“Anon,” Chrysalis says, intertwining her fingers and staring at the coffee table. “What should we have for dinner?”
The bulky bug-beast rises from the sofa and stretches with a quadruple flex. Her cheese legs also flex because they can do that. They ripple with each step she takes to the fridge, which she grips like a father reaching for the belt to educate his ignorant spawn. She closes the fridge with a mighty flex. Her bulging biceps wrench the door shut until it cries for its mother pitifully, tears welling up from the metal as it wailed.
“I’m not sure. Does dinner matter?”
Chrysalis’ arms bulged with sudden alertness while her eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she hissed. “I want a sandwich.”
Anon let his mouth hang open like a mentally inept fish.
He closes it.
Then he opens it again. “...Can you even eat a sandwich?”
“That doesn’t matter right now. I. Want. One.”
From the couch, Anon props a hand under his chin in a small dick energy attempt at thoughtfulness. “Chrysalis, as much as you may want this sandwich, do you need it?”
“YES!” she screamed, her muscles flexing the Swol of Rage. “I HAVE PHYSICAL HUNGER THAT REQUIRES THE FOODSTUFFS!”
“Do you think that the concept of food is as fickle as our concepts of belief and identity, needing concrete definition and narrow classification to determine anything in the relative world that we find ourselves in?”
“FOOD IS NOT RELATIVE! I AM NOT RELATIVE! MAKE ME A SANDWICH!”
Anon scratched his ugly-ass featureless green head, unaware that he looked like a bad parody of a grape. No one even likes the green grapes. “But how will I be able to determine when the sandwich is complete, if anything can ever be objectively described as complete?”
Chrysalis flexed her way back to the couch, mane swaying with irritation and eyes glowing with some funky green stuff, I guess. She raised her chonky fists. They were also flexing, because I know how muscles work. I have a few. (At least, I hope so.)
Her fist hit him in the face using her fist. Anon cried out like a p u s s y because that is his only non-debatable trait.
“Sandwich. Now.” Chrysalis folded her other arms across her body, their muscles ready to burst with muscly muscle anger. This intensified her demanding skill by many demand points. Like, more than one.
Anon flopped on the couch like a boneless snake, which is a normal snake BECAUSE SNAKE BONES ARE NOT REAL. THEY DO NOT HAVE BONES.
“Owie,” he whimpered.
“I crave a love sandwich!” Chrysalis bellowed cravingly. She threw her incredibly b e e f y limbs into the air. Her abs let out individual battle cries. These were also flexing.
“Owie-erm,” babbled Anon in confusion. “How is a love sandwich supposed to work? Can love really be made into an edible form?”
Chrysalis flexed the fists on her fist until her s w o l went and s w o l e d with s w o l l e s t glow. (Of course, the glow was also flexing. That’s how light works. It flexes from Jupiter down to earth and then the government pours it in our ears from the time we are a fetus. This is how cancer is made.) She unhinged her jaw until its hinges broke and it went boneless. Her teeth also went on vacation because Chrysalis had good dental insurance (which is just specialty bone insurance) and she could afford to send them to nice places. Bye-bye, Chrysalis teeth.
She unfolded her gums and began to s u c c air until it went all sparkly with her big buff bug powers. With a visceral roar, she made all her fists glow with the same green and Anon glowed a little I guess, but no one really cares about him. The fucking idiot doesn’t even have eyes, or like anything on his face. He had the most mediocre sparkle too. He really ought to be punched in order to sparkle more instead of being such a useless pussy.
Exiting his incredibly and grossly t h i c c epidermis was a thin, translucent, and shimmering stream of magical aura thingy. It was beige because of how everything about him was so fucking underwhelming it begs the question of why he is literally even a protagonist in anything.
Chrysalis gives that thicc magic noodle-oodle a huge slurpity slurp and flexes again or something. It’s the power of love, baby. She thinks it tastes like a moldering sock that has been deep-fried in the essence of grapefruit and pickled infants.
This pleases the buff bug. She summons her teeth from all corners of the world. They bring extra teeth. Triple teeth. Way too many teeth. She is now infallible, for she has the power of love and teeth. Her teeth like to make friends.
Anon is crying on the floor. He can’t decide if he should wipe them away with a tissue or lick them away for sustenance.
Chrysalis uses the power of LOVE and FIST and to pummel Anon’s face furiously. She wails on him the best of her big buff bug wrath, her arms sprouting new arms from which new fists grow by the dozens, all bearing their own fists. She slaps, flicks, pinches, and socks him into loving oblivion with her big buggy brawn and buffness.
With brutal care, she plucked a few fine teeth. Then, she held them up to the light streaming through the living room window. Magic and sunlight made them look alright. I mean, she plucked the bloody things from her idiot alien boyfriend’s mauled mouth.
She licked up lips, her long, oily tongue flexing its many fist-shaped taste buds. With her appetizers secured, Chrysalis plopped the ugly little bone bits straight into her gullet, swallowing them easily with exaggerated gulps. They were the sweet, crunchy croutons to her salad of love she had fed upon with such tenderness, leaving Anon groaning on the floor from totally just the sheer sentimentality put into her romantic gestures.
“Delicious,” she purred.
“Hrapphhurgh,” squealed Anon.
Relationship goals, am I right?
Author's Note
Written in the Shitfuckers discord server. I'm so sorry I inflicted this on y'all.
