#not because Dream is avian or anything

[rat-rosemary]

Techno would have Dream perch on his shoulders like a parrot

[screamlet]

08x06 fix-it fic: break and be mended

not connected to that excerpt i posted before, just something completely different. 4.5k, read on the ao3

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Another hospital room. Buck takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again, letting it out and hoping he gets back to sleep. It doesn't happen, though, because his brain catches up to his eyes:

Maddie, wearing a yellow paper hospital mask, a hand anxiously on her belly, sitting in the chair next to him with that too-familiar oh-thank-god-you're-finally-awake face… and Tommy leaning in the doorway.

He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes again.

"You're okay," Maddie says patiently, slowly, as Buck tries to slam the door shut or set the doorway on fire with his brain. "It's just the turkey flu, it hit you hard."

That breaks Buck's concentration. "Wait, is this a dream? Another coma dream? Turkey flu has to be something I made up."

Maddie raises her eyebrows and looks over her shoulder at Tommy before turning back to Buck. "Another one?"

"No, no, don't look at him," Buck interrupts. "He's not supposed to be here, not when I have turkey flu, not ever. He broke up with me, remember?"

In the doorway, Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He's wearing the dark blue LAFD t-shirt and pleated pants, a special Air Ops patch on his shirt sleeve. They always lurked under his flight suit, under his turnouts when they were on the same scene, but Buck didn't get to see them often. It was for the best, he thinks now, because the shirt fits perfectly across Tommy's chest and shoulders, the pants belted low. His shirt is tucked in better than Buck's ever is. He almost never got to see him like this so it feels like some new Tommy he's seeing, a Tommy that hangs around Harbor long enough to take off his flight suit but doesn't peel the rest of his work self off. He doesn't get off his shift, put the pilot away, shower and go home.

Buck looks away. He's looked too long.

"I'm actually here, you know." Tommy raps his knuckles on the door like that's proof of anything except a very strong poltergeist. "I can hear you."

Buck watches something that he hasn't seen in years sweep across Maddie's face (mostly her eyebrows, because of the mask).

She turns around and snaps, "I let you come within ten feet of my brother and you think bitchy fun Tommy was invited, too? He was not." Tommy looks shocked and abashed; Buck loves her so much.

"Why was he invited at all, Maddie?" Buck asks. "And you're both real, right? Like I'm not hallucinating both of you. Is that a turkey flu symptom? Can I have my phone? I need to look up turkey flu."

"It's a strain of avian flu, you just happened to get it from a turkey farm. Hen said you had a call to one of those last week," Maddie explains. "And you kept giggling when I said the words turkey flu so, you know, why not?"

"It's pretty funny," Buck admits. "Hey, why's he here?"

Maddie turns around and looks at Tommy expectantly. Buck still knows his face, still knows him, and can see the quip that wants to escape past his lips. He can see the work it takes to hold it back and look sincere, really sincere, for them.

"You collapsed at a scene and I flew you over," Tommy says. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Buck stares at him as he presses his lips into a fine line. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Tommy nods, then asks, "Can we talk? Alone?"

It's taken four months, almost as long as they were together, but Buck's finally hearing the words he's wanted to hear since Tommy walked out his door. I'm sorry, I was scared, I love you, yes let's take the next step together, from now on let's take every step together—that was Buck's first choice. Can we talk as a jumping off point for all those other things—that was Buck's second choice. Was.

Buck glances at Maddie and knows his face does something dumb. "I'll be outside," Maddie says. "And I'm not far, if you want me to throw him out." She looks over her shoulder at Tommy. "I'll do it."

Tommy nods. "Wouldn't doubt you for a second."

She squeezes Buck's hand and lingers for a beat, one long look at him like she's waiting for him to say actually, wait, don't, stay, but he doesn't. He hates that he doesn't. He hates that he wants to hear what Tommy has to say.

She and Tommy swap places; he takes the chair next to Buck's bed and she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Tommy doesn't see the way she passes by the window like a shark, watching, but Buck laughs. When Tommy looks back, she's gone.

"Your sister's changed a little," Tommy says casually. "Her sense of humor, I mean."

Buck licks his lips. "Yeah, well, when you were my boyfriend, you were her friend. Now you're neither."

"Yep, got it," Tommy says. He sits back in the chair, but looks so uncomfortable that someone would think he'd never sat in one before.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks. "Why are you here?"

"This chair is so weird."

"Tommy, what do you want to talk about?"

It startles Tommy, and it should. He only got soft and smitten, totally-in-love (even if he couldn't admit it out loud) Evan Buckley, cute and bratty Evan Buckley. He doesn't get that Evan anymore. No one has.

Tommy sits with his feet flat on the floor and his hands folded in his lap. He takes a minute, a long minute, of staring at the floor before he looks up and stares at Buck. "You asked me to move in with you."

Buck blinks. "I did."

"You asked me to move in with you."

"You said that. I mean, I said that, but you—"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts.

"I thought I was Buck now," Buck interrupts.

Bitchiness lurks on Tommy's tongue, but he holds it back. "You asked me to move in with you. Into the loft."

Buck tilts his head. "Yeah?"

Tommy shuts his eyes hard and shakes his head before he looks at Buck again. "Evan, I own a house."

"... okay?"

"Did you ask me to move in with you and expect me to give up my house?"

"What, no—" Buck says, then stops himself. "I don't—I didn't think—"

"Did you even think about that?" Tommy asks. "Like when you talked about moving in together, getting married, the future, all of that—did you even remember that I own a house?"

"You know," Buck interrupts. "Four months ago, you could have said, haha, wow, that's moving pretty fast, also I own a house, maybe when we're ready, we could move into MY HOUSE and make it OUR HOUSE, but you needed to run out the door so why would you say any of that?"

"Yeah! I was freaked out! Because here was this guy I—this guy I really liked, and he asked me, a 40-year-old man, to move into his loft?"

"What's wrong with it? Why do you keep saying it like that?"

"It's downtown! Downtown is loud and filthy and did I mention it's noisy? It was hell sleeping there in the summer because even with your central air, heat rises and it rises right into the bedroom. I saw your electric bill, Evan, it was unforgivable."

Buck wants to throw something at him. "And we could have been at your house, quiet and with better temperature control, but we weren't because…?"

"I'm just saying," Tommy continues. "Yeah, all that's true, but I realized you wanted me, wanted a future with me, and you didn't even remember that when I wasn't working or with you, I was at my house."

"I get that," Buck says. "Now how many times did we hang out at your house?"

Tommy sighs. "It's out of the way, your place was always closer to the 118 and to Harbor, and I kept—I was going to, okay? Like maybe after our anniversary, we'd take a week off together and we'd actually be at my house, or take a trip somewhere—"

"You got me basketball tickets," Buck snipes at him.

Tommy stops completely.

"For our six month anniversary, remember?"

"How the hell am I going to forget that?"

"You got me tickets to see the Lakers. Really good tickets."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Alright, well, that's the last time I call that guy I know in the press office for anything."

Buck thinks he's getting closer to setting something on fire with his mind. "I hate basketball."

Tommy stares at him. "What the hell are you talking about? We met because of basketball."

Buck sits up so quickly and angrily he starts wheezing and that turns into a coughing fit. Tommy's immediately there, sitting on the edge of his bed with water, getting him to take a small sip as he rubs his back. When Buck realizes what's happening, he covers his mouth with his blanket and shoves Tommy away, coughing even more.

"Sorry, I was just—"

"I have turkey flu!" Buck yells through the blanket covering his mouth.

"The doctor said you're not contagious anymore."

Buck points at a small paper box across the room. Tommy, so put-upon, grabs a pale yellow mask and slips it on before he sits in the chair again. "Sorry."

"It's—" Buck halts because Tommy had grabbed two masks and was holding one out to him expectantly. Tommy motions to it again and Buck can see how he wants to make a bitchy comment about not having this conversation through a hospital blanket, but he doesn't. That's what makes Buck reach out and put the mask on. The icy fist around his heart thinks about melting.

"We didn't meet because of basketball, we met because of Bobby and Athena and the cruise ship," Buck corrects. "I wanted to see you again after that tour at Harbor but I couldn't think of another reason—"

"I gave you the widest of openings," Tommy interrupts. "Hello? Flight lessons? When you finally offered to buy me a beer, I almost dropped to my knees right then and there."

"But you never called me! You're the one who left to hang out with Eddie!"

Tommy throws up his hands. "Ball was in your court! Speaking of basketball."

Buck sighs, exasperated. "We weren't, like, running into each other, I didn't have a reason to call you—don't say the beer—so finally I saw Eddie was going to that pick-up game with you and I dragged Chimney along."

"Right," Tommy says. "And you played basketball with us. We kicked your ass in a way that made me think you were pretending to be bad at it to make me feel good or something? And then there was the whole thing with Eddie's ankle."

"I hate basketball!"

"You brought your own ball!"

"I same-day ordered a basketball so that when I showed up you'd be like, wow, that guy's ready for basketball, what a cool guy!"

"So you're mad that your basketball ruse worked on my dumb ass, and worked so well for six months that I got you Lakers tickets for our anniversary."

Buck's so annoyed that he put it like that. Maybe that's true, but he didn't have to say it. "I don't like basketball! It was a ruse but I didn't hide it after. You watched games with Eddie and I never came along because I don't like basketball."

"You said you wanted us to have our Eddie-Tommy friend time!"

"Why do you make me sound and feel like a five-year-old? Eddie-Tommy friend time? Seriously?"

Tommy folds his hands together like he's in prayer and shuts his eyes. "Okay, listen, I just. I wanted to get the house thing off my chest, alright? Because it's—it's bothered me so much."

Buck could argue about the basketball thing for about another 500 years, except that Tommy has said what he said. "Has it?"

Tommy puts his hands in his lap again, folded politely as he looks at Buck. "I meant what I said. You were so swept away in how new and exciting everything felt, that I felt like you forgot who you were talking to. Like… I'm not a guy who's going to move in with you. I'm a guy who has a house with a home gym and a car lift, and—and the winter was so mild that I put in this little patio space in the backyard. I bought furniture for it. I took this corner of my front lawn, too, and started to plan a pollinator's garden because they sounded really interesting after those three days of bee hell. Evan, I have a house."

"You keep saying that," Buck says. His ears are burning, but he's listening too intently to feel embarrassed about it (much).

"I freaked out, alright? Because I heard: give up your house to live in this downtown loft with a couch that has a faded but GIANT blood and placenta stain on the other side of the cushion, and then the words engaged and married got thrown in there, too? All in the same breath?"

Buck stares flatly, then nods. "Yeah. I get it. Sorry." He clears his throat and grabs his water before Tommy can offer it to him. He takes a sip, looking at Tommy before he nods at the closed door. "Are we done here?"

"And I'm not a gay rights hero," Tommy adds. "You said that, too." Tommy looks away, and looks so miserable. "I'm just a guy, Evan. I've been burned before by younger guys who thought I was everything that their first gay boyfriend should be, and then—and they didn't see who I was. It's always—" Tommy holds out his hands like he's balancing scales. "Not straight enough to fake a life with a woman, not gay enough to have a real life with a man."

Buck hasn't done this in so long that his throat almost aches with it. He sighs, pained and breathless, the word crinkling against the mask: "Tommy." He swallows again and asks, "Did you really think that was me?"

Another long pause. It ends with Tommy saying, "I thought you were too good to be true."

"I'm not, though, I'm—I'm just me," Buck says. "And I did have a lot to figure out, but not about you."

Tommy laughs suddenly. "Really? Because you forgot I was a homeowner and I didn't know you hated basketball. Did you even go to that game?"

Buck coughs. "I gave the tickets to Karen and she took one of her brothers. They're nuts about the Lakers."

"Huh," Tommy says. "Well. I'm not mad about that."

The two of them are quiet until Buck says, "Seems there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

Tommy glances at him; Buck can see the shape of his smirk beneath the mask, and the very specific way it makes his eyes crinkle. "And just when we thought we knew everything about each other."

"Yeah, I thought that, too, and then you dropped that you were engaged to my first serious girlfriend at our six month anniversary dinner." Buck raises his eyebrows. "Do you land helicopters that smoothly, too?"

"I got you here, didn't I?" Tommy bites back, then catches himself with a laugh. "Okay. Fair point."

It's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy and Buck hasn't had it easy for months. He hasn't had these quips, this back-and-forth, this person who got him until he didn't, who—Buck rubs at his eyes. Tommy made it easy. He made everything easy. Not perfect, not effortless, but easy. Easier.

"So, uh." Buck fusses with the blanket in his lap. "What have you been doing for the past four months? You, uh…"

"Am I seeing anyone?" Buck nods. "I was, yeah. Didn't last that long."

Buck can't help himself: "Neither did we."

"Ouch." Tommy looks back. "And you?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "I liked them but I broke up with them because it just—it wasn't going anywhere."

"And what's wrong with that? Staying in one place? Isn't that what you wanted for us?"

It's not, but Buck can't articulate it, so he says, "Do you think that's the same?"

A beat, and then Tommy says: "No. No, I don't."

"Tommy," Buck says quietly. "How many people do I have to be with before you decide I've figured it out?"

Tommy's eyes widen. "What? I never said that."

"Tell me what you said, then." Buck swallows painfully, that turkey flu kicking his ass harder than he thought. "Tell me what you meant when you said I didn't know what I wanted. Because I told you what I wanted. I told you I was ready for something and all the things we did together, I thought that you believed me. I guess you didn't, so tell me how many bodies it'll take before you believe me."

Tommy doesn't say anything.

"God, and you know what really sucks?" Buck asks. "That we were together long enough to talk about who we'd been with so we could get tested and be safe. We talked about all that, but I never told you how many times I'd had my heart broken and you never told me yours."

"Three," Tommy eventually says. "Shawn, who was like… all of 25. He was all-in, knowing for sure that the first time was the charm, and I was old enough and steady enough to be That Guy. I believed the hype even though I was barely out of the closet. I shouldn't throw stones at Abby's House of Himbos when I set up my own on the other side of town. And then there was Raúl, my Army buddy who came out to his family and immediately moved to LA to get away from them. Everything felt like a fresh start for him, but… not quite for me."

Buck thinks to ask, but Tommy beats him to it. "Do I need to say the third?" Buck shakes his head. "What about you?"

"Abby, and you." Buck looks at Tommy as he says, "It's not just ending things with someone because it doesn't work. It's heart break. Something's gotta break and be mended."

"I don't think I did that part. You've one-upped me there."

Buck wouldn't have believed that 20 minutes ago, but he believes it now.

"So Bobby's been there, watched me since I was Abby's himbo and helped me to grow into the person who wanted that stuff with you. Once he, kinda, told me that if I care about how people see me, then I haven't learned a damn thing," Buck says. "And that is and isn't true, here. I can't live hoping I meet people's expectations of what they think I should be. I want people—I wanted you—to see me as I am. I thought you did but you didn't, and I didn't either because I didn't see how scared you were. I've made my peace with that. We had something really special and made each other feel really good but, in the end, I guess we were saying all the right things to people we didn't know."

Tommy listens, considers, and nods. "Whole lot of past tense, there."

Buck glances at him and doesn't want to look away, but he does. He doesn't meet Tommy's eyes. He's scared, too. He's done enough today: said a lot of things he's been thinking about for four months and said them very calmly and thoughtfully, but this is gonna hurt. It hurt Buck to realize it and it's gonna hurt Tommy to hear it.

"You got what you wanted, right?" Buck asks. "You got to keep your heart, and I don't feel new and excited anymore." Buck inhales deep; it hurts. "I feel like I did before, like I'm short one piece of being whole. Now the ocean I have to search is so much wider and deeper. So thanks for that, I guess."

"Evan—"

"I let you into my family," Buck interrupts sharply. "Because I cared about you and because you fit. I fit because they're mine and that's my family I made, and you fit there right next to me. With us."

"You're absolutely right."

Buck watches him, tries to see behind the sunshine yellow and white mask on his face, but all he sees are his eyes that, like always, make Buck feel too much, like laser beams disintegrating him.

"Were you really that scared?" Buck can't help the way his voice cracks. "You were that scared of me?"

Tommy looks up again, lasers in place. "I was that in love with you." He shakes his head like he did that last night in the kitchen, and looks up like he'll tip the tears back into his eyes. "And those heartbreaks—you'd leave them light-years behind if I let you. You'd leave me light-years behind."

Buck nods, then says, "Could you leave, please." His wet breathing crinkles grossly in the mask. "Thanks for telling me all this, thanks for the closure, but I don't need to see what someone looks like after they've walked away from me."

"You collapsed at a scene three days ago and I was the closest pilot to medevac you here," Tommy says slowly. "You were delirious and told Shreya, Don't tell Tommy I'm sick, he doesn't care anymore."

Tommy clears his throat. "I do care. I never stopped."

Buck sits back in his hospital bed and pulls the blanket up to his neck, the only comfort he's got right now. "If this is a turkey flu dream, I'm gonna be so pissed at you, real you," Buck says.

Tommy laughs quietly, sadly, then hesitates for a moment. "Can I ask you something? Can I ask you the scariest thing I've ever asked anyone in my entire life?"

Buck doesn't move, doesn't breathe. "What is it?" he finally asks.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

Buck, hearing what he's quietly dreamed of hearing for four months, doesn't feel the euphoria he thought he would. He feels something else, though: a strange kind of wonder that someone wants him again. Again. He swallows hard, feeling the pain right in his turkey-flu-ridden throat. Someone knew him. Someone left him. Someone came back—came back for him.

Tommy left. Tommy came back. Tommy wanted him then. Tommy wants him now. Tommy's wanted him all along.           

Buck asks, "Will you invite me to your place more than once every six months?"

Tommy's half-smile is still wide enough for Buck to see behind the mask. It falls, though, back into something serious. "Will you forgive me when I'm not a paragon of queer virtue?"

"Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Buck thinks he smiles a little behind his mask, but it doesn't stay. "Are we gonna break up again?"

"I don't know," Tommy admits. "But maybe next time we can stop each other and hit the brakes. I love romcoms, but maybe we don't do that again: you don't propose fixing a problem with marriage and a baby, and I won't run out the door."

Buck raises his eyebrows, too. "Who said anything about a baby?"

Tommy sputters. "I mean, you were the one raising the stakes before."

Buck laughs. "Right, right."

The quiet stretches out between them. They look at each other and don't look away. The stubborn, proud, cocky side of Buck feels annoyed that this feels like—like he can't get out of this. Like all roads lead back to Tommy, like he doesn't have a choice. Like if he wants to be happy, it's with this person.

A part of him wants to run and throw himself into the hunt again. He wants to thrive in the search for someone who makes him feel that euphoria and fondness and love that he felt with Tommy. He tries to imagine someone else, some vague smoky figure that isn't Tommy's height, Tommy's build, Tommy's arms crossed over his chest and that tilt of his head. The problem is that Buck feels more looking at that furrow and arch of his eyebrows than he's felt for anyone he's met in the past four months, maybe even longer.

Not all roads lead to Tommy—only the ones he wants to take.

"Say it again?" Buck asks.

Tommy nods ever so slightly. "I'm in love with you." He pauses and a smile reaches his eyes. "I love you."

Buck can't help the way his eyes water; neither can Tommy.

"Ask me again," Buck says.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

"Yeah." Buck wonders if his own smile reaches his eyes. He hopes it does. "Yeah. Will you?"

Tommy chokes out a laugh behind his mask. "Yeah, god, of course. Of course. You sure?"

"About you?" Buck asks. "Yeah. I mean, I want to be. Don't make me regret it."

"Don't make me give up my real estate."

"Don't make me go to any sports events."

"Seriously? Not even baseball?"

"God," Buck moans. "The sleepiest one of all."

"Hockey's good."

"You hate the Kings."

Tommy scoffs. "Of course I do. You always hate your local teams—you just hate visiting teams more. Can't let management get comfortable."

Buck attempts to take a deep, exasperated breath, but he forgets that he has the fucking turkey flu. He chokes and starts to cough and wheeze, but Tommy's there again. He freely, lovingly pushes Buck further to the other side of the hospital bed so he can sit and take care of him: water, tissues, hand on his chest to steady him, eyes worried and on him.

"It's not official until you kiss me," Buck says. "I'm not contagious."

"I mean, not with turkey flu," Tommy says. "Your Buckness? That I'm not so sure."

"Don't call me that anymore," Buck says.

Tommy puts his cup of water on the table next to Buck's bed, then shifts so he and Buck are closer, face-to-face, head on looking at each other. "How'd you get even brattier in only four months?"

"How'd you forget I was this bratty?"

"At my age, well, everything's starting to go."

Buck laughs, then coughs and wheezes. "Stop making me laugh."

"How'd you forget I was this funny?"

Buck tilts his head. "I didn't. I didn't forget a thing."

Tommy searches his face, then cups his jaw with one hand. Buck doesn't lean into it, just lets Tommy hold him as he tips Buck's chin up ever so slightly.

Then Tommy kisses his forehead and his birthmark, and wraps his arms around Buck. It's the warmest Buck has felt all winter. It finally feels like spring.

---

read on the ao3

[azen13]

Looking at the items the Starlight Pawnshop has to offer... I'd like to purchase the < Avian Necklace >, please. Because a pretty little songbird deserves only the prettiest chain with which to tie it down.

Paradise Lost, Paradise Found

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Avian Necklace: A silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a bird mid-flight, imbued with a strange energy strong enough to shackle its wearer in paradise forever.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Description: After the Charmony Festival, Sunday returns to Penacony with the Stellaron Hunters, desperate to be reunited with his lover.

CW: Yandere Themes, Brainwashing, Mind Control, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Intense Distress, Manipulation

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It is a Monday night in Penacony, and all is well in the world.

Sure, your hotel room is cramped. The mattress is lumpy. The view is horrible. But it is real, and that is all that matters to you. After an eternity of dreams so sweet you felt like you were drowning in joy, you would rather be stuck in this dingy hotel room than some luxury VIP suite anyways. It’s comforting in all its imperfections. 

That is, until you hear someone knock on your door.

The sound is rhythmic, three short, quick, evenly spaced knocks. It’s all you truly need to know who stands outside your door. Your heart already knows, beating so fast you feel like you could go into cardiac arrest. 

But then you hear his voice. Smooth and rich like espresso, laced with a subtle sweetness. “Darling,” Sunday whispers quietly, “please, open the door.” It is both a request and a command, though it isn’t infused with Sunday’s usual pacifying power. 

He liked doing this when you realized Ena’s dream was all an illusion; he would give you a chance to submit and  acquiesce to his love and care, but when you inevitably refused, he had no qualms about worming his way into your mind. Once inside, he’d gently smash any shred of resistance you had, before pulling you into his arms and crooning his hymns, praising your holiness. 

Isn’t this dream so blissful? he would ask you quietly, his hands ghosting over your skin, soft as feathers. I can give you anything you want. In Ena’s dream, it was true. Sunday could give you anything you wanted, even your freedom. But you knew it was an artificial imitation of independence; no matter where you traveled in the pseudo-universe, he was always there, always watching you. That was good enough for him: knowing you were safe, his hands cupped around your world like the way one would hold a bird.

The sound of Sunday’s voice breaks you out of your momentary reverie. “My dove, please, I don’t want our reunion to be bitter, but it seems like you aren’t giving me a choice.” You can feel the resonant harmonies in Sunday’s words grow louder, gripping your mind gently, giving you one more chance to open the door through your own free will.

You look around your room for any way out. On the opposite wall is a single window. You’re on the first floor. All you have to do is break through it and find someone. Frantically, you rush over, scrounging around for something to break the glass. You hear a loud sigh. “I wish you could just understand, my love,” Sunday laments. 

The lock clicks.

Instantly, you are pounding and clawing on the glass like a rabid animal. In brief moments of clarity through your haze of desperation, you can feel your shoulder ache from ramming into the glass. Your throat feels raw. Someone is screaming. It’s you.

Sunday’s hands are just as excruciatingly tender as you remember, gliding over your arms and clasping your wrists in a tender but firm embrace. “Shh, it’s okay, my dear,” he whispers quietly. Beneath the insanity that clouds his own eyes, you can glimpse genuine concern in his gilded gaze. “Calm down, shh, yes, relax,” he coos. 

All of the sudden, the world goes soft and blurry; every color in your hotel room, the pallid, washed-out grays and pale, muted blues seem to turn into a psychedelic kaleidoscope, luring you deeper and deeper into a state of tranquility. 

With slow, delicate motions, Sunday lets go of one of your wrists, a placid smile gracing his face for a mere moment. Making sure that you won’t hurt yourself anymore than you already have, he reaches into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a small necklace imbued with the power of the Order. 

“After the Charmony Festival, I was in such a deep state of despair. I thought I had lost everything. My dreams. My power. My home. My sister. My love.” His grasp on your wrist tightens, though you’re so lost in his spell that you can’t even feel the pain. “But now…now I have you again, my dearest,” he whispers hoarsely. Sunday can hardly believe you are real, with how constant misfortune has haunted his life. Time and time again, he has lost everything. Everyone. All his dreams and aspirations have shattered to pieces like stars crashing down to the earth from the heavens. But not you.

“Perhaps my plan was ill-timed,” Sunday muses as he loops the chain of the necklace around your neck. “But for right now, if I can’t give everyone paradise, then at least I can give it to you. And that will be more than enough,” he whispers, taking your appearance in, drinking it in like a man without water for forty days. 

The effects of his tuning are fading, but the power of the necklace is taking root in your mind, warping and twisting it until you understand. Truly magnificent. He can see the clarity and consciousness in your eyes, but he can also see behind it, the compulsion to listen. 

“Now, we must go,” Sunday says, his hands moving to clutch both of yours, pulling you up from where you’re sitting on the floor. “The rest of the Stellaron Hunters are likely getting anxious and ready to leave.” Still, he can’t help but steal one more moment alone. He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips, looking at your splendor one last time.

His sweet, foolish, caged bird.

[iiotic]

༻༉What letters?

(Human) Alastor x Fem!reader - (2/2)

TW - swearing, mentions of death.

How could you look at him the same when he had left you heartbroken like that?

How could you forgive him for everything he'd done?

How could you act like everything was fine when it wasn't?

You looked up at the tall creature before you with fear in your eyes. None of you said anything. His red eyes staring at you, almost like you were his prey and he was your predator. He was smiling. Why the hell was he always smiling like nothing has ever happen?

- Why didn't you respond to any of my letters? - The fear in your eyes slowly turning into anger and sorrow. - You promised me you'd write back to me. Then tell me why didn't i receive anything?

His eyes narrowed and his smile grew bigger. - What letters? - His voice sounding like an old radio. The static was ringing in yours ears, causing you a headache. - I never received any of your letters, dear.

- Stop lying to me, Alastor. - You quickly interrupted his sentence. - I wrote to you everyday, hoping for a response from you. Tell me, why didn't you fulfil our promise?

- I would-- He was interrupted once again. This time by the owner of the hotel. She walked up to you two with an excited face, screaming your name.

She slowed down as she saw who you were talking to. Her excited smile slowly turned into an more nervous one.

- I see you two already met each other. - Charlie said focusing more on Alastor, hoping that he didn't do anything stupid. - In case that he didn't introduce himself his name is Alastor. But I'm sure you've already heard of him. I just came her to say that your room is ready.

You thanked Charlie as you were truly grateful for everything she already has done for you. Without her you would probably be homeless, just waiting to get killed in the next extermination. Soon enough Charlie completely ignored Alastor, dragging you along to introduce to you everyone in the hotel.

- So that was Niffty! We're 80% sure she's harmless. And this is the bar and the bartender - She said pointing on an avian cat demon, absolutely screaming with excitement. But can you really blame her? You were her second true guest!

The demon behind the bar just looked at you for a second turning back around to whatever he was doing.

- Oh! Vaggie here!! - She said waving at a girl with long white hair with a jagged, moth-like shape to the cut, with gray-lavender stripes at the ends. Charlie quickly introduced her too. - And this is my girlfriend, Vaggie.

Vaggie just gave you a slight smile while telling Charlie that they should talk in private. Apologising Charlie said that she was going to be right back.

So now you were left all alone in the lobby. You decided to sit on the couch to think about everything that has just happened.

"Okay so there's an afterlife and i'm not so surprisingly in hell. Im in a place filled with crazy psychos.." You pinched the bridge of your nose. Looking around at your surroundings, hoping that this is all a dream. "Some surprisingly happy woman allowed me to stay at her hotel for as long as i want to. And in this hotel there's my childhood bestfriend. Amazing."

- Fucking amazing - You said out loud as you heard Charlie coming back wanting to continue the tour.

---

You woke up to the sound of someone knocking on your door. Getting up and throwing a blanket on yourself you yelled that they should come in.

And he did.

- What are you doing here, Alastor? - You looked at him with anger in your eyes. - I don't want to see you.

- Well, dearest. - He paused thinking how he should put it in words. - I just wanted to make few things clear beetwen us.

- We haven't seen each others in years and here you are being mad at me because you didn't keep our little promise.

- I didn't keep it? - You got up from your sitting position on your bed and started to slowly walk up to him. - I always stayed up late at night writing letters to you every-fucking-day. I thought that you would care just a little to write back to maybe I don't fucking one. Atleast one letter?

- As i said earlier, i didn't receive any letters. - He looked at you calmly with his signature smile - However I'd like to know your excuse to not responding to my letters.

- I didn't receive any letters Alastor! - God, you were so mad at him. He truly broke your heart. You liked him.. No you lived him for such a long time. He was your first crush and now? He was just a fucking manipulator. - Why the fuck are you lying to me?

- I'd like to discuss this matter calmly. - He said referring to you cussing him in every sentence and your unstoppable yelling. - How about I'll take you to a cafe, my treat.

After considering his offer you agreed. You really needed to know what happened between you two and if he was really lying. It was quite dumb for you to just assume he was a liar without any proof but I guess it was the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

This morning you borrowed a dress from Charlie becouse you didn't have any other clothes then the ones that you've fallen in. It was a black dress just below your knees with an sweetheart neckline. She also borrowed you her jewelry so now you're also wearing a golden necklace.

The time of day has come and Alastor knocked to your bedroom once again. Thus time you opened the door closing it behind, ready to go.

---

Alastor snapping his finger teleported both of you to a nearby cafe. Coming in and gesturing you to chose a table. After you choose one he pulled out the chair for you and took a seat before you.

- So dear. - He looked up at you - That dress really compliments your figure.

- Thank you however it isn't mine. Now I'd like you to explain what happened?

- I don't know what you're talking about, darling. - Oh now he is acting dumb?

- I'll ask one last time. Why didn't you respond to any of my letters? - You asked, this time calmly. Crossing your arms.

- and I'll say one last time. I didn't receive them. - He said looking out of the window, seeing demons suffer. - I always thought that you didn't write them, that you've forgotten about me.

- I'd never forget you, Alastor. You meant a lot for me. - You responded looking out of the window as well - I couldn't imagine life without you. That's why I was truly heartbroken when i didn't ses you write back.

- I was writing to you, so many times. In fact i always wrote to you on the end of every week. - He confessed - For over 15 years.

- But i didn't receive anything?

- Neither did i, dear - Maybe it was the wrong address? Maybe I just didn't know how to send letters? Maybe I didn't actually send them?

- So.. I'm sorry I'm so embarrassed right now. - You looked at your lap fidgeting with your fingers - I should have never yelled at you like. It was very immature of me to accuse you of something you didn't do.

- That's fine, darling - he said looking back at you lowering his tone a bit - Everything is fine between us?

You looked at him with hope in your eyes. Oh how much you wanted to bring things to normal, how it was earlier when you were kids. - Yeah everything is fine.

-Smile my dear! You know you're never fully dressed without one.

(A/N) I rushed the ending so much.. Just because I posted it halfway done and had to speed run the rest. I hope y'all enjoy!

[eldritch-spouse]

Town sheriff Morrel 👀🍄

[Oh you know in your heart that would be the most human-racist town to ever exist.]

TW: Human discrimination(???); Cannibalism mentions; Noncon.

Nobody likes your kind around here.

You're trouble. You're dangerous. Untrustworthy. Bastards, the lot of your species.

The entire town seems to seethe at the mere sight of you, it's never been clearer that you're unwelcome somewhere. The monsters refuse to talk to you, even going as far as to show disgust when you walk in their general direction, and the children scream in amusement like you're some boogeyman. Everywhere you step, it's as if a dozen pairs of eyes are poised on your person, and the local businesses go as far as to deny you basic services. The ones less well-off accept your money in a "hush hush" kind of style, looking as guilty as if they had killed a man for it.

You never intended to live here, but you had to make a stop, and the town seemed normal enough at first sight. How you've come to regret it... At this rate, you won't have anywhere to sleep in for the night.

It all culminates in one big scandal. You had sat down by a bench, wondering what you were going to do now, why this was happening at all, when an indignant feathered monster all but stomped her way over. True to her nature, she squawked about how unsafe this town would be if they all just allowed your kind to roam around, shouted that she would not stand for it neither would she let her children be exposed to such nonsense. She spoke of you like you exuded some kind of contagious lethal illness, and the worst part is that you could tell she believed every word that came out her beak.

To her, and to her kids that didn't know better, you were a menace with the vilest of intents, come to desecrate their loving home.

Speechless is a way to put how you felt in that moment, having never stepped into the shoes of someone so heavily abhorred. Pity welled in your heart when you had witnessed less conveniently-shaped monsters get rejected by your mostly human society, but never could you have dreamed this is the extent of the discrimination monsters and humans can extend towards each other.

You remember the fear for your safety making your heartbeat thunder in your eardrums, until she had yelled that the sherif would "take care of you now".

There was nothing for you to vomit, because you hadn't eaten that day, but you still dry heaved in terror.

What could you have done then? Run away? Yeah right, the crowd that had formed from this woman's rabid yelling looked more than ready to either catch or follow you. The sherif would come, they would find you, and your best bet was to remain placid. To be the person none of these monsters thought you could be.

He was huge.

From a distance, you couldn't even quite tell what kind of monster he was, until you realized the bulbous thing on his head was a cap. A mushroom cap. You'd never seen that type of monster before. His form was bulky and trained, nearly bursting through his outfit, you couldn't even lean up to see the name on his badge, couldn't hope to do anything but freeze under his glowing blue eyes, piercing onto you.

But what shocked you the most, was not his appearance. It was the way he looked at you. The sheriff didn't spare you the same disgusted, enraged glower. Although you still felt intimidated, he cast a giddy, ferally excited leer at you. The avian woman threw herself at him with no ounce of reservation, warning "Mister Morell" of the danger you had been.

He shrugged her off calmly, assured the woman that no harm would ever befall anyone in town, because he's handled piggies before. He can deal with strays, this wasn't an issue. Your stomach once again flipped and twisted all sorts of ways, and you didn't dare move a muscle once a hand was clasped onto your shoulder. A hand much bigger than yours, a hand that could grasp your entire skull.

He didn't need to force you anywhere, and that seemed to make him very excited. Getting in that car was the most stifling moment of your entire existence, and you remember the dread mounting on you, crushing your lungs, the way you could see him constantly giving you looks through the mirror, licking his teeth.

He didn't drive anywhere you could recognize. In fact, the sheriff was looking specifically to distance himself from town. You assumed the worst, naturally. That he was going to put a bullet in you and bury your corpse somewhere. Maybe he'd eat you alive... You- You know the butchers gave you weird looks too, you're not stupid.

You saw. You saw what they had on display.

When Morell stopped the car and got in through the opposite back door, you were already crying, silent tears going down your cheeks as you prepared to beg for your life, to die a humiliating death to some monster that couldn't care less.

He wasn't going to hurt you, Morell assured.

Nothing bad would ever happen to you... If you promised to be a good piglet and made his house into a real home. Morell needed a cute, delicious little thing to come home to. The townies didn't like you at all, the chances of you being killed were high. This one was a degenerate, unlikely to kill you if you fed his erotic fantasies of keeping a human all to himself.

When the sheriff's hand climbed under the hem of your dress, you just closed your eyes and let it happen.

Let him touch you in a ways a monster never had, heard his sick little whispers of how dirty you were, how humans were all so provocative and had to be kept in check. He said he would take care of you, as he thrust hard enough to nearly pop your joints. That you'd never worry about a thing again.

You let him clean you afterwards, clumsily returned his kisses when it seemed as if your lack of response was angering him.

Morell kissed your neck tenderly before he helped you wobble to the passenger seat.

I love you, he had proclaimed, sickly affection in his glowing eyes.

And you guessed, then, you had to love him too.

[rose-tries-to-write]

My Knight Part 2

This can be found on Ao3 under the same username!!

Part 1 Here

The next few weeks are a blur of pristine walls, well-kept gardens, and over-the-top lavishes that Grian had never dreamed of being in the same room with. Scar—the royal elf, or should he say the Crown Prince (“You couldn’t have said something sooner? warned me? anything?”)—introduced him to a world he had only ever imagined back in the orphanage when princes were everyone who held a stick as if it were a sword and pretended to slay dragons and beasts alike.

Grian couldn’t say he’d ever get used to it because he’s pretty sure he won’t get the chance to. After all, the staff all whisper bets of his employment’s expiration date. The one conversation he’d managed to hear before they’d noticed him was between the kitchen staff as they prepared Scar’s breakfast that morning.

“What do you think, Stress?” a man’s voice calls, one Grian recognizes as Bdubs. They’d met on Grian’s first day when Scar toured him through the palace, and Grian had liked the man for his upbeat and almost overwhelming personality. Scar had talked him up as one of his best staff, even noting him as more a very close friend than that of just another staff member. The sentence he speaks isn’t enough to make Grian hesitant to open the kitchen doors, but the next words have his hand hovering over the knob. “That Grian guy, that is. I hear there are bets on how long he’ll last.”

The words are so casual as if thrown out to be more a conversation about the weather rather than what it is. “Um, I don’t know. I’ve never met the fellow, but I hear he’s real good at his job.” The girl, Stress as Bdubs had called her, sounds uncomfortable about the topic of conversation. “Though, I guess being good at his job doesn’t promise his place here, with Scar’s track record. I don’t know, I… I don’t think it’s nice to bet on his failure.”

He’d never heard of ‘Scar’s track record’ as she put it, before now, but it sounds like maybe he should have. He listens as Bdubs responds, “Of course not, but you have to admit it’s interesting. Scar’s never kept a personal guard for longer than a week, the staff hasn’t had something to gossip about like this in years.” He huffs, almost disapproving but it’s hard to tell from behind a door.

Grian is stunned, pondering the implications of such a statement. If Scar had never kept a guard, fired enough for it to become a thing among the staff to bet on the next one’s failure, then he must be hard to please. Grian is hit with the sudden thought of him not being enough to please someone like Scar. He’s a Prince for the gods’ sake, what could Grian possibly offer him as a guard when he’s nothing more than some thief? He’s hit with the thought that, even though he’s lasted longer than a week that doesn’t guarantee that Scar won’t get bored of him.

Grian is pulled from his thoughts by the kitchen doors opening and a small woman with short brown hair stepping out. Her eyes of milk chocolate brown meet his of deep charcoal black and she is frozen in surprise and what looks a lot like guilt. He takes the tray from her hands, knowing just from the sight of eggs and bacon laid out to appear like a smiling face that this is Scar’s breakfast, and escapes the confrontation before it can even begin.

The rest of the day is spent like this, worrying himself into corners as he constantly overanalyzes his actions throughout the day. Is there something more he can do as he stands at attention in the library? Should he be doing something to help Scar while he does paperwork? Is he good enough for Scar to keep around-

“Grian?” He startles, snapping his head to look at Scar where he sits in his study, just a few feet from where Grian stands guard behind him, “Are you okay?” the Prince asks once he has the avian’s attention.

“What?” Grian asks, caught off guard after being pulled from his circling thoughts.

“Are you okay, Grian? You look like you’re gonna pass out.” Scar says in a joking tone, but Grian can hear the genuine worry that sits just under his laughter. Grian nods his head with a shaky smile, feeling words catch in his throat with the thoughts of Scar thinking he’s too sick to do his job. This, unfortunately, seems to make Scar more worried as the smile he always sports wavers as if Scar wants to drop it. He gestures to the couch, “You can rest if you need to Grian, I understand that standing around while I do my work can get boring.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine.” Grian dismisses, panic threatening at the edges of his voice. He sounds strained even to his own ears and he can see the way it only makes Scar more worried about him. Scar gives him a once over before he sighs and stands from his chair. “Wha- Where are you going?” Grian asks as Scar rounds the table.

Scar glances at him before throwing himself down onto the couch that sits neatly against one wall with a backdrop of towering windows, flowing green curtains framing it on either side. “You might not be tired, but I am. That paperwork is far too boring for something I have to do every day,” He bemoans, sinking into the couch and closing his eyes. “Join me, Grian. You don’t have to sleep, but at least sit down with me.”

Grian can see the slick smile that stretches Scar’s face from here, and he narrows his eyes at the Prince. “I can see what you’re doing…. but fine.” Grian grumbles at Scar winning this, but joins Scar on the couch anyway to appease him. It feels wrong to be sitting with Scar when there are things he’s supposed to be doing. Duties as a guard, as the personal guard of the Crown Prince, that Grian can feel creeping up on him even as he tries to relax like Scar wants.

And, maybe Scar can sense it because he sits up and turns to face Grian. He sighs, a look of worry and sadness that looks so wrong on a face that Grian is used to being twisted in a smile. “This isn’t working. You’re stressed and you won’t talk to me about it,” Scar looks down at his hands, twiddling with them as he gathers his thoughts, “I… Did I do something..?” He finally asks, looking up to meet Grian’s eyes.

Grian, for all it is worth, doesn’t know how to respond. In some ways, it is Scar’s fault. He’s the one who goes through guards like they’re toys, he’s the one who chose a thief as a guard, he’s the one who Grian is dependent on never throwing him away. But, also, he’s not the one who told Grian his employment was limited, he wasn’t the one who made Grian believe he had to prove himself to be able to stay. “It’s not… you.”

Scar looks at him, eyes searching for something Grian isn’t sure he can show the Prince. But, for the man who helped Grian out of the streets, he can try. “I… I want to stay. I want to prove that I can be a good guard, that you can trust in me to be there. I want…” Grian looks up, meeting Scar’s eyes. The man looks close to tears, and his hands stray just a smidge too far toward Grian for it to be anything but intentional. Grian puts his hands on top of his instinctively, curling them to take hold of Scar’s hands. “I want to be good enough for you.”

“Oh, Oh, Grian.” And Scar… laughs. He grips Grian’s hands in his and bends over them, bringing them to touch against his temple as he laughs. Slowly, Grian can feel water drip onto his hands.

“Scar?” He asks worriedly, and Scar leans back with a sharp intake of air. This allows Grian to see his face, overrun with shining tear tracks and a smile so wide that Grian is tempted to join the laughter if only to make it less awkward.

“You are good enough.” Scar finally says, taking one of his hands back to wipe his tears away but it quickly returns to Grian’s hold. “I don’t know what I ever did to make you believe otherwise, but I chose you for a reason. You don’t have to prove yourself or earn my trust, you’ve had it since I made you my knight.”

Scar’s hands pull away but are shortly replaced on Grian’s face, caressing his cheeks. “Don’t cry, my knight. You’re here to stay for as long as I live.”

[icyowl]

I Can't Fly So We'll Drown

Pairing: Hawks x reader ft. a bit of avian!hawks

Request: none

Synopsis: Hawks saves you but nearly drowns because birds can’t fly when wet. 3k. Previously titled Freezing Rain Feathered Chains

A/N: This is not proofread. Typos are to be expected.

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

Your thoughts were decidedly unremarkable when facing your death. No mentions of family or friends, not of your boyfriend, not of missed opportunities or dreams never fulfilled. No regrets and no thoughts of the circumstances that led to your unfortunate situation.

Pain, and trying to stop that pain, were the only synapses firing in an otherwise empty brain. One good thing had happened since you’d been cast into the river: you’d managed to escape your sinking car. Bad news? There was more water than air in your lungs and the surface of the river was several feet above you. You had fought, you really had, but cold and clothing had robbed you of mobility and a dense fog had replaced normal thought.

Of course, you tried to live. For minutes you had struggled before you couldn't break the sloshing water's surface any longer. Hero. You needed just one — fuck he didn't even need a quirk! Just a hand and a good heart.

Now all your body felt was one thing: air. Need air.

Your lungs kicked and lurched in a final fight to create air from nothing. The savage burning from your chest spread to every bit of sinew. It was powerful enough even to block out the agony of the near-zero water temperatures. Were you still struggling? Who really knew. Fangs -- numerous, excruciating -- drug you down further away from the life continuing on above you.

Somehow the pain grew impossibly worse when your lungs decided to inhale on their own, pouring more water down your throat.

From above the water Hawks spotted your car on his fly-by, seeing it submerged up to the taillights, proving with one glance at the license plate that it belonged to you. Had you tread water for just a bit longer, he'd be able to see you before the harsh river current towed you hundreds of feet down the river and eventually to its bottom.

Silt gradually began to settle around you. The soil over your grave, if you will.

Hawks knew the repercussions of his actions when he dove straight down into that same wintry water: birds can't fly when wet. Species with special oils were an exception he was not apart of. He was human enough to be in danger, and different enough to feel disadvantaged because of his quirk.

And yet Hawks didn't hesitate.

First attempt: unsuccessful. His eyes burned under the water's pollution, and it was far too murky to peer through even with his avian powers of sight. Self-preservation forced him back to the surface for oxygen even when his brain screamed that you were still down there. Again, he tried. As much as it takes.

Second: no luck. He should have thrown at least his jacket off — it was weighing him down, dragging in the current this way and that. His wings rotated in the waves, trying to manage the tumultuous tide of water threatening to steer him off course. When he surfaced he called your name again, looking for a bit of hair or debris to help him. Thousands of gallons of liquid swept by, impossible to stop or sift through. Further. You had to be further downriver.

Hawks's wings broke the surface, flapping once, twice, uselessly floundering alongside their owner while he gulped in air. He shouted a helpless plead into the sky, coughing up water from his own mouth. “Please!”

Third attempt. Lethargy began to overcome him as the cold water licked along his body. His gloves grabbed at handfuls of sand at the bottom of the river. Trash, glass, anything but you or your clothing. When had you fallen in? Could a human even last this long? He wouldn't know until someone recovered your body. It would be him to do so, and it would be right now.

Fourth try. Tears merged with the river wrapping him up in its clutches. He had a chance to save you. Why would he have been given this life, with the training and honing and suffering, if it wouldn't enable him to save you? Hawks searched the water blindly, hands and wings and eyes reaching for some part of you to hang onto. Screams left him in constant sobs, carried away with the tide and into the abyss. As the seconds passed, he began to give in to the froth. He would die looking for you, but at least it meant not living a life without you.

Hawks was tossed into a large mass. Clothing spread in front of his eyes, the color of the jacket he'd bought you when the weather had begun to change. His super-human gaze narrowed in on your peaceful visage. It had the same serenity as a child's. . . and he was consumed with a palpable rage on par with his mentor's most intense inferno. This berserker trance gave him the strength to save his mate, made his quivering arms pull you from the filth, his delirious mind hold onto consciousness just a little longer, and let his wings stretch to their ultimate reach to somehow bend the water to his will.

You did nothing when he broke the surface.

“Come on. Breathe!” Hawks screamed. As best as he could, he leaned back to let you rest face-up on his chest. From here he could hold your chin back and above the water. This wasn't going to work, he knew, when merely holding you up was forcing him under.

Through the struggle, he still had to find the shore. It took time, too much, but eventually, he was able to push his spent muscles and your limp carcass onto the bank. Your skin was an impossibly dead color, lips lax and lacking any pigment.

In his near-hysteria, Hawks never hesitated before he began pushing on your chest relentlessly. Any semblance of rhythm was interrupted by his panic. “Please! Come on kid, breathe for me!”

Crunch. Crack. Snap. His impacts had begun to break your ribs. He knew he was hurting you but this was the only way to have any chance of saving you and the dichotomy forced tears from his eyes. Never had he imaged himself hurting you on purpose but what choice did he have?

Hawks's pounding was relentless. He didn't worry about his own fading mind, the severe tremble in his body, or his wings, rendered waterlogged and useless. Panic made him scream, curse, and hold your face one last time—

Water dribbled out your nose and mouth. When he collapsed over top of you to try and sense a sign of life, he heard faint beats from your weary heart, and a chilly exhale brushed against his ear. Breathing.

“That's it, don't give up on me.” Hawks said. He rubbed your sternum to help push out more water and get you back to consciousness. Then came the coughing, gagging, wheezing, shivering at the icy temperatures. It took many moments for your thoughts to assemble in some fort of cognitive way. Fuck it was cold, fuck you were in pain, but the pain meant you were alive. Alive thanks to the very special man sitting back and collapsing in the waves. Vaguely you heard his voice, exhausted and paper-thin on the air.

The muscle weakness kept you from being able to so much as lift your arms. If you could, you would've sat up sooner. If you'd done that, maybe you could've saved Hawks from the river. Now all you had were the waves of water at your legs and the drag marks in the sand of someone being pulled in. No Hawks. The air you'd just gotten back into your body rushed out in fear. He must have fainted, been swept back under the waves, and now you had to get him back when you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Kei. . . Keigo.” You tried to scream. What came out was a weak whimper. You saw nothing in the water no matter where you looked. He was just here. He had just saved you. Now, you had to do the same for him.

There.

The tip of a wing arced across the surface, slowly, with no resistance. Could you even swim right now without drowning again? Waterlogged clothes, weak muscles, overwhelming chill. Getting up seemed impossible; how were you going to fare treading water?

You didn't hesitate.

Someone was looking out for you when several seconds of swimming blindly downstream put you next to another glimpse of a crimson wing just a dozen feet away. The river had narrowed by now, forcing the current into a faster pace. You grabbed here, there, tortuously, for several seconds until the brush of a leather glove kicked you into overdrive. He was just within reach when a sharp turn to the river forced you apart. It was your turn to yell for him.

His face emerged from the swells, faintly gasping. It went back under for a moment before you finally latched into his jacket and pulled him to you. With what strength you had left you kept his head tucked under your chin. How much water had he ingested by now? What about you?

“Why. . . did you. . .” He tried into your throat. You didn't have time to reply before the both of you were thrown against a large cement pole emerging from the rapids. Terror gripped you when you lost hold of him, feeling him slip until you tightened around him like some feral creature.

Now you had to be strong again. Not for yourself, this time, but for Hawks. “We have to get to shore.” If you were lucky, one good push from the current could get you close. Time was precious, now. The longer you two spent in the icy river, the more your strength and coordination would leave you. The layers of fabric that had kept the both of you warm were now weighing you down, not to mention Keigo's wings. “Babe?” You tried. A vague hum was all you got in return. It was nearly impossible to discern amongst the sounds of waves all around you. “I know you're tired, I know it hurts, but we gotta work together. I need your help, Keigo.”

Hearing his name from your voice, feeling the lethargy creeping in on you, knowing you were risking everything to try and save him when it should be the other way around; it made his eyes open. . . and his pupils narrow into animalistic slits. A snarl from someplace deep inside him was all you got as a warning before clawed hands gripped mercilessly onto your skin. Hawks's wings came to life, powerfully beating once, twice, and more to gather momentum. He'd brought both of you several inches out of the water before the minimal lift his wings managed to produce finally collapsed under their own weight. A second try yielded identical results. He was rapidly losing strength — you could feel it in the heaving of his chest pressed to your back and in the pants he exhaled into your ear. The rush of adrenaline would soon leave him completely and with it your chance of living.

“Keigo. . . I love you.” You quietly spoke. Despite the situation you began to feel at ease. Hawks was there with you. . . and the pull of the current became enticing. . . to let go now would be peaceful. . .

He growled in response: don't give up on me, now. The power it exuded brought some life back into you. Your injuries prevented you from properly taking in your surroundings, but Hawks spotted a piece of rebar sticking out at an angle from the shore. The position put it right over your heads, but several feet above the water. He had one chance to gain height and grab it. His strength was all but gone, hypothermia had long since set in. Did he still even possess the coordination?

It didn't matter. Possessing it or not wasn't a question. He'd find it.

His wings pushed themselves to their breaking point, heaving out of the water and hitting it with a loud smack, over and over, gaining centimeters each time. By now you'd gone limp, overcome by the cold and your injuries, but the talons on his one hand had long-since embedded themselves into you and your clothing. Neither God nor Satan could get him to let go.

His trajectory was off but nonetheless the fingertips of his free hand brushed the metal before latching onto it with a bone-crushing grip. A brief moment of relief was overcome when almost immediately the soaked leather of his gloves began to slip from the pole. He couldn't hold on, but he didn't need to. Thinking fast, he used the last bit of his grip to throw himself towards the riverbank before his hand let go completely. The sand — salvation — was still feet away, and the current was pulling him back to certain death. His heart lurched, feet kicking wildly. Then, a miracle.

His boots brushed against the silty bottom of the river. A final gust of willpower had his feet straining to get a better hold. Step. Slip. Step. Slip. Step. Slip. A fraction of an inch at a time, Hawks began to gain traction in the muck. Again, gravity became a friend and a foe as he emerged from the deathtrap, you successfully in his shaking grasp.

He fell with you into the mud and dirt, not even strong enough to break your fall or lessen the impact of him falling over top of you. Fighting off the sweet serenity of unconsciousness proved nearly impossible. Hawks don't know how he managed — he was convinced he'd never felt physical agony as bad as this.

The mental anguish of failing to ensure your safety was the only thing keeping him awake. He didn't see the bridge overhead, the people witnessing the struggle, or the frantic calls for heroes and an ambulance. All he saw was you. Keigo held your cheek in his palm, a thumb touching at your frosty lashes. He hadn't even noticed the cuts and bruises from the car crash marring your otherwise tranquil visage. “Come on, please. Let me get this one thing right.”

Hawks pulled off his glove with his teeth. If he didn't know any better he'd think you were dead, but he knew your spirit, knew how much you'd fought for him and for yourself. With someone like you, there was a chance. He pressed his greying fingers over your carotid.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump. Your ghostly pulse pushed back against his finger pads; sluggish, faint, but there.

All rigidity left his body at that moment, sending him collapsing on top of you. He watched -- numb and immobile -- as the breath of his exhale came out smokey and violent before dissipating into the winter air. Both of you lay unconscious and unmoving for several minutes before EMTs could arrive and find their way down to the riverbank. In those minutes Hawks never moved from his position on top of you — protecting you even while knocked out. The two of you appeared frozen in time and space, perhaps in a place far away without cold or pain. Some would later go on to say Hawks looked borderline childish, his cheek smooshed to your chest. Your heartbeat softly into his ear.

The instant an EMT touched your body Hawks was awake. His golden eyes opened wide as his body tensed. Claws grew, pupils constricted, fangs descended. The hissing roar he unleashed had the paramedic falling back into the mud. When he looked up, the image that greeted him appeared to be torn from a book of mythology.

Crimson wings freckled with ice shivered violently with cold and rage. Though they lacked the strength to rise from the dirt, they still drew in close to protect the precious body trapped under them. Wheat-colored eyes blazed, razor-thin and reactive. One of Hawks's clawed hands carefully dove under you to pull you closer to his chest, away from any signs of harm. Finally, an inhuman and thunderous hiss boomed from his chest. One look into the eyes of the bravest (dumbest) bystander sent even him scrambling away.

Needless to say. . . the first EMT didn't try to separate you two. He didn't have the guts. Not with Hawks close by. In fact, it took a far more experienced paramedic to successfully get Hawks to let you go. Not because he outmuscled him, but because he talked Hawks out of it.

“You did good, Hawks.” The older paramedic said in an attempt to reach him. Years on the job gave the man the experience to know how to talk down someone who, at the moment, was more animal than man. “You did really good, but she needs medical help. That gash on her head looks pretty bad, but we can only treat her if you let us.”

Still Hawks didn't move.

“She's barely breathing, dude.” He continued. “You got her this far, let us get her the rest of the way, alright? I'll let you watch me the whole time.”

Hawks appraised the gentleman for some time. Finally, his rational mind seemed to return, and with it his ability to give you up for medical treatment. He saw the blood coating his fingers when he allowed the EMT to reach under him and pull you out and onto a gurney.

Hawks continued to stare at his hand and talons while you were being treated. Don't get any ideas, he watched your treatments like a, well, hawk. He kept track of your breathing by feeling the air with the tips of his drying feathers. In the ambulance, the hallway, while they tended to you in the hospital. Never once did he stop eyeing the nurses and doctors. Everyone felt it, too — the gaze of a predator lying just out of reach. Waiting for any excuse to go on the attack.

The feeling in his hand still drew his attention from time to time. His talons didn't get to “come out” very often; the cuticles were sore, and getting his nails to retract was proving difficult. Hawks looked between them and you every few minutes. He'd hurt you. His wings, his mutation, his reason for being, had done nothing but get himself in trouble and make it harder to save you. It was easy to feel the familiar self-loathing consuming his heart. If only he were different, normal even, maybe this would have turned out better. His heart squeezed tightly when he imagined how you'd comfort him. You would most certainly chastise him for thinking such a way. After all, if it weren't for the inhuman reserves of strength and survival instinct, you'd likely be at the bottom of the river. The truth was he had in fact protected you. It wasn't perfect, but he looked at you in the bed, a nurse giving you another blanket to help keep you warm, and knew you'd give him the space to try and be the best he could.

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

Just imagine how he'd treat you when you woke up. awwwwwww

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles part III bonus: mimic, alone

(~2k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

[cws physical assault, mutilation, body horror, identity crisis, fear and guilt, self image and self worth struggles, survivor guilt? in a way, panic attack]

After the disaster of the weakness dosing and Scar finding out and running off, Juni does not try to follow him. He does not try to find Grian and Scar again—he knows he’s fucked that up irreparably. He made a mistake, and it’s not one that could be forgiven.

Just like that, all the comfort and sense of belonging (however false it was) is torn away from him. He’s plunged into solitude, with nothing but his guilt pressing down at his shoulders, and he knows it’s deserved. Aimless, he picks a random direction and goes, without any purpose or plan.

He knows he isn’t allowed to hold onto anything that was Scar's or Grian’s. But he still can’t put together a form of his own; through it all, he’s still running on borrowed things— No, not borrowed. Stolen. 

None of him is him. 

Briefly, he had a name. Briefly, it felt like maybe he could be his own person.

It feels like a faraway dream.

All sense of identity falls through his fingers once again. He lets it.

He doesn’t want to be Juni anymore. Juni did something awful. Being Juni hurts.

Once again nameless, he tries to shed the illusion of Grian that clings to his skin. (God. He left him to die, didn’t he?) Doesn’t even dare touch the likeness of Scar. But there’s nothing else to hold on. Nothing else to grasp at.

He tries. He tries so hard, to create something from nothing. But he doesn’t know who he’s meant to be. Doesn’t even know where to start. Or how. 

He keeps pushing. Forcing it and adjusting until it hurts. It feels futile. It keeps coming out wrong and twisted. Like his body can’t remember how to be.

Wearily, he settles on something that passes as looking normal-adjacent—albeit tired and hurt—except it’s still kind of distorted. He keeps feeling sick. His body feels weird. Not his. Never his. 

He still has wings. He can’t bring himself to take them away, separate that vulnerable part from his form. Maybe because he saw how an avian can be loved and cared for, and no matter how undeserving, he still achingly wants that.

… Well, if he won’t take the wings away, maybe someone else will.

At some point, he has a run-in with hunters. 

The attack is vicious. It’s a blur that ends with Juni the mimic pinned to the ground. There’s not a sliver of empathy or care. An explosion of agony blooms across the mimic’s back, changing the pitch of his screams from sheer terror to something much worse.

Desperate and terrified, he tries to shift, right underneath their hands and blades. He wants it to stop. He wants to shift out of  the parts that sear and hurt. 

It doesn’t quite work. He writhes and morphs and glitches, screaming his throat raw. His wings burn, the point where they connect to his back is drowning in molten pain, nerves flaring and making him so thoroughly aware of them that he can’t unthink them. They’re actively in pain and he can’t will them away. (They were never meant to belong to him and now they won’t Go Away.) It hurts it hurts it hurts.

It’s so helpless and terrifying. He writhes and cries and wails in their grasp.

His wings aren’t real. (But oh god does he still bleed.) They aren’t the tangible prize that the hunters desire. And once they realise—as the feathers lose their shine and slowly fade in their greedy hands, without the mimic’s active participation in maintaining their illusion—frustration and anger takes over.

This isn’t worth their time. This hybrid has nothing left to offer.

They pierce him with a damaged spear they don’t care about keeping, pinning him to the ground so he can bleed out, forgotten.

And maybe it’d be better to stay put and let it happen. To wait it out until the pain merges into something duller, number. To fade out, right here, abandoned on the forest floor. (Just like he’s abandoned Grian—) 

But he’s scared. He’s too scared of death, despite everything. 

Sobbing, shaking, nauseous and dizzy and weak, he fights. He struggles to get free, morphing and shifting his boddy in horrible ways until he manages to slip his form past the spear prison tearing at his flesh. 

He wails and crawls and bleeds, fearful he’ll become some horrid creature’s dinner. 

His body keeps morphing and shifting in uncontrolled jerks and twitches. It completely messes up the mimic’s perception of his own body by the end of it. He barely knows how to rearrange himself back into something that makes a semblance of sense, but the pain doesn’t leave and he’s so alone and afraid and woozy.

A fragment of memory comes to him. Scar and Grian talking about potential future. Of finding safety up in the tree branches. Of making nests, safe little islands high above the ground. 

Juni is terrified of heights. But right now, it doesn’t seem so scary. Not when everything else terrifies him far more.

He picks a tree, and he climbs.

And man, does climbing hurt. Straining the muscles along his shoulders and back. (He sobs and chokes all the way, but perseveres, desperate for a sliver of safety. Somewhere to try to patch himself up as much as possible.) (He can’t even really reach his back properly though—) 

It strikes him as odd, how much he wants to live. 

He used to treat the missions from the hunters as something that could kill him. Each could be his last, and he’d be okay with it. Because maybe he’d deserve it, after tricking and luring so many hybrids in. He kept yearning for something else, something more, but would just roll over if the blow was coming.

And then Scar and Grian happened, and— And Juni tasted life.

And he still tricked them. He still brought terrible fate on them. He’d still deserve death—now more than ever.

And yet he can’t seem to let go.

The (physical) healing is an arduous process. He falls sick. His form keeps shifting. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Where to go. Who to be.

But he survives. 

He survives, and then the day of the eclipse rolls around.

Thankfully, the mimic doesn’t have animal hybrid instincts that could be warped here. Although he’s donned wings again—maybe unwittingly, but he doesn’t feel right without them anymore. (A part of him still craves to be loved. Yearning helplessly and achingly for a sliver of safety and affection back. For fondness turned his way despite all his faults and flaws.) (A wholly different part of him still thinks he ought to be punished. Wearing wings is now more terrifying than ever, after surviving that attack. And yet here he is, with their weight on his back again, right over what’s meant to be horribly scarred skin.) (Because how could he take the wings off so easily, when he left Grian out there like that? Grian with his shiny wings, unable to hide them away? How could the mimic ever deserve to simply shed that danger from his own back after what he’s done?)

It’s on this day when he stumbles upon an avian caught in a net trap. A real, living avian that the hunters haven’t had the chance to get to yet. Moments before the sky would turn dark. Before all the hunting truly sets off. 

The avian looks at him with so much hope. Placing his misguided, frightened trust in this seemingly winged person. Begging for help, so very scared.

And the mimic tries. He tries.

The net doesn’t give. The avian is bleeding heavily. There’s a telltale sign of the hunting party setting off. The sky darkens. The avian keeps squirming, tangled into ropes, and—

They lock gazes. 

Two terrified sets of eyes. One captive, one free.

The sun is gone.

The avian chirps, high-pitched, a distressed beacon. They try to reach out for the mimic. Help help help.

The hunters approach, and the mimic panics.

Without thinking, he copies the look of the trapped avian. (He can’t keep a stable form; he can’t go back to Grian’s either, doesn’t want to, can’t can’t can’t.) He doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it, as he takes in their fear and sees his own reflected there. And— He turns away.

He runs.

He runs and he feels so indescribably horrible about it. Stacking his guilt until it’s tripping his feet, suffocating his lungs. He’s scared. He’s too scared, he couldn’t stay, they’d just both die, he couldn’t do it—

Is this all he’s good for?

He’s tired of saving himself.

(Who even is he anyway?)

His surroundings turn nightmarish and harrowing. A myriad of noises rises in cacophony—all the chirps, howls, laughter. The rise and fall and plunges into silence. The vex hollering. Wails and screams. 

Tumbling down, he curls up in a ditch, shaking and trying to breathe through an incoming panic attack. His mind spins a million miles an hour, dizzying. His hands feel like they’re drenched in blood. (They are. They’re stained from the wounds of the avian he left to die.)

He listens to bird chirps come and go, a sharp echo of what he’s just done.

An echo of what he’s already done before.

His bloodied hands shake horribly. He’s wheezing, gasping for breaths that evade him, pressing himself against soil in attempts to be quiet.

But he can’t, he can’t—

He left Grian to die. 

He had a chance there and he didn’t take it. He turned his back. He walked away. 

He did that. It was all his doing, start to finish. All his decision.

He killed him.

A sharp howl makes him flinch, panicked gaze peering through the eclipse-induced darkness. He catches a glimpse of the vex hunting party, wild and dangerous, their magic shimmying through the air in their wake.

He wonders if Scar is out there on some vex rampage. If he’s aimless and destructive, betrayed and grief-stricken, uncaring for his own wellbeing. If he ever stopped searching for his bird. 

Or if he’s dead, too.

He’s convinced he got them both killed. And for what?

He wasn’t working for the hunters anymore. And he didn’t even get what he wanted, either. He might’ve just gotten two hybrids killed for a week or two of fleeting, misplaced affection. 

He used to think the world was cruel and awful and had nothing good. And then he found something good. And he snuffed it out himself.

Because as it turns out, maybe he is the wrong and cruel thing. And he doesn’t want to be. He desperately doesn’t want to be, but— He already did those awful things. He can’t take them back.

He’s got wings now that aren’t Grian’s. (Though they belong to another doomed soul.) (Another soul he doomed.) He knows he’s no longer allowed to have anything of theirs, and he can’t form anything definitely his own, and— He thought this would feel better. No longer stealing from Grian.

But it’s still so wretched. Still stitched together with blood and fear.

The black wings on his back belonged to a trapped creature. And maybe that’s a reflection of how the mimic feels, too. Trapped. And like he deserves to die. (But he’s still afraid of it. So, so horribly afraid.) And avians… die easily, right?

(A horrible thought, considering he can’t stop seeing the way he abandoned Grian, defenceless on the forest floor—)

In the end, he doesn’t pick a new name for himself. He doesn’t figure out who he is. (Besides a monster.) He doesn’t know why he’s still alive. 

But he keeps surviving. 

Keeps walking aimlessly, shackled with his guilt and fear, with black wings on his back, aware that their previous owner is no longer around to accuse him of theft. (His fault his fault his fault.)

He’s left to wander the world, thinking he’ll never again feel the warmth of affection he so soul-shatteringly craves.

But maybe… Maybe he’s wrong about that.

Maybe the future will be kinder to him than he’d ever dare to hope for.

(And maybe it will still amount to nothing anyway.)

[t4tpumpkinduo]

No longer need to use anon hii ^_^ Okay, do you have specific heacanons about their species? Like how the work, if theres a culture behind it? They could share eachothers cultures.. And how different or similar is there relationship in Manburg vs Las Nevadas?

OMG HIII and yes i'm glad, i rlly appreciate yr qs :'[ tysm fr giving me the chance to yap abt these freaks its been YEARS. ok iwill start now

so first my hot take is cschlatt is a mixed king i think she's half sheep half goat. let me explain 🤚 do not interrupt me

well firstly, i just think it's kinda moe cuteness adorable and plays into his duality...i think her ma was a brown sheep, and his dad was a white goat and his hair ended up kinda swirled because of it. and up until revival brute forced white hair on her and made her confront stuff (and revival hair isn't dyeable to me), he'd dye it full brown regularly bcs his relationship w his dad was normal and healthy don't worry abt it don't worry stop asking questions. she's a clearly normal ram.

also uhhh. To support my claim, and this is meta knowledge, but i do think it's interesting tht even ccschlatt the guy will call his character a goat sometimes, does not disuade ppl who call him that in rp even though one of cschlatt's main character traits is the way he'll stand up for himself/hates being percived in a way he doesn't want, which means it mustn't be that srs to be called that in the first place, and also promotes rammie merch w goat emoji even though ram ones DO exists. 🤨 it's almost like he wants annoying microbloggers to dig into it too much. something to think about.

fr cq obvs he's a duckie primarily, some manner of patito but i also think he's part budgie and it fucked up his development in some way. idk, to me he has like. little claws he needs to file down which ducks do Not have, and he also just chirps which ducks do not do. his wings are yellow but if you fluff them up underneath you can see that it's a kinda dawny white, like they were SUPPOSED to grow more but just kinda stagnated, and that coloration is very common w budgies. not to mention those things are notoriously v small and weak and can die pretty easily so idk i'm sure that doesn't play into anything. mixed king who lost

for a culture thing i think uhhh. well i'm not sure if culture is the right word for what i'm going for but i'm not sure those things exist for me? i'm sure there's peoples, and i'm sure ancient avians have their own thing going on probably but most ppl are just some guy. like any guy who has an extra thing to upkeep. i do think cq cschlatt have some interesting seasoning to their hybridisms specifically however so:

ithink schlatt grew up in a v small town, w her and his family as the only Real hybrids which was also normal for him as a guy who takes being scrutinized and looked at differently very well. him niki n wilb were all besties, until wilb left to pursue his dreams of getting his dad to pay attention to him i mean getting his dad to pay attention to him i mean music. and then cniki and cschlatt had one of those weird toxic girl friendships breakups that fuck up their lives and leave them in resentment for years but they didn't know schlatt was a girl yet so it was extra weird for them. niki voice why are we having later to be thematically relevant tension you miserable asshole schlatt voice if you say anything else i'm gnna eat my own leg and you won't be able to stop me. so alas.

so he just didn't have that like...wider connection or interactions, and she ofc couldn't rely on her dad who probably ditched her and her sick ma when schlatts like. 13. so all the hybridism upkeep he knows, like upkeep and proper filing of his horns or polishing her hoovsies, come from his mama. horror sting. who dies not long after. wwell.

ithink cq also lacks a level of connection to wider bird hybrisisms bcs i don't think he ever had parents at all i think he just spawned. which is literally not uncommon in the mcyt world at all. but he had nobody to. teach him anything, so he just kinda lets his instincts guide him even tho tht doesn't work v well either.

ithink he was just a mildly feral street urchin type kid, yk stealing to eat that kinda thing and ended up being in and out juvie bcs of it at like. idk id say v young when he first got locked up, like 9 or smthng which is super insane but wht cn ydo.

(my other hc is tommy and cq know eachother frm juvie :] makes sense to me. cuz canonstyle ctommy is v fond of cq and cq of him before the smp even starts, and they make "jokes" abt peddling drugs together, right after cq talks abt being put on them in juvie, and is currently selling them to make money cuz he just got outta there. why do they both already know how to do this. guys who definitely made it insufferable in there)

and then on one of the times he gets away :] i think csam adopts him and loves him very much abt it even if cq more often than not pops in and out on account of the mc nature of the world. and cq definitely won't replay his kindness by accidently ruining his life. (REXHING AMD PUKGING.) but the guy is a creeper hybrid 👍 and not a bird. so he isn't really sure how to navigate that either and especially cuz cq is a shitty little shape shifter on top of it. smthing he is ALSO bad at and can't control v well or for v long w/o getting really fucked up from it. (guy who always loses) i never lose

scritches my head so yk general lack of upkeep type of guy. he doesn't know how to preen himself v well or v consistently, he doesn't get to his little claws fast enough so smtimes he just nips at them to stop from slashing someone's eye out by accident. but i do think he gets better at it eventually and nothing abt this fuckass evil server stops his progress either. guy who gets brutalized all the time to the point of severe scarring and nerve damage why am i on edge and hindered by scarring and nerve damage lolll 😅

anyways this got too edgy i'm cutting this off. the point is both these guys have probbles but what can you do in this bitch of a server. also the second question is so so good and swagiful and my response will be unspeakably long so i'm gnna resend that part to myself and answer it there ^_____^ 👍 on it's own post. yes thank you.

[hermitkat]

Grian is jumpy. Everyone knows that. They didn't always, though.

It was something the hermits realised decently quickly when he first joined the server. He was nervous and had a seemingly endless need for causing trouble. His reaction when caught off guard could be a little extreme. It wasn't really a problem until the wings grew in, though.

As soon as they learned about what he was, X also promtly held a mandatory meeting, teaching everyone about how avians differed from other hybrids, making sure they knew the basics of their behaviour. This is why everyone knew to be careful with his bones. Especially the ones in his wings. Fragile, but very important - keep safe.

The hermits weren't usually big on breaking others' bones anyway, opting for more deadly pranks and traps, if anything. So surely it wouldn't be a problem, right?

It was Mumbo who noticed the problem first. Grian had a tendency to visit his base. Even when he wasn't invited. Especially if he wasn't invited. Doing that did often make him extra tensed up, though. This essentially made him a spring, on high alert, waiting to be sprung.

Mumbo liked spooking him. Before he had his wings, he would just jump up into the air, make many paniced noises, and maybe flail his arms about a bunch. It was very entertaining. Once he was once again able to use his wings, he quickly learned that he might take a couple extra precautions before he went looking for that kind of entertainment, though.

When spooked, Grian would still jump and make all the funny noises, but now his wings would join in on the flailing as well. This often ended up with them smacking into objects, and when paniced enough, even flight, which could become a real problem in small spaces.

So he did his best to survey their surroundings before he did anything that could spook the avian. He did, however, forget to also mention this to the other hermits. To be fair, Grian didn't initially interact with anyone other than mumbo, anyway, so he didn't have much reason for concern.

The prank war did, however, force Grian to exist around the other hermits a lot more. And so it was that during a secret spying mission, Grian was spotted by Doc. He was part creeper, making him extra quiet on his feet. So he decided to have some fun.

He waited until he was right behind his back before speaking. All he got out was "Grian.." before the avian reacted. He made many different noises. He jumped. He flapped his wings. He took flight. Then the noises stopped suddenly, replaced by something entirely different. It was no longer squawks and chirps that filled the small room. It was a pained scream.

He had managed to fling himself straight into a wall, one of his wings getting twisted in a weird way and squashed under the weight of his body slamming into it. The creeper hybrid immediately knew something was wrong, so he quickly called for help, putting the war on pause while the wing healed.

After that, everyone was a lot more careful about how they approached Grian, but no one could really match Doc. He liked being intimidating, finding that people respected him more when they were at least a little scared of him. He did not actually want to hurt anyone. Especially not his friends. And he had.

He kept playing that incident over in his mind. He couldn't stop hearing that scream. In his dreams, Grian was terrified, in pain, always because of him. He felt so guilty. He knew that he wasn't really to blame. It was a freak accident. But he couldn't seem to convince himself of it.

It got to the point where he started avoiding going to sleep for as long as he could. Anything to keep himself from seeing him hurt again. The others started to notice something was off. He started avoiding them. He just worked. It kept his mind occupied. He finally broke one night and, in a haze, headed for the admins base.

He needed to talk to someone. He had been pushing everyone away for too long. He felt like he might go insane if he let this go on for even a little longer. X graciously and galdly listened to his mostly incoherent rambling until he passed out on the couch he'd been seated on. When he woke up, he felt better. He finally felt ready to do something about his problems.

X advised him to talk to Grian and apologise. So he did. Grian was confused as to what he was even so sorry about, having forgiven him long ago. He felt infinitely better. The more he saw of the avian, the less it haunted him. He did not seem afraid, no. If anything, he was overconfident. He had never really blamed Doc in the first place. He was intimidated by the man, sure, but not afraid.

He much preferred it that way.

[floral-moon-light]

Lore update for Philza on the QSMP! If you haven't seen the Friday the 13th of October stream or vod and/or the Monday the 16th stream or god go watch before returning!

Okay, so Friday the 13th did not really have much of anything lore-wise to talk about. So, to explain what happened that day, the start of the stream was mostly Phil, Fit, and Tubbo talking about a previous day's lore since Fit and Tubbo haven't gotten to hear what happened and Phil taking the two to the places he got his pictures of Tallulah and Chayanne. After which, shenanigans mostly happened involving a museum visit, spawning of seven deadly sins mobs, and talk about Tubbo either getting murdered or kidnapped (and other random stuff).

Once the group minus Tubbo gets back to Phil's house they mostly talked about the eggs and did some decoration of the outside of Tallulah's seed bank with Fit hyping Phil up. Eventually Jaiden comes over and joins in watching Phil work while revealing Jaiden has wings now, or that she always had wings but is now feeling confident enough to show them. At one point Cucurucho comes over and presents Jaiden with her reward for the task she did.

At some point the two leave and Phil decided to got exploring for dungeons, but gets distracted trying to capture a sunbird he spotted. At some point during the chase Cucurucho stops by Phil and gives him a task to go concur some dungeons for a reward (forget what, all I know is it wasn't anything important and the only thing I do remember about the reward was duckcoins). After which Phil goes back on the sunbird hunt for 1 and a half hours, eventually capturing a Sunbird (the admins had to give it to him because the one he caught with a lasso glitched off the lasso, but the admins agreed Phil caught it). This lead to Phil going back to his dungeon hunt, completing a few dungeons, and heading home to get Cucurucho to give him his reward, mentioning during this that he would really like his wings back as the reward but he only got laughed at. After which Phil checked his egg connection chest to find nothing new before heading off to sleep at uppies.

This is a bit of a side note, but I want to talk about what could have happened to Phil's wings since this was discussed on the 13th due to Jaiden having her's out. To anyone who understands birds or avians, there are three possibilities of what could have happened. First, Wing binding, where something is used to bind the avian's wings to their body, preventing them from being used. This is the least likely option because Phil mentions wanting his wings fixed and having a balancing issue. So, something has to be wrong with his wings. Option 2, his wings were clipped, where the avian or bird's flight feathers are cut/clipped, preventing the bird or avian from being able to fly. It is a more likely option because it does mean something has happened to his wings themselves to prevent him from flying with them, but it is something fixable. Option 3: Phil's wings were permanently damaged, and he can't fly because of this. This option is the most extreme and would explain the balance issue best. However, the only way this would be true is if the Dream SMP is canon on the QSMP and the damage from Phil saving Wilbur carried over between servers. I suspect this is not the case, though, since generally, it is considered that damage like that does not carry over between servers (otherwise, Big Q would still have his Toothpick scar). Besides a few nods between characters, there is no indication that the Dream SMP is cannon to the QSMP.

Now, on to the 16th.

The day started out simple; everyone was getting on because an event was happening. And that day, Wilbur finally returned to the server after completing his months-long tour. However everyone was doing their best to not release what happened to the eggs to the man, including Phil, to give Will at least a little time of being happy. And so everyone met Wilbur, and there were apologies to Phil about the Hatuna Miku joke. Leading into everyone gathering at the spawn for the event.

Said event was a spy mission on a federation meeting inside the maze. So the server had to go through the poorly lit-up maze, and by the gods, chaos occurred! So many people got lost in the place, and during this time, Phil finally revealed to Wilbur that all the eggs were missing. This led Wil to leave the event because he was frustrated by the seeming lack of worry or work to find the eggs. Phil, though, continued with the event, letting Wilbur have time to understand the extent of how bad things are. And so the group entered the feneration meeting, with Tubbo's laptop completly crashing some time during this so poor man had to be told what happened the next day, where we learned 3 things.

1. The federation has no clue whatsoever happened to the eggs and are investigating the situation themselves to try and find the eggs. (as for why my best guess is to try and return order to the island because the residents without the eggs are... Dangerous.)

2. The federation did send Forever into the nether to investigate the eggs disappearance only for them to lose contact with him. But, they will be continuing their investigation by sending someone else in to continue where Forever left off and figure out what happened.

And last but not least 3. The federation released the minnyme mod, a mod that basically puts level-able Pikmin that look like their controller into the game (yes, that is my best way of describing them).

Side note, these tiny creatures are not meant to be a replacement for the eggs. And it looked like originally these creatures were meant to be given to the federation workers possibly to either help keep them safe or to increase their worker count.

Soon after the server members were found out and worked to escape, in the process they managed to steal the items needed to spawn the minnymes for themselves. After which the group escaped and the federation had to pull a coverup to make it seem like the island members were meant to gain the minnymes.

After this Phil meets up will Wilbur again who had finally realised the full extent of what was going on with the eggs and allowed Phil to fully explain the situation and everything they had discovered so far, as well as Phil explaining how he had gotten in contact with Cheyanne. In addition to this the two had found a water frame playing a specific song that Wilbur had used to find Tallulah after she got separated from him on their first day together. He then went on to copy the song down into a notebook to try and get a message to Tallulah.

Towards the end of this, Slime came and visited, and Phil revealed about the code(?) egg that Smile was hanging with, with Phil and Will following Slime so the man could reveal what happened. During this, I will state I had trouble keeping it together and watching the stream/vod due to the multiple minutes long s*x innuendo between Wilbur and Slime that even Phil was having trouble keeping it together for! This then led into an attempt at a comedy show between Slime, Will and Baghera involving the goldfish joke.

After this Phil and Wilbur went back to Will's house where they were joined by Cellbit for a bit as Will set up his message box to Tallulah before the musician asked for some time alone. After Phil and Celbit left they talked about what has been going on with the eggs and the pair decided to mostly not use the minnymes.

After this the pair met up with the others at the spawn where Phil had an out of character chat with Quackity that led to Phil having to put big Q's minnyme into a glass box because Q's stream or computer seemingly crashed.

After that Phil set off to go to bed for the night.

I hope this catches everyone up for when Phil returns after his vacation with his goddess Wife.

Have fun!

[nightcityace]

[ SUBJECT INTERVIEW: SUNNY ]

[NICKNAME:]

Sunny: I guess technically Sunny was a nickname before it became official, but I've also been called Sunshine, Sunbeam, Ray of Sunshine… you can probably see the pattern. Interviewer: And what is your real name? Sunny: Sunny is my real name. Just because it might not be the first name I had doesn't mean it's not my real name.

[GENDER:]

None for me, thanks.

[STAR SIGN:]

Misty says I’m an Aquarius. I guess I never really put much thought into any of that, but she really enjoys it so that makes it fun for me too.

[HEIGHT:]

5’ 9”, but some of my boots make me a little taller. No platforms or anything though, I wouldn't be able to walk to save my life.

[ORIENTATION:]

Only interested in men, but I guess I don't really try to define myself often. Just queer in general is probably the best term I suppose.

[NATIONALITY / ETHNICITY:]

That's another one I never really think too much about. A lot of people tend to think my family are Nomads, but we’ve been here since before Night City was Night City. My… (counts on fingers) great-great-great grandparents actually bought our property back when California was still one state, so we’re about as local as you get. Before that I think someone came from New York and before that I don’t really know, all over Europe I think.

[FAVE FRUIT:]

Strawberries, not like synthetic ones or those over priced cloned ones, real strawberries. We managed to get a little section of them growing at home and nothing can compare. 

[FAVE SEASON:]

Probably spring. I love getting to watch everything sprout and bloom, even out in the desert. 

[FAVE FLOWER:]

Sunny: People usually expect me to say something cliche like sunflowers, but I genuinely love dandelions. Especially when they grow up out of cracks in pavement or sidewalks. It's proof there's still nature in the city, even when they try to hide it under all the concrete. They’re stubborn little flowers and they're perfect. Interviewer: Aren't dandelions weeds? Sunny: Only because someone wanted to sell people on the idea of a perfectly sterilized, useless, solid patch of grass which completely destroyed the biodiversity of most yards. They’re yellow, they're cute, I like them. Interviewer: Got it…

[FAVE SCENT:]

This is a hard one to describe, but do you know how sometimes you can kind of smell outside? Not like… exhaust and garbage obviously… but there's a certain smell that gets in your hair and clothes when you've been out in the wind and sun and you can just tell that's what it is.

[COFFEE, TEA, HOT CHOCOLATE:]

Yes please, all of it.

[AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP:]

Probably about 6 or 7 normally. I tend to wake up early after having to for most of my life, but I love going back to bed. I'll usually wake up about sunrise or earlier and go have a cup of coffee and check my plants to see if they need water and if Vik isn't up yet I'll scooch back under the covers and go right back to sleep for a few more hours. Plus naps, naps are great.

[DOG OR CAT PERSON:]

Chickens. Okay okay, I know obviously I can't have them in the city, but the farm is well outside the avian exclusion zone. Seriously, they're adorable. (Pulls out phone to show no less than 300 different pictures of chicks and chickens)

[DREAM TRIP:]

Honestly I don't know. I like being close to my family and being in NC, so I don't think I'd want to go anywhere long. I have some Nomad friends though so a trip with them might be fun, maybe somewhere with actual mountains since I really like climbing around the canyons and stuff we have out in the Badlands. 

[FAVE FICTIONAL CHARACTER:]

Hmmm… I'm gonna go with Bugs Bunny. Both extremely cute and extremely chaotic, I respect that.

[NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH:]

I usually start with one or two, but I tend to run warm so by the time I wake up it's not uncommon for them all to be kicked down to the end of the bed or piled up on Vik’s side.

[RANDOM FACT:]

Sunny: About me or just like… a fact I like? Hm, how about: it's surprisingly easy to get a wild coyote into the front seat of a locked car. You wouldn't think so, but getting it out is actually much harder. Interviewer: Okay... That's slightly troubling... how about a fact about you? Sunny: I know how to get a wild coyote into the front seat of a locked car. 

This was so fun to do!! Thank you @dreamskug for tagging me!

I have a few other tag things I still need to do with Sunny, I swear I havent actually forgotten, I just have terrible time management... >.>

EDIT: oh dang I forgot to tag people D: I think most of my cp friends have been tagged already so I'll toss it to @wraithsoutlaws bc I want someone to have the audacity to interview Dagger :P

[ventisettestars]

DannyMay Day 10: Bones [ao3]

This is a continuation of my Fantasy AU. [part 1] [part 2]

Summary: Changes felt down to Danny’s bone as he spends time in Fae Realm.

Warning: Some light body horror and blood. Also I barely edited this, tho I did give it a once over. So sorry for typos and the like.

WC: 1,997

Kulning: herding call. A domestic Scandinavian music form, often used to call livestock (cows, goats, etc.) down from high mountain pastures where they have been grazing during the day. -Wikipedia

------

His realm. That was what the fae lady had said. “Welcome to your realm, my Lord.” 

“Lord?” Danny was a prince. It was almost reflexive to correct when mistitled. 

The fae misunderstood what he was confused about and powered on through. “Yes.You’re a Lord of Night. New leader of the Winter Wild Hunt. I’m here to help you with that transition. Poor Dear, you’re so human yet.”

“Um, yeah. Cause I am. A human. Always have been.” 

“Oh, not for the last few weeks you haven't. Your heart is a Fae heart, just stuck in some human flesh. You must have noticed.” She looked sad for him. 

Danny swallowed as he had noticed a few things. He blamed stress from his fight that he wasn’t sure was dreamed or not. But he hadn’t been noticing the chill in the morning. And the way food began to taste like ash. The way his skin felt too tight along his back. The-

“So, if- What happens now?”

She beamed. “First let's get you something to eat. You must be starving.” 

“I'm sure your food is the best around but- Isn’t Fae food cursed for humans to eat. Like a trap?” 

“Oh deary. Only for humans. You’ll be fine. I wouldn’t feed you anything that'd cause you harm. Come come.” She hurried, and Danny not knowing what else to do, followed. 

“And see, the thing about humans eating food here is very misunderstood. It doesn’t trap humans, but makes all human food taste like ash. So they'll want to come back and never leave.” The fae lady stopped to turn back for a moment. “We and humans have very different senses, you see. Taste being the easiest to lean into. Our drinks can do it too. Water here is so fresh, particularly in your region because it runs from the purest of snow, chilled with the sunless sky. Why, it’ll even mess with some of the summertime fae.”

Taking things one step at time, the lady continues talking about food in the realms. She also tells him he can call her the Lunch Lady. Names are, after all, so valuable. The only ones immune to being controlled by names are the Lords and Ladies of the Night, And the Kings and Queens of Day. Something about their connection runs so deeply in the realm that they are gifted a name they aren’t even aware of. Only the Mother knows of them, and she need not speak them to use them, nor would the Mother wish for anyone to learn them. So all other names become just titles and aliases. Though Danny figures he wouldn’t be giving his name to anyone here even if the Lunch Lady says it's safe. He would need to think of a new one. 

They arrived at a grand dining hall, and it shocked Danny how much it resembled a warden’s mess hall. 

“Why, does it look like a prison?” 

“Your predecessor committed a great crime and was in self appointed imprisonment. The realm mirrored his state, as it will shift to match yours as time passed. Why, the bars are practically all gone at this point. Being replaced with proper doors.”  

She sat Danny down, and began to prepare a dish for him. “Some of those around are buzzing with excitement since it’s our understanding you were a human princeling, so soon our land shall be grand, befitting your needs.” 

Danny looked at the food before him, and it was the best smelling food he’d smelt in weeks. Taking a bite didn’t disappoint. He inhaled the food, drinking from the water the glass that showed up. 

“There is more where that came from. Here, try this. It’s probably your first time having it, seeing as its a fowl that can only be caught in the land of summer.” 

Danny looked confused at the little avian thing that was roasted and placed before him. Trusting her, he took a wing, and bit into it. The meat was tender, not a bit of resistance, it was heaven. He took bite after bite, then bit into the bone. It almost startled him as it didn’t give much resistance like he’d thought it would. Then he noticed it wasn’t the bones that were delicate, it was his teeth had changed. 

In place of the teeth he'd known for 14 years, well probaby only 3 since he'd lost the last of his baby teeth, were sharp, wolflike teeth. It wasn't just his canines, but the surrounding teeth as well. Reformed to fit a predator.

He shuddered as he bit down again. It was delicious, and felt soothing. Calming an itch he didn't know he had. And he didn't seem to bite himself, his body was already used to them. Why fight it? 

Looking at the Lunch Lady, Danny figured he had many more changes ahead of him. 

-----

Time didn't exactly pass. Not as he was used too. It was always the apex of a solar eclipse. Which he thought was odd but it was explained to him that his kingdom was that of the daytime night. The moment the moon over powers the sun and the nocturnal creature wake during the day. 

It's why he was a lord of night. Why he was of the Sluagh Sidhe Court. 

He was assured it was normal. Each of the rulers' kingdoms rested in a single time, when they were each at the peak of their powers.

Powers that Danny was starting to grow into. After a few sleeps it started with his appearance only. Hair going white, skin blue, ears longer. Once his eyes flooded to the pitch black of night from the corners, filled with stars, did he start to feel like a true fae. 

The moment the sky reached his iris was when the magic inside burst. It was tapping into the source of his power, connecting to the phase of the moon when he heard the song. 

It rang through his bones down to the merrow. Calling him in a language he'd never known, but understood he was to follow it. Nothing else mattered but the kulning song.

It led him through his lands, his connection to them keeping him from losing his way. Later even the thought of getting lost in his tundra would be absurd. But right now. Now his only focus was the song. 

It led him through another's territory. He didn't feel unwelcome, but he knew next time he would need to be invited in. 

He was almost there, his bones ached insisting he wasn't moving fast enough. His shoulders twitched in places that shouldn't have been able too. 

Every bit of his foreign body insisted flying would be faster than the pace he was running, even if he'd never been able to run this fast or this long before in his human life. He longed to fly. 

Running into a forest, through an entrance only accessible when She wished it, he was close. Then to the clearing, where he came to a stop as the call stopped.

Around him in a near perfect U where 7 other fae, and Her. 

His bones, his magic, his soul yearned, screamed in silence through his blood. Mother. 

She was who the other fae revered as a Goddess of the Realm. The being who will die each winter by his hands, to be reborn in the hands of the spring queen. 

She was the only one on this plan that could command him, and he would gladly listen. 

“My youngest Lord. Dearest Lordling.” She spoke in several, no, all the languages at once. She reached out to him. “Let me get a good look at you.” It was once her hand neared him that he realized how small he was to her. He was able to climb into her hand and she held him with ease. It was also when he noticed the other fae were actually airborne. How he wanted to join.

She smiled. “Say my name, and you shall join them, Lordling.” 

Words left his mouth. A name, Her name. It wasn’t a language he’d known, but he knew what it meant. 

His Mother brought him to her face, and with a gentle kiss to his forehead, pain ripped from his back. It started with bones, then muscles and tendons, skin and feathers. Silver liquid dripped down from his outfit and feathers as the pain subsided. Danny looked at his hands that got some of the runoff from his wings growing out, absently wondering before he realized it was his blood. He bled silver. 

He looked back up to her. “I, ah sorry I got blood on you…” He didn’t know if it was in proper form to speak to her, but he figured, if he could talk to his mother the Queen of Amity, then he could also talk to his mother the Goddess of the Realms. 

She laughed. “Worry not. I knew it would be the case. It’s part of the process. Tell me, what is it you wish to be called and address your siblings.” 

Danny stood in her hand, all had left Mother’s side and flew in a line to get a better view. Danny spread his wings, but didn’t take off flying. His body told him it was too soon, much as he longed. 

“I am Phantom.” The words he needed flowed easily, aware of the titles that mattered from his few lessons. “A Sluagh Sidhe Lord of Night, Master of the Winter Wild Hunt. And Heir Prince of the Human Realm’s Amity Kingdom.”

One of the fae flinched at that last title. It was enough for Phantom to notice. He looked familiar. Before Phantom could dwell on it, his Mother addressed from behind. 

“For all the joy of this occasion, there is a grave matter to address. You have inherited all your predecessor’s boons, and thus, you must also bear his crimes, though not his punishment. Know that this pains me.”

The white ashes that created Phantom floated from his chest. They wove into chains, passing into her hands, then emerging green and wrapping around his legs. Pulling taught then snapping. 

“These chains bind to bone. Always to be present as a reminder. None shall pass judgment and claim their words as mine. Lest they be imprisoned until one strong enough sends them to their ends. Now. Join your siblings.”

Phantom didn’t need to be told twice before spreading his wings and taking to the air. 

----

“And that's it for the tour. I've shown you all the places safe for humans.” Phantom grinned, the tour covered some of his favorite rooms. One being the observatory and another being a game room. Both were additions he added as his predecessor was more occupied with playing warden of the realms laws then enjoying anything. 

“Dude, that was like 6 rooms and a few halls.” Tucker had been taking detailed notes in his spellbook. 

“Yeah. Safe. For. Humans. Once you learn the rules I can show you more. Till then, I’m keeping it to just those rooms.” A small floating light wisped next to Phantom, jingling something, then floated off. “Well, it looks like it's human’s bedtime. I’ll walk you to the gate, then I’ve got a meeting with the Summer Lady and-.”

Sam interrupted, grabbing Phantom’s arm to stop him in his tracks. “Can we come? You have to let us come.”

“I mean.” He thought for a moment. “Sure, but it's underwater. I can spell you protections, but if anything goes wrong and you swallow some water, it can’t be undone. Fae water will be the only thing you would be able to drink after.”

“It'd be worth it. Plus you’d hook us up with the fae water, right?” At the lack of response from Phantom, Tucker looked nervous. “Right?”

With a deep sigh. “Of course I would. It's really not worth it. But okay. Let's get you both ready. I’m going to have to go over some things on the way.”

             Notes:        

Sooo some fun behind-the-scenes stuff. Originally The Mother was going to have a name, but then I found out the name I was going to use was basically a British Man's OC, so felt rude to use in context. So now she is just The Mother, Goddess of the Realm. Basically, take sentient ghost zone core and get the Mother.

Secondly, you see that art. >:3 I got so many plans for them all.

And last, I plan on putting all the Fantasy AU stuff in it's own fic in june, but no idea what to call it. I was sort of thinking "Tir na nog" buuut not sure. I'm open to suggestions.

[stemms]

I’ve unlocked a timeline based on @moondragon618’s Hybrid AU but canon-divergent. For now, I only remember Dream, but we’ll see if I end up remembering someone else. I (Tommy) was an avian, and Dream was an enderdragon hybrid.

I believe I was a reincarnation of @mcg-127’s Hybrids!Tommy, which is why I had internalised fear, hatred, and disgust for my own hybrid features, as well as memories of my past abuse caused by said features.

Dream was aware of my traumatic memories of my past life and it was trying to help me feel better about expressing my instincts, but what I didn’t know was that it was Its way of making me used to anything, so that It could get away with abusing, experimenting on, and even eating me.

It never made me file down my talons or suppress my instincts in any way, which always absolutely confused me because it felt Wrong.

Since the very beginning of the server, Dream was utterly fascinated with me. Even before it turned into an obsession, It saw some spark in me that no one else seemed to have, so It wished to play and study me more. Just like in canon, we fought in the disc war, Dream used a tunnel to get to my base, tried to steal my discs, and lived in my walls. It’d also sometimes leave me something small as a sign of Its presence, but it was more lighthearted than threatening. However, after the prison break, It’d leave threatening signs, feathers, and dead birds at the entrance to my house…

Dream called me ‘my little fledgling’, ‘my little songbird’, and ‘my treasure’.

It used exclusively It/Its because of Its God complex.

It enjoyed playing hide and seek or making me run away from It, and then finding/catching me. It’d often hurt me afterwards, but not always because It enjoyed confusing the shit out of me and then comforting me,,,

Dream enjoyed making purring sounds during our softer moments because it always made me vocalise as well, and we’d communicate like this for a bit,,,

When comforting me after a bad punishment, It’d hum the melody of Chirp or Wait and/or let out a purring sound because it always calmed me down (It picked that up from Techno btw).

Dream was very possessive and kept me in a house very, very far away from where anyone on the server lived. My room was made of obsidian because it reminded It of Its home, and I was even more precious to It than Its home :) And besides, it meant that I couldn’t escape easily because It’d hear every sound of mine :)

Dream adored preening my wings and It generally tried to be soft about it because It didn’t want to ruin the moment, but It’d often dig Its claws into my wings, just to elicit some sweet whimpers, and if It was lucky, some alarm calls as well :)

Here’s what we looked like:

(Art by @haunted-here)

[nefkyo]

This is a wip of a personal project. Please note the tags before reading:

dream smp lore, post Doomsday era, implied character death, implied suicide, necromancy, crimeboys mope around in Limbo, mild description of a panic attack, mild description of body horror, miscommunication, tntduo is real, tntduo family who cheered, avian Quackity, ram Tubbo, Quackity is trans because I believe he can do anything

this is for @werenotacoupleyesyouare.

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

Faint footsteps echo towards him. He's back from his light jog in the tunnel that loops into itself. He heard him get frustrated fifteen minutes ago but didn't say anything. "Hi again" he says. Even in Limbo, Tommy comes back after arguing with him, sits down next to him and gives him the silent treatment. But at least he's sat down. Does nothing he says ever sting enough? No, never enough. Nothing is ever enough to drive him away, far away enough. Not even a kind invitation to never return. "I have to tell you something about the Overworld, Will." Tommy starts, only to be cut off as usual. "I've already told you, I don't want to know whatever you have to say when you start off like that." "It's really big." Tommy looks up at him, or at least in his general direction, and for a brief moment he sees a sort of pity gloss over those blank orbs. It irks him. "I *really* don't want to know, then." he groans.

"But- How are you not even a little bit curious?"

"With the way you're looking at me, I'd rather keep whatever dignity I have left through ignorant bliss."

"H- That's nothing like you."

"Yeah, well, maybe I've changed."

"You have."

He quickly diverts his eyes back towards the train tracks. Still, cold, unforgivingly grey and dirty. "Will you tell me anyway if I say no?" Wilbur asks, he has before, and he shakes his head, he has before. "Good. Because you told me that it's a secret you were told to take to the grave." he continues. Tommy perks up then, "See?" he says, a knowing smile "That's why I should be able to tell someone else that secret now, especially you!" "You know that's not how the saying is supposed to be interpreted. It doesn't matter how important it could be, Toms," he mumbles into the pitch black horizon, "once you tell me, what would I be left to do about it? I'm dead, we're dead. I'd just spend eternity asking you why you didn't keep your mouth shut." "Yeah, but--" "Just forget about it." Tommy makes a series of noises out of frustration and then stands up, arms crossed, as he starts wandering around again. Wilbur is starting to get tired of watching him do this every time, especially with the way he phases through the shadows of the platform like nothing. "That's such bullshit! How am I supposed to forget?" "By talking about something else?" "No! It's- If anything, it's the evil shit you've been saying lately that makes it harder to choose!" "I haven't said anything necessarily "evil" lately." Wilbur shrugs, angering the blond again. It doesn't take much. "You're constantly praising Dream!" he exclaims, "you praise him, the bastard who took our lands and killed me when I tried to avenge you!" "You weren't avenging me Tommy, we both know you were in Pandora's Box to mock him and avenge yourself." Wilbur corrects him as if he'd seen the whole scene himself. He hasn't, but he got the crude details narrowed down. "Besides, if he's got this necromancy thing down, you have to give him some credit." "Well he probably fucking doesn't, it's been three months! I feel it on my skin!" "Yeah, I know." "And he has not revived me, the green bitch, so my point still stands! A-And you wouldn't feel the same about him if I told you The Thing!" Tommy defends, but once again, Wilbur refuses to hear whatever The Thing. "I'm just saying, if Dream has all this arcane power at his fingertips, then I see him in a new light. I'd be honored to pick his brain at this time." "You would NOT." Tommy groans, but he sits back down.

"...Is The Thing going to make me angry?" he asks suddenly. Tommy nods, his eyes would light up with surprise if there was any life behind them. "Probably." "Is it going to make me hate Dream like before?" "Maybe. Not directly, at least." Wilbur thinks about it for a hard, long minute before he answers. "Fine, tell me." he sighs. Tommy seems to make some mental gymnastics beforehand, then, when he feels ready, he speaks. "I know you and Quackity were dating during Pogtopia, he told me. And... He laid an egg a few days after you died."

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

Wilbur is stunned into silence, frozen in place as the information makes its way to his brain. Not the first part of the information, of course, who cares about that. "Are you..." he stammers, "...Are you serious?" "Yeah, uh... Yours, obviously. The egg." Tommy shrugs, but this is not a casual matter at all. "I promised Big Q I wouldn't tell anyone you were the father, but you should know. She was doing ok the last time I saw her, she looks like you." "She? I-It hatched, the egg hatched?" "Yeah." "Is she healthy?" he asks, his voice constricts in his throat, and Tommy just nods quietly. It takes him a long time to accept that information. He repeats it under his breath, over and over. "A daughter. I have a daughter." he whispers, and Tommy just stares ahead as usual. Tommy touches the back of his head uncomfortably, where the gash that killed him sits in its crimson glory. "Quackity told her about you, showed her pictures of L'Manberg and everything, but... Y'know, more in a symbolic way, she probably doesn't actually know anything." "So..." he hesitates. It's like someone just tossed his brain onto the train tracks. "...So that whole story you told me about Quackity starting that project, the casino, that was a lie then?" "Oh no, I didn't lie about that. He really was building a casino last I saw him." Tommy says. "He called it Las Nevadas." "Yeah, he.. He told me that's what he would've called it." his voice dies out. Wilbur thinks about Quackity, what he could look like now. Their daughter, their daughter must be a little lady now. Does he make her play in the casino? Does she deal cards with him? "When *did* you guys start dating anyway? Like, before the elections or during Pogtopia?" Tommy breaks his thought patterns suddenly. "Because I'll remind you, *you* were the one saying not to fraternize with other candidates at the votes and I will never let you live it down." "Shut up," Wilbur sighs in response, and he knows he would usually smile at this kind of tease, but he doesn't. Even if the images of those times still make something bloom in him. "We started dating *during* Pogtopia, after the festival fiasco. We'd watch over Tubbo together, console each other, as usual. It just felt different that time around." he mutters.

"Dude, ew. Tubbo was unconscious and you were kissing in there?!"

"No- No no no, what? We didn't kiss in his room, we just- we talked about it, our feelings. *Then*, after he recovered, we kissed. Completely separate occasion."

"Right. I'm gonna believe that for the sake of my sanity."

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

So Tommy is now stuck answering whatever Wilbur may ask about her, about this kid nobody has ever seen more than once or twice. But when he's voluntarily about to tell him her name, Wilbur orders him not to. "Are you sure?" Tommy says, but he's already moved on to other questions.

"Does she have brown eyes?"

"I don't know, I only saw her while she was sleeping."

"So how could you tell if she was healthy if she wasn't awake?"

"Well, Quackity would've probably said if she was sick with something."

"Did she ever chirp like a duckling?"

"She did a few times."

His baby girl, nuzzled in the arms of her father, chirping in her sleep. He can't picture her, but he wants to. "Does he miss me?" he asks suddenly. "Quackity. Does he miss me?" "Well... I think he did. He was skittish of other people, he didn't really want to talk about you much. He didn't even want Phil seeing her." "Phil doesn't know about her?" Wilbur jumps up a little, and Tommy tilts his head slightly. "I think he's seen her at least once. He doesn't know that she's yours, Quackity didn't tell him." "Why?" Wilbur asks, but then he stops and thinks about it. Of course.

There's another stretch of silence. Wilbur sighs heavily and thinks on how everyone knows about a child that he can't even picture. "Do you... Do you think that I could've been a good father?" he asks with wishful thinking on his tongue. "Yeah, you wish! You couldn't even keep yourself alive, man." Tommy chimes with another tease. But after staring out into the dark for another long few minutes, he shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe you could've been." "Ouch." Wilbur smirks briefly then, only then. They're both contemplating a thousand different thoughts a minute.

"Would I have gotten to see her if I'd lived?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Did he hate me when I...?"

"Oh yeah, a lot." he nods. "He screamed a lot, then he went quiet and didn't say anything about you again." he actually turns to look at him - in his general direction at least - and with a voice below a whisper, with that same, angering pity in his eyes all over again, "Why didn't you tell him?" he asks. "I get that you didn't tell me what you were going to do, but him? Why didn't you tell him if you loved him so much?" he feels the faint taste of bile, just for a split second, before he replies with a very weak excuse. "Because I knew that if I did..." He sighs. Now he sees why he and Tommy keep secrets from each other, why they don't want to hurt each other with the truth. "...I knew that he'd never let me die. He would've done anything to keep me alive, and my brain was so set on it, so sure that I *needed* to die. He would've gotten in my way, just like you always did. And I couldn't do that to him, to you, to anyone else."

He remembers it. The night he had a breakdown so violent he almost told him his plans, thinking he was about to die from rabies anyway. In the dark, damp tunnels, pain stinging in his trembling arm, bite marks and blood and a sensory overload. Quackity held him up and looked at him with eyes of horror and repressed despair and kept telling him "It's ok, it's gonna be ok, it was just a wolf," while disinfecting the wound, pressing hard on the gauze. He looked at him and said "Q, I'm so sorry, I--" but before he could find the word that came after that "I", he froze. He couldn't tell him. So he said "I'm scared", which wasn't really a lie, and Quackity held him through that too.

Wilbur sighs as he snaps himself out of it. "Could you tell him that I'm sorry?" he mumbles. "If Dream finally decides to stop playing games and bring me back to life?" Tommy asks "Sure. But how would I let you know what he said?" "I don't need to know." Wilbur replies quickly, then, after a pause, his brother nods. "Ok."

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

A week, maybe a month, maybe an hour later, a train came to the station and actually stopped. Wilbur was sleeping on the floor as usual when the screech of gears and wheels halting startled him awake. He looked up, at the opening doors, at the bright lights inside the car, and he felt this faint rise in his stomach, this feeling that told him exactly where the train was headed. And he must admit, he got excited. A tall, long figure stepped out, a blank face in a dark green cloak walked past him and grabbed Tommy, whose blind eyes darted around in confusion. "Wilbur?" he said, he spoke and Wilbur said "Toms?" with the same tone. "Wilbur, I think he's taking me back!" he exclaims, but he doesn't sound happy at all. "That's ok, I'm right behin--" he tries to stand up as he says it, but a force he can't explain, a pull keeps him seated. He can't go, of course he can't go. He doesn't deserve to go. So he starts again, trying to use that same voice of enthusiasm. "That's great Tommy, that's great! Be careful out there, don't come back here too soon!" he tries to joke, but Tommy doesn't seem glad to hear his voice so far away, to not *see* him when they're just a step from each other. The tall figure keeps a thin hand on the back of Tommy's head. "Will, I'll find a way to make you come back too!" "Don't do that, Tommy, don't try that!" he warns, but Tommy doesn't seem to be listening anymore already. The train doors start closing, one by one, now Tommy isn't even looking around anymore, he's frozen, catatonic. That's when Wilbur realizes, "TOMMY! You didn't tell me her name! Tommy! Tell me her name!" he screams, his voice rasps and the figure, the long, tall, white face in a dark green cloak puts a finger to his mouth to shush him, though it has no lips of its own. "TOMMY, HER NAME!" he begs, he feels as heavy as the day he died. Tommy mouths something, his lips quiver and make a word but the shrill of the metal doors makes it unintelligible. Then, the train departs. Wilbur feels a gust of wind, of life, trailing behind those giant tin cans that just took his brother back to the land of the living. And then it's gone.

All that's left is an empty train station. Nothing but dust on the track, and the echo of the train's wheels as it leaves the tunnel. Wilbur is alone again. That's what makes it hurt the most, really—he was right there! He had a chance, even the smallest, slimiest chance in hell, that he could've seen his own kid. That he could've kept Tommy safe with him too. Now it's gone. All that he has left is to wait, once again, for the wheels that will bring them all back together. Time is never kind to souls that refuse to move on. Wilbur has lost track, how long has he been here? That's another thing he should've asked him, isn't it ? He can think about a moment in time, remember something about himself on the surface and use it as a measurement, but those memories are all slowly fading away. Maybe that's for the best, he can't keep thinking about the people he knows, can't look back if he wants to move forward, so he waits. He waits, he waits, he waits. One day is another, and another, and another.

The train comes again. This time he's not weighed down by anything, by anyone, but he doesn't want to get on. The long, tall figure with a blank face in dark green cloak walks out, dragging from the scruff a pathetic, limp soul. He throws him out onto the pavement, a ghost that looks exactly like him. They stare at each other and they feel so terrified of the other. They can't tell who is more person, but now there's this twisted realization in both of them, that they're not the original. He tries to say anything to him, but he can't, and he doesn't either. And once they're done stalling, trading places, the figure begins to drag him in. "Wait, wait! H-he's part of me, let me get him!" he protests, but the figure doesn't let him. Some things must be sacrificed. The ghost sits in his place and looks at him with neon blue tears brimming in his eyes. As the doors close, he knows he has the other's mission now, just not what it is. He stares into the mirror image of himself, his face hollowed out from burn scars along his cheeks. It's the same in everything other than that. The way he sits, the way he slumps. He frowns, but he's not mad, really. It's just a part of him that will carry out this burden. It'll have to, whether he likes it or not. The train rumbles to a start again, he waves at himself, he waves back faintly but starts sobbing loudly soon after, almost louder than the train's screams. There's this understanding between them that they are not the same person, they could never have been, and this switch was bound to happen, whether the other thought he'd done enough up there or not. So, cheers to the other guy. Everything goes dark as they enter the tunnel, darker than death has been so far. The figure puts a thin hand on his back and he hates it, he hates it so much.

Time passes incredibly fast, all at once, faster than Limbo, faster than life. He feels vertigo pull his body in all directions, pulling his neck backwards, his chest forward, his back up, his legs down. For the first time in such a very long time, pressure enters his body. His body has depth. He sees a light, ironic, oh so ironic that he wants to go towards it but instead feels himself being pulled away from it. He fights the current, the figure stares, unaffected. He pushes through the barrier, the train shakes and rattles and screeches. He doesn't dare look.

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

The cold, dewy air of an April's early morning fills his lungs. Lungs, he has those. He has to get used to that feeling again before he opens his eyes. His head spins, his whole body hurts like hell. Air shudders out of him violently, like a spring has just jumpstarted the valves in his system and now he's feeling the reebot. He tries to move his arms and legs, and he succeeds, but the pain that shoots through his body makes it hard to enjoy the discovery. Every joint and bone screams at him, every suture. Suture? He lifts his hand, tentatively, carefully to his eye. Stitches. Along his wrists, the creases of his fingers, his legs, his ankles. He's been pieced back together into a single string of flesh. By who? He knows who. He doesn't care, for now. For now he's alive. He groans, and for the first time in over a decade he hears his voice without echo, he can feel heat around him, his nerves are full of blood. His body aches in places that he didn't even know could hurt, but maybe he's never been more glad. And he's laying in front of a small altar, a memorial to his name, literally. Strangely enough he can still read, and his name is written at the bottom of the marble. There are drapes of the old L'Manberg flag hanging unceremoniously over his date of birth, flowers - mostly wilted - have been left beside pictures of him. And a single, still lit lantern sits near his boots. His boots? It's strange, but he's almost certain this isn't how he was dressed when he died. He uses the flat marble surface to hoist himself up again, the weight of his own body might make him throw up if he thinks about it too hard. He glances all around. Everything is empty, quiet—like a museum. Except it's not, this looks more like a rocky pit overgrown with nature. He groans aloud, the pain is excruciating but he tries to focus on the sights around him. His body wants to shut down once more, but despite the overwhelming weight of the world that's bearing down on him, he can't let his mind slip away again. He must keep going. He stands up, head bobbing slightly. This doesn't feel like any afterlife or secondary plane, it feels like the Overworld. It just *feels* like it. He stares up, he looks as far as he can squint, at the hills of exposed rock covered in dew and moss. These are ruins alright. He wants to laugh, but he just sneers. Someone built him a memorial over the ruins of what he destroyed, it's like making a plaque for the potted plant that fell on the pavement and made a crack, except the potted plant was him, and the crack was more of an abysmal crater. He squints at the ruins in front of him, everything is still and silent. Not one sound but the wind. Not one person but himself. It's all here in front of him, in this broken down splinter of what used to be L'Manberg. There's a sense of finality in the air, but it's not sad, it feels like an ending. He feels the air chill his breath and the cold ground underneath his feet. But it's a different feeling from what he was experiencing when he was dead.

Not anymore, apparently.

He hears those footsteps behind him, hurrying, running on stone and wood. Two, no, three people, and at least one other creature. He turns around in time to find himself smiling at a horrified Tommy, a very drained, jittery Tommy, with a blue sheep on a leash, and then Tubbo and... An Enderman in a suit. Tommy walks towards him carefully, maybe a little cathartically, like one walks up to a heaving rabbit they just shot with an arrow. "Oh, you fuck." "Hello again." he says, and he can't help laugh at his little audience. Tommy is looking *at* him, and he's cussing him out, it's just like the old times. Nothing's changed! Well, besides everything else. "Hi Wilbur!" Tubbo waves from the back of this posse - when did he get so tall?! "Is... is this real?" he asks, breaking the teethering tension. "Yeah. Where's Ghostbur?" Tommy asks back, and he can't answer that. He was expecting anything, a 'Welcome back', a clear indicator that he was anywhere near missed, but instead he's asked where the other guy is. The better version, he imagines. "Oh, he's... He took my place in Limbo." the words just sort of slip out of him. "He WHAT?? How do we get him back??" "I-I don't know, I just got here! I'm back." he shrugs as he speaks, like this was supposed to be obvious. He's still taking everything in, glancing at the blue sheep and the enderman, still mostly paying attention to the sound of his breathing and the feeling of the solid ground underneath his feet. So *real.* "You're supposed to act at least a little bit happy to see me." he mutters. "W-We are." Tommy forces out, but he doesn't want to move towards him any further. "So why aren't you coming here? Hey, it's me! It's me, man!" "I-I didn't think you'd-- trade places with him. I thought you'd be all in one piece together. I didn't even have a ghost, why'd you split?!" "I-I don't know." and Wilbur really doesn't know, but it feels weird not to lie anymore. "Tommy, we just got him back, can you guys not complain about each other already?" Tubbo chimes in, sliding past Tommy to walk over and hug Wilbur. It's an instant regret. It feels strange, uncomfortable, irritating like a stubble rash. But Tubbo's heart is in the right place, so he lets him. He instigated it anyway. Then the sheep tries to sniff his leg. "Oh god don't tell me I have to hug the sheep as well" was not a thought, or sentence in general, that Wilbur ever thought he'd hear himself saying, but thankfully he doesn't have to. "That's Friend," Tubbo says as he steps back "Ghostbur befriended it and we- we thought he'd be here, so we were gonna take it to him." he hears a faint and shy "and I'm Ranboo..." from behind Tommy. "Yeah that's Ranboo. They're here too." Tubbo nods, taking Friend's leash to hand it over to the creature. "...Charmed." Wilbur says, a little too focused on the other matters at hand and, quite frankly, a little unsure whether he can look them in the eyes or not.

"Y'know, you look like you haven't aged." he tells Tubbo as they accompany his out of the caved in rock. "Really? I reckon I actually look different, like, my horns came in, fuckin' finally. Didn't you notice?" he asks when he puts his head down to show him. A set of horns, already scratched in. "I mean, yeah, I did. Looking good." "Thanks bossman." "It's just... I thought you'd be... Older, older than... This." Tommy and Tubbo share a glance, then look back at him. "How long have I been dead?" he has to ask the two. He has to ask before he starts moving his legs in any direction and he doesn't stop, it's getting hard to sit still. "About a year and a half." Tommy says something finally. "A year?! A year and a half??" he spits out. "A fuckin' lot's happened, Will, and I need you to promise that you're not gonna say some weird shit about Dream being cool or--" but Wilbur is too busy laughing incredulously at how little time has passed since he died. "A year and a half, are you kidding?? I was dead for thirteen and a half years, Tommy!" "I- No, Will. You weren't dead that long, it's just a Limbo thing."

He stares at them both, his smile evaporating, his breath catching. "No, there's no way. I feel so... I feel jaded, jaded and stuffy, Tommy!" There's no way he was only gone for so little time, it's impossible. He could swear on his life that he was alone for so much longer, there's no way his own memory could deceive him like this. But Tommy looks almost the same as when they last saw each other in Limbo, Tubbo's just a little taller than before. It's the landscape, that's what really changed. He can feel the rushing of wind from nearby cracks in the stone, he can feel the need to look through them. "I mean, no offense, you look older than you're supposed to be..." Tubbo says, cocking his head slightly. "Did you know you've got white hair?" "I got white hair too, after I was revived." Tommy points out. Wilbur hasn't even had the chance to think about a mirror, he's just wandering off, staring out into the sky, the blooming dawn. If he's not thirteen years older, then his daughter, who's out there somewhere, isn't a teenager. She might still need him. Quackity might still need him. His soles find a step and he stares down at a sea of glass. If regret needed a preview, it would look like what's underneath it. "Is this L'Manberg?"

[astraymetronome]

is it wrong that I kinda want to see dream Being used as a stuffed toy by a sleepy/ bird brain Tommy ?

Nope! Of course not!

Be aware this is a one-off for my main story! I've been working on it since this ask came in around mid-March. I've named it to put it on Ao3 and for my master list!

Warning- Emetophobia, Mentions of fatal vore, a single mention of the character Wilbur soot.

Otherwise please enjoy,

A Nest of Pig and Sheep.

Note-

Birds are really nice and I have an obsession with dsmp. Also- sorry I haven't posted in a while, I'm working on chapter three so expect that soon enough. I also got my nose pierced and it's infected so I'm juggling things.

I'm also well aware of the current Wilbur situation and I support Shubble 100%! It's a little confusing and everything so I'm not gonna bring Wilbur up in anything I post for a while. I just don't know how to feel about it.

Tommy still remembered the stress he’d felt when talking with Techno about the situation currently sitting in his stomach. He’s gotten into a routine of when he would keep Dream trapped away and when Techno would keep an eye on Dream while he took a moment to eat, getaway, and just take a break. It wasn’t that bad, more stressful because Dream refused to let Tommy relax. It was a bad mix for the avian because he couldn’t help the side of his instincts that screamed to please those he imprinted on. 

Now, Dream wasn’t the only one he imprinted on. He’d imprinted on Techno and some other family, but the stupid ram was the first one he’d been around when his wings sprouted. If the bird was honest, exile had been hell over the 5 years he’d been stuck in that dumb ass tent. Imprints were hard to get over, it was the main reason he kept wanting to go back to Dream despite his human brain knowing the horrid relationship they shared. 

Either way, he was struggling to handle everything together. Tommy was still getting over the past, waking up screaming and having night terrors. His scars would always throb afterward and he was constantly dealing with hearing words from his abdomen as Dream messed with him even from his containment. 

It was getting to the point where he was struggling to sleep. Dream would always wait till Tommy was dozing off to start squirming and basically revive his bitching about the situation he’d gotten himself into. It always pissed him off because he was always tired when it happened and he couldn’t do anything about it because they couldn’t trust not having someone watch the shitty ram when he was outside of Tommy’s stomach. 

So here he was, half asleep at the kitchen table while Techno made some breakfast. He’s gotten used to chugging the gross mix of fire resistance and regen pots in order to make sure his body wouldn’t hurt him. Despite how much Tommy despised Dream, he couldn’t bring himself to harm him. Yeah, he’d taken the bastard's first two lives, but he wasn’t a monster. 

A yawn left him as he watched the piglin brute cook. He would normally try to help, wanting to assist his brother, but Dream hadn’t let him sleep the night before or last night as well. He was angry as he sleepily grumbled and listened to the sound of the sizzling eggs. The smell made his stomach churn, hunger burning more than the potions under his skin. Normally he’d let Dream out in the morning so they both could eat and avoid the embarrassment, but Tommy wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now.

The avian had dealt with enough anger last night that the idea of being screamed at and cursed out for eating now wasn’t even on his mind. He didn’t care if this pissed off the admin, all he wanted was to eat and try to forget about how tired he was. 

“Theseus, you can always do chores later.” The piglin man said with a very small sigh. It was obvious that Techno could see how bone-deep exhausted his little brother was. Tommy found that familiar irritation bubbling in his stomach, wanting to snap at him but he knew better than to bite the hand that feeds you. He just nodded, watching him cook once again. 

His eyes were beginning to droop close as his brother worked, the soft sounds of pans and controlled flame were lulling him back to sleep only for his stomach to lurch as a rough shove was placed at the base of his esophagus. Nausea swelled quickly, saliva pooling into his mouth at the same speed. He couldn’t help the growl that built in his throat, a subconscious way to threaten the movement inside his body.  

He missed the way Techno’s ears twitched, perking up and towards his direction at the sound. Tommy sat up once more, it was probably a better idea to just give up on sleeping now or at all. 

The minutes passed rather quickly, at least as far as he could tell. He blinked softly as his brother placed a plate in front of him before a small cup of tea was sat down as well. He felt a little confused but the smell of it was honestly heavenly. Tommy wanted to scoop up the cup and gulp the apple-scented liquid. He went to cup his hands around the small glass only for his older brother to gently take hold of his hands. 

“Before you eat, you’re letting Dream out.” Techno said as he carefully pulled him out of the chair. Tommy held back a chirp, wanting to whine and complain but he didn’t have the energy for it. He gave a nod, agreeing with what his brother wanted before walking to the sink. He acknowledged that the piglin had stepped away as he leaned over and tried to empty his stomach. He couldn’t do it as efficiently as he could with a crop, but avians lacked a gag reflex in exchange for being able to empty their stomachs at will. 

Tommy could feel the uncomfortable sensation in his stomach before the squirming weight was forced up and out. He caught the small body in his palms, fingers cradling Dream’s form as he held back a weak whine. He didn’t like throwing up, at all, but they didn’t have a reliable way to trap him. Tommy set Dream down into a bowl of clean soapy water before washing the acid and potions mixer off his hands. He then moved to start cleaning the same combination off of the small ram’s form. Within a moment of starting, Techno placed a hand on his shoulder and carefully pulled him away from the sink. 

“I can do it, go eat.” The man mumbled as he pushed the avian towards the table. Tommy simply sighed before giving in and returning to the table. 

___

Tommy had devoured most of his breakfast before Techno had finished rinsing Dream off. It was the best thing he’d had in days even if eggs and toast were a pretty common choice for the two of them. The tea had been a sweeter addition than he’d like but it was nice and warmed him up well with how a fire had yet to be made. He could feel the sleepy side of his brain acting up, wanting to give in to the sleepy desire to curl up in his nest. By the time Techno had sat down with Dream tucked into his dress shirt’s front pocket, it was the best place for Techno to keep him without losing his location. 

Tommy finished the cup of tea, placing it down before he shoved the last egg into his mouth. He still remembered how his brothers used to call him a cannibal for liking eggs. It wasn’t like they were chicken, plus some kinds of birds eat other breeds. Starlings were prone to it, that's true, but it wasn’t like he wanted to actively hunt actual birds. He didn’t want to do that again. Exile had been the all-time low, he refused to return to that place of his mental and physical health. 

He couldn’t help a pleased chirp at the positive weight in his stomach, it wasn’t as heavy as Dream so the sensation wasn’t causing a constant discomfort in his belly. He gave a gentle smile before looking towards his older brother, Techno was eating his own breakfast all while offering some bits to Dream. The main thing that caused a giggle to bubble in his throat was the fact the piglin had lamb sausages instead of beef-related. 

A small giggle erupted from his throat before the teen blinked in slight confusion. He wasn’t one to do that. Laughing was something everyone did but Tommy never <em>giggled.</em> He blinked as he looked back up at his brother. He felt confused as he looked around a little before turning to pick up the cup once more. It didn’t smell drugged in any way so nothing really made sense for the fact he began to feel a little on the loppy side. 

Techno sighed after a moment before standing, taking the cup from his hand, and setting it down. “Go curl up in my den Tommy.” The brute said before just resuming his meal as if he didn’t just confuse the fuck out of him. Tommy didn’t feel that bothered regardless, his brain just felt fuzzy. The baby bird in his head just happily chirped, eager to listen to his protector as he went to scoop up his plate and cup, planning to place them down in the sink. 

Techno simply chuffed, the sound causing Tommy to stop and warble out a complaint. It didn’t even seem to matter since, in seconds, he gave up complaining and instead relaxed to let his older brother take care of the dishes. 

A nap in the den sounded nice. 

____

Techno watched as Tommy made his way up towards his room. He gave a fond smile once his back was turned and just kept his eyes on how Tommy seemed to be calmer after having drank the tea. The brute found himself sighing as he glanced toward the main elephant in the room, the man in his pocket. The piglin pulled him out, looking over the bastard before placing him on the table.

“Dream. If you don’t stop being stubborn, I’ll eat you myself, and I <em>won’t</em> let you out.”  He had respect for the ram, of course, but if Dream didn’t bother to respect Tommy after he won fair and square, he’d do it. He was a man of his word after all. 

He could see the way his face shifted and contorted to understand what he was saying, Dream’s face turned slightly frightened before steeling into a stern gaze. “You wouldn’t dare. You can’t kill me, the server would die without an admin!” He barked out. The piglin gave a huff as he scooped up the small man and held him in a loose but firm grip. His hoofs tapped on the tile as he stepped to the sink, placing the plates down inside. 

He set Dream on the counter, making sure he was trapped in a glass that wouldn’t allow the dirty blonde to even sit up let alone have the coordination to find a way out. He was quick with the dishes, making sure to keep his eyes on the small man just to be safe. Once he’d finished, and dried off his hands, he made sure to scoop up the man. 

“We’re going upstairs, Tommy should be in his instincts by now and I’d rather not deal with an angry bird.” The brute sighed. Techno was well aware he was the reason the avian was in this state. Phil had told him Chamomile tea was a good natural way to trigger instincts. It worked on any hybrid but was really effective on avians. He knew how Tommy was growing up. Before he had even grown his wings the boy’s instincts were bad. The blonde had always been a nest/den hog whenever he was tired or sick. Considering his brother probably hadn’t had a good bout of instincts in a while, this was well overdue since Tommy would rarely even chirp or coo whenever he was comfortable. 

Within moments of opening the door, his instincts screaming happily at the heat, Tommy had sat up, his elf-like ears perking curiously, as he tilted his head. He could see how blown out his pupils were, they were widened to the point the smallest rim of the blue could be seen. With this, the blue looked less dull, and brighter than the way Tommy had been before the five years of exile. 

If the piglin hybrid was honest, he wished he’d heard about his exile before two years had passed. As far as he’d been aware, Tommy had just been living his life in La’Manburg. His brother probably would have ended up being a vice president or something more. Dream was the main reason, having told others he’d inform Phil and Techno but that hadn’t happened. Phil had been informed through Tubbo and Quackity when they’d rangled him in for the compass and Techno had found out from Ghostbur about a week after Phil had left for La’Manburg. 

He felt guilty about it, even after Tommy had betrayed him and left to go back to the people who harmed them both, he knew he’d be here whenever Tommy needed him. That was the role of an older brother and, if Wilbur wasn’t going to fill that role, he would step up and be the figure their baby bird needed. 

Techno chuffed as he stepped into the den, Tommy immediately chirped his wings flapping as a small amount of downy slipped from the base of his wings. A small glance at the black and red feathers was enough to tell the brute that Tommy was overdue for some preening. He sighed and stepped in, reaching towards his little brother, before pulling him into his lap. Tommy peeped in response, his wings flapping as the bird glanced back towards him. 

“Hold this.” He said simply as he moved Dream towards the little bird’s hands. Tommy didn’t hesitate to grab ahold of the man, the ram screeching in response as he yelled. 

“What the hell, Techno! Don’t hand me to some stupid bird who can’t even finish me off!” He barked out. Dream was pissed but Techno wasn’t bothered. He watched as Tommy glanced down at the man before a smile spread across his face. The bird nuzzled him, keeping the blonde near him as he chirped and happily seemed to cuddle him. A part of his brain twinged with jealousy, the protective part of his brain wanting to have his runt cuddling up to him instead but he pushed it away and carefully began to run his fingers through the feathers to start the preening process. 

He made his way from the base of his wings towards the tips of his primaries, laying them over the corresponding feathers. He often helped Phil with the base of his wings while occasionally helping with the rest. Their dad had explained that they tend to be more focused on caring for their young instead of having them take care of them. 

As he worked, Tommy just seemed to hold Dream on his lap. He seemed to be dozing off while being preened, coos and trills leaving the starling as he pushed his weight into him. By the time he’d finished, Tommy was half asleep, his tail flicking around as he melted into his touch. Techno didn’t hesitate to start placing some golden trinkets into Tommy’s hair, braiding the small amount he could, as he began to give into his own instincts. 

The avian had his ears pierced by him when they were younger, Techno’s instincts had gotten the better of him. Tommy had been three then but was an absolute champ over the situation. He took out one of his earrings, slipping the golden hoop into Tommy’s ear, happily chuffing as the bird began to doze off, his breathing evening out as sleep finally claimed the exhausted avian. He relaxed at the sight, taking note of how tightly Tommy held onto Dream. He wouldn’t be able to nap, just in case, but seeing his little brother so relaxed was worth it. 

They’d work through this. 

Even if the entire server paid for their choices.