#//they take care of their young through their first molt

[untitledducklett]

So I found the metal thief, unfortunately, I can't even be mad at her

So updates time!

Berior is now back to his usual self thanks to @chilltrainersam, I have a new pokemon, and I have some wholesome news amongst all this *vaguely motions to everything going down*.

While waiting for the shipment of metal from Sam I decided to go out to the back garden and see how bad the damage from the shadow rain was. I walked out and was a bit surprised to see at least 20 pokemon plus one very protective momma Vanitian Ariados.

She had put up a makeshift roof with her webbing over the garden and, apparently, took it upon herself to save a whole bunch of 'babies'. Before anyone gets concerned: Vanitian Ariados have incredibly high maternal instincts and will take care of their Spinarak through their first few molts. If something goes wrong with the eggs though they will usually focus that protective drive on something else.

Right now there's around 20 to 30 pokemon just chilling in the back garden, they're all healthy with only a few minor injuries. Momma Ariados though isn't so lucky; it looks like she was able to wash off most of the shadow rain between trips (whether it was in our 'pond', really more of an in-ground kiddie-pool, or one of the rescues using water type moves I can't be sure) but the damage is pretty extensive. By the looks of it she won't be able to be released back into the wild so, once her maternal instinct wears off and she's healed up as much as she can, I'm going to let her pick between staying here or going to the VPPS sanctuary.

I'm going to work on an entry for Vanitian Ariados, similar to Professor Chestnut's work on Vanitian Absol and Leavanny, at some point. Admittedly I'm no biology major but I can at least give as many notes as I can.

Oh if you live near Red Cafe in Lumiose and have a Pokemon that went missing during the rain please contact me with a description of them and I'll check. I suspect at least a couple of these Pokemon have trainers and I'd like to get them back home as soon as possible.

[sillygoofyqueer]

ahhh i'm glad you like it!! and you're SPOT ON with the pampering and carrying the other peak lords do<3 whether he's in his small bird form or his big human form with large wings, doesn't matter, he's getting picked up!! (i love liu qingge playing taxi chauffeur and realizing with horror that he likes holding shen qingqiu in his arms a little too much🤭)

so so so, i was just thinking about preening, if this is a canon compliant au, and shen yuan got dropped off in another's body, he probably has no idea how to take care of his bird features, let alone his wings, like how to align the feathers, removing molted ones, dust bathing to remove excess and stale lipids so his plumage stays fluffy, or taking care of pin feathers (new pin feathers have a blood supply flowing through it, if the pin is damaged, it can bleed pretty heavily!), so he just... doesn't. no more than clumsily washing them when he bathes, anyway. and then his wings start itching, and hurting, and the feathers are all askew, and he has all these tattered clumps and pins that hurt when he picks at it and what is he supposed to do...???

naturally, people notice when the prim proper scholar's peak lord, with the perfect hair and flawless skin, has two disheveled wings trailing after him. some of them are worried it might be some sign of self-neglect (also bc it's specifically his demon features that look uncared for), and of course when shen qingqiu coughs once so to speak, yue qingyuan shows up at his doorstep; and i was thinkingggg..... different peak lords taking turns coming to his bamboo house for some casual wing care and preening..... in some bird species preening each other strengthens the trust and bond between the two, for crows it's even a big aspect of social bonding! crows preen their young, their mates, and sick or injured birds, so it's only nature that a ill-feeling shen qingqiu relies on his companions to help him when he's incapable himself...

also because i can't stop imagining shen qingqiu sprawled out across liu qingge or yue qingyuan's lap in bliss while they very carefully align his feathers and tease out molted ones, maybe freeing some matured pin feathers, feeling akin to having his hair brushed and played with while they take care of hard to reach places (thinking about how allopreening birds in nature often have less ticks/healthier plumage bc other birds reach places they can't, but shen jiu probably wouldn't let anyone touch his wings so some parts of them were always a little... messy).

some birds (like parrots) might even overpreen when exposed to strong scents, so all the peak lords quickly learn not to put on too much or heavy perfume because it makes shen qingqiu rub and dig into his wings until feathers fall out

(and i haven't even mentioned the sheer angst potential of stress plucking, but ahh this ask is already so long!!!)

OOOOH MY GOD!!! That's such a wholesome idea. I can already imagine it - and it's always a fight of who gets to preen Shen Qingqiu's wings, to the point where it actually turns into a fight (thanks to Liu Qingge) and it's almost an all-out brawl until Mu Qingfang (the only reasonable peak lord jhebus) makes everyone draw lots to see who gets to do it (- and then cheats because everyone else is so hyped up from the brawl, and his dear shixiong simply cannot deal with such stress!!). It becomes a natural thing to come up with different ways of deciding (unless Shen Qingqiu asks one, then the others just have to choke on vinegar(kiiiidding sort of)), and the peak lord who got to do it last time is not allowed to participate in the next game because that's unfair! Spitballing about how different peak lords go about offering it at first, if I may!! I think that Qi Qingqi would be actually quite gentle about it - she's used to helping out the girls with their hair and other things (shark week 😔😔), so she knows how to go about being like, "hey, I know we don't always get along but I'm going to help you out with your wings, 'kay?" and he is immediately just like "jesus christ please save me from this torment pleasepleaseplease" - kidding, kidding, he'd be much more hesitant about it because he knows that his wings are delicate and he needs to place his trust in whoever's touching them. Qi Qingqi has been...hostile towards him (because of Shen Jiu, so he can't be too offended), and this could be a moment of weakness (- jesus, bestie boo, I'm making him sound like Shen Jiu) but...his wings hurt :[ At first it's awkward, but then Shen Qingqiu relaxes and it does NOT become a gossip session (it should and it does, you can take that from my cold dead hands). Of course, Yue Qingyuan is the first to offer at all, being all like "xiao-Jiu plleeeaaasseeee 🥺" and who is Shen Qingqiu to resist those puppy dog eyes? He seems to have a history with Shen Jiu so it wouldn't be suspicious of him to deign to allow Yue Qingyuan to help out. Of course, Shen Jiu used to let Yue Qingyuan preen his wings on the streets (if we're going that route), so he's skilled and immediately makes Shen Qingqiu feel comfortable as he feels the itchy feeling in his wings FINALLY disappear with every movement the other man makes. Of course, he should be analysing so he can learn to do it himself but...he's so comfy :( When Liu Qingge first does it, it's on a mission! GASP!! Yue Qingyuan sent them on a mission together because it was a matter of both brute force that needed some form of plan involved that wasn't just "grab smash kill" (and mayyybe he wanted his shidi to bond, who cares? Shen Qingqiu has been a lot less hostile recently, and he's going to take advantage). So, they're out on this mission, and it's a LOT fucking harder than they first thought, leaving them waylaid in the forests (stereotypical I know but screw you (/j)). Shen Yuan's (for brevity's sake) wings are slowly getting worse and he's so very uncomfortable but he can't reach the worse bits so he forces himself to abandon his pride for a second and begrudgingly ask Liu Qingge for help! Obviously, Liu Qingge has no clue what he's doing and has to be guided by Shen Yuan (Liu Qingge later claims to not at all be nervous, but his hands were shaking because he didn't mind this new Shen Qingqiu and didn't reaally want to hurt him). The next time Shen Yuan needs his wings preening, Liu Qingge (literally) kicks the door down to offer to do it. He may seem overly aggressive when he manhandles the peak lord, but he's really quite gentle. I do want to yap about the other peak lords, but this answer's really long already!!! If you want me to, please let me know, because I severely want to expose myself as a Mu Qingfang and Wei Qingwei fan and PLEASE tell me more about the angst potential pretty please, I'll be like Yue Qingyuan at your door with puppy dog eyes. I'm INVESTED NOW, GOD.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Quetzalin

my bird folk! I do love info dumping about my own creations. Took a while to make all the art and figure out the best way to present the info!

(image description: under the title "quetzalin worldbuilding", there are two bird-like humanoids flying together. One has blue and black feathers, the other has blue, green, and yellow feathers.)

The quetzalin are a tropical people, found exclusively in one rainforest. Almost all of the quetzalin live in the same central location, in a particular stand of trees that are exceptionally large and sturdy.

They are a peculiar people, having traits of both avians and mammals, and they are the only known species of their kind, though there are known cases of quetzalin producing offspring with elves on rare occasions. These mixed offspring are always infertile and typically take after their quetzalin parent in terms of coloration, and might be mistaken for full quetzalin by those who have never met one, but they have distinct differences in the structure of their bodies that make them stand out from full quetzalin.

(image description: sketch of three bipedal humanoids. from left to right; an elf with monkey-like features and a long tail, a half-elf quetzalin who looks quite bird-like and barely resembles the elf, and a full quetzalin who is distinctly more bird-like and even stands with a different posture and foot position compared to the other two. the main differences between the full quetzalin and the half-elf one are that the half-elf one is a little taller, has a smaller beak and more drooping tail, and stands straighter with flat feet. end description.)

One reason that half-elf quetzalin are so uncommon is just that quetzalin are born from eggs, so any quetzalin with an elf parent, especially a mother, may not develop correctly and is more likely to be miscarried or born prematurely. They're meant to develop within the egg, not a whole womb. The shells of their eggs are quite soft and semi translucent, making them fragile things that require round the clock care. Adult quetzalin communally care for unhatched eggs, so they can be incubated properly and have the best chance of hatching. New hatchlings are helpless, naked, and blind, only able to make a loud peeping sound to beg for food, and they are fed via regurgitation, which can be done by any adult.

They grow downy feathers and open their eyes within their first month, but even as they learn to crawl and walk and speak, they remain quite small until they hit a growth spurt in the early years of puberty, between the ages of 10 and 13. Their flight feathers come in through a series of childhood molts and they can fly proficiently by their teenage years, when they begin to experience the courting season hormone shift and start to grow courting plumage or produce eggs.

(image description: two pages of sketches depicting baby bird people. the first page shows the development from egg to hatchling, as well as two sketches of an adult caring for an egg and an adult feeding a hatchling via regurgitation. the second page shows sketches of a hatchling growing into a fledgling. the initial hatchling looks very scrungly and squinty, the second step is a fluffy baby covered in downy feathers with their eyes open, third is a toddler standing up with stubby wings, and finally is a child crouching as if to leap into the air, with their flight feathers grown in. end description.)

Not all eggs hatch, of course. The majority of eggs laid each courting season are completely unfertilized, especially those produced by young quetzalin still going through puberty. These unfertilized eggs are discarded in a variety of ways. Some are offered up at the temple of their deity, and subsequently made into fertilizer for the trees they all live in. Some are used as a form of emergency food for anyone who is suffering a nutrient deficiency. Many are used to feed the local drake population; a species of flying lizard that spits burning acid and raids nests. The quetzalin have sort of been domesticating them, finding them adorable and feeding them freely.

(image description: a colored drawing of a flying lizard with a crested head. its wings bear resemblance to those of a pterodactyl and its tail also has a wide membrane around it. it is green with stripes and spots of pale yellow and dark orange. next to it is the title "crested drake". below the colored drawing is a sketch of a quetzalin handing an egg to a gleeful looking drake with a wide open mouth. end description.)

Quetzalin are a sexually dimorphic species, but the difference is only clear during their courting season. Half the year, all the male quetzalin grow fancy courting plumage. Some females experiencing menopause also grow similar plumage. Individually, all quetzalin have their own unique coloration, and those who grow courting plumage also have their own unique styles. but for the sake of comparison, I've depicted two quetzalin that look exactly alike so I can show how the courting plumage works.

(image description: two images of matching bird folk with blue and yellow plumage. in the second image, one of them is now sporting many curled orange feathers on their head, wings, and tail, while some of their yellow feathers have also been replaced with orange ones. end description.)

Though they do have a binary form of biological sex, the quetzalin do not identify themselves by their sex. instead, they use genderless pronouns, differing between children and adults, and add a prefix to the adult pronoun to denote their preferred courting role each year.

There are three standard courting roles. Those who Dance, Those who Watch, and Those who Mix. I haven't developed their conlang yet, but these roles will have their own titles. It is most common for Dancers to be males with their courting plumage, while females are most commonly the Watchers. But this is not always the case. Many quetzalin males prefer to watch, many females prefer to dance, and quetzalin of all sorts will take the mixed role, never settling fully on dance or observation.

(image description: digital painting of several bird folks. two in the foreground are perched on large branches, watching three others fly around in the background. they all have colorful and unique plumage. A few of them have flashy courting feathers on display, while others are using flashy props like streamers instead of natural courting feathers. end description.)

(this post got so very long, putting a readmore here)

The role of a Dancer is to show off and be flashy, performing aerial tricks to catch the attention of potential mates. Dancers who don't have natural courting plumage make up for it with flashy props and extra accessories. Dancers avoid each other in the air, as collisions are a common cause of injury to both parties and a detriment to their performances. But they will compete with each other by having dance offs, and many dancers actually flirt with each through paired dances.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with red and yellow feathers, as well as some darker blue striping. they have a few showy courting feathers on their head and the edges of their wings. they are wearing colored paint on their face and limbs, and wearing a lot of jewelry. end description.)

The role of a Watcher is to perch around the dance arenas and observe the dancers, while also trying to catch the attention of the best and prettiest dancers. They might heckle the dancers, use props or courting plumage to catch the eye of a favored dancer, and compete with each other to gain the best perches and keep their competition away to have a better chance of gaining attention. They may even flirt with each other, bantering playfully.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with brown and white feathers, striped on the lighter underside of their wings and torso. they are wearing simple dark red accessories and a patterned red and cream skirt, as well as red and cream face paint. they're sitting casually and making a beckoning gesture with one hand, which has a bell tied to the forefinger. end description.)

The mixed role is versatile. It may be someone hiding amongst the watchers, suddenly turning their perch into a dance stage and drawing attention away from the arena. It may be a dancer swooping close to the audience and finding someone to banter with as they hover in place, blocking the view of the arena. They are clever, and flexible, using any means available to them to gain the attention they desire.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with blue and grey feathers, with their back turned to the viewer. they are wearing purple and white clothing and accessories, including streamers tied to their legs. end description.)

Casual hookups are the most common result of all the courtship performances. Quetzalin find a mate in the arenas and fly off together to have their own private fun. There are also indoor arenas where adult quetzalin hook up in less private ways, performing more explicitly sexual dances and enjoying the voyeurism.

Younger quetzalin going through puberty and experiencing the courting instincts for the first time are kept out of these venues, encouraged to perform only in the public arenas while they are carefully instructed in standard courting etiquette and informed of all the health risks that come with casual hookups.

Young egg layers in particular are at risk as their hormones might spike from sexual interaction and cause problems like excessive egg production, which drains a lot of nutrients and energy from the body. They may also produce malformed eggs, some of which could get stuck. Fully grown quetzalin are less likely to have these problems.

Most long term relationships are built outside of the courting season, established through emotional bonding and platonic intimacy all through the year. Quetzalin who bond in this way may choose to become permanent partners and seal their bond through a ceremony performed in the temple of their deity. Bonded partners often get matching forearm tattoos, depicting intertwined tree branches. They believe these deeper relationships are blessed by their deity, and that they help keep the community strong in the same way that the tangled branches of their sacred trees strengthen their home territory and keep it safe.

Communal preening is one very important form of social bonding, done between friends, family members, and lovers alike. Every quetzalin home has a preening space, and public preening spas are everywhere in their territory. They do have special rules for who can preen which body parts. Young children are preened fully by their caretakers. Casual strangers and acquaintances may preen each other's wings. Close friends and family can preen the feathers of the head. But only lovers and bonded partners can preen each other's whole torso, back, and tail.

(image description: sketches of quetzalin engaging in preening behaviors with each other. on the top, one quetzalin runs their beak gently through the feather on their partner's head, next to the caption "preening with beak = very close relationship. below, one quetzalin uses their hands to preen the feathers of another person's wings, next to the caption "preening with hands = standard politeness". end description.)

For the most part, the quetzalin are an isolated people. In recent generations, they have begun to venture into the world, using their own molted feathers as a major export, but locally they only interact with two groups: elves and centaurs. The elves are their main trade partners, exchanging goods and offering services to each other. The quetzalin mainly consume fish, insects, and other small creatures, though they can eat fruit and nuts as well. Their home trees grow more food than they need for themselves, and they are masterful fishers, so they often trade away food in exchange for things like elf-made cloth and jewelry. They also deal with the drakes that elves consider pests, because they like to raid the coops of domestic birds.

The centaurs are an interesting case. This is a population of centaurs who fled southward when the conflict between their people and the orcish ancestors escalated to war. They are quite at home in the rainforest, being very large herbivores who consume a mixture of leaves and fruit. They have developed a special bond with the quetzalin, allowing the small bird folk to harvest any external parasite or biting insect that find centaur blood to be a tasty meal. The quetzalin appreciate the centaurs' ability to deter predator animals and aid in the care of their home trees. Quetzalin eggs have also become a useful protein source for the centaurs, who do require some level of non-plant food to sustain themselves. This may be the only known case of centaurs openly bonding with a whole population of other people, even crossing the line into a potential symbiotic relationship. It is a very unique situation. For now.

(image description: sketches of a sloth-like ogre, an orc, and a centaur standing together. Both images have a connected caption that reads "bird folk will see megafauna folk and ask 'is anyone gonna perch on that?' and not even wait for an answer." and in the second image, all three of the larger people now have quetzalin perched on their shoulders or backs. end description.)

The quetzalin people believe in just one deity, Ithia. They are a parental deity, depicted as a living tree which crafted the quetzalin out of wood and feathers, beginning only with pairs of solid singular colors. As time went on, of course, the children of each one-color pair mated with each other and gradually mixed their colors more and more with each generation, creating the unique varieties of color and patterns in modern quetzalin. Ithia is believed to have gone dormant after creating the quetzalin, sleeping beneath the earth and giving them their home trees which are sturdy enough to protect them from the region's seasonal storms. In thanks to Ithia and to help maintain the sacred trees, quetzalin offer up their excess eggs for fertilizer and burn molted feathers as well. Every home has a private shrine for Itihia where offerings of food, incense, and trinkets are left in the hopes that Ithia will answer their prayers and grant them aid. More important prayers are given at the temple of Ithia, where various ceremonies are also performed. This includes the bonding ceremony for committed partners, a coming of age ceremony where young quetzalin offer their first eggs or courting feathers, and community prayers pleading for safety whenever the storms come through or other major troubles strike their community.

The quetzalin also have a culture of secret, sacred names. When a quetzalin comes of age, they are to think of their own secret name; a private title for themself which embodies their soul. They perform a private ceremony to give their name to Ithia and the priests, and if they choose to have a bonded partner (or multiple bonded partners) then their secret name may also be used in the bonding ceremony.

"Quetzalin" is itself a public name, while the people actually have another secret name only known to themselves. They learn it when they come of age. No outsiders are told the true name of the quetzalin people. Ithia is also said to have another name, only known to the priests. The quetzalin believe that having a secret name protects their souls. If they die without this name, their soul may be lost and disappear. But with this name, they believe they can make it to the afterlife properly and rest.

The names given to hatchlings are not secret, but they also have a spiritual intention. It is believed that any egg named too early will not hatch, and so they are only named when it is certain that they will survive. As a result, they're usually given names on the day they hatch, to be extra safe. Unhatched eggs are a common occurence, and they are also offered up to Ithia, who will take the lifeless embryos into the earth and give their undeveloped souls another chance.

And now for the truth behind all of these details:

Ithia is no myth. It's just a mispronunciation. The quetzalin cannot pronounce bilabial sounds without great effort, such as M, B, P, F, and V. Ithia's true name is Vivian. Vivian was once a mortal human, and could by modern standards be considered afrolatina. She lived at the peak right before humanity began to fall and go extinct. She studied genetics and evolution and mutations. She was granted the role of an immortal Life entity, one of the last humans to gain this position, one of the only humans to take it while being a highly educated scientist. Vivian was ambitious. She saw the fall of humanity, and she wanted to preserve her people. She aided in tweaking the genetics of the only other hominid species, the dwarves, to ensure that humans could leave some legacy behind through mixed offspring. Then took things a step further and tweaked the genetics of the elves for the same purpose, which was more difficult because elves are primates but not hominids. It worked, though, and this success fueled Vivian's ambitions.

(image description: digital painting of a humanoid woman with brown skin. She has gained extra eyes and has four skeletal arms instead of two living ones. Her hair has been replaced by leaves and flowers. Instead of legs, she only has a skirt of leaves. There are wrinkles on her face, showing her age. Between one pair of hands, she is holding a depiction of the DNA helix. end description.)

She met Death. They were stricken by her passion and they became lovers for a time, though their personalities clashed and they often fought. It was a turbulent relationship. Vivian took advantage of the connection to learn how the afterlife worked, discovering that it was also the source of new souls. When dead souls dissipate, the essence of the creature they once were is sent through the flow of ambient natural magic and latches onto new life as it forms in the womb, creating a soul that matches the creature. Life entities can capture and manipulate this essence a little, influencing the path of evolution. The essence of extinct species is archived in the afterlife, but cannot form a new soul of its type while the species remains extinct.

Vivian decided to extend human kind by crafting a new type of human with their soul essence. Her concept was a little over the top. Humans with wings. But she was determined to go beyond the logical and more reasonable route of making the arms into membranous wings. No, she wanted something more. She wanted to create a people that were truly unique, only possible by the use of her powers now that she was an immortal being. Something mortal science could never have achieved. So she crafted the quetzalin.

(image description: a series of sketches showing the development of the quetzalin as humanoid bird folk. it begins with a more typically human figure that has a pair of feathered wings attached to the back. next, a similar figure but now with a larger wing shoulder making them hunch over and a short tail at the base of their spine. the second image shows the addition of elf genetics followed by a shrinking of the body size and the addition of more bird like features, all of which makes the tail longer and the feet more grabby. the final image shows the quetzalin as they are, with longer tails held more parallel to the ground, raised heels to give them a bent leg posture, a smaller body plan, and much more bird like visual traits. end description.)

It took many attempts. Much to her frustration, Vivian found that she could not make humans with feathered wings that were fully capable of flight without greatly altering their DNA and body shape. She was too ambitious to give up, cobbling together bits and pieces from other creatures. Elf genetics, dinosaur traits, more bird biology, on and on until at last she had the quetzalin. She recycled the souls of her creations by her own power, bypassing the afterlife and disrupting the natural order of things.

(image description: sketches comparing the body shapes of a velociraptor, human, and quetzalin, with the quetzalin in the middle. end description.)

This caused the biggest and final clash between her and Death, and they never spoke again. But Vivian had achieved her goal, even if the end result was much different than her original plan. She rested, going dormant beneath the trees and gradually letting go of the last remnants of her energy to strengthen them and keep her creation safe.

Life entities are not eternal. They cannot be killed or die of natural causes, but they are not eternal. They eventually run out of the power given to them, and their souls dissipate into the ambient magic of the world. Vivian is gone now, though the quetzalin still worship the idea of her. Their knowledge of her has been lost little by little, changing a bit with each generation. This is the origin of most deities in the world. Some grain of truth, some memory of a real Life entity that favored a particular species but eventually faded away, leaving them in the hands of a successor or leaving them on their own.

Death mourned the day they felt Vivian's soul vanish.

And as for the secret name of the quetzalin, it too is a mispronunciation. They know themselves as the Onaxelu. But the name Vivian gave them, the name that embodied their true origin and purpose, was Homo Angelus.

[blackholesun321]

oh i never said we had to LEAVE the angst we just need a small palette cleanser

that being said… do you think sabo ever enjoyed preening until he met ace? or did he view it as something at first he needs to do in order to keep up the illusion that he is happy and then it just turns into something to keep the itchiness of poor preening at bay

does ace know enough about preening to be gentle? the bandits seem more of a ‘tough love’ type and i think that might transfer to preening, not out of malice but just out of nature

and when you are a rough mountain bandit you aren’t generally all that well versed in such things as being soft, caring, or generally good for the upbringing of infants. yea sure you can keep the thing /alive\ but it wont be pretty and when the kid seems content to run off on his own and only come back when you send out a goon to hunt him down so the terrifying marine who dropped the brat on your doorstep doesn’t arrest you? well whos gonna say no to that?

Nobles, as a given, will, in every chance and at every opportunity, refuse to do something if someone else can do it. To preen one’s feathers or someone else is considered a degrading thing, and children grow up in this environment, starved of emotional contact aside from maids and servants who clean and oil, pull molting, or, perish the thought, broken feathers from their wings. Preening, to Sabo, is a cold, distant thing. He has no context for flock bonding, aside from the medical aspects taught from tutors. He only learned to do it on his own so he didn’t have to rely on anyone, even the servants in his household, before he left.

Ace has never had a gentle hand to hold him his whole life. Dadan tries, but she wasn’t made for the soft down of children’s wings. She helped as much as she could, but then Ace came to her at six years old, already the angriest child she’d ever known, and told her to, in his words, "fuck off" when she tried to preen him for the night. The next day, she handed him supplies for self-preening and told him to come back and ask for more if he ran out or lost shit. Ace learns from a young age that preening is something to be worked through, like brushing your teeth or taking a bath. It is a chore, and the one and only time he decided to approach the bandit preening circle, he had healthy feathers pulled out, whether from inexperience with fledgling down or malice. Ace vows never again and, from then on, became as self-sufficient as he could when it came to his wings. It doesn’t stop his wings from looking like a horror show. Sure, they’re clean and oiled regularly, but still as wild and untamed as you would expect from a forest child.

Ace knows what bonding is from an outsider's point of view, but he's never experienced it, aside from Garp trying to shove his own pristine white feathers into his black and orange down. Sabo, aside from the medical knowledge of bonding, has no reference points for social activities that involve building a flock. They bond anyway; instincts are not so easily overcome. They give presents and shiny things they’ve found, help each other hunt, and give away choice pieces of food. They help build each other's nests, but they don’t touch each other's wings. Sabo still burns or buries or destroys his molted or broken feathers (as a noble, all feathers were destroyed immediately upon molting; you couldn’t have a rival family giving your feathers to wear in someone else's wings or hair. Blackmail for societal pofa or assumed incompetence were and is very powerful thing). Ace still leaves his scattered across the forest floor. They stick to themselves and their routines until that is, Luffy arrives.

This small ball of white and black and green and red down who wears others' feathers in clothes on his hat and braided in his hair and wings without a care. He takes Dadan's molted feathers and makes them into a crown for himself. He has a bright red flight feather, lacquered for longevity, and kept safe in a box, but sometimes he'll attach it to his hat. He gives beetles and seashells out like smiles and is always willing to add more to his own collection. He even once grabs Ace's wing to fix a twisted, newly grown flight feather and gets punched for his efforts.

He's annoying, alien in his mannerisms and completely, utterly impossible to get rid of. They hate him for every uncomfortable thing he represents and every small feather he collects to hold out for them to take. He twists something in them, something raw and wanting, empty they never knew existed. And then Porkami happens, and they see this small, flightless, bloody fledgling willing to die for them, smiling even as they undo the ropes holding him up. Even as they slowly nurse him back to health, one day at a time, and he still offers them the newly broken feathers from his useless wing. That hollowness snaps, and Ace and Sabo, gently, ever so gently, slide those feathers into their own ruffled down and feel themselves becoming a little more, something that feels like whole.

[rotten-pest]

Scar

The festering burn hissed with pain at the slightest touch. Even her shirt had been too much, rubbing the raw and blistered skin until she’d just said blast it and took it off. Exposure to Limgrave’s cool air soothed, slightly, as mist-like rain fell gently. There was no deliverance from it, as yet she could tell. It oozed and peeled and burned just as badly as it did when the young prophet had put his seal up to his face and spat fire on her chest.

-

She does remember the first time she broke a bone. For Pests, losing a limb was difficult but not necessarily life threatening—there were many for a reason, of course. And it’d be grown back in the next molt, usually, so one just needed to survive until then (and survive the molt itself)—save those of either advanced age or after repeated injury. She’d once pulled off one of her legs molting—which hurt, yes, but no more than maybe pulling off a nail did. It ached for a while and then was fine. When she slipped and fell down a cliff, tumbling down the wet rocky face of a hill on Stormhill, she was bewildered by the sheer intensity of pain coming from her ankle. It was such a throbbing thing, all electric, and worse—it was not solvable by anything other than rest. She tried everything, really, but any weight at all just made the thing scream in agony and all she could do was curse and hobble, before finally bid to rest.

-

She’s struck by an arrow. She eventually manages to foment her courage enough to push it through the full well. When pin-prick tears welled up, she was more annoyed at how their saltiness made her eyes hurt.

-

The mercenary’s dog takes a bite out of her arm. It hurts, quite terribly. Each point of its teeth a bright star of a sort of dull agony—an old dog, with dull teeth. It whimpers and lets go when she shoves the dagger into its breast, and finds herself reminiscing on her own hound. A guard, for when her body was squishier and fragile even than the human form she now took. Afflicted by rot, it was a wary thing, even to the other Pests, and yet entertained her childish antics all the same. She wonders who tends to it now, but briefly, before discarding the thought.

-

There’s a hundred injuries she doesn’t quite care to place fully. How many times can one care about a scrape, a cut? Even the times she’s run through with the point of a sword or a spear or a dagger, slashed and gashed all over, they are inconsequential things now. She is alive where others are dead, after all. A burn where she sets the fire, scratched palms of her hands after working metal, or wood, or through climbing and scaling rocks or buildings. It all serves, in the end, to remind her of the fragility of humans. Their soft skin, it bruised mottled reds, browns, purples, blues. Pests bled, yes, but it was different. Pest blood was clear, sloshing around their bodies with some movement urged along by a simple set of pumps, whereas humans kept their blood relatively neat, organized and directed through veins and arteries, forced by an elaborate four chambered heart. It almost seemed excessive, but the difference could be measured—sometimes it felt like she could walk or run for hours, whereas in the past she’d tire much more quickly. Humans kept their rigid bits internal, like scaffolding. Rigid armor splits when bent too far, so Pests made up for this fact by being many-segmented.

-

The absolute agony of serrated claws slashing through the tender flesh of her face. Humans had an excessive number of muscles to create minute facial expressions to facilitate communication where their other senses failed them. And feeling there those muscles had now torn, been split by chitinous claws, was an acute torture. She can feel in excruciating detail where each digit dragged through her meat, tearing through it. Even after, she can almost taste the lingering scent of fury, of rage, of acrid betrayal as bitter as a hot coal on the skin. Blood pours out of the wound and down her face, into her mouth and eye, and burns. She tastes her own blood, her human blood, red and viscous, for the first time and is revolted by its overwhelming metallic taste. And what she does not expect is, for the terror to last so long after the danger itself has passed. Her heart, like a rabbit kicking in her cage of a chest, breath choking up in seizing fits, almost gasping.

What a wretched feeling.

[fatestouch]

their first “i love you”

                                                     About a year ago...

It was a position that that normally found themselves in, nowadays. High up in Cari’s tower, under the ever watchful veil of the stars, the trio would often end up snuggled up in Cari’s multitude of soft cushions and blankets, laying together as their gazes rifted upwards.

“Mm...” Cari hummed to himself softly, gaze shifting from the sky to Aquila, and his head tilted and he reached to toy with the harpy’s hair. “Hey, Aqua, what’s up with the feathers in your hair? Hey look kinda … funky.”

Aquila’s eyes opened with an inquisitive little chirp. “Huh? Oh, that’s probably because they’re molting a little... I think it’s about that time.”

On Cari’s other side, Altair rolled his eyes. “It is that time. You always forget.”

“Not always--”

“Hey hey, no fighting in my tower~,” Cari chimed, sitting up a little, seeming to think for a moment before nodding with a grin. “Alright, c’mere! Since you’re not taking care of it, as your soulmate, I should learn how to help with stuff like this, right?”

“I mean, you don’t have to--” 

“You’re definitely enjoying calling us your soulmates, huh? I can teach you how to preen him, then.”

“Awesome, thanks, Terra!”

“Do I get any say in this...?” Aquila tried to interject.

“Nope,” were the other two’s joint retort, and Aquila sighed and protested no more, shifting in their ‘cuddle pile so his head was positioned at an acceptable angle in Cari’s lap. As Altair moved behind the young god, he rested his head on Cari’s shoulder and began directing him on how to gently comb through the molting feathers. 

With Altair’s trademark diligence, it’s wasn’t long before Aquila was a happy, softly chirping birdie. 

“Hehe... that good~?” Cari asked.

“Your fingers are practically magic,” Aquila replied with a happy sigh. “Thank you... ti amo.”

A blink, and then a tilt of the head from Cari. “Tee...? That’s Italian, right? What you grew up speaking? What’s that mean?”

And Cari’s confusion only grew when he noticed both Aquila and Altair’s faces getting very red. “Am... am I missing something??”

“Er, well--” Ever confusing still; it was rare to hear Altair stumble over his words. “That... was Italian, yes. And it means, well...”

“I love you!” Cari jumped when Aquila suddenly blurted it out. “It means... it means ‘I love you’.”

Cari blinked once. And then again. And then--even as his own cheeks went pink--he began to laugh.

“Oh, that’s it? With how you both acted just now, I thought it was something way more embarrassing!”

Aquila, to his credit, recovered relatively quickly as Cari laughed, and huffed. “Well, excuse me, but it was the first time! And Altair and I wanted the first time either of us said it to be special--”

“Chiacchierone,” Altair grumbled.

“Aww, I’m sorry your super special planned moment was ruined!” Cari chimed, not sounding at all sorry. “Let’s do this then! We’ll all say it right now. After all...” His smile softened. “I think saying it like this, under the stars, is perfect. Right~?”

The twins glanced at each other, and Altair shrugged as Aquila snickered. “Alright, then...”

Aquila nuzzled Cari. “Ti amo~” 

And Altair kissed the star god’s cheek. “Ti amo.”

“Ti amo~! Hehe~” Cari’s grin was bright as the stars in his eyes shined. “See? Perfect~”

[kifu]

I'm getting impatient up in here. I swear these birds won't grow up, but I guess that's my fault for picking such a massive breed.

It's getting to the point where I am freezer camping the earliest hatches of the year. Once I have time. So March hatches. The ones pictured are ... July hatches? Le sigh.

But! With culling, comes finding purpose for the keepers in breeding pens. Thoughts below.

I'm giving myself four pens to work with. Because that's pretty much what I have right now. Because the Houdans get the little coop.

I've decided my first batch of breeding pens are partridge, barred, silver laced, and black type.

I don't know what exactly I have for partridge yet. I have three hens. One is ugly with a terribly stiff tail. She still needs to molt, though. One is not very typey, but has absolutely beautiful pencilling. One has some actually really decent type with an almost decent tail, but poor pencilling and leg feathering. I have one partridge pullet from a hatchery, but she's too young to know anything other than the fact she's a pullet. I have one wee little baby I thought looked like a cockerel, but today looked like a pullet so I don't actually know yet. It's out of my show quality cock that just died on me because to. And I have one black split partridge cockerel out of the same cock that has decent tail width coming through. He's going to head the pen, but I'll split the patridge into two breeding groups if the wee baby turns out to be a cockerel. Whichever is typiest (which would probably be the black split) would go over the typey hen, but otherwise I'd want partridge over partridge. The partridge over partridge would take precedence over the type pair, but if it's using the same cockerel, I'll just throw her in the first pen and then single pair her later. A lot of ifs, but less ifs than I had figured out earlier today.

I technically also have a black split partridge pullet, but I won't use her under the black split partridge cockerel. If I don't use her this year, I'll hold on to her if she finishes out nicer than what I have for partridge. Which I suspect she will. I also have a partridge cock, but he's so damn ugly ... I'd rather cull him than potentially go backwards in type, so he's getting ət.

For the barred pen, I want my barred cockerel over my black frizzle hens. They're pullets now, but will be hens by the time I will separate pens out. I want no frizzles in my coop, but these girls are way too typey for me to get rid of. They should add some plumage that he's lacking, but he's really, really good looking for a hatchery bird. I'll get single barred cockerels and pullets. I'll hold on to improvements unless they're frizzle because hot damn I don't need that gene becoming a plague, type or no generation two.

The silver laced - I need them to procreate. They are so damn fragile. I have three cockerels, one hen, and one pullet left. I bought thirteen and started with two girls this year. One cockerel is getting sent to camp, one is getting kept as backup, and one has the pattern and type to actually head the trio. I'm just hatching everything I can and holding on to them all for way longer than I need to because the rate at which they die is incredible. In a bad way.

I'm not sure how exactly I'm assembling my black type pen, but I know my show chicken and her hatch mate are the two girls in it. I'm thinking a black cockerel I bought from CP is going to be the cockerel, but it could be him, or the black mottled cockerel from the same place, or a black mottled I hatched myself. Hell, even a blue or blue mottled might be the typiest. I don't know. I don't care. But whichever it is is making babies with those two hens. I have a lot more black girls, but I want chicks out of those two specifically.

Eventually, once I enough to hatch and live out of these pens, which should be a lot easier next year now that I've learned my feed is lacking in very important vitamins and the chickens respond splendidly to vitamin supplements, I'll start rotating them out.

I need a gold laced pen. I have two cockerels, but one is ... he's actually kind of gorgeous. He's from a hatchery, but he has width throughout even at his tail base and his lacing is ... good??? I'll pick my typiest one or two pullets to go under him. I'm just looking to improve type and work a little more on lacing if I can with this pen.

I want a blue laced red pen. I think I'll put my red shouldered blue laced yellow over gold laced pullets. Chicks will hatch a combination of black or blue laced red, gold, and bad silver/yellow. Keep, I dunno, red or bad silver and get rid of the gold.

I need a buff laced pen. I have NO idea what these buff laced project things are going to turn out like, but I want them paired with the gold laced. Best laced ones. Chicks will (in theory) hatch gold laced or buff laced, but like ... the lacing in these chicks just does not exist. Yet? I wasn't expecting that and I'm not sure what's going on. But I'm still pairing them with gold laced. Whether it's gold laced over buff laced or the other way around, I don't care, but that's the plan.

I also need the next generation of speckled project birds. I have one cockerel that survived the shitshow of the vitamin famine and subsequent rat attack that hatched out almost the right color. He's got some gold coming in and he's super young yet. But I'll put him over a couple black mottled girls. I know I have one hen and at least two pullets. A couple blue mottled pullets, too, but I'm not sure I want blue speckled. I might have to re-pair his parents, too, because ... I really wanted more than one to choose from after hatching them ALL summer. Statistics were just really against me. If he's coming in with gold leakage, he might not be super helpful in the long run.

I also need a nice cockerel over the chocolate orpington(s). I don't care which cockerel, black, blue, or mottled, but I need a couple cockerels out of this pen. Maybe the third year of trying this will be the charm. Seriously, chocolate hates me. My first year hatched out the leakiest boys. The second year my hen spontaneously died before I got anything out of her.

I want two lavender pens. I have a lavender cockerel I want to pair with a split lavender pullet. Keep lavenders. And I want a black or black mottled cockerel (preferably one of the CP ones) over my lavender pullet. Keep the best. Do this every year until the feather shredder gene is negated.

I want a solid black or blue (but I don't think I have a blue that isn't split mottled at least) over the Welsummers. My plan is to order in silver Dorkings, and this is one step closer to feather footed silver duckwing, since I already have the Welsummers.

I also would like the black copper Maran over my splash pullet. That pullet is filling out BEAUTIFULLY. Keep at least a pair out of this cross. They'll be blue split to birchen for lemon blue.

I would really like a black (or even better - blue!) over my buff columbian for at least a pair. She's a shitty layer, so I'd settle for just something to keep out of her. The end goal is black/blue buff columbian.

I would also really like a black over the wheaten Maran for furness splits. And I'd like to see if I can make a next step on the salmon project, but I'm a little stumped. Might just use a damn salmon Favorelles with black cochin and mix in the blue wheaten split mahogany silver brown blue patterned girl later. She ... actually has more than even that going on. Sheesh. She's pretty, but she is a mess.

These are incredibly lofty charges, and I don't expect to make progress on them all, but they're more or less ordered by way of importance to me. I just needed to write this down before my brain forgot things.

Fuck, if things actually go well, I'd love to pair chickens specifically from CP since I ended up with a pair from her. It'll make more nice black split mottled chickens. Black is necessary for improving the type in everything, and I think this would be very beneficial.

And in that vein, if I haven't already, a HH specific pen would be great, too. I've seen her stock, I have her stock, and it would be nice to keep that tight for more show chickens would be great. The frizzles and type black pullets are from HH, after all.

But with potential plans laid out, I still need to figure out what I need to hold back to assemble them all. I think I have extra black hens, and that's not even counting all the chicks that are taking their sweet ass time growing up. I would very much like to cut back significantly before I get to hatching again.

[draconscious]

Gold takes a break from pouring over maps of known poaching sites and excuses himself to get himself and Clair a drink.

Otohime stretches from where she was curled up and slithers over to the Tamer. She's huge and beautiful, clearly having no desire to evolve. Any Dragonair her size could have evolved four or five times over in the wild. Gold has evidently treated her with all the love and care in the world.

She's almost twice Clair's height when she rears up, but bends down to gently bump foreheads and croon softly. A rare moment of private affection from a dragon who'd probably thunderbolt you for daring to suggest she would engage in such things.

Hello, auntie.

@allthingsglittergold / Otohime is a special dragon, in so many ways.

She is the final Dratini ever raised by the Clan's last Dragon Master, a timeless, seemingly indestructible figure cut straight from the legends of old, overflowing with wisdom and understanding until the very end, when he happily joined the rich lineage of Blackthorn mythmakers.

To so many others, the Master was deity-esque, otherworldly. But to Clair, he was just...Grandfather.

The Gym Leader remembers spending countless hours alongside both of them within the Clan's shrouded mountain sanctum, trying not to panic as Grandfather struggles to wash a molting, furious Otohime in the crystalline ripples of a sheltered creek. The master's wrinkled hands rattle as the spirited Dratini shocks him again and again, but he remains unyielding, laughing around his chattering teeth. You're quite the rebellious one, aren't you? he offers Otohime with a smile, firmly wrestling the young dragon back into the ancient waters. Let's do battle then. Show me what you've got.

"Grandfather-" Clair interjects out of concern, but the Master just shakes his head calmly as Otohime thrashes even harder in his gentle grip, a brilliant new layer of glistening scales shimmering in the roil. This particular Dratini has spectacular ambition. All heart, he murmurs softly, turning to his granddaughter. She reminds me of you, Clair. You both have limitless potential.

Clair groans (in the way that all young teenagers do when they receive an earnest compliment), but her heart still swells with pride, unable to keep the abashed smile from her face. She spends the rest of the day watching her teacher clean and train his latest dragon prodigy, taking mental notes until the magenta sunset flames out behind the imposing peaks...

One day, you'll understand, her grandfather reassures, his calmness undisturbed even in the wake of the new Gym Leader's rage. He had just forfeited his final Dratini--whom he had lovingly raised for years--to some nobody from New Bark Town, and it is too early for Clair to see the bigger picture, the stung heiress still rattled to her core by a singular loss. She'll spend the night thrashing a punching bag until her knuckles bleed, until she collapses in an exhausted heap, tears and sweat shimmering on her face. Begrudgingly evolving through the pain.

Otohime is a special dragon, in so many ways. And, for the first time in forever, when Clair presses back against the Dragonair's brilliant scales, she feels no bitterness over her new trainer whatsoever. Instead, she sighs, allowing herself to relax, embracing the thrum of energy emanating from her grandfather's last pupil, an ancient bloodline combined with youthful vigor.

They had both come so far, yet still had so far to go. (One day, she'll spread her wings.)

Limitless potential.

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: Either out of embarrassment or being a little shit, Jaskier lies outrageously to Geralt about humans (on the level of “I’m molting” or “These? They’re rocks, to snack on.”) and might get away with it?

Hi Dahliavandare! I always love seeing you in my inbox. I changed this just a *teeny* bit. WARNING: VERY SLIGHTLY HORNY (it’s Jaskier, duh) There is also a little bit of angst because Jaskier gets sick.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“What?” The young bard yelped. “I wasn’t even singing that time.”

“No, you just--hmmm.”

“I just hmmm what?” Jaskier asked, pausing in his near-constant strumming.

“You smell like...hmm.”

“I smell?” Jaskier said, both hands planted on his hips. “That’s pretty rich coming from you, my friend--”

“Not friends.”

“You smell like a barn. Anyway-”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt said, running one, gloved hand through his hair. “Witchers can sort of smell emotions, right?”

Jaskier looked up at him, a sudden hint of anxiety in his scent. “I thought that was a myth.”

“Not entirely.” Geralt shook his head as if clearing a thought from it. “We can’t smell complex things, but joy, fear, anger...desire.”

Jaskier, for once, didn’t look at Geralt, studying instead the flowers at the side of the road. “Desire?”

“I-yes.” Geralt said. “And I wanted to know if all humans smell like...”

“Desire?” Jaskier said, then began talking fast. “Oh yes, of course, most humans, especially my age, well, they smell like this all the time. All the time. Naturally.”

It sort of checked out, at least to Geralt’s thinking. Young humans were horny, and although the overriding scent when Geralt was around was fear, he remembered being a teenager, with all the baggage that entailed at Kaer Morhen, and yes, constantly horny was among those memories. Jaskier himself was definitely still young by human standards, perhaps twenty or so from his youthful features. 

Geralt chalked the horniness up to humanity and hormones and left it at that. 

--- 

Later on, Geralt had other questions related to humanity, more specifically that part of humanity that included Jaskier. 

“I thought humans couldn’t eat those?” Geralt couldn’t, he’d eaten one during training on a dare and spent the next day with his head in the privy.

Jaskier looked down at the mushroom in his hand. It was a beautiful, bright red, with little white spots. He’d been snacking on similar ones for the last mile or so. 

“Of course we can,” he said. “Humans eat these all the time.” There was a rising tone in his voice that indicated something, but as Geralt had mentioned before, witchers couldn’t actually smell the more complicated emotions. 

“They, um,” Jaskier said. “They just can’t be eaten by humans during-er- during summer. It’s fall now, so it’s okay.”

Geralt shrugged. What did he know of human biology? He wouldn’t be eating another of them ever, at any time. His stomach lurched a little just at the thought.

---

“You didn’t buy the ring.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, eyes bright in the sunshine. The bustle of the market around them pushed against him like a tide, but a little patch of space was left around Geralt. Jaskier stepped into the space. “The ring?”

“You liked it,” Geralt grunted. “I could tell.” It had been a little thing, cheaply made of poor materials, but the bard’s eyes had lit up upon seeing the little buttercup detailing, and he’d admired for several minutes, although without touching. 

Jaskier shrugged. “It was made of iron.”

“And?”

“Human’s can’t wear iron, Geralt.”

“Then why did the man sell it?” 

“Well some humans can wear it of course, those with very tough skin, but I’m delicate.” Jaskier sniffed. 

“Humans...can’t wear iron?” It didn’t sound right.

“Not right up close to their skin,” Jaskier said. “It turns us, um, purple.”

Geralt shrugged it off. He’d once been called to a castle where a baron had believed himself cursed because his finger was turning green, but he’d simply been wearing a cheap brass ring.

---

After the first winter they met again in the spring something was definitely different.

“Your freckles,” Geralt said.

“What about them?” Jaskier said, looking away.

What about them indeed. They glimmered like chips of mica. At first Geralt had thought it a trick of the light, but no, there was a definite glitter to Jaskier’s skin.

“They’re...shining?”

Jaskier cocked his head at Geralt, cheeks shimmering. “Geralt,” he said slowly. “You know humans shimmer in the spring...right?” 

Shimmer?

“I’d never noticed,” Geralt said. Admittedly he paid a little more attention to Jaskier than perhaps he ought, but still, one would think he’d have seen this before.

“It’s part of the growing process,” Jaskier said. 

---

“Jaskier, your cheeks are red,” Geralt said, stepping out of the small bathtub the inkeeper had brought up. He stepped closer to the bard, still naked and dripping water, and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Nnhgh,” Jaskier said.

“Are you well?” Geralt asked, cupping Jaskier’s flushed face with his other hand. It didn’t feel like he had a fever.

Jaskier pushed his hands away, face even redder than before.

“I’m perfectly fine, Geralt,” he said, higher pitched than usual. “Human faces get red for no reason now...put on some pants.”

---

“Jaskier you’re drunk,” Geralt said. It was a pretty obvious statement, considering he had his bard draped over him like a shawl.

“Hehe, yep,” Jaskier said, reaching up with one, long finger and tracing Geralt’s jawline with it. 

“You didn’t have any alcohol, I’m sure of it.” Jaskier normally had an extremely high alcohol tolerance in any case.

“‘O course not,” Jaskier said, leaning even more fully into Geralt’s hold. “Had milk.”

“Milk can’t get people drunk.”

“Milk can’t get witchers drunk,” Jaskier slurred. “Get’s humans drunk though, dunnit?”

“Can it?”

“Yeah, definitely, not the kids, but like, how often do you see, like adult humans drinkin’ milk?”

Not often, Geralt thought. He put Jaskier to bed in the inn and it was like pouring an octopus into a bucket. One loose yet gripping arm pulled Geralt closer to Jaskier, the bard leaned in and brushed soft lips to Geralt’s cheekbone.

Geralt wondered if it was another mystery of humans that the spot seemed to tingle all night and he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

---

Geralt clutched Jaskier as the bard fell to his knees, groaning. His face was sickly in it’s palor and he was trembling. He’d just lurched up from the table at the inn and stumbled to the door. Geralt had followed him and the young bard had just collapsed like this.

“Jaskier,” he said, clutching a chilled cheek, his other hand seeking one of Jaskier’s. “Jaskier what’s wrong.”

“Lemon,” Jaskier whispered, lacing shaking finger’s with Geralt’s. “In the fish, there was lemon.”

“Lemon’s fine, isn’t it?” Geralt asked, slow heart racing as he looked into eyes that were becoming glassy and clouded.

Jaskier shook his head and it seemed to exhaust him.

“’S fine for humans.” He said. “Not fae.”

“Fae,” Geralt said, cradling his friend. “Jaskier you’re not making sense.” 

“Mmh,” Jaskier said, smiling sadly. His face changed, his eyes going glow bright and his ears lengthening a little. His skin took on a slightly green tint. 

Geralt looked into the face of his fae bard, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone and the shimmering freckles there. “How do I heal you, you have to tell me.”

Jaskier blinked slowly, eyes dimming further.

Geralt shook him, desperation taking over.

“Jaskier what heals a fairy?”

What heals a fairy? He’d learned that at some point hadn’t he? Long ago. They were rare, and most witchers never saw one in their whole lives but if you could help one they’d grant you one wish, not tricks. 

Poetry. 

Fuck.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, throat feeling dry. Those beautiful eyes blinked at him, slowly. 

“I...I think you have pretty eyes,” Geralt said. “And I like when they, um, match the skies.”

Jaskier blinked at him in confusion, brow wrinkling slightly.

“You look pretty in blue,” Geralt managed, inventing wildly. “And look pretty in green. You look lovely in about every shade in between.”

Some of the deathly palor was fading from Jaskier’s face now and Geralt sought more words. “I thought you were pretty that day you wore purple,” he said. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, idiot he was an idiot, nothing rhymes with purple. 

“I like your spirit, your moxy, your...your yurple.”

Jaskier was indeed looking better now, and he was smiling.

“I like the way you talk to me, and how you’re always there,” Geralt whispered. “I like the way you hum to me when you help me brush my hair.”

Jaskier sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light.

“I like the way you give treats to Roach, um, and I like the way you smile,” Geralt gulped at the look on Jaskier’s face. “But most of all I like how much I love you, so I want you to promise to, uh, stay? For a while?”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier said, cupping his cheek. “That was bad.” Then he kissed him and Geralt’s brain went very very fuzzy.

A little later, in their room in the inn, where Geralt was finishing the fish and Jaskier was having stew avec no-lemon-at-all, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jaskier tilted his head thoughtfully as he chewed a piece of potato. “Well, at first I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he said. 

Geralt nodded. Fae were a feared and reverred group amongst humans, so caution was reasonable.

“Then it became a sort of game,” Jaskier said shrugging. “I couldn’t resist. So I left you little hints. I thought you’d figure it out for sure with the freckles or the milk.”

Geralt huffed a little sheepishly.

“I don’t care that you’re fae,” he said after a moment.

“I know,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t care that you’re an awful poet.”

“It worked, didn’t it.”

“It did, and now you get a wish, no tricks,” Jaskier held up his hand as if taking an oath. “I promise.”

Geralt thought for a moment. A wish from a fae was no small thing. It should be something powerful, something earth shattering and precious and rare.

“I wish you would kiss me again.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oop, here it is (after quite the wait, sorry about that) I’m actually so proud of this and it’s super sweet and fluffy.

[binbogummy]

♡Some Pokémon Headcanons Part. 5!♡

More pokemon headcanons, as in, headcanons about specific pokemon! I'll get back to characters eventually.

Part. 1 Part. 2 Part. 3 Part. 4

Dratini/Dragonair: In most cases of a trainer having a Dragonair or Dragonite, they are almost always raised from a Dratini. This is because in the wild, after their first evolution, Dragonair become extremely elusive, spending most of their time deep underwater or high in the sky. Wild Dragonite are even more rare, almost non-existent as most Dragonair simply live out their lives without evolving altogether. Those raised by trainers have to actively work towards evolution if it is desired, often building the way they train around it as a goal, unlike most pokemon that just evolve naturally as they grow stronger or older.

• Dratini while also elusive, are far more social than both of their counterparts. They will usually flee if spotted out in the wild but can be lured back out with food and a gentle hand. These pokemon are playful and full of energy, quite literally too. Dratini are constantly growing along with the energy inside of them so they will happily play with unknown pokemon and humans alike once they're sure you're not a threat. They're constantly zipping around and the smaller ones may fly under your jacket or up your shirt if you're not careful. They're still pretty big so it's more than surprising but it's their way of saying hello.

• If you manage to catch and befriend one, they prove to be fun and eager companions. Battling is a great way to help them burn themselves out but if that doesn't work it's a good idea to have another high-energy pokemon they can play with.

• As they grow, these pokemon shed their skin constantly. A great way to help them along is with lots of scratches, that or provide a special surface for them to rub up against on their own. This isn't necessary for their development as they make out fine on their own in the wild, but it helps loosen their molting skin and makes the process a much more comfortable one for the young pokemon.

• In contrast to the way most don't naturally reach their final evolution, a Dratini will always evolve into a Dragonair once they've grown enough. Some later than others, but as long as they're healthy and well taken care of it's almost a sure thing and a result of how naturally powerful they are.

• After evolution they become much calmer and gentler pokemon with a clear air of gratefulness towards their trainer for having helped them get this far. They still retain some of that playful nature though, enjoying wrapping around their trainer for warmth and zooming around in the skies, just much more nobly now.

• Seeing as, in the pokemon world, it's seen as good luck to see a Dragonair flying through the sky on New Years, some venues or planned events will hire trainers with Dragonair to have their pokemon fly through the sky for effect during the holiday.

• If you're willing to try it, Dragonair can also be ridden. They are incredibly popular in pokemon aerial sports for how elegant and lithe they are in the air. It does take some work though as the pokemon themselves need to get used to flying with a trainer on its back as it can't move quite as freely or nimbly as it could on its own

Lucario: Lucario themselves are extremely uncommon to find living or training among people. Rilou on the other hand are much more popular. They're loyal and eager to grow stronger making them the perfect Pokemon for any trainer looking to grow a competitive team.

• The reason for their being such an offset among the two comes from, what could be described as, an emotional depth that Lucario hold over other Pokemon. While it's not something they alone share as a species, Lucario are incredibly complex Pokemon in part because of how intelligent they are. They hold a natural sense of justice and maturity, one they put a great deal of stake in, making them a Pokemon that will only yield to a trainer they know they can truly trust.

• As Rilou grow, their sense of justice will begin bloom in accordance to the trainer that raises them, and if you work to nourish it as they fight alongside you, they'll evolve into a Lucario that already has a great deal of trust in you; because you were the one that helped instill that sense of justice in them. This is something only achieved by a trainer with a good heart and a pure conviction.

• Lucarios found out in the wild are an entirely different story. These Pokemon have grown and matured on their own; their ideals are set in place by their experiences with other people and Pokemon.

• They're so incredibly in tune with those around them they know exactly what someone is going to do next or how they're going to react just by paying attention to the way their emotions fluctuate. Because of this, their attitudes can almost be described as cynical, but not in a pessimistic or snide sense. In fact, it leaves them with a unique kind of loneliness, one that comes from an inability to feel as though they can truly connect with other beings.

• That is until a particularly unique trainer is able to step into their life. It would be nothing extraordinary. They wouldn't be swayed by the way you jumped into action in battle with a tyranitar or ran onto the battlefield to scoop your pokemon out of harm's way. But the way that once the battle was done, your emotions fluttered when you looked proudly to your pokemon, then spiked with brief annoyance that mellowed to lighthearted disappointment and then laughter when the Dark-type broke from the pokeball you'd thrown at it and fled. In just a few seconds, by just being yourself and feeling genuinely in that moment, you'd manage to catch the attention of a Lucario up to a mile away. That is if it just so happened to be paying attention, and you wouldn't even know it until it decided to seek you out out of curiosity.

• This is just an example, but it can happen in any scenario. These pokemon are fascinated by genuine emotion, even faint or frivolous moments of it. Because when people unabashedly feel, even if they keep it hidden on the outside, your aura becomes unique to yourself and stands out.

• When you catch the attention of a wild Lucario, it may seek you out. You'll, of course, have no idea why this random Lucario has approached while it decides whether or not it likes your aura up close. If it does, it will either challenge you to a battle with your other pokemon, letting you catch it once you've defeated it; or simply prompt you to catch it right off the bat, either by making a clear nod to your pokeballs or attempting to appear un-intimidating so you'll want to try to catch it on your own.

• While having a Lucario on one's team can be an excellent telling of a trainer's character, simply catching one in a pokeball isn't enough to consider it a partner. When a Lucario lets you catch it, you can consider that its way of giving you a chance, but it's not unheard of for a Lucario to abandon a trainer that proved to be two-faced or developed a wicked heart. On the other hand though, as long as your intentions are genuine and your heart is good, a Lucario will prove to be a fiercely loyal companion.

• When it comes down to it, the way they tend to be picky with their trainers completely comes from the fact that they care very deeply. Specifically for their sense of justice and the trainer they put their trust in. When they yield to a trainer and battle beside them, they are trusting you to use their power with responsibility. They don't trust easily because once they do, they do so wholeheartedly and without an inch of doubt in their trainer.

• A good example of this is their mega evolution. A Lucario will ONLY mega evolve for a trainer that they trust completely. Because when mega evolved, Lucarios lose that sense of justice they hold so dear, becoming cold, heartless, calculated battlers overflowing with power. Most of them are smart enough to be aware of this consequence but will undergo this transformation regardless, confident that their trainer will be there to guide them in their compromised state and keep them under control.

• Whicher way you gain this trust, whether it be growing together and evolving them from a Rilou or proving yourself as a trainer, once achieved it is not easily broken. Going as far as them trusting your judgment over their own, despite what their conscience might tell them. On a darker note, that also leaves the potential to abuse this trust, but anyone that made it that far as partners with a Lucario most likely has only good intentions at heart.

• While fairly solemn pokemon, they're still pokemon and enjoy spending time with their trainers. So don't be surprised when you begin to see a lighter-hearted side to these warriors the more time you spend with them.

• They may be bashful about it at first but make sure to include them when playing with your other pokemon, otherwise, they may spend the whole time silently watching and secretary longing to join in from the sidelines.

• Both Rilou and Lucario are notorious for being fans of chocolate so that's a good go-to if you'd like to give them a treat!

• These pokemon are the most in tune with their trainer's emotions above all others and will always be the first of your pokemon to approach you when they sense you feeling down, and one of the first to jump to being protective when they notice you upset with someone else.

• When retracting a Lucario back into their ball, it's common to simply hold out the Pokeball in your hand, to which your Lucario will step up and press the button themselves to go inside. This is a sign of a great level of friendship between trainer and pokemon.

• Lucario like to be useful to their trainers even outside of battle so it's not uncommon for them to try to help around the house. It's easier for them than it is for most pokemon and they learn by watching and mimicking you. I can see them wanting to help out in the kitchen a lot, like when you're cooking or doing dishes.

• They are also excellent with younger or baby pokemon, especially those in training and can take up a very coach like role with them.

• The relationship between a Lucario and their trainer is one of respect, patience and understanding. These Pokemon are a force to be reckoned with, their individual ability to strategize and grow stronger on their own giving those that battle alongside them an incredible advantage against opponents, and instead present the obstacle of having to grow emotionally as trainer and pokemon. For this reason, despite their strength, these pokemon are very rare competitively, and many strong trainers would eagerly welcome one onto their team if given the opportunity.

• Anyone, when faced with a trainer and Lucario in battle, should do their best to take heed, as they're a duo forged by trust and loyalty, and a Lucario's desire to win for the sake of their trainer is just as strong as their sense of justice.

I literally always plan on including more than just two but I always make them so long I just have to cut them off. Also, these are gonna seem like pretty random picks for pokemon but that's just cause I'm starting out with all the pokemon I use on my teams or have used on a team at some point~

[typhlonectes]

Is There Division of Labor in Cooperative Pseudoscorpions? An Analysis of the Behavioral Repertoire of a Tropical Species

Everton Tizo-Pedroso,  Kleber Del-Claro

ABSTRACT:

Division of labor is a strategy that maximizes the foraging and reproductive success of eusocial insects. Although some arachnids exhibit colony structure and social organization similar to that of hymenopterans, temporal polyethism has only been demonstrated in few species. 

The social organization of cooperative pseudoscorpions Paratemnoides nidificator is similar to that of social spiders, but it involves a clear division of labor. Work allocation was experimentally investigated in colonies composed of only one developmental stage (young or adults) or by one sex (males or females), through laboratory manipulation. 

During 44 h of observation, more than 14 000 behavioral repetitions were quantified, distributed in 95 different types of behavioral acts, and grouped in 10 behavioral categories. The results showed that reproductive colonies of P. nidificator are maintained by gender- and age-based activities. Males and non-reproductive females performed the external cleaning of the colony and prey capture. Reproductive females take care of the juveniles and build reproductive silk chambers. Nymphs build most of the molt chambers and perform internal cleaning. In the absence of nymphs, male colonies survived 1–2 mo, while female colonies survived 3–4 mo. In nymph colonies, work is readjusted so that all maintenance tasks are executed. 

This is the first study clearly demonstrating division of tasks in arachnids. It suggests that specialization is an adaptative and evolutionarily old trait in this species. Unlike cooperative spiders, P. nidificator possesses physiological (e.g. reproduction, ecdysis, lifespan) and behavioral (e.g. behavioral synchrony or self-organization) characteristics that allow task specialization.

Read the paper here:

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/230343790_Is_There_Division_of_Labor_in_Cooperative_Pseudoscorpions_An_Analysis_of_the_Behavioral_Repertoire_of_a_Tropical_Species

photograph by Jose Roberto Peruca | Flickr CC

[abombihoney]

PART TWO of its free kids au

spoilers long post etc

Kabbu's story is basically the same. except he's just like 9 years old. He does make it to defiant root, a nice beetle couple take him in.

Tragically, because i need a reason for Vi to be outside the hive, they are Aethina tumida. A kind of beetle that likes to eat young larvae and eggs of honeybees.

They are of course, perfectly capable of not doing that. They are basically just cannibals with a preference for bees lol. occasionally they pay a bee in the hive to smuggle out a larva and some eggs that won't be missed. Kabbu catches wind of this and is obv Not Down with Baby Murder, he manages to grab the larva and fucking Run For It.

He barely manages to make it across the lost sands. lucky for him, Elizant's ladybug ban just happened a few years ago, and the bandit problem isnt nearly as bad as it is in canon. He still doesnt get out unscathed tho.

He takes very good care of the larva, so good that she cocoons and pupates into a tiny but healthy young bee. Kabbu of course is estatic, in the north there's always a chance that larvae will pupate into lesser bugs. Because of this, in the north you don't name children until they've pupated. He names her Violet. The people that live in the outskirts know there's some kids rumaging through their stuff and they leave food out. but none of them can get the kids to come anywhere near them. So they put a posting out on the quest board. Of course, eventually Tannin and Muse get sent to investigate reported sightings of young beetle and bee in the outskirts. And they do eventually find Kabbu and Vi. They're both dirty and Kabbu's on the thin side. :(

Kabbu is fiercely protective of Vi. He won't let Tannin or Muse come near, even when they tell him they're explorers and they just want to help. He's terrified they'll take Vi to the hive and he'll never see her again. and he's taken good care of her! She's his little sister, he named her!

(Leif is already looking for a bigger house, Muse has told him all about them.)

Eventually, with lots of patience and lots of re-finding kabbu and vi, Tannin and Muse get the story out of Kabbu. And theyre like, appalled of course jesus christ.

So muse convinces Kabbu to let him and Vi come stay with her and her family while Tannin goes to the Hive to let them know they got cannibals in the city and also there's a little bee girl who was taken from the hive as a larva but she is Very Attached to a beetle who's probably being adopted Right Now. So they will also have to talk custody.

So the bees arrest the cannibals and send some ppl back with Tannin to evaluate Vi.

And at first Vi is fascinated. they're bees! Just like her! But the second she figures out that they want to separate her from Kabbu she FLIPS her SHIT.

She won't leave Kabbu's side. She'll scream and scream and scream.

The bees assert that she in fact, perfectly healthy, if small for her age. Great lungs. they can probably hear her in the hive. she's already lived with this family for a month at this point, and frankly, they dont have the facilities to raise her with the beetle. they'd have to break centuries of tradition and let the beetle inside the hive, or let her live in defiant root/the outer rings of the hive. Neither of which anyone is comfortable with considering someone(s?) have been smuggling children and eggs out of the hive.

so they make they work out a custody agreement with muse and leif. Vi stays with them for most of the year. During the moon of the harvest festival, Vi (and whichever family members escort her) will travel to the golden hills, where there is a decent bee population. She will stay there for one moon, and she will spend her days with the bees there, learning about their culture, how to fly, etc.

So Muse and Leif buy a bigger house. And they get Kabbu fed and comfortable enough that he starts molting and that repairs all the scuffs and cuts on his carapace. and he's a happy chubby little boy again

so NOW we have A HAPPY FAMILY

:DDDDDD

[maple-cloak]

So I was reading @chipper-smol shitlordAU and got inspired to make this Drabble

Basically it’s a 4K (wait Fuck that’s in no way right I thinks it’s more like 400 wtf was I thinking) word what-if where Ghost fights Radiance but she gets scared and runs away.

Also PK giving Ghost a hug.

Enjoy!

The Radiance was livid,

or rather, more livid then before.

First it was that Wyrm, who had created itself a new form and descended as a bug, a pale and pathetic bug. Stealing her followers away with his artificial light, Refracted light, a false light from a mere Wyrm who knew nothing of it.

But the bugs of what is now Hallownest followed that false light in lieu of her own, and she soon found herself forgotten, her entire being was relegated to the sol object that spoke of her Light. A single withering statue atop the nearby mountain peak.

She had waited, dwelling in the faint dreams the statue held, waiting for what her traitorous creations called their Pale King to finish her off.

But he never came.

Instead she was left there, fuming in her own rage, when she heard someone approaching. She briefly though the wretched Wyrm had finally come to end her being entirely, but was instead found by some simple miners, who had decided to climb to the peak of the crystal filled mountain, their helmets bearing a simple crest.

The Wyrms crest for his new kingdom.

And she saw an chance for revenge.

The simple memorabilia was enough for her to infect their minds, and in turn infect others who came in contact; she commanded them through their dreams to talk and spread word about her statue. To get more to learn of her, to get more to talk, and wonder, and before that Wyrm could learn how, her rage spread forth. With enough bugs to remember she had enough power to spread through his kingdom, expanding her influence throughout the populace, causing the kingdoms sharp decline, and she reveled in the kings panic and desperation.

Eventually the king had the idea to contain her in a vessel, using the void below the kingdom to make a being with no mind to think and be influenced, no will for her to break, and no voice to cry her name in suffering.

But she knew that the king had failed.

While its thoughts were not as loud as the common bug, there were still there, almost silent, but she could still hear the mantra it repeated, still feel the slightest of wills, and she knew that it would not hold.

“Do not think”

But that is a though

“Do not feel”

But the pain so great

“Do not speak”

But you must scream

“Do not hope…”

There is no hope for Hallownest

Eventually the cracks started to form. And she began to seep her influence out through them.

It didn’t matter if the kingdom had already fallen.

It didn’t matter that the Wyrm is no longer here.

She would destroy all evidence of the kingdom, leaving nothing behind for the few survivors to call home, and once that was done she would infect one of the many travelers that came through, and become a god in a new land.

But then came a second vessel

A vessel that had manage to escape the void and her servants who impeded their escape out into the open world without her notice, and when it came back she felt a tinge of fear. It had left the kingdom, and without the influence of the Wyrm that gave those around him minds it would become truly empty. And if it were to attempt so she would be imprisoned with no chance of escape.

Fortunately, there had been multiple influences, not just from a single ignorant king failing to notice the mind it had given, but from a multitude of bugs, instilling their own ideas onto to the second vessel. Gifting it a mind and a will, and she saw it as no threat.

But then it encountered one of her formal followers -Considered a traitor even by the other moths of her tribe, and she gave the vessel the Dream Nail. The moment she saw this she began sealing the mind of her container, preventing the other vessel from attacking her directly with the weakened talisman. The “Seer” however instructed the vessel to restore the talisman, reinvigorating the nail with essence by the time she had taken back the life she gave, the Nail had fully awoken

To worsen matters, the vessel had gotten the former Wyrms charm, and used it to unite the void under its ever growing will. And when it arrived at the temple it unsealed The Radiance prepared to use its container, missing a limb and having a cracked mask from her efforts to hastily take control, to kill the smaller vessel, a ghost of the kings attempts to contain her, given form with the goal of ending her life like its parent so many years ago.

But as the Kings Ghost and the Broken Vessel fought, the Ghost hesitated. It had seen its siblings pain and saw as it injured itself in order to give it a better chance of victory, of finally ending her.

And it ran.

It couldn’t handle its siblings pain and The Radiance laughed as the Ghost ran away, allowing her to reign unopposed.

But the Ghost was tenacious, and found a way to her without injuring its sibling.

The Godseekers, they came in search of a new God after theirs abandoned them; a role she intend to fill. But the Ghost had used their mind to get to her, fighting their way through the ‘Gods’ of Hallownest, many of whom she had control over, and eventually, they arrived at the peak, at her peak.

She though she would win, in a realm where she was no longer held back by the myriad of infected bugs or the broken vessel, but that Ghost was tenacious. And each ensuing fight it grew closer to victory, closer to consuming her within the void.

And it did, it had given the void focus, and it had consuming her.

But despite this, despite struggling within its clutches, her light drowning within its dark abyss. She found herself back in Hallownest, the people still panicked over the ‘disease’ that spread, the king struggling with his ‘solution’.

She has gleefully taken the second chance at ruining his kingdom, being more thorough then before, but as she infected a chef in order to ruin the kings meals (rather petty, but the further unrest that it would give the king was absolutely delightful) she found it slain by the very Ghost that slew her. She almost didn’t recognize it since it had molted, but it’s movement made it undeniable.

It too had been sent back, and The Radiance was livid.

Or rather, more livid then before

But not only that, she found herself trembling, not just with rage, but with fear. The being no longer had the same control over the void, but it still had the same skill that enabled it to use it at her most vulnerable, it was still the same being that killed Absolute Radiance.

Despite seemingly despising the very same Wyrm, making their life all the more frustrating, it refused to let her have her revenge. And it sought to do what it did before again, this time before she could end the kingdom.

And she was scarred.

———————————————————

The Feral Vessel and the Pale King had gotten into an argument.

Now this wasn’t particularly surprising, the two had always butted heads, but this argument was very heated. The vessel, who seemed to named itself Ghost, had been getting on the Wyrm’s case about its treatment of the Pure Vessel, while the Wyrm got angry at Ghost for instilling ideas into it, and that it they shouldn’t interact it as they have been.

The Pale King now sat in his room, it had been almost a week since the feral vessel Ghost had walked off at the end of their argument, and they had yet to be seen since. He stared at his hand lost in though, staring at the cracked void that stained it, thinking over the argument and going over scenarios of what could’ve been.

He hated to admit it, but he cared for the little Ghost. While it had caused plenty of trouble and headaches, deep down he knew he deserved it. For all the hundreds of thousands of siblings down dead in the void below, he felt that Ghost was his punishment. Humiliating and insulting him for his transgressions, the Wyrm knew he deserved it all.

And behind the mask of child-like pranks and dislike for him, he and his Root had long since suspected that they somehow knew more then even his foresight could account for. The familiarity with the White Palace, despite never once being there. How they traveled accros Hallownest with ease, knowing where hidden charms lay and even pale ore across the kingdom. Even with the few fights they have had, he heard they even wield a nail with such familiarity and ease, even ending a bout with the Pale Vessel in a draw despite receiving no training unlike the latter.

And above all, how they still care for his Root, and how she cares for them. How she enjoys mentoring them (and occasionally aiding in embarrassing the Wyrm but it’s hard to be mad when your wife is practically telling them to do it). Then there’s the excitement they show when sharing the language of hands they created with their mother, a language without words but with expression and symbols. It was something he actually wanted to praise them for, and something he was exited to learn as well.

The Wyrm frowned as these thoughts passed, bringing him back to the argument. Ghost was always insistent on the fact that the Pure Vessel wasn’t… pure. Hollow. Empty…

Unable to properly contain the Radiance.

And the worst part was that he knew they were right. He didn’t want to admit it, but Ghost was always right, even before they interfered, the vessel was never pure. The King always claimed that he knew what to do, how to solve the problem and that the Pure Vessel - Hollow, Ghost had taken to calling it (no doubt because his young sister, Hornet, calling it that) was the only, and the right answer.

He had practically abandoned his foresight by now, the only path he could see since tossing all those eggs into the void was one were his beloved kingdom fell, his beloved subjects who he cared so much for dead at the hands of a spiteful light, their burning corpses wandering his kingdoms husk. All that he worked for, and all that he is, was doomed.

The Pale King was snapped away from with thoughts with a knock as his door, and he quickly regained composer, if anything he could give his subjects some hope for their future. Calmly (or at least appearing so) he walked to the door and opened it.

“What is it?” He asked the guard, they were panting, having run as quickly to fetch the King

“T-the… “ the guard cleared his through. “There’s a messenger here my lord, form the Archives, says it’s urgent”

The Wyrm steeled himself, news from the Archives ment news of the infection. He dismissed the guard and swiftly made his way to the entrance hall, greeting the messenger, whom he recognized to be Monomon’s assistant.

“What is it Quirrel? Has Monomon learned something?” He inquired, startling the bug as he shot up straight.

“Y-yes your majesty it’s about the infection…”

Quirrel paused briefly for a breathand the Pale King noticed the faintest to hope in his voice

“The infection, it’s… it’s regressed”

The news had startled him, regressed? The Ra- the Old Light was the cause of the infection, it’s no ordinary disease she invade their mind and takes over . For the infection to regress would mean…

“Prepare me a stag for the Queens Station.” He ordered a nearby servent, who had already been anticipating such a command and he made his way to the Archives in the Fog Canyon.

He made his way swiftly through the caves, Quirrel aiding in avoiding the various Ooma’s that lived there.

“Monomon what do you mean the Infection has regressed?” He asked, walking straight into the main office.

“Well you majesty it’s exactly that, previously infected bugs have either lessening symptoms, regaining control over themselves, or simply becoming uninfected entirely!” She responded, expecting the king not to barge in in such a manner.

“But that would mean…”

“…somethings happened to the Old Light”

They both paused, a silence filled the room as they wondered what could’ve happened. As the Wyrm ran a hand up its face a though crossed his mind. Ghost, they always knew more then they should, familiar with things they have had no way to experience before. Could they have…?

“Keep looking into it, I’ll see if I can figure anything else”

“Be careful my lord” Monomon responded as they left the archives.

A single thought ran through his head, ‘Where was that Feral Vessel? Where is Ghost?”. It had been a few days yes, but what if they were preparing for something, going from one corner of Hallownest to the next to get what they needed for… whatever it was. He made his way to the resting grounds, where Ghost would regularly search for… something, but he found no evidence of them being there. We’re else would the feral vessel have gone? He stood in a empty plot, a place where he planned to build a monument for the dreamers.

Deepnest? No, hornet would not have wondered where they went when she came to visit. The Queens Gardens? No, his dear Root would’ve found them easily in her domain. So where could they be? He though it over, could there be anyone who would know of their whereabouts?

He paused. Grimm. Ghost had shown an unusual affection for the Troupe Master, and… he froze in a panic. When Ghost had first met Grimm his foresight had shown him the infection being killed form the inside.

He immediately took off, flying over to where the Troupes tent resided. No! They couldn’t have? Panic filled the Pale King, how could he not realize? Ghost was going to enter Radience’s realm with Grimms aid! They were, no they ARE fighting the Radiance!!!

The Pale King stumbled as he landed in front of the tent running inside.

“Grimm! Grimm!” He barely hid his concern for his child skidding to a halt in the middle of the show ring.

“Grimm!” He called out once more as the Troupe Master appeared with his usual (but still well performed) burst of flame.

“With what do we-“

“Not now Grimm, where is my child!” He interrupted the Nightmare Vessel, earning a slight frown that quickly turned into a sly smile.

“Your child hmmm~ and here I though that particular vessel was an annoyance you would love to be rid of.” He sneered, while normally the King would retort to such a comment, he was too preoccupied with the well-being of his little Ghost.

“Grimm, please” he pleaded out of breath. “Is… are… are they alright?”

Grimm paused, staring blankly at the Pale Wyrm. “I’m afraid I can’t be certain of their fate.” He stated blankly.

“Did they…?”

“Yes” Grimm nodded, not even needing the hear the question proper.

“They entered the realm of dreams to fight The Radiance, a trip that’s - unfortunately, one-way.”

The Pale Wyrm fell to his knees, tears that were once held right below his eyes végane to flow. Grimm for one was somewhat uncomfortable, not so much for having someone break down in front of them, no it was who had fallen before them with tears flowing down their face. They had never imagined the Wyrm to do such a thing, they never seemed the type. The type to adamantly refusing to untill alone or with someone they are close to, and even then resisting the urge to cry.

“I did make sure they knew what they were getting into.” Grimm comforted attempting to lift his spirits. “They even insisted we dance to show they were able, and might I add, they put up quite the performance.”

“They we-are quite stubborn.” The Wyrm said, standing up and dusting himself off, hoping that at the very least, they are still alive.

“There you go! Much more fitting for a king eh?” Grimm encouraged as the King wiped his eyes and composed himself. “Yes, I apologies, that was rath-” he stopped mid-sentence in shock, and Grimm followed his eyes and saw why. There was the vessel, Ghost, coming from Grimm’s quarters, limping.

——————————————————————

“Your certain of this?” Grimm inquired for like, the 15th time. Ghost was getting rather annoyed at the question and all it’s variants

‘Yes, I know what I’m doing.’ They signed again. They had already gotten all the charms and weapons they needed. A Mothwing Cloak which they manage to fuse with some of their void, (very painful process and it wasn’t nearly as effective as it would be if they had access to the pit below the palace.) some Monarch Wings they stole found (thankfully the Kingsmold were too preoccupied with Mawlek to notice) and a variety of spells from various Snail Shaman throughout Hallownest, (none of which were killed and/or dead, which is always good) and of course their Pure Root Nail (though they would’ve gladly stolen one from Sly if they needed one)

With those and the charms they took collected between getting everything else, they were more then ready. Grimm let out a sigh, “Very well then, do give us a superb performance hmm?” He said as he raised a hand, shooting out a light from his palm similar to the one of the Dream Nail Ghost was familiar with, only Grimms was a crimson red instead of a bright white.

As Grimm swung his hand down is a (stylish) arc, Ghost found himself engulfed in a red light, fading to a more familiar white before fading away entirely. Ghost looked around a platform similar in size in shape to the one in the Pantheon, though the material and style was different, a grey that wasn’t dark, but not light either, but the area surrounding it was, a endless sea of golden clouds.

Ghost didn’t dwell on these thoughts as they climbed up the few floating platforms, and faced the sun that bathed the picturesque scenery, knowing full well that this was no place of beauty

Ghost drew their Pure Root, their desire to protect Hallownest - and more specifically, their sibling Hollow - giving the Root its form as a blade, as sharp as a Pure Nail and just as deadly - and they faced the sun as she, The Radiance responded to their challenge with her anger.

The small platforms Ghost was standing on vanished, he fell a short ways to the larger platform he ‘awoke’ on, and didn’t hesitate to start attacking the spiteful god. Starting off with what could be mistaken for a shout, a scream towards the sky as their soul and void manifested as an upward outburst of screaming heads, The Radiance cried with rage

Blades flow form the sides, which ghost easily dashed between, not wanting to use their Shade Cloaks invulnerability too soon, as they slashed upwards towards the giant moth. They had both fought before, and Ghost had long since memorized how to evade each attack. Radiance shot out circles of swords, but Ghost backed off and jumped. aligning themself properly they shot out a spell they didn’t have when they fought before, a stream of bright daggers shot out from their hand, only a few hitting their mark before The Radiance teleported away.

As Ghost landed they quickly dashed to the side and blades shot out form the ground, covering over a third of the platform, and a beam of light from above threatened them. Using their Shade Cloak they easily fazed through the beam, and slashed at the sun-moth with a nail art before a soul-charged stomp on the ground, void and soul rising around Ghost protectively while striking at the gif above.

The fight had continued for a long time, Ghost evading or countering all of Radiance’s attacks, while the god itself became more and more desperate, as fewer and fewer attacks hit (not that many hit to begin with) as Ghost got into their rhythm. Before long, it took off higher and Ghost pursued, dodging incoming searing rays of light. But before Ghost could do more damage to end the fearful god something they never expected happened.

They woke up, in Grimm’s room, in the Troupes tent. They looked around, did they do it? They dropped off the ledge they were on and winced, almost crumpled from the pain. Did the Radiance hit them with one last-ditch blast? They slowly lowered themselves to the floor and looked down the hall down the hall to the main performance area of the tent. We’re they still in the dream realm? No, they would’ve seen the Nightmare Hearts leathery viens in the hall, and there’s no Nightmare essence floating around. So that means the Radiance has ejected them from the dream.

The Radiance fled, huh. Ghost had never considered it but they suppose it does make sense, without the dream nail they couldn’t return and hunt it down, and they had no void to restrain it. Ghost found that annoying, all that effort of collect charms and spells and other useful items and the stupid thing leaves. Coward.

With a huff the Vessel stands up, might as well let Grimm know their okay at least, and make there way down the vein-less hall. They tried to heal their injuries with Soul but found they had none, used at every opportunity during the fight with the flying puff-ball.

As they made their way down the hall they heard two voices talking, one was clearly Grimm but they found trouble identifying the other. The voice was male and they seemed distraught, but Ghost couldn’t pin a name, who did they no would be upset? Form what they could tell Grimm told them about what they did, but they didn’t know anyone who would be this upset about it.

But they didn’t have to imagine who when they saw who it was.

And they never would’ve imagined it was their father, the Pale King, who ran up and hugged them the moment he saw them.

And they never expect him to be crying.

The Pale King pulled away enough to get a proper look at the vessel, fresh tears streaming down his face and he held one hand against Ghost’s cheek, not only in shock, but in relief.

“How” he asked, barely a whisper. Ghost wasn’t sure how to respond, and was at a lost for signs at their fathers reaction

Thankfully Grimm was still Grimm and they knew Grimm

“Bra-vo darling!” He exclaimed clapping, “I have to say I did not expect this! How did you escape?”

This was enough to snap ghost back to his surroundings and found a pretty simple way to explain it.

‘Butt head ran away’ they signed

‘Don’t know worse insults’

“She… ran?”

Ghost paused for a moment, staring at their father, then made a gesture like they were throwing something to the side,

‘Ejected me’

As Ghost completed the motion they stumbled to the side, almost falling over until the Pale King caught them

Grimm, for his part, picked a terrible time to laugh openly, much to Ghosts irritation, thinking it was at them.

“Your telling me, your got the Radiance who has been terrorizing this kingdom for years to run in fear” Grim said continuing to laugh, “my goodness you are full of surprises!”

The Pale King could only stare in shock, she had been repelled? Not dead, but still, he didn’t have to consult his foresight to tell that his child he held up had bought him years maybe even a century. For them to have chased off radiance, the skill and strength they must posses…

‘Should be dead’ They signed grumpily, clearly upset at themselves but their father was having none of it

“Don’t understate your accomplishments! For you to have fought Radiance, to have beaten her to the point where she runs away? Maybe she isn’t gone for good but she will not be coming back for decades at the least! You… you’re…” he stammered, pulling the void-born child in for another hug “I… I’m sorry, for the… the atrocity la I’ve done, for my treatment of you, for… for my treatment of your… your sibling.” The Wyrm pulled away looking Ghost directly in their eyes “I was wrong, I’m sorry”

Ghost could only stand shocked at their fathers beaming praise, for their quirky frankly, unnatural behavior… and that last thing, their sibling. There was so much to be done, but things seemed so much… brighter, so much better. Hollow could finally be themself be happy. Ghost was at a lost for words.

‘We… talk later?’ They offered both too overwhelmed and Ghost, too tired, to make proper plans.

“I- yes, yes of course, of course” the father readjusted themself and his son to more effectively carry.

As they made they way out the King paused “Ah! And Grimm” he turned, facing the Troupe Master. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

Grimm, who had fallen to the background to allow the two some space perked up and gave an elegant bow to the Pale being.

“Think nothing of it. I had simply set the stage and you two, had been excellent performers!”

The Wyrm nodded his head, while Ghost used its free arm to wave, and the two made their way back home.

[im-fairly-whitty]

I would read an entire book about icarus and asterion/The Minotaur’s happy childhood /)

* pockets your kind words and slides these headcanons back across the table in return*

- Icarus is a very energetic and outgoing child, but since his father was afraid he might be targeted by the black market for the potential magical value of his feathers he was kept hidden at home until he was ten and they were moved to the palace. This means that despite his personality, Icarus got overwhelmed pretty easily when they first moved, even small crowds and busy open courtyards sending him into panic attacks if he wasn’t careful and pushed himself too hard.

This generally led to him hiding in a quiet corner until he could calm down and breathe normally again, something Asterion realizes very quickly about his new friend and that he tries to help with. Icarus is mostly just very frustrated whenever he gets overwhelmed because he wishes he could adjust faster, but Asterion’s patient and laid back personality goes a long way to both helping him calm down when things get to be too much and finding quieter two person adventures and games to play while he adjusts.

- Icarus’s crippled wing has been that way since birth, though they arent sure if he came out that way or if it was an injury sustained due to a shaken midwife’s mistake since Daedalus wasn’t in the room for the birth. Regardless it has always been smaller and a little misshapen his whole life, meaning he is unable to fly naturally. Despite that though he is able to soften a short fall to glide just a bit though not very well, he carries his balance differently than other people, and his wings have a body language all their own that end up telegraphing his emotions to those who know him well enough to read them.

While he is actually a bit vain about his wings they can be a pain to take care of, his annual molt in particular leaves him scruffy and irritable and tired for a couple weeks. Normally he doesn’t mind too much if people touch his wings as long as he has given them permission first, but during a molt his father and Asterion are the only two people allowed to touch his wings since they’re extra sensitive and the extra help keeping them groomed properly is worth the embarrassment of it. (Imagine the embarrassment you might feel at not being able to effectively do something like wash your hair yourself even when you’re a teenager.) He eventually minds Asterion’s help much less than his father’s, in true teenager fashion.

- One dreadful summer Icarus gets feather mites and swears he’s nearly decided to cut off his stupid wings entirely by the time the witchy queen kindly manages to concoct a potion to get rid of the pests . In return for a dose of the potion once a year he often brings her a bundle of his best molted feathers to show his thanks which do indeed have excellent magical properties to them that she appreciates very much.

- The biggest bother when he is finally fitted for a wing prosthetic as a young adult so he can finally learn to fly is that he has to learn to rebalance himself again while wearing it which is exhausting work.

- In the original myth it’s said that Asterion, because of his monstrous inter-species nature, can only eat the cannibalized meat of humans, generally slain by his own bloodthirsty rage. In HC!AU however his mother discovers through her occult studies that this is not actually a part of his nature, but actually a kind of magically imposed allergy for lack of a better term. When the prince is riled up by combat or exposed to blood or meat an animalistic and violent bloodlust is magically triggered that overwhelms him.

His mother concocts an elixir that is able to dissipate it and bring him back down to normal as a kind of antidote, so they end up learning to manage the curse by limiting his exposure to triggers and keeping the cure on hand at all times. In the end it kind of ends up being like a magical peanut allergy, except where if you have a reaction someone /else/ could die. (Also the antidote potion uses Icarus’ feathers as one of the main ingredients! The queen isn’t sure why they are so potent in helping that specific magical recipie, and if Daedalus knows why—or even why his son has wings in the first place—he’s certainly never told anyone. The queen suspects that Icarus’ wings have a tie to Posideon like Asterion does, but she can’t know for sure until either the god or the inventor spill the beans.)

- The queen had this allergy theory since Asterion was an infant, meaning she always kept Asterion away from anything that might trigger an attack. The thoery was first proven by his first episode when he was ten years old. Icarus and the prince had snuck off during a festival that was happening on the royal grounds and Icarus, upon them finding a foreign kebab vendor who apparently hadn’t gotten the strict no-meat-served-at-the-palace-memo, insisted Asterion try venison.

This of course very quickly devolved into an extremely dangerous situation that involved a hasty emergency evacuation, ten wounded royal guards, twenty damaged vendor stalls, and three weeks of a very distraught emotional recovery for both Icaurus and the prince after the queen was able to get close enough to intervene with the prepared antidote. The queen explains her now confirmed theory to them both, assuring them that it wasn’t either of their faults and noting curiously that even at the very worst of it Asterion never attempted to harm either Icarus or the queen during his rage, which provides all three of them a small comfort at least for future potential episodes, though all of them are shaken for a good while afterward.

- After that Asterion steers clear of any accidental snacks and doesn’t have another episode of note of real note until he’s in his twenties since as he gets older he gets better at controlling himself when he feels an episode coming and is generally able to remove himself from the situation. Instead of learning to fight like most royalty would (and after seriously accidentally injuring a wrestling instructor with his inhuman strength) Asterion instead does solo exercise training like running and weightlifting, getting safe practice at controlling and settling himself whenever his adrenaline starts to spike so that he doesn’t need the cure every time. He also never learns to ride since no horse has ever let him closer than the seat of a chariot, understandably spooked by his appearance.

- Aforementioned second largest episode occurs when a disastrously brave/foolish sell sword accepts a contract to kidnap the prince’s royal companion either dead or alive for a magically inclined client willing to pay a fortune for his feathers. When Asterion is woken in the middle of the night to find a struggling and injured Icarus being dragged out a window by a hooded stranger, the prince loses it completely and absolutely slaughters the assassin. Like, as in no one ever discovers who the man was since later what’s left of him is far beyond a state even resembling recognizable.

Asterion is so far gone in his rage that not even the queen is able to get close for hours afterward since the distraught Asterion won’t let anyone near the wounded and unconscious Icarus, trying to rip apart anyone or anything who gets too close. The situation is only diffused once the drugged Icarus is able to shakily regain consciousness enough to gently talk the prince down enough to take the antidote.

[weaverlings]

god i need to sleep a bit before work but i'm just thinking about how like. weird hornet's sense of parental love is?? like pk is his own can of worms (wyrm) but even just w/ herrah from the bit that we hear like

it is appropriate, i think for parents to give up at least certain things for the well being of their children, or at least to be prepared to give things up for them, to protect them or provide for them and yet in hornet's case her Existence is kind of. predicated on hornet's mother no longer being there with her. and she Knows that

there is this one, great, defining sacrifice and now hornet exists but soon after that herrah... well, she won't, for all intents and purposes. she sleeps for hornet - herrah's primary motivation, her personal motivation - and for hallownest. and while we don't hear about this exactly, if hornet did interact w/ the pale king much i think he would have emphasized that part. the greater good herrah gave herself up for, hornet included but not Just hornet

and like let's be honest the pale king has no place to be talking about sacrifice because the primary sacrifices he made. no he didn't. it was his kids, taken as an extension of himself. but uhh that's even more conjecture as far as how that would impact what he would have imparted on hornet and what conclusions she could draw from that.

anyway. herrah. and hornet, left alone with like...

that's so much of what hornet knows of parental love? just the sacrifice part. she would hardly have got anything to balance that out. so to hornet, the whole idea of parental love as something protective and giving and devoted is so. dominant? because she wouldn't exist without it right? that's why she's alive, because her mother cared about her (and her kingdom) enough to make her happen (to ensure they would have a queen) and even though she would have been provided for up to a point, she wouldn't have actually EXPERIENCED any of this all-encompassing since she was very young. she just has what it left behind for her. just the very intentional sacrifice, none of the taking care of her through hard molts or helping her after her first solo hunt or whatever bug parent and child bonding things are (or depending on what age things happened. herrah presumably did miss out on most of hornet's life and that would have been painful for her too but it was a choice she nominally understood)

and idk idk all of this to say like... she was chosen and abandoned in the same moment. her mother gives up everything for hornet and gives hornet up with the same decision. is she allowed to be hurt by this? maybe she doesn't know, maybe she thinks she isn't, at least, most of the time. she is worth so much. she is worth a queendom exactly.

but not worth staying with. and that's the thing maybe, of course unfortunately parental sacrifice that resorts in long term or permanent separation from children happens but what is ppprobably more common is a parent giving up something for their child to protect them from a negative experience or provide them with a positive one but the parent is there for the child, supporting them.

hornet does not get that part. at all

[writing-wrxngs]

Tommy’s Wings

(Just a heads up, this may not look like it at first, but it’s angst. You guys are gonna hate me for this one but I saw some fanart and got evil evil thoughts. Trigger warning for blood and implied violence.)

Tommy, unlike his two older brothers, was born with wings. They were one of many similarities Phil shared with his youngest son, but it was the one that made him the proudest. When he was young, they were downy, like a baby bird’s. They were little at first, naturally, but as Tommy grew, so did they. Just by looking at them, Phil knew he’d have a decent sized wingspan when he grew up. He just couldn’t wait for the day Tommy’s flight feathers came in. Neither could Tommy.

Phil helped the boy when he molted and his real feathers came in, so excited that soon his youngest could fly. He explained to him that it was going to be a strange process, and that it would take time. Tommy was impatient, ready to be able to soar through the skies like his father, but Phil reminded him that molting took time and he couldn’t rush it. Slowly but surely though, the soft down fell away, revealing feathers the color of rain clouds, a paler gray than Phil’s own wings, and gorgeous nonetheless. He happily picked up the down feathers wherever they fell, knowing that each one was a feather closer to his son being able to fly.

When they came in, Phil made sure he taught Tommy how to take care of his wings first. All of the preening and preparation, every little tip and trick he knew to keep the wings looking their best. He made sure Tommy knew how important it was to do this. Tommy, for once in his life, didn’t brush the advice off. Of course, Tommy was also just as enthusiastic about the wings as Phil. And knowing Tommy, he also loved the idea of showing them off. You can’t show off wings if they aren’t in tip top shape. Phil also made sure Tommy knew how to be safe with his wings, and how the bones were delicate. How he’d have to be aware of his surroundings when spreading them open. Of course, he told Tommy that a broken wing was treatable, too, but not to let that be an excuse to be reckless. He knew Tommy would fail his first few flights, but after that, he’d hope that nothing would hurt the boy on his new adventures.

After that, of course, was teaching him to fly. Those were some of the best moments. Phil could see how enamored Tommy was with the idea. Phil was equally enamored, but there was just something so fulfilling about looking at Tommy and seeing the wonder in his eyes, and watching how intensely Tommy listened to his instructions. The boy had passion, and it was just so nice to see. His exuberance was enough to make Phil feel young again. Like he had predicted, Tommy crashed a couple of times, and unlike with a lot of things, his ego didn’t bruise. In fact, he’d pop right back up and insist on trying again. Phil would tell him he needed to rest a bit after, or try and make sure Tommy was hurt, but the boy would always protest. He wanted to get flying as fast as possible. Every day he got better and better. Every day he got more and more exuberant. It was an amazing sight. It was an even more amazing sight when Tommy was finally able to fly perfectly on his own. He came down to a perfect landing and immediately began celebrating. In all the cheering and hollering from his son, Phil couldn’t help but shed a few tears of joy. His son could fly. Just like him.

In the following years it became normal, but it still was something that had bonded the two quite closely. Neither of Tommy’s brothers had wings. It made him special in the family. If they felt like it, they could just take off and enjoy the skies together. It was something just they could share. If Tommy ever wanted to tell just Phil something, or talk about something personal, they could fly far away and all about it. Total privacy. Every moment like this was one Phil treasured. He knew Tommy probably didn’t think of them the same way, but he hoped that he at least remembered them fondly.

The only time they didn’t share these sort of moments was when they were apart. Tommy had gone off on his own with Wilbur. They were off doing their own thing in the little nation they had, L’Manburg. Phil missed being able to fly with Tommy, but knew someday this would happen. The baby of the family was growing up. It was sad, but also satisfying. Of course, he knew that someday, they’d fly together again. It’s not like Tommy being grown would stop him from spending time with his father. All Phil could do was hope those days would come soon.

Upon Phil arriving in L’Manburg, Tommy sadly explained that flying technically wasn’t allowed, Dream had banned it. However, Dream couldn’t watch them all the time, and it was practically impossible to enforce such a rule when you can’t catch the rule breakers. Tommy knew his father needed something familiar and comforting like flying with him after what happened to Wil. Every once and awhile, under the cover of night when no one could see, they took those flights. They did make Phil feel more at home, but it couldn’t cover up how he felt about Wilbur’s death. He knew that doing this made Tommy feel better, too, though, and together they used their usual bonding method to cope with the hole left in their family. Nothing would make it ever feel better, but this was as close as it could get.

And then, Tommy was exiled from L’Manburg. They were separated once again. Phil was sure it wouldn’t last. Not with Tommy’s spirit. All Phil could do was wait for when Tommy would come flying back, even if it was brief, to try and get himself home permanently.

The morning after the exile, Phil found a note from Dream on his front step. Underneath the note and stained with blood, sat Tommy’s wings.