FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Escaping that Mystery Dungeon was tough.

But crossing a river? Really? Well...

Joltik screams as he holds on for dear life.

" ...Why is everything so hard!?"

Tall grass knits along the side of the soft-soil riverbank. Splishes and splashes patter from the nameless river, a sizable drizzle sprinkling down from above. The dark waters of the nighttime river are wide enough for a few Ursaring to bathe in. No stars shine on the river's surface. The only objects seen on its surface are the overcast clouds--and the bug's rain-battered leaf raft.

And that bug: a Joltik. Jol_t_ik to be exact. That's his name. It may seem counterproductive to name yourself after your species. But it's all in the enunciation.J_oltik is different from Jol_tik, see?

This Joltik's same as all the rest: the most adorable itsy-bitsy yellow bug. Fluffy yellow fur turns him into a puffball. Four legs, tipped with a single blue claw. Plus two main eyes: oval-shaped and blue. Right above them, two smaller eyes: no pupils, meant only to sense light.

Of course, all eyes are looking rather forlorn at the moment.

"Ohhh, how the Mankey's Paw curled..." he pouts. "I wanted to be an adventurer who went where_noooo_ one eveerrr went...

He shudders at the revived memories. "And I sure did..."

His precious leaf perch bends from the gale. "I went through Guildmaster Wigglytuff's guts, for heaven's sake! Wasn't that enough?"

Thousands of rainy bullets splatter with machine gun-like frequency. Water pools as his leaf dips into the water, millimeters from capsizing as he continues to be blown off-course. Joltik strains; his legs shake. His innards rattle as he's battered by the storm. In circles he goes, fur drenched dark like a flooded basement carpet. Crashing waves bash his body as lightning shatters the sky. It fractals like cracked glass, unleashing booming thunder. Joltik's body tingles from the sheer power of the faraway bolts, sensitive to the unfathomable amount of electricity brewing in the clouds.

I'm... he thinks. I'm not going to make it, am I?

He lets his eyes drift closed.

The raindrops stop.

They don't dwindle down. One moment it pours. Next, the shower stops. But the sounds of the storm continue. Unabating, the wind stirs up into a howl. Rain's first thunder makes its opening roar.

Something's wrong.

Am I dead? Joltik wonders. I better not be dead. That was kinda pathetic...

He feels his boat lift. A thought comes to mind. Is the wind picking me up? Am I riding the winds?!

But his ascent is brief, slow, and undramatic. He feels himself balance on a gentle surface. And again, not a single raindrop is pummeling his body into the crisp ridges of the leaf.

He finally gains the courage to open his eyes.

Joltik sees blue.

Light blue fur carpets a field ahead. Slightly curved with waviness and dripping wet, the clearly-massive creature's pelt repels water to an impressive degree. It's slick, not soggy. Joltik follows the furry expanse, big enough to capture his eyes in their entirety: side-to-side. He follows it forward, gaze traveling over the curve of a chest and towards a massive face.

Round, same-colored, and with two dark oval eyes peering from above. The Dewott arcs their neck to stare at the bug on their belly.

"Woo-wee," the otter says, voice decidingly female--and with a notable twang. "Took long enough to see those peepers of yours, squirt."

Joltik whirls around. His feet squish the water out from where they land. And he sees his new location. A natural canopy of tree roots and shrubbery shield them from the storm, housing the Pokemon in a snug arch-like structure.

"I--uh, thank you..." Joltik's eyes drift to a lonely corner of his eyes, looking at the wet, blue belly hairs. "...I guess."

The bug is bumped into the air when Dewott's belly abruptly becomes a trampoline, pumping up with a single brisk chuckle. She recomposes herself, V-shaped whiskers still twitching. "You sound mighty thrilled. Y'know, being saved from drownin' 'n all."

"...I..." Joltik drags out the letter as he searches for his words. "...am just tired."

"Mm-hm." She agrees. She rests her head down in the water with a splash. Water waves stirred up from the river toss her body with the current. Up and down, bobbing with the flow. "Stupid and ungrateful. I getcha."

"H-hey!" Joltik perks up. He stares ahead, witnessing her relaxed face, hands behind her head, over the great hill of her ribs.

"Oh? Not so tired anymore, are ya?"

"No! I-I mean yes! Maybe no? Either way, I'm super-uber thankful, just..."

"Look." Dewott removes a hand from her head. She lazily holds it upright, palm in air. "I believe ya. Maybe. So I'm crossin' out that unthankfulness. But with the way you're talkin', you're not making a good case for your smarts."

"Alright!" Joltik groans with exasperation. "I'm sorry, okay? Enough with the teasing."

"Not teasin' you anymore little fella." A great water splash signals that Dewott is lifting her head. Her dark eyes are deep as a well. "You're a moron for trying a stunt like that. Leave the adventuring to the adventurers. So you best get your buggy head outta the clouds before you end up doing something you really regret."

Joltik's heart is a bell, hit by a hammer--fluttering and shaking until it's cracking under the pressure.

"Leave the adventuring to the--"_Joltik whispers, then stops. Erupting into a shout. "I am an adventurer! One of the best! I got accepted into _Wigglytuff's Guild!"

"Funny."

"It's true!" He nearly growls. "I don't see you doing anything! I risked my life and--"

"Uh huh," she says. "And what adventurers did you go on?"

Joltik freezes. "I... was _supposed_to go on one. So, none. But I did brave a Mystery Dunge--"

"Yeah, yeah," Dewott reels her hand close to Joltik. And he sees her black paw become the night. It wipes away the visage of his roof shelter and Dewott's body. Her pointer finger extends from a boulder of a fist. And her clawtip pokes into his sodden fuzz.

"You're less than a rookie. You're a bright-eyed bug with zero life experience, thinkin' you're hot as the pros 10,000 times your size." Dewott reels her hand back. "Tough, but true. You're good at those micro-dungeons. Or as backup for a pro. But trying to brave the wild in the biggest, baddest storm you've ever seen--which to me is just a rainy day--is, again, worse than foolish. Idiotic."

A turmoil of electric energy builds up in Joltik's belly. His eyes glow with power as his internals overclock. Sparks fling from his body as tiny shocks arc from his fur.

"If you're thinkin' of shockin' me," Dewott sighs, "then you're in a surprise when your low-level thorax gets spanked by a bonafide Level 32 pro."

The sparks die down. But Joltik's fury doesn't. "If I'm so weak, then bring me to the worst_dungeon you know! I'll conquer it, just like the last. I'm sure it'll be _nothing compared to what I've been through!"

Breaths are held. The air electrifies with tension. And thunder rumbles from a distance.

A dreadful gleam in Dewott's eyes. "The worst dungeon I can think of, eh?"

Joltik's heart becomes one hard marble. He doesn't even feel it beat. Only pressing against his now-touchy chest. "The... the worst." His eyelids fall with uncertainty. "Yeah..."

Disturbed water crashes as Dewott's black paw rises from the stream. Still dripping with the night-colored river water, she warms up her digits--wriggling them and clenching them into her palm. Prepping for... something.

"I tell ya what. If you can soldier through this here "mystery dungeon", I'll go on and say you're a mighty-fine adventurer." She cracks a little smile. "I'll even help ya find your way home."

"Really?" Joltik tilts his body as the starlight above is consumed by the void of her hand. "You'll--ack!"

Firm, wet digits grip him by the sides as he's pulled off her fur like a troublesome tick. His legs wriggle as he's pulled into the air--her belly, his ground, pulling away at lightspeed. In reality, it was the most casual of motions the otter could muster. But when you're the size of a fly, an inch is a story. And each of her fingers is the size of a two-story home.

The blurry world focuses when he comes to a standstill. His eyes widen. A pitiful peep squeaks through a fear-choked throat. It's a horror movie: a frightful scene. Dewott's face chews the scenery, imprinted on a background of wet, mossy roots and a stormy night. Dark waters brawl outside their haven, clashing as they're battered by raindrops. Some sneak inside, peppering the otter's hungry look.

"I think this is going to be real fun." She says in a low, controlled tone. But it's soon broken with a loud, "welp! Can't say I didn't warn ya. Down the hatch!"

Joltik's pupils shrivel to ink spots. "D-down the... down the--the--"

A bright pink tongue snakes from her lips as if it was charmed. It rakes across her mouth, leaving a bit of slime before retreating to its humid hold.

Joltik watches as Dewott swallows nothing but an unusually spit-filled mouth.

Glrk. A-hem. She clears her throat and opens her airways.

"Haaa..." She sighs a foggy breath, more humid than the storm. Her relaxed gullet channels air directly from her belly. And the thick cloud of death barrels towards Joltik--whose squirms become a frenzy the instant the smog makes contact. The yellow bug becomes deathly ill. His stomach convulsed; his lungs seize as he's violated by awful remains of a breath like sunbaked seagull vomit.

She giggles. "Sorry," she says with sweet unsincerity. "I guess I haven't flossed?"

Joltik retches, drooling bitter spit from his empty belly. "Lady, you REEK!"

Her other paw touches her face in a mockery of bashfulness. "Oh? Do I? I guess when you're such a busy adventurer like me, lil' things like personal hygiene just start slippin' from your mind. But I do spy a nice, yellow mint for me to suck on."

The bug is struck with pure terror. "Don't you dare!"

Whistling winds whip his ears as Joltik is pulled from the cooling cloud. Pulled closer to her face, his sickly eyes droop from the olfactory beating. Loose arcs of electricity spark from his body. But they're ill-formed. The bolts wander off target, dissolving to static.

"Too roughed up to even let out a spark?" Dewott's words are a concrete brick of smell, cracking the bug's face with every word. "Well! Better get used to it. Your fluffy coat's gonna soak it alllll up like a sponge in sardine juice."

Fishy, briny, and unbelievably rotten from at least a couple days without a good rinse--her mouth's mephitic brew is unrelenting. Sealio breath, Trubbish spit--it's got nothing on this moist, rotten, piping-hot garbage. He peers with squinted, teary eyes.. Vision shaking from his gagging, he watches the way her lips move. He sees what lies beyond. From behind fangs slathered in murky drool, he spies her tongue: slathered in saliva made murkier from eel slime. Moving, the sounds it makes is wretchedly thick. Saliva pops like boiled syrup, stirring about in her maw. And as her jaw stretches to embrace the bug, excess saliva cascades off her tongue--like water off a whale's back as it rises from the sea.

"You're making a big mistake!" Joltik waggles his legs like a fly caught in a spider's web. "I'll be b-back! I'll tell the Guild about this! They'll revoke your license!"

Haaaa! She breathes again. Words and will dissolve. It's radiation--Joltik thinks. Radiation that's threatening to melt him back into a primeval soup.

Fang and craw come closer. Jaws reach overhead and slip below. Heaven and earth are consumed by flesh pink as it is wet. The struggling mite screams as her lips close around her fingers. And she shuttles him away with a noisy suck-and-pop.

Joltik is speared with horor as he watches the insides of Dewott's cheeks compress. Left and right, the fleshy walls squish in. Violent, invisible force rips him from her fuzzy fingertips--sending him splattering upon her mire-swamped tongue.

Drooling flesh greets him in his face-first washout. His momentum is strong; he grinds across the bumpy surface. His heart rattles inside him as miniscule foot bits splatter him like bugs on a windshield. He ends in the wedge centered on her tongue: between the two pudgy halves. Sinking in a quicksand of strawberry flab, Joltik thrashes his legs in an attempt to dislodge his face from a pocket of goo.

Spit whips as he flips himself around. Back on tongue, he lets his abdomen bare to the ridged palette sky--vulnerable. Eyes wide, he watches the drooping honey-drips of saliva drop from the ceiling.

Splatter! Splash! Splosh! The wash is overwhelming. Gooey globs of viscous spit drool over her tongue. Congealing in a pool beneath the otter's licker, the smelly moat absolutely exudes scent. Ripe with fish market rejects, eye-watering fumes are salty enough to sting Joltik's four eyes.

"Stop this!" He yells, legs squirming as he rolls on his back. Like a toppled turtle, he aims to right himself. But a rightly-timed glob of gooeyness blacks his vision with its approaching shadow. His carapace is pressed with the weight. His fur flattens. His voice croaks through his tight throat--the bug nearly bursting with disgust. Clearish goo melts over him, flecked with flakes of chewed prawn.

The itsy-bitsy shells scrape his body as Dewott's pleasured moan erupts from her throat. He glances at it: a ginormous pit halfway hidden by the hump of her tongue. The back of the pink, fleshy organ flattens with her exuding breath. The doughy surface ripples--along with her widening throat. Slime that slicked her gullet fling off with violence. It splatters across her maw, pelting her tastebuds and the unfortunate bug harbored between them. Green, yellow, brown--the near microscopic bits of mucusy foodstuff crash with deafening splatter. Small it may be--but Joltik's small too. It's bucket's-worth for him. Simple gunk from an unclean maw of a giant is enough to speckle him with smelly, watery graffiti. And he hates it.

Almost as much as Dewott loves it.

"Byeeeech!" He croaks, fighting his shell of thick spit and mushy meals. All the while, light glares as Dewott's lips open. Light of the night joins Joltik's lonely glow whilst her breath exits into the open air.

Her breath is death. Just as fishy as he feared. It's the stank of a diet of two worlds meeting: freshwater, and the sea. Dewott's got access to both. And the realms should've never met. Pungent miasma rolls from her throat's sweltering depths: hot and steamy. It practically boils the spit Joltik's trapped under; and it's pushing drool from his body just so he can get a taste of the awful smell tainting her maw.

Wet legs rush to cover his puny nostrils. The insect's chest heaves as he chokes on his own gagging throat, seizing in pulses as deep gurgling fills his hellscape like the rumble of a faraway volcano.

"Hear that?" The woman's words blasts sound louder than the raging storm could ever hope to achieve. It's wetter, richer, and all-encompassing. Summer heat blasts from her maw, venting as volcanic heat from her gullet. "That's my stomach saying 'hello!'"

But Joltik knows better.

Her stomach is moaning_._Belabored, it _groans--_digesting her awful meals of breakfast and lunch. But she pays it no mind. It's a natural process, after all.

Yet, Joltik bellows in frustration. Kicking off the slime coating him, he finally manages to right himself--yet still weighed down in mouth soup. A gurgling stomach is an upset stomach. An upset stomach is prone to vent its frustrations. And those frustrations--

Joltik's eyes go wide as he watches her throat squash and stretch.

"Excuse me," Dewott softly buzzes, "I think I feel a burp coming on."

Lips smack; tongue flaps. Light flashes as her lips seal and unseal. Each word is a flashbang--a dazzling display of light that Joltik endeavors to reach. He splats and falls, messily making a path along her tongue. Bouncing and stumbling atop the moving organ, he nearly drowns in the chaotic wash of spittle. Bubbles aim to trap him. Drool is tasked to swamp him. Yet hearing the otter's awful words grants Joltik the fight he needs to stay on his path.

It's a real shame he's too slow: too weak. He barely reaches the halfway point before her lips blink out the light. The rounded seal stretches across the edges of his world. Curved fangs are portcullis, guarding the gate. And the bug is left all alone--balancing on a slightly-stirring tongue. And that dreadful growling is getting louder...

He turns around, fear-blanked blue eyes gleaming in the darkness. His sopping body rattles his stopped heart. He knows that he has failed. And he's about to pay the price.

Dewott's tongue flattens to grant a better view. A slimy passage in the rear of her mouth twiddles, as if it's straining to hold something back. Powerful flesh is coiled with energy, ready to spring--and it does.

Invisible force blows black her flat tongue, flattens her throat lining, and jets out her open mouth. Joltik is atomized from the blast. Microwaved with gut steam that's on its way into becoming an airborne syrup, he withstands the blast only to suffer in the fallout. His clenching chest holds in his reserve of smelly air, knowing its rotting smell is _nothing_compared to a taste of her gut-borne agony.

And to his dismay, it's not just one. Her stomach doesn't just send him one snappy quip. It lets the both of them know its mind. Bubbles brew from deeper within her body, burbling up her neck until its unleashment as gloppy belches--released in a brief flash of light. And as more come, Joltik finds himself in a constant battle. Strobing between near-blackness and illumination, Joltik weathers the photic assault.

Languishing in a moat of spit gathered on her tongue, Joltik convulses. Body stopping and starting in quick twitches, his head bobs and his throat grinds as he struggles to hold his breath. Vision becoming a bit bleary, he blinks the tears out of his eyes as Dewott's closed-mouth giggle swallow him in the sound.

Hrk--!

Umhh--!

"N-no..." Joltik croaks, eyes half-pinched closed. "Out of air... I don't want..."

Dewott surprises him with a mischievous buck of her tongue.

He's kicked in the stomach.

Joltik takes a deep breath.

Air invades.

And the misery flows in.

There's a new odor amongst the familiar fish and slime. Gut, gas, and even hints of her awful-smelling vomit tear into his throat. Joltik promptly collapses. His chin smacks into the cushy, squelchy floor. And his dazed, sorry face watches her throat belch up a bit of fish slime--now splattered upon him instead of lining her throat.

A simple hum radiates from that sewer pit of a throat. Dewott is pleased. ANd the slime-soaked bug on her tongue is taken for a ride. Her jaws part. Dewott's tongue extends. Riding on its middle, Joltik's slumped-over body travels past her teeth.

Strands of saliva surround him like plucked harp strings, vibrating with her breath. Some snap with her tongue's movement, collapsing in a messy splatter. Drool strips are left afterwards, glazing her tongue like frosting on a baked pastry: melting over the pinkish surface whilst Dewott sticks her tongue out in the rain.

The storm's calmed now--a fact that hits the bug hard.

If only I waited! He screams in his lonely mind.

Since he was last facing her throat, he's given a view of Dewott's lips. Her whiskers. And of course, her face. Nearly cross-eyed as they stare at the tiny speck upon her tongue, he feels like an ant under a magnifying glass. Burning beneath her laser focus, he feels bile rise from his sickly belly.

"You're..." he mutters weakly. "...enjoying this, aren't you?"

Dewott simply gives him a playful wink.

She opens her maw wide, wider than it's ever been. Hot breath billows from within, its stink horrific. Joltik, seized in terror, attempts to turn around. Battered with raindrops, he's a tickle on her tongue as he scampers for freedom. But his efforts are squashed as her tongue extends in full, the tip curling slightly. And it's just enough to obscure sight of the outside world. A deeper breath washers over him, blanketing the bug in roaring, smelly winds. And Joltik is dragged screaming back into darkness.

The crisp air of the storm is ripped away. Joltik is thrust back into muggy heat. Hot spray of breath-thrown spit crashes into him like spray from the sea.

"You can't eat me!!" He howls, watching the crashing waves of her spit--feeling spiraling smog of her free-flowing breath. The sight of her widening gullet reflects in his eyes. And he decides to take his chances. He will _not_be devoured!

He jumps.

Heavy her saliva is, so it's more of a slump. But take to the air he does; and he topples off that drooling slab of meat. He squelches in gunk wedged between teeth--and the momentum of his fall pushes him deep. Wedged tight between canine and blocky tooth, he wriggles helplessly whilst Dewott's confused tongue searches above.

"Where are you ya little..." Her muttered words sound. Meanwhile, Joltik's fighting a unique battle unbeknownst to her. The hot saliva moistens up the awful, slimy mush he's trapped in. Mollusk gunk and tuna chum become almost peanut buttery in consistency. Yet, it still possess that trademark oily nastiness. Sticky, slimy, and blobby--it's nightmarish quicksand. Stuff that Joltik is slowly sinking into.

"No, no, no, no!" He spatters out, harshly let quietly. Trying not to alert the water otter, he scrabbles his blue-tipped tappers along the slick side of her yellowed teeth. It slows him briefly. But it's nothing compared to the force of gravity. He continues to be swallowed by the awful mush, its grotesque texture crawling up his back and squelching along his back legs.

"This can't be--c'mon, no!" He yells, louder this time. But the swishing of Dewott's spit and sounds of her searching tongue drown out whatever brief fart of a noise his voice could muster. Dread and disbelief let his black pupils shrink away as he witnesses Dewott's tongue flatten down--then buck in a trademark swallowing wave. Torrents of saliva wash by, absolutely pouring into her throat with world-destroying waves. Watery sounds of moving goo shutters away with distinct squelches. Her throat grips the storm, and yanks it into her all-consuming gorge.

"There." Dewott says matter-of-factly. "That should've swept him up."

Joltik prepares to scream as he clings to her tooth, stopping his gooey consumption for as long as he's able--before more mush dislodges from the top of her poorly-cleaned teeth, pelting his face and silencing his screams.

Dewott continues while Joltik suffers, stomach growling the whole time. "Ya hear that, bug? My stomach's finally gonna get to meetcha. Probably gettin' a bit empty in there. So I 'spose it's time to snag some dinner..."

"Mmmph!" His gluck trap squelches with frenzy as he flails, buried halfway within. This is a nightmare! This can't be happening! He thinks. How is this_ worse _ than the last time!?

Joltik tries to yank his body free, but mucky splats are the only things to pop free. He's beset by a new type of terror. He's a mite in a tarpit, slowly sinking in the mud. A scarp. A nothing--an ant drowning in the garbage. Dewott already had her doubts about Joltik's adventuring proficiency. But she doesn't even have a clue of the humiliating position the bug's got himself in. He didn't even reach her stomach.

His efforts do slow his sinking to a crawl. He's at a near standstill, in fact.

...In regards to his previous sinking. For the bug is anything but stockstill. A fleck of nothing trapped in Dewott's teeth gunk, he moves with her.

She's swimming. He notes, feeling his belly bounce up and down with her acrobatic strokes.She's looking for a meal! Oh man, this is bad. This is really,_ really _ bad!

Clonk! A sudden shift in her direction leads to inertia bonking his head into her stained tooth. Wetness squishes out of his pressed fur, leaving him to blink away the cascading drool dribbly food gunk from his eyes.

I'm covered in mashed molluscs and otter spit! Please just let me out...

He cringes as Dewott's tongue ambiently stirs her dirty spit.

Urrrggggh. Please... your mouth is so gross! When was the last time you brushed your teeth?

Yet, the only answer he gets is when the fangs that hold him move. Nestled safely in a narrow pocket between two teeth, he's witness to her mountainous teeth shifting--grinding. A shell of some hapless shrimp is dislodged from it all, falling from her upper jaw only to be smashed between yellowish boulders. His blood becomes an ice bucket's water as he hears that shell splinter. Shatter, it becomes waterlogged flakes that drift away into the wallowing pool of spit.

It isn't long until she finds her prey. A non-sentient critter, he hopes. From what he can tell, it's something crab-like--scuttling about on the river floor. Joltik neither sees nor hears the action take place. All he hears is the crackling of a riverside campfire.

And eventually, he sees the fresh hell inserted through Dewott's streamwater-trickling lips. Whitish crab meat is pushed through a curtain of water trickling at the entrance of Dewott's maw. Still steaming from its time on the fire, it blasts the bug with brackish-smelling vapor. It's nose-pinching. It doesn't make him violently ill like the ever-present miasma she calls her breath. But it overwhelms his brain with fog--a hill-sized chunk of very smelly grub that's tossed right on her tongue.

No longer worried about keeping a fragile bug alive, her maw reverts to its utterly hostile, natural environment. Joltik's positioning is a miracle--for he sees her tongue tosse the crab meat right above him. Uncaring of the gook that covers him, he screams. Jaws fall like a guillotine, slicing and smashing the white meat in a goopy splatter that utterly covers the cowering bug.

Her shifting, chewing jaws make Joltik sick to his stomach. Constantly shoved back and forth, he continually bashes against her teeth as stray bits of food fall into his crevice. Peering out towards the center of her maw, he watches her tongue masterfully stirs the stuff into a slush. Gooey and grimy, her tongue looks to be splattered with tuna. And with her taste buds in heaven, Dewott lets the world know it--humming loudly as Joltik rushes to plug his ears.

Discolored gluck dappling him, his sad eyes continue to stare at her revolting tongue. And they open quite a bit wider when he sees the organ come straight for him.

It doesn't reach him; his pocket protects him. But it does soak him. The fatty thing squeezes between the bars of his prison, getting close enough to lap some of the splatter off his fur.Unable to dislodge him, she neither knows or cares about his existence. She's here for the trapped crab meat. And her disgusting licker laps at her tooth until both fang and tongue are smeared in the disgusting sludge.

Satisfied, her tongue peels away. She repeats the motions of her earlier swallows. Tongue flattens out, pushes back--_ GLURK! _ The lion's share of meat shoves past the point of no return. And poor little Joltik is stuck in his pocket of hell. And Dewott isn't nearly done with her meal.

More meat shoves in. And she has fun with it. Sometimes it pops in with a finger flick. Other times, she shoves it between pursed lips--suckling the juices from the succulent stuff. Noisy slurping sounds around as Joltik is battered by the leftover sluice, his fuzz heavy and moldering from its sheer saturation of gunk.

He's practically indistinguishable from the other food sludge trapped between her teeth. Amorphous in shape due to the piling of various gluck, constantly dripping due to the sheer wetness of it all--he's a miserable mess of both old meals and her current one. In fact, he's cleaning her teeth--his constant struggles scrubbing the buildup of baleful plaque.

But her curious tongue spells his end for his time in the maw. Surges of spit splatter him as her tongue wallows like a pig in the mud. Her crabby drool, still thick with meat, loosens the gunk he's sinking in. And with that, so does he become loose. Slowly lifted by the tide, he mewls as he's pulled free from his crevice. And her tongue, searching for food bits, splats messily along the side of her teeth.

The fatty surface, painted with seafood, invades his refuge. The gooey slop squishes towards him, latching its grossness on his ruined fur. Now a fly on flypaper, he burns his throat on the terrible air once again--as he begins to scream.

His stomach flies to his throat as he's pulled away. The messy organ flounders in its dreadful pool, lathering itself with the moistness abound. Gruel drools across its every surface--spit, slime, and sludge. Joltik tries to climb. But every second he's assailed with a new dollop of filthiness.

Restrained amongst the slop, he sees--and feels--that terrible, familiar process starts up once again: swallowing. Her tongue bunkers down, sinking into the pool of fishy slime. It lifts up, traveling like a wave of blubbery pink. And it rears up, smashing him in a gluey food avalanche as her tongue backs up and shoves her mashed meal into her hungry, steamy depths.

"Why meeeeee!" Joltik screeches as he's thrown down like all the rest. World-crushing convulsions squelch her throat closed, mashing the meaty stew into an easily-swallowed bolus. Shining flesh smashes the stew. The walls vanish from view. Joltik--is swallowed by the goo.

Tossed and turned as the _terrible_organic noises unleash their racket, the bug claws through a seemingly unending supply of horrid matter.

"No--no! Air pocket!" He screams out as he tears into a quickly-collapsing safe spot. _"Haaa!"_He breathes deep--before being promptly squashed by the esophagus's next contraction.

Time and time again, he finds reprieve--only to find his brief solace cruelly crushed. His descent isn't infinite, however. He soon hears the grumblings of a dire future. Gloppy churnings, airy whines, and sloppy spills of a well-digested lunch slopping inside a messy, never-cleaned tract.

Dewott's stomach is as much as he feared.

He exits in fat chunks of spew, dripping like cake batter off a spoon--plummeting with hearty _plaps_into marshy stomach water. And in one gooey glob of nastiness that emerges, is Joltik--the weakling's screams unheard amongst the welcoming roar of Dewott's belly.

"Mweh--yeee_uck!" A yellow bug breaks the surface, groaning and spitting with disgust. "I--_urk!"

The horrid gas brewing in Dewott's gastric atmosphere rends his nose with its nasty claws. It smells as bad as it looks: rotting seafood pulp scatters across the thickened gruel like driftwood of a splintered ship. Swallowed algae and river plants bestow an earthen, almost musky smell within the giant ball of fishy olfactory horror. Dinner-drenched walls see no shame in slathering themselves with Dewott's fishy vomit, churning up the vile gruel until it's frothing with fat, foamy bubbles.

Worse yet, Dewott's belly is a graveyard. Not of generic smallfry--but of Pokemon. Bones are macabre flotsam, bobbing amongst the barrage of her puke. He can identify some--Wishiwashi, three of them--likely swallowed one after another. Glittering Finneon scales retain their luster, gleaming like stars in mud. The apple-like shell of a Flapple marinates in smelly porridge. The bones of its owner are scattered about, melting into paste.

Joltik barely keeps his lunch from joining Dewott's own.

Each second is worse than the last. Joltik wheezes as he's battered by the tide, constantly shifting due to the otter's movements. Outside, the Pokemon is rolling over. Resting on her back, she dangles another bite of salty goodness.

And inside, Joltik finds no footing in swirling pandemonium. His feet sweep up as the marshy ground becomes a peatbog tsunami--throwing him into whirlpools of atrocious thickness.

"Dewott!" He calls out, knowing very well in his puny heart that she would never hear him.

Jiggling flesh massages the multicolored mud, stirring the reds and pinks of crustacean shells with the putrid green of her bile. Somewhere in the middle, Joltik is slapped with new sewage from every side. Each wave comes with a new smell--a new texture--and a new layer of agony to experience. He_feels_ it. The gritty bits: dissolved fishbone and shrimp shell. Along with the gloppy grossness it's residing in, of course. The gritty bits keep Joltik's hell from becoming _too_uniform.

In tandem, the drool-infested waters belch. Gassy fumes brew like bubbles above a volcanic vent, leaving the insect gasping for breathable air whilst the Water-type's gut settles. Gruel climbs the ridged, spongy walls. Jostling back and forth, soon the only disturbances in the sea are wrought by the churnings of her stomach.

Joltik emerges. Discolored and fur matted, his voice crackles with disbelief. Revulsion too. For he's totally slathered in the heaviest, fishiest vomit. Houndoom puke on a sunny day is no match for its smell, its consistency. Weighty as batter; dribbly as mashed peas.

"I can't stay here..." The bug gasps as he stretches his body, reaching for refuge on a floating fish bone--clearly the remains of an unfortunate Wishiwashi. "I just can't! I'm an adventurer, not a masochist! This--this_place!_ It's awful!"

Claws clink on calcium, softened by acids. The holes bored in its surface provide the perfect grip. Joltik begins the long process of pulling himself up. Slow, he emerges from the slop. Thick, fat, globby barf drools off his body. Reaching the halfway point of his ascent, Joltik wheezes in exhausted, olfactory pain. The noise of fizzing otter puke engulfs his ears. And the unfortunate Bug-type is sprayed with the hot, foul-smelling mists of Dewott's wispy burp--jetting out her maw in an extended, subdued urrrrrrp!

"Disgusting!" Joltik's commentary flies out his mouth before he even begins to think about it.

His climb ends. Straddling the curved surface of the bone, Joltik looks to the horizon.

There's little to see. His feeble light succumbs to the blackness eventually. He spies the batter of her stomach, slopping and slapping with the motion of her rocking belly. The walls are nearly invisible, cloaked in darkness. He sees their motion more than their color or shape. A constant flowing--crushing, smashing, pulsing, bending. Her stomach never sleeps. Hard at work, even as the water otter's breath slows.

Am I really going to be trapped in here...? Joltik bleakly wonders. His eyes, once bright with adventure days ago, have become dull as a dirty mirror. The sludge stamped on his face dribbles as his features shift; he holds back a sniffling--then stiffens with anger.

"It's not fair." He harumps. "Not fair at all! I'd be having a better time working at Dunsparce's Bakery! And that place has an actual history of Joltik being eaten!"

He pounds a leg angrily into his raft. "But nobody there would be... be so disgusting as this lady! She doesn't brush her teeth; I rubbed into her_plaque,_ so I know that for a fact! Her insides aren't just unpleasant--they smell like trash! I bet she would smell like trash if she didn't spend half her day in water!"

He slumps sadly. "Aaaaaah... whyyyy..." Joltik's glow flickers like a dying lightbulb. "I just wanted a career more interesting than a pollinator. Or a scarfweaver. I wanted a job I'd look forward to in the morning. And this? This--"

He waves his arms at the grand expanse of everything yucky.

"--This is a mockery of all that! After all my training... this is like graduating from Pokecollege and then someone shits on your diploma. It's crude. It's vulgar. But, really, now, I just want to go home..."

The bug's voice descends into a whine. Echoing through the gurgling chamber, he hears a splash. Splashe_s_. Chunks of food hanging on the wall plummet to their doom. And acid pumps into his hell, rising the tide, knocking numbers off his slowly-dwindling clock.

"I'm gonna become an awfully tiny skeleton if I don't get out of here..." He murmurs, looking sorrowfully at the slop below.

Gurgling skies deepen into the growls of giants as Dewott's meals slowly liquefy. Her stomach picks up activity, keeping its walls nice and moist with slatherings of her gooey vomit. Bones of her prey corrode and melt. They either fragment into bits to join the scraps of prawn shell--or they digest into slop.

Joltik's raft sinks eventually. Standing on the tip of an exposed ribcage, his haven gradually dips into the glop--leaving him to panic in the prickling ocean of rotten vomit.

He handles it about as well as anyone: screaming, hollering.

"Dewooooott!" He yells out again, voice strained due to the worsening quality of air. "Help! Help!"

Snores are his response. And the deep in-and-out breaths that echo around him like a great factory's bellows. Stranded in a dark sea, Joltik paddles nearly blind as he desperately searches for land. Ferocious burbling surrounds him. Bubbling deafens him. Sounds that dwarf him in size and strength eat away at his hope. With every gastric gurgling, Joltik's dreams of survival dwindle. His paddles grow slower. His eyelid dip lower.

...Is this the end...? Even in his mind, his words are a drunken slur.

On the outside, Dewott sleeps in a cozy meadow, her body propped up by the bent stems of pink flowers. Drool wets the corner of her lip. One hand is over her belly, the other lazes upon the ground.

There's a tiny burbling. Bubbling. A tiny little collection of warbling bloops that pops from her belly.

And by happenstance, her body automatically decides to deal with it. No thought on her part. It just happens.

A tiny squish. Her belly crumples in.

A rude, yet small, burp rattles her throat.

And her stomach--starts to drain.

"W-where am I?"

Suddenly, he's hit with stench.

Joltik's mandibles lock up in an instant.

Stench so powerful, it puts everything else to shame. Stench so _thick--_the very air is water--no, molasses. Oppressive, stuffy, sticky, wet. It's everything terrible and then some. Fish has become something so much worse. Something near unrecognizable!

Putrid.

Chest-heaving.

Throat-tearing.

Vomit-curdling...

...smell of _ feces. _

Joltik snaps aware in an instant. He wills his body to alight, already fighting his surroundings. But he goes nowhere, does nothing. His glow only lights the walls of his cramped, cramped chamber--barely big enough to hold him. And he sees that awful texture. Slimy, with a composition that seems smooth at first--but is quickly revealed to be filled with divots and crevices that spread open when his muddy mass _stretched_around the corners of her colon.

I'm... I'm in her--!_Joltik's pinprick pupils whirl about in his eyes. They flick from wall to wall, watching how the mudslide _moves. As if it was alive.

But in reality, he's simply stuck in a log--like a common piece of corn. And her slimy colon is simply kneading said log into shape.

Joltik's cheeks flush red. This is awful! I'm going to be... coming out her...

His thoughts die. He hears the skin-crawling syrupy crawl of her bowel movement, inching towards its destination. He swears he hears a wind go by.

"Ahh..." The giant otter's unmistakable voice bellows from deep within her gut. Joltik feels his marshy mass vibrate with her voice, the gooey insides squelching like the gross sounds of messy, sticky chewing.

"Welp. The morning load's dropped off." She chuckles. "Nope. Wait. I thiiiink I've got some stragglers workin' their way down."

Crouched with one paw place mischievously on her chin, and the other on her thigh, she gives her rear a little shake. Her otter tail, black and broad, wobbles before she steadies once more.

And she begins to push.

The bug inside hardly manages to keep himself from being embedded in the gook as his world slams to-and-fro. Harrowing growls emerge from the darkness--followed by the wet slaps of scrunching meat.

Pulsing intestines wrap tighter than a bear's hug, leaving a panicked Joltik scrambling to push out his collapsing chamber.

"Ew! No!" Hot sludge nearly swallows him as the otter's deep belly grunt punches his heart with a sonic explosion. Another gut collapse smashes her former meal forward, sliding it past the final bend of the intestines. Its tip teeters over an edge, slime dripping off it, splattering into the rectum. Gravity bends it, twisting the top--leaving it dangling: two hunks connected by gooey strings.

It's in the perfect spot too. Joltik watches as the front of his realm rips away, splatting down a pulsating, smoothed funnel. Exposed like a fossil in a cracked-open stone, the still-binded Joltik looks out into the steamy expanse of the Dewott's messy colon.

His throat tightens as he hears her ass suckle on the shit piece that's fallen away. It oozes, flowing stickily from her tailhole. Eventually, it falls away--plummeting into the grass. And Joltik is left staring at the mess-covered insides of her anus, gnawing on the filth like chocolate-covered lips.

"Urk..." He heaves multiple times in succession, exposed to the awful sight and raw stench of her fishy gas. No longer having a fecal shell to protect him, the bug gurgles and hacks as her final payload slips into her rectum.

Boiling air whips his soiled features as he plummets towards her hideous hole. Clenching peristalsis of her tract makes his descent a stop-and-fall. He pauses--then resumes his path with steady rhythm. Getting closer and closer as that nastiness approaches--filling his gaze with its twitching, stained flesh.

Dewott lets out a veritable sigh as the last of her load oozes free. She feels her muscles pumping. Her heart is beating--and her breaths are steady. Bit by bit, Joltik's log breaks into the morning. The scene of flowers hits his nostrils--a heavenly scent after what he's been through. Sure, it's mixed with the smell of literal crap, sweat, and stilled water that's been sousing her rear all night... but it's the barest hint of a pleasant future for him.

A nasty squelch from above.

Falling.

Falling.

Crash.

And splatter.