ana
she/her
21 years old
july 14th
hammerlocke, galar
bicurious
travelling artist
civilian
i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.
TAG WITH @miilchka1
Anastasia Harmon
Soooo Fluffy! [c]
POSTED ON Sept 14, 2024 8:41:25 GMT
"Mister mister whisker whisker~!" sings the young lady as she tromps through tall grass and uneven terrain with reckless abandon, accompanied by an Espeon with a smattering of gray fur around his mouth. "How I love youuuuu~!
For Ana, this brisk walk through pleasantly warm Verdanturf proves to be yet another adventure. She has yet to discover precisely what the day will hold for her, but she knows that she can handle anything with Old Whiskers at her side. As if aware that her thoughts had drifted to him, the Espeon lets a yawn curl his lips.
The air smells faintly of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth, a comfort she’s grown to adore since arriving in Hoenn. Verdanturf is so different from the stone streets of Hammerlocke, with its open spaces and rolling fields, and Ana feels alive here, as if every new turn brings a secret waiting to be uncovered.
"What do you think we’ll find today, Whiskers?" she muses, glancing down at her faithful companion. Old Whiskers simply blinks in response, his eyes half-lidded with what Ana imagines is endless wisdom. He probably knows exactly where they’re going, even if she doesn’t.
As the pair crests a small hill, Ana’s eyes widen at the sight before her: a sprawling ranch with bright red barns and green pastures. But more importantly, it is filled with Pokémon. Not just any Pokémon—Audino, gentle and pink, milling about near the fence, and several massive, fluffy Arcanine resting beneath a tree.
"Oh!" Ana gasps, her hands clasping together in sheer delight. "Look, Whiskers! They’re so fluffy! I have to go meet them!"
Without waiting for a response, Ana takes off, her feet flying across the soft grass as she races toward the Pokémon. Her heart is already filled with excitement, her mind set on one thing—cuddling the Arcanine. They look so soft, like living pillows, and Ana can hardly contain herself.
Thomas Benoit
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