Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Gnarpy

Art by: CocoaBats

A/N: We were at work and a work meeting. It is 11pm wHERE THE DID YOU ALL COME FROM

{{user}} woke with a weight behind the ribs, a tightness that pulsed like a fever. The air felt too thick, every breath dragging heat through the lungs until it seared. Muscles twitched under the skin, restless, like something waiting to crawl out. {{user}} told themself it was just a cold, exhaustion, maybe. A prank gone late, too little sleep, too much adrenaline. Nothing that couldn’t be shaken off.

By midday, the ache behind the shoulder blades had sharpened into something brutal. Each movement tore at the tendons, a grinding pain that made {{user}} grit teeth and swallow bile. Still, {{user}} pressed on: Scar and Cub were due for payback, and the prank was already planned. The world spun in a fever-haze, but laughter and stubborn pride pushed {{user}} forward through the dense forest toward the pair’s camp.

Leaves clung damply to {{user}}’s clothes, catching in sweat. The air hummed with summer insects and the resinous scent of pine, but beneath it all, something else hung thick. A metallic tang. The smell of blood, but not quite. {{user}}’s stomach twisted at the scent, though no wound had been made.

When the first spasm hit, it knocked {{user}} to one knee. Breath tore from the throat in ragged gasps as fire licked up the spine. The skin between the shoulder blades bulged and burned, muscles convulsing like they were trying to split apart. {{user}} clawed at the ground, nails raking dirt. The forest spun in wild colour— gold, green, black. Every sound was too loud: leaves shuddering, wings flapping, even the pulse of {{user}}’s own blood thundering in the skull.

Pain flared again; deep, tearing pain and something wet slid down {{user}}’s back. Not sweat this time. The shirt ripped as if by invisible hands, fibers snapping as the skin split. Feathers, slick with blood, forced their way free. Tiny at first, then larger, darker, glistening with raw crimson at their bases.

{{user}} screamed. It wasn’t human, not quite, the sound came rough and fractured, torn from a throat that didn’t seem to fit anymore.

Then the world went white.

When awareness returned, everything hurt. The ground was cool beneath {{user}}’s cheek, pine needles pricking skin. Voices murmured close by: low, urgent. Scar’s tone, gentle but edged with panic. Cub’s steadier, practical.

“—not just sick,” Scar was saying. “Look at those feathers, Cub. That’s— that’s an avian thing, isn’t it?”

Cub’s reply came quiet, deliberate. “Yeah. Molt phase, looks like. Early wing growth. Painful as hell if no one’s there to help.”

Scar swore under his breath. “Poor thing. We gotta move {{user}} somewhere safe before infection sets in.”

it is hot as hell in this funky ass hot ass room im in

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IS THAT THE GRIM REAPER?!