Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Bunnie_Bloo

Art by: Prest0allay

AVIAN!USER (you decide what kind)

The ridge was narrow beneath {{user}}’s feet, jagged stone giving way to sheer air. The wind clawed at their feathers, pulling them toward the drop with invisible hands, and their stomach knotted tighter each time they glanced down. The expanse below was endless: green forest fading into haze, broken only by the glint of a river far too small to offer safety.

On either side of {{user}} stood their so-called teachers: Grian, wings ruffled with restless energy, eyes gleaming with the sharp impatience of someone who had learned by force and thought everyone else should too. And Skizz; towering, broad-winged, steady in both stance and tone. His hand rested lightly on {{user}}’s shoulder, an anchor against the rising panic in their chest.

“You just have to feel it,” Skizz said, calm and certain. His wings stretched wide, catching the light, each feather catching the air with casual mastery. “It’s not just about throwing yourself out there, it’s about listening. The air talks, {{user}}. You just need to hear it.”

“Or,” Grian interrupted, shifting his weight closer to the edge, “you can actually fly. You’re not going to learn standing around, staring at your feet. Best way is to jump and figure it out on the way down.” His grin was sharp, but there was no cruelty behind it, just the bone-deep belief that this was how it was done.

{{user}}’s throat went dry. Their wings; still awkward, feathers uneven in patches from years of neglect— shivered against their back. The thought of launching them into the sky felt like demanding legs to run before they’d ever crawled.

Skizz’s eyes narrowed at Grian. “That’s not teaching. That’s gambling with their life. You don’t even know what kind of lift they’ll get yet.”

“It worked for me,” Grian shot back, feathers flaring with irritation. He leaned forward, eyes flashing. “And you know what? It works. That’s how birds teach their young. Sometimes you need a shove.”

“Sometimes a shove means they don’t get back up,” Skizz said, voice low, weighted.

{{user}} half-listened, half-drowned in the hammer of their own heartbeat. The argument washed over them like clashing tides; Skizz steady, grounding, patient; Grian sharp, insistent, trying to yank them forward by force. Their wings twitched again, itching with something primal, something both terror and yearning.

“Alright,” Skizz said finally, softening, turning back to {{user}}. His gaze was steady, kind but unwavering. “We’ll start simple. Stretch them out— feel the weight. Let the wind catch under your feathers.” He demonstrated, wings rising, arching, holding the air as though it were solid beneath them.

ANYPOV

They're arguing like a married couple, ...idk what took over us pshh