The abode of Equestrias' singular Anon is quiet, the lands deep into the middle of the night. Outside, crickets softly chirp, as the Moon soars high overhead, splashing its soft lunar lighting across Ponyville, hints of it peeking through the cracks in the window, splaying out over the furniture.

Or what's left of his furniture. Twilight's 'episode' after she read Celestia's document had detonated his table, several paintings, and his couch -- basically, his entire living room, and scattered the occupants.

A sprinkle of a losing-it purple prodigy unicorn, combined with the sudden and very powerful teleporting appearance of the pissed-off Sun-Butted God of the land, located entirely within his living room; did not go pretty. The sear on his hardwood floor was still there.

Twilight is staying in Canterlot for the next week, to receive a 'Soft Re-Education of Royal Conduct', leaving Anon to nurse his injuries. Tia apologized in her stead, assuring that something like this wouldn't happen again. (It probably will.)

Anon is dead asleep, snoring loudly from his room. A savage bout with an entire Family-Size Shepards Pie (A Gift from the Apples after Twilight snapped) had knocked him into the 13th level of take-a-fucking-nap, unlikely to wake any earlier than 3pm tomorrow.

Anon had been set up in his own room, since moving him to the Clinic would have been too much of a risky hassle; He went from full-body cast, to entirely fine, in the span of like, two days. Which was surprising, because Twilight had not gone easy. While most of the Ponies were thoroughly confused, though, there was one creature to thank for his speedy recovery.

Barfy leans out of her little patch of hive, crafted meticulously to reminisce home in the corner of Anon's wall, between the fireplace (for warmth) and the door to the kitchen (because she liked the smells).

Though, she was staring to question if the hive truly still meant home. It was where she hatched, after all.

Anon had shielded her from the angry purple one. The only other being to protect her was her Queen -- but she did it by sending her deep, and away into the hive, where it was cold, and lonely. She would sleep, wait to eat, and help the few injured drones that came back.

Anon protected her by holding her close. He was warm. He was kind. He radiated more love than she'd ever had.

She had a Changeling name, but... Barfy was the first thing he gave to her. She treasured it, just as much as the collar on her neck. One of her hooves idly touches it, rubbing the material. She wasn't sure what it was made of... but it was soft. And starting to get a little tight. Not uncomfortable, but it didn't jangle as loosely off her neck as before.

Barfy is torn from her surprisingly deep thoughts as she hears one of Anon's funny snores, where something gets caught in his throat, making a gurgling sound.

With a stretch, she slowly pushes from her little bed construct, hooves clacking on the floor. She'd gotten a little taller, again. She might need to expand her little bed. Maybe she'd make a bigger one in Anon's room.

She saunters through the quiet home, passing the kitchen. She didn't need to eat physical food, but she loved the smell of Anon's cooking. He always made the oddest things, since he didn't seem to eat Love, or whatever the Ponies ate. Cooking seemed like one of the things he enjoyed, having gotten a big, fat book full of recipes from a local bookstore; and another one shipped from somewhere far away called Griffonia.

He'd always involve her, either talking to her the entire time about the process, or even including her, like getting her to hold the bowl, or the plate. Not the knives though. They learned not to do that one real quick.

He'd even offer her bites, but she didn't have tastebuds, often just tumbling out of her mouth. She felt bad for wasting it, but he always laughed.

She reaches the door to his own room, door ajar. Nudging it with her head, Barfy steps inside. She doesn't have to worry about being quiet. Anon sleeps like the dead.

She slowly trots around to the side of his bed, head peeking up over the edge. He's splayed wildly across his bed, limbs in every direction half-wrapped in his blanket, a thick line of drool running from the corner of his mouth.

With a soft buzz, Barfys bug-wings carry her up and onto the mattress, nestling in beside him. He tends to sleep only in his 'Boxers', which seem like very small versions of his normal 'Pants'.

Curling up and pressed against his side, Barfy chitters at the warmth he radiates. He was always warm, exuding it without any fur or chitin to stop it, but when he slept, but was like he got twice as warm. It made her drowsy.

But she didn't want to sleep yet. Instead, one of her hooves slowly trails over his torso, tracing the contours of his body. She'd been generously providing her Regenerative Bile, since he made it so easy to produce as much as she could ever need; how well she was sustained directly affected how much she could generate. The Ponies didn't seem to like it -- but he never minded, beyond asking her to try and contain it to parts of the house.

She slowly licks his stomach, smearing her goop and applying it directly over the parts of him that she could still see some bruising. The first day, she practically drowned him in the stuff. Now, it was delicate spot-care.

Holding herself in position against him, she continues to both smear, and lick along his body. Slowly, carefully, making sure not to miss an inch.

She sees something happening to his boxers out of the corner of her eye -- it was rising? Curiosity overtakes Barfy -- and not the tender kind.

Anon makes a funny noise as she smacks it with a hoof -- a mix between a gasp and a yelp.

She chitters, laughing to herself as he holds it with his hands, staring at her with crusty-eyed confusion.

Author's Note