would be the most effective—

Until he caught Volkner’s face.

“Since when do you smoke?” Volkner tilted his head at the question, enough to watch him out of his periphery. He didn’t answer, though. The smoke that billowed up around his face didn’t have time to linger, before the wind dispersed it.

Flint frowned. “I thought you hated those things.”

The tip glowed, and Volkner exhaled.

He folded his arms over his chest. “How did the two o’clock match go?” he asked instead.

Volkner shrugged. “Dull.”

“Out of curiosity”—the metal bar dug into his shoulder as Flint reclined against it, one hand loosely braced for support—“did you deny this trainer a badge, too?”

“I can’t deny a person something that they didn’t earn.” He tapped the cigarette against the railing. “They lost.”

“To you?” Flint asked. “Or to your Electivire?”

It was subtle, but Flint didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed. “To my mid-level team,” he answered. “I’m not gatekeeping my Gym badge, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“But you expect me to believe that every challenger, regardless of their badge count, keeps losing to you?”

The cigarette was becoming pinched in the middle where Volkner was holding it. “There’s nothing I can do about mediocre trainers. If you’re disappointed by the prospect of no League challengers next season, then get used to it.” He took a drag, and sighed. “I did.”

The stunned silence didn’t last long. His knuckles began to ache as Flint’s grip on the railing tightened. “I’m not disappointed by inadequate trainers.” He pushed away from it—and this time, Volkner watched. “I’m disappointed by you.”

Volkner’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you have any idea what kind of damage you could’ve caused?” Flint jabbed a finger at the harbor. “This lighthouse we’re standing in? It’s the only thing that keeps ships from hitting those rocks down there, and because of you, it didn’t work. You don’t get the right to endanger people just because you’re bored and don’t want to do your job!”

“I am doing my job!” The venom caught Flint off-guard. “I’ve been doing it. For years, in fact, meeting every fucking expectation the League ever had for me. If you have an issue with how I run my Gym, Flint—”

Volkner closed the distance between them.

“—then do something about it.”

He blew a cloud of smoke in his face.

The adrenaline hit a second before Flint’s thoughts caught up to him. Volkner grunted as Flint slammed him against the lighthouse wall, a hand fisted in his shirt collar.

The other man didn’t struggle. If anything, the hand that had reflexively grabbed his own wrist slackened. Volkner winced, but managed to meet Flint’s eyes. The anger in them was gone, as if it had never been there.

“If you’re going to hit me,” he said, quietly, “then get it over with.”

Volkner dropped like a dead weight as Flint released him.

He didn’t stop to check if he was okay. Flint spun on his heel, and left, not once looking back.

[dzamie-oc]

Voretober 22 - Captive

Length: 1800 words Vore type: M/? oral vore, unwilling prey, digestion Fandom: None Other info: dragon/human, multiple prey, implied vore Summary: A well-fed dragon returns to his captive princess for some nice belly rubs. She does her best to think about anything other than what (or rather, who) is on the other side of those scales.

Princess Japhei flipped a page in her book, trying to shut out the sounds of a fight just down the hall from where her bed lay. Shouts of effort, a ferocious roar, the clash of claws against steel… she shook her head and groaned in frustration, staring harder at the story of a young man mysteriously transported to a realm of beasts and in the body of one. At one word, she squinted, tried to sound out what it might be, and ultimately just beckoned to the small lizard at the other end of the bed.

The scaly creature set down the tiara he had been polishing and crawled over to her. Japhei held the book open and pointed at the troublesome word. His slit-pupil eyes flicked over the page before landing where she pointed; soon after, he nodded. "That one's "deception,"" he said, "it means-"

Japhei cut him off with, pushing his head back with a hand. "I know what it means, Zechir. I just know it from speaking," she reminded him, "besides, when one day I am to take my father's place, I certainly can't hold a court without knowing deception inside and out."

Before Zechir could reply, heavy footsteps drew both of their attentions to the chamber entrance. Red scales gleamed and glittered in the magical torchlight, the pride of Arzenn the Ruthless. "You really ought to exchange that "when" for an "if,"" he rumbled. Though he bore scars from older fights, Japhei noticed he had no new ones, and despite his visibly full belly, there was no blood around his muzzle. The nausea she used to feel on realizing the implications of such details was barely present, and she wasn't sure how to feel about that. Still, she could at least be disappointed by the latest band of so-called rescuers; while she no longer awaited Arzenn's death, that they did not scratch his hide, let alone give him cause to kill them with claws and fangs indicated… substandard skills.

While Zechir had quickly prostrated himself before his master, Japhei remained reclined on the bed - but she did shut her book. "There are yet two weeks out," the princess pointed out.

Arzenn huffed, small wisps of smoke trailing from his nostrils. "And six weeks in, for a sum which small villages pay in three, and for but a baker's daughter. If your father's actions do not offend you, I shall be offended on your behalf." He strode closer to the bed, but laid on his side; as he showed off his belly, Japhei could see slight but sudden movement in his scales - he had not even simply battered the fighters unconscious, but overwhelmed them while they still remained in the waking world. "Both of you, attend me. Zechir, first set out a rug and cushion for the princess to sit upon."

The kobold yipped and quickly set about his task, but Japhei remained where she was. "And why, pray tell, should I?" she asked with a smile. "After all, you will not burn or even scratch me so long as your promise to return me in "fine condition" stands."

The dragon gave a deep sigh and rolled his eyes. "Must we go through this each time?"

"When they still draw breath? Absolutely. It is barbaric, and I demand some small measure of your misery for my own."

At this, he grinned. "Ah, but once unmoving, you've no quarrel?" By his side, Zechir leaned against his master's belly scales, pressing his hands into him.

The princess sat up and crossed her arms. "At least then, I may think of it as cattle sacrificed from such an aforementioned village. Not men of my own kingdom." She raised her book in one hand, waving it in a vaguely threatening manner. "Now out with it, or I shall simply return to my studies."

"You're better at negotiations than your father," Arzenn said. He spared a quick word of praise to an immediately-beaming Zechir, then addressed Japhei once again, "once these two weeks are up, you are mine to keep. You will no longer be a princess, and will instead be either food or a kobold - in title if not in body. Should you wish to meet the latter fate, such physical affection and digestive aid both ingratiates me to you to avoid an early death, and provides important practice for more frequent kobold duties." His stomach puncuated this with a loud gurgle, and a spirited Zechir threw himself against the dragon's gut; Japhei could not hear him but suspected he was purring.

With a sigh, the princess set her book down and stepped carefully along the deployed rug to kneel on the pillow. She took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and pressed her own hands to his belly-scales. As usual, the dragon was hot to the touch - not painful, but far more than herself or any of her maidservants - and surprisingly soft, at least compared to the thick, tough scale armor protecting most of his body. She pushed one hand in, then the other, doing her best to simply focus on the movement, rather than-

Just then, she ran into some resistance, or rather, some resistance threw itself against her hands. It was faint, subtle, but for even that much to reach her, whatever poor soul was trapped in there must still have a fair bit of strength and energy remaining. Japhei had to keep her mind off of what was on the other side of those scales. "I can't help but notice you come from battle utterly untouched," she ventured, "this was not the case earlier in my captivity. Perhaps keeping me alive and a target has bettered your fighting skills?"

Arzenn scoffed at this, thumped the tip of his tail against the stony floor, and scowled at the far wall. "Bah," he grumbled, "the first one - Sir Avi or whatever - I had to kill to save myself from injury. The past few fights I ate or let flee depending merely on hunger or boredom."

The princess grimaced, even as she settled into a rhythm of kneading one hand, then the other, up and down. "And this cannot be the result of, as I put forth, a rapid increase in skills?"

"If I could treat such a fighter as Avi to such an effortless defeat as the trio currently in there-" as Arzenn spoke, Japhei withdrew with a shudder, "- well, I reckon I could walk through the entire kingdom, eating who I please, without fear of so much as a bloodied wing. No, little Japhei, anyone skilled at fighting is either otherwise occupied or has already fallen at my claws."

The red dragon's stomach growled again; Japhei did her best to pretend that all the movement she saw was its own, and once again she started to rub at his underside. It felt softer now, with less firm spots and barely any movement that the princess couldn't tell herself was just his body. "You surely cannot believe that," she said, "or you could simply fly back in and take my ransom ten times over."

Arzenn went quiet, forepaw to his chin, and stared off into the distance. "You will make a fine kobold," the dragon eventually settled on, "but the point of this is not in the having, but the getting." He smiled at her, displaying his fangs. "You saw my assault on your tower; do you not think it would have been easier for me to break into the royal vault? You are far more fragile than a pile of gold and gems- Zechir, control yourself."

Reflexively, Japhei turned to look at the kobold. Judging by how he'd wrapped his tail around his hips and now had his feet much further from Arzenn than when he was hugging the dragon's gut, she was quite glad she had not turned faster. Cheeks burning with an unwanted mental image, the captive princess returned to her task; luckily, by this point, naught of his… meal remained, so it was as though she was simply massaging him.

After some silence, she turned back to meet the dragon's eyes with an angry glare. Just as she started to say something, he turned his head and muffled a burp behind his paw. There was a metallic clang, and a steel helmet clattered out from behind his paw before rolling to a stop against the wall. "Ah, excuse me," he said, "I believe that means your job is done. You are free to remain, but I will not demand it."

Once she was able to tear her eyes away from the acid-worn and bloody helmet, Princess Japhei leapt to her feet, shielded her eyes from it with her hand, and climbed back onto the bed, quickly covering her head with a nice, soft, and, most importantly, opaque pillow. "I will NEVER get used to… to that!" she shouted.

There was a scraping of metal on stone, then an audible gulp from the direction of the dragon. She knew the grotesque sight was gone, but also very much did not want to think about it. "A shame, that," Arzenn remarked, "I'd hope you could learn, but perhaps I will have to assign you differently. Or assign you to my stomach more directly. For now, though… Zechir, remain guarding and aiding her."

Heavy footsteps once again reached her ears, this time diminishing. Then, smaller ones approached. The bed sank as the kobold climbed on and laid next to her, himself pillowless. "Hey," his voice came, "since it's us two again, do you wanna-"

"Not on your life, dirty lizard." Her words came out sharper than she'd intended, what with the visceral reminder of her citizens' deaths she'd just seen and participated in.

However, Zechir just laughed. "Don't flatter yourself; I'm not human, remember, and you don't have horns, scales, or even a tail." There was a bit more pressure on her head as the kobold leaned against the pillow. "I still want to hear what's going on in that story… and besides, it'll give you something better to think about."

Japhei sighed and pushed herself up, throwing the lizard off, then grabbed the book, pointedly making sure not to look at where the helmet had been. "I hope that ransom comes soon," she muttered, flipping through the pages to find her spot.

"I don't!" called Zechir from the spot on the floor he'd fallen to. "Because if it doesn't, either Arzenn will have another kobold he so definitely deserves, or I'll get to rub his belly again once he's gulped you down!"

Japhei glared at him, but he kept smiling, so she instead looked at the book. She pointed at the unfamiliar word once more. "That's "deception," right? Then I should be here…"

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 192 Trivia

Not much this chapter, since it's basically hot potato again with just as much gunfire.

Check out those wisps! I don't think we've seen them before, and there's a tiny line going straight down the middle (Whyman's command, perhaps?)

The lake shown here appears to be Pyramid Lake, which is around 200-250 km away from the Sacramento marker on the map.

I got really excited here that they'd confirm my calculations from last week, but Senku decided it wasn't the right time for math. (It's always the right time for math.)

In half a page, all the predictions I'd heard over the last couple weeks were dismissed. Oh well.

Interestingly, Senku confirms that the bigger the blast radius, the faster the wave is rather than anything to do with the battery!

Chrome doesn't even change pose here (note the position of his finger), so this happened super fast. That's also at least one bottle of revival fluid spilt all over the floor near Senku, so I wonder if that'll affect the speed of his revival (or stop it in its tracks?)

This is the point when the Americans first see the beam: start the timer for 56 seconds!

This is the first time we see Leonard holding a gun. I don't think he's normally a fighter at all, since he's never been shown during any of the other fights and didn't defend against Kohaku's attack on the phone.

Check out Ukyo's arrow! That's definitely used for cutting rather than piercing, and because it's flat like a razor, it was probably easier to sharpen. Historically, true rope-cutting arrows tend to be more crescent-shaped. Also don't look too hard at the angle Ukyo fired from…

I have no idea what this beep sound effect is. Either Ukyo has a receiver of some sort on him and in a single beep he established that the KoS lost their revival fluid, or he simply heard a bottle shatter between all the gunfire and realised they lost the bottle, the beep being irrelevant.

Xeno sure escaped fast! He was tied up and in the middle of the fort the last time we saw him.

I also thought it had only been around 60-80 days since Xeno got taken, as it happened at the end of November/early December and now it’s about mid-February (both estimates), so I guess I was slightly off about that! (Unless Xeno is rounding up a lot ~for the drama~)

Suika needs a new melon. She got shot in the "head", and by the looks of things her lenses are cracked. Hopefully when she revives she'll still be able to use them! (Glass can last a really long time.)

She also lost all her leaves, I wonder if she switches them out regularly?

Stanley, reunited with Xeno, no longer cares about counting bullets or accuracy judging by the lack of circles in his muzzle flash.

Another point about Stanley: he's been sitting with an unlit cigarette in his mouth until Xeno appears, immediately after which he attempts to light it but stops since they discover Suika missing.

Remember this tower has mics set up all over the fort: technically any sound too close to one of the mics will be received by the tower... I don't know how none of these explosions haven't affected this setup yet, if they're planning on using noises like lightning or animals.

It's possible even Stanley himself might activate it by shooting towards the tower before the beam hits, check out all those microphone cables!

Speaking of Stanley, what happened to this trio? They've just disappeared-- did Stanley shoot them?

How a girl who can't see her own feet and needs to feel around the floor to get herself into position is going to save everyone I'm not sure, but I do know Suika is one capable gal.

Also we have a callback to her introduction way back in chapter 20, which just breaks my heart in this context.

This is also the 5th time Ryusui's gotten petrified, so I hope he's having a good time.

I've got no predictions for next chapter because anything can happen at this point, but I do wonder if that single medusa will manage to envelop the whole world, or if the battery will die first. 🤔

[ashleyfableblack]

A little moment of scientific method and personal discovery between lovers in the Equestria Girls portion of The Eternal Courtship.

Love never dies in the Eternal Courtship. It only changes form. 👭💜💚💜👭

"Chryssi? I want you to do something for me, something maybe a little strange."

Chryssi looked up from the ledger in her lap. With a raised eyebrow she set aside her inkpen and closed the leather tome, leaving it centered on her office desk. She regarded Twilight with a amorous smile. "Of course, my love. What did you need?"

Twilight approached her partner tentatively. "I want to try an experiment. Would you take your old form for me? The Changeling one?"

The towering woman gave a curious tilt of her head before rising to her feet. With a whip of her translucent spidersilk mane she grinned her ferocious fanged smirk, exuding the confidence of her immortal power. In a burst of emerald fire her human form began to melt away. Limbs extended and twisted. Her hands morphed into cragged, powerful hooves. Smokey black plates of chitin formed across her body as her designer slacks and vestcoat burst and faded into ash. Translucent veins sprouted from her back, grasping the air like tree branches, webbing over and forming insect wings from the jade shell across her back. A meter-long, crooked spire resembling that of an exotic beetle thrust from her forehead. As the flames appeared so they vanished in wisps of sickly green power. In their place stood the massive dark form of the Changeling Queen.

She stamped a hoof, kicking up sparks of jade flame from the stone. She did love being theatrical. The spider-like snake-mare looked down to Twilight with her now saucer-sized serpent eyes and a flicker of her forked tongue. "Done." The monarch struck a statuesque pose, smiling wickedly. "You may behold my glory now" She chuckled, raising a pitted hoof to her fanged lips.

Twilight stepped closer with a giggle as Chryssi made a small circle displaying her body to her now-diminutive love. Her hooves clattered against the polished stone floor. It was a good thing they were in her castle. Her bughorse body was easily the size of a draft stallion, possibly larger and with a much longer neck. As big as she was now, her withers would be banging against the ceiling of Twilight's dormroom. Her head would've been poking around in the room upstairs.

Twilight reached out to touch her neck with both hands. Chryssi grew still at the sensation. She practically purred, something in her barrel making a pleasant chirping sound like the muffled harmony of a group of crickets. She drank in the moment like honey as the two women, one now in the form of a Changeling Queen, examined each other.

Curiously, Twilights fingertips traced the chitinous plates of her lovers neck. She quivered in excitement as she pondered the biological mysteries of her lovers ancient shape. She paused with the rough sensation of every scar, pit and crag. The two larger grey gouges drew particular attention. She considered their similarity to a vampire's bite of legend. Circling the wound-like pits she felt Chryssi shudder. Almost imperceptibly, she seemed to recoil. Something flashed behind her snake eyes for just a moment, something guarded. Something perhaps to discuss later.

"So, where are we going with this?" she asked. Her voice was surprisingly unchanged from her human form, deep, resonating, commanding yet very colored with her affection.

"I want you..." Twilight placed her palm to Chryssi's obsidian muzzle and gently stroked along her cheek "...to kiss me."

"You what?"

"You heard me."

Chryssi's brow knit. "Yes, I did but..." Her emerald eyes scrolled across her lavender beloveds face. Her serpent eyes had two irises, a pale jade outer ring circling a deeper emerald pool. Twilight had yet to ascertain the function of these lenses but currently both had grown to fill the pale-lime sclera. "But why?"

Twilight stroked Chryssi's cheek attempting to calm her. "I need to know something."

Chryssi raised a hoof to draw the lavender hand from her muzzle. Twilight regarded the feeling with a curious smile. Somehow, even without fingers, she could feel that her lover was "holding" her hand. "I need to prove something."

Her snake eyes were so much larger now, shuttered beneath dark eyelids of teal armored plates. Still, in them she saw the woman she had come to love. Her look was imploring. The massive bughorse flickered her tongue, tasting the emotions in the air between them. Smiling, she sighed.

"Twilight, you don't have to do this. You don't have to prove anything, not for me."

Twilight raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" Her violet eyes were practically dancing as she adjusted her glasses with a sassy grin. "Well, what if I want to do it for me?"

Chryssi was taken aback, gobsmacked into stammering. "I- Wh- Well-" She set her chin with an aggravated pout. "Now see here, you little twerp."

Twilight laughed. She'd won this round.

"Come on, Chryssi." she said with a flirty if playfully stern smile. She stomped her foot and flounced. The heavy material of her pleated skirt whispered angrily. Twilight dropped her register an octave. "Do it for your queen."

Chryssi melted. She was defeated. "I... Erf. Very well." She craned her long neck down to meet Twilight's gaze. Those violet eyes held her as a moth staring into a candle's burning taper. "Just be mindful of my fangs, beloved."

Again, Twilight reassuringly caressed the contoured chitin of her lover's face. "We've kissed dozens of times, Chryssi- and then some. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Chryssi straightened, raising a pencil-thin inky eyebrow. The corners of her mouth turned up in a sinister, wicked smile.

In her human form, she had fangs, to be sure. Where the average Homo Sapiens Equus had lateral incisors and canines Chryssi had elongated, sabre-like fangs. In this form, however, her natural arsenal was upped considerably. The Changeling Queen opened her mouth to display dozens of glistening fangs, ranging in size from a pocket-knife to a railroad spike. The sight was akin to staring into the gaping maw of a horse-sized constrictor snake.

"Okay, okay. Fair point." Twilight chuckled.

Chryssi began to say something but her tiny lover cut her off. "Now, if you're finished?"

Hesitantly, almost demurely, Chryssi lowered her head. A forest-green hue had come to the chitin of her cheeks. Parting her chitinous lips slightly, she leaned close to her human love. Heart pounding, Twilight took her partners muzzle in her palms. The lovers closed their eyes as their lips gently touched.

For several hushed seconds, they tenderly, if awkwardly, embraced as lovers do.

As gently as they'd come together, they parted. Slowly, their eyes opened. Each silently examined the other for any tell-tale signs of their experience. Each gave up a somewhat sheepish grin. It was the most vulnerable, almost embarrassed, Twilight had seen her ancient lover in all their time together.

Chryssi finally broke the pregnant silence. "Well? Did you find what you sought?"

Twilight beamed and cleared her throat. She straightened her glasses, biting her lip as she felt the rosettes burning on her cheeks. "Yep." She brushed aside a lock of Chryssis wispy silken mane which had tumbled between her eyes. "You're still you."

The couple shared a giggle as their lips came together once more, perhaps just a bit less awkwardly this time.