#why do parrots feather pluck

[fallingsatellive]

Hi bird therians! I'd like to present the following list of definitions of avian terminology; instincts and anatomy. Specifically, terms for things that many birdkin may already be aware of due to their own shifts, but not know the word for or even that it's a real and normal thing. Why do I make that assumption? Because my own mind was blown every time I discovered one of these words, the way things I would do or phantom parts I would feel suddenly made sense. So I hope to induce the same reaction in at least someone.

Behaviors

Mantling is mostly a bird of prey thing, the action of leaning over a kill and shielding the spoils with your wings so as to defend it from thieves. I can do no better of a description than a photo, included at the bottom of this post and for raptors it will probably spark recognition.

Rousing is the word for that "slowly fluff up the feathers and then shake the whole body" thing that birds do. Yes, it does have a name! Birds do it when relaxed or just chilly. It is not a threat display. I experience this as like an near-involuntary action -- like scratching an itch or sneezing -- and because I'm not actually raising physical feathers it feels kind of like shivering. But it sort of feels frustrating that I can't seem to achieve it. Like when a sneeze goes away.

Feather-plucking (pterotillomania) is a maladaptive habit birds in captivity develop when they are stressed. You see it most often with parrots, because they're kept as pets more than other birds and are also extremely intelligent so more easily understimulated. Sometimes this does feel like being a bird in captivity and a lot of you might experience this instinct without knowing what it is your brain's asking to do because you have no feathers. Calling it pterotillomania is helpful to me because I have actual dermotillomania and if my body had feathers I'd be plucking them.

Anatomy

Nictitating membrane. Starting with this because you may already know it by now. The third eyelid of birds, translucent, drawn sideways across the eye so that you can keep it moist while still being able to see. Also, as you may know, relevant to cat therians!

Crop. Part of the digestive tract of a bird in the throat where food is temporarily stored before being digested. If you had these shifts it would feel like, according to Wikipedia, basically an enlarged portion of the esophagus.

Keel. An extension of the sternum, the structure to which flight muscles are attached. If you had these shifts it would feel like a thin bone going beneath (or I guess on a humanoid body plan, in front of) your ribcage.

Cloaca. In the interest of not having to mark this post mature, I will not define or describe this one. I encourage you to look it up. Mammals are already working to reduce the stigma surrounding these types of shifts and instincts; we can do the same. There is no shame in it. You're a bird and birds have these. Accept it.

Birds do have sensation in our beaks. There are nerve endings in the beak. Not as much as, say, human skin, but yes, birds can feel touch on their beaks. If you can feel your beak, great! That is anatomically correct, and it certainly does not make you fake!

And now for your enjoyment, a mantling eagle:

[deartouya]

TIME OF YEAR — HAWKS

summary: the week following valentine's day, you start getting a gift a day. they're always sitting on your desk when you get in, never attached to any note, and always something that you'd like. then a certain pro-hero shows up at your door brandishing a bouquet.

pairing: hawks x gn!reader

wordcount: 1.4k

content: reader works in miruko's agency, fluff, stocked full of (very american) valentine's fluff and cliches, gift giving as a weird confession, best friend bakugou bc i can't help myself, mentions of food/eating.

happy valentine's day lovies !!! i barely finished this in time but ;-; it's done !! and i had to write something for keigo bc i love him dearly ;-; i hope you enjoy my self indulgence even if it's not my best work !

Working for Miruko's agency has been surprisingly mundane for a top hero agency. Spending your day filing reports and attempting to lessen the load of paperwork for her and the dozens of sidekicks she worked with. You'd grown fond of the routine, comfortable with your daily cafe runs and lunches spent working at your desk. It was nice, normal.

The past week has been weird, though.

It started with a rose. Soft and creamy maroon petals left in the center of your desk without a note or any hint of who had left it. You thought it'd been a mistake, someone mistaking your office for someone else's, but no one in the entire office building recognized or claimed it. So you found a dusty flower vase under your sink and kept it on the corner of your desk.

Next were blueberry muffins. You recognized the little white box from your favorite bakery the moment you saw it, the one nestled in a corner of the city which is almost always empty. Buttery and still warm when you finally willed yourself to open it. You couldn't help the warmth which filled your chest at the smell of them and you ate two of them for breakfast before starting your paperwork.

The rest of the week was filled with more gifts, all practical or catered perfectly to your own tastes; a pair of cashmere gloves a muted gray, a coffee from your favorite cafe just the way you ordered it, a shiny broach in the shape of two doves, a travel coffee mug not too much after your own finally worn out. Nothing that hinted at whoever's been leaving them for you.

 "Come on, Katsuki," you lament, folding yourself pathetically over your desk, "you're always at the office--you have to have seen them come to my office! And you're the only one who knows I go to that bakery every morning, you have to know!" He snorts, barely looking up from his own stack of reports to see the considerably large box of heart-shaped chocolates. The rich, fancy kind that if you ever had a craving for you would've had to save half your paychecks.

His eyes seem to get stuck on the ribbon holding it shut, on the sliver of something soft and red poking out. You pluck it out, expecting a sticky note or card--anything but a feather the size of your index finger.

"Is this supposed to be a hint?" Katsuki only stares blankly at you, something akin to amusement warming the red of his eyes as your annoyance mounts, "do they have a pet bird? I don't think I know anyone with a parrot--except for that one guy from tech but his is blue."

Katsuki rolls his eyes, dropping his pen and shoving his chair away from his desk, “and why would he leave a hint? If he wanted you to know who he was he wouldla left a fuckin’ note on one of of ‘em.”

“I don’t know! I’m tired of not knowing,” you collapse back into your chair to stare forlornly at the ceiling, “no one in the building will admit to leaving them and we both know that they’re awful liars.” You’d tracked down nearly everyone who worked on your floor to ask about the gifts, even cornering an extremely nervous Midoriya in the elevator on your way home. None of them admitted to it. And none of them paid nearly enough attention to know where you bought your muffins or coffees from. 

“You’re overthinking.” 

You huffed, arms crossed over your chest as Katsuki returned to his paperwork. “I just don’t know who’s doing it, no one’s seemed nervous around me and I haven’t gone on a date in months.”

“Might make you less stressed,” Katsuki snips, a flash of canines when you chuck your now emptied coffee cup at his head—which he blocks easily with a laugh. 

“I’m serious, Katsuki. I’ve never had someone all that interested in me—let alone this interested. I just want to figure out who it is.”

He softens just a little, sighing and dropping the empty cup in the bin beside him. You know you’re being childish, pestering him all week over something as trivial as a potential secret admirer when you both have stacks of paperwork and endless reports.

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon.” That look’s back, something passing slowly over his face—like he’s considering his words carefully, hiding what he knows, “Valentine's day’s tomorrow—maybe he’ll show up then.”

You don’t notice anything weird until you get to your office. Oblivious with the expectant stares of your co-workers, the raptness in which they watch you hurry to your office, the way they all look at eachother. Until you’re confronted with an incredibly familiar and out of place set of eyes, “Hawks!”

He starts at the sound of your voice despite facing the door, fingers tightening around a bouquet of budding peonies and wings ruffled and restless behind him. He looks out of place in your office—large and imposing, standing awkwardly in front of your desk and feathers twitching behind him.

Pictures could never do Hawks justice. He’s always prettier, brighter—the warmth of his hair and the flush of freckles across his nose—in person. He’s larger than life, all wide smiles and crimson wings, and no amount of photographers can capture all of him as he is. Breathtaking. But now, he looks nearly skittish.

Hawks smiles at you then—nervous and disarmingly ill-practiced for someone whose job is half made up of practiced smiles—and brings the bouquet just a little closer to his chest. “I saw these while I was on patrol… it’s that time of year, isn’t it?” His voice is quiet, something soft and tender that makes you feel warm all over.

Everything hits you very suddenly—the feather, the knowing way Katsuki had behaved when questioned, every pricey gift that had been left. Hawks visited the agency all the time, visited you in your office and had taken you for coffee at the very cafe your gift came from. He’d also put the final nail in your travel mug’s coffin, knocking it off the edge of your desk the last time he’d visited you with a teasing feather. Of course it’d been him.

“You left the gifts. You’re my secret admirer,” you say dumbly, sounding quiet and childish even to yourself. 

But Hawks flushes, chin tucking into the plushness of his collar and failing to hide his wide and boyish grin, “I did—I am.” His hand—noticeably bare and warm—cups your own, transferring the bouquet of soft pinks and reds to you. “And these made me think of you when I saw them in the shop—you said peonies were your favorites.”

You flounder under the weight of his grin, the sweetness of flowers, the heady smell of his cologne, and the crispness of wind which always surrounds him. You’ve never been this close to him, always had a buffer in the form of mutual friend or coworker to soften the interaction. It’s overwhelming to be this close knowing he likes you. Knowing he pays such attention to you.

A swell of emotions overtakes you, grin so wide it aches and his own seems to mirror it. Hawks is warm, a slow gentle heat which seeps into you and melts against your skin from where his hands are skating up your arms. It’s dizzying and you find yourself leaning into him, overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him, to be even closer, to curl your hands into the softness of his collar and pull him into you.

But you don’t.

His wings twitch again behind him again, restless ruffling as he lifts a hand to rub at the nape of his neck. You track the movement with a smile—it’s oddly endearing to see him acting so human, so unlike everything you’re used to seeing of him. “Do you want to get dinner after patrol?” Golden eyes flick over your face, as if looking for any hesitance—discomfort. He doesn’t find any. “There’s this really good yakitori place down the street.”

“Sounds like a date, Kei.” His smile’s immediate, blindingly bright and so wide the corners of his eyes wrinkle.

“A date,” he echoes giddily, face flushed and smile half-concealed behind his hand.

[bluejackals]

ken beats parrot up 1/? (he doesn't actually beat parrot up in this part sorry)

summary: based on @saiintofdiirt's little thing where parrot finds out about clonefies, a continuation of after parrot makes up with wifies. this is just writing practice tbh

word count: 872 I think

Ken and Wato have just taken their first bites of their chicken quesadillas (sue them, they’re still pissed) when Ken’s comm pings. 

[Wifies]: it went well 

[Wifies]: I’m going to stay with him

Ken heaves a sigh. Wifies is too kind. 

Next to her, Wato shakes their head. “I knew this was going to happen, but I wish he’d be a little less nice.” 

“I agree,” Ken mutters. But he has more important things to do than continue to fantasize about tearing out Parrot’s throat, so he picks up his comm.

[_Kenadian_]: okay

[_Kenadian_]: what are you doing now?

[Wifies]: Eating

[_Kenadian_]: alone?

[Wifies]: no

[Wifies]: Parrot’s here

[Wifies]: actually he just left briefly he said he had to do something for a few minutes 

Ken’s comm pings again, but it’s not a message from Wifies. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ken says. Parrot has just messaged him. Seriously? He left Wifies to send Ken a message? 

“I don’t think he ever stops talking,” Wato says, taking a giant bite out of their quesadilla. 

[ParrotX2]: Hey

[ParrotX2]: I know you’re still mad at me, so meet me at the final chunkban prison on Unstable tomorrow sometime between 8 am and noon

“The hell does that mean?” Ken’s anger is not chased away by their confusion. In fact, it just makes them angrier. 

[ParrotX2]: You wanted to kill me, right?

Oh. Oh. Ken feels adrenaline building in his veins. Parrot, despicable or not, probably isn’t lying. He knows if he lies, Ken will just tell Wifies, and where would that leave him?

Wato finishes off their quesadilla. “Have fun. Give him hell from me.” 

“I will.” 

Another ping. 

[ParrotX2]: Don’t tell Wifies. I assume you wouldn’t but just in case

“Bastard,” Ken says. 

–

The next morning finds Ken decked out in full enchanted netherite, making her way to front of the former prison’s entrance. She doesn’t know any specifics about Parrot’s…arrangement and she’s not taking any chances. Her inventory is chock-full with shulkers—deadly things, potions, supplies. 

Wifies won’t be here. He messaged Ken earlier, saying something about a new arg someone had told him to check out. The timing is incredibly convenient, but Ken isn’t complaining. They know Wifies wouldn’t exactly want this. Wifies might not even understand why Ken wants this. 

Parrot is already there, also in full netherite, but hands empty. There’s a spot on his left wing where the feathers have clearly been worried at and plucked. It makes Ken feel a bit happier. 

“What do you want?” Ken asks. “You were a bit…vague yesterday.” 

“I know you wanted to kill me the other day,” Parrot says. His eyes are clear, sharp blue. A stark contrast to how troubled they were. “I’m giving you a chance to.”

“Why?”

“Wifies is too nice. I’m not…a masochist, but I know I messed up bad and you have some, like, pent-up emotions, right?” 

Oh, what Ken would give to get a look inside Parrot’s brain, no matter how annoying he can be. What the hell goes on in there? Nobody normal says that kind of thing. Though wanting “normal” from a former Lifesteal member might be too high of an expectation. 

“This will be the only time I agree with you. Wifies is too nice, and I do have ‘pent-up emotions.’ I’ll have you know—I don’t usually want to hurt people. Wifies will back me up. But you just piss me off so bad I have to make an exception.” 

Parrot nods, like this is expected. It grates on Ken, how calm he can appear when he’s not having an emotional hurricane. “Okay. I believe you. I’m not gonna let you permakill me on this server.” 

“Then what do you mean by kill?” Ken snaps. 

“Simple.” A totem materializes in Parrot’s hand. “You get to pop this.” 

This is definitely not sane or normal behavior. This is decidedly Lifesteal behavior. Ken is fine with that. “Right here, right now, out in the open?”

“Obv—no,” Parrot replies. “Follow me.” 

He’s off before Ken can complainabout how much he’s controlling the situation, so Ken has no choice but to follow. They fly into a cave system, then to the entrance to a room inside it, closed off with an iron door. Parrot opens the door and puts a hand to the pillow of the white bed in the corner.

Ken takes a look around the room. It’s simple—just blackstone and deepslate and some obsidian, lit with some torches. He supposes the dark blocks are to make concealing any leftover…mess easier. 

Parrot takes off his helmet, leaving the rest of his armor on. “Oh, one last thing. I said you could pop the totem, but if you try to cut my wings off as part of that, this offer is done and I’ll kill you.” 

 “What the heck?” Ken actually does forget to be angry this time. “What—that’s—what the hell?”

Parrot raises an eyebrow. 

“I mean, why would you think I would even think of that?” Ken wants to rip out all of her hair. “That’s cruel.” 

“Just in case,” Parrot says. “That’s all.” 

The rest of his armor disappears, leaving just him in his bomber jacket, with nothing but his totem. “Go for it.”

[navy-heart]

A mind trick I use to stop blaming myself for my past (and current) self-destructive behaviour: treat myself like an abused animal. Because at the core if it, it's the same thing.

If I wouldn't blame a parrot that plucks it's feathers our of stress or a dog at a shelter for denying food, why would I blame myself for similar behaviours? It's better to address the things that trigger these behaviours and do away with them over guilting myself into trying to stop.

[flock-talk]

Hey if you’ve been struggling for years with a bird who plucks here’s your friendly reminder that it’s probably not your fault.

Whether you adopted a plucker or your bird started plucking while in your care there’s a myriad of reasons why they may still be plucking. Sometimes it’s a “simple” fix of altering daylight hours, medication, enrichment or diet but a lot of the time it’s a lot deeper than that and a lot of the time it becomes habitual.

A lot of captive parrots end up falling in to the plucking loop simply because they weren’t allowed to be preened by their parents when they were young. When they normally would experience a release of endorphins from normal regulated preening brought on as a chick, many birds who weren’t parent raised lack that endorphin response and as a result can’t regulate their preening. This causes over preening, tattering the edges and more severe plucking. There’s no currently understood way to change that.

Feather plucking on its own is a self reinforcing behaviour. When the feather is pulled and they feel pain their body will release endorphins which unfortunately become some level of addictive. The bird will continue to pluck long after the original cause for plucking is gone simply because the endorphins released by plucking motivate them to repeat the process.

If you’re still struggling with a bird who plucks and you’ve tried everything under the sun to help them stop - it’s not your fault. Your care isn’t subpar. You’re doing great, and your bird is so lucky to have an owner dedicated to helping them every single day.

[tauforged]

now how exactly do we know that the reason all these parrots started plucking their own feathers is because they’re stressed that we put them in a smaller enclosure and aren’t feeding them as much? personally i think we should consider the angle that there’s something inherently neurologically abnormal about the birds doing this. happy healthy birds don’t pluck their feathers like this, and if you ask me i think these enclosures look perfectly fine so that can’t be it. here we had some bird psychologists do a study and it turns out all of the birds who were plucking have differences in their brains — yes of course long term stress has effects on the brain but this is DIFFERENT. you see it turns out the birds all have a mental disorder that makes them act stressed in situations that are totally fine, which we’ve just discovered in this study. we’re calling it ‘irrational stress disorder’. we’re also incredibly lucky because this disorder can be medicated, so we can just give these birds some pills and they’ll stop that pesky feather plucking! put them back in the enclosure they were in before where they weren’t plucking? oh don’t be ridiculous, these birds have a serious mental condition, their brains are chemically different, the only way we can help them is with medication to fix the chemical imbalance. it’s all in their heads. the enclosure is perfectly fine. now that the parrots aren’t plucking on exhibit and we’ve moved the ones that still look scraggly behind the scenes so nobody has to look at them. it’s not their concern why the treatment isn’t working on these birds, they must just have something wrong with their brains. but now that that’s handled, we should increase the price of admission to this zoo while we’re at it. cmon, we’ve earned a little kickback for solving this bird mental health crisis— what do you mean the birds aren’t vocalizing anymore. this is horrible— for us, i mean. nobody wants to pay to see parrots that won’t make any noise. call in the bird psychologists it’s an emergency

[erenspussy420]

Twst Android Au p4

Chapter: Scarabia and Owners

.

.

You stride out of Pomefiore halls with some snags of your clothes from the branches, plucking you to return to the androids you're totally not running from. You'd just rather get the move on of course. The phantom chirping of thuarmarks bills dance around your head, mocking you. The Owner follows after you, jogging in her kitten heels, the faint clicking of metal is soft, but you assume it to be whatever keys she has on her.

Out of the Pomefiore's painted hall and back to the center of the hall and towards the bright sunny hall of rolling sand dunes and bright skies. The magic of Twisted Wonderland is unique, gifted to plenty but not to everyone. Most like you have no magic but can still sense and use magic infused items sort of a consolation prize.

Magicians from hermit humans and boisterous ones, to the magical fae who ruled the spaces of darkness and lights, to the mermaids who from the warmest lf waters and chilliest of oceans floors can use it freely and make wonders. Wanders and wonders that leave you breathless and envious of what can be done.

And now the brilliance of Raven Works magicians and technicians whose androids have left you wanting ... .and earnest to see more than what your friends from college had shown you

Even the hall has its soft winds gracing the loose fabrics of your clothes, the rustle of the Owner's skirt, as she strides past you in the hall, waving her hand," And here my dear customer is the hall of Scarabia. Our models of the beautiful Scalding Sands. "

You nod as you watch the walls of the hall, have grains of sand fly in arcs, as you turn the corner of the hall, the head of the old Sultan's Palace, peeking over the green leaves of palm trees. You had to admit, Raven Works really do live up to its hype. At the end of the hall there are no heavy doors like Pomefiore androids had. There instead were large heavy red curtains open and tied by heavy braided tassels, soft longer fabrics strewn across the ceilings with floating glass candles. As you wonder in bright eyes, the Owner giggling as she follows you a little sing song tone.

"Beautiful right? The androids today in our display are just two. Two legacies of our Al-Asim and Viper collection. Now I see that question in your eyes," The owner tuts tuts as she guides you past the dancing fountain. You follow, amazed how so much can fit into this building, but once again magic has done its course."Why just two? But of course the Grand Vizier and the dear Sultan whom he served."

Soft scent of sandalwood and jasmine wafted across the room, soft smoke curling around your jaw. You let out a soft sigh feeling more relaxed when you left the Pomefiore hall.

Before you could even say anything, the Owner led you into a space where two glass cases stood erect, facing each other. Unlike Pomefiore androids, these two were kept at a distance. Throwing her hands out with a grand laugh,"Tah-dah~!"

 An android with short white hair, tufts sticking out with gold sheen in his hair, stood under the sunlight filtering into the room. His clothes were a pallet of rich hues of red and gold, black making them more bright. Wrapped around his head a red turban-like headband with a red parrot's feathered edged with an azure blue. Gold round beads embroidered and dangled over the fabric, with red like gems that you dearly hope were fake– were sewn on. On its side, the headband tied into a large neat bow. The bow's tail was long, draping over the androids collar and shoulder like a scarf with gold stitches like hearts.

And that's just his head band. You haven't even gotten to his gold large earrings, his gold choker, gold so much on him or the white henna so carefully painted, stark against his skin. This android looked expensive and ornate, this…hm…

"Where is it," you murmur. 

You peer down at the information plate next to the android. Kalim Al-Asim Unit. Oh, this was one of the legacies then. Looking up at him, he seemed to be as tall as the Riddle and Epel Units- short statured and wiry build. Unlike the fair skinned androids, you look back to the other and see he too like Kalim were darker skinned, a warm rich brown tone Kalim had compared to the other. 

Looking over at Kalim, you noticed he seemed more…more…softer somehow. Where the other units do appear human and well crafted, but the Kalim Unit had this warmer feeling, more friendly which is weird seeing he is an android. More sweeter, the neutral set of his mouth curls at his lip. The shape of his eyes would be kind if you could see them open, you weren't much for eye contact but at this point you had the need to peer into them. The dark brown eyeshadow even brought out the shape of his eyes.

In the sunlight he glitters with his gold.

Breathing, you leaned back and waited for the Owner to start talking.

And waited.

And waited some more that you wondered where she went.

Taking a glance around you haven't yet heard the Owner say anything about the Kalim Unit. Glancing back again you see her look adoring the taller android standing in his case behind the curtains shade.

Oh right, the Owners bias.

'A real big fan then', You think as you come closer to it.

Taller, and much sharper features than Kalim's soft looks, the plate name read Jamil Viper Unit. His eye shadow is reddish in tone, and a mouth set firm. He was lean, with a muscular frame like that of a dancer with more definition in his arms. His clothes matched Kalims but a much shorter black vest with a hood than Kalim's longer tailed coat. And baggy black pants with red flames over their legs reminding you of your male cousin's obsession with flames on everything.

Snickering a bit, you look over at him and you have to give it to the Owner. He's beautiful in a more mysterious way. Where the Kalim Unit was warm and sweet, the Jamil Unit is more...cool like. His gold choker, and his dangling red gem earrings suit him, and are less ornate than Kalim's. Gold bangles and a snake like coil around his arm matching the gold tassels and bells in his hair.

And his hair, no wonder the Owner went on and on about it. Long black and silky, half the side of his hair was done in long braids that tied into a low ponytail and over his shoulders. His hair was longer than the Leona Unit's and much more sleek too.

Looking back to Kalim and then to Jamil, you compare how they were like night and day. More so than the other dorms. You felt a little bad comparing them but out of the other androids they were the only ones of their dorm.

Engrossed with your thoughts you didn't hear the familiar clicks of heels.

"Gorgeous right?" Came the voice in your ear.

Screeching you turn to the Owner with your hands thrown up ready to throw hands 

"Stop that! I thought you were still drooling over the Viper Unit," you huffed.

"I finished!" The Owner admittedly easily, she looks over to you through her pink mask, her eyes round yellow dots,"So how do you like them?"

"Well I don't know anything about them yet," You tell her," You haven't even said a single word about them!"

The Owner looked at you blankly until she slapped her cheek in shock.

"Oh dear! Where did my mind go! Right, right, come with me!" The Owner heels click-click on the tiles back to Kalim with her hand slapping the glass.

"This cutie here comes from Al-Asim legacy, as I had said before, those androids tend to be more flashy and more financial oriented from saving and to investments, quite the money makers but please let it be known we here at Raven Works work tirelessly to make sure those are up to date," She said in a matter of fact tone, she leans close to you," however what makes them more famous as they are quite the grand party throwers around. If you hate the idea of creating one then leave it to your Kalim Unit, quite the ball of sunshine."

The Owner sounded fond of Kalim's android and tapped the glass more gently. Unlike you, she had her gloves on and winex at hand so she can touch as she likes. She then adds,"However with the Kalim unit, is more companion than planner if I'm honest. Quite the social butterfly like our Cater Unit."

However there was something that was bugging you."Isn't there a family like that in the Scalding Sands, Al-Asim's? I heard they're pretty rich, like real real rich."

You weren't even joking they could buy out islands and countries and still will never make a dent. Rich enough it would make anyone sick. The posts on Magicam from some particular members of such an elite family would make you weep as you open your bills for the month. 

The Owner hums and makes a sort of noise that reminds you of a cat being forced against its will.

"Yes actually, however due to the android being simply an ... .inspiration, there is no connection to that of the Al-Asim’s. As are all of our Units, inspirations of past figures like our Great Seven. Anything that reminds of such is simply a likeness and not truly that person based on," the Owner answers in a tone that is rehearsed and nothing like her bubbly voice, oddly it sounds rather masculine.

Not that you were going to point it out.

"Riiight," you drawl, and change the subject by nodding to the Viper Unit," so uh what about him?"

The light in the Owner's eyes returns tenfold as she giggles and holds her cheeks. With a quick click of her heels, the faint noise of keys, the Owner claps the sides of the unit’s case with a loud squeal,” So this guy! This guy right here! One of our best bodyguards around!”

“Body guard?” You parroted, eyes wide as you look at the resting unit,”I thought all androids are like that?”

“Sadly, that’s not the case for most androids, while many are certified for human companionship and health, many are not made for the purpose of guarding or fighting. While it is a courtesy to all, your androids will protect you in extreme circumstances.   Few androids have been certified for such positions such as the Rook Unit, the Leech Units, and our Jamil Unit here.”

Her white gloves touch over the glass again, a shimmer of magic gloss over the android,” As you can see, this unit is well guarded from theft as it is a very valuable unit. Not only does it have a guarding mode, but as well as a caretaker. Ever need a gorgeous house husband? Look no further, the Jamil Unit is the best around!”

“Best and expensive too,” You mutter.

“Exactly!” The Owner nods,” Well my dear customer this ends our tour, now if there is any android you have interest in-”

Whoa! You shake your head quickly at the Owner, shake your hands at her and you say,” Wait, I heard there are two more floors here! Can’t we see the other androids? You can’t just try to sell me a unit if you haven’t shown the others!”

No way at this point were you going to leave! There were two more fours and you knew that. Seeing so many units and the halls of the rooms, you didn’t want to leave yet. Not even if you had seen Vil, being so close to him sate your desire for now for the android, but the rest. The rest you want to see…

The Owner hums and touches her chin tapping it with her gloves in thought,”I don’t know if I can. My Boss would be so–”

‘Wait she isn’t the Owner?’ You were surprised but shook your head. Focus! 

“But I want to see the others! Of course I be…uhhh….willing to take a loan,” You gritted the last words out with some pain.

The manager, downgraded from her reveal, still hesitates.

Then out of nowhere a loud gracious caw came from everywhere and nowhere. Boisterous and loud, dripping with a tone that triggers your past life.

“Dear precious customer! We at Raven Works would be so proud to make sure you are financially ready to take an android home today!” A loud bang and dark feathers in a whirl snap at the air, your arms holding up to shield your face as the air dies down. You slowly open your eyes, your hair a mess, taking in the sight before you a tall pale man dressed in a long dark feathered cloak. His dark wavy hair touches his jaw, his pointed low ears show his fae blood. The clack of his cane against the tiles, a bundle of mirrors on his dark slacks and even his dark top hat. But what brought you to him was his dotted yellow eyes peeking down at you from behind his long beaked mask.

You peeked over to the manager and saw she had bowed lowly to him. Her hands pressed down on her skirts as her hair threatened to topple out of its bun.

“Master Crowley, may I say how handsome you loo—oo…k,” her voice dulls and she stays like that still.

“H-Hey!” Concerned, you touched the manager’s back but immediately drew back your mouth gaping. Her body! It was hard as steel! Even the soft cloth of her dress didn’t hide the undeniable steel beneath it. 

“Well! Well Customer! You seem to have gotten acquainted with our dear little manager unit,” The man dubbed Crowley, caws in delight his nails were decorated with golden talons as he brushes the fake hair of the manager fondly,”One of our earliest androids now retired. Quite the lively one but rest assured our newer lines are more warm! Life-like and as obedient as they could be!” 

Your brows furrow as you look at your previous tour guide,”Uh, is…is she going to turn on again?”

“Hm? Oh yes, yes,” He waves his hand casually at the manager as he now turns to you with a delighted look,”Now I hear you want to see our newer lines! I’d be glad to show it to such a willing and dedicated owner such as yourself!”

He strides by you, not waiting for you to catch up as he leads out of Scarabia’s grand case room. You jogged after him, as he talked and talked about loans and interest rates and how long it would be for approval and of course choosing and delivery. You leave behind the grand room, and leave the androids behind.

[ritualofcirice]

An Important Pitstop on Your Way to the Promised Cat Wonderland (DK West x Reader)

🐑 ♡ Thank you Sycamore for beta'ing this, even if you aren't in the fandom ♡ 🐑

DK West has decided to take you to the secret cat hideout, but he sees something along the way that catches his eye.

Teen and Up Audiences, No Warnings, F/M, M/M, Other/M, Tag(s): Fluff, Established Relationship, Gender Ambiguous Reader, Oneshot, DK West Style Forgetfulness, POV Second Person, Pre-Date Shenanigans

Find it on ao3 ♡ WC: 1,487

Vinyl City was not a place you were accustomed with, although a certain radiance from the place and its people alike captivated you. Likewise, the tour you received from your lover was top of the line. The prime, real deal talk to make the city shine. Heck, it didn’t even cost you a dime. Since then, West had stuck around the city, and where he roamed, you did. It was inevitable that the time you would spend there was limited, tied up in the ebb and flow of enjoyment. Enjoyment was the biggest factor after all for being anywhere. And you didn't mind. ‘Life is too short’ as some would say.

Yet a weird mood had taken West since you had arrived. Whilst it had faded, lingered, and lurked to its own beat, you didn’t let it bother you. You knew the area held memories for West. That was why you had asked if he was okay. He had told you everything was 'rolling on just fine', and with your reassurance that you would be there, you left it at that.

One other thing you had noticed outside of this odd mood, was the amount of stray cats in Vinyl City. They were everywhere. Your hands had been blessed with thirty four exact instances of being able to love those adorable creatures. So, when West asked if you wanted to go to the super secret cat hideout he knew about, you leapt at the chance.

“Sunshine, you will not believe with your eyes!” West had exclaimed with all the intrigue of a fortune teller. “Each cat - they all remember me.” He seemed proud about that last part. From what you gathered, he had amassed a feline following all to himself.

You were, of course, sworn to secrecy about this.

You bounced alongside West. Tins of tuna clanked in your pockets, and you allowed yourself to sway with each step. It was hard not to as West danced beside you. He had started humming. Then he mixed in some grooves and there you were. Walking was a thing of the past. That was, until you stumbled.

“Kau okey?” West managed as he steadied you on your feet again. His hand slid away from your stomach where he had tried to stop you from going further, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Safe,” you reassured him, “thank you.” He inhaled a sharp breath, then let it out. Three, firm pats to your shoulder comforted you while he shook his head.

“Should have said you were so eager,” West huffed not a moment later. “Wanna ride, sunshine?” He had dipped low, steadied on one lowered knee with his hands extended behind him. It wasn’t your first rodeo, and you knew what you had to do.

“Oh yeah honey!” you cheered. In your enthusiasm, you almost stumbled again, but you managed to make it onto his back alive. Hands cupped your thighs at first. You steadied yourself, then his hold slid towards your inner knee as you were lifted into the air. Your arms were slack around his neck, but you gave him a short squeeze to reaffirm your affection. He tilted his head your way with the beginnings of a smile that you knew travelled across his whole face. Secure and safe, you were hoisted even further into the air and held on for dear life.

It never ceased to amaze you how fast DK West could move when he wanted for someone so laid back. Neither did his strength, and the ease at which he carried you made you seem like a feather. A feather almost plucked from its plumage at the violent stop you both came to. A disgruntled sigh escaped your lips as you avoided a collision with that hard head of his.

“Kau okey?” you parroted, worried about him. He was silent, unmoving. He had stopped beside a wall, and on it was a poster that he stared at with deep regard. It was the same expression you had seen on him of late. The same baited breath. You wiggled from his grasp, and bumped your hip into his with a playful squeeze of the arm. Yet your focus had turned to the poster. It featured two performers. You recognised the name, even if you hadn’t listened to them before. Bunk Bed Junction.

“Hey,” you chirped. It was short and sharp, enough to grab his attention. He rubbed his neck with a grin that tried to tell you both he was okay.

“Aah, sorry sunshine,” West began. “I just forgot, no need to worry.” He stepped towards the wall. You watched, bemused as he spun around to face you with unknown intent. An improvised speech followed the opening of his arms into a wide display of grandeur.

“Sunshine look!” A hand trailed along his body, guiding your eyes to his best features. “What do you see, huh? Beauty? Fame? Success? Talent? All of the above?” You rolled your shoulders, but you couldn’t hide the obvious agreement in the guise of a smirk. He played off of this, and soon you nodded along as he reeled off even more adjectives.

“Baby you right, correct answer! Ding-ding, you got it.” West shot you a heart, his weight shifted from one foot to the other. “But let me tell you something. A secret. All of this greatness, it can’t be contained. No no no. It had to be shared, or I would be too powerful.

“So, some of my greatness - it was taken away. Rolled into something new. Fresh.” At this point, West pointed to the poster, or rather at the blue haired individual within it. “Zuke, the ruler of the underground, the drum master, the one and only brother of mine! Ewah!” After he had signed off his announcement with a hearty laugh, you found only one response to befit the moment.

“You have a brother?”

“Oh yeah. The best.” He had the best brother, but he had failed to mention him at all up until this point. Despite the shock and humour you found in the whole situation, it did raise some alarms.

“Are you,” you began, hesitant, “on good terms?” West waved a hand and clarified for you that they were. Although, he stopped. The excitement faded from his animated stance, and he strolled over to you with a dejected pout.

“Well, yeah. He says I don’t talk to him much. But I think about him. A lot. It’s just hard to reach out when there’s so much you know, sunshine?”

Live in the moment, you understood that. You understood that you could love someone but lose contact because you never seemed to have the time. Even if you did. As you looked at the poster, you drew similarities between West and Zuke. There was a resemblance there, to what degree you could debate. Still, it was cool to know. You had unlocked a tiny bit more about the crazy world of your lover. Or at least some basic information.

You definitely knew the crazier things.

“Have you ever thought about going to one of his shows?” you inquired, and West seemed torn. With a flurry of hands, he leant into his shoulder. He opened his mouth, bit back his words, then shrugged.

“I could,” he stated, “but I don’t. Maybe one day I will. I should visit.” Words failed him for once, and you watched the mighty DK West stumble. It was momentary, before he snatched your waist and pulled you into a warm embrace. But for a moment, it made sense why he had been a distant since you entered Vinyl City. There was history there between him and his brother. Even if they were on good terms, you knew things weren’t as simple as they seemed.

“I should,” West finalised. “I got my love, and I want to show you off.” Heat seared your cheeks as you nuzzled into him. He engulfed you with his hugs, and you soaked in his scent. It was thick with the hints of nutmeg that always overpowered whatever smells the streets had left on him. When you both drew back, a stark chill filled the space between you, and you longed to be closer to him again. Especially as he reached into his pocket and retrieved one of the tuna cans you had saved for the cats. The moment he cracked the lid, you made an attempt to snatch it from him, much to his amusement. He had skipped back, fingers in the tuna that soon entered his mouth.

“That’s for the cats!” you screeched, but your promise of a game was all that stood out to him. He waved the can in front of you, and you tried again to no avail. All you could do was hold onto the cans in your pocket as you chased after him to the promised cat wonderland.

[morndykeparrotsanctaury]

Why do parrots pluck? These are pictures of some of my angels. They don’t look like this after being with me for a while. However some are so damaged that the feathers never grow back. Plucking is a contentious issue. Granted some parrots may have a mite issue. Some may have food intolerances. Some may be overly groomed by their mate. Not that many though. Parrots don’t pluck in the wild. They don’t pluck in the sociable chaos and stimulation of an avairy. A lot DO pluck when kept in cages. People put this down to boredom. I think they think it deflects the blame slightly. Takes the pressure off them and puts it square at the parrot’s feet. It avoids the awkward truth: PLUCKING IS SELF MUTILATION CAUSED BY STRESS. When humans hurt themselves it’s called self-harm. The stimulus is the same: create pain to take away or control the emotional pain. The simple truth is that humans have taken a flighted creature that isn’t domesticated but has an enormous social intelligence and they’ve placed it behind bars. Isolated. The legal requirement is that it must be able to open its wings and not touch the sides. Some humans adhere to that. These parrots are often left inside that cage for endlessly- often for years. If I was a parrot in a cage I’d self harm too I think. It’s the silent scream.

[petculiars]

How Do You Know If Your Pet Bird Is Depressed?

New Post has been published on https://www.petculiars.com/how-do-you-know-if-your-pet-bird-is-depressed/

How Do You Know If Your Pet Bird Is Depressed?

Depression in pets is more common than you might think. You should constantly check for signs that your bird might show if it is in its usual state of cheerfulness. Many symptoms of depression can also indicate a disease, so it’s a good idea to visit your vet for a check-up. Learn the little changes that can bring back those happy chirps.

Causes of depression in bird

A bird can become depressed and this situation happens much more often than you might think. Depression in pet birds has a number of causes, both mental and physical. Any disease or recovery from a disease results in the bird being less cheerful. Mental and psychological stresses that can cause your bird to be sad include changing the position of the cage, boredom, the death of a partner, or the loss of a favorite toy. It is very important to notice the changes that occur with depression and to identify the source of this state to bring back the joy of the winged friend.

Symptoms of depression in birds

You should know the usual level of activity and sociability of your bird. Any change can be a sign that the bird is stressed or becomes depressed.

Symptoms of a depressed bird may include:

Fluttering feathers

Loss of appetite

Change of excrement

Irritability

Plucking the feathers

Aggression

Changing vocalizations

The constant rocking of the head

Take into account any signs that your bird might show as it could be physically ill and not just sad. In addition to the above, which can also be seen in the case of many diseases, watch out for red, inflamed, or flowing eyes, open mouth breathing, and tail swing.

What to do in case your pet bird is depressed

You might also like my articles about:

Why is my cat depressed after spay

Whether birds suffer from down syndrome

Whether cats can suffer from autism

If you notice that your bird has any of these symptoms, the first thing you should do is schedule a visit to your veterinarian for a full check-up. If your veterinarian finds no medical reason for your bird’s symptoms, depression may be the cause.

You can try these steps to help your bird get out of the mood:

Changing the food in the diet of pet birds with proper and complex nutrition.

Changing the environment, and rearranging the cage and the birdhouse are indicated to be done at least 2 times a year. Keep the cage clean with a new litter daily and clean bowls with food and water. Inadequate mental stimulation is the main cause of depression in pet birds.

Check the position of the cage to make sure it is not in an area that could stress out the bird, such as in a cold space. If possible, move the bird cage to an area of the house where it can see the family, because pet birds are social and like stimulation. If you do not have the expected results, try replacing the cage with a new one and if possible, one that is more spacious.

Make sure you have plenty of safe and fun toys for your bird. It is advisable to make a regular rotation of toys to which the bird has access. Thus, the winged friend will always have something new and interesting to play with and will be kept away from boredom. Give your bird new toys frequently to keep it stimulated.

Make sure your bird also has a lot of “one-on-one” time with you and other family members and that it has adequate time to play outside the cage every day. That walk on your shoulder could make a big difference in the mood of your bird. If you spend time in front of the TV or computer, your bird can watch it with you.

Two companion parrots on a branch

If your bird has suffered the loss of a partner, be a little patient. The bird might be sad and it takes a while to get over a death. If things do not improve in a few weeks, consult your veterinarian.

Consider getting a companion bird if you have only one bird.

Final words!

It is very important that all family members spend time alone with the bird. The winged friend must also enjoy moments spent outside the cage, every day. The moments spent with the pet bird will help strengthen the relationship between the owner and the winged companion, helping it avoid depression.

Depression in companion birds occurs only in individuals who are single or have suffered the loss of a companion, and rarely, in isolated cases in some species following the death of the offspring or the inability to breed.

[tiredsystem-r-us]

Ok, I have a bit of a half-baked idea for Remus:

-Remus-

Bird:

Black Palm Cockatoo

Ability:

I’m not sure what to put here since sadly I don’t know much in regards to different types of abilities. (I like to think I know my birds though lol)

Why:

Black Palm Cockatoos are a large species of cockatoo with an almost comically sized beak to face ratio (in my opinion). Nevertheless their beaks are very large, which can easily be very intimidating to some (like how Remus was quite scary to a number of the other sides in DWIT). Being a parrot, and a cockatoo at that, they’re extremely moody in a very toddler like way, and are prone to acting out when they do not receive what they want. Often resulting in increased screaming, or potentially feather plucking among other things. Their scream is LOUD. And they can throw large tantrums, and when not upset, even, they will tear through toys like there’s no tomorrow, and your baseboards are not safe from the treatment. The demand attention, and can still have their sweet moments of course, I’m just not focusing on those things here.

Remus is dark creativity and intrusive thoughts. Intrusive thoughts are very loud very easily, as is also shown in DWIT. When they’re talking about him almost as though he isn’t there, he messes with the lighting and screams, forcing attention. He seems quite scary towards the beginning, which lessens a bit as Logan rationalizes associated worries, although he is still not just, suddenly soft seeming - he’s still scary. He’s like an alarm, too, with regards to c!Thomas’ mental health, as he gets worse with his mental health’s deterioration, getting louder if you will.

- Nyren (xe/it)

Sanders Sides as shapeshifting birds...because why not XD

- Roman Bird: Phoenix Ability: Regenerate oneself and heals others Why?: Phoenix are known to regenerate at the end of their life, but instead of dying they burst into flames and reborn from the ashes. It is also said that the tears of a Phoenix hold healing properties. In this case though, Roman can regenerate but he isn’t reborn as a baby again, his body heals instead. I feel like Roman is so extra that he would want to be a Phoenix, even though they are mythical. (But honestly, that’s all the more reason he would be a Phoenix)

- Virgil Bird: Raven Ability: Foresight Why?: In some cultures Ravens represent prophecy (foresight) and insight, which is why Virgil’s ability is foresight. But also the Raven is often associated with loss and is an ill omen, if that doesn’t scream Virgil I don’t know what does.

- Logan Bird: Peregrine Falcon Ability: Control time Why?: Peregrine Falcons symbolise wisdom as well as victory, since Logan has the knowledge I felt like it fit. Also I took inspiration from Miss Peregrines Home for Peculiar Children with the time bending ability.

- Patton Bird: Swan Ability: Hyrdokinesis (Water manipulation) Why?: Swans symbolise purity, peace, devotion etc and if those don’t scream Patton- But with the ability it’s a subtle reference to Swan Lakes protagonist Odette, the name Odeta, which is the Albanian given name, means “Sea” so that’s where the Water manipulation comes from.

That’s all I’ve got! XD  I came up with this idea awhile back but never wanted to make a post or anything like that….until now-  👀 So I don’t really have any ideas for Janus and Remus, and I doubt I’d actually do anything with this idea but, who knows, I just wanted to share an (old) idea with y’all, let me know what you think…or don’t…either is fine 😂👀

Take care and stay safe! ❤🖤

[yeahimaloser]

Hi lovely! I adore your writing style and noticed you were taking requests. This is my first request ever so if it comes off a little awkward please forgive me! 👉👈

I was hoping for a scenario where Hawks has been wondering why y/n has been skipping out on get-togethers with him for the past week or two. He gets curious enough one day that he just-so-happens to patrol the area where you run off to after you reject another date with him.

He finds out that you have been going to an outdoor avian clinic and taking classes on how to pamper/massage or preen bird wings in order to surprise Hawks for your anniversary coming up.

But not like totally before Hawks confronts you and blurting out “Have you been cheating on me with a parrot?” 😂

Thank you! I hope this all makes sense. Hugs and kisses!

Hello there!! You are so sweet! and you didn’t come off awkward at all! <3

I am so sorry I didn’t actually mean for this to become an angst fic in the beginning ;-; 

but it is fluffy don’t worry!

warnings: avian Keigo (Keigo having bird like tendencies)

Also I schedule this to be a bit later than I normally post, I’ll most likely be asleep when this goes up so I just wanted to say to everyone thank you for reading!!

word count: 3.3k

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He tapped his foot against the floor of the restaurant, his patience deteriorating every second as he stared at the door.

As the fastest hero, Keigo never really had any patients for just about anything. One thing he hated more than anything was people being late, he moved fast, he wanted people to move fast with him.

All he wanted to do was go on a nice date night, have some dinner, and go home and watch a movie or something. He just wanted to spend time with you.

You normally never skipped out on dates, so why now? 

He had noticed your absence in the last few weeks, more and more you would skip out on him. 

The anxiety bubbling in his heart was starting to spill over, seeping into his attitude in daily life. In his head, he wondered if maybe you were trying to signal to him that you weren’t interested in dating anymore, that maybe you were just silently drifting from him. But he loved the 11 months he got to spend with you, he’d never experienced anything like it. It was fresh, new, loving, he didn’t want it to end. Those thoughts had made him feel miserable for the last week or so, but he was still confused by you. Although you skipped out on dates and such, you still acted so lovingly towards him. You would still come home and snuggle up to him, you would still run your fingers through his hair at night, you would still talk mindlessly about your day, as though nothing was remotely bothering you.

So, maybe you really were busy, perhaps he was just looking too much into the issue.

But still, getting stood up for the 4th time in a row would make anyone a bit upset. 

He left the restaurant, paying for the drink he had ordered, and went on his way home.

Maybe it was a side effect of his quirk, but when he had these sorts of thoughts his wings would get all twitchy. He had done the research and found that when birds were in a high-stress situation they plucked at their feathers. The article also said that when a person that said a bird was attached to someone that abandons them, they get even more stressed and irritated. Which he supposed made sense. He would never admit it to very many people, (and if the press got a hold of it he would honestly shoot himself) but he had some bird tendencies.

Not big ones, just small ones.

He would bob his head in time with music sometimes, his pupils would dilate and contract when he was concentrating on something, he would mindlessly coo and cluck randomly as well.

Luckily, the commission taught him to control his bird-like tendencies, they told him that some of his bird traits were “off-putting”. But he really wasn’t sure what they were talking about, animal quirks weren’t uncommon, but he didn’t complain, he didn’t mind the help. 

But since he’s been dating you, he found himself getting more and more of these tendencies.

A few times, he would find random shiny objects and give them to you, he acted all excited about it too, saying, “I saw it and thought that you could keep it! It’s super pretty so, I don’t know, I thought you’d think it was cool.” After he said that, you just took the objects and told him he was so adorable. 

Another time, when you two were just out and about, he had seen you talk to someone with a similar bird quirk to his. He didn’t even know what came over him, but he squawked at the man, effectively freaking him and you out.

He apologized profusely after that. 

There was one bird-like quality he didn’t mind all that much, and that was the preening of his feathers. It was honestly so relaxing, the dirt and dust from flying seeped into his feathers, so he always found himself soaking his wings in water and then rubbing them with a special kind of oil.

There were some days, however, were all he could do (or all he had time to do) was take a warm towel and gently rub off his feathers. 

And lately, he had found himself going overboard with his preening, pulling more aggressively at his feathers, sometimes even hurting himself. He suspected that it was due to the stress of worrying about what was wrong with you (or him).

He hated all of it, loathed it even. Worse was how hard it was for him to broach the subject with you, whenever he got close he always wussed out. In his mind, even though it bothered him, he didn’t want to lose you. He was so scared that if he brought it up he would hear something he dreaded, and you two would fall apart. 

He loved you so much, he wanted you to stay with him. Another bird trait he learned, some birds mated for life, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel that way about you. He just...he didn’t want to lose you.

There was one possibility that was the worst, and yet the most likely. You had been cheating on him.

He really didn’t want to admit it, but it all sort of added up.

You skipped out on dates so you could go out with this other person. When you would become affectionate with him could be a sign of guilt, he read about that online. And the way you wouldn’t see his texts or missed calls when he knew you were on a lunch break, maybe you were seeing someone else. 

Was he a bad boyfriend? He thought that he had become better at this whole relationship stuff, maybe not perfect, but he was getting there. He knew he was hard to deal with, he wished he could be better for you, he really did. He knew he was busy a lot, tired from work, he knew he wasn't the most affectionate guy, but he wanted you, he wanted you so much it hurt.  Keigo thought that you loved him because he really loved you. 

The thought of having to let you go crushed his heart crushed his spirit too. He really did care for you, he knew that you were the one for him, so the thought of you not returning that feeling hurt him.

He flew through the night sky, looking down at the lights of the city. Normally, a sight like this would have made him smile, made him feel like he was on top of the world.

But his wings just felt uncomfortable, the wind blowing through them just increased the feeling. 

He just felt… done. Like the whole world felt heavy to him. Maybe he really was overthinking everything, but he couldn’t help it, he was made to be observant. 

He knew he had a strange habit of over-complicating things, but it was just his nature he supposed. A trained government agent always has to look into the fine details, at least, that's what he was taught. So, with your absence, he found himself becoming more and more paranoid.

He brought it up to his side-kicks and hero friends, and they all said the same thing; he was just being paranoid. They told him that, “sometimes in relationships, things get a little rough, it happens.” But Keigo couldn’t help but hate the whole ordeal.

He sighed, flying faster to his home.

One time, he had tried to follow you on your lunch break. He supposed it was pretty stalkerish, but he was getting desperate. All he needed was reassurance, just to know if you were actually busy or if that had been a bullshit excuse. He told himself it wasn’t a huge deal, he was just making sure you were doing ok.

...ok maybe it was a bit of a breach of privacy.

He had perched himself on top of a building near your workplace. Keigo had made sure that you wouldn’t be able to see him as he followed you, keeping out of sight as best he could.

His initial thought was you would go to a coffee shop, maybe some sort of expensive restaurant if you were meeting someone. 

Yet, to his surprise, he saw you scarf down a sandwich as you entered an animal clinch.

Were you cheating on him with an animal clinch employee?

He wanted to confront you then and there, but from where he was, he didn’t have any reason to.

It looked innocent enough, you were just going to an animal clinch.

He immediately felt guilty. There was no reason for him not to trust you, you had done nothing wrong in this situation. Maybe you really were working overtime and he was just overthinking everything.

He shook his head, sighing, he unfolded his wings and flew off the building he was perched on.

That was a week ago, it was after the third time you stood him up. And now, although he didn’t have any proof of you cheating, he still felt like he had a reason to confront you. He just felt sick of worrying and overthinking everything, and in all honesty, you weren’t helping the situation. Every time he asked you about it, you always came up with some sort of excuse. 

He landed on his balcony with a loud thump, not caring all that much about the noise. 

As he entered his home, he lifted the hem of his shirt off his head, throwing it on the floor unceremoniously. Walking over to the bathroom, he filled a special bowl full of water and made his way back over to the bed.

It was probably a bad idea to preen himself when he was so aggravated like this, but he wanted to do it, his wings felt so uncomfortable. 

His right-wing raised a bit as he sat down, pulling the feathered stump closer to him.

But before he could even graze the feathers with a damp cloth he had, he heard the front door open and close.

Before he had even realized it, he was already zooming down the staircase of his luscious penthouse, knowing full well you were already inside of his home.

“Hi honey,” you slipped your shoes off, not looking at him yet. “How was your day- Oh,” he crossed his arms over his chest, he was sure his expression was one of utmost anger. 

“Where were you,” his tone was irritated, his wings twitched behind him.

“I was working. Baby what's wrong,” he nearly rolled his eyes at your concerned tone.

“Don’t baby me, you stood me up,” he huffed, “again.” 

He didn’t miss the sorry expression that flashed on your face, “Kei, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve just been so busy lately. I know I haven’t been fair to you, but I’m not doing anything tomorrow! Look I’ll even make dinner for you, ok? Really, Kei, I’m ”

“Y/N,” here it came, “if your gonna break up with me, just do it already

Well, that certainly shocked you (and him if he was being honest). Your whole expression fell into one of confusion, your eyes looked up at him with genuine hurt.

“What? Keigo what are you talking about? You’re not making any sense, why would I want to break up with you?”

“I don’t know Y/N?! Why have you been avoiding me for so long!?”

You sighed, “Is that what this is all about? Well,” you pulled out some sort of form, reaching it out to him, “here, I wanted to surprise you on our anniversary, but I don’t want you to think that I’m doing something dishonest.”

He snatched the piece of paper out of your hand, maybe a bit too harshly. He looked at it and was immediately confused.

It was information on a class about… how to preen birds?

He gave you a confused look, to which you gave him a light smile, “I see how frustrating it is for you to preen them, so I wanted to help out. I saw that I could learn how and thought it would be a cute thing for us to do together.”

He stood in shock for a few moments, letting the guilt wash over him. 

“I-I’m so sorry.”

You chuckled a bit, “Don’t be, it was wrong of me to leave you high and dry on dates, I just had to work overtime in order to get these classes in.”

Now, he felt twice as guilty.

This whole time he had thought you were drifting away from him, and worse, he thought you were cheating on him. He felt sick. His friends were right, he really was overthinking the whole situation. And worst of all, you were working overtime to do something so nice for him, and here he was, yelling at you.

“I-I’m so sorry, Y/N. Jesus,” he shook his head, “I’m an idiot. You were off doing something so thoughtful for me, and I was being a prick, yelling at you. I’m sorry honey. Is there something I can do to make it up to you?” 

But you just chuckled, “Keigo, really, it’s ok. I should have at least done something to convince you, or rescheduled our dates. It’s ok honey, don’t feel bad.”

You moved in to give him a hug, which just happened to be the moment you realized his shirt was missing.

“Uh,” he saw your body straighten up, and your face makes a flustered expression, “why is your shirt…”

“Oh, well,” he scratched his feathers nervously, “it’s kinda funny, I was just about to preen my wings. So I have to take off my shirt in order to get the water to the back. Kind of a weird coincidence, huh.”

“Well,” you looked at him, eyes softening, “can I help?”

Keigo was sure his heart had frozen, after a moment or two, he answered, “S-sure.”

-----

You pulled a stool for him to sit on as you sat down on the bed.

Keigo wasn’t sure why, but he felt so anxious. To tell the truth, he never really had someone preen his wings before. He would always do it himself, it was an annoying effort sometimes, but the commission was very big on him looking good for the public eye.

His wings weren’t super sensitive, but the light touches of your fingers running through them felt like pure heaven to him. The sensation was like having someone giving a message, but… different. It felt nicer, more loving, more slow and nice.

The whole sensation made him shutter.

“Is this ok,” he didn’t miss the anxiety in your tone.

“Yeah,” he said, breathlessly. “Perfect, keep...keep doing that babe.”

The little pulls of his feathers relaxed him more and more, making him seep into the back of the stool he was sitting on.

When you had started to add water to the mix, he didn’t notice his cooing.

“Kei?”

“Hmm,” his mind was so far gone in the relaxation of your hands that he barely registered your voice.

“Are you cooing,” you had to suppress your smirk as his body went rigid, as well as his wings.

“I,” his face was almost as deep red as his wings, “s-sorry.”

You giggled, “Don’t apologize,” you pressed softly into the apex of some of his feathers, “if it feels good, it’s fine if you coo. I won't judge you.”

Softly, he let out a few coos, but he didn’t want to freak you out.

But soon, he realized he couldn’t keep them in, you were just doing so well. 

You moved softly to grab his feather oil, “Uh, so how does this even work? Do I take a few drops and run them through each individual feather or something?”

You’ve seen him preen his wings before, but until recently you had just started to pay attention to how he exactly did them. You had noticed that the oil he used on his feathers gave a shine to the red plumage, but you had noticed he was a bit cautious with the serum.

“O-oh,” you didn’t miss the light stutter and the soft up-take of his voice, “Um, if you want you can just put a few drops in your hand and rake them through. You don’t have to do each one if you don’t want to.”

You thought for a moment, “Alright, I think I’ll just do each feather. I wanna get this right after all.”

And, honest to god, Keigo gulped.

You’ve never seen him this relaxed and yet so tense, you would have thought he was drugged. You would be lying if you didn’t enjoy it though, the way Keigo melted into you, it was weirdly adorable.

“Yeah,” he let out, “yeah ok.”

After that, it was like Keigo could barely talk. 

For a moment, you considered something. When you and Keigo had started to date, you had noticed how he was a bit touch-starved. He craved affection, whether he was aware of this or not, you weren’t sure.

But it made sense, his childhood past, and plus, this was his first real relationship. You wondered if Keigo had ever been shown so decent, honest love before.

Perhaps his bird instincts also played a part in how affectionate he could be. You read once, that when male birds became attached to their mates they tended to get affectionate as well as loving. Plus, some birds preened their mates as a show of love, you wondered if what Keigo was doing was just his way of showing how happy he was with you preening him.

After you were done, Keigo’s head was light and tired. The whole experience for him felt magical, he wasn’t sure why though. He preened himself a bunch of times, why was this the first time he felt this way?

But Keigo’s head couldn’t really process the question at the moment.

“You wanna go to sleep,” you asked, bringing your hands lightly over his shoulders, kissing his forehead.

He let out a small, “Mhm,” as he stood up. You had to help him to his bed because of how wobbly he was.

After you carefully helped him into bed, you turned to go to the bathroom to wash your hands, but Keigo dragged you down.

“No,” he whined softly as you tried to get out of his grip, “cuddles.”

(You couldn’t lie, this had to be the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen him do)

He nuzzled into you, his body flushed against yours. 

That’s when you heard it, the little chips. You didn’t say anything, scared that if you did he would stop. You played with his hair as he chirped into your neck, his wings shivered a bit.

You decided to ask him, “Hey, Kei.”

He hummed lightly.

“I’ve never seen you like this, does it have something to do with your bird instincts?”

Keigo thought for a moment, “Maybe,” his voice was light you noticed, “it could be. Kinda just something I experience because that’s what birds do with their...mates.”

You chuckled, running your hands through his wings again, “Maybe it’s because you're also, like, really touch starved.”

“Oh yeah, maybe. I mean,” he looked at you, like a lovesick puppy, “you are my first time in a real relationship.”

You laughed lightly, going back to lightly stroking his hair and feathers.

“Hey Y/N,” Keigo’s voice was tired, and yet, it was soft.

“Yeah honey,” you asked in an equally gooey voice.

He nuzzled in closer to you, giving you a soft, yet deep kiss, “I love you.”

[is-the-parrot-video-cute]

hi, i dont mean this in any sort of disparaging way to you or this person - are hideaki utsumi's bird videos actually cute? i saw you say you like the way he interacts with his birds but i feel uncomfortable watching his videos; the cages are way too small and empty, with bent and warped wires, and his bird kiwi has a very overgrown beak and obvious plucking issues. gumi seems upbeat but all the others seem sort off off/uncomfortable/bored to me. i never see any bird toys in his videos or anything for the birds to do. hopefully this makes sense... ive never interacted with parrots myself and only have knowledge from online research so i hope i am wrong. thank you very much for your time

I agree the cages are probably too small, but from what I understand his birds spend most of their time out of their cages, which is probably why there isn't a lot of toys in the cages. Though we don't really see enough to really know. Though I'm not sure where you got the idea that Kiwi was plucking. He appears just fine to me. Just because a bird has scruffy feathers doesn't mean plucking is involved. Kiwi doesn't have bald spots, and we don't know how old he is or his medical history. Macaws also have very long beaks compared to most other parrots. In my opinion, all of Hideaki's birds appear happy and healthy, and displaying normal behaviour.

[illuminamint-writes]

Summary: After receiving a curious message in code in the mail, Grian finds himself slowly turning into a bird.

He stares at the feathers for so long that the gore clinging to them congeals and begins to dry out. There are just so many. It’s almost as if he’s fallen into a pit of thorns and turned himself into a human porcupine, small tufts of fluff catching to the pines like dust bunnies.

“Okay,” Grian mumbles, as Professor Beak finishes with his left arm and begins digging the feathers on his right free from his flesh. “Okay so it’s not allergies…”

He’s no ornithologist, nor is he a doctor, but Grian has enough biological expertise to know that players do not typically grow wings and that they share no close evolutionary traits with birds. Which leads him to wonder: What the fuck?!

Why is he breaking out into feathers?

And why—no, really, why—is he letting his pet parrot shred through his skin to release them? He should be plucking them free, or… or typing a message into his communicator for Xisuma to come deal with this. He shouldn’t just be watching.

‘It’s not too serious,’ Grian tells himself, although he isn’t convinced. ‘At least I’m not losing any hearts.’

[Read chapter two on Ao3!]

[vwoop-prince]

Fallen

last life session 4 spoilers

words: 3,466

cw: blood and injury; betrayal; anger; angst; non-permanent death; mentions of death and killing

Grian-centric

It was over before he could even think.

The arrow barely started to sting before his back hit the bedrock. The arrow tore through his shoulder, snapping halfway through and into his already scarred neck. His arm twists unnaturally beneath him, shoulder torn and pulled out of its socket. An ankle felt beyond shattered, and his hips felt so scattered and sore that he almost couldn’t focus on anything else.

Almost, because his wings…

His poor wings…

Grian fell from a high place.

A breath, and he’s in a bed, whining wolves surrounding him—pushing him—licking him. Seeking comfort, seeking happiness, seeking to drive the pain away.

His shoulder burns.

His communicator pings loudly.

The wolves howl.

He stares into the dull grey stone above his head. A pup nuzzles his limp hand, phantom pains shivering through his nerves. A lone parrot plucks one of many of his now-messy feathers, bones creaking from the weight and movement.

His communicator pings loudly.

Pain shoots out from his shoulders—his wings—his ankle—everything. A stuttering gasp passes through his body, tears prickling his yellow eyes.

Except, they’re not yellow anymore, are they?

His communicator pings loudly.

He rolls out of bed quickly, ignoring the pain racing through his bones. The chest next to his bed is quickly ripped open, and Grian stares at the reflective surface of his spare iron chestplate.

Red eyes blink back tears.

The pesky bird flies over and settles on the open top of the chest, a blood red feather still held in its beak.

His communicator pings loudly, and he shakily grabs it from his pocket. The screen was cracked. It took four tries to unlock it, and even more to wipe away the tears trailing down his cheeks to read the messages.

<SolidarityGaming> WHAT

<Smajor1995> WHAT

<PearlescentMoon> What?!

<BdoubleO100> UH OH!!!

<Renthedog> ????

<ZombieCleo> OMG

<Renthedog> 3 boogers?!?!

Disbelief rolls through his mind. Someone—a Southlander, maybe—had to have given him a life by now, right? It’s been a few minutes. It’s been enough time, right?

<Grian> OH NO

Oh.

<Smallishbeans> oops

<Smallishbeans> shot an arrow

Oh.

<PearlescentMoon> Oh gosh

<Smallishbeans> oopsies

<PearlescentMoon> He’s on red

Where were his friends? Where were the questions, the accusations, the concern? Where were the debates on who would give him a life, and how they could stop this from happening again?

Why was Joel still alive, or does Mumbo not count his death as an attack?

Anger starts to rise under his skin. What were his friends doing? Why didn’t they reach out? Why was no one asking where he was?

Did they think he would kill them?

The simmering turns to a boil, and the only thing he can think of is Scar. The only reason he’s red is because Scar decided to back out on the deal.

The only reason he’s on the cusp of permanent death is because someone decided to be selfish.

Grian shakes. He shakes because the pain running through his knees from kneeling on the ground after a violent death. He shakes because of the cold stone seeping into his torn, bloody clothes. He shakes because of the rage tearing his veins to shreds, swirling and diving and filling him up, fueled by Bdubs and Scar and Bdubs and Scar—is it really too surprising that his deaths in both Last Life and Third Life came from these two? That they could be broken down to Bdubs and Scar, even though they’re really more complicated than that?

His deaths by Scar are more complicated than that. Bdubs was always very straightforward.

<Smajor1995> OH

Only Jimmy said anything. None of his other friends said anything. Any and all concern came from those outside of the Southlands.

Something snaps in Grian, and a boiling heat spreads through his body. Did he break something again? Has his pain receptors been fried? Is he more injured?

He realizes abruptly that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about how much pain he’s in, or the new scars littering his body, or the limp wings behind him. He doesn’t care about anything.

He didn’t go through this before. He was barely a red name in Third Life before it all came crashing down, and he jumped off Monopoly Mountain.

Is this the madness that takes hold of them, given time? Was his sped through because of his last death, or because of the hate and anger and spite and disgust and regret boiling through his veins?

The screen to his communicator cracks more, flakes of glass coming off and sticking to his fingers. He unclenches his hand, if only to type out a message.

<Grian> SCAR YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE OFFER

<Smallishbeans> now i have a friend

<SolidarityGaming> WHAT

Shut up.

The communicator shatters. Chunks of iron and wires shoot out of his hands, most of it being caught inside of chest. A particularly sharp piece flies by his cheek, cutting deep enough for blood to start welling up from the new wound. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel it. A sharp pain pounds from somewhere, and he doesn’t care.

He wants to kill something, and it isn’t as scary of a thought as he expected.

The wolves whine, and he feeds them some beef. He straps on the armour, places the tools on his belt, and lets the items dissolve into his inventory.

He aims for Scar, and walks.

It felt like mere minutes, but the sun has set by the time he reaches the stupid hat building.

He was found almost immediately, but that’s fine. He just wants to scare the man responsible for his red name. He steals, he taunts, and he leaves.

Distantly, Grian’s ears ring.

Jimmy and Martyn met him not long after, as well as Joel.

He was no longer welcome in the home he created.

“Why can’t you just give me a life, Martyn?! Do those trust exercises we did mean nothing to you?!”

“Let’s go, Jimmy.”

“MARTYN!!”

Martyn grabs Jimmy’s arm, and starts pulling him towards home—not home no longer home never home—the Southlands. Martyn doesn’t look back. Jimmy does. Jimmy looks so sad—so apologetic—but he says nothing.

“It’s not so bad, Grian,” Joel starts, a smirk on his face as he leans on an axe. “You have me now! We can go trap their home, kill a few of them so they can join you again—”

The ringing gets louder, and begins to drown out his killer’s voice. Grian shakes, and shakes, and shakes so violently his head starts jump slightly, neck groaning with every shake and cracking with every jump.

Grian can’t focus.

“You have five seconds.” He doesn’t remember opening his mouth, let alone when his throat opened up long enough to speak. He almost didn’t recognize the low, growling voice that spoke instead of the soft, light one he works tirelessly to keep up for the others.

From the corner of his eye, Joel’s smirk faulters. Good. “Wait, five seconds until… what?” His voice—Watchers, his voice—so filled with confusion. Anxiety. It’s intoxicating.

“Five.” His hands twitch towards his own axe.

“Grian?” Joel grasps the handle of his weapon, stepping away with a frown and furrowed eyebrows.

“Four.” He grabs his axe.

“G—?”

“Three.”

Suddenly, Joel turns, eyes wide and feet running fast, carrying him as far from the threat as possible. An Enderpearl makes its way into his hand, and Grian knows he can’t follow.

Being feared is… a nice feeling.

Grian didn’t know it before—he only knew how to fear red names, not the fear others have towards him. This, though?

It’s nice. Calming, even.

His heart pounds against his sore ribs. He hears the blood flowing through his veins, warmth and heat and a burning hot chasing after the frozen feeling of betrayal stuck to his very core.

He sighs, and starts following his old friends. He needs his stuff back.

It, once again, only felt like mere moments before he was standing in front of the portal to the roof of the Nether. And it, once again, took far longer. The sun had risen, and now hung high above his head. A heavy weight seemed to sit on his shoulders.

He steps through the portal, and lets the purple swirls fill his vision.

A chest greets him.

I saved your

stuff don’t hurt

me

– Mumbo

… Why does everyone think he’s suddenly bloodthirsty, just because his name is red?

Well—he should rephrase that:

Why does everyone think he can’t control his thirst for blood, just because his name is red?

His hand twitches, and he opens the double chest.

With most of his old things—stained with his blood, cracked almost beyond repair, yet glowing purple with a glint of the enchantments etched into its very surface that saved them from completely shattering—he starts climbing the ladder.

Mumbo greets him at the top.

He’s stuck behind a slab of cobblestone, and it hurts.

Mumbo speaks of the Ghast farm. It’s working nicely, and nothing seems to be going too wrong besides the little… mishap. From his spot on the ladder, Grian can still see his blood splattered across the corner of the platform.

It hurts.

Grian breaks the slab keeping him contained, and Mumbo steps back a foot.

It hurts.

“There is one way we can be friends again, Mumbo…”

He wants a friend. He lost them all because of stupid Joel, and there’s a simple way to get them back. And it really is so simple.

“Yeah?” Mumbo questions, walking forward from picking up a Ghast tear. He sounds confused, hopeful—yet distant, guarded. His body was tense—spring-loaded, ready to run at even a hint of hostility.

It hurts.

Grian’s mouth twists up slightly. A light, hesitant smile rests on his face. Hope fills him, despite knowing that Mumbo does what Mumbo wants, and he likely doesn’t want to be against everyone besides one person. “You could join me?” he asks lightly, trying to keep his voice light and airy and soft, like it was before this blinding rage filled him.

He doesn’t know why he does it—yes he does, he wants a friend, wants to have company, doesn’t want to be alone—but his pickaxe appears in his hand. Without thinking, he lets his arm swing up and down, breaking three of the slabs in front of Mumbo.

“Dude—dude!” Fear filled Mumbo’s voice, and it’s nice and bad and great and terrible and he loves the feeling of being feared and he hates the feeling of his friend fearing him.

It hu̷rt̷͎͑s̸.

“You could join me?” he asks again, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes yet not falling, for the Nether—even above the Bedrock—will only boil away the water. His voice filled with laughter, though he was not happy.

He was not cheerful.

Except you are, because you are feared.

Mumbo looked off into the distance briefly before his eyes landed back on Grian—back on the pickaxe in his hand and the hole in the floor. “I don’t if I—I-I like my yellow life…” he muttered, and if Grian wasn’t what he was, he’s certain he wouldn’t have heard the mumbled words.

Grian hates when his friend is filled with fear—no, you don’t—and he digs out the spare slabs from his inventory. He connects the bridge again, and lets the slabs rest in his palm so Mumbo doesn’t have to fear falling through again. It was only a moment of hesitation before his friend stepped forward, moving around him towards the ladder. He rested a hand on his shoulder briefly.

His sweater squelched through Mumbo’s fingers, blood seeping out of the red material and onto his hand. He quickly pulled it away.

It ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣ ᓭ.

He could easily break the blocks under Mumbo’s feet. He could easily just throw him over the edge, or slash his diamond sword through his neck.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want his friend to die like he did—an axe through the neck, and shattering against bedrock from hundreds of meters up.

C̵͇͝o̷͎̍w̴̠̚a̴͔͆r̴̜͂d̷͗͜.

A sob tears through his lithe frame. His throat closes up, suffocating him in all ways except the one that matters. His breathing stutters, and the tears fall, boiling away mere inches after falling from his chin.

“Oh—oh, Grian…”

A hand turns him around before arms wrap around his torso, clinging to his back lightly.

And like that—he breaks.

His own arms come up hesitantly, shakily, before they rest on the back of Mumbo’s suit. His hands curl in, grasping for something more, and his nails—claws, really, perfect for tearing out someone’s eyes—poke through the material.

He’s sure it’s uncomfortable for Mumbo, and yet he says nothing.

Mumbo’s hand comes up to cup the back of his head as the other starts rubbing circles on his back, right between his wings—sore, so sore, possibly still broken and healing and how dare Joel take them away a̵̺͗g̵͕̾a̴͓͑ĩ̶͈n̵̬͋—

Grian pulls himself closer to Mumbo—closer to the cold body in front of him that he knows isn’t meant to be cold and he knows he isn’t meant to get so much comfort but his body is so hot and burning and his blood is boiling and he can’t stop the choked noises escaping his tight throat. Mumbo’s chest rises and falls steadily, his cold breath ruffling the curls on top of his head and he can’t get his own lungs to copy the slow, steady breathing of his friend and

it

hurts

“It’s alright, Grian, it’s okay—it’s all gonna be alright…”

The soft voice of his friend does nothing to calm him down. Blood leaks from his sweater, staining the pristine suit Mumbo always insists on wearing. More placating words—sounds, really—come from above his head, but he can’t focus.

He’s lost everything.

He’s lost his life, his friends, his wings—

The flight feathers were clipped by the System the moment he came into this world, but now he can’t even glide because of stupid fucking Joel and his stupid fucking bow—

Faintly, Grian hears the voice stop. The steady heartbeat under his ear is the only thing he hears for a moment, then—

Humming.

Mumbo hums a listless tune, and Grian only now realizes his body is rocking. Side to side. Following Mumbo’s shifting feet. The hand on his head combs through his knotted curls—when did that happen?—slowly picking apart the smaller knots. The hand on his back continues to rub circles against the blood-soaked sweater. Sometimes—rarely—Grian notices Mumbo brushes against the feathers nearest his skin. He’s quick to take his hand away, pause a moment, and continue rubbing circles against the small area between his wings.

Slowly—torturously—Grian’s sobs start to quiet. His hands unclench around the jacket, nails retracting from the torn fabric and he can feel a wetness to them that wasn’t there before but Mumbo doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t even shift from the pain.

“Coming back, G?”

He nods, but doesn’t move. It’s nice—comfortable, even—to be held like this. Hugged. It’s been so long since he had the time to hug anyone, and he’s going to absorb as much of the feeling as he can before it’s ripped away from him again.

A cry comes from behind and suddenly, his shield is in his hand, his body ripped from the hold and turned around with it held high above his head.

A fireball hits the shield, knocking him back into the stable, sturdy form of Mumbo.

A sigh ruffles his curls again. Before he has a chance, Mumbo pulls a bow from his inventory, aims, and shoots at the Ghast.

It’s dead before he can think.

Mumbo walks back to him, rubbing the gunpowder off the tear and letting it dissolve into his inventory. He looks up, smile still on his face as he stops just in front of Grian.

He’s relaxed.

“Let’s get back to the Overworld, yeah?” he asks nonchalantly, like his best friend didn’t just cry in his arms, blood running down his still-open wounds and a Ghast interrupting their quite touching moment. The white button-up of his suit looks like it was dipped in red tie-dye.

Hesitantly, Grian allows himself to smile. It’s small, and awkward, and tilted, but it’s a smile.

“Yeah…” The feeling of long-dried tear tracks on his cheeks is odd, but what would one expect when crying in the Nether?

Grian stumbles towards the ladder, only staying up from Mumbo catching him whenever his aching ankle doesn’t quite pick itself up or lands oddly on the ground.

He blinks, and there’s purple filling his vision. He blinks, and they’re in the Overworld, right next to the Southlanders.

His friends—ex-friends—wave from the wall—the wall he built. Then they notice him, and suddenly spyglasses are pulled out and crossbows are drawn, ready to fire. Impulse is missing.

He doesn’t know.

Mumbo waves back belatedly. The smile faltered for a moment, before coming back full force. “I can talk to them about letting you in if you want, again, mate,” he speaks softly, softer than anything Grian can do after his death.

“I—” His voice cracks, sound barely moving past the lump in his throat. He coughs before beginning again. “You can if you want, but I don’t… think anyone wants me…”

“Oh, nonsense!”

Grian startles back, blinking from the wall towards Mumbo. The pure, genuine caring and concern that radiated from that cools the boiling anger in his veins—warms the betrayal clinging to his heart. Mumbo’s dark eyes stare into his red ones, eyebrows down in… concern? Anger?

The yellow clasp on his tie shines in the setting sun. “I want you! I want you here, with me, and—look,” he pauses, sighing a bit harshly as he drags his hand through his gleaming hair. “Don’t think about what they could want—or, not want, or whatever. Do you want to go back home?”

It’s a simple question, isn’t it?

One that he… doesn’t know how to answer.

Mumbo must’ve seen the conflict in his eyes, for he rests his hand against the middle of his back again, dutifully moving around the ruffled feathers that he’s really gotta pluck out soon. “Y’know…”

A pause. Grian turns his head to his friend, a noncommittal noise sounding from his throat. Mumbo looks between the wall and Grian again, before letting his eyes rest on his face. “I gave you a lot of flak for leaving my home mostly outside of the walls, but… technically, it’s not in the Southlands.”

Confusion flashes through Grian’s mind. The house was left out of the walls because it was in a hole and not a tower, but it’s still in the Southlands, isn’t it? And this doesn’t do anything, really, because no one wants him.

Mumbo wants him. He said so, didn’t he?

Is it because they’re Hermits? Would Impulse say the same? Ren? Pearl? Cleo?

He doesn’t know, nor does he care, because this can’t help him! He’s a red name, he doesn’t have friendships or alliances! He’ll kill Joel the next time he sees him, his friends don’t want him, and he’s not allowed in the Southlands!

Realization strikes him like a firework, sudden and burning hot. From the corner of his eye, Mumbo slowly starts smiling, seeing the revelation in his eyes.

He has a home.

If Mumbo wants to share with a mad parrot, sure.

Shut up.

“What do you say about staying with me, G?”

See? He wants me. He cares about me. You need to shut up.

You think, thinking to yourself.

Shut up.

“Grian?”

“Yes.”

Mumbo jumps slightly, startled. By the answer? By the conviction in his voice? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t ask, either, because soon enough, Mumbo smiles brighter than Grian has ever seen since they got into this world.

“Excellent!”

And just like that, Mumbo grabs his hand—still dripping blood, still aching horribly, still cracking with every move—and pulls him towards the outer entrance to his base. “I’ll help you collect any materials you need from the mine for your traps,” he starts, smile still big and bright and legs walking far faster than Grian can even jog. “But I won’t help you set them up, alright? Just make sure to lock the door when you leave for anything, and try to not kill the others, okay?”

“… okay…” Grian mutters with a hiccup. His body aches, his wings burn, his shoulder bleeds slightly from the reopened wound, and yet—

Grian couldn’t ask for a better friend.

[after-witch]

Title: Pluck [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Title: Pluck [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Synopsis: You tried to run--no, fly--away. And Hawks is going to make sure you never try that again.

For request: Anonymous said:  had a thought and I’d love to hear your input! So like keigo or chisaki with like a darling with a winged quirk and then having to pluck and clip your wings so their little bird doesn’t try flying away on them. Btw can I I just say your writing is super super good and characterization is just *chefs kiss* like every piece of your writing I’m like

Word count: 1000ish

Notes: Yandere, violence

It's that time again. Which is exactly why you've placed yourself in between the couch and Keigo. A very unassuming Keigo. A Keigo who is standing, hands splayed, looking all shrugs and smiles. 

You know, and Keigo knows, that he could easily reach you. He could push the couch aside. He could leap over it, fly over it, and reach you in an instant. But that doesn't stop you from taking refuge behind it, face set in a petulant frown, wings curled protectively around you.

"Sweetie," Keigo says, and it's charming, or would be charming, if you weren't his captive. "I don't know why you're throwing a fit about this. You know what day it is. I put it on our calendar." 

He gestures vaguely towards the kitchen, where you know there's a large calendar tacked up on the wall, edged by taped-up photos of you and Keigo before everything went to shit. Before he kept you locked up, caged, figuratively--well, figuratively most of the time.

"It's your calendar, not mine." It’s a dumb comeback, and you hate how whiny it sounds the second it leaves your lips. 

He sighs. He's tired of this, and you are too. "It's our calendar. Your stuff is on there too."

He's right, but he's acting like you had willingly scrawled up hair appointments and publisher meetings, not like he carefully wrote down "bath night," "book night," and other pre-determined "nights" that were meant to make you feel like you had an actual life outside the apartment walls. Reality check: you don't.

You shake your head. "I'm not letting you do this anymore. You don't need to do this. I'm not--it's not time. It's FINE." You huff. You puff. And you lift up, just a little, your wings flapping in frustration. It's little, but it's enough for Keigo to see, and you know with that little lift that you've fucked yourself over.

He grimaces. "See? It is time. You need your clipping. Don't make me tie you down again. I don't like it." He's not lying, probably. He doesn't like the days when you remind him that you're not here willingly.

"Well I don't like it when you clip my fucking wings."

Keigo sighs and runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it in frustration. "Look," he says, and you can see his grimace is tight and strained. "I'm stressed. You're stressed. I've been busy, I know things have been weird. Let's just... not fight over this. Not tonight.” 

He takes a step towards the couch. You know better than to run, at least right now, so you just watch and wait. He slowly sits himself down, as if he might scare you off, like you were some wild untamed thing that would bolt if he moves too fast. He pats his lap, jovially. He pulls the clippers out of his jacket pocket and sets them on the couch. The sight of them makes your stomach drop.

"Just sit down right on my lap and let me take care of this the easy way. You like the easy way, right?" He grins, a little empty, a little sad. "I know I like the easy way."

You hear him, but you don't. From the moment you saw the clippers, all you can think about is... the first time. It all floods back, quick and deep and painful. You'd run away--no, you flew away. Fast, so fast, but not fast enough. He'd caught you and dragged you back and tossed you on the ground, and before you could move he was sitting on you--heavy, so heavy, your face pressed down into the hard floor--and then he began pulling out your feathers with a feverish abandon. You screamed. He screamed, too. He was too rough and you bled and you cried, and cried and cried.

The feathers grew back, slowly. Stress will slow that process down. Trauma, too. When they were long enough, he sat you down, civil and calm and so unlike the night when he'd yanked them out of you. He took your hand and told you, evenly, that you could keep your feathers as long as he clipped them. You'd spat out, without a thought: "I'm not your fucking pet parrot." The thin-line of his smile had said it all. You said no. But he was less patient, then--it was too soon after you escape. So he pinned you down again and clipped your wings, and you were struggling so it wasn't pretty and neat and painless, and that one feather never did grow in right. You plucked it yourself eventually.

And so began the schedule. He wrote it on the calendar, next to reminders for meetings and baths, like he was scheduling out your veterinary shots. "Clip (Y/N) wings." 

Sometimes you fought. Sometimes you didn't. It was every 2 months, and life was so variable that you could never predict how you (or he) would be feeling. You couldn't put up a fight every time. You reasoned that out yourself. You didn't have the physical or mental strength for it. You couldn't be horrified by your situation, by your life, all the time. If you were, you would have lost your mind by now. So sometimes, yes, you do lay down quietly in his lap and let him clip you gently and professionally; and afterwards, he coos at you and strokes your hair and gives you ice cream and popsicles, like you're 10 and you've had your tonsils out.

Which brings you to today, to right now, to the choice you have to make. Things have been tense lately, between you. You assume it stems from whatever is going on outside the apartment walls you've been kept in, but Keigo doesn't tell you exactly what's been making him on edge, and you don't ask. It would be much easier to sit down and get it over with. Maybe you could get strawberry ice cream afterwards. He would probably fall asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. 

He's half-turned now, smiling at you from his position on the couch. His smile is thin. It's tired. He has had a long, long day.

But... fuck that, you think, and fuck him.

You bolt.

His petulant cry of shock, his angry stomping after you is a small consolation for the uncomfortable experience that you know lies ahead.

But when you're a captive bird in a cage, you take every ounce of freedom you can get.