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“I love you, songbird. Have I told you that?”
Wilbur flinched as he felt Ace’s hand on the arc of his wing, the villain’s warm breath on his face, his words, burrowing deep into his heart and tearing it apart from the inside.
They were standing far too close to each other, far too far away from anyone who might interrupt them.
“…you haven’t. N- not before.” He could feel the blush creeping into his cheeks, and just knew the shrike was smirking, even if he was determinedly avoiding looking at the villain. “Ace I- I can’t-“
“But you can, songbird.” Ace leaned in, wrapping his arms loosely around his shoulders. “You can do anything.”
He should get out of here. He needed to get out of here and back on patrol. He needed to patrol as much as possible before he properly start his molt, something he was fairly sure Ace knew was happening soon with how teasing the villain was being.
“Ace…” his voice trailed off into a whine, pleading with his nemesis to just let him leave. “I need to go.”
“Why?” There was a sudden intensity to the blunt question as Ace pulled back, eyes flicking over the hero with an unsettling sharpness.
“Because- because I’m a hero?” He was getting flustered. Shit, maybe he shouldn’t even be on patrol, not when his instincts were playing up this much. Speaking of, he viciously shoved down his magpie, which had just started chirping about things he didn’t particularly want to hear right now. “It’s my job?”
“Isn’t your job to fight me?” The shrike pouted, still stroking Wilbur’s wing. He should hate it (he did hate it) but god it felt nice to have someone be so gentle with them.
“Not my whole job I’ll have you know. You have to let me go sometime.”
As soon as he got away from Ace he was heading straight home and burying his face in a pillow. Immediately. He could take the rest of the day off, he could literally feel his feathers about to start falling out of the shrike nudged him even a tiny bit further.
“Do I though? What if I didn’t, songbird?” Pulling his hand away, the villain smirked as Wilbur flinched slightly at the loss of contact. “You’re molting soon aren’t you? Don’t bother trying to lie to me.”
Dammit. Was he really that bad? He thought he’d got rid of almost all his tells. Well, either he had or someone else had done it for him. But his magpie fluttered a little as he realised Ace cared. His nemesis cared enough to notice when he was on edge and sensitive. Of course, that wasn’t a good thing. But it sure felt like it to his instincts.
“…yeah. So can I please go and finish my patrol?” Impatience was working its way into his voice, and his wings shook a little. Oh fuck, he could feel feathers drifting down onto the pavement. He needed to get home like, right now. It was always, always a terrible idea to let your nemesis know when you were molting. He was so going to be under house arrest for the next week.
“Hey, songbird, doesn’t that mean you’ll be home for a week?”
“I- uh- I did not tell you that.”
Ace laughed, something gleaming in his one visible eye. Wilbur took an unsteady step backwards, praying he could escape.
“That’s a yes then. Aw, I won’t be able to see you for so long.”
That would be lovely if you asked him (but not if you asked his magpie, who was chirping over and over not to leave, to stay with the shrike)
“What a shame. Ok, I’ve- I’ve told you way too much. Damn, Phil’s so not letting me leave the tower.”
He could tell he was a bit out of it because any thought that filtered through his mind left his mouth a moment later, no matter how much he cursed himself for it. And he did curse himself, particularly as Ace took a step forward, deliberate and dangerous.
“Why wouldn’t you be allowed out, amor?”
Wilbur spent a moment choking on the nickname before he even considered answering. Unfortunately, this gave his magpie a chance to take control of his speech, and he tuned back in to him saying something very stupid
“Because you know I can’t fight. I- I’d rather be with you, but-“ his eyes widened as he realised what he was saying, and backtracked as fast as possible. “No! Sorry I- I did not mean to say that. I- I’m going to go home now. Nice seeing you, Ace.”
It had not been nice seeing him. Wilbur turned to leave before more of his feathers fell out, and to his surprise, Ace didn’t stop him. Ok. That was good. He wanted his nemesis to let him go (his magpie wanted flock safety nest)
Taking a deep breath, he started flying. See, he was fine. Ace was just being an asshole, and his instincts were being weird over him. Then his wings faltered. Shit.
He flapped furiously, but if there was one thing he really should know, it was that he shouldn’t push his wings too far. But he wanted to get home, get away, even as his magpie’s chirps got more and more frantic. He was going to crash. Fuck, he was going to crash.
Half in a panic, he somehow got low enough to fall onto a rooftop with relatively minor injuries, even if he literally landed lying face down. Ok. Ok. Chill out. Deep breaths, then he could just fly back to the tower and-
“Songbird, you are in no state to fly anywhere.”
Why the fuck was Ace here? Groaning, Wilbur managed to raise his head enough to see the villain standing a few metres away from him. Dizziness made his vision spin, and the whole world seemed permanently tilted to the side. He closed his eyes again just as the shrike closed the distance between them in a few strides.
“Wilbur, do you really want to be trapped in the tower?”
Ace’s voice was so close, and the whole world seemed to narrow to just the two of them as the villain stroked his hair. Not his wings. His nemesis was always careful not to touch his wings when he thought Wilbur might be too sensitive.
He tried to reply, but words seemed a little beyond him as everything in and outside his head dissolved into soft clouds and exhaustion. He settled for mumbling something between a complaint and a thanks, which made the shrike laugh at least. Oh, his magpie liked that. Shut up magpie, no one needs you.
“Songbird, I will be presuming you don’t if you don’t tell me otherwise.”
His comfortable bubble froze, then shattered into a thousand razor sharp pieces as he realised he was actually going to have to answer that question. Oddly enough, the answer was easy to find. His molts were never exactly pleasant at the best of times, and he just knew his magpie wasn’t going to shut up about Ace at all.
This was why he didn’t listen to the goddamn bird. Because it ended with him face down on a rooftop, complaining about his family to his nemesis. Ok, this might be a pretty niche situation. But it still proved his point.
“Songbird?” There was the faintest trill behind Ace’s voice that tunnelled straight to the part of his brain currently freaking out for multiple reasons.
“I don’t like him. I don’t like him.” He was trying to convince himself really, and the words just happened to want to make themselves heard as he muttered into his arms.
“Really?” Ace knew full well he was lying to himself, voice lilting and teasing as he stood just next to the hero.
Fuck his life. Seriously, it had just been going to absolute shit ever since the TNT villain had claimed him as his nemesis.
“No.”The bitterness in the word surprised him, even if Ace just laughed. Finally, he sat up, shaking out his wings behind him and wincing as he felt more feathers fall from them. “Ace… I don’t think I can fly.”
He sounded pathetic, and frankly just whiny, something that made the shrike coo softly, still mocking, but just a hint of genuine fondness in there too.
“That’s ok songbird. Do you want to come back with me?”
His magpie bobbed its head in an eager nod, and the bit of him that was still conscious was just too tired to really argue. And scared. He couldn’t forget that, rapidly becoming a constant, pounding in the back of his mind like one nudge would send it flooding through him.
“No…” He trailed off, desperately praying his magpie would let him leave it there, to not embarrass himself any further. But no. Of course not. “…yeah.”
“Good choice, songbird.” There was something so incredibly fond in the shrike’s voice, affection nearly drowning him as the villain bent down to pick him up, careful not to touch his wings.
Oh. His instincts went absolutely feral now he was this close to his nemesis, and he couldn’t resist burying his face in his shoulder, nuzzling and chirping with no thoughts in his mind apart from flock. He was in far too deep.
“I think I prefer you like this, amor.” Ace’s whispered nickname nearly distracted him from them taking off, rising gently into the sky. “You don’t need to be scared of yourself.”
The reminder made him twitch, a little of Wilbur surfacing from the chirping of his magpie. He shouldn’t be doing this. Oh god- he really, really shouldn’t- Ace had just brushed against his wing.
Immediately he was thrown into a panic, squirming and chirping frantically between short shrieks that sounded a lot younger than he was. The villain’s grip tightened momentarily, holding him in place until the magpie calmed down just a little, breathing heavily and eyes firmly shut.
“Oh… I’m sorry songbird. I won’t touch your wings, ok?”
That was ok. That was very ok with him. Then Ace lowered his head to rest against Wilbur’s, nuzzling him back softly. Any sanity flooded away again and he melted into the shrike’s arms, the gathering panic attack washed away in its wake.
Eventually, he cautiously opened his eyes, and instantly chirped in alarm. This wasn’t the tower. This wasn’t anywhere near the tower.
“Ace! Where- what?”
His nemesis laughed, one singular breath of terrifying amusement. Wilbur carried on thrashing as much as he was able, but it turned out that really wasn’t much at all. He couldn’t move. He didn’t know where he was, he couldn’t fly, and he couldn’t move. Oh god no. No no no no this wasn’t happening. Not now.
The shrike (his shrike) was saying something, but he couldn’t hear, couldn’t even fucking breathe as tears stung in his eyes and his lungs felt like they were filling with water.
He was frozen, stuck between wanting to cling to the villain carrying him and throw himself into the mercy of the winds just to get away. Somehow, the former was wining out, but it wasn’t exactly doing Ace any good as Wilbur’s talons dug into his wrists, holding on for all he was worth.
“Whoa, songbird, what’s up?”
They’d come to a stop midair, and his one relief in the too-loudness of his mind was the fresh air on his skin. It was enough, along with Ace’s arms around him, for him to claw his way back to faint coherence.
“Can’t- panic attack- molting- help” He sucked in a deep breath, fairly certain his claws had punctured the villain’s skin, but he still wasn’t letting go, and the magpie wasn’t sure if he was grateful or even more terrified.
“Ok. Fuck- ok. I’m not sure you heard me, but we’re above my base.” Ace chuckled nervously, and Wilbur clung onto the noise, wrapping it around the pounding in his head. “I’ll be honest, that was meant to be more menacing, but… oh, shit songbird, you still with me?”
Not really. Wilbur was falling, if not literally then inside his own head at least. Falling backwards through his life, everything moving faster and the voices getting louder and they were angry at him-
His feet hit the ground quite a lot harder than he’d have intended, but the villain didn’t spare the time to feel the juddering sensation of shockwaves travelling through his bones. Quackity glanced down at Wilbur and felt his heart tighten as he realised the magpie had passed out. Shit, there was no way that could be good.
He passed Foolish on his way downstairs, and the healer froze on seeing him.
“Boss, did you actually…?”
“Hell yes.” He let himself grin, the satisfaction of a successful hunt catching up to him. “Could do with a healing potion though. Turns out magpies have sharp claws.”
He shifted his arms a little to extricate Wilbur’s claws from his flesh, and saw Foolish’s emerald eyes flick down to him, concerned.
“Is he ok? Looks like he’s molting, you need to-“
“I know how molting works, Foolish.” He regretted his snappy tone a moment later, and tried to backtrack. “Sorry- I- I’m worried. He’s molting, yes, but panic attacks definitely aren’t normal. I think something happened to him. Like, a long time ago.” Biting his lip, he looked up at the man, hoping he might have some magical solution.
But Foolish just shrugged helplessly, digging in his pockets for a spare healing potion. “Probably trauma then. Not my specialty. Here you go, boss, and good luck with… that.”
Quackity let Foolish press a few small vials into his palm, then hurry off, one last worried look back at the two of them. That definitely helped his near-feral shrike, calling out in anguish because his songbird was hurting. And he wasn’t sure why.
He had his suspicions of course, and whispered Philza fucking Minecraft under his breath as he nudged open his bedroom door.
Wilbur started to come too as he dropped the magpie relatively unceremoniously into the pile of pillow that was his nest. Then his shrike decided it was was not having that and he swiftly organised everything into an actual nest.
As he sat at his desk, wrapping his forearm in bandages, he heard a shuffling from behind him, under the scarlet canopy. One second songbird, he just needed to take care of this so he didn’t get blood everywhere. He’d taken Foolish’s potion, but it didn’t always work on power-related injuries. Better safe than sorry.
Eventually, a small, muffled shriek rang out, and he smiled softly. His shrike could calm down, he was going to check on his hero.
“Songbird? You’re ok.”
Standing up, he crawled into the nest, curling up just next to Wilbur, who was hyperventilating with his knees pulled up to his chest and wings wrapped around him.
“I- where the fuck am I, Ace? I- I- I can’t…” His voice broke, and Quackity felt a pang of sympathy. The magpie’s instincts must have been driving him insane is he was still conscious enough to be scared. He just wanted to let his songbird know that he was safe here. And maybe it was mildly beneficial to his goals.
“My place, songbird. You had a panic attack and passed out.” Gentle, easy now. Don’t spook him.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Wilbur looked up, eyes glistening with unspilled tears, and looked around. A flame of pride curled in Quacktiy’s chest at the sheer wonder in his eyes. His shrike chirped approvingly.
“W- why? Oh- oh god, d- did you-? Whe- where’s y- your mask?”
“Shhh. You’re ok.” He didn’t need Wilbur worrying about kidnapping or anything like that. And explaining why he wasn’t wearing his mask might alert his magpie to the fact something wasn’t quite right about this.
Leaning over, he stroked the magpie’s hair, purring affectionately as Wilbur melted into the touch. Poor, touch starved songbird. He’d take care of him. God, Quackity was going to spoil his bird so badly.
Any resistance the hero might have been trying to put up crumbled as his nemesis chirped, biting gently at the magpie’s neck. Ok, maybe not that gently, but it was working. Quackity could feel whatever had been keeping Wilbur in control slipping away as he finally succumbed to his instincts. Judging by how much that simple action made him tremble, it had been too long since he’d let go like that.
“Oh, songbird, what did they do to you?”
His magpie trilled sadly, and Quackity decided to take a bit of a risk. Reaching out cautiously, he brushed against the inside of his wing. Wilbur flinched, but a small purr escaped him that made the shrike grin wickedly.
“Oh… ok then.”
He shuffled around so he was sitting right behind the hero, stroking his hair to calm him down before he touched the magpie’s wings.
Quackity was fairly sure he was good at preening. Foolish, he’d discovered, was also pretty decent. Slime was terrible. But neither of them got to very often, and definitely not when he was molting.
He worked slowly at first, smoothing down his songbird’s feathers and just generally working out which areas were more sensitive. It was everywhere. Every touch from him seemed to make Wilbur chirp in alarm, and it got to the point he was certain this was more than just sensitivity.
So, of course, he tried to work out what it was exactly that was keeping his songbird on edge. It was quickly established that there was no injury or old scar that he was irritating, which was a relief, but made the next most obvious option all the more horribly likely. Someone had hurt Wilbur. Most likely while he was molting. Quackity had every intention of working out who it was, and hurting them right back.
He actually verified this, a little, because when he switched to actually rearranging the tangled mess of feathers that was his wings, Wilbur calmed down slightly. Ok. So if Quackity proved he was genuinely trying to preen him, he was slightly more ok with it. Slightly.
Whatever it was, there was no way the magpie could deny preening wasn’t doing him good. Not that Wilbur was anywhere close to being able to speak. Quackity was fine with that.
“You enjoying this, songbird?”
His eyes were fixed on the small bite marks up and down his magpie’s neck as Wilbur nodded sharply, a single movement that seemed to be all he could manage without completely falling apart. But he wanted his songbird to break, so he could be there to pick up the pieces.
Leaning in so his lips brushed against the heros ear, Quackity whispered just loud enough to be heard over the faint swing music from outside. “Good.”
He was going to ruin Wilbur. If his songbird still wanted to leave by the end of the week, he’d let him (liar, his shrike helpfully chirped to him) but, if he didn’t… well, then Quackity got his prize.
There were just a few more feathers to set straight and… done. A warm glow of satisfaction burned in his chest at seeing his magpie all neat and preened. He was definitely going to force some jewellery on Wilbur, if only to keep himself sane.
“Songbird, are you tired?” It was a gentle nudge, just seeing how suggestible Wilbur was right now. The nickname was getting close to boring him at this point, with none of the usual fun reactions, but he needed his magpie to know it was him talking.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, the hero nodded, chirps trailing off into uncertainty. Quackity cooed, stroking his wings again, just because he really did enjoy watching Wilbur twitch at the slightest touch.
“You can go to sleep. I’m here, amor.”
It was more a petty pleasure, speaking Spanish around people he knew for a fact didn’t have a clue what he was saying. But Wilbur still got the message, lying down in the nest like Quackity’s permission was all he needed.
The shrike couldn’t help the clicking from the back of his throat as he stroked his songbird’s wings, curled up on his lap with sapphire feathers littered around the two of them.
A single thought drifted to the front of his mind, and he purred in agreement with his shrike.
Mine
His songbird
Wilbur was fairly sure he was having a good time. It was… difficult to work out. But Ace seemed so gentle and caring it was hard to keep any sort of resistance up.
Some part of him knew this was dangerous. That he was in the lions den, vulnerable and trapped. Some part of him heard the shrike’s words and saw them for what they were, honeyed bait in a trap ready to snap closed as soon as he gave in, just a tiny bit more.
But his magpie couldn’t give a single shit. He was safe, in a nest and being absolutely showered with love and attention. Frankly, if this was Ace’s trap, the villain knew what he was doing.
Of course, his actual thoughts weren’t nearly so lucid. It was mostly a haze, day after day of being curled up in a nexts of pillows and blankets, drowning in his nemesis’s scent.
Despite the fact that Ace went somewhere, and he could definitely hear music from outside, he hadn’t quite found the energy to work out where he was. It wasn’t like he saw anyone aside from the shrike. The villain left occasionally, quite often when he was sleeping, and came back with food and a general air of giddiness.
Wilbur had never had his wings so thoroughly preened. Or worn this much jewellery. The shrike had taken the first opportunity to cover the hero in golden bangles and rings. It wasn’t quite his taste, but the weight on his hands reminded him where he was and who he was with, and that was worth the itching in the back of his mind.
It had been… multiple days now. That was about all he could say. At the moment, he was buried in a mountain of pillows, half-pretending to sleep as the sound of Ace’s writing filled his ears.
A melody drifted to the front of his mind, then slipped into a hum, sleepy and quiet. Ace stopped writing, but Wilbur barely noticed, nearly put to sleep by his own music. It got louder, buzzing in his ears like a thick blanket.
“Songbird? Are you…?”
He didn’t exactly react to the shrike, aside from beginning to sing for real, words appearing on his lips just as the last ones danced away, a beautiful melody that whispered of gentle love.
Beside him, he felt Ace sit down, and he let his chirps thread into the song as his nemesis stroked his hair, rolling over to meet the shrike’s captivated gaze.
His song carried on, swelling and falling with the steady, slow pace of his breaths, and eventually he felt his shrike’s soft chirps fade out as he fell asleep. Once Ace was beside him, Wilbur chirped happily, letting his final notes hang in the air to fade on their own.
He stretched his wing over the villain and lowered his head, the metal of his bracelets warm against his cheek. Still, he moved his arm out the way so he could lie on one of the pillows surrounding him, that comfortable haze extending all the way over his mind like the gentle crimson light filtering through the drapes.
Ace was his sunrise, his ray of light, his way of keeping track of each day he wished would last forever. And when he looked at his nemesis, eyes closed and jagged scar splitting his face as he smiled in his sleep, Wilbur and his magpie were in complete agreement.
This was his flock. And he would do anything for his shrike.
—————————
At some point, Wilbur had remembered he had a life outside of this scarlet room, a family probably worried sick over him, work friends who hadn’t heard from him in days. Some time after that, Ace had reminded him that they’d never really cared about him, and he let himself forget again.
At some point, Ace had started telling him little stories about being a villain, and he’d laughed at how hard his shrike was trying to hide his disgust at the heros. He didn’t mind. They weren’t all that great anyway.
At some point, his nemesis had become his only friend, his sunrise and his world, whispering words of home and belonging as he preened Wilbur’s wings for the hundredth time.
At some point, he’d started listening.
—————————
It was eight days later that Ace finally got tired of waiting. Wilbur had no idea of either how long it had been or what his nemesis had even been waiting for, but even he could feel the anticipation building in the shrike’s movements as he stroked his wings and fastened yet more necklaces and bracelets on him. It had almost stopped itching, and he had started to count them sometimes to calm down.
Ace’s favourite was a choker the shrike had given him right at the start, a bit of a different style to everything else, black leather with a heart shining crimson at the front, not quite shiny, but a far cry from subtle. Wilbur liked it too.
“Songbird… how are you doing?”
Nodding, he chirped happily, and felt Ace stroke his wings again, then the touch vanished, and his shrike appeared in front of him, settling into the pillows as he sat down again.
“I don’t think you’re molting anymore, Wilbur. Do you think you can talk?” There was something so gentle, so soft and sweet about the villain’s voice that made Wilbur’s heart flutter every time.
“Yeah. I- yeah.” Smiling, he tucked his wings in behind him. Even though he knew, logically, he should be able to push his instincts away now, that fluffy haze remained, clouding his judgement. “What is it, sunrise?”
Ace raised an eyebrow at the nickname, and Wilbur blushed as he realised it was the first time the villain had heard it. He’d been calling his shrike that for a good few days now, but most of he’d been incoherent for.
“That’s new. Don’t worry songbird,” Leaning forward, Ace brushed his hair out of his face, and he pressed into the touch. “I like it.”
“T- thanks.” He carried on letting his eyes rest on the villain’s face, intrigue making his head tilt to the side and a curious chirp escape him. “So…?”
“There’s something I want to ask you, Wilbur. Just say what your heart wants you to say.”
In his heart there was a magpie that chirped along to every word from Ace’s lips.
“Is that ok?”
He already knew that whatever his sunrise asked him, he’d want it. He’d do anything.
“Wilbur?”
Blinking, he snapped back to reality, smiling and nodding again in response before he remembered he could actually speak now.
“Y- yeah. That sounds good.”
“M’kay.” Ace shuffled closer to him, stroking the arc of his wing with such fondness Wilbur had to fight from falling right back into his instincts. “Wilbur… do you want to be a villain?”
Oh. Oh. He was caught in the middle as half of his mind slowed to a halt in utter shock and the other half increased to lightning pace, whirring frantically as he tried to think of a single good reason to deny his shrike.
All he could find was bitterness and resentment, not a trace of his old flock’s scent on him as he tried to push down the rising tide of anger. If he’d forgotten them that easily, they couldn’t have been worth that much to him.
In the end, there was nothing. Just a self-satisfied magpie, singing for all it was worth in his heart.
Deep breath. But all it did was knock down the few remaining walls, and Wilbur crumpled, falling to pieces as everything he’d had before burned itself to ashes.
“Songbird?” Ace’s prompting reminded him that he needed to answer, to make this real.
“Yes.” When he spoke, he sounded hungry, an animalistic purr layered under his voice. “To- to all of it, sunrise. I’m with you.”
The last phrase was a little quieter, more of a reassurance to himself that this was the right decision, because his shrike would be right there by his side.
“Call me Quackity, songbird.”
He laughed in a choked sob, letting everything rush away from him as he dug his claws into a pillow, wishing it was his heart.
“I- I’ll do anything for you, Quackity.”
“All I want is you, amor.”
Note; throughout all of this, Foolish was watching Quackity get steadily more possessive, and had begun to seriously wonder if he was going to have to deal with two feral avians