Hmmm

Creator of the server is @owltaills, you must've seen his stuff if you're one of us

I send my own lewd art there which I post nowhere else bc tumblr in no-porn and I'm not bothering with any other social media account. I hope this is an argument. I hope whoever this is an argument for, you will come for it and find so much more. Anyway, here's the tamest lxc I could find

I'm not the only cool artist on the server! And by that I mean "from the active members" wink wink nudge nudge

The server has been pretty active in last months! There's not many active members so it's kind of a small (and cozy) team, but that team does some Heavy lifting (I love all of them)

When I say "all ships are welcome" I mean it

"I would've sold this beast already if it wasn't for the beauty of the sheds."

Grenade manages to get close enough without the monster noticing, close enough to bite, so he sinks his teeth into his bandaged ankle. But— not enough to break skin, and he swears under his breath.

The reaction from the monster is steadfast, but he almost sees it in slow motion. The way he firstly tenses up, the sound of his knees popping as he crouches down and backhands him across the face. It's strong enough that it sends Grenade rolling a few meters away, and when the monster approaches again, he can't help the fear seizing his guts at the sheer savagery of his eyes.

He lifts up his head by the hair, the grip so strong it makes his scalp feel numb. Tears prickle at his eyes— pain, rage, frustration, Grenade doesn't know anymore. He does know, though, that the failed attemp will have very dire consequences.

"Consider yourself lucky that I am not wearing any rings."

He will not. Grenade spits blood at the monster's face, blood that he can only hope originates from biting his tongue or his cheeks too hard. There is a beat of silence, from the monster, from him, and from the crowd too. For a brief moment, Grenade is invaded by a sick satisfaction that he managed to leave these people speechless.

And the the monster stands up, dropping his head suddently enough that he doesn't have time to react and hold it up. His jaw hits the ground and leaves a sharp ache.

And then, as his vision swims while he tries to reach out to grab at the monster's ankle, he is hit with the belt again. Even though he is prepared, he screams this time again too, because the strike was with the buckled part, and it bites into his skin like a knife. A knife would be better.

But Grenade knows the monster would not inflict torture so blatantly.

He does not manage to move again when the monster is done beating him. That is just sheer humiliation— it was, what? Five strikes?

"This naga has time and time again refused to behave. I don't typically deal out punishment so crassly, but there are creatures that just have to be beaten into submission, if not obedience."

The crowd cheers with sanguinary glee, and Grenade does manage to summon the strenght to curl up. And that way he stays, until the monster crouches down by him again, just for a moment, and whispers, low enough that he isn't heard,

"Guess who will suffer the consequences?"

A wave of panic overtakes him, and he stifles sobs.

"My dear patrons, I apologise for your lack of input so far! Areli does not do well without pre planned scripts, and this beast is impossible to tame. Perhaps, the next show may have more influence of you! So tell me,"

"You asked for a defiant beast, and here I deliver!" With his free hand, Amaranthine gestures at himself. His clothes are simple— high waisted cotton trousers, not very tight, with his long black hair tied into a high ponytail. A short sleeved shirt with what seems similiar to an archer's chestguard, and bandages wrapped around his wrists and ankles. "You must excuse my clothing, of course. It's much too impractical to wear lavish robes, dealing with such an unpredictable little beast."

Grenade lunges at the monster, looking to bite his leg. Maybe, if he can poison him, if he can see his veins turn black as his body falls apart from the inside out, maybe—

Maybe if he can show that to Zephyr, maybe, his dearest will wake up, maybe he'll be able to speak again, maybe his eyes will regain the ferocity that they used to carry, maybe his body will have time to heal and everything will be okay again.

Instead, the monster dodges to the side. And then, the belt strikes down on Grenade's back, and though he usually keeps quiet when he's whipped, he wasn't ready now— this isn't a deliberate beating, something aimed to break, but a punishment. Retaliation. He screams.

Grenade feels the blood roll down his back, the warmth that incenses his hatred for the monster, and he tries to wrap his tail around his legs to make him fall, but before his can, the monster chides "Areli, up!"

And the angel comes out of nowhere and gracefully picks up the monster, putting him down on a plataform, and flying up again. Grenade mouths to it, "Traitor". He doesn't watch it for long, sickened that Areli could just stay there sitting on the perch out of sight of the audience, like a stupid little bird, at the monster's beck and call.

"See? This is what I mean."

Amaranthine looks down at the naga, smiling condescendingly at it. Then stands up on the plataform, and jumps down. Before Grenade can do anything, Amaranthine kicks it down, plants a foot on its back, and tugs on the chain, forcing its head up to looks at the audience.

Grenade does try to get his hands on the collar, though the monster is not tugging hard enough to completely choke him. It makes it difficult to breath.

"This naga is one of my oldest beasts, and yet, it still refuses to break. It's rather annoying." Clamor arises, and Amaranthine laughs along with the crowd. "Yes, my dear patrons, I hear you. I could sell or trade it for an easier dear, couldn't I? And leave this one in more experienced hands."

The monster drops the chain, and despite himself, Grenade lets his head fall onto the floor, heaving for breath.

"I have given up on taming this beast, and there is only one reason I keep it around." Amaranthine steps away from the naga. "And it's because of its sheds."

He smiles, raising his arms up as the crowd goes quiet. Grenade tries to get up and attack once again, but Amaranthine kicks its side with force, and it's just left writhing on the floor in pain.

"My usual robes— the black part, is decorated with this dear's sheds. It is, of course, a precious material." Amaranthine spins once to look at the whole crowd. "I have, of course, entertained the thought of going hunting for another black naga, but I have better things to do."

The chains that keep him bound to the wall, cut into his wrists, have him suspended against it. He does not avert his gaze from the monster. He cannot show weakness to this, this thing, someone so utterly sadistic and disgusting. Most may not notice, but Grenade does, the faint scent of blood every time he sticks his tongue out.

He cannot begin to imagine what he does to the other creatures, but— but he doesn't have to.

From the sneer, his expression transforms into sheer panic, as the monster approaches his dearest.

Zephyr had been a warrior, the protector between both of them. He was the one that for so long fought off hunters and collectors like the monster, the one that kept their freedom intact as they lived.

Now there they lie, not even restrained, just curled up in a corner. The monster had torn out a handful of his scales, in an attemp to break him. And it did— it did break him. He was barely even responsive anymore, the only reaction Grenade could ever get out of him were pained sounds.

He isn't sure Zephyr knows how to speak anymore.

And that is why, why he refuses to break, why he cannot let the monster subjugate him. That is why he will resist until death.

"Please, not him!" A shiver runs down his spine as the monster smiles at him a smile that is sharp as a knife. "Not him."

The monster shows his fangs, his smile becoming sharper still.

"Perhaps, if you behave," Grenade can barely supress a flinch when the monster nudges dearest's body with his foot, and cracks the belt on his hands. He doesn't need to look to know that the belt is made with Zephyr's dark green scales. "I will leave it alone."

And Grenade cannot help the rage that seethes within him, the hatred that the monster insists on calling them all by "it". Not even Areli escapes that, the monster's favourite, one that defers to him in an utterly pathetic manner. Though they all have heard him call the angel by "him" in one occasion or the other.

Grenade would be jealous if he didn't have so much spite towards Areli.

As the monster releases his wrists from the chains, and locks one around his neck, he does tug. He should behave, but the image of Zephyr lying there missing half his scales does nothing but incense the anger that seems to consume his every wake moment.

He can only be grateful, when the monster somehow tugs him out of the cell he and Zephyr are kept on, that the collar around his neck is not meant to be a choker.

Grenade can barely tame his rage when he is taken to the center of the stage, and a blinding light shines down on him and the monster.

"Dearest patrons, meet one of my oldest little beasts— Grenade!"