#it's no passerine but IT DOES WHAT IT DOES SO WELL I LOVE IT

[soapcan18]

Did you notice how when you first listened to Torches it sounded so fun? And then when you listened again and paid attention to the lyrics you realized it was about hate and using your beliefs to push hateful rhetoric? And you were surprised because “but this song is so upbeat and fun and the chanting and call-and-response only adds to that”? Surely with that big community of voices surrounding the narrator what they’re singing about isn’t that bad? Like how in real life being surrounded by others who share the same beliefs as you and glorify their actions makes it easier to go along with things and be brainwashed? In this essay I will—

[snowed-leopard]

TEAM BIRDTRESS 8/9: ENGIE

Engineer: the loggerhead shrike. This small passerine is actually perhaps one of the more horrific birds to me. Despite essentially looking like a gray and white songbird with a slightly hooked black beak, these birds are notorious for hooking their prey of anything from insects to rodents and snakes onto thorny plants, and with ranching, barbed wire, as a snack for later. They’re of course also native to Texas. that sort of juxtaposition and small but mighty stature fits engineer extremely well to me. Engineer may look and sound nice but you’ll be darned if he doesn’t have a mean streak.

In slightly sadder news, heavy will be in about a week, not a few days, as I’ll be on a trip and can’t take my tablet. I’m really sorry, I was trying to do all of these as fast as possible not sacrificing quality (though admittedly sacrificing my health a bit) to get them done before the trip, and I just didn’t manage. I love heavy, he’s one of my favorite characters, but my speed didn’t work out. Sorry to all heavy lovers out there, you’ll get your man soon I promise.

Musings below the cut!

No sources this time because I actually didn’t use any to research, I’ve been long aware of the abilities of the shrike, so no researching involved like all the others needed.

Finally! Engie, my man after my own heart. He’s the one that actually kicked this all off. One afternoon almost 2 months ago I was thinking about how alike engineer and the shrike were, I told my friends, and I thought it would stop there, but in the following weeks I fell down a rabbit hole of trying to determine who would be what, as close to their characters as I could. It took eons, but it was so worth it. In honor of him starting this I admit I went a hair overboard and gave him 2 props but in my defense he’s neat. Loved getting to draw all the scratches on the mini sentry and dispenser tho.

Why does he have a mini sentry and a dispenser? Because I don’t wanna draw a full sized one. That’s literally it. Yes he has the gunslinger out too, I wanted to draw it, shh.

[mmavey]

c!Technoblade- a What If take on his backstory.

Technoblade, for many, both as a cc! and a character has always been enigmatic and someone we are drawn to. In contrast to this, many people fail to understand fundamental parts of his character as well as his motives.

I feel, personally, the reason many people do not fully understand him is because we do not have a solid backstory for him. It is common knowledge that the Antarctic Empire was canon, that he and Phil are old immortals with a long history, but what about before? What came before his days as a conqueror, his days as an emperor, and, of course, his days as an anarchist? When did he become associated with the Blood God? Surely one could not be born with a connection such as that. Unless... No, aus are for another day- this is about headcanon, not aus! (I'll talk about Blood Demigod Techno another day, promise /j)

I remember reading a post by @becauseplot that questioned what made c!Philza and c!Techno go from being emperors, kings, conquerors with power beyond our imagination, to anarchists. The points in that post were incredibly well thought out and I thought about it for quite a long time, scoured Techno's dynamics and even went back to watch a few EarthSMP episodes to get a better view on Emerald Duo as a whole. The notion that they fell so far from that had always been shocking to me, someone who favored them as characters, but hadn't been around to see the Earth SMP.

Now? It's not so hard to believe.

Sometimes, when I think about this post, I also think of Passerine.

Yes, the fic- but what occurs in this fic? Philza and Techno, as they had on SMPE, were at one time co-leading an empire. One thing that I often associate with Philza is that with such a long life, with no death in sight, he often loses track of time- any mortal love hes had is a mere blip in his timeline and his children aren't any different. One day, the Angel of Death vanishes from their kingdom, and never returns. Technoblade is left to himself, stumbling in this similar feeling of Philza being gone as suddenly as he arrived. What if something of this volume had occurred? Or, perhaps, even something worse. Betrayal? Bloody wars bringing loss of people important to him?

Whatever ended the Antarctic Empire is up to interpretation. I'm not especially interested on touching that- I have my personal headcanons about that, but it's really what comes before and after SMPE that really counts. There's unaccounted time in both periods, depending on how long the time between SMPE and DSMP is. (Keep in mind, SMPE isn't considered canon to a lot of character's stories- but it IS canon for Philza and Techno. This is IMPORTANT and I will die on this hill.)

Let's start from the beginning of my headcanon for c!Techno.

He is old- as immortals are- old enough to have seen a world that was calm, peaceful, before governments. As a child, or a teen, or whatever he happened to be- in his early years, Techno got the grand privilege of enjoying a world with little conflict, full of cooperation and kindness. Over time, though, of course, human error comes into play. There are no perfect people, and so, anarchy in its purest form becomes chaos.

(The factual definition of anarchy: the organization of society on the basis of voluntary cooperation, without political institutions or hierarchical government; anarchism.

NOWHERE does this say that anarchism is about chaos. C!Techno's goal isn't chaos, it isn't to kill everyone on the server, it is to BRING COOPERATION WITHOUT CONTROL. His ideals are based upon the factual definition of anarchy, as are Phil's. In their eyes, the things that they did in Man vs. Pog, Doomsday, etc- they're just forms of revolution. They're not revolting to create their own government like the L'Manbergians. They're revolting to abolish them.)

Lighthearted anarchy is the optimal condition for humanity. But, human error naturally creates people who desire control, and all it likely took was one person for things to begin to snowball. Conflict sparks, the world begins to tear apart- his strength, the fact that something is different about him (his immortality, given later, will set him even further apart), it makes him someone the people of this old and fresh out of the schism world want on their side. They want him as a weapon. And, so, the Blade is born, figuratively. As time goes on, government solidifies, this condition of desiring control, power, death, blood- whatever it happens to be- it spreads, becomes commonplace. Techno is pulled along for the entire ride, his views, as everyone else's were, becoming warped as he is compelled to fight and conform to the more popularly accepted norms.

With that out of the way, let's talk about the Blood God.

Technoblade fights, he fights for everyone, a weapon of human error's creation, a solider (a true conqueror) that only continues to douse his hands, his blade, his arrows in blood as he moves forward, becoming a figure so haunted by death that voices of those he'd bloodied begin to fight for his attention within the confines of his brain.

Such a daunting man, hoglin, pigman- whatever your personal headcanon of Techno and his species happen to be- would not escape the notice of the Gods, and especially not one so engraved with war. The Blood God, reaching down from wherever the gods happen to be at, has to meet this conqueror that has been bathed in his favorite substance.

At first, as anyone would be, Technoblade, still young in his long, endless life, was unnerved, bothered by this deity coming specifically to him. But, perhaps, he realizes, it's not so hard to believe. He's infamous, a conqueror so powerful and renowned that he is on the same level as the Greek hero Achilles, or even Hercules, to be more accurate. It's natural for him to feel prideful about that, at the time, when he considers being a conqueror a good thing, and it's natural for a God to take notice of his abilities and seek him out.

Essentially, where this headcanon ends up going is as follows:

The Blood God, impressed by Techno's abilities, makes him immortal. Immortality comes at a dire price, and Technoblade must take the god as his patron deity for as long as he walks the earth, and he adopts both the phrasing "Technoblade never dies" and "Blood for the Blood God". This gift, his immortality, floods him with more pride, more dedication- and it also quadruples his value to any rulers that could have him in their army. A warrior beyond death, with more knowledge and intellect than any architect, philosopher, or strategist in any land. As time passes, progressing quickly, endlessly for Technoblade, he learns of the way people view him as a weapon, something to use to further their reach and power.

In retaliation, he begins to take his title as a conqueror very literally.

And, so, the reputation of Technoblade being a noble, grand soldier of the old times twists into him being a man capable of butchering entire armies, strolling through towns and cities and leaving wreckage claimed in his name behind. Technoblade is no longer a tool, a weapon, yes, but only for himself and for the God of Blood. He becomes an Emperor, a conquerer comparable to those we know such as Alexander the Great, or any others that have managed to spread an empire across a vast amount of land and still maintain control of it.

Surely, before the schism of the world, when everything was peaceful, early on, he had a family- mother, father, siblings, grandparents, even- but over the centuries he begins to forget, the memories of things before the deity granting him immortality becoming a grey sludge, fading further and further into nothingness.

He loses himself in human error, in leadership, in the blood-

The Blade is solidified as a legend, a legend of death, blood, war, and conquerors. His name is whispered across the old world, known truly, by some, but feared by all.

There is only one who is equally as feared as he, in this early time of conflict- The Angel of Death. Rumors and whispers he has heard are quite similar to those about he, himself, and this is both intriguing and threatening.

One day, they meet.

And the rest is history. ...Literally, they're old LMAO

THAT WRAPS IT UP FOR TONIGHT

this headcanon is based around the thoughts of @becauseplot , but it also takes some ground from the Passerine fic by blujamas and thcscus.

(heres a link if you havent read passerine, gogoggogoggogo!!!! ^^)

i didnt end up having the energy to finish the bit thats gonna elaborate on the time between SMPE and DSMP so if youre interested on further elaborations of my headcanons lmk!!!!!

(i say this like anyone will read it)

this is going out to like. hardly anyone but I FELT THE NEED TO RANT OKAY SO ENJOY IT /j

some thigns may be mildly innacurate but i wrote this wild tired and its been fueled by two cans of orange fanta. read /j

edit because i missed something: the primary idea of this hc is that the reason technoblade ends up becoming a total anarchist after the failure of the antarctic empire (for whatever reason it ended- this also contributes to his reasoning obviously) is that he vaguely remembers a time before governments, before conflict and war- peace through the dictionary definition of anarchy, not chaos. hes old enough to have seen a world before all of these things, and he ends up wanting it back after everythign goes so horribly wrong.

and hes not afraid, and hasnt ever been, to use force /j

THE ACTUAL END NOW- /j

[moltengoldveins]

please please please if y’all have a spare two hours, listen to the Oh, Hellos’ Seasons albums. They’re four albums named after the traditional Greek winds, arranged Notos-Eurus-Boreas-Zephyrus, released between 2017-2020 and they’re some of the best bluegrass/folk music I’ve ever heard. They’re also CAREFULLY written, and each season is like the arc of a story, and you can listen to them starting from any of the albums and get what feels like a coherent plot because it’s cyclical.

Notos is roaring and powerful, and manages to transition seamlessly from a song about the scene in 1 Kings where God appears to Elijah as a whisper to a song about political unrest and xenophobia, and you barely even notice. Torches and Constellations also are just… really powerful songs about how people Work, and they’re well worth listening to.

Eurus is my favorite of the albums, based around autumn, and nearly the whole thing is cheerful and exciting and, dare I say, nippy. It’s the album that has one of my favorite lines ever put to music: “Even the great celestial hieroglyphs are bodies of dust illuminated, and if the heavens can be both sacred and dust… maybe so can the rest of us.” But Eurus ends, as autumn does with death. It ends with ‘Passerine,’ a song about (as far as I can tell) a modern Christian realizing their church is corrupt and hateful and nothing like Christ, turning away from it, only to find themselves lost and devoid of community, distanced from their God. (Yes this is the song that really famous MCYT fanfic is based off of yes it is actually a good song I promise you)

Boreas is the north wind, and more than that, it is the Embodiment of seasonal depression. The rest of the albums are written like folk tunes or hymnals or epic poetry. This one talks about ceiling fans and the reality of anxiety and self harm. It builds throughout, using fantastical language to describe a sort of tense mundanity until finally you get to Glowing, a song about the actual painful reality of living, and further; living as a Christian. The realization that you’ve gotten to the end of your ‘map,’ your planned ‘get to the end of college’ or ‘get this career’ or ‘get this relationship��� and sure enough: you have to keep living. You have to keep working to bring about goodness and beauty in the world around you. And it’s Hard.

Zephyrus is the one I’m not as familiar with but it’s also FUN. It’s spring, and it’s got significantly more EDM influence. It’s also the answer to Boreas’ and Eurus’ problematic endings. The whole thing is about reawakening your wonder and excitement, about the renewal of faith, about opening borders and cultural exchanges and the inherent hope in a broken system: of course it’s broken. We’re all broken. But life has always been the process of ‘fixing’ Theseus’ ship, putting our world back together as it falls apart. What’s worth saving is never worth letting go to waste.

I am begging you. Listen to these albums. Read along with the lyrics, cause they’re a bit wordy and hard to catch, but so SO worth it. And if you do, lemme know what you think of them. The Oh, Hellos are an incredible example of artists who are Christians, but aren’t ’Christian artists,’ whose worldview is very obviously based in the actual words of the Bible and who are working to put beauty into the world around them. I genuinely think everyone can find at least a few songs in their discography to love.

please listen to albums someitmes youll be amazed at what an artists songs do when theyree in an order they made. for you to listen to. etc

[screamoukulele]

2022, remixed in 2025

so i did that thing again where i quit something. and it sucks, because at the start i felt so so so much love for it, but in the end. well, i don't know what happened in the end. there's the reason i gave, yes. but at the same time there's also a tiredness i felt towards the people, an overwhelm for something coming up in april, a lot of tiny things i didn't speak up about that grated on me.

never mind that. it's over, i quit. there's something else i want to talk about.

i really love fanfiction. in these past few weeks of endless thinking about what i was going to do, what helped me the most was fanfiction. other things helped, yes. i rewatched hot fuzz three times in a week at one of my lowest points when i had stopped eating properly. and the youtube videos i watched were also somewhat helpful. but when i started reading fanfiction again, it was really different. at first, it was your run of the mill binge; there was a ship i liked, so i read all the good fics for that ship. it's the same as when i read rwtw fanfiction back in the day. i would eventually stop, and the fics wouldn't leave that much of a lasting impression on me. i would move on.

i didn't stop reading, though. i read so much fanfiction. greats like passerine and heal thyself. so many hot fuzz stories. a number of mid stories i dropped not even a quarter of the way through, or gritted my teeth and finished because i wanted to know how things would wrap up.

the last fanfiction i read cannot easily be found online anymore, but i was able to get a copy. it was 75k words, and i sped through it from sunday to tuesday. and god, where to begin? i first read it in late 2021, when my life was a little bit unusual. i remember it, the bugs flying towards my dim laptop in a room by the sea, the strangeness of this image of me reading a fanfiction in this town in the middle of nowhere filled with people that could probably not wrap their heads around what i was reading. to rediscover this fanfiction in 2025 and read it with such a hunger was so interesting, because in between 2021 and 2025 was so much. and yet, this fanfiction perfectly sandwiches those two points in my life, and finishing it this second time made me think, huh, despite everything, it's still me. despite the hospitalization and the treatment and the grad school and the election and the following resignation, despite all the relationships i made and likely fucked up grandly with that email i sent on monday evening, still keiji sat in that motorbike behind osamu, the first inkstains of dawn breaking over their heads. still i saw in my mind's eye the sun rising over the outskirts of osaka.

it makes me think about this march, and how i will be standing in kamakura imagining percy and nico and the nodding buddha bobble heads from 16 years ago. it makes me think about my train pausing at natori station, miyagi in july 2024, me considering stepping outside and looking for the park tobio and shouyou ate taiyaki at.

it makes me think about my first job, my decision to go to grad school for biology, my career that i endeavor to despair over in these next six months. and how my last shining moment of undergrad was researching about introgressive hybridization between wild boars and domestic pigs in fukushima, a topic i chose for class partly because just months ago, i was trying to write a story of the characters of haikyuu and the 2011 disaster.

i don't know what it means, that i have these memories and thoughts regarding stories that occupy such a small sliver of existence. a nagging thought comes to mind: it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. i mean, i guess. but maybe, like the person to whom that was said, i don't dwell. maybe i get up, and i carry. i carry these fanfictions with me throughout life in both conscious and unconscious ways. they make me smile at the sight of an open train door, or a warm pastry. they make me look forward to year 2030 or so, when the last few chapters of haikyuu get animated. and they teach me understanding, respect, compromise, patience, and love.

i'll eventually move on from that motorbike and that mango milk and that nonexistent episode of chef's table. i'll probably go back to school later in the year, graduate with this insignificant degree, then use the credentials to pursue something tangentially related and with a lot more sense to me than the path i had been telling myself to go on. but right now, in the middle of the disaster that is my life as of january 2025, i will think about fanfiction. i will think about its place in my life. i will think about a future in which the act of writing and the act of science are deeply intertwined. and i will insist that i can make it my reality.

think and insist!

[crater-lake]

118

5/21/24

I have 20 days until I leave Austria. J'ai vingt jours jusqu'à je m'aille d'Autriche.

Reasons for Staying

That a season to speak through me has to shout but I am quiet. 

I’m vulgar enough to dissect this body. The one right here. Meaning is more long term than pleasure and I am an investor, a good American. 

Become sufficiently sacreligious let us understand how the body’s systems folds into and feeds itself to sustain itself. 

That I cried on this flight, reading other words, better words. Dreams feel thrilling two armlengths way. 

Six poetry books for a weekend trip. Because I am 17 and 71. 

That I am still deciding between love and mercy. I do not have a cleverer subject or ultimatum currently. I want to be forgiven before I grieve. I wonder if I can be more curious about grief than it is about me. 

And a list of verbs I have yet to unlock. And my wordlist with warbling, eclipsis, and passerine. Why do you have a face? 

What an eclipse does to a half-sprung chorus. Lenition. 

Blue jays, northern cardinals, mourning doves transmit from my phone into crumple space of my room and I find it hard to feed myself many days of the week though it embarrasses me to say. 

Mourning doves oppress Spring air with death and Mom hears it for 32 years to have it be born in me. I found it and now I am speaking with intention for probably a few years before what is next. Obsession is very useful because everything is terrifying. When everything is not terrifying, it feels like a Sudoku board that went wrong somewhere. I am not sure if a good friend likes me or not as well. I think in saying this I hear something else, deeper, speak. 

That I cannot rhyme this story. That the cool boy with dark eyes in Seventh Grade ruined magic. That he said there was no such thing, only science, facts. That the 3 blocks to the Walgreens was impossible. It felt like a voyage that could drown me.I have too many words and not enough ideas. No, the conviction behind my ideas is wavering. No, I have just chosen the wrong story to sculpt. No, I am not sure who will listen and I am not sure if there is a story in the first place and I am not sure if it is worthwhile if it is mine. If I did not have to be inside a paragraph for it to hold my attention. 

I might be a bad poet on Instagram soon if it means holding a name and conviction. Tuh! 

I posted the above to my online journal because it seemed to fit the canon of the other writings that I waver inside of me every minute of every day and I cannot stand it. I distract myself by staring at it and seeing if it changes. I will occupy the inside of the feeling for a long time, even if it makes me insane or stupid, just to see. Fuck you, Lorenz.

I also want to talk about how I think Molly is generally annoyed with me and I want to broach that with her soon. I don't mind it but I am feeling insecure and am wondering what an appropriate course of action would be. Which is fair.

I also have talked to Anna about moving into her apartment for next year so I can get out of here because I am unable to stand living here unfortunately. This apartment has a pretty stifling atmosphere to me, and I do recognize how I contribute to it by isolating myself, but I isolate myself because of anxiety and shame, and me and Bettina's modi operandi and personalities do not glom well and I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO SLEEP. I WANT TO WALK AROUND ALL DIE AND EAT MYSELF IN THE MOUTH OF THE SUN. THE PIANO IN VOTIV PARK DISAPPEARED. I AM USELESS DURING BAR TRIVIA. ONE WINDMILL IN A FOREST OF WINDMILLS. A LIGHT ON A HORIZON NO ONE IS LOOKING AT. A WINDOW IN THE CITY OF GLASS. Bettina and I will talk about next year tomorrow and I will explain that I am going to look for another place and am likely going with Anna's apartment because it would just be easier for me given how I feel in here. And I will not assign blame at all, actually, but will just be honest because I actually do appreciate her efforts to communicate with me. I am just particular and I accept that about myself and I forgive myself for not having done a better job. I write this last sentence because I feel Lorenz shaming me in my head. And I am noticing also how things fester from High School onwards: baggage. Problems begin to stick and feel more permanent, like identity markers, stones becoming boulders.

Without Grindr the smallness of myself, the fretting and anxiety, the difficulty with planning, and my general neutrality has become abundantly clear. I may be slightly depressed generally but it feels like a good way to right off not having pleasure all of the time. I think I am very accustomed to satisfaction or I find dissatisfaction to be uncomfortable and stressful so I do everything I can to avoid it but it usually is fruitless. I wonder why Molly likes Lisa more than me even when I am writing these sentences. I want to text Molly and apologize if little things about me bother her but what would that accomplish actually? I will try to make sense of this feeling and offer forgiveness towards it. Later I will not go insane about devotion but I have to distract myself for 65 years and then I get to have a great break. I wish my brain was normal and I wish it was not contrived to speak that way. I want things to be easier. I wish I had more clarity inside my head and that I didn't stay stupid things and that I just was smarter about my surroundings and, tasks, and that I did not get bizarrely stressed about board games. I do charge myself with these things and each word bleeds a little bit as my fingers tap them out. Right where my stomach pouch folds a little evil feeling is nestled inside that makes me want to stay awake for the joy and terror and agency of it. Transitioning between sleep and awakeness is literally hard for me because it is hard to live in this apartment. I am writing because moments where I do not wish to be someone else are mystifying and enough to believe in hope, and I can use the word alders, the cold hush of it like smoke rising from a chimney in iron clad winter. I know about the magic of it. I am realizing how when I was 18, all of this, what I am getting out now was literally already inside of me but I could not translate it and I have known since I was 15 that I will need to spend a lifetime trying to perfect the projection of the craziness inside. Not craziness. Not incorrectness. Not agony. I can do it as soon as my story stops being my own. As soon as I see more of myself and use the word Alders and share the right things with the right people and the right things with nobody else. I think about so many things at once that some people would not call that clarity but that is where they would be wrong. The Highland Park Dunkin' Donuts where the Hasidim would frequent, an old man donning a Yarmulke drinking his large coffee on an iPad, his white frizzy beard, big ears and glasses, who had no idea that I was also Jewish. The coffee there tasted like smoke and mud and put lightning in my fingers. My story is my story. At 18, I was obsessed with the sentence, "I know more than I know" because I knew I could only be 18 when I was 22 and I know I can be 22 when I am 25 but one day I will be faster than the whirring and when I stand tall looking down at it, it will bend trying to get a look at me. I do not miss Murod I miss how I was not afraid to die for any other reason than to be beat the zenith of my grandiose suffering. In the summer when Julian and I exchange nervous glances and try to both be big when no one leaves their hometown completely if they have lived right and my parents grow older and I am squandering privilege and uniqueness and I should be more concerned about politics so that I can get a good job in the UN one day. I mostly rather be beautiful because I am clever enough to know what it means. It feels inane to touch and challenge my voice as much as I do.

This is not Golden Hour anymore, this is Crater Lake. My voice is wings fastening themselves to flying and the perfect description of the sky and the pithy phrases of my dying father. I know what to do with three fingers of scotch and starting a fire in Winter in the slow death of my home. My dead cat still sits on the white green arm chair and why not be obsessed with myself?

I AM ADDICTED TO GRINDR BECAUSE HOW I AM WRITING IS A BRIEF DEPICTION OF WHAT THE WHIRRING LOOKS LIKE FROM DAY TO DAY TO DAY TO DAY AND THE GENERAL REQUIREMENT OF ME TO MAINTAIN MYSELF WITH THE 55 THINGS THAT DO THEIR WHIRRING IN MY HEAD WHEN ALL IS QUIET. BEING AROUND PEOPLE IS A GIFT AND LORENZ IS DEAD. LORENZ IS DEAD THIS STORY HAS DIED LIKE A BIRD.

I will fasten wings to flying a story to my name. I do not forgive my pimples for existing and I am here and know how to talk about footsteps leaving a place. Thanks magazine for projecting my voice into sorry people now I am bit more whatever I have been being. Conviction is a really good story and pretend I am shooting a gun at credentials. Now that everyone is really listening I am here in a scary way. Okay, now that your toes are twitching, eyes brows raised, mouth dry, I am lying in bed smelling the fuck out of myself and a bit too sweaty and 20 days from remembering. Who is not plagued by whatever the fuck is going on in there? I am lying when I say I do not like it. I feel clever for having been plagued because cleverness is still what is somehow most valuable. Here is a suggestion: write a poem with kindness instead of cleverness. Having just written that, I felt a pang of something strange because I write to feel more stable. I do feel like I am writing all for the wrong reasons: not virtuous, not healthy. I give things away too quickly or use too many words, I am garrulous.

I'll grow up in a few years goodbye

[chateau-dilf]

One thing about me is I will NOT waste an opportunity to yap about birds 👀

Firstly I narrowed down choices on a location basis, both to make my life easier and because I like the geographical accuracy. I spent a long time scrolling the Collins bird guide app with the location filter set to France, experiencing some jealousy lol, Continental Europe has so many gorgeous birds.

Edmond could only ever be a sea bird. I briedly considered shags and cormorants but they felt too sedentary. Pre-prison Edmond is excited to live & fulfill his dreams and something about the way terns streak through the skies, slender and elegant, their entire existence revolving around life at sea, felt very Edmond. Aside from that I knew I could make a good Edmond design from a sandwich tern thanks to their partially black heads, I personally find species with areas of black more fun to work with. I did consider finding something with a smaller beak to make potential mask disguises easier but nothing else suited him as well as a tern.

Fernand as a hoopoe happened for two reasons: the first is self indulgent and purely because they're orange and a bit prettyboy which is just me leaning into a certain type of character I'm very fond of (though it does suit him), but also I very heavily associate hoopoes with Spain. I took my first steps on a holiday to Spain as a baby, and my parents always remind me they saw a hoopoe there, and I like to think I technically saw it too. So to me, though hoopoes are found across Europe, it's a nod to his Catalan origins. Entirely coincidentally I have a hoopoe as a minor character in my personal project who is Spanish and I realised shares the initials FM, lol. I think I must be quite prone to associations.

Mercédès ties into my decision for Fernand also, I realised if I made him a hoopoe I could make her a bee-eater, since those two species are in the same clade, in reference to them as cousins in canon (shakes my head so the audience knows I disagree but I'm still giggling.) Depending on what I do with this au I'd consider changing that fact but it amused me to link them by species. Also, bee-eaters are gorgeous, and again I felt I could bring a good design for her out of one. Long hair is very hard to design when it comes to birds but it helps that bee-eaters already have a distinct red/brown head.

Villefort was the most fun to draw but the hardest to assign, Ross wanted a bird of prey but I couldn't find one that really felt very him and I also inexplicably dislike drawing raptors (love them, it's just really hard) but I was very drawn to the black grouse and capercaillie. This was mostly a colour association based decision, though their courtship behaviour suits him (that man has such unprecedented rizz??) and in deciding between the two I realised I had no idea how to draw their eye wattles so went with the capercaillie instead.

Danglars was also really fun to draw, I wanted him to be a thick beaked species for the potential for harm but not something with any real grandeur, he is only a baron after all. So a passerine felt right, and I've heard a story about a Hawfinch taking out a sizeable chunk of someone's hand before.

I'm yet to draw Haydée but she'll be a laughing dove. I suppose I could have chosen something with a 'more beautiful' song but I think they're really lovely looking birds, plus they're only found sparsely across Greece, Türkiye and further south in Africa so to the other characters would appear striking. I never like to only use the 'coolest' birds in my projects and I felt something more 'unassuming' for her would be nice, especially a pigeon. It's pro-pigeon propaganda. Plus nothing else particularly grabbed me for her, I might've considered a falcon of some sort if I wasn't averse to drawing them.

Hits them with the birdification beam 💥

[wasitapossum]

Life series characters as oh hellos songs?? Count me in.

Jimmy-

Song: cold

Why?: jimmy is always the first to die. We can all agree he’s tired of being the first left behind.

Quote: “well I’m not quite ready, to turn to bone. To petrify the shred of life I’m holding onto.”

Scar-

Song: constellations

Why?: I was really torn between giving him or grian this one, but thinking about it scar really does try to look at the positive of every situation he was given in the series and that’s why I settled for him. Even with grians slight betrayal in double life, scar never showed the slightest resentment towards him, only wondered why it wasn’t him who made him happy. He’s selfless to the core and that has always been his downfall.

Quote: “the shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light. And everything you thought you knew will fall apart, but you’ll be alright.

Martyn-

Song: where is your rider?

Why?: I added two quotes to get my point across. The first quote in reference to his relationship with grian in last life, how he was tasked with killing him by the watchers but not sure why. The second is in reference to his time being rens right hand as well as thinking grian was being manipulated by red scar during third life. It speaks for itself

Quote #1: “see your face wasn’t quite as I remember, but I know that wicked shape to your smile.”

Quote #2: “and as the stone founders underneath the sundered sea of red and reed. The shadow of hades is fading. For he has cast down leviathan, the tyrant, and the horse and rider.”

Grian-

Song: passerine

Why?: grians character is an interesting case, despite being green (or yellow) half the time he always acts more red than anyone else. There is no differentiating green grian from red grian as they both act the exact same, except once red grian feels free to stop holding back, yet his mannerisms are the same. Being green is like a shackle to him, holding him back from giving into his desire for chaos. And resulting because of that is the downfall of those who care about him.

Quote: “I find that we have fewer and fewer in kind, but my palms still reek of gasoline from throwing fuel to the fire of that Greco-Roman dream.”

(Alternative song: dear wormwood

Why?: the watchers man, it always comes back to the watchers. But they’re only really canon in Martyns part so that’s why it’s the alternative, this one’s more au-ish. The reason for this song though is because grian always defied the watchers and he was punished for it.

Quote: “I know who you are now, I name you my enemy.”)

Pearl-

Song: zephyrus

Why?: her double life really painted a new picture for her character in terms of giving so much depth to that feeling of loss and trying to make amends that it drives you to do things you wouldn’t otherwise do in a more stable mind set. And how it’s so hard to heal from it and realize that you’re in the wrong. It takes pearl awhile to slow down and by the time she does it’s already too late. I’m just psychoanalyzing at this point but y’know.

Quote: “so let me meltdown like mountain glaciers. Break the bonds I’ve been holding into.”

Scott-

Song: rose

Why?: oh sweet Scott, always with the flower metaphors. His relationship with jimmy in third life and then his relationship with pearl in last and double life put a lot of tragedy on him, not being able to save the two people he had grown to care about and then deciding to forge his own path, yet still that wasn’t enough. The game will always find its way to break him down.

Quote: “no, love will get you slaughtered like a ram at the alter. What is safe ain’t the same as what is good. So lay compress to the aching of your body made for breaking, when we’ve got a lot of breaking left to do.”

Tango-

Song: boreas

Why?: his death in every series is always avoidable, and then in double life when he died not knowing what was going on, scared and alone just like all the other times. He wants his life to mean something, yet every time he’s left behind and betrayed by those he cared too much about.

Quote: “yea I’m one spoon away, from setting the ends of my hair on fire. If I’m kindling for a little while, at least I’ll feel of use.

If you made it this far, a special treat for you :) \/

Special pairing mention-

Scar + grian

Song: bitter water

Why?: bro I couldn’t not mention it, it’s just so… them. (Especially in double life)

Quote: “the terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue, and I know I shouldn’t love you.”

[serendipious]

okay now that I’ve Calmed Down a normal amount, time to talk about the animation!

I loved the lighthearted tone around Tommy and Tubbo. Sad-ist usually goes for a more dramatic tone so adding in all the jokes and banter was a nice contrast to the rest of it.

That scene of Tommy staring into the sun as he’s climbing up the tower, and the music reaches it’s full crescendo? Literally cinematic. Immaculate. Stunning visual. And while we’re talking about visuals, the animation was just simply so smooth. The fight scene, and the fluidity following it as the camera keeps up with every motion is so astounding for someone who does this all on their own.

The title card. I went through frame by frame, and there’s one singular frame where the entire thing is flipped upside down and instead of saying “Dream SMP” it reads, “Dream’s SMP” in distorted writing. That detail makes Dream’s whole “this isn’t the Tommy SMP, or the Tubbo SMP, this is the Dream SMP!” all the more potent and really ties it together.

I loved the way the vault kinda has a glowing effect? Along with the contrast of the green threads connected to everyone’s valuable possessions in there. It was so ominous, especially the fact that Dream’s eyes were the same exact color of the thread. Like controlling a spider’s web, and he’s the spider (hello yes, passerine reference). ((side note, as a Techno enjoyer I did love that one singular second of Techno))

“What am I without you?” “Yourself.” I actually love how there wasn’t a huge beat drop after that, and it wasn’t lingered on too long. Because the next lines after that hit just as hard. And it set up Punz’s entrance so well,,, just that entire sequence was amazing. Dream’s confused little “Punz?” And then “I’m sorry, Dream, but you should’ve paid me more.” As everyone else begins to filter into the scene, and the way Tommy and Tubbo start to seem hopeful again and *happy* and the entire thing just starts to pick up again. That was a long ramble but wooo it was so good!!

Also, I LOVED the setup for the crime boys scene. Dream begging for mercy, and Tommy thinking he’s lying about being able to revive people before Dream brings up Wilbur, and he just kinda pauses, “Wilbur…?” Before everything turns white and a hand descends on his shoulder, and suddenly, he’s not in the vault, he’s with Wilbur and time has stopped. The slow violin as Wilbur says that he’s proud and he slowly fades away, and then…

Tommy’s sat on a bench. No more Dream, no more vault, no more Wilbur, no more death following their every step. It’s just Tommy and Tubbo, and they’re on a bench. The bench duo. Listening to Tommy’s discs again. Dream isn’t a threat anymore, and Tubbo’s excited for the future. It ends on a happy note, with a promise for more.

Kudos to you Sad-ist. That was incredible.

[youreyeslookliketheocean]

youreyeslookliketheocean’s DSMP Fic Recs!!

Figured it was about time for one of these... :)

Mostly SBI-centric because they’re my favorite dynamic. I’ll probably add to this list as time goes on, and I also want to go back through my ao3 history and find some lesser-known fics I really enjoyed to rec them all. But for now...

* oneshot  ** unfinished work

** the lights go out (my heart goes still) by curseworm

With his old home unwelcoming and his new one gone, Tommy is alone. After hours of staggering through the freezing snow, he finds a cabin.

Technoblade’s cabin.

He hides himself away in the deepest corner he can find, taking only what he needs to survive, wasting away in the cold and the dark. He’s petrified at the thought of being found out, terrified of what he thinks Techno would do to him.

When Techno finds his injured teenage brother huddled in a filthy little cave beneath his basement, the rage he feels is immeasurable. The voices demand blood, and blood he will give them. Dream won’t be getting away with this one.

(On the other side of the world, in a country that floats on a man-made lake, Philza gets himself in a bit of a pickle.) 

** The hearth down under by Crystalquill

A tiny change gives Tommy the courage to flee to the Nether instead of the cold tundra, finding an unlikely ally in the midst of a fiery hellscape.

But tiny changes can alter the course of history. The SMP will never be the same.

(Lots of cool Nether worldbuilding in this one!!)

to be a wanderer, wandering by hydrangeasheart

Tommy's feet drag in the snow.

It's so, so cold. He's so cold. His toes are freezing. His exposed shins feel like they’ve been cut open-- even the one that’s bandaged. His wings have gone numb, which is almost, almost good, because now he can’t feel the shifting, broken bones inside of the left one, just under feathers and muscle.

He doesn’t know why he’s still walking.

-

Or, Tommy leaves the exploded ruins of Logstedshire behind, and walks until he finds somewhere safe.

And things keep going from there.

(A canon-divergent AU, splitting off somewhere around when Tommy started hiding out below Techno's house.)

that’s, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know (and then “as long as i’m here”, and “he’s my brother, i just raise him”)

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade.

passerine by thcscus(blujamas)

Do I really need to put the summary here? Pretty much everyone knows this fic. Also, though, if you enjoy this one you should totally read thcscus’ connected fic, “shrike”!! It’s only at 2 chapters right now but it’s already really good and has this dark, foresty aesthetic I love...

not with a bang but with a whimper by dip_dyed_ghost

He knows Tubbo doesn’t care about him anymore. He knows that. He’s been shown that. But it doesn’t stop Tommy from caring about him. He brushes the pads of his fingers over the compass’s glass and wonders how he’s doing, if he’s tired of it all yet, if he needs help. He watches the way it points strongly in the direction over the ocean. He hopes he’s alright.

Even after everything, he hopes he’s alright.

During his exile, Tommy finds a drugged and hurt Tubbo on his doorstep. He can’t not help him.  

(This one has a neat take on potions, in my opinion. Also it’s only 4 chapters so it’s a quick read!)

take this compass, follow it home by lightning_anon

Tommy's a fuck up, he can't pay attention, and never sits still. He taps his hands, pushes people away, and has never had a best friend. He's a screwed up, forgotten kid lost in the foster system. He's also just been placed with a new family. Tommy knows how this goes, he never ends up staying long. After all, no one wants a fuck up like him.

Why would this house be any different?

Or: the obligatory sleepy bois foster fic, but with a focus on the neurodivergent kids that inevitably get lost in the system.

(Genuinely want to see more books like this in original fiction. It’s part of what inspired my newest og wip, “To Build a Home.” So sweet and I feel like I had my eyes opened to some neurodivergent tendencies I never knew existed. I read this in a day and can’t rec it enough.)

bloodlines by youreyeslookliketheocean

Tommy’s an orphan on the run from his previous guardian. Philza’s a king who prides himself on keeping his kingdom in an era of peace. Wilbur’s the crown prince, and Techno’s right beside him as his adopted brother. When Phil’s kingdom of Pogtopia is threatened by the bloodvines—a strange, brainwashing plant infecting many of the surrounding kingdoms—the four must work together to keep the kingdom, and their family, safe. --- A royal au sbi fic... + the bloodvines, for spice.

(Yes I’m self-promoting. But, in my defense, I’m very proud of it. If you checked it out it would mean the world to me :’))

Heat Waves by tbhyourelame

Dream has always held a gentle admiration for George, but when their nuanced friendship trickles into his sleeping mind, he awakens to a new world of conflicting emotions and longing. Lost in the midst of a heat wave, he continuously listens to a song that works itself in to the very core of his heartache. Floridian nights, unsent messages, spiraling infatuation, and terrible, terrible weather.

Another fic I think pretty much everyone knows about. Listen, listen... I was once an idiot who said “Oh no, I’ll never read Heat Waves. It’s irl, not characters, and it’s probably cringe”... No. I was so wrong. This fic is wonderfully written, with a pretty quick moving plot and great characterizations. You do need an ao3 account to access it, though. Just to let you know. (Also read “Helium”, unfinished and hasn’t updated in awhile, but it’s the continuation). 

Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous

Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old.

He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.

Tommyinnit’s unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii

“I uh,” Tommy starts, not knowing how to break this to the hero lightly. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I think your powers are broken? It’s not a bad thing of course, but like, I swear you tried to mind control me and it like, totally failed. Which is fine, honestly, don’t feel insecure. Everyone’s power stop working sometimes… I think.”

Sheesh, this is very awkward. Why is no one else talking? Why is Philza looking at him like he grew three heads? Why is the Blade staring at him so intensely? Why is Willow still frozen?

“Did I, did I hit a nerve? Yikes,” Tommy hisses, “Well um,” He steps back, bracing his legs and bending his knees, “This was like super fun, but I’m - I’mma head out.”

or,

in which Tommy manages to annoy the hell out of Phil, Techno and Wilbur by being both impossible to catch and irritatingly endearing.

or or,

a crack fic where Tommy is a vigilante and Phil, Techno and Wilbur are the heroes hunting him down.

(Feel like I am obligated to say how incredibly funny this fic is. Seriously. I have a distinct memory of sitting on my neighborhood park’s swing, giggling hysterically, while reading this. Well...until the end... but we won’t get into that...)

** bones in the ocean by bunflower

“Your reputation precedes you, y’know.”

“Does it, now?” Philza watches him coyly from where he’s now leaning against the wall, arms folded around his chains and gaze half-lidded, his lips curled in an arrogant, cat-like smirk.

“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”

OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.

(Is this fic considered popular like passerine/Heat Waves now? Cause I feel like it’s reputation precedes itself, at this point... Pirate au.)

****

Okay! That’s it for now. Like I said, though, I want to add to this over time and also dig back for some older things I’ve read. Also, if you have any recs feel free to send them in! I’m about to go back to school and therefore might not have time for reading fun stuff, but whenever I get the chance I’d love to check them out!!!

Happy Reading!!

[detectiveaku]

why passerine is not (just) a found family fic (and why c6 and c7 are necessary): the essay

when you click on passerine, you know that at least one character is going to die. "major character death" is in the warnings, and if you had it recommended to you, likely it was prefaced with "this is going to ruin your life". you read passerine not in spite of but likely because of tommy's death. it punctuates all of the build up, the war, the family, phil leaving and returning, techno choosing to settle with mortals. its gratuitous. its in your face. tommy is funny, charming, and young, and set up to die. you are supposed to assume that he doesnt live through the war, thats the point of everything that comes before.

and its happened before. what makes passerine unique is how ambiguous the setting is. when does it take place? where? in the antarctic empire, or lmanburg, or somewhere else? the authors characterize the kingdom so well, with puffy, niki, and tubbos stories sharing why people love this place and why they are willing to die for it, without once naming what it is exactly that they are fighting for.

the first line is "he must have had a life before this." and he did. in thousands of other fics, time and time again, wilbur, tommy, techno, and phil have met each other, gone through horrible traumas together, and done it again in the next one. its gratuitous. its in your face.

chapters 1-5 hint at this, but c6 and 7 are where this really happens at. you so desperately want a happy ending, to reread up until that fatal line, to see wilbur's sacrifice and imagine an ending where tommy lives and everyone goes home. to rewrite the story. to see it happen again, happen better. thats the essence of fanfiction, and its what phil left techno and his children to pursue. and when he comes back, he discovers that in trying to rewrite the story, he lost the opportunity to enjoy the original.

this is the question passerine poses. is fanfiction a beautiful way to engage with the original work, to expand on what couldve been? yes. but is there a danger in getting caught up in a relationship that is nowhere near canon, playing it out over and over, never quite being satisfied because you know it isnt the truth?

dream represents the opportunity to close your eyes and forget, letting it happen again and going back to the beginning with a vague sense of unease and hope. rewriting the ending, rather than accepting the ugly truth. it is incredibly poetic that people tend to ignore his character and talk about c1-4 over and over, and also incredibly predictable because that seems to be the intention. ignore the voices. ignore your looming fate.

phil, in contrast, represents death and freedom. in locking him away in eternal battle with dream, the freedom to live in peace, blind to what is right in front of him, is gone, and so is death. tommy will never die again.

sbi is a made up family that people use to project their own shit onto. and this is very useful and helpful and fun to do. but in doing so each character loses part of the whole. techno is forever a blood god, violent and undying. wilbur is forever a king, stoic and heaped with responsibility. tommy is forever a child. and phil is forever a parent of children who will suffer. time and time again. and passerine breaks this cycle.

passerine is not a tragedy by technical standards. it is bitterly triumphant. wilbur and techno get to live in peace and mortality, and their ending is finally finite. its meta as fuck and the most creative thing i think ive ever seen.

god it frustrates me so much that no one understands passerine. or is everyone just pretending not to get it? either way youre annoying me

[normanbased]

i’m curious as to what influenced your choices for the pokémon AU!!

in exchange i offer some notes on an anthro AU (that i may or may not ever get around to 💀):

I LOVE YOUR LIST SO MUCH!! I absolutely love your choices for Duke and Tracy especially (Tracy gave me Columbo vibes so her being a bloodhound is just perfect) - and a striped-hyena just fits TOO well for Duke - better than the animal I chose anyways. AND THE LAHORE PIGEON FOR MARY!! I WOULD NEVER HAVE THOUGHT OF IT BUT IT'S PERFECT????? I might have to draw something for your AU tonight if I start feeling better.

In return, my anthro headcanons are:

Norman: Loggerhead Shrike - An unassuming passerine, also called the 'butcherbird'. As a result of it's inadequete predation adaptations, it must use barbs, brambles, and spikes to impale it's prey. This means that it has killing grounds where it displays it's kills. It's endemic to California as well as other parts of North America and Europe.

Mary: Red Satin Rabbit - A domestic breed. I don't have any particular reason for choosing this breed aside from aesthetics, but I wanted Mary to be a rabbit to suggest innocence as well as deceit.

Duke: American Badger - Aggressive, powerful, and underhanded, American badgers are capable of mutual hunting with coyotes, and are so self-assured that they are rarely predated on by the country's larger predators.

Bill Raymond: Bernese Mountain Dog - A hardy working breed more commonly seen on farms, Bernese Mountain Dogs can also be trained in mountain and water rescue. They aren't as common to see in mountain rescue as St. Bernards or Retrievers, but I just think they fit his character better than those breeds :]]

(I never got around to deciding any other animals :]] )

And sure! So my Pokemon list is here for reference - and I'll give a quick explanation for each choice below :]] (under cut)

The important one to start with is Absol. It's territory encroached on the land that the motel was built on. It stalked the Bates family for some time, and Norman is convinced that it was responsible for the death of his father. Norma on the other hand - as a result of losing her husband, embraced Absol's habitation and encouraged it to stay near their home. As it goes, Absols are harbingers of disaster, and it still has a cryptic, looming presence over the land over forty years later. Norman doesn't see it very often, but when he does, it frightens him and sparks another bout of paranoia.

Next is Norman's Staraptor. He found it as an injured Starly when he was still a boy. He spotted it in a nesting flock because it's colouration was different, and when all the other Starly's flew away, his remained. He secretly nursed it back to health, moving it from his room to the kitchen and the motel parlour to avoid his mother finding it. By the time it fully recovered, it grew attached to Norman, and even evolved as a result of their friendship. It was too big to hide at that point, so it spent most of it's time outside after that. It only evolved into a Staraptor after Norman made the decision to kill his mother and step-father - promising that it would protect Norman from harm if it needed to. By the time it meets Mary and Duke, Staraptor is rather old and spends most of it's time roosting or on lookout. It's still a very capable battler, though!!

Minccino showed up as a result of Norman's twenty-year absence. Toomey had completely trashed the motel during his time as manager, and so Minccino was instinctively attracted to the mess once Toomey and all the loud, unsavoury guests had vacated. It spent most of it's time timidly cleaning the grounds around the motel until Norman noticed it's presence, and encouraged it to help him look after the motel with him. Now it spends almost all of it's time happily tending to the rooms and the office, and it keeps the place as immaculate as it can. It was frightened of Staraptor at first, but when the old bird showed no interest in eating it, they became tentative friends. Minccino doesn't tend to hang out with other Pokemon, only ever really seeking companionship with Norman.

Marion and Lisa recieved a Minun and Plusle respectively from their mother before she died. They were supposed to represent sisterhood and family, and symbolised the two of them sticking together and looking out for one another. Ironically, the two Pokemon don't really get along very well. Marion also has a Delcatty that Sam gave her as a gift.

Sam has a Kecleon that helps him look after the hardware store!! It changes colour to show different paint swatches to customers :]] and it's really good at keeping track of inventory.

Arbogast has an Arcanine that acompanies him on his detective work, and an Unown that helps him to figure out puzzles and mysteries.

Mary has a Shaymin and a Poochyena as her partner Pokemon. Shaymin is a pretty moody, independent Pokemon, which goes against their appearence. They act pretty dejectedly in their Land Form, spending most of their time in quiet, dark places. In their Sky Form, they become really rebellious and bold, and isn't easy to command. It's terrified of Staraptor at first, but it soon warms up to the older Pokemon, and the two of them often do fly-overs of the motel together. Poochyena is a little bit short-tempered. If you could imagine a 'Scrappy-Doo'-type of personality, that fits Poochyena to a T. All three of them - Shaymin, Poochyena, and Norman's Staraptor, get along really well.

Duke has three electric pokemon, Luxio, a Manectric, and a shiny Jolteon. They can all bark/roar with sounds that compliment that of an electric guitar, so they're INCREDIBLY noisy and are constantly rocking out. Duke sometimes takes the cord for his electric guitar and gives it to Jolteon to hold in it's mouth, and then it uses an electric-type move to boost the amplification. They're bullies, but loyal to Duke. He uses them to threaten people, and the three of them enjoy pushing people around. They ocassionally have infighting, but Jolteon (their leader) usually puts Luxio and Manectric in line. Everyone elses' Pokemon utterly hate being around them, and it takes a really long time for them to actually behave in a friendly way around anyone besides Duke. Out of the three of them, Jolteon is the most serious. Luxio is the second dominant of the three, and Manectric is sort of the "idiot grunt" of the pack. Manectric tends to be the one that gets pushed around when the three of them don't have any other Pokemon to target - and so it's the most likely to have brief moments of camaraderie with Norman and Mary's Pokemon.

[yzafre]

Wings pt 3 | Sea-salt Trio

Heart Hotel | The Destiny Trio | Sea-salt Trio | Wayfinder Trio

Next we have the sea-salt trio! If you figured out which songs the chapter titles came from on my fic, which wings they have are extremely obvious. But! There are still explanations for why I choose each of their wing types.

First, an aside: When originally thinking about this fic, I almost gave this trio butterfly wings instead. A bit weird, but the idea of them having a "burgeoning heart" reminded me of a butterfly in a chrysalis, and thought it might be a neat side-affect of bonding without a complete heart. In the end I like the feather motif too much, so stuck with birds wings, but I still like to think about it sometimes.

I had even picked out specific types - Monarch and Viceroy for Roxas and Xion (look up Müllerian mimicry for my reasoning) and Axel was going to be a Red Admiral, for coloring + naming scheme.

Aside finished, let's look at the actual wings.

First, I had to figure out what type of birds they were all going to be. They're the most urban of the three trios, so I wanted to do something with that. For a while I thought about making them all pigeons, but in the end wanted a bit broader category. I ended up deciding they would all be Passerines - which are also known as "perching birds". Fitting.

From there, it was figuring out the specific bird for each person.

Axel is a shrike - specifically a white-crowned shrike (I can't remember if it was supposed to be southern or northern, oops). I figured this one out pretty quickly because:

Shrikes are noted to be carnivorous, where most passerines are omnivorous, and I thought it would fit Axel's more... aggressive disposition

I wanted to use the Hozier song Shrike for him so bad.

Honestly, if Axel had bonded with Saix and Subject X, they probably would have had a completely different (far more predatory) segment of birds to choose from and his wings would be completely different. But here, your relationship shapes your wings as much as your personality does, and so we land on this: the carnivorous sub-section of some rather small birds.

Anyways, that was decided quickly, which left me with the other two. That... took a while.

Xion is a nightingale (yes, it's spelled wrong in the image, I do that a lot). This one will take a bit of explanation.

I thought about making her a mocking-bird at first, but that seemed a bit... mean, so I went back and spent more time searching.

When I was trying to choose birds for them, I spent a lot of time looking for birds that had "cultural connotations"/"depictions" in their wikipedia pages. Nightingale's have a lot of them, but the one I looked at specifically was the story of Philomela.

I won't list out the whole story (fair warning, there is a lot of assault in it), but near the end Philomela, who's voice has been stolen, is trying to escape with her sister, and prays to be transformed into birds. Philomela is transformed into a nightingale, and the sister into a swallow.

Days is... a lot less violent (a lot less violent), but there is some connection of having your agency stolen and using transformation as a means of escape. Beyond the myth, the nightingale seems to generally have a lot of symbolism surrounding lost love, so it seemed fitting.

Which leaves us with:

Roxas, as a Purple Martin - which is a type of swallow. I chose a swallow in general to match with the story referenced above. The Purple Martin was specifically chosen due to their relationship with humans - that is, they almost entirely rely on man-made nesting sites.

Given how often Roxas ended up living in environments others made for him, well... maybe it's a bit mean to tie that into a physical representation of who he is, but at least it has meaning.

So there it is! The Sea-salt trio's wings, and how they were chosen.

[someonewasfound]

I read Passerine months ago, and it’s still a passing thought that comes to mind every now and again. The people in this fandom are so talented, I swear- How can a fictional story with characters that don’t really exist make people sob uncontrollably over they’re lives and stakes within the story? That’s great writing, right there.

If you nitpick the story, then sure, like everything, you’ll find things that don’t really make sense. I would have an example, but I can’t really think of one. This story can’t really be nitpicked. I guess if you think hard enough you’ll think of something, but whatever, I think it’s better not to do that because Passerine is such a wholesome story. Not to say that you can’t do it, by all means, do it, everyone does. But it’s one thing to nitpick and another to bash and shame the people who love it. You all already know this.

In every fanfic I read, Technoblade’s character is monotone and doesn’t really care, but actually really cares. He always acts like nothing matters to him, but in reality his family and comrades really matter to him. Technoblade was a god who had no care in the world for others, then when he turns around and two children are the end of him. The growth is very well-done.

Ofcourse the moments that Wilbur and Techno share are more greater to Techno, I feel that he has more of a stronger bond with Wilbur, not to say that Tommy and him don’t have a bond, but Techno relates to Wilbur on another level because of the voices in his head, I like to think.

And yet, his moments with Tommy are so childish and full of amusement. Because even when Tommy was fighting Techno when he was mad at Wilbur, he still has that childhood innocence that hasn’t been taken away just yet, even after Phil’s departure and his mother’s death. I like the scene where the two just lay on the floor after sparing and Techno just tells Tommy that it’ll be okay, that Wilbur’ll get his sense back, is just really joyful and real.

Ofcourse I could talk about this more, but I won’t, because then I’ll write a very very long list of what I like and love, and it’ll just go on forever. If you have any fanfic recommendations, tell me

[simonrriley]

LAST GOODBYES.

tags: @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit, @ryanseamans, @love-pyramus, @tommyinnitt, @babymushroomboy, @panicky-pancakes, @a-devil-searching-for-redemption​, @awstenknyght​​ warnings: this story came from a dsmp inspired thing but none of that makes an appearance in the story, death, war, blood, like one or two nsfw jokes i don’t remember author’s note: i wrote this one at 1 am because i read passerine in one go how we doin xander nation- if something isn’t done correctly or shit is wrong just pretend it’s not okay- and also it’s heavily based off of passerine but i changed some things so

Place a golden flower Glory in the summer

In the beginning, it was only Spot and Bruiser. Well, at first it was just Bruiser. Bruiser. The God of Blood. The God who demanded blood no matter where he went. 

Bruiser travelled across the world, fighting for armies no matter who he truly agreed with, it was all just for fun anyway. He would remain while the world moved on, and he would maybe be remembered, and that was okay with him. He was just there for the bloodshed. He moved across the realm, just him, his limited armor and sword. His stormy gray eyes turned red in the heat of any battle, he was a force to be reckoned with. He flattened forests and levelled mountains in that state, nature itself feared him.

It was like he commanded the rage of a thousand storms when he heard the drums of war, the drums like thunder, they pounded in his ears and his chest. Where a heart should’ve been, resided a ruthless storm. And that was how he liked it.

He liked feeling the lightning crackle through his veins when he raised his blade and slashed through battle. It gave him something to live for, something to keep going for, all he wanted was that perfect rush. It was all he needed.

Memories in flashes A heart of loss and light

And then he met Spot. A short, stubborn god who’s internal storm and spirit rivaled his. They got along like a house on fire. They would spend their days in between year long wars sparring. Spot’s sword slammed into Bruiser’s, Spot’s boots sliding back on the concrete, his obsidian black wings unfurling as he tried to keep himself from moving back any further. He turned, looking back up at Bruiser with a devious smirk. Bruiser stared back at him, pushing against his blade, trying to shove him away or unbalance him as he tried to figure out what he was planning. Bruiser’s thinking lost him time on his feet though as Spot advanced forwards and Bruiser went to swing, however he swung too quickly and Spot surged forward again, quickly knocking his legs out from under him and causing him to land beneath him on his knees. The Angel of Death laughed, rapier pointed at Bruiser’s throat as he looked up at him, blinking quickly as he realized he must’ve been caught off guard. B knew that even with the dull blade Spot had, Bruiser was still vulnerable, on his knees before him like that. He knew that with one strong movement, Spot could just kill him then and there. Of course the angel would never do that, that was another thing Bruiser knew. But the fact it was possible for either of them to just do that was still chilling, even if they were both immortal. They seemed to be mortal for each other however. Spot did not live up to Bruiser’s worrisome thoughts though and only extended a rough hand to Bruiser, easily pulling him up once he had grabbed on. Patting Bruiser on the back, Spot chuckled tiredly. “Want to call that a wrap?” He asked, tilting his head when he noticed the few beads of sweat dripping down Bruiser's head. Bruiser scoffed, shaking his head at Spot, running a hand through his messy dark hair. “No. I just let you win that time.”

“Sure. The God of Having His Head In The Clouds has a great ring to it,” Spot taunted, turning his hilt over in his hands, smirking back at Bruiser as he took a few paces back, sizing him up again, readying for another round. “It does, actually. You’re just mean,” Bruiser teased back, taking a few steps back as well, mirroring Spot’s movement. Then, they both surged forward and collided in the center of the arena once more.

Heed your kingdom's calling A brother's cry befalling

Days went on like that, and then those days turned to weeks, weeks to months and months to years. Years turned to centuries and it went far past that. They watched empires rise and fall, wars begin and end. They saw it all through together, travelling and fighting wherever they were enlisted. There were whispers around countless campfires about them. The god of blood and the angel of death. The closest of friends. Perhaps even more. Nobody had gotten close enough to truly know. But there were tales of longing looks between the two, hushed conversations and fond smiles and a deep bond that nobody else could quite understand but them, mostly because nobody else was around for it. And that way nobody was going to be able to tell anyone that those tales were in fact true. At first it started out as just helping each other out, nothing more. Spending centuries together, in and out of wars and no time for dating, what did anyone think was going to happen? Slowly though, something more blossomed, sure, it took decades, but sometimes the prettiest flowers take the longest to bloom.

Huddled around their own small fire, was Spot and Bruiser, curled up close enough that they really didn’t need the fire for warmth anymore, but it was still a nice touch.

Spot’s wings opened and wrapped around Bruiser, pulling him closer, almost into his lap. Bruiser chuckled, turning and hiding in Spot’s neck, wishing to just relax and stay there forever.

But nothing like that lasted forever. Even if they did, nothing good ever remained. Months later, Bruiser and Spot found themselves leading the head of a war. Bruiser stood over the table, eyes scanning the map as he rushed out half-thought through battle plans and moving his pawns along the board. They were risky moves, but they could handle them, they were immortal gods of destruction. If they just led the attack they’d be fine. Bruiser stepped back, placing a hand under his chin as he studied the table, thinking to himself. Maybe Spot had some pointers. “We’d be fine, honestly. And if we had the northern squadron come in from the towers then we could cover the valley and we’d be pretty much secure as long as you can fly over the perimeter. What do you say to that Spottie?” Silence greeted him. “Spottie?” Bruiser finally looked up, the heart he had forgotten he had dropped through his chest when he saw Spot’s chair empty, the cocoa he had looked untouched. It all had been, dust gathering alone in the empty library. How long had Spot been gone? He hadn’t even heard the ruffling of feathers or the flap of wings. Spot was gone. And Bruiser had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t be returning. 

A crown of grief rules nothing left but ashes Lost within the night

Bruiser travelled solo after that and promptly abandoned the war they’d been fighting in. He only wanted to be there if Spot was there. He still carried on fighting when he needed to, when he was called to. There was no way he couldn’t, it was what he was put there to do, ignoring it was ignoring fate, destiny. If he even still believed in that sort of thing. The only proof Bruiser had of anything truly divine was Spot, and he already saw how that turned out, so he wasn’t too thrilled to try anything else. Boots crunching the gravel beneath him, Bruiser made his way towards what appeared to be a kingdom before him. The gate was high and wide, decorated with the smoothest stone, it clearly hadn’t been up for long and the kingdom hadn’t seen any battles, the most damage was near the bottom anyway, where he figured the most accidents would happen, whatever they may be. A hand wrapped around the metal gate and it easily swung open, the guard on the other side nodded to him, allowing him through. He nearly laughed. This was their security? Oh, how he could not wait to see who was the ruler of this ramshackle lot that was somehow classified as a kingdom. Maybe ramshackle wasn’t the right word, the kingdom wasn’t falling apart, it was quite the opposite, with all of it’s fancy buildings ahead and finely polished roads. They had the funds, just not the protection, obviously. Bruiser practically strode right up the castle, ignoring those who casted him confused or disgusted glances from their shops or horses. He occasionally caught their eyes as he walked, those untying their horses or making a purchase at one of the carts.  He also caught their quiet, hurried, whispers. ”It’s the blood god.” ”Don’t be a fool, that’s nothing but a myth.” “But… his eyes. I saw it.” He shrugged off all of the comments though, not too worried, not even by the burly men he saw hiding in the shadows with their glares and dark hoods. They were the least of his worries if anything, he knew they were truly all bark and no bite. If they had any bite, they wouldn’t be tucked away in tavern allies with the stray dogs. Finally, he came face to face with another metal gate, this one painted white and gold and beyond it, stood the tall and elegant castle. He could almost taste the snobbery from here. He remembered how much fun it was to fight against the royals. He hoped he had another chance for that. Or maybe not, maybe they were nice. He scoffed at the idea. That was the least likely thing to ever happen, and he had seen a lot of unlikely things happen. A boy dressed in what might’ve been a guard uniform, although it looked a tad bit too fancy to be one, with his blue, reds and gold accent pieces. As well as the bright white hair. He wasn’t sure the last time he saw a guard with hair like that was. The boy - who Bruiser decided to name Snowflake Hair until he knew of his name, if he even wanted to know - turned, brightening up when he saw someone at the gate and trotting over. He paused at the edge, dark eyes scanning over Bruiser as he leaned against one of the pillars of the gate. “Let me guess, you want in?” He asked, squinting up at Bruiser. Something looked familiar about him. He just wasn’t too sure about what. Maybe it was the eyes. Although they weren’t familiar either, he realized, but they did draw him in. They were magnificent, if you stared for too long he found that they moved and surged like a storm on the sea. He’d have to include that in his poetry next time. Bruiser’s words drew him out of his thoughts. “Yes, actually. Just looking for a visit,” he answered, deciding to be nice to the boy. He was probably a young guard anyway, looking like he was just about twenty, maybe younger, maybe older, Bruiser was never good at telling. He could never tell if he looked too old or too young, being immortal and all. Age never was something he understood well. Snowflake Hair thought it through before shrugging, grabbing hold of the gate and pulling it open without another thought. “That sounds like a good reason to me, mostly on the account that you’re cute,” he quipped, taking a step back and letting the gate swing open for Bruiser. “Welcome to the Marked Kingdom,” he said, giving him a small fake bow, laughing rising from both men. Bruiser nodded as he laughed, although he was still more hung up on the fact that this boy, who he had never met before, had called him cute. He had never been called cute before. Handsome? Pretty? Hot? Sure, he’d heard them all before, from one person or another. But never cute. He had never shown traits he thought could be cute. He was a god of blood and death and destruction, what about him was cute to this boy? Was he actually cute? The thought almost brought blush to his pale cheeks. Was he more than just the harbinger of death? Maybe he would like to be. Bruiser shook his head. Spot had promised that for them some day. It never happened. It never would happen. He should’ve remembered that. He shook the feeling from his body as he followed after Snowflake Hair, trotting to keep up as he began rambling quickly about the castle, when it was built, the paintings that covered the hallways and the many, many stories he had about the servants. For a new guard, he seemed to know quite a lot about the castle. Then, a shorter, possibly younger, girl rounded the corner, with a small silver crown resting upon her dark brown hair that hung down in her face slightly. She brightened up upon seeing Snowflake Hair and grinned. “There you are!” She chirped, engulfing him a quick hug. She was more nicely dressed than Snowflake Hair, that was clear. “I told you, I’m doing guard duties for now, it’s better than having to read about trade routes,” The taller boy said, groaning at the mere memory of having to do so. So many sleepless nights spent memorizing things for the kingdom that he’d never need. Now that Bruiser studied the two closer, he realized that in Snowflake Hair’s hair, rested a similar silver crown like object, it had just blended into his hair more. He had been dealing with a royal this entire time. How had he not noticed? He forced on his quickest polite face and gave a small bow. “Sorry for intruding, your Highnesses,” he said, holding in a snicker what he just had to do. Snowflake Hair rolled his eyes. “That’s not really necessary, you’re really only making a fool of yourself.” “As if he wasn’t one already,” the girl added, causing them both to laugh. “King!” Came a scolding voice from around the corner. “That is no way to treat our--” The owner of the voice came around the corner. And there, before Bruiser, stood the man he thought he had lost, looking as beautiful as ever, draped in red and black clothes, wings curled behind him. Spot. “--guest….” His voice faltered as the two locked eyes. Gray meeting black. The blood god and the angel of death meet once more. “Spot…?” 

“Bruiser?” Bruiser’s gaze hardened as he remembered what exactly Spot had done. He took a step back, glare quickly forming down at the shorter man. “I really should be leaving, I truly didn’t mean to intrude,” he muttered, trying to seem polite although his voice was coated in venom and bitterness, of nights spent crying alone, wondering what he had done wrong to make Spot leave. And the blood god did not cry. Bruiser did though. Bruiser cried. He begged and pleaded for nights with no end, wishing in the dark sky for his partner to return, to see those wings block out the sky before descending on him. But that day never came. He turned, beginning his trek back out of the kingdom. ‘It was a complete waste of time anyway’, he thought, jaw tightening as he gritted his teeth, focusing on the floor in front of him and trying to think of something other than the frog in his throat and the way warmth found its way to his eyes. “Bruiser!” Spot called, grabbing his wrist and causing Bruiser to whip around quickly, still glaring down at Spot. “Wait, please,” he began, voice quiet. “Just… walk with me? I’ll explain everything.” Bruiser gave a sigh, the breath shaking as it came out and he dipped his head, defeated. ’Oh how could I ever say no to you?’. “Fine.” Spot kept a hold of his wrist as he led him down the hallway, past the confused two royals from before, beyond them and away from all of the servants and guards who really couldn’t care less, too focused on their own world and tasks. How he wished he could just slip away, into one of those meaningless moments and forget about the whole thing. Forget Spot and forget war and forget it all. Eventually, Spot stopped at a balcony, far away from the others. “So?” Bruiser said, raising a brow as he pulled his hand away from Spot and took a few steps back, wary of his surroundings, planning mentally in case he needed to find the quickest escape route. Spot probably wouldn’t hurt him, but it never hurt to have a plan. “Tell me all about it, huh. Tell me why you left, Spot. Go on,” he growled, eyes narrowed at Spot, the anger rushing through him strong enough to elicit a flash of red from his eyes. Spot sighed, leaning against the door to the balcony tiredly. “Fine,” he mumbled, gaze drifting off to the side. “Years and years ago, before I knew you, I found this small town. And I decided to try and raise it up from the ground, seeing as nobody was doing it for them. It went well, surprisingly well and I told myself that after a year, I’d leave. That turned into two years, that turned into three and so on and so forth,” he explained, waving his hand to progress the story. “And then, when I finally got the courage to leave and had left and started my life with you? Well, word eventually got to me that the second I left, the entire town had been destroyed, all because I was gone, because I let my guard down,” Spot said, shaking his head. “Is- is this why you left me behind?” Bruiser asked, gesturing to the wide city around them, hurt and confusion falling across his features. Was this really it? “Bruiser-” “No, I get it. The place you cared about was in danger. Just… Why didn’t you take me with you? I could’ve helped, I would’ve hunted them down for you, you know that.” “I didn’t hunt them down though.” “What?” “They were already long gone by the time I arrived and the people, they needed a leader, not a hunter and I didn’t bring you because--” “Because I don’t know when to be either,” Bruiser finished quietly, shaking his head. They shared a look for a moment, Spot’s full of sadness but strength still, and Bruiser’s full of hurt and betrayal. “Look… I didn’t want to leave you. I just… they needed me.” “That includes your kids too, hm? Were you ever gonna tell me about them?” Spot threw his head back in a laugh. “Kids? Gods no, Bruiser are you insane? King and Mouse are my closest friends,” he said, shaking his head, muttering under his breath “King’s closer than most friends get but still…” he then straightened up and said, louder this time.  “I don’t think I’d ever have kids, Bruiser. Bringing them into this world? With the possibility of being like you or me? Never.” Bruiser nodded solemnly, understanding now. That made sense. They seemed just a bit too old to be his kids, especially if he had returned to the kingdom just recently. “So is that just it then? You show up and build this kingdom, get a new boytoy and what, live your life until they realize you haven’t aged? Is that your plan?” B asked. Spot shook his head once more, unfurling his wings and Bruiser realized nothing had been covering them. “They’re aware. They enjoy my rule and know I probably won’t be going anywhere for a while. And that’s probably for the best.” “Yeah, unless you scurry off again for another random village,” Bruiser muttered, rolling his eyes. “Listen… Could you just stay, please? We could be what we used to be. And… King does need to learn how to fight, just in case.” Bruiser sighed, a smile etching it’s way onto his face. “I could never say no to you.”

I'll see you soon my dear

And that was how Bruiser found himself quickly in a new morning routine. After getting used to the castle, and their extremely comfortable beds, he decided he would start training King at dawn the next week.

He met him out in the arena as the sun just began to rise over the kingdom, burning off the small dew drops on the grass and casting a slight golden glow over the city. Bruiser stood in the center, a rapier resting on his hip as he watched King sleepily cross over the grass, barely dressed and somehow awake. The longer he looked at the boy, the more he realized how deep the dark circles ran. King blinked sleep from his eyes and grabbed a similar sword off of the wall, steadying himself as he tried to focus. How Spot thought this was a good idea, he’d never know. “Ready?” Bruiser asked, raising his blade with a grin. He’d missed this. It wasn’t Spot, no, but King had spent time with Spot, surely he’d picked something up from the angel. “Wait wait wait- Aren’t you gonna teach me how to fight first?” King asked, looking around wildly as he realized they were just going to jump into it. He took a step back, nerves taking hold of him. “I believe in learning on the job,” Bruiser answered smoothly, before advancing towards him, slashing out with his sword and laughing when King did nothing more than occasionally block and dodge. At least he was good at avoiding things. That would keep him out of harm's way. But not forever. It didn’t take long for Bruiser to pinpoint his weak spots and for him to use them to get an advantage, not that he didn’t have one already. He always did. He kept moving towards King, their swords colliding in air as he began to back him up. Bruiser quickly switched up the angles and frequencies of his attacks and soon enough, King was scrambling to block them or deliver his own attack as a defense and all it took was one misstep and King found himself knocked back down onto the floor, Bruiser’s blade pointed at his throat. Bruiser grinned down at him for a moment. Either proud of him or proud of his own work. He couldn’t quite tell and he had a feeling he might never be able to with him. He pulled his sword away, offering his hand to King and pulling him up. He gave him a moment to dust himself off and gather himself and his blade, then, Bruiser dropped the smile. “Again.”

Don't you shed a single tear

Their training continued on like that for weeks and Bruiser was proud to say King was finally getting the hang of it and it did not take long for him to start advancing, he was starting to surprise Bruiser himself with some of the moves he had pulled. ���I almost knocked you over!” He had said one time, gloating in the middle of practice . Bruiser had only laughed though as he got him pinned to the wall, blade to his throat. “Almost won’t save you though. Try again.” Some days, Mouse came out on the grass to watch her brother, yelling useless comments and joking jabs at either of them. Which Bruiser did find endearing. He had only been hanging around them for a few weeks and he swore he had started to go soft and honestly? He kind of liked it. He wasn’t too sure of what to make of it, but he liked it. He had decided that. Most mornings, the two got straight to work, no chatting or any playful banter, not like they usually had the extra energy for that anyway. But one morning, King found himself sitting in the grass, up earlier than Bruiser and alone, pulling wet strands of grass from the Earth and flinging them away. It was better than doing nothing, and this was still practically nothing. His eyes were almost mistier than the morning but he blinked and tried to clear it, trying to focus on anything but the noises and images that haunted him from the night’s terrors. He was too caught up in his mind to notice Bruiser sitting down beside him, resting back on his palms and looking up at King. “What are you doing up, especially earlier than me?” He asked, a faint grin on his lips. “I’m always up earlier than you. Just don’t show it. I don’t sleep,” King muttered, voice cold like the air around them. Bruiser sat up a bit more, sympathy falling over him. “Why not?” “Just can’t. Insomnia and shit,” he murmured, still focusing on the grass, pulling up more clumps, dirt getting stuck under his freshly painted and now chipping nails. Not that it mattered. They’d only get more dirty after that morning’s training session with Bruiser. King was now accustomed to taking a few showers after those, he didn’t mind anymore. Bruiser nodded, humming in acknowledgement. “Y’know we don’t have to train today if you don’t want to,” he said, voice soft, trying to melt King’s shell and break him out of it. King scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re lying. You just want me to act soft so you can use it against me later.” Bruiser shook his head, shuffling closer to King. “I’m not. Your physical and mental health matters more than this training,” he said, urging him to listen. The white haired boy sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “How about this, you can braid my hair?” Bruiser offered. It had been growing for a few months and was nearly shoulder length, it was enough to be braided. Not super long, but enough to have some sort of activity for a while. It was a good opportunity. King gave it some thought for a moment, before caving and nodding. “Okay,” he agreed, shuffling around quickly so he sat behind Bruiser. King combed through the strands with his fingers, trying to get it somewhat detangled before he braided it; that was probably a good step, he decided. “Where’d you get the name Bruiser?” King asked, knowing it was a dumb question, but a question he wanted to ask anyway. “Fights. Wars. Violence,” B answered simply, gazing up at the sky and how the sun was slowly rising above them, the sky above them being painted a number of pink, blue and red shades. “It’s pretty self explanatory.” King nodded, shrugging. “Fair, I just thought maybe yours was special,” he muttered, humming to himself. “How about you? Your name obviously isn’t King,” Bruiser retorted, sighing as King began weaving the strands of hair he’d separated into braids. “Ah. Started as a joke really. Kid in town doesn’t like me and when I bossed him around, asked me if I thought I was a king. And then it stuck. It stuck like a mean nickname at first but… I like it now. I really do,” he admitted, laughing to himself. It sounded stupid, he sounded stupid. Bruiser nodded, trying not to pull away from King’s hands too much. “That makes sense. I’m glad you like it now though. Being stuck with a nickname that hurts must not be fun.” “So you like yours then?” “Yeah. I do. Although I just prefer if you just called me B. Since you want to be friends... This is how you make friends right?” B asked, slightly confused and embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. A chuckle escaped from King and he nodded behind Bruiser. “Yes. I’d say this is how you make friends, B,” he said, slotting a few flowers into Bruiser’s hair. “Good. I’d like to be friends then.” “Me too.” Once King was done, Bruiser turned to face King, and for a moment, they were nearly nose to nose and nobody had moved. Bruiser realized then, that he never took the time to appreciate King’s face enough. And now, the freckles along his face, Bruiser realized, nearly painted the constellations he spent nights memorizing with Spot, and how the scar running from his chin to his upper lip told a story he hadn’t learned yet and made him look just even more badass when they were sparring. He’d never tell him that. He’d also never tell him about how badly he wanted to thumb along the thin, pale line, replacing the pain that had come from it with comfort. No, that was just a confession for another day.

Close your eyes my dear

As the clock struck two, Bruiser had decided. Bag slung over his shoulder full of the castle’s most recent warm, filling meals along with whatever supplies he could snatch without seeming too suspicious. He was leaving. He was going against everything he had felt and thought before. But it just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. They way King’s hair framed his face perfectly when it fell in sparring, how his quick, out of breath retorts could be the thing that actually distracted him or how when he remembered what he sounded like, singing the songs he had written late at night would be what took his breath away, and not the endless training. It wasn’t fair. The way Bruiser’s heart ached when he passed by Spot’s empty room, it wasn’t fair, the way he would miss when Spot held him in his wings and it wasn’t fair, the way he needed to feel Spot’s lips on his just to get by. None of that was fair. So, he was going to leave. It wasn’t the best solution, but he was never the best with love anyway. Not like this. Not when he had to choose or explain himself. It just hurt him too much. ‘This’ll hurt them too,’ he reminded himself, however he only shook his head at the thought. That wasn’t important. They were important, yes. But they’d manage, they have for this long without him anyway. It’d be fine. Sucking in a deep breath, he slid a note under King’s door, making sure it made it all the way through. Then, as King rose from his bed to inspect and open the note, Bruiser began creeping away. By the time King was done and had rushed to open his door and chase after him, Bruiser was long gone. Whisked away into the night.

You have nothing left to fear

King kept the note clutched tight to chest that night, tears streaming down his face.

Bruiser had left them?

How?

How could he do such a thing?

King didn’t know why he was so upset anyway, Bruiser didn’t want to be there in the first place, that was evident. Spot had to convince him to be there in the first place. But King had hoped, wished even, that Bruiser had stayed for longer, had stayed for more.

He wanted Bruiser with them. He couldn’t explain why, but without him, everything felt hollow. It had only been hours but King could feel it in his bones. It wasn’t going to be good without him.

That point was solidified five years later when a scout had brought back information regarding the growing army at the northern border. They had slaughtered the town there.

They had meant war. 

And now, without Bruiser, did they even stand a chance? They had Spot, yes, and King would forever be grateful for him, but it looked like fighting was the last thing Spot ever wanted to do.

Mouse had to step in.

King exhaled shakily, standing beside Spot as Mouse, looking smaller than ever, stood upon that podium in front of the kingdom, declaring that every able bodied citizen must join them to fight. 

At eighteen? 

Why did she have to bear that burden?

He knew he wasn’t chosen as heir for a reason, so he knew he’d always be off the table.

So why couldn’t Spot just step up and do his job this once?

It made King’s blood boil and head spin.

He just wanted Bruiser back.

Why couldn’t they have Bruiser back?

King found himself wondering the same things as the next day, he stood with Mouse, watching as their general took care of the miles long line of people having to sign up for their military.

He saw many familiar faces among the line, a few he swore weren't ready for the draft, not for a few years. Why were they here now? Some he could tell were just Mouse’s age. 

“They shouldn’t be here,” King growled to Mouse, who just shook her head, shrugging it off. 

It wasn’t their job right now.

Apparently.

King groaned to himself, storming back inside the castle, brushing past the guards as tears filled his eyes.

This shouldn’t be happening.

‘It wouldn’t be happening if Bruiser were still here,’ he thought to himself, tears slipping down his cheeks as he collapsed in an empty corridor.

“Please…. Just come back.”

Gods among the living A son becomes forgiving

The trip out to the Blue Valley was not a forgiving one. 

They had started the trip two days earlier and were still on the way, however King could see the dip of the valley before him on his horse.

He nodded to the others and quickly led them down towards it, eager to set up camp and finally rest. It had been a while since they’d done that. And it would be a while after that before they could properly do it again.

After they reached the location, King got the others to begin setting up the tents while he worked on unpacking other resources. And for nearly two weeks, they all worked peacefully together, learning about each other and learning more about their enemy that would soon lay ahead of them.

 It was only a matter of time.

King reminded himself of that every night as he stared up at the sky above him, waiting for Bruiser to return. And he knew he wouldn’t do that. But hope was one of the things that kept humanity alive. Bruiser wouldn’t know anything about that, would he?

Did he even know anything about humanity?

Humanity.

What a small word for something so big.

Barely the next day, the drums sounded, waking everyone from their sleep immediately. King stirred quickly, rushing from his tent and quickly helping his friends and fellow soldiers into the armor and to their weapons. 

“Go go go!” One hissed to another as they passed things around, trying to move their hill as quickly as possible.

King knew he would remain on the ground with Spot and Mouse.

They’d face the Green Army head on together, everyone else would fall back to see what would happen, it had been decided on the previous night.

As King saw the nearby army approaching, his stomach churned, eyes narrowed.

This didn’t feel right.

Finally, when they drew close enough to strike, a friend of his, Switch, up in a tree, sent a flaming arrow down towards them. It struck the grass and the area around the other soldiers immediately went up in flames, a tall wall of flames forming.

‘Let’s see if this holds up,’ King thought to himself, taking a step back, grabbing his sword in case it didn’t hold up as planned.

And he was right to do that, as minutes later, a cloaked figure stepped forward.

“Shit…” he muttered, shuddering as he realized that the figure seemed completely unaffected by the flames, maybe even strengthened by it.

Spot lifted off the ground, taking to the skies and immediately beginning to swoop down over the flames, attacking whoever he saw first, slicing like mad, there wasn’t much method to it, but it seemed to be getting the job done.

King and Mouse however, charged when the other army did, their blades meeting them head on while archers and other soldiers took them on from above.

King collided with a green soldier and they brawled, King scrambling for his sword in the mud as he tried to avoid their stomping boots. He was convinced that if it hit anything important, he would not be able to fight nearly as well. Thankfully, he grabbed his sword in time and thrust it upwards, stabbing them swiftly through the abdomen and then pushing them away with his legs.

King pulled his sword out and shook his head.

War had just begun and it already seemed like too much work.

How were they going to survive this?

The fight raged on, King and Mouse finding themselves back to back as they slashed and ducked, the duo had always been powerful on their own but together? Maybe they could even rival Spot and Bruiser, although that was a long shot.

Above them, Spot circled, taking out those he could with his bow, any who he missed, someone else below would take care of them themselves.

But, as day turned to night and night was beginning to turn to day once more, Mouse stopped, looking up. Even though that had made a sizeable dent in the Green Army’s forces, she could hear over a thousand coming their way.

Reinforcements.

They were outnumbered, ten to one.

Mouse looked up at Spot, giving him a nod and he began to fly back towards their camp, wings flapping heavily as he tried to get there before the reinforcements reached his people.

Mouse grabbed King’s arm, preparing him for whatever came next. They had to be ready.

However Mouse never prepared him for what came next.

As a horn blew over the valley, many soldiers heads turned and they immediately began sprinting, abandoning their weapons and fights and even some, their comrades, as they ran.

Mouse kept hold of King’s arm as they began sprinting back towards camp, a thousand Green Army soldiers giving chase. But they could be faster.

King looked between Mouse and everyone else confusedly, panic lacing his features.

“What’s going on?” He yelled, eyes wide as he stumbled, trying to keep up with Mouse’s hurried pace even as she dragged him along.

She gave no answer. Nobody did.

That was part of the discussion they had the previous night, while they had sent King out to scout briefly. 

The soldiers were made aware of the plan.

“If you wish to leave, then leave. Nobody will stop you. But do not tell Prince Levi.”

Nobody left, however everyone nodded.

The plan was in place.

But happy ever after Comes with a price to pay

“What are we doing?!” King screamed again as they began to near the camp, he could see the tents now and the long dead campfire. 

Were they retreating? 

Why didn’t anybody just say so?

Switch Eye scampered across the valley, ducking out of the way of soldiers and slipping by panicked brothers who hadn’t remembered the plan. The flint and steel in his pocket felt heavy as it reminded him of his job. He steeled himself.

Anything for his city.

The cave was just up ahead, he could make it. And then he stopped, a few feet in front of him was Fennel, trapped against a tree, a soldier’s blade against his neck.

Switch drew his own sword and charged forward, plunging it into the chest of the soldier, who barely even had time to react before they fell to the ground and Fennel was freed.

Fennel looked up at Switch, eyes wide. Switch took hold of his shaking shoulders gently and leaned down.

“You have to go, you understand me? You need to run baby please. Get as far away from here as possible,” he urged him, watching as his panic only grew.

“Why?” 

“It’ll be alright, I promise, just go.”

Fennel nodded shakily, taking off across the valley towards where he could distantly see camp.

“I love you…” Switch muttered as we watched him go. Then he turned and ducked into the cave.

Across the valley, Half-Hitch was heading to do the same, she dodged swinging blades and axes easily, taking a few men down as she crossed, her own axe a force few people should’ve messed with.

She shoved her way through soldiers. She was on a mission, goddamnit. One she had signed up for.

The cave was just up ahead.

The two entered at nearly the same time and dropped to a knee at the same time.

Switch pulled the flint and steel from his pocket, flicking it on easily in the dark of the cave, illuminating what he couldn’t make out in the dark.

Hitch huffed, guess they were right, the smell of sulfur only got worse the closer you were to it. She shrugged, just another casualty of war.

“For Fennel.”

“For the city.”

The rocks along the walls of the valley shook as thunderous crashes echoed along the inside. Rocks began to slide and fall, rushing towards the oncoming army and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be stuck with their side.

The plan had worked, as thousands of soldiers became covered by the rocks, crushing them instantly. Any who managed to escape, would be picked off easily.

King watched in horror as screams filled the air and dust rose while the rocks slid forward and down.

He whirled back around the Mouse, who let out a relieved sigh.

“What the fuck did you just do?!” He demanded.

“What I had to.”

“That was not what you had to do! We could’ve handled them!”

“We couldn’t have King, we were outnumbered,” Mouse argued, shaking her head.

“No!” King yelled. “No! How many of our people had to die for that?” 

“King-“

“How many?!”

“I… I don’t know.”

“All of those people, our people, who were just caught on the wrong side of that, they’re gone. And you’ll never know how many, and you’ll never know them. And you don’t even want to, do you?” King asked, fire blazing in his eyes ever since the war had started.

“What? King, listen I just-“

“All you wanted was to take over for Spot once he disappeared, you were probably hoping he disappeared instead of… of… him! You just want to lead and you know where your leading got your people? Dead! And- and you had this whole fucking plan, and everyone knew about me, why is that? Huh?”

“Because! You’re a fucking child, King. You’ve always acted like one. You might be older than me but maturity wise? You never have been. There’s a reason Spot chose me and not you,” Mouse snarled back, glaring up at King. “You do not get to police my ruling.”

King laughed, taking a step back. “You’re a fucking monster, shortie.”

Mouse reached out towards King.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Spot had been fighting the first man to walk through the fire wall they had set up.

What a hotshot.

Spot growled as he kicked Hotshot away, wings flapping angrily behind him as he charged again.

His silver sword met an obsidian black one in the air, and while Hotshot was certainly straining to keep him at bay, with all of the wounds he had acquired, he was capable of doing so.

He was capable of doing much more.

Spot’s dark eyes met the god of war’s fire red ones. And now it made sense, why the fire nor the explosions had killed him.

They had to just make everything harder didn’t they? 

Spot then turned at the sound of a distant scram, King’s. He turned just in time to see King draw back from Mouse’s hands. Mouse looked hurt by the action, but they were both safe.

A shadow came over Spot and that was when he remembered where he was, only a little too late.

He turned to face the bloodied tip of a sword, just in front of his face, his breath fanning the edge, he could almost taste metal in his mouth from it. However it was not the obsidian sword he had been facing off against before. Instead it was a familiar silver sword, pierced right through the chest of the war god.

Only gods could kill gods.

Spot looked up as Hotshot collapsed to his knees, sword dropping from his hand as he coughed and sputtered.

Black eyes meeting red ones.

Spot’s jaw dropped and he scrambled towards him pulling the taller boy into a hug. He didn’t have the energy to be mad. He was of course, for leaving for so long after they finally found each other, but he could be mad when they got home.

Bid your last goodbyes As the light fades from his eyes

Mouse saw him first.

She figured, she might’ve been destined to do that. She was searching for him usually, late at night, wandering the castle in hopes that maybe in the dark she’d spot those red eyes that had brought her brother so much joy.

She only wanted for him to be happy again.

She’d always be looking for him.

King followed Mouse’s gaze and he stopped, panic leaving his face as his shoulders went slack.

“Bruiser…?”

Before Mouse could speak, King had already taken off across the field towards them.

One move.

That was all it would take.

On the ground beside Hotshot was one of Spot’s knives, it had been discarded during their battle, fallen out of Spot’s belt or something. He inched forward, cursing mentally as the dirt scraped against his wound. His rough hand wrapped around the edge of the knife and with all that he had left, he aimed.

Then it flew from his hands.

Bruiser was there.

His Bruiser.

King couldn’t help but smile as he raced across the field, joy overcoming him. He barreled into Bruiser so hard he almost knocked him over. The two laughed, even though tears still cling to his cheeks.

He enveloped Bruiser in a quick kiss, one that he had meant to do a long time ago, one that had told him everything he had missed. There was everything there, the grief, the confusion, the relief and disbelief, the joy—

“Bruiser,” King choked out again, shaking his head as he looked up at him as he held his cheek with one bloody hand.

“King…” Bruiser echoed, his smile telling King everything he needed to know. ‘I missed you too.’

—and the pain, there was pain as the knife found it’s place in the prince’s heart.

Bruiser watched King begin to fall in his arms, face falling with him.

He let out a pained gasp as he began to sink towards the ground, Bruiser’s arms still wrapped around him.

“No no no no no, King,” Bruiser chanted, hitting the ground with King, pulling him into his arms. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“King!” Mouse’s scream echoed across the valley as she took off running towards them, abandoning everything at the sight of her brother sinking to the floor.

Spot whirled around towards the culprit, eyes blazing. However when his gaze fell on Hotshot, it died as he realized the murderer was already gone.

“Fuck,” he cursed, putting his head in his hands momentarily.

“King it’s gonna be okay,” Mouse tried to assure him, although Bruiser wasn’t sure if she was convincing herself or her brother. “I promise you, okay? Just keep your eyes open, alright?”

King gave a nod, gaze still focused on Bruiser.

Although his eyelids were already beginning to fall.

“Hey, no no no. Keep your eyes open, alright?” Bruiser said, voice shaking as he tried to command him like he used to in training, maybe that would work. It always did.

A pained whimper slipped past King’s lips as he nodded again, forcing his eyes open a little bit more, but it didn’t do much. 

He wanted to sleep. Sleep was nice. Sleep was good. 

“No, please, please baby stay awake. Please. Want me to talk? I’ll talk,” Bruiser begged.

“I want to sleep…”

“You can sleep when we get back to the kingdom,” Mouse said, shaking her head. “Just stay with us and then you can sleep all you want, promise.”

“Sleep sounds good.”

“No. Sleep is bad, King, c’mon, please,” Spot said, joining them on the ground beside the others, having been standing for a while.

“I-I got this,” Mouse tried, beginning to hum a small tune. One King didn’t recognize at first, but it slowly came to him.

The song he had used to sing to her to help her sleep, on those nights when she showed up at his door, shaking and scared.

It was a calming tune, one he had come up with on his own. One that felt like the early morning he spent braiding Bruiser’s hair, one that felt like curling up beside Spot in his bed after one particularly bad night, one that felt like a good, strong hug from Mouse. 

One that felt like home.

He wanted to go home.

Home was where they were going to go, they had promised.

King’s eyes fell closed, he could still hear his own slow but steady rhythmic heartbeat.

He wanted to go home.

“I love you…” he murmured, a shaking hand reaching up to gently touch Bruiser’s cheek.

He felt the taller boy lean into it and he smiled.

“I love you too. I left because I love you. I love you and it used to scare me. It scared me too much. I’m sorry I left, I won’t leave your side again just don’t go, please. I love you,” Bruiser begged.

His hand slipped from Bruiser’s cheek.

“I love you…”

For once, the king slept in Blue Valley.

An echoing of once familiar laughter From the boy as bright as day.