#poor charizard

You were just rounding the corner of the coffee truck when you spotted Grisham wiping down the counter, the morning light warm on his shoulders. Griselle was scribbling updates on the chalkboard menu, humming something upbeat.

Before you could get a word out, a familiar rumbling purr filled the air. Pyroar was out, and she had spotted you first.

The lioness lifted her head with regal poise, her mane glowing like embers in the sunlight. She crossed the distance in long, elegant strides, stopping directly in front of you, and lowered her head beneath your hand with a soft, possessive chuff.

You laughed, fingers sliding into the warm fur of her mane.

“Good morning, girl.”

Pyroar purred louder, pressing closer as if to claim you on sight. Her tail curled around your calf like a banner.

But the sound of wings, accompanied by gentle rumbles, pulled your attention to the side.

Charizard.

The dragon’s orange scales glimmered, tail flame flaring, wings spreading just enough to make himself look bigger. His eyes locked on you — and then narrowed at Pyroar.

Pyroar narrowed her eyes back, her expression saying: Mine. Back off, you overgrown lizard.

Grisham glanced up from behind the counter, already exhaling a defeated sigh.

“Oh, no.”

Griselle’s head snapped up, and she grinned.

“Oh, YES.”

Charizard stepped closer, towering over the truck’s awning, and nudged your shoulder with the side of his snout — gentle, familiar.

Pyroar’s pupils shrank as she closed her mouth.

She planted herself between you and Charizard with a low, rumbling growl. Not dangerous. Just fiercely territorial.

Charizard answered with a low, rising rumble of his own.

“Uh… guys?” you said nervously. You tried stepping back.

They stepped forward.

Pyroar nudged your hip again with her forehead, purring insistently.

Charizard flicked his tail around your ankle, claiming you with a soft pull.

“Are you two—” you sputtered, “FIGHTING over me?”

Griselle dropped her chalk and pointed dramatically.

“YES. THIS IS EVERYTHING I DREAMED OF!”

Pyroar let out a sharp bark, bumping Charizard’s chest with her head.

Charizard snarled and spread his wings wider, sweeping one wing between you and Pyroar.

Pyroar shoved it back with her shoulder.

Charizard shoved harder.

“C’mon you two. Stop it!”

Pyroar ignored you, circling to your other side like a silent flame guardian. Charizard cut her off halfway through with a strategic wing-block.

They glared.

Both flames — her mane and his tail — flared brighter and brighter with each passing second.

By now, a small crowd had gathered. One tourist lifted their camera. Charizard turned, snarling, and the person yelped and bolted behind a trash can.

Pyroar sat down majestically at your feet, chin lifted, every inch the queen she knew she was — radiating a clear message:

She chooses me. I am her protector. Not you.

Charizard stomped his foot, wings snapping.

No. I choose her.

Grisham finally snapped.

“Alright—enough.” His voice cut clean through the rising fire.

Charizard froze mid-wing-flare.

Pyroar halted in the middle of a tail-snap.

“You,” Grisham said calmly, pointing at Pyroar, “escort her until I’m off work.”

Pyroar rose to her full height, proud, triumphant, and absolutely smug.

He pointed at Charizard. “And YOU are on coffee-truck duty for the morning.”

Charizard’s jaw dropped open in a betrayed screech, his wings folding back dramatically like someone had stabbed him through the heart with a spoon.

You reached for him instinctively. “Charizard—come on, it’s okay—”

The dragon lowered his head to yours immediately, letting you cup the side of his jaw. His eyes softened, the flame on his tail flickering with hurt warmth.

Pyroar huffed and placed her head under your other hand, pushing for equal attention.

Charizard attempted to wrap his tail around your ankle again.

Pyroar slapped it away with hers.

Charizard snapped his jaws.

Pyroar roared in his face.

Griselle was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

“Oh my God, this is domestic fire-type drama. I love it. Hit him again, Pyroar!”

“Griselle, don’t you have tables to wipe down?” Grisham asked in a calm voice.

The girl flipped him the bird before stalking towards a table and began to clean it.

Grisham shook his head, and then turned to you—a hand brushing your arm, voice soft. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I guess they’re both attached to you.”

You smiled. “I don’t mind. I’ll see you in a bit. I’m hunting for some shiny pokemon.”

You walked off with Pyroar strutting at your side.

Charizard watched dramatically from behind the truck, tail drooping, looking like it had been robbed of custody in a divorce settlement. It let out a pitiful cry.

Griselle’s jaw dropped as her eyes began to water.

“LOOK AT HIM! HE’S HEARTBROKEN!”

Grisham rubbed his forehead.

“This is going to be a nightmare.”

Charizard snarled.

And Grisham muttered under his breath: