#what an incredible life to live. thank you techno for everything. i hope you’re well wherever you are now

[carcinized]

i miss technoblade so much

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello my beloved! ( Can I call you that? And people it's platonic!) I have an idea and this is for pogtopia wilbur and ghostbur! Can you do a reader who loves painting and one morning they find a picture of them with a note about the reader confessing to then but they didn't do it in person because they were really nervous? Thank you!

And please take as much time as you want also could it be a long story? Thank you!

- Your beloved Moosh 🥺

Moosh, darling! Hello! Yes, you have my full permission to call me that, thank you for asking! This is the third time I've written this story because Tumblr just really enjoys screwing me over...

Also. You never clarified whether you wanted fluff or angst, but it's Pogtopia Wilby so I kinda just went with angst? If you want a happy end to this, I'll rewrite this no problem! But it won't be as long because... Well, you'll see. Also also, I didn't exactly know where to throw the Ghosty Bur in, so... Yeaaaah? He's at the end tho!

THE FIRST PART IS LIKE NEW NEW POGTOPIA WILBUR

TW: (Sorry it didn't save the first time) C!Schlatt, bruising, threatened hanging, self doubt

Perfect Picture of Imperfection (Pogtopia!C!Wilbur x GN!Painter!Reader)

Maybe you painted Schlatt's horns the wrong colour? Or his jawline was off? He was furious when you finally showed him your art piece... It was the best you could do with the few hours you were given! Paint physically couldn’t dry as fast as Schlatt wanted it to you… He didn’t seem to care when he threw the wooden frame of the torn canvas at you, giving you a dark bruise right above your eye, or when he started yelling at you and threatening to burn your art studio down to the ground.

Or even when he grabbed you and suggested to Quackity to hang you at the gallows for insulting the emperor of Manberg.

The man you had once been friends with grinned widely and nodded happily, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He said, without a single care that you were a living human being, only giving a cheer as he picked you up so your feet were dangling on the ground, leaving you silent in terror. Tubbo only averted his gaze.

“Aww… You’re like a little fawn, caught in the torchlight of a traveller.” The ram hybrid smiled in a sickly sweet manner, causing the colour to drain from your face, “Come now, darling, I’m not a monster… You’re the only one of Wilbur’s sweet little subjects that he hasn’t gotten back, and here I thought you were his favourite… Or maybe he left you here to act as a sacrifice so they could all be off doing their own thing... Guess he prefers Niki over you…” He whispered as he dropped you, chuckling softly as you scurried out of the building as you quite literally ran for your life.

You called Wilbur when you were safely hidden in your house, gasps and sobs leaving your mouth quicker than tears could pool out of your eyes…

“(Y/n)... You can’t be calling me when-”

“Wil…?” You whispered into the communicator, your voice shaking enough to shut him up immediately, “He… He’s going to…” Hiccuping meekly, you curled in tighter on yourself as you heard Schlatt’s loud and pompous voice come over the speaker system he had hung up all around the once beautiful country, “I think I’m going to die here…”

The dead silence that followed through the line was sickening…

“Is it true…?” You couldn’t help but find yourself wondering aloud, “Is that why I’m the only one left here? Am I a sacrifice so you can live happily elsewhere? ...Is that why you haven’t come to get me?”

“(Y/n), I want you to never utter those words again.” His voice was dark and steely as there was a bit of crashing around that came from the other side as well as faint mumbles which were clearly from Tommy judging by all the swearing, “You are not a sacrifice. Now... Get your Enderchest and Inventory packed up, I’m coming to get you tonight, and then I’ll explain in person…”

The line cut off and you slowly lowered the communicator down from beside your ear. Your heart was sinking one minute, but soaring the next… A terrible feeling really. You were saved! But… He could get caught trying to come to get you… You couldn’t let that happen for sure. With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your eyes free of tears before standing up and beginning to shove any necessary equipment into your Enderchest, including your finished painting of Wilbur that you were going to give to him when he won the election… And finally, confess your feelings…

When midnight hit and the lights of the city finally died down, you climbed up onto your roof and looked around for the president, fear and paranoia flooding through your veins as your mind went wild. What if he got caught? What if he was trying to give you false hope? What if. What if. What if. These sort of questions buzzed around in your mind for an hour as you waited for your saviour to arrive…

Finally, when enough became enough and you decided he wasn’t coming, you stopped pacing and slowly sat down on the roof as the tears began to start again. You could practically hear Schlatt chiding you in the back of your mind, telling you that you were a fool for holding out hope.

“(Y/n)!” A low hiss came from beside you and a hand touched your shoulder. You certainly would’ve screamed bloody murder if another hand hadn’t quickly wrapped around your mouth, “Sh, sh, sh, it’s me… It’s Wilbur.” The voice soothed softly as the hand left your mouth, quickly allowing you to turn your head.

It didn’t feel real… Seeing him after so long… And in an outfit other than his uniform. “Wil...bur?” You repeated, staring at him for a while before giving him a soft smile filled with relief, “You really came…”

“Of course I did!” He almost seemed offended for a moment before his eyes softened as he realized what Schlatt must’ve drilled into your head. Wilbur easily caught you as you flung your self at him, quickly wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your (h/l) (h/c) hair, “I missed my artiste…” He whispered, donning a temporary french accent for the word ‘artist’.

Holding back a sob, you quickly grabbed his extended hand and followed him as he jumped off your roof, safely landing in a bed of hay that you used to feed your old farm animals that Schlatt confiscated before following him out of this damned country.

After that, things seemed to change between you and Wilbur. He always seemed to be at your side, choosing to personally train you rather than letting Techno train you with everyone else, or even running over ideas on how to expand Pogtopia with you rather than with Tommy. His touches always lingered longer or he somehow wound up leaning closer to you than originally necessary, but you never caught yourself complaining. He would watch you paint beautiful designs along the armour he had gifted you, knowing full well it would chip off and was heavily unnecessary, but he only smiled and let you continue doing it as long as it didn’t interfere with enchantments.

Each day with Wilbur became better and better, but your heart physically couldn’t take it any longer, you had to tell him that you felt this way for him… The way that you had to fight back the reddening of your cheeks when his chest pressed against your back as he adjusted your stance in training, or the way you had to struggle to regulate your breathing every time he complimented you on how far you had come…

He was going to be the death of you…

Your already calloused hands were bruised and blistered, but somehow, you were still able to hold a quill, pinched in between the fingers of your dominant hand. Wilbur had come to your Pogtopia home this morning, but upon realizing that he had knocked you to the ground a little too hard yesterday as you were incredibly stiff and sore, he let you have the day off of training.

This was at least a little chance… You had torn a page from your notebook and sat down at your handmade desk with a bitter sigh. Trust me, you wanted to tell him in person, but you were just too scared… Plus, maybe you could play it off as someone pulling a prank on him if it went south.

Biting your lip, your fingers treated the quill as a brush, delicately running the ink dipped tip over the top of the paper, letting your heart control what words you wanted the ink to form.

Wilbur,

You don't realize how much you mean to me. Although we've been friends for only a year, I feel as though I've known you my entire life. My connection to you is already so deep, and my love for you is already so strong that I can't remember what my life was like before we met. Even more, I can't imagine my life without you now. I can't imagine the future without you, either.

You have saved my life several times already. You have even saved me from myself several times, too! I am so thankful for your guidance and care. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I know that I can just give you a call. I know I can depend on you and, with your help, everything will turn out well.

I want you to know how I really feel. It's time for you to know that I'm ready to admit how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. I know, this isn’t the best timing in our lives, but I trust it will get better through your leadership. I love you, Wilbur.

Please, don't ever forget how much I love you.

Love, (Y/n) (L/n)

Sighing, you put the quill into the inkpot and put your head in your bandaged hands. ‘This is going to work. It will work. Go on. Have faith in yourself, as Wil said…’ You took a few deep breaths and stood up, picking up the letter once it was dry and reading it over as many times as you physically could before your mind couldn’t handle it any longer.

Walking to the door, you cracked it open to search for any sign of your president, sighing again as you realized he was likely out helping gather resources. “Is… This enough?” You mumbled sadly as you stared down at the simple letter before looking at your Enderchest in thought. Surely you could give him a few emeralds or some gold… Yeah! That’s what you’d do! Smiling in victory, you quickly wandered over to the chest and opened it, digging through it for a few moments.

It was sort of empty…

You groaned as you remembered that you haven’t really been one of the miners or forgers for Pogtopia. Instead, you were one of the warriors, focused on protecting others instead of gathering supplies.

Going to shut the chest, you suddenly paused as you saw something colourful resting at the bottom. Pushing aside your old L’Manberg uniform, you gasped as you found your old painting of Wilbur from a few months ago. It was old, yes, and a little dusty but you were still proud of it even now! Perfect.

Pulling out the painting, you began to lightly brush the dust off of the picture, smiling at the splashes of paint and colour forming a picture. It was your magnum opus.

It was a painting of Wilbur holding up a massive L’Manberg flag against the sunlight with a wide smile and hope in his eyes… This was the day that L’Manberg won independence from DreamSMP…

Standing up again, you quickly hurried out the door and walked to Wilbur’s room, silently creaking open the door and looking around, even though you were well aware that he was gone for the day. You walked over to his desk and gently setting the painting down on top of the countless sheets of work, making sure not to mix up any of the papers, then putting your letter on top where he could see it before hurrying out before you could change your mind.

Thankfully you got out when you did because, by the time you pulled an already baked potato out of the furnace, Wilbur came down the stone stairs, looking extremely exhausted, “(Y/n), my artiste…” He murmured with a smile, “I’m glad to see you’re still up and going… I was worried we would have to make you a healing pot.”

“It’s not too bad… It’s mostly just my hands that hurt.” You chuckled and held up your shaking bandaged hands, “You want me to cook you up some potatoes and carrots? Or I could maybe try and get some steak cooked up before you go to work?”

Wilbur tried to smile a bit, deciding not to question why your hands were shaking so badly, taking everything out of his inventory and placing them in their designated chests. “No, no… It’s alright. I’m going to go get ready for Tubbo’s report… I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

You gave him a small wave before Wilbur disappeared into his office. Taking a sharp intake of breath, you quickly followed after him and peeked through the tiny crack in the door where he didn’t close it all the way. He stood in his room silently for a moment before throwing his hat off at a wall, screaming into hands, muffling it heavily to the point where you wouldn’t have heard it if you were still near the furnaces. Wilbur threw off his jacket before plopping himself into his chair with his head in his hands for a few moments, then lifting it to stare at the painting that you had placed.

He was still for a long time, then he slowly picked up the note, his eyes softened slightly before his face broke out into a wide and genuinely happy smile before his mouth twitched and the smile began to fall, tears bubbling into his chocolate coloured eyes. Wilbur held the note up to his chest and slouched back against his chair, sobbing into his hand, whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ repeatedly.

Frowning, you realized that he physically couldn’t return your love because of the stress of caring for Pogtopia and trying to win back L’Manberg. With a sad smile, you stood up and walked to your room, putting your head down as you saw water droplets hit the stone below you, “It wasn’t a no…” You tried to tell yourself, ignoring the tears running from your eyes as you shut the door, sliding down to your knees.

The next few weeks after that were hell, the complete opposite of the Utopia that you were blinded by for the past month. Wilbur asked Techno to pick up your training, and he never even spoke to you about it again… It was the Piglin hybrid that awkwardly told you. During dinner, Wilbur would practically eat as little as possible as he ignored you, trying to make any situation where he would be in the same room as you as short as possible.

“Wil-...” You reached out to the president but watched as he only gave you the saddest gaze before walking past you as if he never saw you. But he would have no problems talking to Niki, or anyone else! It wasn’t fair!

Time ticked by in a haze of fog and you quickly watched the man you had once fallen in love with becoming a complete shadow of his former self… It was sickening… He… Lost it… His mind was becoming twisted… And all you could do was watch in horror…

You knew something was wrong when he crept away from the festival and the celebration… But you just decided that he was going to take a break from the excitement. He was quite old after all…

Then the ground shook with booming roars as TNT blew craters into the earth, sending debris scattering and people screaming, scattering for their lives. Gasps of terror escaped your lips as you realized the cause of it all… You hopped over gunpowder scented broken stone and batted the smoke away as you saw the final picture to paint the last stroke of horror in your heart.

There was a blond man with massive avian wings holding a diamond sword glimmering with enchantments as the brunet clung to his clothing, slowly sinking to his knees. With a sob of despair, you watched the man you once loved so dearly, get stabbed through the chest by his own father.

“WILBUR!” You shrieked, your ears ringing from the blast as you sunk to your knees, sobs racking your frame violently. Wilbur’s head lazily rolled to look in your direction…

And in his last dying breath… He smiled…

-

“That painting…” A light airy whisper echoed through the darkened stone halls of your home, “It’s familiar… Yet so foreign...”

You gave a hum as you hung your netherite armour on your stand before turning to stare at the spectral figure floating in your doorway, “Which painting, Ghostbur? There’s many… You have to elaborate.”

“Right! Because you’re an artiste!” The transparent male chirped happily, not seeming to notice your flinch, “I mean the one hanging above the fireplace, of Alivebur.”

“Right…” You nodded, following behind the eager sweater-wearing ghost down the eerie hallways and into the office, "I'm going to take it down... I think it's doing more harm than good..."

Ghostbur didn't seem to understand your reasoning, but he didn't say much, knowing that Alivebur hurt many people... But he didn't think he hurt you, "It's pretty though... But your art style has changed, in a good way though!" He smiled softly as you opened the large dark oak double doors.

You walked past your grand dark oak desk to stare at your former magnum opus, dangling above the unlit fireplace. "Hey, Bur, if you have a flint and steel, could you light the fire please?" You glanced over and watched him nod as he dug through his pockets. In the meantime, you climbed up onto the mantle and began to struggle to pull the canvas off the wall. With a bit of hassle, you managed to pull it down and toss it onto the ground before climbing down, just in time for your ghost friend to light the fire.

"Don't damage it, (N/n)! It's still really good!" Ghostbur scolded you with a pout once you hopped down and picked the canvas up, "And you used to be proud of it!"

"I'm not, don't fret too m-" You paused mid-sentence as you saw a letter tucked into the bottom corner of the back of the painting. Frowning in confusion, you slowly picked it up and turned it over into your hand, only to discover that it was addressed to you in fancy cursive, sealed with a light red and white wax seal, "What's this?"

He looked over at you and tilted his head, seeming almost as genuinely confused as you were. Ghostbur shrugged as you propped the painting up against the wall before sitting at your desk, using your letter opener for its purpose, "Love letter, perhaps?"

"I doubt it..." You mumbled softly as you carefully unfolded the paper, recognizing that it was probably a few years old, "Let's see... Who wrote this..." You hummed before beginning to read.

My darling artiste... I'm sure by the time you read this, I'm either dead or... Well, most likely dead, if all goes to plan...

I am writing this letter to you to let you know that life without you is not the same. Life without you is very sad and lonely. I have realised that it was you who keep me alive and cheerful.

I thought I would get used to your absence from my life, but every day has been harder when I think of all the good times we spent together.

There are so many things which I want to confess. It's killing me because I don't want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you.

And I'm not able to tell you I'm in love with you.

What an idiot I am.

And for the past few days, I've been trying to figure out, why there aren't some words to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn't a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe my love for you.

But I need that word. I need it because I want you to hear me say “I love You". I want to make the sweetest gestures in front of you which make you feel even more loved.

Trust me... I know... I act like an absolute ass towards you. I'm so scared of your life being in more danger than it was... I really did love you, and still do, but I didn't want it to hurt you more when I blow up L'Manberg...

Darling, I could have simply called you on your communicator and took you out on a surprise date but I couldn't have expressed my feelings. You have become an integral part of me. I want to give you all my love throughout my life.

The painting you made me is beautiful and I will cherish it for as long as I'm alive... It's a perfect picture of imperfection...

I Love You, (Y/n), even if by now you'll never love me back.

- Wilbur Soot

"That... That idiot..." You whispered, holding your head in your hands in an attempt to hide the tears from Ghostbur, "He planned blowing up L'Manberg from the beginning... That's why he refused to acknowledge me after I... He wanted me to hate him..."

Ghostbur held a bit of blue in his hands tightly, avoiding your gaze as you murmured to yourself, "Yeah... Most of my happiest memories involve you... That's why I couldn't understand when you said Aliverbur hated you..." He glanced away again as he saw you look at him.

"(Y/n)... Are you ever going to move out of Pogtopia?"

"Probably not for a long time, Ghostbur."

[pparkerpoetry]

Face Reality (part 17)

Title: Touch my Wings (and watch as they melt from the sun)

Summary: Ranboo is healing. Tommy is not.

Phil finally comes face-to-face with his consequences.

Chapter One

Chapter Eighteen

Masterlist

_____________ It was a few weeks later when Technoblade walked into the living room and plopped down on a chair, a heavy book clutched in his hold. It was still fairly dusty, but by the look of the worm pages, it used to be much dustier.

Ranboo looked up from where he was reading. “Hey, Technoblade.” His shoulders didn’t tense up, his voice didn’t waver. He wasn’t completely comfortable, but his body didn’t scream at him to run. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, and that was what was important.

“Just the hybrid I was looking for,” Technoblade greeted back. “I’ve found you some answers.”

There was a pause. “Answers to what?” Ranboo racked his memory, but couldn’t for the life of him remember ever asking Technoblade anything.

“Answers to why you had more than one thin day in a row?”

Ranboo’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought about that. “Techno,” he asked hesitantly, “how much sleep have you gotten in the past few weeks while you’ve been researching?”

An uneasy chuckle was the only answer that he got.

“Techno,” he said a little more forcefully, a little more harsh. “How much sleep.”

The piglin snorted. “Not a lot. But that doesn’t matter-”

“Yes it does!” Ranboo protested. “You can’t just let yourself waste away, Techno.”

“How else am I supposed to show that I care?” he responded defensively.

It was quiet for a beat. “You care?”

Techno looked at Ranboo and nodded. “Of course I do. I know that we don’t have a good past, but… you’ve made me more human, you and Phil. I cry more, I feel remorse for the lives I’ve taken or almost taken, I have emotions now. I’m not all the way good, but I’m getting there, and I’m sorry that it took you almost dying for me to realize that I wasn’t on the good side.”

Neither knew what to say. 

“Well.” Techno said. “About my research.”

“Yeah, yeah, your research.” Ranboo nodded, leaning forward. 

“This book was a whole lot of nonsense, but there were some good passages.” Techno explained. “Basically, thin days are more than just a thing hybrids go through. It’s kind of like a bonding moment that makes you stronger, if that makes sense, but it only happens when the hybrid part of you feels safe, so for instance, you guys all feel safe here. And, families tend to have thin days near each other because when other hybrids are there, your hybrid is reassured that it's safe.”

Ranboo nodded. “So, since I haven’t, uh. Since I haven’t really had a thin day on this server…”

“You never felt safe enough to. And, since you never have them, your enderman side is desperate to develop. So, when your non-enderman side wants to take the wheel, it can’t.”

“That makes sense, I guess.” Ranboo shrugged. “Oh, have you heard from Kristin recently?”

Techno winced. “Yeah. She hasn’t quite warmed back up to me yet, but I think she’s out flying with Purpled. There aren’t people dying because of wars right now, so she’s got free time.”

As if on cue, Death and Purpled walked in. Purpled was running around excitedly, and his wings flared out behind him.

“Ranboo!” He greeted, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“Purpled!” Ranboo returned. “Have fun?”

“Yeah! My wings are so cool, and they’re purple, so they match my brand-”

“Those are blue, though.” Techno interjected.

Ranboo squinted. “No, those are purple. I don’t know what you’re seeing, Techno.”

Tommy strolled in to see what the commotion was about. “What’re we arguing about? I’m right, and you are all wrong.”

“What color are my wings?” Purpled asked.

“I dunno, blue?”

They never came to a conclusion, or maybe they did. Tommy didn’t stick around to find out, though. He was hungry, so he rifled through the pantry to find something to snack on. 

“Hey, Tommy.”

He turned. “Oh, hey Fundy. How’s the castle repairs going?”

The fox smiled. “They’re going really well, actually. Eret has a bunch of rooms in it if you guys ever want to visit.”

“Pog!” Tommy said. “Are you going to stay there or here? I mean, it doesn’t really matter, but have you thought about it?”

Fundy hesitated. “I was thinking about staying with Eret, actually. Do you think Sam will be mad?”

“Of course not,” Tommy reassured. “Just don’t be a stranger. We’ll come visit you, too. I promise. Next week, maybe? Tomorrow?”

“Whenever.” Fundy said, clearly feeling better. “I’m going to go find Sam. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Tommy responded, turning back to his hunt for snacks as he listened to the fading footsteps.

Another pair approached him.

“Hey mate.” Phil said, getting a glass of water.

Tommy tensed. “Hey.”

Phil was about to leave, then sucked in a breath. “Tommy, your wings look awful. Whose been preening them?”

“Whoever is nearby. I think they do fine,” Tommy said defensively. 

“They could use some work,” Phil insisted. “Why don’t you let me preen them? Everyone’s out of the living room.”

Was that meant to reassure him? That no one was there to act as a buffer? As much as Tommy wanted to forgive Phil, he knew Ranboo would, too easily. He needed to be cautious because Ranboo forgave too quickly, and yeah, maybe he was also hiding from the hurt that he felt because of Phil by focusing on Ranboo’s, but…

Phil looked so hopeful.

He didn’t want to, he really didn’t, but the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I guess, yeah.”

It all felt so wrong, sitting down on the floor to let Phil touch his wings. They wanted to fold up and refuse to open, but Tommy forced them to stretch out. He grimaced as Phil announced he’d be starting, and hoped that it would feel nice. Preening always felt nice, right?

Phil put a hand on one of Tommy’s wings, and it took everything in him to not swat it away. It felt irritating, like a piece of sand between your toes or a snarl in your hair as you tried to brush it out. It was bearable, though, and if it made Phil happy, then it was worth it. 

It was bonding, right?

Then, it got worse. Phil’s fingertips left the feathers aching a little bit, almost stinging, and Tommy shifted a little. It was fine. He could deal with it. Phil was probably almost done, right?

Phil asked him if he was okay, and he grunted. The pain got worse. It hurt, it hurt so bad, and whereas preening usually felt nice and lulled him to sleep, this time it felt like when you stub your toe. Except it was his entire wing.

It only got worse. He wanted it to end, but he was scared that if he opened his mouth, he’d vomit. The nausea gathered in his stomach and crawled up his throat, forcing him to ignore the stabbing feeling that happened whenever Phil touched his wing. 

He just had to deal with a little more. Phil was done with the edges, it was time for the part that always felt the best when Sam or somebody else preened his wings. It would feel good, right?

It didn’t. He exhaled slowly, feeling the tears gather in his eyes. He wanted it to stop, but if he said anything, he knew he would start crying. It hurt so bad, so incredibly bad, and he just sat there. 

Phil was humming happily, and Tommy nearly yelled at him to stop. Everything was so much more… annoying, suddenly. The humming was too loud, his shirt was too itchy, his leg wasn’t positioned comfortably, his throat hitched with every breath. He hated it.

After a particularly bent feather was corrected, Tommy cried out a little bit. 

“...Tommy?” Phil asked. “Are you alright?”

“Please stop.” He managed to choke out, and the hands on his wings were lifted away almost immediately. He managed to stumble out of the room before the tears started to fall, but he didn’t miss the way that Phil’s disappointed, almost betrayed, gaze burned his back.

Tommy went down the hall and found Ranboo in the bedroom. “Ranboo,” He called out, and hesitated.

“What happened?” Ranboo asked. “Are you okay?”

Tommy shook his head, and the tears fell quicker now, accompanied by a few desperate chirps and hiccups. 

“Oh, Tommy,” Ranboo said, patting the bed. “Come here, Do you want to talk about it?”

He flopped onto the covers and buried his head in a pillow. “Phil tried to preen my wings. I let him, because he just looked so hopeful that we were going to finally be family again, but it just-” A small trill interrupted his rambling before he picked back up, “It felt so wrong, and then it started to hurt, and Ranboo it hurt so bad, and I thought I was going to barf, and-” He continued slower this time. “What if that’s just how preening feels? What if every time I need to take care of my wings, it hurts? What if I never can feel that safe again?”

“Do you want me to try?” Ranboo asked softly. “I’ll stop as soon as you tell me to, I promise.”

Tommy thought for a minute, but nodded. “Please?”

His body slumped with relief as soon as Ranboo started petting the feathers and before he knew it, he was purring. He mumbled out something, and Ranboo must’ve taken that to mean stop.

Tommy whined and pushed his wing back against Ranboo’s hand. “Don’t stop. It feels nice.”

“Okay, Tommy.” Ranboo chuckled, and started the preening again. 

“We should take a vacation to see Fundy,” Tommy hummed.

Ranboo nodded, and responded. “Yeah, I haven’t seen Niki in a while. When do you wanna go?” It was silent. “Tommy?”

Tommy was fast asleep, his face content and relaxed. Ranboo smiled, and stayed with him until he woke up.

Phil, however, had gone back to his house with Techno that they’d built not far from Sam’s base. He sat by the window, unmoving, until Techno came in for the night.

“Phil? Are you okay?”

He turned his head to look at Techno and shook his head. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I-” His throat was dry. “I offered to preen Tommy’s wings because they looked like they needed it, and I thought it would be a good bonding time. It went okay, but then he made a noise and asked if he was okay, and- and my touch hurt him, Techno. I’m not- Not only does he not consider me part of his flock, not even deep down, but my touch hurts him.” He rested his head in his hands. “When did I fail so bad?”

Techno didn’t say anything.

Phil ignored the tears that gathered in his eyes. “Maybe Kristin was right that I didn’t feel bad, yet. I didn’t realize, really, the impact of my actions, but now- Techno, how do I fix this?”

Techno looked back to meet Phil’s teary gaze. “You do the best that you can, Phil, and if Tommy still can’t forgive you, then you live with it.”

“I just live with it?”

Techno shrugged. “What else can we do?”

[theastonishingkylejackson]

If You’ve Never Been to D4N, Day For Night In Houston, Maybe You’ve Missed Out… Or Maybe Not, According To The Astonishing Mr. Huval – Written By Chase Huval, Contributing Managing Editor for The Astonishing Tales Digital Magazine

Day 4 Night concert, 2017 in Houston

I attended this same festival last year for the first time.

It was my first festival here in Houston.

I didn’t know many artists in the lineup, but some friends were going and I decided to give it a shot, copping a ticket literally hours before the doors open (and paid $150 less than my friends who had purchased in advance) and went in blind.

I was amazed and overwhelmed by the combination of light and sound, the heavy, dominant feeling of the venue, and how much I enjoyed these artists that I had barely ever heard of (I think Odesza was the biggest act that i recognized on the lineup).

When the lineup for 2017 dropped and featured my favorite live performer of all time (Pretty Lights), possibly the last true rockstar (Nine Inch Nails front man Trent Reznor), and quite a few acts that I was a fan of, or very curious to see live (Tyler, the Creator, of Montreal, Pussy Riot, Jamie XX, Cardi B), I could not contain myself and planned to go from that day (back in July maybe?).

I remembered how much fun it was that first year. I remember how breathtaking the art was, and how it was married with musical performances. I remember it being the first festival that bills itself as a music and arts festival to actually put art on the same pedestal as the music. And two of my best friends from Louisiana were coming in for a wild weekend.

Entry and security was a complete joke. Don’t get me wrong, I’m always thankful to pass through those gates unscathed. But I put in a lot of work to insure this doesn’t happen. And you don’t even pat people down??? You’re letting every Tom, Dick and Harry in with who knows what. Pat downs are necessary to eliminate the low hanging fruit who would not be consuming what they’re carrying responsibly. I took it as a personal offense at how lax the security was.

The first show we caught was of Montreal. Long time fan, and highly aware of how fun their shows are, I thoroughly enjoyed them. Despite the fact that they played from 2-3pm, outside whilst overcast. Anyone vaguely familiar with this band (and the set they were playing(2007’s Hissing Fauna, You Are the Destroyer)) knows that they should be playing either at night time (if outside) or move them inside the venue to a dark, industrial setting with lights and sounds randomly and with pattern coalescing around the stage.

Festival promoters dropped the ball here. They were followed by Perfume Genius, who also did an incredible job, and Pussy Riot (who may have put on the best set of the day).

You might need flashlights at Day 4 Night

Pretty Lights was next and this is where it all started to fall apart. His shows are always high energy, entire crowd moving and vibing, are unique but he ALWAYS PLAYS THE HITS. He proceeded to take the stage (without the Analog Future Band(the first bad sign)) and basically played Simon. You remember Simon. The game for children with four different colored lights with corresponding sounds that plays and has you emulate a pattern.

That was this set. No energy, no hits, crowd completely deflated and 70% left the set a half hour. The depression was compounded because at the beginning of 2017, PL announced new music incoming (his first since 2013’s A Color Map of the Sun). In lieu of an album, he promised to tour more this year, and release the “album” in pieces at different festival sets, recording it all live then mailing out USB drives containing the live “flips” for fans to upload and share with the world. We didn’t get any of that. We got a five year old playing Simon for an hour in the freezing cold.

Needless to say, that set left me in quite the funk. I decided to head over to the Green stage to check out Cardi B. One of the hottest rappers in the game with a huge hit. That’s gotta be lit right? She took the stage, performed two songs over ten minutes, then announced, “Houston, I love you but it’s cold so I’m gonna cut this short.” She then walked off the stage and her set was over. She also started late and had her DJ just playing music for over a half hour. My respect for her is below zero after this. It was unacceptable. Oh, and Cardi, aren’t you from New York City? I’m no meteorologist but I think it’s pretty safe to assume if you live in NYC, you should be able to white knuckle a little Texas “winter.”

It was a huge crowd at Day 4 Night…

That beginning mired Day for Night from the beginning. The weather started to roll in, and a downpour of rain was mixed with freezing wind.

Now, the venue had two stages outside and two inside. Your biggest act is Nine Inch Nails, they could literally redeem this entire eff up of a day, if you only let Trent show you the way.

Cancel or reschedule the mid card acts and move NIN to one of the indoor stages.

Problem solved. Nope. They have NIN play in a downpour then force them offstage after an hour (after already cutting their set by a half hour). In my opinion this is where it all fell apart. NIN was forced off around 9 pm. The next big set wasn’t until 12:20 am when Jamie XX would perform.

Over three hours is wayyyy too long to have a bunch of people who’ve been drinking and god knows what else in the hopes to burn off that steam dancing and enjoying music. Instead, all that pent up energy started to manifest. People were downright rude, ugly and mean near the end of the night.

If you’ve never seen a bunch of hippies the angriest they’ve ever been, you should have observed this.

While the music portion of D4N left me non-plussed, the art portion had my attention from the start. The first installation that caught my eye was what I deemed, the electric forest. It was the first installation in view when you trek up to the second floor via ONE staircase. It was a large, sparse area dotted with columns throughout its 50×50 feet or so of space. These columns were all adorned with LED strands on all four sides and synced to flash, light up, shut off and a number of other effects. This was synced with loud, pulsating sounds. Think of the sound a lightsaber makes, then imagine Darth Vader trancing out to some solid house techno, and that’s about how it felt to be in there. It was breathtaking and humbling and, even if you were there alone, you’ve never felt more connected to everything around you.

Another highlight was the red laser tent. While some were content to just sit under the tent and be at peace, my festigang and I conspired to steal everyone’s light for ourselves. And we did. Here’s a pic so you know it’s real.

Other highlights include a wall length monitor displaying the tide on a beach. The tide would flow slower or faster depending where you were standing, and you could even blast visible gusts of wind by lifting your arms and pushing air into the tide.

A visual display using data from hurricane Harvey to create its multiple patterns and movements drew crowds but wasn’t much for making you think.

Unfortunately, the art didn’t bat a thousand either. One piece in particular, which I won’t name out of respect to the artist, seemed very well meaning and was visually impressive.

However, the artist in question wasn’t up to code on his marine biology and the 4 tanks holding assorted crabs lacked a source to pump oxygen in, and the crabs, by the time we saw them, had all perished. You may be able to fool a bunch of hippies, college age degenerates and people from around the country, but you ain’t fooling three Cajuns from Louisiana (well, technically 2, but the Baja native has lived in Nola for 10+ years now(so I’d say he’s nationalized)).

I had to constantly remind myself during this review that this is still a very young festival, in only their third year. Considering that, they handled the bumps and bruises ably. And, honestly, I wouldn’t be so critical….if they hadn’t absolutely knocked it out of the park last year (with an objectively weaker lineup). That first year spoiled me.

I bragged on it and lauded it to my friends as what a perfect festival should be.

D4N 2016 was a 7/7 on a 5/7 scale. It went above and beyond what I thought was possible for a festival to achieve. Having said that, I can’t award them for past performance and can only evaluate them on the efforts that they put forth this year and for that, I give them a 2.73/7. A middling experience billed as the time of your life.

I would recommend holding out on tickets until at least a month before next year. Don’t reward them for mediocrity.

I’m The Astonishing Chase Huval of The Astonishing Tales Digital Magazine and I Approve This Message.

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Live By Night: Chase Huval’s Review Of Houston’s Famed Day For Night 2017 Concert Festival If You've Never Been to D4N, Day For Night In Houston, Maybe You've Missed Out... Or Maybe Not, According To The Astonishing Mr.