“You’re sure about this, Thorax?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I’m just worried about someone getting hurt. Namely, me.”

“O-oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. I just thought you’d enjoy it.”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t. I don’t think it’ll be as good as you imagine. Rainbow Dash tried something similar with Big Mac, and it didn’t work out. But if you still want to try, then sure.”

“Okay. Let’s take it slow, then. Start with your hands on my flanks. Yup, just like that. Now, I’ll climb on here, and let me know when you’re ready.”

“Huh; you’re a lot lighter than I thought.”

“It’s the carapace! Lots of space to expand, if you know what I mean. You ready?”

“Let me just get… Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three!”

It would have been an interesting sight anywhere: changeling grubs, exhausted from play, form a loose ring. Doug, squatting on top of a barrow, has Thorax straddling him. His hands support the changeling’s back while Thorax’s hooves rest on his thighs just below his hips. With a great grunt, like he is throwing an overstuffed barrel up to the second story of a barn, Doug heaves the changeling as high as he can. At the same time Thorax pushes down, using Doug as a springboard to leap off.

And, as the grubs gleefully anticipated, the unfamiliar force and angle sends Doug sprawling backward and down the sides of the dirt mound. Thorax, without using his wings, starts his flip, but the lack of a solid surface to push against means his snout connects with the ground before his hooves. He crumples, tumbling down the opposite side, while the changeling grubs spectating laugh uproariously.

“Eeyup,” Doug remarks, groaning. He brushes himself off as he shakily staggers upright. A sheepish Thorax does the same. “That worked about as well as I imagined.”

“Sorry,” Thorax apologizes, hanging his head. “I should have listened to you.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Doug rolls his shoulders, testing his body for anything other than bumps and bruises. “No harm, no foul.” He sits next to the despondent changeling, wrapping a consoling arm around the hard chitin. “Besides, sometimes the best way to learn is to experience it yourself. Maybe you’ll be surprised! The same goes for those little guys; have to let them figure it out, even if you reckon they’re going to fail.”

“Mm.” Thorax snuggles next to Doug. Many of the grubs are doing the same, forming little polka dots of color as they climb and then settle on the green changeling. “You’re so good with the little ones. And a good friend.”

“Thanks,” Doug replies, somewhat awkwardly.

“For a long time, all I wanted was a friend. Somepony to share friendship with. And now I have so many!” Thorax smiles, his muzzle creeping toward Doug. His tongue flicks out, tasting the air, trying to sense that happiness and joy he knows should be present. But he can’t find it. It’s disconcerting: every physical sign is there. Perspiration that isn’t pungent, dilating of the pupils, a rapidity to his breathing that leaves the human slightly flushed. But he can’t sense anything, no emotion at all. He can’t tell, and it’s infuriating, and he’s afraid some of that anger might materialize. He has never been the best at controlling his emotions, especially when hungry, and the desire to strive that every changeling embodies is especially voracious right now.

Part of him wants to pounce, and he can feel his legs shifting. Another part wants to roll back, enticing, and his spine straightens to an upright sitting position in preparation. He has to forcibly quell the instinctual responses, as much as he can, and merely wets his lips, expectant. But the wished-for reaction never materializes. He isn’t sure the human noticed, but can’t bring himself to force anything. Instead, he sighs to himself, turns an eye to the evening sky, and remarks, “Wow, you’ve been here a while.”

“Yeah.” A single unhappy grumble comes from Doug’s throat. He hopes the others aren’t worried about where he might have wandered off to. “Guess I have. Time sure flies when you’re having fun. Hey, is Chrysalis around?”

Thorax’s spirit sinks. Of course that’s who he’s interested in. But he wouldn’t abuse his relationship, even as he knows voicing a regretful remark like that would net him a quick lay. He keeps a chipper tone in his voice, years of despised infiltration nonetheless serving admirably. “Right below us.”

“Got it.” Doug lightly punches the changeling’s withers. “It was fun. I should come around more often; what time do you do these yard exercises?”

“Most afternoons, if I’m not working at the shop. If noling lets them out they’re pretty happy to just race around their room.” Thorax stands, his wings spreading out. He rubs the edges against each other, producing a high-pitched tone. “Alright, everyling. Time to go inside! Say goodbye to Doug!” He waves goodbye as he guides the grubs into one of the other barrows, only having to encourage three to follow their compatriots.

The stairs of the barrow aren’t lit well enough for Doug to see comfortably without waiting for his eyes to adjust, but the circular track makes the steep incline manageable while mostly blind. He descends, one hand along the wall and the other in front of him, the excitement of playing with the grubs slowly wearing off. By the time he reaches the bottom he can see the door before he runs into it.

A rich, cloying scent blasts into him as soon as he enters. He gags, nostrils filling with a suffocating aroma that strongly reminds him of helping Pharynx with the abattoir. But even working directly with the freshly butchered animals was never this bad. Acrid irritants stain his eyes with tears; he can barely make out a black form, hunched over in the far corner.

Curiosity, the rabid sort that will probably get him killed someday, stops him from hastily retreating up the stairs. He peers around the corner; broken changeling eggs are piled on one side, healthy fist-sized ones on the other, some of them still dripping a sticky-looking goo. A light retching sound echoes from the far wall, followed by a wet squelch.

“Chrysalis?”

There is a flicker of motion from the black form, an ear if he has a guess, but little else. He chances a shuffling step inside, careful to keep from stepping on anything, mostly silent against the dirt-packed floor. He can slowly make out more: two ebony legs prop the heavyset changeling up against a large stone trough, strands of bluegreen mane dip into the viscous liquid inside, her tail limp against the ground. Her barrel looks squashed in places, with heavy shadows where there shouldn’t be any.

Chrysalis turns her head just a fraction to regard him, maw wide open, but with no sound or other movement. Her fangs, those long, polished ivories she loves to bare, seem dulled and stained. When she sees no response, just Doug staring at her and trying to absorb the image in front of him, she turns back to the trough.

Her entire body shudders, her neck going through a series of motions that tilt her head forward and back, up and down, ending with her spewing a torrent of tan-brown gunk. The smell hits Doug again, more powerful than before, and he nearly loses his own lunch into the half-full trough.

“What,” Chrysalis forces out when she finishes, her voice distorted as if speaking through three mouthfuls of food. “Are you. Doing here?”

Doug clenches his stomach, waiting a moment to keep himself calm. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Chrysalis snorts. “I asked. First.” Her head dips again, regurgitating another stream of mush. She seems to breathe a little easier afterward, though still through her nostrils.

Doug covers his mouth and nose with a hand, not that it helps. “I was going to ask if you wanted to move to the Castle of the Two Sisters. With Shining Armor and Cadance.”

“Mm.” Chrysalis takes a deep breath, preparing herself for another go at emptying her stomach. “I’ll consider it.”

“I don’t know if they’ll appreciate this,” Doug says, slowly acclimating to the powerful odor. He notes how her barrel shifts, some parts compressing inward while others expand. “And, speaking of…”

Chrysalis closes her eyes, letting out a long and miffed sigh. “If I’m going to explain, at least make yourself useful.” Her horn flares, marking two vertical lines along her barrel just before her full flanks. “Squeeze here.”

“Sure,” Doug says as he mounts her thick barrel. His thighs barely fit, squeezing more with his knees. He worries about crushing whatever eggs and foals are inside her, but counts on her to correct him. “Here?”

“Harder.” Chrysalis lets out a grunt as Doug presses against her, letting out a nod. “Better.” He locks his legs as tight as he can, the hard chitin taking a considerable amount of effort to flex inward. “Good.” But once it does it stays compressed, the next segment ballooning out as whatever was between Doug’s legs gets forced forward.

“Of the two of us,” Doug glibly remarks as her sides roil, “I never thought that I would be the one to play a boa constrictor.” He watches, fascinated, as she coughs up another heavy brick. “I thought that’s how the cow there in the first place.”

Chrysalis grunts unhappily. “You did not say you came here to joke at my expense.”

“Hey,” Doug jests. “Lighten up.”

Malevolent green eyes turn to glare, flashing menacingly. “If you do not wish to help from the outside, prepare to help from the inside.”

“Woah, hey,” Doug stammers, holding his hands up placatingly. “No need to be hasty. Let’s, just, finish squeezing the world’s largest tube of meatpaste and see where we are.” Chrysalis snorts, though turns back to the trough. Her horn is lit, but Doug can’t see the effects. After another round of retching he asks, “So, this seems like a lot of effort.”

Chrysalis closes her eyes, then takes a deep, calming breath. “I promised to tell you everything,” she mutters to herself. She nods, a single curt motion. “Yes. This is necessary, after our transformation.” A sweep of her hoof indicates the broken eggs. “Our grubs, indeed all of us, used to sustain ourselves on love and other such energies. Now that is… less of an option, we must gain our energy from someplace. I infuse love directly into the raw materials they need.”

“Aren’t you able to share love directly?” Doug asks curiously, engrossed in the gross reality of changeling biology.

Chrysalis fumes, limbs shaking with rage. “Are you insinuating that I have not tried loving my grubs?! I love every member of my brood with all of my being, and I challenge you to say the same!!”

“Hey,” Doug finds himself repeating, hoping she doesn’t buck him off like a bronco. He clenches against her barrel harder, not that he wasn’t already. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He rubs at her back, just under her wings, as she seethes. “I know I jest from time to time, but I’m trying to help!”

The chitinous body twists and contorts, Chrysalis looking liable to explode at any moment. And then she does, a deluge pouring from her maw, far more than any previous attempt. Doug can feel her deflating, the still-turgid body now as lean as her original form in places.

“That’s…” Doug utters, torn between entranced and horrified.

“Halfway there,” Chrysalis states victoriously, grinning for the first time. “And all it took was you getting me riled up. Come on, make me angry.”

“What?” Doug says, shaking his head. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Ooh, that’s good,” Chrysalis returns, feeling her face flush. “Insult me again. You’re so weak-willed, you’ll even do it.”

“I’m not going to insult you,” Doug states firmly. He leans back, crossing his arms across his chest. “Or say things purely to make you angry.”

Chrysalis frowns unhappily, sensing his resolve. “Not even a little bit? Not even to help me?”

“Help you?” Doug motions at how she is reclining, with her rear flush with the ground while her front end is raised. “Maybe you should let gravity help, instead of fighting it.”

An ebony hoof flicks her mane, and Doug realizes that not only the tips have bits of soupy mess. “Then, as soon as I release any pressure, the contents shift and send me tumbling forward.” Nevertheless, Chrysalis grins. “What else?”

“Um,” Doug says, slightly taken aback by her response. “Your magic? It doesn’t seem to be helping all that much. Can you grab more, especially from the back, and force it forward?”

“What do you think I am doing with it? Pleasuring myself?” Chrysalis scoffs, her maw clenching. “Any other brilliant ideas?”

Doug spots her intention, that his advice makes her angry, especially when he suggests things she has already tried. “Transformation? Surely you can make that maw of yours a little larger, for how much you flap it.”

“Ooh, that’s something,” Chrysalis moans, tremors rippling down her body. “Too bad it’s too expensive. And liable, with anything foreign inside me, to backfire. Anything else from that monkey brain of yours, or are you all out already?”

Doug grits his teeth. He watches as the ripples compress her body, though none seem to stick as well as the area between his legs. “I could move up your body while your magic keeps you from backfilling.”

“Yes, that’s good!” Chrysalis shudders, the base of her neck bulging. When Doug doesn’t move she continues with a tinge of exasperation, “No, I’m serious; shift up my barrel! Keep squeezing, even if you hear ribs snap!”

“Err,” Doug starts. “I feel like we should have a safe word.” But despite his reservations and the groans of pain from the changeling, he does as commanded. He can feel her chitin, and the ribs underneath, bend and crack from the pressure as he inches his way forward, shifting first one side and squeezing until he can’t squeeze any more, then the other. He watches, with morbid fascination, as Chrysalis opens her maw as wide as it can go, and then some. It isn’t as explosive as before, but no less voluminous, as a steady stream of infused material flows forth. Her hind legs straighten, allowing gravity to help, her front half low enough for Doug to still reach the ground.

It takes minutes before Chrysalis coughs, weary, and spits the last dregs into the trough. She turns to grin at Doug, triumphant, green glow scrubbing her fangs clean. “I have never needed a safe word before,” she purrs. “Think you can change that?”

“Honestly?” Doug runs his hand through the thick mane, contemplating his reply. “I would rather talk about this transformation stuff.”

“Hmm,” Chrysalis says, disappointed. “Very well. What would you like to know?”

Next Chapter: Ch. 72 - Healthy Mind, Part Four Estimated time remaining: 20 Hours, 33 Minutes