Cor Asomatum

It's always a treat to acclimate to a foreign body past the initial phase of cellular recalibration, to sift through their memories, dissect the person they were, watch their life as if it were a private movie for their criticism alone. There's much to learn via observation, but there's a certain aspect that isn't as easily understood secondhand;

Sexual pleasure.

Yes, they can see every instance of intimacy in the memories left behind, watch the act as a voyeur while feeling no arousal of their own; but it's a stale picture, utterly static in most cases across the lifetimes of those they take. The one way mirror effect lacks the embodiment of sensation one feels in the midst of the throes, the plethora of stimulation in all its forms. The entire purpose of the act is removed. The human body is a doll strung with nerves, and each ending is felt differently by each body and nervous system. Sex means nothing if there's not something to be gained or novel to be witnessed through it. The plain act of it becomes so animal without these factors, and Kenjaku can't be bothered to chase something so predictable.

However, every vessel comes with a unique opportunity. Even if the life they lived was wrought with normalcy and boredom, their body still possessed the potential for more. That's one of the greatest beauties of human biology, how susceptible the anatomy is to change, physical and otherwise. If a body has yet to experience stimulation to the fullest, then all the better for this ancient sorcerer. Taking someone's firsts as their own to experience for them is a little wonder that never ceases to lose effect, something elusive in their prolonged kairos. In a few previous cases, they had opted to test the vessel to be before they had even died, with the sole purpose of adding a bit of spice to the memory slideshow, then comparing how it feels again once piloting the body themselves. That route offered the added egoistic detail of watching themselves through the vessel's memory, which always proved fun to witness.

Such was not the case here. This individual's recollection was especially bland. They could hardly suppress a yawn whilst surveying the events of the life. The process is hardly necessary in this case, but one could call them nosey. The ability alone is a gift unique to their cursed technique, and they certainly don't believe in squandered commodities.

Thus, here they are, laid lax in the very bed they overtook their new suit in, lashes resting on their cheeks; still cold. There's a restlessness to this form that only amplifies their disdain for monotony. They dislike anxious flesh. The lack of full control over the urge to shake their leg in a vain effort to soothe the creeping feeling within the muscles is maddening.

But, there are more entertaining methods to distract this poor evolutionary flaw that simultaneously offer a scratch to that itch for a taste of novelty, while also assisting in properly warming the vessel from the grip of rigor mortis. The memories they viewed reflected a rather unceremonious intimate life, nothing adventurous, and painfully lacking even in the department of self exploration. They'll certainly be fixing that.

They can already feel the meat around them responding to their thoughts, the excitement at the prospect of fresh discoveries and the innate perversion their technique comes with. Possessing the ability to simply insert oneself into another, fully uproot their life and all within it with full control, contains a rush that many of their vessels seem to translate into a more bodily pleasure. This one seems no different, given how their erogenous zones have already began to tingle and seep warmth.

They raise a hand to their stolen face, a featherlight touch tracing the curve of the jaw, down the column of the throat, lingering longer over the spots that had the skin shuddering. Lower still, over decolletage, down the valley between the swell of the breasts. This body had never taken the time to appreciate itself properly if even this little touch stirred it. How one could live inside themselves for any period without scrutiny almost disgusts the arousal right out of them.

Something stronger, then. They guide the hand over the plump flesh, slow enough to memorize the feel of the fingertips, pausing just shy of the nipple. Kenjaku knows already that this is an area of particular sensitivity for this body.

So they pinch the nub, quick and hard, the muscles of the back tensing into an arch, an unfamiliar voice crooning a moan they muffle. The nervous response is tantalizing, a zap that pierces the flesh with an aftershock of an odd sorrow. Not that Kenjaku truly felt it as an emotion, but recognized the response from prior vessels of the womanly sex. The more their fingers lingered, rolling the poor peak between them, the more it grew. This body aches to cry from the touch alone, opening the door for a pseudo dynamic of sadomasochism within itself created by the parasite within.

That, moreso than the physical sensations, elicits a real response from the abnormal brain themselves. They can torture this vessel from beyond death with nary a touch, bringing these eyes to tears so easily. This is the hedonistic thrill they wanted, and they'll need more than just this small sample.

This vessel did seemingly have an explanation for its lack of sexual prowess; a heavy memory from early life, just another common horror that most women experience at some point or another. Watching it occur through her eyes directly, though secondhand, swayed nothing for the sorcerer. What they valued in gaining this information was the possibility of how they could play with it.

Their puppeteered hands alone would not suffice for what they had in mind. They won't be finding stimulation in the usual tried and true method for those with feminine anatomy; no, realism was what was required in order to feel the full brunt of this body's panic, the depth of the phantom fear. They intend to capitalize on this soul's trauma to the fullest.

Of course they'd done their homework before hopping bodies. They had known of the formative happening on paper, and had switched prepared for the tinkering they'd enact. Just an arms reach away, proud even in its resting atop the nightstand, is the largest possible silicone instrument they could find; within reason. A length of about twelve inches, ten insertable, the rest taken up by artificially molded balls. Ideal for an easier grasp of the thing, given the weight of the four inch girth throughout. They can't help the cruel smirk that crosses the face they wear; they'd done a sweep of the medical records.

This poor, pitiful soul suffered from vaginismus. Memories of great difficulty handling feminine products and gynecological exams gone awry cross their mind.

It's nearly a shame they'd already managed to stimulate the body enough for them to self lubricate. It still shouldn't be adequate enough to take the toy without pain, but hindsight wants to call it a missed opportunity for a fuller experience. Perhaps another time.

Taking toy in hand, Kenjaku is nearly caught off by just how heavy the thing feels in this hand in comparison to the arm of the male vessel prior, which lie discarded in the floor nearby; an afterthought to be handled after they have a bit of fun. They can't resist wobbling the silicone about, feeling how the scant muscle of the arm tenses with the movement. They certainly did not choose this body for strength.

They don't bother with much overture, opting instead to slide the thick tip of the toy right between their labia, testing just how much slick had procured. Not enough, at the least. They shift their position, lying back with the slightest bit of a sideways lean, knees parted and open with the feet planted atop the sheet below. Just the right amount of taxing to reach with their hand firmly holding the toy by the density of the balls. They nudge the head hard against the mouth of the narrow canal, tension already making itself known. An involuntary shudder follows, something deep within not only the body, but where the soul once resided aching in protest. Again, they prod, harder this time, the plump lips catching around the thing. They pull them apart with the free hand, making the entry that much more accessible. Both hands are shaking now, rife with tremors that typically Kenjaku would manually overpower. This, they want to feel, to enjoy what they can make the flesh do to torment the residuals of the soul.

The hand slips, sending the toy straight up to ram against the vessels clit, painful enough to earn both a jolt and a laugh. They don't sit through the sensation to let it pass, not after feeling just how tightly the body wound itself in response. This time they push the tip forward with all the force they can muster in this body, the silicone popping through the initial stringent inches of velveteen muscle. Oh, the tears that follow, the warring of the learned trauma of the flesh, the poor attempt at rejection, and the flood of pleasure chemicals within their very brain; a drug of their own making, unique only to Kenjaku, to rape the very body they occupied.

They themselves had been on the opposite end of the act, several times, for utility moreso than desire. But in this way, under these pretenses, there was an added layer that sated something in them. The cerebral pleasure-bodily pain was delectable in dichotomy, urging their hand to thrust forward again despite every nerve begging to cease this. The friction was immense, sharp, stinging, while an acute burn built behind their abdomen. The penetration is almost impossible with just how harshly the body rejects it.

"Don't deny me,"

The hormones brewing a cocktail within their brain has them feeling cloudy enough to talk through the act, as if the original soul of the body could still hear them. The flat affect of their language being carried on this voice, narrating their own assault, has them panting harder as the body protests the intrusion with more vigor.

"Your mind betrays you, your own voice, your hands, your pain, nothing of you is truly yours anymore."

Kenjaku finally jams the toy through the juncture of muscle, nesting it right against the familiar bump of a cervix. The effort has it landing hard, again sending them writhing on the object, their tongue lolling from their lips before their teeth dig into them.

Their wrist works fast now, bumping the insertion hard and quick against the flesh, searching for a very specific sensation from the anterior wall. They find it, despite the muscles refusing them, the strain of the clench only making it easier. They abuse that spot, not daring to move in full thrusts, ignoring the fatigue building in the wrist, while fully sinking into the warm, full body resonance that this particular patch of magic builds so swiftly.

"Yes, that's right; you'll cum for me. You'll cum for me like this, in a way you'd never known possible by your anatomy. Submit to me,"

It only takes mere fleeting seconds. Their other hand works in tandem, pressing their fist hard against where the bladder lay hiding, the pressure thickening the growing sensation as it mounts, only stopping when Kenjaku is rendered fully paralyzed by a full body ricochet of forced bliss. They try to wiggle their hand against the toy throughout, to fuck themselves through it, but the vice of the cunt propels the toy out in the reverberating waves of orgasm. They do nothing to fight how the body curls in on itself, pulsing and heaving through the sensations, sobbing in an expression of sinful duality. The groin and thighs are coated in slick and wetness, the sheets beneath them sodden. Kenjaku's fresh stitching leaks the metallic tang of cerebrospinal fluid, their brain dizzied temporarily as the pulsing passes.

They simply lie there for a spell, indulging in the feminine afterglow, so much more potent than the masculine equivalent. Not for any sort of sentimentality, but to let the body take it in. They could've forced the body to behave under their will from the start, especially given how weak this particular soul was compared to others they'd stolen from, but the indulgence was worth the ritual. A symbolic transition that they found amusement in. If nothing else, this offered them a chance to get more familiar with the fine tuning of this flesh. The body, now fully theirs, unfurls across the bed as they prop themselves up, resting their face against their knuckles as their attention drifts to the slow rot of their previous face.

They've got a brainless corpse to feed to a curse somewhere; they'll be playing with other firsts of this new body later, when they inevitably grow bored again.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

wants you to make him feel like he's the most handsome man you've ever seen. better than his segments, even though he knew he was past his prime. your worship and desire made him feel in control again.

and slutty outfits, no panties underneath. bend over while he's working, and then leave without looking back, and he's grabbing his cane to go after you as fast as he can manage.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

you've been fucking for years, he knows every each inch of you like the back of his hand.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

his favorite was anything that gave you the most pleasure. riding him silly or letting him play with your pussy, he'd go above and beyond just to satisfy you like he used to.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

definitely serious if it's happening in the bedroom, he wants to turn off his brain for once, and indulge himself in the blessing that was your body.

but you two have your silly moments and mishaps, like when you were caught by one of the segments, fucking in the lounge room of all places. zandik shrugged, saying that you were simply testing the durability of the new sofa feofan bought as a gift.

H = Hair(how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

blue pubic hair (obviously), the strands a bit on the thinner side now. he trims it rarely, since it doesn't grow that much anymore.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

very intimate, connecting with you was his greatest pleasure. when he has the time, he likes to light a few candles or bring your favorite massage oil, swatting your hands away when you insisted on doing it for him. he will remind you that your comfort was not something he is willing to brush aside.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

rarely if ever, that dick doesn't get up easily anymore.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

using his cane, watching you get fucked by his segments/voyeurism, bondage, groping, sensory deprivation, cockwarming.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the bedroom was the safest place for having sex, but will never say no to messing around outside of it. tease him with lingering touches and soft words, to let him know how much you craved him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

seeing you fresh out of the shower in your robes, coming to check on him while he's busy working, or just straight up telling him that you want to fuck him until he's a drooling, quivering mess.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

given his track record, and the shit he's done, i doubt he'd have anything he's strictly against. if you didn't like it, he wouldn't do it, as simple as that.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

prefers receiving, getting to stuff your mouth with his cock and watch you please him made all the pain bearable.

as for pleasing you, like previously mentioned, he knows everything you want and like. you'll be squirming and whining in no time.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

slow and sensual with his cock, rough and fast with his fingers. he switches between the two while using his cane.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

just like with jerking off, it rarely happens. he prefers to take his time with you. unless you were particularly hot and bothered and wanted him to get you off, perhaps he could throw you a bone if you begged him enough.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

it's zandik we're talking about, his whole life is a bunch of crazy risks and experiments. yes.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

yeah...about that... unless he's using some kind of booster, not very long. sorry gramps.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

YESSSS. the first sex toy maker in teyvat, source: me.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

hearing you plead and beg was a reward he'd never give up so easily. being unfair was in his nature.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

quiet at the beginning, letting out occasional grunts and choked breaths. as he gets close to cumming, a few strangled moans were sure to slip out. during your most vulnerable moments, his eyes teared up with how glad he was you still wanted him in this way.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

loves to see you keep eye contact with him while another segment is having his way with you. call out for him when the segment makes you orgasm, and he'll cum untouched.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

still bigger than average despite his age, uncut, pale skin, slightly curved to the right, he can't get completely hard but it's enough to get the job done. run your tongue along the veins and he's bucking up into you desperately.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

on the lower side in his later years, but he was a fiend in his prime. just remember how crazy his segments are now, he was way worse.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

zandik berated himself for how much he enjoyed tormenting you. he was far too old to indulge in these pointless games, and yet he could not stop. he knew you would not dare to complain even when his fingers brushed against your bottom, or when he took too long fixing your collar. you wanted this job so badly, even if it meant putting up with this old pervert of a scientist.

he pushed and teased, little by little, wanting you to be the first to admit your desires to him, lay your soul and body bare for him to take and ravage. as much as he was able to in this sorry state...

once you realized that there was no getting away from his advances, you decided to slowly play into his hands, unable to resist the thrill of having zandik's undivided attention. acting clumsy was half the fun, accidentally knocking over pens or vials, just to take your time bending over, lips curling at the exasperated breath that left his mouth every time.

zandik's restraint was pushed to it's limit when you accidentally spilled coffee over your shirt, unbuttoning it right in font of him, all the while whining about how hot it was. he had to excuse himself after that, both frustrated and in disbelief at the fact his old cock managed to harden this much by the sight of you alone.

the first time you gave him a blowjob under his desk, he was so loud that he had to order a segment of his to dispatch of the few subordinates that most likely heard his pathetic groaning. if you dared to mock him for it, he had no qualms about shutting you up with his fingers, pressing down on your tongue until you gagged, eager to remind you of your place.

his favorite invention of the year was the small mechanical device he installed in your underwear. he could control it remotely, observing as you tried not to squirm while you spoke to your colleagues about the latest gossip.

zandik did not care about your discomfort, but if you came to him, crying and begging, he would allow you a moment's rest. as cold as he wanted to be, seeing you so desperate always tugged at his fragile heart.

he was often snappy and dismissive, but rarely truly angry, unless the segments were involved. he knew it was irrational, but he could feel bile rising in his throat every single time you smiled at one of them, especially omega. they could give the pleasure and entertainment he couldn't, and he hated it.

he made sure to discipline you properly each time, bent over his lap as he pumped his fingers into your mercilessly. when his hand refused to cooperate, he simply used the small device instead, forcing your body to endure orgasm after orgasm, until you passed out from exertion.

The Price of Knowledge: Part 3

The One Who Stayed

Another year passed. It was Zandik's fourth year in the Akademiya. They had become even closer. He had always hated physical contact, so when she'd lean against him, he would shoot her a disgusted look. He wasn't disgusted by her, but by the actions. Despite all that, he wouldn't react impulsively. It wouldn't be like him. He'd mutter a quiet "Move."

It wasn't long until the rumours started.

"Did you hear? He dissected a living fungus!"

"I've heard he rebuilt its whole nervous system afterwards. From memory!"

Every detail was worse than the last. The students started avoiding one laboratory, then one dorm. Whenever Zandik reserved a room, the others would quietly choose another. The teachers began to supervise him more and be stricter with him. They would check his experiment requests more carefully.

Zandik never cared. He knew he had the greatest mind in the whole Akademiya. It didn't matter that the people around him quietly walked away whenever he showed up. Their minds couldn't comprehend his intelligence. That's why they thought he was weird and cruel.

She heard all the rumours. Eventually she entered his lab without knocking. He was dissecting another specimen. A stench hit her.

"This smell is foul. Don't you think it's rather cruel, what you are doing?"

"Sacrifices are a must for knowledge. And you're still here. If it were that disturbing to you, you would've left within seconds."

"Well, I'm here with a purpose and I won't abandon it. I have a proposal. Would you give up on your dissected specimen for a lesson about Khaenri'ah?"

He didn't answer right away. He glanced from the specimen to her, considering the exchange.

"...How extensive a lesson?"

At that, a slightly unsettling smile appeared on her face.

"It depends on how long you're willing to listen."

"Specifics."

"I guarantee that you won't be disappointed."

"You assume I value your knowledge more than my experiment."

"I know you do. I have information directly from the source."

That made him pause. He thought about it analytically. The specimen wasn't unique. The process could be redone the following day. But a firsthand source of Khaenri'ah knowledge is almost impossible to obtain. After several quiet seconds, he set his scalpel down.

"Very well."

"That's what I thought. But we are not doing this here. It stinks. Let's go to my dorm, there's where I'm hiding all my materials."

With that, he stood up, opened the door of his lab and headed toward her dorm. All this before she could even move.

She reached her dorm several minutes later, Zandik was already waiting in front of the door, visibly impatient. He ignored any person he encountered on the way there.

"...You walk slowly. We wasted approximately two minutes and twenty-eight seconds during which I could have already learned about Khaenri'ah."

"I walk normally. I simply don't care about time, unlike you."

She unlocked the door and stepped aside to let him enter. The room wasn't messy. It was ...full. She stepped inside after him and locked the door.

"I'm not trying to lock you up here. I just don't want any unannounced visitor while talking about this."

Zandik said nothing about it. His eyes swept across the room once. Books occupied every shelf, stacked both vertically and horizontally. Wooden crates were pushed beneath the bed. More were piled against the walls, each neatly labeled in careful handwriting. Scroll cases stood bundled in one corner. A wardrobe strained to close around more clothes than it was meant to hold. Every object had its place. There was simply no empty space left.

"I expected worse."

"I feel insulted."

Without another word, she knelt beside one of the crates and lifted its lid. Inside were dozens of notebooks. Another contained maps. Another held carefully wrapped stone fragments covered in faded symbols. Meanwhile, Zandik continued examining the room. No decorative objects. No family portraits. Nothing displayed for sentiment. Only things with practical value.

His gaze settled on the crates.

Every one bore the same worn travel marks. Not recently purchased.

"You brought all this here. You couldn't have accumulated this after enrolling."

"No. Before I enrolled, I was renting a house. I gave it up when I came here."

His eyes wandered again. Still no family photographs. No letters. No indication that anyone else had ever lived with her.

"Where are your parents?"

That finally made her look up from the crate, to him.

"This might be the first time I hate how observant you are."

A pause.

"I assume you know what my eyes mean. I'm Khaenri'ahn. Or at least my parents were Khaenri'ahn. I've never been there. I was born after it was destroyed. I am the same age as you. I am not immortal like them. They disappeared when I was little. I don't know where they are."

There was no bitterness or sadness in her voice. Only acceptance. Zandik watched her for several seconds. He recognized the pattern. Not grief. Adaptation. People usually expect sympathy after statements like that. He had none to offer. Instead, he asked the question that naturally followed.

"So every possession you own is in this room."

"Exactly. Now, let's see whether you're actually as intelligent as you think you are."

She pulled out dozens of documents, sketches, journals. Everything was authentic. Sketches of Khaenri'ahn machinery. Sketches of the original designs of the Ruin Guards. Notes about Gods, elemental energy, the Crimson Moon dynasty and the Eclipse Dynasty.

He picked up one of the sketches.

Ancient mechanisms. The proportions were precise. The annotations were detailed. Not the work of someone who had simply copied what they saw.

"You drew them yourself."

"Yes, though I drew them using my parents' notes."

His eyes moved to another page.

A diagram of a Ruin Guard's internal structure. Another showing possible energy systems. Another comparing Khaenri'ahn technology with Sumeru's current engineering.

"You weren't trained by the Akademiya."

"No, I've been doing this since I was 6 years old. Well, of course, I couldn't understand most of it back then."

"And yet your understanding of these mechanisms exceeds most students in Kshahrewar."

A smile appeared on her face.

"Was that a compliment?"

"No."

A pause.

"An observation."

She laughed quietly. The sound was unexpected. He wasn't accustomed to people laughing around him without mockery.

A silence followed. Not uncomfortable. Just unusual. Then Zandik looked back at the papers.

"Why show me these?"

"...I'm not interested in machines themselves. I'm more interested in the secrets of this world. And what happened in Khaenri'ahn. I showed you these because I think someone must bring them back."

"You realize the Akademiya would confiscate all of this."

"I know."

"And possibly imprison you."

"That's why you're the person who sees all this. I know you won't tell anyone. Because you believe no one is capable to understand any of this. And because you'd do anything for knowledge."

For the first time in their conversation, Zandik looked genuinely thoughtful. Not because he'd been praised, but because she reached that conclusion through observation alone.

"Your powers of observation are... adequate."

She laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

He looked back at the documents.

"Don't..."

"Don't what?"

"...Take it as one."

But the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly before he returned to reading.

With that, the strange Akademiya student who avoided everyone had started spending time with the mysterious girl who studied forbidden history. The interesting part was that she never tried to make Zandik kinder. She didn't tell him to be less arrogant. She didn't ask him to change. She simply treated him as someone worth speaking to. And Zandik, who was used to people either fearing him or trying to correct him... Found that he preferred someone who could challenge him.

The meetings did not stop after that afternoon. If anything, they became increasingly frequent. At first, they were excuses.

"I found another inscription."

"I require your opinion on this mechanism."

"I translated another page."

"You mistranslated line twelve."

"I did not."

"You did."

"...Show me."

Hours disappeared into arguments.

Not hostile ones. Neither raised their voice. Instead, they would spend an entire evening debating the meaning of a single sentence carved into a piece of stone.

Gradually, the conversations stopped requiring a reason. Sometimes Zandik would simply appear outside her dorm. Knock once. Wait. When she opened the door...

"...What happened?"

"I finished today's research."

"...Congratulations?"

"I wished to continue yesterday's discussion."

"...You walked across the entire Akademiya..."

"...Yes."

"...Just for that?"

He looked at her as though the answer were obvious.

"...Naturally."

She stepped aside without another question. Eventually she stopped asking why he had come. He stopped explaining. It became routine. The library staff noticed first. If one was present...the other would arrive shortly afterward. Rumours spread almost as quickly as those surrounding Zandik's experiments. Some students would be scared for her, wondering why would she spend time with him. He was dangerous in their eyes. But they didn't know she was like that too, but unlike Zandik, she hid it better.

The first real sign that something had changed would probably not be a confession. It would be something small. A few months later, she gets injured during an exploration. Some defensive mechanism struck her. It wasn't fatal. But enough that she couldn't continue and had to wait for the rescue team.

Zandik became unusually irritated. Not because the expedition failed.

Because she was careless.

"You should have informed me."

"Why? So we can play doctor and patient together?" she said jokingly.

He looked at the gash across her arm before answering.

"No." His voice was flat.

"So the injury could have been treated immediately instead of after unnecessary blood loss."

They were strong, intimidating and imponent. Everything Dottore could ask for. He had asked around at the employees, and every single one gave him a perplexed look before Dottore decided it wasn't worth it and go off for the next one.

"Holy shit is that the second Fatui Harbinger?" "Yeah, i think he is." "Why is he here, i just wanted to have a peaceful Sunday.."

"Ah, My Heart! Look at it, oh so precious."

Dottore stared up at the window covered ceilling, where a shark was swimming from afar. Its teeth glinted under the water surface.

"That one, that one is called Basking Shark, its quite known for its looks. Its also known as Cetorhinus Maximus. Sometimes, it can be a bit.."

The shark swimmed above you and then down, only to meet you two with a curious gaze.

"Intimidating, but it merely feeds on plankton. Quite the charm if you ask me." Dottore let out a pitiful sigh and clicked his fingers together. "Maybe i can ask to bring it home, after all, i don't own any of those species... Mhm."

The day after you both went to the aquarium, Dottore walked up to his shark tank as usual. It was really big, his own personal collection. He walked up with a bag full of plankton inside, ready to be eaten by his new, sharpy friend.

"What could we call it?"

"Wait.. we?" You clenched the notebook in your hands, a bit surprised. Dottore giving you such offer was uncommon.

"Yes, we. You accompained me to buy it, therefore you get a say too. So, what do you think."

"Mhm... what about Sunny?"