A Study in Bites

When Anne was a kid (when she was more of a kid; she is still one, technically, in body if nothing else) (when the person who used to be Anne was a kid; the current one never got a childhood, never got to grow up, a copy spawned fully-formed by a tired god) when Anne was a kid, her friends and her used to speculate on what they would present as later on.

“I’m gonna be an Alpha!” Sasha had boasted back then, standing on a swing to look taller. “I’ll protect you guys, and I’ll lead you to so much fun, and it will be grand!”

That had made a lot of sense to Anne. Sasha very much was the stereotypical alpha: assertive, dynamic, the engine of the group for better and for worse.

“We can’t be sure until we present properly,” Marcy had replied, “there is currently no way to predict what someone’s secondary gender will be. Though there have been recent studies on the influence of chromosomes in body growth-”

“I bet you’re both gonna be betas.” Sasha had interrupted her. “We should all bet about it, actually. Whoever gets the most correctly wins!”

The topic came back about once a year, whenever they watched too many romcoms in a row and/or whenever one of them felt the need to change their bet. Until Amphibia happened, with its lots of wonders and dangers, and the idea was promptly swept under the rug of much more important stuff. Presentation was completely irrelevant in Amphibia; the concept didn’t exist at all over there. It brought Anne some trouble, because reading social situations without pheromones as a nonverbal cue was hard, but she learned.

So, really, she can’t be blamed for not realizing immediately. What dying has done to her exactly.

“Anne!” Her parents launch themselves at her, pulling her into a hug. Behind her, the portal to Amphibia closes for the last time. She feels… empty. Bone-tired from fighting, from dying, from grieving already the best friend she would never see again.

“Anne, we were so worried, we’re so proud of you babygirl.” Anne melts into their embrace. It’s over. It’s really, truly- over. She nests her nose in the crook of her mother’s neck, taking in the scent of ashes and sweat, and-

That’s when it dawns on her.

“Mom?”

The older woman pulls away from Anne, keeping her hands on Anne’s shoulders, keeping her scent glands on Anne’s shoulders. “Yes, honey?”

She looks concerned. She sounds concerned. 

She does not smell concerned.

It occurs to Anne, at this moment, that she doesn’t smell like her mother at all.

“Mom,” and even through the thick layer of shock, Anne is aware that she’s about to hyperventilate. “Mom, I can’t smell. ”

An exact copy, they’d said. Indistinguishable from the original Anne Boonchuy, they’d said.

Well. The current Anne Boonchuy would like to call bullshit.

“You do not appear to have any pheromone receptors.” The doctor tells her, reading through her test results. “Or scent glands, for that matter. You say you used to be able to smell like everyone else?”

Anne nods, rubbing at her wrists. She hadn’t noticed it either, but now that it’s been pointed out, she can’t help but feel how… flat, they are. No bump, no curve, no sign that here is anything in there other than flesh and bones. Nothing.

“Will she still present?” Her father asks. It’s strange. It’s so strange . To see him, hear him, but not smell him. The Plantars, at least, hadn’t looked human at all. With her parents, though, the uncanny valley truly hits her full force. It feels like she’s watching a movie, with images and colors and sound, but not something real.

“There is no way to know until she turns fifteen.” The doctor shakes their head. “We have no idea what causes presentation in the first place-”

“Though the current theory points towards chromosomes, I know.” Go figure. Of all the things she must remember from Marcy, it has to be this tidbit of trivia.

They agree to do regular checks-up on Anne, to ensure she grows properly. They soon prove to be incredibly boring, as Anne’s body develops perfectly normally, save for its key missing elements.

Anne’s social life, though. Is a bit more of a challenge.

“Well,” even on video, it’s painfully obvious that Marcy is struggling not to laugh. On the other end, Sasha has long given up. The mute symbol is bright red on discord icon. Traitor. “on the bright side, you’re making a lot less of these mistakes!”

“I’m going to set myself on fire.” Anne replies, face still in her hand. “I thought- I thought he was joking. He knows I can’t smell he knows I can’t tell whether someone is genuine or not. Everyone at school knows.”

“You’ve been slipping less and less.” Ah, Sasha is back. “I’m guessing he didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“I’m slipping less because I read other people’s reactions in the room, since they can smell and thus they can tell if someone is angry, or flirting, or scared. The guy specifically brought me to an isolated corner to ask me out! I just went with the option that made the most sense.”

“You thought he brought me to an isolated place and asked me out, so clearly it must be as a joke was the most sensical explanation?”

“Ah, Anne, you’re the cruelest of heartbreakers.”

“I hate you both. I hate you both so much.”

(But they both know Anne doesn’t mean it, because they’ve been to Amphibia too, they’ve learned how to read people with no pheromones too, they see Anne’s face and hear her voice and they know.)

(They know Anne in ways no one else can in this world.)

Sasha is the first one to present. Like many other high-schoolers, she gets a few days off to take care of her health and adapt to her changes.

From what Anne is gathering, Sasha really, really needed it.

“My teeth hurt, Anne.” Sasha groans over the phone. “They hurt so bad.”

“I know, Sasha.” She replies with a calm voice, sprinkling fish food in her aquarium. She’s taken a liking to aquatic life, after everything. “You’ll soon be done teething, I promise.”

Sasha, to absolutely no one’s surprise, is an alpha. That was the one thing none of them ever bet on; it seemed so obvious, so natural, no one ever doubted she would ever present as one, no matter what Marcy said.

What none of them had anticipated, however, is that growing fangs is apparently not only painful, but tend to make alphas really emotional.

“What if I fall back to my hypercontrolling habits?” Anne hears Sasha sniffs. Is she crying? “I’m an alpha, Anne. I’m like- they trust me to be strong and have, leading skills or whatever, and I know I can be strong, but I can’t lead anyone! I’ll just string them along and make them miserable-”

“Sasha. You’re spiraling. Stop that.” Sasha immediately goes quiet. For someone so worried about becoming a stereotypical jerk alpha, she sure is quick to obey someone who hasn’t even presented herself. “You’ll be a good alpha, Sasha. You were a great leader for the rebellion. You know how to drive people forward and you know how to listen to their needs. You’ll be fine.”

“But what if I change? What if I regress again, and-”

“Stop.”

Silence again.

“Good girl. See? You listen to me when I ask you to. You’ll listen to others as well, I’m sure.” Anne smiles, though she knows Sasha can’t see her. “You’ll be a good alpha. Trust in others to redirect you if you ever need it. You’ll be fine, Sash. Trust me.”

A growl. “I trust you.” Sasha says softly. Anne wonders if she even remembers what the conversation was initially about. She’s been spinning wildly between different emotions and thoughts, which did not render her the most coherent person. If this is what her ruts will be like, Anne does not envy the alpha life. “Can you- can you drop by later? And bring, uh, you know. A shirt or something?”

“Sure can.” Anne rubs her wrist mindlessly. “I don’t have scent glands, though, you know that. Don’t expect too much from it.”

“That’s alright. It’ll still be yours. Your scent is faint and soft but it’s still you. My teeth hurt, Anne. Talk to me. Your voice helps too.”

Anne really does not envy the alpha life.

Anne does not present this year. Sasha grows stronger and taller, and, as Anne predicted, not much changes. She does not grow evil overnight, nor does she suddenly become caring. She’s just Sasha. Good ol Sasha.

Well. Except for one major difference.

“Can I bite you?”

Anne slowly rises her head from her phone screen. She blinks, then brings a hand to the side of her neck.

“Not! I don’t- not like that.” Sasha sputters out. “I meant. Your arm or something? My teeth itch and you…” she trails off for a second. “You’re important to me.”

Oh. Well yes, that’s more reasonable. “Sure. Go right ahead, dude.”

It’s a common trope in romance novels- the love bite on the neck, that is. Even if Sasha is aiming elsewhere, Anne expects it to be similar to what she’s read about- a feral frenzied thing, like an animal desperate to feed.

It’s not. Sasha takes her hand carefully- reverently , almost. She runs her fangs over Anne’s wrists, where her scent glands used to be. It’s the first time she’s got to feel Sasha’s canines, actually. She’s seen them flash in Sasha’s mouth, observed their curves as she was laughing, but she never got to actually touch them.

Slowly, Sasha closes her jaws on her arm. She does not break the skin. She merely applies pressure, more, and more, and more, until Anne winces in pain, and then she just- holds still. For a minute or so.

When Sasha finally lets go, she is beaming, and there is a very visible mark on Anne’s skin.

“Thank you,” she lets out, almost a whisper. 

Anne smiles. “Anytime, dude.” And then, a little quieter: “You’re important to me too.”

They fall into different friend groups. It’s not intentional; but they get sorted into different classes, and Anne meets new people, Sasha meets new people, and suddenly their lunch break gets too busy for them to meet up.

They hang out, obviously. On the weekends. On holidays.

And whenever Anne’s mark starts fading.

“You better give Marcy one of these too next time she visits.” Anne jokes. “She might get jealous otherwise.”

“Oh, but that’s the plan, girlfriend.” Sasha winks. Her thumb is running over the ridges of Anne’s bite mark. She likes doing that a lot. “She’s… important to me too. I want her to have a bit of me with her.”

“You did say you would be our alpha.”

Sasha makes a noise comparable to a squeaky toy. “I- first of all, I was nine, ”

Anne does not present the next year either. Marcy does, though.

It’s. Messy.

“It, uh. It could be the core’s… whole thing? Or it could be that I’ve always been this way. There’s no real way to know.”

Marcy rubs the side of her neck. It’s grown thicker. Her shoulders are broader, too. Her whole body seems to be growing stockier, as omegas are prone to be.

She has fangs like an alpha.

“Soo yeah! Turns out I’m intersex actually!”

“What do you smell like?” Sasha asks. “I can’t tell over video.” I, she says, I, not we, because they all know Anne wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

“I’m told I smell like a beta? But kind of a confusing one. People always take a second to reply, so I’m guessing I don’t smell that clear-cut.” She shrugs. She doesn’t seem too distressed about it, which is good. “We’ll have to see if next year I get a heat or a rut or… both? I’ve heard it’s possible.”

“Oooh, yikes.” Sasha grimaces. “I’m having my first rut in a few months and everyone keeps telling me about things I need to watch out for. Having both a rut and a heat sounds like a hassle.”

“I’ll keep you guys updated! I’m counting on you to keep me company on the phone if it’s anything like teething, haha!”

High School sex ed is… what it is, but Anne’s parents have insisted on giving her a throughout explanation. In case your body gives different symptoms, they’d said, better be prepared for everything. 

It goes something like this:

Omegas go through heats. That means being horny, as any porn movie would inform you (not! That Anne has ever watched any of these! And if she wipes her internet history regularly, well, that’s no one’s business but her own.) But most importantly heats are about safety. An omega in heat will build a nest, will grow lethargic, will generally stay put with things and/or people that make them feel safe, and only then get frisky.

Alphas go through ruts. While they also mean being horny, they are, fundamentally, the opposite of heats. An alpha in rut is bursting with energy. An alpha in rut will try to impress potential mates by any mean necessary, including but not limited to: giving off trinkets, bringing items for a nest, climbing really tall buildings, and a lot of other rather un safe and possibly stupid activities until the rut is over or frisky events happen.

Apparently, for Sasha Waybright, this somehow translates to knocking at Anne’s window at two in the morning asking to fistfight.

“Spar with me.” She’s out of breath as she asks that. Oh god. Did she run all the way over here? Anne tries to rub the sleepiness out of her eyes. Sasha’s pupils are so dilated they look entirely black. “Anne. Anne. Let’s fight. Fight with me.”

“It’s way too early for this. Late. Whatever.” Anne’s father is a beta. As such, he’s never experienced a heat or a rut himself, but he had useful advice on how to deal with one. People in these states aren’t fully lucid. It’s like talking to someone who is very, very drunk. Don’t try complicated reasonings. Be firm and establish your boundaries clearly. “We are not fighting.”

“Oh.” Sasha looks down, disheartened. Then back up again. “Running then? You want to run? We can run. Around the house? It’ll be fun! Let’s run.”

“We are not running either, Sasha.” Anne’s glance goes down, and she pales. “You’re not even wearing shoes.”

She’s not. Good god, her feet must be wounded as hell. “Okay, Sasha, Here’s the deal. You’re gonna get in. We’re gonna clean you up. Then we’re going to sleep, and tomorrow, we can fight. Alright?”

Sasha perks up. “We can fight?”

“Tomorrow. We can fight tomorrow.” Anne extends her hands out. “Climb in. Clean up. Sleep. Fight. Alright?”

She pulls Sasha in. Her legs are covered in dirt. She did run all the way here, holy shit. Why did her crazed rut state decide to come to see you specifically? Surely she must have chew toys and stimulation back home, right?

Urgh. It’s way too early for this.

Anne pulls Sasha to the bathroom, because she is not getting dirt on her sheets, thank you, her mom would have her head. She expects Sasha to cause trouble, but she’s strangely compliant. She holds onto Anne’s hand, following close enough for her chest to be constantly pressing against Anne’s back. Actually, is she nuzzling Anne’s neck? Oh. Oooh she’s trying to scent Anne.

Huh. Wild.

Getting Sasha to sit on the bathtub is. More of a challenge. Sasha does not want to sit still. She wants to touch, and be touched, and nuzzle and hug and a whole lot of platonic displays of affection Anne would normally be completely down for, but which are not ideal to wash someone up.

Eventually she manages, though, distracting Sasha with the promise of splashing water with her feet. While Sasha plays, Anne scrubs her legs clean, which, wow, Sasha has some great legs, strong and hairy and mmmh perhaps now is not the best time to indulge in this trail of thought.

“Alright girl. “ She calls. Sasha perks up again. Is it normal for alphas in rut to be so… responsive? She just seems so… eager to play.

Not now, though. Three am. Jesus Christ. Tomorrow Anne will indulge her. She does miss sparring. 

She scribbles a note for her mom to call Sasha’s next morning, then she goes back to her room. She falls asleep to Sasha holding her like a teddy bear, and she thinks, heh, if that’s all ruts are, she can deal with Sasha’s anytime.

Anne does not present the next year. She gets to be part of the official preparations for Sasha’s rut, which is nice. The two of them wrestle and race for three days. It’s exhausting. Satisfying, though.

Marcy visits, too, which is also great.

“Anne!” She grins as she shows off her arm. “Check it out! Sasha bit me!”

Anne is intimately familiar with Sasha’s jaws by now. She can recognize the bite in one look, even on another’s skin. Every ridge. Every bump.

“You know, Anne, I was woooondering,” Marcy leans onto Anne’s side, “you’re got two arms. And I got those really fancy alpha fangs. I’m just saying…”

“Oh my god you guys are gonna turn me into a chew toy at this rate.” Sasha has always been careful not to bite too strongly, but Anne wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up with more scars from these two than from Amphibia as a whole.

Still, Anne raises her good arm.

Marcy takes it delicately. Like it’s something precious, a jewel or a heart. She brings her lips to Anne’s wrist, almost in a kiss.

For a second, it occurs to Anne that she doesn’t know whether the kiss or the bite would be more intimate.

“You can draw blood,” Anne says. “You can’t renew it as often as Sasha does. Make sure it lasts.”

Marcy chuckles. The sound vibrates across Anne’s skin.

Then she bites, and makes good of Anne’s demand.

Anne does not present the next year. She spends Sasha’s rut with her again, and she comes out of it bruised and bloody.

Sasha’s onto something, she thinks. About the fighting. Skin against skin and violence against violence. Is it instinct or desire? Either way, it’s definitely a good way to blow off some steam.

(Coincidentally, Anne thinks this is awakening something in her, but she’s putting off that specific realization for later.)

They graduate from high school. It’s a pretty joyous occasion. Anne and Sasha decides on different colleges, which is a bit less joyous.

“I’m majoring in psych,” Sasha tells her. “I think I want to work with kids. I know I could have used some help when I was younger.”

“That won’t be easy.” Anything related to kids or people caring is… hard to access, for alphas. They’re too violent, people say. Better fit for leading or physical jobs.

“Neither will be doing anything without a secondary gender, yet here you are, championing your way through life.”

Anne laughs at that. It’s true, though. At eighteen, she can still be considered a late bloomer. But in a year or two she’ll be crossing the line to freak territory.

“Best of luck, then. To the both of us.” She extends her arm to Sasha. The last bite mark she left is still visible. “Imprint it again? For the road.”

“For sure, mylady.” Sasha says with a wink, kissing the tip of Anne’s fingers.

Sometimes, Anne wonders if they missed their shots. If they could have been… something, during all that time they spent building up a thick mist of tension. Sasha and Marcy are the two most important people in her life. But perhaps- they could have been-

but they’re graduating from high school, and they’re heading to different colleges, and whatever this is is better laid to rest.

Sasha bites, as she always does, and it’s love, it’s affection, it’s goodbye and forget me not.

Anne, predictably, does not present during any of the following years. It brings its lot of trouble, but generally speaking, it is fine. Anne likes her body, actually. She likes who she’s come to be.

The girls call, every once in a while. The frequency decreases over the years. They just don’t need the constant reminders that the others are still alive. They’re important to each other, and no time or distance could ever change that.

Anne grows. She learns. She meets new people, gets into new strifes.

When she feels lonely, she lets her fingers run across her wrists. The bites are long gone, but she Knows.

They’re important to each other. No time or distance could ever change that.

“The aquarium was soooo cute. You really did a good job!”

They’re in Sasha’s apartment, because her place is the biggest and her couch is the comfiest. Like this, it feels like they’ve never been apart at all. They fall so easily, back into the old comfort innate to being together.

Anne cannot smell. She hasn’t been able to in a full decade. She cannot smell the joy on Sasha, cannot smell the scents Marcy is smearing over her shoulder. 

She doesn’t need to. She knows all the same.

“Hey, girls.” Anne presents both her wrists. Her skin is smooth, free of any scars. For now. “It’s been a while. Want to give me a little souvenir?”

“Oh, gladly. ” Sasha takes her arm, as gently as she used to. “I missed this.”

Marcy takes her other arm. “I missed you.”

They bite, and it’s like coming home.