Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Foolish was a god, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew how to interact with people. With mortals. Humans, and hybrids. Maybe he'd been a little out of touch, out of practice… but society only changed so much over a century. And the recent months hadn't pointed to this behaviour being normal.

"You can always put it on my chest, master. I love it when you do that."

Foolish fixed his eyes on the wooden chest before him, where he was unloading a packful of string. "No, that's quite alright," he managed to force out, his sharp teeth bared in a pained smile. "Just into this chest here."

The catmaid slid up to him with a purr, brushing against him and curling a tail around his ankles. "Of course, I can do that. ...Do you want my seed?"

Sweet heavens, this never ended.

"No, you keep that to yourself."

"Oh, okay, I'll save it all up for you tonight."

And so it continued, for the next hour and a half. The two hours he'd mistakenly burdened himself with dragged on, more painful than his century of solitude in his summer home. The constant innuendos were uncomfortable, mostly because he had no idea how to react. Refusal resulted in pitiful mewls that weighed him down with unwanted guilt; silence brought only more suggestions… and every reply was skillfully turned against him. He couldn't win.

It might've been more bearable if H actually helped. Instead, every mundane task dragged on and became unnecessarily sexualised, forcing Foolish into a mindset he hadn't found himself in for countless decades.

After he managed to stutter out a literal answer to H's very pointed, "When was the last time you were wet?" the god couldn't help but think back. Sexual pleasure had never been a priority for him. He didn't mind going months, years, or even centuries without experiencing it—often, he wouldn't be in a situation where he could. He didn't always exist in a mortal plane. Then… there had been a time when any respectable god living among people had followers to please them in every way, but that era had long since passed. And it had never involved someone so desperate for attention.

By the time the two hours were up (finally, finally he'd managed to outsmart the pest; leave the catmaid and all the innuendos far far behind), he wanted nothing more than to return to his summer home and forget everything that had just occurred. Maybe even dismantle the nether portal and hide for a few decades, so he wouldn't have to ever experience that again. His body, though… physically, he couldn't deny he was interested. Those words had piqued something.

Mentally, he was scarred and frightened.

Maybe it was time he indulged in his arousal. It had been decades, after all. But it wouldn't be, never would be, with H the catmaid.

He made sure all the supplies he carried were tucked away, his tools and weapons secured. Then he drew in a breath and unfurled his wings.

Foolish took to the skies, revelling in the freedom he so rarely got to experience. He was far from people here, so this was the only time he permitted himself to reveal his wings, let alone use them. He didn't need anyone to know he was as comfortable in the air as he was in the sea.

He gained height quickly, breaking through the clouds before settling into a gentle glide. It had been a long time since his last flight, and he didn't want to strain his body too much. He might be a god—or a demigod, an immortal, an eternal follower of XD… or any number of other names mortals called his kind—but even his body could suffer injury. He could just… control it, a little better. Sometimes a lot better. Sometimes, he just needed to stretch out and be twenty-three feet tall.

Not too often, though. It unnerved the mortals.

Foolish banked lower, underneath the clouds, and started a careful decline when the structures of the town Community appeared on the horizon. A controlled dive with the wind whistling in his ears brought him to the edge of the forest, with just enough cover for him to tuck his wings away from non-divine eyes and straighten his clothes. Then it was a short walk through an overgrown field, a long stroll into Community, and a visit to the large nether portal overlooking the community building and town centre.

He smiled at the locals, nodded to the town guards standing post at the portal, and passed through into the other realm.

The moment he drew in a breath of dry, overheated nether air Foolish knew something wasn't right. He mentally stepped back, disconnecting from his suddenly too hot, too small, too everything body, and observed.

His body was mortal, mostly. Of course it was; his true form couldn't be comprehended in such a simple dimension as this. He hadn't been born, and he only aged if he chose to, but this body he resided in could be harmed. It hungered for food, desired water, and needed something that resembled sleep. It could even die. Granted, he wouldn't die. He had never once neared the veil of death. Only the physical construction, the melding of shark and totem, could perish.

Foolish, detached and unconcerned, came to a conclusion. His body, mortal and modelled after the golden totem, and the shark, ruler of the seas… had succumbed to a breeding cycle.

Something had triggered it. No, more than one thing. Nothing as mundane as arousing thoughts could shift his body's biology so profoundly, especially since this could be the first rut he experienced in easily three centuries—if he allowed it to proceed. Had it been the suddenness of nether heat? Maybe. Some sharks moved to warm waters to mate; perhaps his biology followed a similar rule.

Water. Hmm.

Foolish could feel his body crave it. Cool water, a pool or lake or ocean—anything to escape this oppressive heat and terrible dryness. He was getting too warm. His mouth was open and parched, his gills dehydrating as he panted.

He could go back through the portal through which he'd come, slide into the water surrounding the community house… but he'd tasted that water earlier in the day. Stale. Full of dust and little deaths. After the explosions Community had suffered over the years, there were no more fish living in those waters. Not much was in there anymore. No, he wanted a body of water that felt alive.

His own portal was too far away. But… 

Kinoko Kingdom. It was built next to the ocean; he'd swum in those waters many times after a long day of construction. The pod of dolphins that called those waters their home even recognized him now. They had a name for him; they greeted him. He'd like to swim in those waters.

Foolish seized control of his limbs, inwardly grimacing at their shakiness and instability. Step by step, he guided his body to the grassy path that laid just beyond the nether hub; step by step he stumbled to the second portal.

The cold air of the overworld was a welcome, if brief respite from the burning sensation consuming his body. He tripped out of the portal, and nearly fell down a flight of quartz stairs.

… Okay, maybe he fell down them a little. But it was only to the next landing.

Idly, he looked up at the figure appearing in his vision. How strange. Why was Niki upside-down?

"Foolish? What are you doing here?"

He blinked up at her. His consciousness was taking a moment to reconnect, to remember how speaking and words and language worked. Tongues were a tricky muscle to control.

"Hey Niki," he tried, grinning up at her. "Sorry, I'm just taking a break and admiring your ceilings."

Her face got larger. Oh, because she had crouched next to him. His brain was foggy. He wanted to go swim in the ocean.

"You want to swim?"

Had he said that out loud? Oh dear.

"Yes, Foolish. Are you alright?" She laid a delightfully cool hand on his brow and immediately frowned. "You're burning up. Were you in the nether for too long? What were you doing?"

Foolish whined as her hand left his forehead. "Suffering," he replied. "I've been in hell for the last two hours." He shuddered at the too-fresh memories of H the catmaid.

Niki tsked and hauled him into a sitting position. "You need to be more careful, Foolish. I thought you were good at keeping hydrated. Can you- come on, let's try. Can you get up?"

"Kept asking me how wet I was," Foolish muttered. "Not very nice." He braced himself against the smooth wall and rose to his feet.

He needed to cool his body down. Then he could decide if he really wanted to let things run their course (no, never, not without-), or if it was all just too much of a bother and convince his body he didn't need a rut.

Foolish followed Niki down the stairs, only half-listening to her as she listed the items she'd gather for him. The rush of falling water gradually overpowered her gentle voice, and by the time they stepped into the first rooms of her Underground City it was a roar that filled Foolish's ears.

He brushed off her grasp, ignored her questions and calls, and barely gave himself enough time to dump his pack and toolbelt to the side before he tumbled headfirst into the waiting pool of water.

Icy and refreshing, the water folded around him like an embrace. It cleared his mind and, admittedly, sharpened his arousal. He was in his element, and that was a good place to be.

He allowed himself a few minutes to just drift under the water. At one point he swam under the torrent falling from the opening in the wall. The force of the water was nearly bruising, but it felt nice against the thicker skin of his back. He also gulped down a few mouthfuls of water, his gills flaring open as he did. 

Niki's shadow danced on the water's surface, and Foolish rose up to greet her.

"Hey, Niki." This time, his voice was softer and accompanied by a rueful smile.

Niki seemed to recognize the change. She smiled back and sat on the edge of the pool, carefully laying down a potion, some food, and a bundled up cloth.

"Hey, Foolish. You had me worried."

Foolish chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about that. I've had… a day. Lots of unexpected things."

"You seemed pretty out of it, Foolish. I am not gonna lie."

Foolish shrugged wordlessly and ducked under the water for a moment, taking in another mouthful. It felt good, the water running through his gills. He didn't get to do it very often.

When he resurfaced, he said bluntly, "I'm in season. It's part of being a… a hybrid, I guess, and catmaid H wouldn't stop talking- the heat of the nether triggered it, though." He shrugged again, this time with a small laugh. "It caught me off guard. It's been a while, y'know?" After a moment, he glanced up at Niki.

She was frowning.

"How long? If you don't mind my question, I…"

Foolish waved it off. "You can't say anything worse than what I've heard already today. I don't mind." Then he paused, and frowned.

In truth, it had probably been three hundred and twenty, maybe forty years? Certainly quite some time. He'd been very alone for a solid third of that. Before, he'd…

Foolish shuddered and closed a door on those memories.

"It's been a few years," he told her. Very few people knew he was more than a hybrid with an affinity for building—and with the uncertainty around the Egg, he wanted to keep it that way. "It's no big deal. I just need to cool off, and then I'll head home and, I dunno. Ignore it, I guess." More like stop it in its tracks. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how busy he was and how little time from his schedule he could afford to give to some personal time. If he remembered correctly, his ruts would last a few weeks—weeks he now needed to give to the mansion, to construct the Kingdom, to restore his summer home, to worry about the bloodvines and the Egg and the upcoming Banquet…

"Foolish! That's really not good! What?" Niki had a hand to her mouth and was staring at him with wide eyes. "Of course I'm human, I don't know as much, but Pu- but I've heard it's important for a hybrid's health. Mental health, too. Heats and, and ruts, they're supposed to happen every year-"

"Every year?" Foolish yelped, unable to keep his voice down. "Nah. Screw that. I don't have time for every year." He whipped his tail through the water, grimacing at the thought of all that lost time, and for what? Some lousy biological process that he didn't even need to follow? No. Not doing that. Mortals could keep their stupid biology and sex, there were more important things for him to do.

He clambered out of the pool, futilely wringing out one edge of his sopping tunic before snagging his belongings from the floor.

"Niki, thank you for letting me borrow your pool, it's- well, I was gonna say it's very nice, but-" Foolish winked- "I kinda made it with you. But thank you! For your hospitality, your, uh, your concern, I'm gonna just… go now!" He took a step backward, not liking the determined look in her eyes very much. "See-"

"Foolish, no." Her hand darted out and snagged the hem of his linen trousers, forcing him to stop or else trip. She let go and stood, placing her hands on her hips and pinning him with her sharp gaze. "I can help."

Foolish made a strangled sound. He glanced at the floor (he was leaving wet footprints on it, whoops), the wall, the lighting overhead. "You really don't have to," he said quietly. "I know how to handle this-" (he didn't, he didn't want to think about it, but that was besides the point-) "and I'm not going to take advantage of you or anyone else just because my body responded to some raunchy comments from H."

"Foolish." Niki took a deep breath, and her gaze softened. "You're pushing yourself too hard. You- I've watched Kinoko Kingdom rise up in hardly any time at all. Not to mention… I heard you've been building a mansion? You're building all this by yourself, putting so much stress and pressure on yourself. Well, it's no wonder your body started a rut. It wants a break, Foolish! Let it have one."

Foolish shifted the strap of his pack on his shoulder. He shivered. His skin felt all prickly, and his wet clothing clung to him all wrong.

"Niki, I… " He swiped his dripping hair away from his face, then continued. "I appreciate your offer, I really do. But I've got to get home, I have so much to do, I can't just… stop. But I'll, I'll think about it, okay?" he added quickly, holding up a hand to placate her. "I promise I will. I'll make sure not to overwork myself, I'll give myself breaks, I will… I'll keep hydrated." He laughed weakly. "Don't worry about me, Niki."

Niki's narrowed gaze suggested she would indeed continue to worry about him, but she nodded and offered him a small smile. "Okay, Foolish. Take care. And safe travels."

"Thanks, Niki." He turned and headed for the stairs out, grimacing at the thought of re-entering the oppressive heat of the nether. It was the fastest way home, though.

When he was standing within the portal's frame, Niki calling his name dragged his attention down a couple flights of stairs.

"Let me know when you get home safely, okay?" she said, still looking worried.

Foolish gave her a wide and toothy grin, and an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Then he was back in the nether.

Instantly, the moisture bogging down his clothes and covering his skin evaporated in a cloud of steam, which rose and disappeared in a matter of seconds. He clamped his gills shut and refused to open his mouth, then—fighting against the now-familiar haze of pre-rut mindlessness—Foolish determinedly set out through the nether for his portal home.

This time was easier. He knew what to expect, and that helped most of all. Sure, he was staggering by the time he reached his portal; yes, he felt like he'd swallowed a campfire's worth of hot coals… but he was aware, and didn't need to distance himself from his body. It wasn't overwhelming.

The sun had fallen below the horizon by the time Foolish was plodding up the cobble road to his summer home. In one hand he carried his pack, and in the other was his communicator. He'd just sent a message to Niki, letting her know he'd arrived safely and without problem.

Foolish dropped his pack at the base of his furnaces, exhaustion making him dizzy and his limbs heavy. He bypassed his little base in his snake statue, and instead headed to his temple.

He desperately needed to recharge. Bask in the energy, and reset his body. Stop this damned rut before he fell into it for real.

Foolish slipped past mediation and into dormancy while sitting in the beam of energy. His body, now cool, no longer felt like it was balancing on the edge of… of something. Of rut. His mind was clear, his body was calm.

That lasted for exactly two days.

Those two days, he'd spent working in Snowchester. In the mansion. It was cold there, although it hadn't snowed in a while and a few flowers were starting to peek up among the grass. It was good to work on the yard, and briefly on the interior. No one visited him. It was quiet.

The third day, he was up early with the sun and ready to work on his temple's yard. He had to mix some concrete, prepare dyes, and gather sandstone. It was all hard work; outdoor work. Work in the sun. None of which normally bothered him—not in the slightest, he loved the light and warmth of the desert—but it seemed his body still had different plans.

Just as before, he noticed the heat first. But unlike the first time, which had been full of haze and a strange barrage of everything, this was simple. It was arousal. Strong arousal and heat; heat and arousal. It crashed into him just after midday and saw him staggering for the nearby coastline. It drove him mad.

There were no dolphins in his bay. The fish all fled the moment he entered the water. Foolish entertained the idea of swimming out into deeper seas, finding a shark, asking in their ancient language he'd learned so long ago if it would take him as a mate… but he didn't want to. He didn't want to breed. He wanted to make love. He wanted someone to hold before lust stole his mind; he wanted someone to comfort him after the instinct wired into his biology relinquished its hold. But he didn't have anyone like that. Not anymore.

Foolish drifted in the salty water, alone.

Later that evening, he tried to meditate. The buzzing arousal that laid under his skin and coiled in his gut… it calmed, but it didn't disappear. The hunger that had been secondary then rose to the surface.

Foolish ate all the dried and salted fish he'd stored away for emergencies. Then he ate a baked potato, but it was tasteless paste in his mouth. He slaughtered one of his cattle, flickers of ancient memories reminding him of sacrifices offered to him, his followers giving him choice morsels…

He ate much of the cow, not bothering to skin, butcher, or cook it. He'd dragged the still-hot carcass to the ocean and gorged himself half-submerged, because that had felt right. The cow's blood stained his teeth, and clouded the water.

Foolish was alone.

Before… before, there had been someone. Someone he thought he had lost, and now he had found them again… but it didn't feel like he had. They didn't remember him, and any other day Foolish would've been happy to simply tease them for their forgetfulness, or pretend they did remember for a few blissful moments…

Tonight he cried, because he loved someone who was still lost to him.

He laid there unmoving, on a sandy shore dyed pink with blood, salty cold waves lapping at his body and shifting the carcass of the cow. He was too far gone to stop. He'd tasted blood. But he was alone, a god among mortals. A god with a mortal body, a body that mocked him. The last time he'd gone through a rut, he'd been loved. Now…

He was alone.

. . .

"Hey, Puffy?" Niki murmured, her fingers picking at the soft sheets covering her body. She heard rather than saw Puffy turn towards her. It was dark in her bedroom, too dark to make out features or shapes.

"Yeah?" Her voice was equally quiet. Neither of them wanted to disturb the calm.

"Well… this is a little awkward, but…" Niki trailed off and bit at her lip. "Your son dropped by a few days ago. Like, drop dropped. He fell down my stairs and he was burning up and babbling about water?"

Puffy snorted. "Honestly, that doesn't sound too off from his normal. Except, maybe the burning up part. I swear, if that idiot worked himself sick…"

"That's the thing," Niki said. "He told me he was in season."

There was a beat of silence.

"Oh," Puffy replied. "Um."

"He also said it's been a few years since his last, and it sounded like he's never had them yearly."

Puffy muttered a curse, then sighed heavily. "If this were anyone else, any other hybrid- Niki I'd be so concerned. And honestly, I still kinda am. But he's… Foolish is a little bit shark and mostly totem, and I'm pretty sure totems just don't have, y'know."

"They aren't alive. At least, not the totems we know about."

"Well, yeah. I- hmm. He called them his creations once, but he… have you met his son?"

"His… son?"

Puffy shifted in the bed. "Yeah. Foolish Jr. He's a real sweetie but I have no idea what kind of magic or witchcraft or what breathed life into the totem I gave to Foolish a while back, because all of the totems were definitely not alive when I took them away from the evokers in that mansion."

"I didn't know any of that." Niki paused. "So you think it might just be a totem thing, it being irregular? You think he's alright?"

"I hope so. I… I'm his dad, but that was mostly all legal- he showed up with absolutely no papers, no documentation, and something told me I could trust him. And I guess the same went for him, cause he was totally okay being adopted. But we don't- we don't really know each other too well, y'know? He's always friendly, but he always keeps to himself."

Niki hummed in agreement. "We've talked a few times. He's nice, but I don't know anyone who knows a lot about him."

They laid there together, silent for a little while.

"Maybe…" Puffy began.

"Hmm?" Niki sounded sleepy.

"Maybe we can check on him tomorrow. See how he's doing; if he needs anything- any supplies."

"Yeah." Niki burrowed into her pillow. "That sounds good."

"Okay," Puffy whispered at the ceiling. "Tomorrow."

Chapter Text

The sand underneath him was damp, but the sun had baked the beach dry everywhere else. The tide was down. It had left him hours ago.

This wasn't him. This… he didn't get tired. He didn't get overwhelmed, not so easily; he didn't… he never lacked energy. 

Excitable, eager, creative and always helpful: that was the Foolish he was for the people who knew him. He was the guy they went to when they needed a home built, or a hand for a project, or some supplies without any strings attached. He was always happy to help.

He didn't feel happy.

Foolish pushed himself to his feet and looked down at himself. Washed-out blood stained his tunic's front, and he knew his face was likely as red as his hands, his arms…

He began the short trek back to his base.

He went through the motions blindly, barely any thoughts crossing his mind. He bathed, scrubbing his skin raw, then washed his clothing. He ate something, maybe—he couldn't really remember—and eventually turned to the work he'd left the day before.

Foolish threw himself into the tasks, single-minded and ignorant to everything else. He mixed the concrete, adding in just the right amount of seawater for that perfect consistency. He had to discard some of the dye he'd prepared earlier; he'd left the container open and all sorts of debris had gotten in there. It was an easy fix. He laid the borders of his design and adjusted them until they clicked, then mixed in the dyes to the batches of concrete and poured the colours where he had decided they should go. He barely gave himself a chance to look over the whole thing before he was quickly walking- no, running to his little stash of valuable materials hidden in the Pharaoh's Chamber. (At least when he moved and didn't stop moving the raw burn filling his body could be ignored.)

He returned to his concrete mural in the floor with an armful of glowstone, redstone and gold, and the tools he needed to inlay them. It was quick work, but only because he had literal centuries of practice and skill. He was done before the concrete was properly set. Now, the scarab beetle looked properly alive. Its bright golden shell glistened with the inlaid glowstone, and the sun it held up in its claws was a glorious image of gold and red. It was beautiful.

A traitorous thought ran through his mind, and he stamped it down immediately. He wasn't making this to impress anyone. There was no one to impress.

"Ignore it," he told himself as he gathered his tools. "Ignore it all. It's just a normal day."

He went to his sandstone quarry next, leading two of his loyal horses he'd resurrected, them in turn pulling a sturdy flatbed wagon he used to transport the stone. Once there he fell into a familiar rhythm, heedless to the sun glaring down and the fine dust his actions kicked up.

Swing the pick, hammer in the spikes. Drive wedges into the crack. Force the split deeper, until it broke cleanly metres down. Repeat, until the stone was in pieces he could move… then wrap the chains around it and haul it on the rollers to the wagon.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

When the wagon was fully loaded, he didn't stop. He just left the chunks of rock to the side. It was a mindless task, mining these blocks of sandstone. He only needed to think about the next split, or the next swing of his pick. He could focus on the burning of his muscles and lungs rather than the burning of his rut. Simple.

Unfortunately, as he was all too aware, his body was mortal. It had a limit. Foolish dropped his tools, his entire figure shaking and covered in sweat and grime.

It was a long walk back. He tried to drown everything else out by focusing on the squeak of the wagon's wheels.

The sun was beginning its descent when Foolish returned. He caught their scent before seeing them. His mind immediately identified the two visitors as young females: one human, one a hybrid. A heartbeat later he knew they were each other's mates, and painful ugly envy twisted in his gut.

Then he looked up and saw who they were.

Normal day, he chanted in his mind. It's a normal day. He mustered up the last vestiges of energy he had and raised it as a front, a shield. Admittedly a flimsy one, at best.

"Hey, Dad! Hi Niki!" He raised a hand and laughed at their expressions. "I have something on my face, I know. I'm filthy. Let me stable these two and put away my stuff and wash up- I'll be quick! I promise!"

He unhitched his two skeleton horses and left the wagon there. It was with simple and remembered movements he put away the horses, tack and tools. He felt numb. His mind was a mess of thoughts and emotions, whirling uninterrupted as he forced himself to wash up and change the length of cloth he'd wrapped and belted around his waist for a full tunic and trousers get-up.

He slipped on one of his gold and lapis necklaces, because gold was good.

He paused for a moment to still the tremors of exhaustion in his hands before rejoining them. He didn't know what they wanted. It wasn't often he got visitors; certainly not unannounced ones too. He hoped Niki hadn't told Puffy about his behaviour earlier in the week. He didn't need anyone worrying about him, or trying to tell him what to do with or for his body. He didn't need help.

He was fine. Everything was fine.

Foolish rolled his shoulders and sighed, then stepped out and nearly skipped up to them with a wide grin. "Sorry, hope I didn't take too long! When did you guys get here? You need anything, maybe water?"

He didn't miss their shared glances at each other. Was he forcing the energy too far? He didn't think so.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Water for everyone," said Puffy. "You doing alright, Foolish?"

Foolish looked over his shoulder as he darted over to the handpump connected to his well. "I'm doing great! Just fine." He beckoned them over. "Come here, into the shade. The sun still has a little while left to live. You two probably aren't used to the desert heat. Here you go." He handed them both a cup of cold, clear water then downed one himself in a single large gulp.

"Is your rut over?" Puffy asked him, not an ounce of embarrassment colouring her voice.

Foolish nearly coughed up the water. "My what?" he spluttered.

"Your rut, Foolish," Niki said. "You told me a few days ago, remember? You worried me. So we wanted to check on you, make sure you were doing fine out here on your own."

"I'm totally fine," Foolish replied instantly. "You really don't need to worry about me."

"Oh yeah?" Puffy folded her arms and squinted down at him. "When was the last time you ate? Or slept? Or took an hour or two and curled up for a relaxing time with your favourite book or whatever?"

Foolish rolled his eyes and turned away from them to refill his water cup. "I've eaten, Dad. And slept." He never slept. "And I've been doing what I love all day: building. Well, and mining. That's less fun, but still rewarding." He took a sip of his water, satisfied with his answers.

"What did you do yesterday?"

Foolish eyed Niki. "Built."

"And the day before?" Puffy asked.

"Mansion work." He wrinkled his nose. "The day before that, too."

"And then the day before that was when you fell through my portal," Niki said. "So correct me if I am wrong, because I don't know any other shark hybrids, but this means your rut either lasted the day, or you haven't given your body the time and attention it needs."

Foolish snorted, but didn't say anything.

Puffy threw up her empty hand in exasperation. "Okay, spill. Clearly we're not getting something. Talk to us, Foolish."

Foolish shifted on his feet and stared down at the water in his cup. What could he say? How much could he tell them, without worrying them even more? How obvious would it be that he was hiding information from them?

Niki put a hand on his arm and he jerked away, water sloshing out of his cup. Her touch burned. Something wild inside of him reared its head and begged for more. 

"Please don't touch me," he said weakly. "I don't- It's not-" He groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. His thoughts were getting cloudy. The buzzing under his skin was growing; the heat becoming less and less bearable. He wanted blood. He wanted the ocean. He wanted his mate.

He needed to move.

. . .

Puffy: hey Phil, how much do you know about shark breeding habits?

Ranboo: why did you send this to everyone

Philza: why do you ask

Puffy: I'm at Foolish's summer home

Puffy: I feel like such a terrible father, help me Dadza

Philza: omw

Ranboo: I don't wanna know.

Puffy tucked her communicator away with a sigh before turning back and re-entering the temple. Foolish had run in there and collapsed in the middle of the room. He wasn't talking to either of them, or even seemed to know they were there. He was just kneeling in the green beam of light, his eyes half-lidded and glowing.

Niki looked up from the floor a few steps away from the centre, offering Puffy a small smile.

"Phil's on his way," Puffy told her.

"Yeah, I saw." Niki unfolded her hands on her lap, revealing her own communicator. "He seemed concerned. It's strange." She frowned. "I don't think he and Foolish have really met."

Puffy shrugged and settled next to Niki with a sigh. "All that matters is he's coming to help. We just have to wait, I guess."

"At least it's nice in here," Niki murmured, watching Foolish's still form. "If this wasn't all so worrying, I think I could fall asleep."

Puffy hummed and pressed her shoulder to Niki's. "Maybe you should try to get some rest," she suggested. "Even with nether travel, Phil's pretty far out. He won't be here for a few hours."

Niki shrugged her pack off her shoulders and curled around it on the floor, resting her head on Puffy's lap. Puffy began to idly comb her fingers through her hair, and hummed an aimless tune as she watched over those she considered her family.

Chapter Text

"Remind me why I have to come with," Ranboo grumbled as he followed Phil along their narrow footpath that led to the tangle of other paths and portals. He tightened the straps of his heavy pack then flinched and pressed to the cliff face as a zombie pigman lumbered past. The handful of endersprites that were tagging along clung firmly to his hair, or his bag, or hid in the collar of his shirt. They didn't like the nether too much.

"Because I couldn't carry everything myself, and Techno... wasn't uh, wasn't waking up," came the reply from above.

Ranboo scrambled up the boulders of netherrack to join Phil. "Why does Techno even live in the tundra. Piglin hybrids need so much sleep when they're cold. It's the second most stupid thing he's done."

"What's the first?"

"...I don't remember." Ranboo smirked at the look Phil shot his way. They both knew that could be as much a lie as a truth and there was nothing Phil could do about it.

Less than an hour later they were stepping through the portal to the desert. It was still dark, but the barest glimmer of dawn edged the eastern horizon in pale light. The desert's cool night air was refreshing after their hours of nether travel.

"Come on, we're later than I thought we'd be," Phil said, and Ranboo followed without a word. Phil was sounding tenser by the minute, and Ranboo really didn't want to get into that. He was just… he was here to be a pack mule. Nothing more. He didn't want to know what could make Phil worried.

There was a distant and repetitive sound drifting through the still pre-morning air. It only got louder as they neared the temple and Foolish's base.

The source of the sound became obvious as they rounded the corner—or rather, the snake tail—and were met with the sight of Foolish weilding a mallet and chisel, steadily chipping away at a massive block of sandstone and surrounded by pale shards and dust.

"Foolish? Hey mate, what're you doing?" Phil stepped forward, his wings starting to unfurl.

Foolish whipped around, his eyes wide and shark-like teeth bared. Phil flared his wingspan out completely, maybe in an attempt to block Ranboo's line of sight (it didn't work very well, Ranboo was still head and shoulders over the top of Phil's wing), and his hand went to the sword at his hip- but Foolish blinked and straightened, then turned his snarl into a wide grin.

"Phil!" He looked over Phil's wing, which lifted a little. "Ranboo! Hey! Wow, I'm getting a lot of visitors." He chuckled, and laid the tools he was using on the workbench beside him. "You looking for Niki or Puffy? I think they're asleep in my temple."

Ranboo flicked his gaze to the back of Phil's head, then over to the pile of perfectly-cut and polished sandstone blocks piled up behind Foolish. How long had this guy been working? And what the heck had that reaction been? In all the times he'd talked to Foolish and witnessed Tubbo mess with the shark totem, he'd never seen Foolish react with violence. Barely even a threat. (Physical threat. He threatened to quit the mansion almost weekly.)

Scary shark boy, murmured one endersprite. Foosh in a bad mood, observed another.

"No, mate, we came here to check on you. Puffy called me. She's concerned."

Something complicated flickered over Foolish's face, but it was gone before Ranboo could identify it. Phil seemed to have been able to, though, because he stiffened all over again and the feathers on the back of his wings puffed up.

Oh dear.

"Ranboo, could you go check on Niki and Puffy? Do you know where to look?"

"Uh- yeah, yeah sure, I'll- yep. I'll go do that um- don'tdiePhil-"

He'd hissed that last bit under his breath. Phil's blue eyes didn't hold an ounce of the humour he'd half-hoped he would find there.

Oh dear.

He backed away slowly, keeping an eye on Foolish (who was ignoring him) and Phil (who still hadn't settled or folded his wings) until his heel found the edge of the cobbled path. That's when Ranboo turned and ran. His stride ate up the distance, his long legs covering ground three or four times faster than someone Phil's height. Probably more like five, if he was comparing against Tubbo. A cloud of nervous endersprites tumbled through the air behind him, only one or two clinging desperately to his tail.

He skittered past the zombie pigmen guarding the main archway of Foolish's temple. They were wearing gold armour and holding swords and boy was he glad they remained entirely uninterested in him. He sprinted through the massive courtyard (that was a very colourful design on the floor, but he was moving too quickly to get a sense of what it was) and up the big shallow steps—then he was at the entrance of the temple, bent over and panting in an attempt to catch his breath.

Except his breathing barely slowed and his heartbeat continued to stutter and he realized his hands were shaking and oh, this really wasn't good at all, was it. He'd just left Phil back there with… well, a week ago he would've pinned Foolish as the least dangerous, least aggressive person he knew, but-

A nervous warble escaped him. Endersprites crowded around him, whispering little words of comfort he couldn't really hear. Oh, so many people were gonna kill him if Foolish killed Phil…

Honestly, he was only worried about Technoblade. That man would totally kill Ranboo forty times for his friend's death and still feel justified.

Ranboo shook his head briskly, halting his train of thought. Phil knew what he was doing. He was more than capable. Ranboo didn't need to worry, he just needed to do what Phil told him to. So he stepped into the temple, and walked up to the two sleeping on its floor.

He looked at them for a minute. They looked calm. Peaceful. He hadn't known Niki and Puffy were dating. Hmm yes, good blackmail information if Niki ever found out about Tubbo and Michael.

He swung his heavy, overstuffed pack off his back and dropped it on the floor with a loud thump.

Niki woke with a little shriek. Or rather, squeak. Shriek was a little too generous. Puffy, on the other hand, simply cracked an eye open, glared vaguely in his direction, and said, "Fuck off."

"Under normal circumstances, I totally would," Ranboo agreed, nodding. "But your son did first."

That got her up, uh oh. Ranboo held out his hands with a frantic chirp. "Hold on! Phil's talking to him. He didn't disappear or anything, okay? Calm down. Ohhkay, okay."

He waited for Puffy to sit back down before he lowered himself to the ground too, his tail curling around his legs. The endersprites floated around him, emitting little glimmers of purple in the dim light.

"Is he alright?" Niki asked quietly. "When did you two get here?"

"Uh… not long ago. Like maybe ten minutes, five… around there. And Foolish is… fine?" He ended that on a specifically high and uncertain note, because he had no idea how to explain Foolish's current state of being.

He watched as the two of them shared a look.

"Do you know why Phil came?" Puffy asked him. "Do you know why we're here?"

Ranboo shook his head. "He didn't say. He… didn't say. Just that Foolish needed something, and Phil needed help. Phil needed help. So I, so I came along."

"Do you want to know?"

"Honestly?" Ranboo laughed nervously. "Not really. I'm just, I'm just the pack mule. I don't need to know, y'know?"

"Probably for the best," Niki murmured.

Ranboo frowned. Well now he was curious. Still not curious enough to ask. "If Phil thinks I should know, he'll tell me. But for now, I think he's a little busy. Talking. Reasoning."

"Good luck to him," Puffy grumbled. "It takes a lot of words to get through that thick totem skull of his."

. . .

"Phil, no."

"Foolish. Don't be an idiot. You can't just ignore your rut, it won't go away! It doesn't work like that! You have to let your body go through what it needs to go through, for however long it needs."

"That's the thing, Phil! Weeks! Maybe even a month. I don't have a month! If I just limit my exposure to people—which you lot aren't helping—and avoid all my main triggers, it'll be fine."

"Uh huh." Phil crossed his arms and settled his wings. "And what would those be?"

Foolish held out a hand and began ticking them off on his fingers. "Physical touch. The scent of blood. The taste of blood. Food, especially fresh kills. Water. The scent of arousal, obviously. The scent of fear, sometimes. People I consider potential lovers. Incredibly high temperatures." He paused. "No outlet for energy. I have to keep moving. It's… at least I get a lot done, y'know?"

Phil stared at him for a moment, then sighed very heavily. "So let me get this straight," he began. "You…" He stopped, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're starving and dehydrating yourself and working until you're exhausted, as well as denying yourself any physical comfort or- or release, and-"

"No no, I can still drink water, Phil! I'm hydrating. I just can't go in water."

"Oh and that makes it all okay, huh?!" Phil tossed his arms up with a groan. "Foolish, mate, I know people are always telling you to chill and take breaks, but I know what you're capable of and I know you know your limits. This, though? This is crazy!" He laughed, although he felt a bit more like crying. "Honestly, Foolish, it is just straight-up unhealthy. You're gonna kill yourself if you keep this up for a month."

Foolish looked at Phil, uncharacteristically quiet. "Phil, I'm doing this so it doesn't last a month. And if it does, if it does last a month and it kills me?" He shrugged. "I'm a god, Phil. I'll just make a new body. One with less…" he waved a hand at himself. "Complications."

"Oh, mate." Phil sighed. "What are you trying to avoid?"

Foolish stared at him.

Phil dragged a hand down his face. Maybe he should just go for it, just start talking and hope he hit a few points.

"Look, I know the rut and heat of shark hybrids is… it's rough. It's not about making a comfortable nest, it's not about protecting your mate or even having that one special person; there's no- there's nothing endearing or stupid like scenting and hoarding and involuntary displays. It's rough and bloody and it can be dangerous if your partner… or partners, aren't physically up to it. If that's what you're scared of, if-"

"It's not." Foolish didn't meet Phil's gaze. "That's not what I'm avoiding. I know I don't need to worry about that; no one I know would be interested, so I don't need to worry about drowning them or bleeding them out with an ill-placed bite."

Phil shuddered. Foolish was speaking from experience. He'd witnessed that, caused it even, yet… he wasn't worried? He wasn't worried, simply because he didn't think anyone would want to be his partner?

"Maybe that's true," Phil began slowly, "but there's still heathy ways to go through a rut without involving sex. Like… why not go for a swim a few times a day, yeah? Catch some fish while you're at it. Eat something fresh. Take care of yourself."

"No."

"Please?"

"No, Phil."

"For me?"

Foolish glared at him and turned to the block of sandstone he'd started to smooth down.

"I brought supplies," Phil said. "Things I know help me, and Techno." He came to a sudden realization. "Gods, you're more stubborn than Techno about this." Phil blinked, then whispered, "Holy shit."

Foolish remained quiet, the hiss of sandpaper across stone filling the silence between them.

"Do your ruts follow those of a shark hybrid's entirely?"

Phil saw Foolish's body stiffen.

"I'll take that as a… maybe not. I know you have wings, Foolish." Phil glanced towards the temple, making sure his voice was low. "Wings might mean you have some nesting instincts, hmm?"

"Fuck off, Phil," Foolish growled.

Phil laughed, then clapped and rubbed his hands together. "Gotcha! I knew it, you're just a big softie like me. Nesting is fantastic, and I brought so many soft blankets with me- you might want to choose somewhere cool, now that I'm thinking about it." He grimaced. "I forgot about the whole desert thing."

"I'm not building a nest, Phil."

"Yes you are," Phil replied triumphantly. "You say you love building, yeah? And you said you need things to do, need to keep active? Build yourself a proper nesting room. And you could have a bathing pool next to it, maybe a little water feature. Some of your fancy mural detailing on the ceilings. Doesn't that sound like something you'd do?"

The rasp of sandpaper paused for a moment.

"If I build that, will you promise to stop bugging me about taking care of myself?"

No. "Sure, mate."

Foolish grunted and resumed his task.

He definitely hadn't believed that. Oh well, at least they were finally on the same page.

Chapter Text

Puffy was… skeptical, to say the least. Phil had shown up, looking frazzled and tense but almost sounding triumphant, saying he was gonna make sure Foolish took care of himself. Except-

Well, she was pretty sure her son hadn't stopped for anything (food, sleep, a toilet break even) in the past two days. He was just building.

When she and Niki had arrived, it was pretty easy to tell something was up with him. Something had been off. But he'd been hiding it, pretending everything was fine. He wasn't pretending anymore. He was spiraling, and making it nearly impossible to help him. He hardly spoke, barely looked at anyone when they tried to get him to take a break or have a bite to eat. He was hyper aware of physical space, and had even snapped his teeth in her direction when she'd moved too close.

He didn't smile anymore. He no longer laughed, when before his laughs had come so easily.

On her third day there, Phil came up to her, looking about as exhausted and frustrated as she felt. He settled on the dusty back of the two-headed cobra structure and stretched out his wings, arching one of them so it shaded Puffy from the early evening sun.

"I think you and Niki should head back," Phil said. Prime, he sounded tired. "Ranboo left yesterday, and he should be back a few days from now. Foolish isn't dealing well with a bunch of people here."

"But I'm his dad," Puffy protested, bunching her shirt in her fists. "I should stay. Niki can go, I know she's been putting off a lot of work on her City to stay with me-"

"Puffy, you…" Phil sighed and slumped forward, putting his head in his hands. "There's nothing you can do for him. There's barely anything I can do. It's really just for the best if you return to your life, okay? You can message me if you want updates, but I think- I need you two to go."

Puffy frowned and opened her mouth to argue, then paused. "You're not telling me something," she said. It wasn't a question.

"I'm not telling you a lot of things," Phil replied wryly. "And yes, some of them are about Foolish. They're not mine to tell."

Puffy remained silent. It felt wrong to admit defeat like this, to abandon her son. Sure, he was adopted; sure, she didn’t know much about him outside of the basics, outside of the surface-level knowledge anyone learns about another after spending some time with them. She doesn't know where he came from, or how long he'd lived in this temple—but she could respect that. She hadn't even told Niki about her ship or those books… but he was her son. And she, his father. Puffy knew that in her heart of hearts.

"I understand. You feel obligated, I get that." 

Phil's voice startled her out of her thoughts, and she looked over to see Phil staring out across the sand dunes.

"But sometimes you have to let them go," Phil continued softly, and oh Prime there was a whole world of hurt in that sentence.

Puffy didn't have the strength in that moment to suggest therapy.

"I'm not letting him go," she said finally. "But I'll leave. I'll give you both the space he needs. Just… let me know how he's doing, okay? At the end of every day?"

Phil folded his wings with a loud rustle then jumped down. "Yeah mate, I can do that."

"Thank you, Phil."

Phil smiled up at her, his eyes tired and distant, then walked off.

Well, it looked like she and Niki would have a bit of packing to do, especially if they wanted to leave before sunset.

. . .

Phil stood at the top, looking down the staircase of freshly hewn and polished sandstone fitted to perfection with hardly a crack between each block. The walls had carvings, inlaid with gold and redstone and lapis, and the ceiling over the stairs and the big landing at the bottom was letting light in through huge panes of glass.

He took his time walking down the stairs. Partly, it was because he was tired and each step took effort. But it was also because he was about to walk into a room Foolish had built for his nest, and there was no greater violation of privacy than that.

He could only hope he was still a tolerated presence.

"Phil!"

The shriek echoed through the bare chamber leading off of the brightly lit landing, and Phil hopped back with the feathers of his wings fluffing out, a hand clutching his heart. "Gods," he whispered to himself, then settled his ruffled feathers and poked his head through the entrance archway.

"Phil! Hey, Phil! Glad you could join me, glad you could finally see what hell I've been through for you- oh, that's where I left it."

Phil could only watch, wide-eyed, as Foolish danced around a pillar to pick up some metal tool that probably had a very specific purpose. Then he rubbed his eyes, because Foolish's head was definitely brushing the underside of the archways that ran the length of the room, and said archways were probably three meters above the floor.

Gods and their gimmicks.

"It's looking great, Foolish," Phil said, mustering up a smile.

"It's looking more than great, Phil! It's looking fantastic. Did you see the artwork I did on the walls up there? Pretty nice if you ask me," Foolish babbled, hopping around the other side of the pillar before adopting a more human height. "This little room was so much fun to do, and I never say that about interior. But it was! The archways, the vaulted ceiling, the glowstone just giving it that perfect warm light… I even built up a bit of a platform over here, Phil, because it just- I dunno, it made sense, Phil; it made sense so I did it!"

Phil followed Foolish down to the end of the "small" room, feeling slightly dazed. How Foolish had the energy after building all this, after three days of no sleep…

It was beyond him.

"See, Phil? A nice little platform, for a nice little nest! Not saying I will make a nest, but Phil. Phil. The option is there. It's there, Phil."

"That's good, mate," Phil replied automatically. It was good. And the platform did make sense, if he thought about it. It was higher than the rest of the room. Safer. Good vantage point, even though it was only a metre or so up. And larger birds of prey, the types of bird that had wings like Foolish, they often built their nests on flat platforms on a cliff.

Maybe there was a method in this madness. This specific section of madness.

Then Foolish was bounding off in the opposite direction, yelling at Phil to follow him.

Oh. He had a pool room, now.

The room itself was long, and for once the ceiling wasn't ridiculously high. It did have a tile mural, though: an abstract seascape in blues and greens and shimmering quartz. Phil was pretty sure he saw some emeralds glimmering among the waves. He also caught a glimpse in the back of the room of one of those little helmed beings that seemed to hang around Foolish, although not so much right now. They were always hard to spot, and even more so in the past few days.

The pool was rectangular, and shallow. It didn't look like there was a single spot where the water would be over his head if he stood in it. Sea lanterns lit the whole area in a calm pale blue, and the delicate sound of trickling water really completed the atmosphere of the room.

"I found a wellspring, Phil! Or… okay, I redirected a bit of the underground river that empties into the ocean. Either way! It's fresh, clean water. Cold, too. I haven't taken a dip in it yet, but I'm sure it would be refreshing." Foolish's constant grin faltered for a moment, then he seemed to shake himself. "What do you think, Phil? You satisfied?"

"Yeah, it's- it's all amazing. You built it all so quickly, too. You're an impressive builder, Foolish." He looked over to offer him a smile, and froze.

"Careful, Phil," Foolish said, clearly struggling to keep a teasing tone in his voice. "Even getting on my good side can be dangerous right now."

Phil untucked his wings just a little. "Well screw you, it all looks like shit then," he bit back, staring into Foolish's emerald eyes, ready to leap back should his throat be in mortal danger of evisceration.

Instead, Foolish giggled softly and leaned against the wall. "I'll give that one to you, Phil."

"Thanks mate," he said dryly, clenching his fists so his hands stopped shaking. It took him a moment to register the source of the muffled thud.

He looked back over and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, the idiot had passed out.

Chapter Text

Foolish woke slowly, his head pounding violently with every heartbeat and his stomach twisting up in his gut. His whole body ached. Ached with weariness, with the familiar tightness of torn and abused muscles. Ached with the desire to be touched, just touched. Held in safe arms.

(And he ached with hot needy arousal, but he was getting good at ignoring that one.)

Two arms wrapped around him suddenly, and he leaned into them with a whimper.

"Shhhh. Shhh, Foolish, it's okay. You're not alone. You're not alone. I'm here. Go back to sleep, just a little while longer."

Phil's scent was comforting. It flooded his nose and grounded him. He was safe around Phil.

(He pushed down the part of him that snarled, that snapped its teeth at the scent of a rival male.)

Foolish let himself be washed back under, back into the quiet peace of dormancy.

The next time his mind rose to consciousness, Phil was still holding him. They were sitting over the pulsing green beam in his temple, with Phil's wings draped over them both. Midday sun lit the outside world in stark white, and the polished floor scattered a faint approximation of the light throughout the pyramid's interior. A handful of doozers slipped into the shadows. It was good they were cautious, even if he knew they couldn't help their concern.

Phil was asleep, breathing deeply with his head on Foolish's shoulder.

Foolish ignored his hunger, his thirst, and all the aches his body was forcing his mind to catalogue. With deft and careful fingers, he started to preen Phil's wings. He started with the small, fine feathers scattered across the shoulders and scapulars of his wings, then moved to the coverts. He took his time and focused all of his attention on smoothing each feather down, removing every bit of debris from his plumage.

A sleepy chirp broke his concentration, and he paused.

"Don't stop," Phil mumbled into Foolish's shoulder.

Foolish continued.

A moment later Phil said, "Gimme your wings. Get 'em out here."

He didn't protest. He stretched his wings out for a moment, then settled them loosely over Phil's.

Phil was gentle, his movements practiced. Foolish shivered and then melted into the touch, barely remembering to continue preening Phil.

It felt good, in a calm and soft way. He'd forgotten how nice it felt.

They spent the next hour like that, barely talking, moving only to reach the other's wing better. Neither of them spoke while Foolish went over Phil's left wing, careful with the scar tissue and biting back a feeble whimper as he saw, really saw, the damage done to the feathershafts of his primaries. They were dead. They would never grow feathers.

Phil would never fly again. The two of them would never be able to take to the skies together; never dance through the clouds and wind currents. Foolish could feel his heart ache with that knowledge.

When they were done, including a quick dust bath and consequent wipe-down, Phil looked over and caught Foolish's eye.

"Would you eat something?" he asked.

Foolish opened his mouth to say no, then paused. He felt fairly in control at the moment. Maybe he could… give it a try.

"No meat?"

"Sure. Niki left some of her bread. We can scrounge up a couple apples, I'm sure."

"I started on one of my rounds of cheese last week," Foolish offered. "We could grab that, too." He'd made a few rounds more than a year ago, and they'd ripened nicely.

Phil quirked an eyebrow. "We're getting fancy, are we?"

Foolish chuckled. "You know me, can't help myself."

Apples, cheese, and bread. To his surprise, he managed to keep it all down—and it wasn't all tasteless. He'd enjoyed it.

What he didn't enjoy was the slowly mounting desire to taste fresh blood.

"They would feed me bread dipped in calf's blood," he said suddenly.

Phil choked on his bite of apple. "What?!"

Foolish smiled slightly, turning a piece of bread in his hands. "Many centuries ago. Back when I had followers, mortals who worshipped me as their god. When I rutted, I had a dozen people at my hand." He glanced up at Phil, then back down to the bread. "They would feed me bread dipped in calf's blood. And the calf," he added, "raw."

Phil swallowed his mouthful and carefully put down his apple.

"That civilization lasted a while, but-" he shrugged- "I grew tired of their constant desire to be at war. Peace wouldn't last more than a handful of decades. So I left. War offered me easy pickings, but death is everywhere, Phil."

"That's when we first met," Phil breathed. "You told me you had been travelling for only a short while. You wanted a change of scenery."

"And you had no idea who I was," Foolish said with a chuckle. "Most everyone else did, still. I was their golden god, ruler of skies and sea. And death." He snorted. "Only Death is the ruler of death. I've just done what She bid me. Or what I can sneak past Her."

Phil shuddered. Gods, this was not the conversation he'd expected to have while they ate breakfast.

"I liked your attitude, Phil. Back then, you were reckless and bright-eyed. It was refreshing."

"So I impressed you with my naïveté and that's why you gave me those totems," Phil said.

Foolish nodded with a hum. "I didn't often gift my creations personally. Again, that was more Death's thing. She would tell me. But I think She trusted my judgement. Or liked you too." He smirked at Phil. "Clearly. You didn't get where you are now without Death deciding She liked you."

Phil groaned and pillowed his head in his arms. "I don't want to be hearing these things from you right now," he said to the floor. "What would it take for you to go back to being silent."

"Either another two, three days of self neglect to the point of collapse, or succumbing to the mindlessness of rut," Foolish replied bluntly. Then he grinned, all sharp teeth and gleaming white. "Guess which one I'm gonna do."

"Oh fuck you," Phil said with feeling, even lifting his head to glare at the god. "Just take care of yourself, you fool!"

Foolish snickered, but the humour in his eyes only lasted a moment.

"You asked what I was avoiding," he said after a long pause. "A few days ago, you asked me, what am I trying to avoid? I'm trying to avoid thinking about the one I lost. I loved them, Phil; so much. And then I lost them, after… We were partners, in every sense of the word, for almost two centuries Phil. Do you know the kind of bond that forms when you love someone for two hundred years? Have you felt that? Love doesn't even begin to describe how I felt about him." 

Foolish drew in a deep and shaky breath.

"Beautiful," he breathed, closing his eyes as though he was reciting something memorised. "Her soul was beautiful, shining with life both lived and yet to be lived. You could see it when you looked into her eyes: her very soul, bared for the world to see. So full of potential; so ready to love." He opened his eyes, the emerald dulled with age-old grief. "I lost them, Phil. And then-" a sharp, broken laugh cut through his sentence- "then I found them again, but not really. No, they're still lost to me, and Phil, I don't think they're ever going to find their way back."

Phil was blinking hard, tears bright in his eyes. He cleared his throat before saying, "I'm so sorry, Foolish. I'm so sorry for your loss. You-" he cut himself off, and seemed to reconsider his words. "I've lost many people I loved. I still love them. That won't ever go away. And yeah, mate, sometimes that hurts, but the memories will still be there. That's the important bit."

Foolish choked back a cry. His memories, yes. They lived on in his mind. But…

"This might be a terrible question, especially right now, but Foolish- Foolish, what have you been doing for your ruts, since you… since you lost them?"

Foolish swallowed a few times and clenched his jaw. "I haven't rutted since," he admitted. "It's been over three hundred years."

He could tell he'd stunned Phil into silence.

"I'm a god, Phil." He kept his voice as dry and matter-of-fact as possible. "The stars have to align just so for my mortal body to override my wishes."

There were a few more beats of silence. Then, "H-Bomb deserves an award."

Foolish quickly shoved down the spike of rage, ignored the flicker of fear in his friend's eyes, and spluttered, "It wasn't just that!"

"Uh huh, right." Phil was already grinning as he stood. "You stand by that."

"I will! Because it's true, Phil! There were a lot more factors!"

"Whatever you say, mate."

Chapter Text

Phil decided this would be his crowning achievement. He finally got the world's most stubborn shark totem god to swim.

It was now a few days after… after the morning when Foolish finally talked. Not about everything, but enough that Phil could finally understand.

That morning had gone well, exceptionally well—especially compared to the days that had followed. Since that breakfast of bread, apples and cheese, Foolish hadn't eaten a bite. He'd tried at one point, after Phil had practically begged: a mouthful of baked potato. He'd coughed it up and vomited bile for far too long and Phil was scared to try anything else.

Water, at least, he could keep down.

Foolish was also quieter. Acting more like he had around Puffy and Niki than he ever had around Phil before. He was defensive, and it took Phil a lot of patience and prompting to get any verbal replies.

He sighed, and looked down at his communicator. Ranboo was due to arrive in the next hour or two. He'd just updated Puffy with "he swim!" and was still waiting on a reply. He'd read the list of messages that went out to everyone a couple of days ago; they held nothing new.

Phil kicked his feet idly, enjoying the cool water as it rushed against his lower legs. Foolish was still circling underwater, all the way on the opposite side of the pool.

His communicator alerted him to a new message.

Puffy: thank Prime

Puffy: you still okay by yourself? you'll let me know if you need anyone, right?

Phil sighed, then typed out a response.

Philza: of course. I've got Ranboo on his way here for a supply drop. I'm not sure if Foolish could handle any more people

Puffy: okay

Puffy: good luck, Dadza

Phil rolled his eyes and tucked the communicator away.

"Phil."

He jumped, his gaze snapping to Foolish's head as he rose from the water right in front of him. His gills flared, water streaming down his neck, and Phil's hand rose unbidden to his own. Then he shivered, because fingers tipped with sharp claws were trailing up and down his shins, and Foolish's gaze had him trapped.

"Phil, unless you want me to pull you under, stay out of the water." He'd never heard Foolish so calm. So serious.

Phil immediately drew his legs out, gasping wordlessly as Foolish's claws dragged over his skin just enough to smart. He flared his wings, following the instinctive desire to look bigger in the face of a threat. Foolish just blinked lazily at him, then ducked back under the water.

Phil released the breath he'd been holding, then stood and made his way out. He didn't need to stick around.

He didn't particularly want to, either.

"Hey Phil, you here?" The call was distant, but coming nearer.

Phil paused, then quickly padded up the steps. Down the cobble path was Ranboo and his ever-present cloud of endersprites, striding in that gait of his that was a bit too lanky to be graceful. Maybe he'd grow into it one day, Phil mused. He lifted a hand in a wave.

"Hi." The enderman hybrid huffed as he stopped, dropping his bag on the ground. "Prime, it's hot."

"Welcome to the desert, Ranboo," Phil teased. "And before you say so, yeah. I know I look like shit."

"Lemme guess, I should see the other guy," Ranboo replied with a grin.

Phil tried to smile back, but he knew his face had fallen.

Ranboo grimaced. "That bad, huh?"

Phil gestured for him to pick up his pack, then started to walk over to the cobra structure. "D'you know what's going on?"

Ranboo snorted. "I figured it out pretty quick. Puffy offered to tell me, but I said you would if you thought I needed to know, but then you were so busy and-" he shrugged- "I pieced it together anyway. Foolish is rutting. I'd seen both you and Techno go through it a little while ago, anyway, so it wasn't hard to guess. It wasn't hard to guess." He chuckled nervously.

Phil sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his face. "Yeah. He's being a stubborn asshole about it, too. Worse than Techno." Phil stopped at the entrance to Foolish's little base and grabbed the bag from Ranboo, stepping through the low doorway to deposit it next to a few storage chests.

Ranboo was ducked down to peek through the open doorway. "Do you tend to help a lot of people when their cycle comes around?"

Phil narrowed his eyes at the teen. He sounded genuinely curious. "I'm not sure I should be talking with you about that, Ranboo. You're a little young."

"Phil, the only reason why I haven't experienced my own yet is because I was too stressed earlier and I live in a tundra now. It's too cold. Or at least, those're the conclusions Tubbo came to. He researches a lot about this kind of stuff."

Phil closed his eyes and leaned against the nearest wall, then bonked the back of his head against said wall a few times. Why did he get himself into these situations?

"Phiiiiiil…" Ranboo said, drawing out his name with a chuckle. "Am I embarrassing you, Phil?"

Phil grumbled a few choice words under his breath, and Ranboo laughed harder. Then he stepped away from the wall, fluffed out his feathers and stalked past the menace of an enderman hybrid.

"I'll talk about this with you once you're eighteen, Ranboo," Phil groused.

"But what if I enter my cycle before then?"

"Then you have Tubbo."

"Ew, Phil! No! Our relationship is completely not sexual at all!"

Phil stared at the heavens and desperately wished he wasn't immortal. What fates had decided he needed to live long enough to have this conversation? "Your platonic husband can help you through it without anything sexual happening, Ranboo."

"Well see, I didn't know that, Phil! I need those talks, Phil!"

Phil felt like screaming, so he did.

. . .

Ranboo only stayed for a day, and it had been a good day. The teen's presence had mellowed Foolish. Phil was convinced Ranboo was probably one of a very small number of people Foolish could feel entirely comfortable and unthreatened around: too young to be a rival, and too old to be a child in need of protection.

(If Foolish even had that instinct. So far, he'd only admitted to nesting.)

Then Ranboo had left again, and if Phil hadn't been sure before, he was now.

Foolish was starting to see him as a danger. A male rival. A threat.

"Hey Foolish?" Phil paused in the landing between Foolish's nest room and pool, holding a small platter with some food in one hand. "You down here?"

"No," came the growled response. "Go away, Phil."

"I brought you some food. It isn't much, but I know you haven't eaten."

Silence.

"And you haven't been back to your temple to recharge in two or three days." Or was it four already? Gods, Phil was losing track of time.

Foolish still didn't reply.

"Okay, mate, I'll just leave the food at the bottom of the stairs. Please try to eat."

Phil waited for a moment, then let go of the breath he was holding and walked up the stairs.

. . .

Foolish wrapped his arms tighter around his ribcage, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw until it hurt. The desire to cry, to scream, to yell at anyone and everyone—it was overwhelming. But like almost every other desire he was feeling these days, he pushed it deep down and locked it away.

He was so tired. His body, of course, he'd forced into a constant state of exhaustion days ago. That was nothing new. His mind, though… his willpower was fading. Fracturing. Instincts he'd nearly forgotten he'd had, instincts he wished he had removed when he formed his mortal body from stardust and thought, they were screaming at him to listen. To obey. To do what he was meant to do.

His screams of refusal back were only growing weaker.

Foolish pressed his claws into the flesh of his back. The brief pricks of pain didn't distract him nearly enough. He curled tighter into the corner of his nesting room, the cool stone walls unable to counteract the heat of his body.

He was a god, but his body was mortal. Never had he felt that so clearly than in the past two weeks. He had never hungered so fiercely, never craved the vast ocean and open skies so strongly. Maybe for mere moments, centuries ago when he had rutted more often, he had experienced these desires just as fully—but he'd always been able to satiate every one.

Maybe Niki and Puffy and Phil had been right.

Foolish swallowed, whining as Phil's scent continued to linger in the air. Part of him hated it, recognized the winged hybrid as nothing but competition that he needed to punish, needed to threaten with teeth and claws until Phil fled to nurse his wounds.

Another part, one that had once possessed a stronger voice and was now growing quieter by the day, yearned for Phil's return. Phil with his gentle touch and careful gaze and truthful admiration over his nest. Phil with his broken wing that Foolish wanted so desperately to heal, so the two of them could take to the skies and dance. Phil didn't have to be his mate. He didn't think of the other man with sexual desire. But this quieter part wanted Phil in his nest—not out of his land.

The louder thoughts in his mind—the ones that pushed for blood and ocean and sex, rather than nests and the sky and a mate—they shouted their disgust. They clamoured for violence, for teeth sinking into flesh, for-

With a sob muffled by grit teeth, Foolish dragged his claws across his rib cage and left parallel lines of crimson-gold blood. Then each hand gripped the opposite shoulder, and repeated the action down his arms. The pain was momentary, fiery, dulled by a haze that was settling over his mind.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to fuck. He wanted to hunt. He wanted to be held. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to kill, to taste lifeblood flooding his mouth-

He wanted it all to be over.

Chapter Text

Eleven days. Eleven fucking days of babysitting the most stubborn being Phil ever had the displeasure to meet. He'd thought he had a bad streak of stubbornness, then he'd met Techno. And then Wilbur had been born, and those two…

Phil rubbed his forehead with a groan, and flopped onto his belly. He let his wings drape off the sides of the cobra structure, interested only in soaking up some late morning sun before the heat got too intense.

"Tiredza."

Phil groaned again, louder this time, and repositioned his hat so it covered his face and he didn't have to see the growing number of crows.

Because of fucking course they'd managed to find him, even though he'd left in such a rush and hadn't let them follow him through into the nether. Maybe they'd followed Ranboo at some point. Now he had to babysit a rutting idiotic god and a whole murder of gossipy crows.

"Madza. Dadza mad, uh oh. Scatter! Scatter? We have wings we can flyyyy!"

A few crows lifted off, but after a few circles they resettled and resumed their observations.

"Crow Father it is hot. That's because we're in the desert, idiot!" A few crows scuffled, one of them tugging others' tail feathers. "The sun is here. The sun is a deadly lazer! Lazers don't exist. Shut up-"

"Oh my gods!" Phil exclaimed, startling more than a few crows into the air. "Settle down, all of you." He just wanted a few moments of peace, a few moments to himself to bask in the sun.

The flock kept their chattering to a minimum after that, murmuring to themselves with some taking wing to explore the area. Phil dozed in the sun for just a little while longer, then started on the many chores he's discovered were needed.

He gave feed to the herd of cows, and made sure the stone troughs tucked against the shadiest wall of their pen were full of water. He milked a few of them (most had calves to feed), shooing away a few of Foolish's cats as they swarmed for a taste from the bucket. The cats were half-feral, anyway. They caught their own prey: there was an abundance of little rodents, rabbits, and snakes he often saw them deftly catch, and all he did was make sure the water trough under the handpump next to the cobra structure was always clean and full.

Then he checked in on the chickens, fed and watered them and collected their eggs before making a quick inspection of their cage. He'd caught a desert fox trying to burrow in a few days ago.

He peeked into the stables carved into a sandstone hill when he was done with the chickens. Many pairs of glowing green orbs set in equine skulls gazed back at him. He couldn't suppress the shudder that ran down his spine.

He didn't think skeleton horses needed to eat, or drink water. They seemed content enough, he decided as he backed away.

Next he visited the tiny fishing village—more of a hamlet, really—that was clustered on the end of a spit, on one end of the bay that Foolish's temple looked over. It was a bit of a walk, and the sun was starting to beat down fiercely, but Phil had learned it was well worth it. The villagers were happy to take the excess milk and eggs Phil doubted Foolish had much use for, as well as anything else Phil wanted to sell—and through trading and bartering Phil always returned with useful supplies and good food. The villagers still hadn't quite warmed up to him yet, and their particular desert dialect was one of a few Phil had yet to master… but he was fairly certain they understood him. The dialect of Tradespeak he often fell back on wasn't too dissimilar.

By the time he got back every day, it was always firmly mid-afternoon. By that time he was hungry, and liked to think Foolish was too.

He also liked to think Foolish was faring well alone in his nest room, that he was indeed eating the food Phil brought him and resting well, but there really wasn't any way for him to confirm his hopes. Whenever he ventured down there to drop off a meal or some nesting supplies, the distinct sense that he was trespassing would just about overwhelm him. He always left anything he brought for Foolish about halfway down the stairs. He didn't know if it was all in his head or if Foolish was somehow broadcasting his desire to be left alone, but Phil did know he didn't want to test him.

And so, like the past few days, Phil left a small platter of food (two bread rolls, sliced fruit, and a wedge of cheese) halfway down the stairs.

He didn't know if the lack of other platters, empty or otherwise, was a good sign or not. There was never any other sign of Foolish exiting his nest room, even while Phil was at the village.

The rest of his day was filled with mundane tasks until the evening. His third meal had been eaten, the third platter of the day delivered to Foolish (this time, accompanied by a slightly tattered and worn blanket for the nest, one that was honestly Phil's favourite), and he was left to his own devices.

The desert was beautiful at sundown, in a wild and desolate kind of way. Phil liked to read a book while catching the last of the sun's rays, soaking up the lingering heat caught in the stones of the two-headed cobra structure, and ignoring the chatter of the crows. It was proving to be a lovely way to end a tedious day. Then he'd update Puffy on the situation (he rarely had anything to say, and she'd come to expect that) before he headed to bed.

Something woke him during the night.

It wasn't his crows. Only a few were in the room, and even then all but two were asleep. Those awake simply regarded him with a sharp black gaze and didn't offer a single word.

Phil strained to hear what might be out of the ordinary. His breaths were loud. Distantly, an animal screeched out a call. A crow somewhere outside murmured something sleepily.

Then he heard it. The cows were lowing, all of them, like something was wrong. Phil tucked in his wings and swung himself out of bed, putting on the loose linen trousers and sandals he'd taken to wearing in the desert, then made sure his chin-length hair was tied back. He grabbed his sword on the way out.

Sometimes one of the undead would wander into the cow pen. It wasn't often, because they had no interest in the lifeforce or flesh of cows, but the herd never appreciated it. Ranboo's herd back home sometimes woke him up with the same problem. It always drove Techno's dogs crazy too, but of course the piglin hybrid would sleep through it all.

As Phil neared the pen though, the unmistakable smell of freshly spilled blood filled the air. He muttered a curse, readying his sword as he carefully walked up to the only torch lighting the area, all of his senses alert. It wasn't just a lone zombie or skeleton.

With his other hand he reached out and grabbed the torch off the sandstone wall, then raised it up. It took him more than a moment to make sense of what he saw amongst the heaving and frantic mass of cattle.

First, he saw the slaughtered cow, its lifeblood still pumping out and soaking into the churned-up sand. Its head had nearly been severed by wounds that looked like claw marks, except they were impossibly deep and wider than a span. Its belly had been torn open: pale ropes of intestine spilled out of the corpse, and Phil would bet the liver was missing. Between heartbeats Phil considered wolves—but he hadn't seen any in the desert, nor jackals or coyotes, and the family of sand foxes that lived in the hills behind Foolish's temple simply wouldn't attack a cow. If anything, judging by the size of the neck wound Phil would've suggested a bear, except they were very far from any forest.

That's when Phil saw the pair of green eyes glittering in the torchlight—and the red-stained shark's teeth underneath them.

He couldn't help it. He stepped back. There was little he feared, but this-

Phil was afraid. He was afraid his presence alone would be taken as a challenge, as a threat. He kept backing up, not letting either the torch or his sword dip down, caught wondering if he should look away or maintain this eye contact, if he should take it slowly or turn tail and run-

Foolish stood, the torchlight barely illuminating him. He was a dark and bloody shadow, looming over the herd of cattle.

Then a low, deep snarl made Phil's heart sink… and the rising screech that followed after saw Phil sprinting madly to the cobra structure. It wasn’t close, but he had to make it there. He wasn't sure if it would be safe, if anywhere here was safe, but if he could get to an enderchest and strap on any armour at all…

Maybe, then, he'd stand a chance.

He didn't make it to an enderchest.

Foolish caught up to him in a few bounds. He wasn't human-sized anymore; idly, in the back of his mind, Phil matched the wound in the cow's neck to Foolish's clawed hand. His hand was wider than Phil's chest—something he got to experience fully as Foolish sent him flying through the air with a heavy blow to his torso.

Phil landed on his back and rolled, kicking up dust and unable to breathe. The torch guttered and died in the sand. His wings ached, having been crushed under his body. He forced his lungs to take in a gasp, then scrambled for his sword and staggered to his feet.

Foolish was standing a few yards away, his teeth bared in a snarl and an expression of anger on his face. No, not anger. Of fury, a cold and ancient brand of fury that chilled Phil to the bone, because it was not the heated fury mortal humans used to fuel their fights. This was old. It wasn't human. Phil didn't recognize a friend as he looked at that expression: he only recognized danger.

And if Foolish recognized Phil, there was no way to tell. It didn't matter. Either way, the god was still going to kill him.

Foolish lunged forward, strangely silent for how large his form was. Phil barely managed to roll out of the way. His mind raced. He was going to die if he kept the fight out here. Foolish would always have the advantage of size, of reach, and of strength… Phil needed to even the playing field. He needed to take it inside.

Phil was only a few steps away from the entrance when Foolish grabbed his leg and sent him pitching forward so quickly he barely caught himself against the ground. The god dragged his sharp claws through the muscle of Phil's limb, a triumphant scream drowning out Phil's own raw scream of agony. Phil kicked out with his other leg, his foot connecting with something—jaw? chest? shoulder?—before he swung out with his sword, the blade leaving a thin slice that oozed crimson and gold from Foolish's arm.

Foolish let go without a sound, and Phil frantically crawled the last metre, leaving behind smears and puddles of blood in the dust. He hauled himself inside and used a chest to get himself upright—if unsteadily on one leg. His wounded leg was quickly becoming soaked with his own blood, and the fiery agony was dulling to a dangerous numbness.

Foolish crouched but a step away from the doorway, his eyes seeming to glow in the flickering torchlight. That ancient and old fury hadn't dimmed one bit, and Phil was starting to wonder if it was directed entirely at him. Then, without warning, Foolish was human-sized and snarling and shoving Phil against the wall, one hand pinning the wrist of his sword arm while Foolish's other hand was wrapped around Phil's neck, crushing his windpipe and cutting off his circulation, threatening to starve him of oxygen, to choke him-

Just as his vision was turning black at the edges, just as his sight was blurring and he was seeing things (Foolish's face looked barely human: his eyes were brilliant twin emeralds and his skin was golden and sculpted, a hide of blue-grey melding seamlessly in angular lines across his body; his wings were visible and feathered with spun gold and amber-green light), a figure shifted just behind Foolish. Then there was the glint of netherite, and as Phil lost consciousness he saw the blunt end of an ax's handle slam into the side of Foolish's head.

Chapter Text

Eret looked down at the two men, both unconscious, one bleeding seriously from his leg and the other one covered in blood, and had only one thing to say:

"What the fuck."

The crows that seemed to follow Phil everywhere were causing a racket outside. Eret ignored the concerned little whispers of the few ferrets that had tagged along. Sliding the ax back into its place on the belt, Eret grabbed the nearest bundle of cloth (it might've been a shirt) and pressed it to the worst of the lacerations on Phil's leg. There was a large and growing puddle of blood under the limb. Phil was already starting to come around, blinking in a daze at the ceiling. Eret grimaced as blood quickly soaked the material, then spoke.

"Hey, Phil? Can you press this here, firmly, while I go get some potions and supplies from the enderchest over there?"

It seemed to take a moment for Phil to register Eret's words, but he nodded and did as he was told.

Eret brought back a regeneration potion—which was immediately grabbed by Phil, who yanked out the cork with his teeth and downed the entire thing in a few gulps—and a health potion, which was simply poured carefully over the open wounds.

Eret remained quiet, focusing on binding Phil's freshly-closed wounds. Only once everything was taken care of, including the nasty scratches along his side and ribs (those wounds had needed to be flushed with water, with all the grit and dust imbedded in them, before Eret dabbed at them with a potion-soaked cloth), did Eret speak.

"Phil, what's going on? What's wrong with Foolish, and why- why did he just try to kill you?"

Phil groaned as he lifted himself onto a chest. He rubbed a dusty hand across his brow then shouted beyond Eret, presumably at the many crows still cawing outside, "Shut up! I'm fine, okay? Go back to sleep, you fuckers."

A ferret clambered onto Eret's lap, and Eret idly pet its smooth fur.

"He didn't try to kill me," Phil said darkly. "He nearly did. He'd torn the artery in my leg; if you hadn't shown up, I don't know if I'd have made it." Phil glanced over to the still-unconscious form of Foolish and sucked in a breath. Eret followed his gaze, and then stared.

Foolish was sprawled on his belly, limbs askew and both dorsal and tail fin jutting into the air. He wasn't covered in blood on this side. There was no fresh blood to hide the layers of claw marks, clearly self-inflicted, scattered heavily across Foolish's skin. Some looked days old, simple lines of dark dried blood. Some were shallow, barely more than angrily raised red marks. Most were fresh within the last day or two, and deep, and had smears of drying crimson and gold surrounding them. A few were still bleeding sluggishly.

Eret turned back to Phil, who was swallowing hard. He looked pale. He looked guilty. Even though it was clear Foolish had made every single mark on his skin, Eret could see Phil blamed himself for them. Eret knew how that looked; the same expression was in the mirror every day.

"We should get him cleaned up while he's still out," Phil said, his voice hoarse.

Eret's gaze flicked back to Foolish's unmoving body. "I can handle that," Eret said quietly. "If you could figure out where we're gonna keep him that'll be safe for everyone…"

Phil nodded. He looked exhausted. "Then we can talk. What you need to know now is… Foolish has been rutting, and it- it hasn't been going well."

Eret frowned, but didn't say anything.

After a moment Phil struggled to his feet and limped out.

. . .

Phil barely managed to walk out of ear range before he sagged against the nearest wall and pressed a shaking hand to his face. His whole body was quivering with unspent adrenaline. A ragged sob involuntarily burst out of him and he barely managed to bite back the next, his whole face screwing up as a wave of emotions he really didn't want to name washed over him.

He'd come closer to dying in the past. He'd been gravely wounded before, by people he'd thought he could trust. The fact Foolish had so nearly succeeded in killing him wasn't why he was fighting back tears; he couldn't blame him. Foolish had clearly lost himself to his instincts, and Phil hadn't acted accordingly—not quickly enough.

No, he was crying because he felt like he should have done more… and knew that he couldn't.

Phil forced in a deep breath, his ribs aching. Then he quickly wiped away any stray tears and pushed himself off the wall, limping heavily through the torchlit night towards the staircase down to Foolish's nest room.

The stairs were painful. The healing potion Eret had poured over his leg wounds had sealed them with delicate scar tissue, and the regeneration potion he'd drunk had reattached every severed blood vessel and nerve and started on the muscles… so the limb was functional. Barely. He certainly wasn't going to stand on it for any longer than he had to, and would be searching for a second regen potion in a few hours. Plus, functionality didn't mean it wouldn't hurt, even if a regen potion wasn't a bad painkiller.

Phil finally reached the landing, glancing first into the pool room.

It looked untouched. The pale blue light from the sea lanterns cast playful shifting shadows and reflections against the walls and ceiling, so both the water's surface and the tile mural of the ocean seemed to be moving.

Phil closed his eyes, his dusty and combat-ruffled wings shifting as his unease grew. Even standing out here, without looking in, Phil could feel the residue of Foolish's presence seeping out of his nest room.

He didn't want to go in. Not just because his instincts were screaming at him it was wrong to trespass, but because…

If Foolish felt so trapped in his own body he'd resorted to self-harm, then Phil didn't want to see the state of his nest. A nest was supposed to be a place of comfort, of safety. It was supposed to offer a healthy and useful outlet for all the urges and instincts a rut or heat might push.

Phil opened his eyes. The shaking in his hands wasn't adrenaline anymore.

He stepped in. He stood in the archway. He stared.

Phil could taste the anger. It was just as clear as what he saw before him: shredded blankets, pale gouges in the sandstone walls… a lantern, shattered and twisted, lying on the floor with a small pool of drying oil staining the stone.

In one corner, where the claw marks were most numerous, streaks of blood darkened the polished walls.

Food platters were in shards, and Phil could smell as much as see the scattered spoiling remains of every meal he'd left for Foolish. Maybe, if he lied to himself, he could believe there was not so much on the floor, and so surely some had been eaten… 

Phil cried silently this time.

Once the tears had slowed, he went and found tools to clean up the place: a broom, an empty bucket, a bucket of water, and rags. Only a few crows followed him down, croaking quietly and not offering any of the snide comments he'd come to expect. He threw himself into the task, knowing there wouldn't be much time until Eret was done tending to Foolish's wounds.

As it turned out, god's blood was difficult to remove. At least, the gold part of it—the red, dried to a near-black, took some scrubbing, but could be lifted from the stone.

Phil wondered if his sword's blade would always have a streak of gold ichor permanently stained on the netherite.

All the detritus, blood and spoiled food had been removed by the time he could hear Eret calling out his name. After a slow climb up and a quick discussion, Eret was the one to half-carry, half-drag Foolish's unresponsive body to the nesting room as Phil led the way, using the broom handle as a walking stick. They were both panting by the time they made it to the platform at the end of the room, and Phil winced as Foolish was lowered less than gently to the ground.

Eret stood up with a grunt, then took a moment to heave Foolish's heavy tail onto the platform with the rest of his body.

Phil looked at the unconscious god, and Eret stepped back and joined him.

Some of the wounds had faded to fresh scars: clear work of a healing potion. There were small bandages plastered in place, or even wrapped if the placement or wound called for it. His body looked thinner. It also looked tense. Even unconscious, Foolish seemed unable to relax.

"His temperature's quite high," Eret muttered beside him. "I think he's dehydrated, too. Do you know the last time he ate anything?"

"Other than the cow liver he nearly killed me over?" Phil asked dryly. His leg was throbbing with sharp pain. He walked over to the nearest pillar and leaned against it, sighing as he took weight off his limb. "It's probably been days. He wasn't letting me down here, so I'd just leave him food. He seemed to be eating it, but…" Phil paused. "I don't think he was."

"If you had to guess," Eret asked gently, face turned towards Phil's.

Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Eight, nine days? I know he was drinking water at least up to four days ago. But- oh, gods, we couldn't possibly get him up there."

"Up where?"

Phil waved his hand vaguely. "Into his temple. To the green beacon he's got up there. It seems to help him… he's called it 'recharging' or something like that. It's definitely been ten days since his last visit there, I'm sure of that." Phil wasn't going to forget the breakfast conversations that had followed the night in the temple anytime soon.

"Why didn't you call anyone else to help?" Eret asked, turning the rest of the way to fully face Phil with crossed arms. "If you knew he didn't want you nearby, if you couldn't take care of him, why didn't you ask?"

"Because half the people around these parts couldn't care less, and the other half- Foolish would get overwhelmed with more people, mate, and in case you haven't noticed he's a little on edge right now. I didn't want to put anyone else at risk."

Eret laughed. "That's some bullshit excuse and you know it."

Phil could only stare back at Eret, stare at his dark reflection in the deeply tinted lenses covering the monarch's eyes.

"Foolish is dangerous right now," Phil said slowly. "And I'm the only one who knows enough about him to help."

"Well clearly that extra knowledge isn't really doing all that much, Phil!" Eret waved an arm in Foolish's direction. "Look at him!"

"You don't think I know that?!" Phil stood away from the pillar, then fell back against it with a sharp gasp. "Fuck, I- I'm fucking trying my best, Eret. As friendly as this guy is, turns out not a lot of people really know him. I've- We- He's told me what he could, what he was willing to-"

Eret shifted, scowling. "I don't need a reminder of how little I know about him." After a long pause, Eret continued, "But he trusts me, Phil. He knows me—maybe better than I know myself. He's told me we used to travel- Prime, I don't know! He- Why do I even care, Phil?" Eret's tone had become pleading. Then, quietly, "Why does he call me his old friend? How can he call me that, when I don't even know how to help?"

Chapter Text

Foolish dreamed.

He so rarely dreamed. It had been decades, easily. When he was dormant he walked through old memories—the pleasant ones—or observed the wind, the currents in the sky, joined them sometimes as a weightless watching thing as his god had taught him…

He almost never dreamed, but tonight he did.

He dreamed of golden tears. He dreamed of a heart carved from raw emerald, such a brittle shape… one wrong touch and it would shatter. He dreamed of misty figures just out of reach, so close, yet any time he focused on a face their entire form seemed to warp around his gaze. Every word they uttered was but sound. The sound held no meaning.

Foolish dreamed of golden tears gathering in a bowl clasped by a pair of hands that were not his own. They belonged to one of the figures. When the bowl was full of liquid gold, the figure held it up to Foolish's lips, and he drank.

He drowned in the pool of gold, crystalline shards of green speckling the surface. The gold coated him. His heart ached. He drowned. He drowned.

He found himself no longer in the dream, but also not awake. He was in a memory. A fairly new one, from only a handful of centuries ago. Foolish could remember the encompassing heat of midsummer, the air full of so many scents: dust, vegetation, sweat and perfume from passersby, fresh-baked bread from the café across the street, the sweetness of sun-warmed fruits from a vendor. The market was busy, bustling with a crowd and hard to navigate, especially when a donkey and cart carrying caged chickens pushed through.

A figure stood out from the crowd. Tall, pale, clothed in elegantly draped fine linen with an eager soul peering through their eyes-

Foolish jolted awake—and immediately wished he hadn't. His whole body screamed at him, thrust all the pain to the forefront of his mind, and he was frozen. He couldn't think. There was only pain, and the desperate desire for it all to stop.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he became aware of more:

His body was trembling. He felt hot—too hot. Every muscle felt like an iron rod fresh from a furnace. He was hungry. He was lying on smooth sandstone. His body ached for sexual release. Someone had bandaged his wounds. And lastly… he was not alone.

Mate. The thought rose unbidden in his mind. Lover. Partner.

Foolish couldn't find the energy to move—and for the sake of the stranger, he didn't want to. His body was slowly reacting with arousal, but he had just enough control to force himself still. He also didn't want to find out if moving would bring the terrible pain back… he was barely used to it now. He could think, at least. He could-

The scent of the visitor finally registered, and Foolish's eyes flew open.

Eret.

He parted his lips. Tears gathered and stung his eyes.

My love. My heart.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Once… long ago. Yes. But- but no longer, and as much as he wanted to tell Eret everything; as often as he'd felt that desire, every time they'd met in the past few months… 

He couldn't. He just couldn't. Not now, most of all; even though his body and mind and nearly every instinct was clamouring desperately to hold Eret in his arms and-

The desire was more than to just satiate his rut-driven lust. He wanted, more than anything, to be seen. Eret, all those many years ago, had seen him. Truly seen him. And Eret had loved him.

Now, Eret was his love still lost.

Foolish couldn't insinuate they had been anything more than good friends. Eret had no memories of their time together, and maybe… maybe Eret had changed far too much in the few centuries they'd been parted for the two of them to ever regain the relationship they'd once had. 

He hated those thoughts. He hated how logical they were. He hated how rare logical thoughts were for him now. He hated his rut. He hated being trapped in this mortal body. He hated the never-ending arousal, the constant need to move and find a suitable mate, find someone he could hold down with teeth and claws and-

Cool hands wrapped around his wrists and stopped the frantic scrabbling at skin and bandaged wounds he hadn't even been aware he was doing. He struggled against the grip, suddenly desperate for the sharp surface-level pain that let him ignore… or at least, not drown in his thoughts and desires. That brand of pain was easy to focus on. It was so much easier to acknowledge than the deep and endless aches that were only growing worse the more he fought against his body's rut.

Eret was holding him in a tight embrace now, Foolish's hands trapped between their chests as Eret rocked back and forth and murmured words of comfort. Or at least, Foolish thought that's what they were. He couldn't… he couldn't focus on much, not when it could be so dangerous for Eret if his control slipped or his instincts took over.

Foolish shuddered as shards of memory sliced through his mind. The intoxicating scent of Phil's fear, the smell of his blood… the undeniable thrill that had raced through his entire being when he realized how easily he had overpowered the immortal warrior.

If Eret hadn't shown up…

At least he could be sure Phil had survived. Eret wouldn't be sitting with him, holding him like this, if Phil had died. If he had killed Phil.

Grief and sorrow and fear washed over him, just as powerful as the pain filling his whole being. One of his hands curled into the fabric of Eret's top, and Foolish began to sob.

Eret didn't stop the steady rocking. Soft words, spoken under shaky breaths that were thick with Eret's unshed tears, hung in the still air.

. . .

Phil shuddered, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders and pausing to stare up at the imposing face of Tubbo and Ranboo's mansion. He'd been living in the desert for two weeks, and had just barely gotten used to the heat before a slew of messages from both Ranboo and, surprisingly, Tubbo had swamped him early in the morning and brought him to Snowchester.

"Early" might've been an understatement. The sun hadn't risen yet when he'd been woken from a fitful sleep by the constant pings on his communicator. After reading through their cryptic but clearly urgent messages and promising them he'd be there by midday, Phil had packed a light travel bag, shared a loaf of bread with his crows, and let Eret know he'd be gone for at least a day over their communicators.

He had rarely seen the monarch in the three days they'd both been there. When he did, Eret looked harried and worried… but also hopeful. Hopeful, and not exhausted. Not yet, at least. It had taken Phil three days to get to that point himself, but maybe Eret still had a few more to go.

Eret would update him whenever they saw each other, usually at one of the mealtimes. It always went: today, Foolish didn't seem to know where he was. Today, Foolish ate something and kept it down. Today, Foolish was aware enough to talk for a few minutes. Today… 

Yesterday, Eret told Phil that Foolish had asked after him. Hesitantly. And when Eret had told him he was still up there, still living in the cobra structure and taking care of his lands, all Foolish had said was, "That's good," before falling completely silent.

Phil still didn't know how to feel about that. He didn't know how to feel about anything at the moment. He felt responsible, but he couldn't care for Foolish—not in the direct way Foolish needed. Thank the gods Foolish allowed Eret to.

Phil could still hear that line, that sentence Foolish had uttered days ago: if it does kill me? I'm a god, Phil. I'll just make a new body.

He didn't doubt Foolish could make a new one, but… would he want to?

Phil shook himself, setting those thoughts to the side. He walked up to the front door, his limp barely present now, and knocked on the spruce wood with a heavy fist. A few crows landed nearby, among the trees and stone window casements. Two fluttered down to him, one at his feet and the other perching on his shoulder.

His communicator pinged.

Tubbo: come on in, old man

Phil rolled his eyes and stepped through the unlocked doorway. He glanced up at the landing at the top of the stairs, then even higher up at the intricate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Then he peered down the hallways and called out, "Hello? Where you two at?"

"Over here, Phil!" came Ranboo's distant holler, echoing down from the left hallway. "We're in the library!"

It took Phil… a little more time than he'd be willing to admit to find Ranboo and Tubbo. The place was a maze.

"You get lost, Phil?" Ranboo said as soon as Phil's head cleared the floor. He sounded amused, and distracted.

Phil climbed the last few steps of the spiral staircase and surveyed the chaos of books and papers strewn about on the floor. Sitting among the vaguely-sorted piles were Ranboo and Tubbo. Endersprites were scattered throughout, although most were lazily floating around the enderman hybrid. There were also a few mugs, all not empty, and four… no, five plates in the mess. A mostly-eaten sandwich on the fifth plate peeked out from under a piece of paper filled with hasty scrawls. One of the crows that had been following Phil hopped over to the forgotten sandwich and pecked at it.

"Hey, big P," Tubbo said absently, bent over a book and writing something on a sheet of paper. "Boo, can you talk to him? I'm trying really hard to read this passage, it's gonna take me a minute."

"Yeah, sure." Ranboo bookmarked the small volume he had on his lap and set it on a pile of more books, then slowly clambered to his feet and stretched. "You can read the old script, right Phil?"

Phil blinked. "Galactic?" Gods, it had been a while, but he figured he still could. "I can give it a try, why? What are you two even looking for?"

"We," Ranboo began, bending down to shuffle through notes, disturbing a small cloud of endersprites, "are trying to help Foolish."

Phil raised his eyebrows, but stayed quiet and waited for him to continue.

"After our conversation," Ranboo said with a sly smile thrown over his shoulder, "I started to wonder if there were things specific to someone like Foolish that could help him. It's really the least we could do, cause he's done so much for me and Tubbo with this whole mansion, and… and Michael really misses Junior's visits so-" Ranboo waved a hand. "Anyway, so of course I asked Tubbo about it-"

"Did you know shark hybrids can go easily two or more years without experiencing a mating cycle," Tubbo jumped in, his eyes shining. "Do you know how few books actually have that information? Like, I know shark hybrids are fucking rare and all, but come on. This is important health information."

"Yeah, so we went through the books we could find at your place, but you didn't have a whole lot. Then we tried other people's collections, but most were boring history stuff or just the general records of known enchantments basically everyone owns already." Ranboo snorted.

"And then," Tubbo added, "Ranboo actually remembered Foolish had built the bookcases for our library here and had donated a bunch of books already. So we got looking, and there's tons of old books. Lots are about skills, like how to extract dyes from certain plants or how to neutralize creepers-"

"I'm sorry, what?" Phil opened his mouth to say more, but Tubbo just rolled right over him.

"-but there were a few here and there about the biology of various hybrids. And like, not just the common hybrids, although this giant one here's got those too," Tubbo said excitedly, slapping a palm down on a large tome that was also serving as a table for his tea mug, "but rare hybrids. Like sharks. And blazes. And ghasts. I've never even heard of a ghast hybrid!"

Ranboo jumped in. "And then we found this." He stood and turned, holding out a small leather-bound book that looked a little aged. "The foreword is in Common. Well, Old Common, but definitely a lot easier to read than the rest of it. It's all uh, all Galactic, which-" Ranboo laughed- "we can't read."

Phil took the offered book and set his travel bag down. "Why is this the book you-"

The title in Galactic script caught his eyes, and he trailed off before he could finish his sentence.

The Divinity of the Living Totem.

Phil glanced up at Ranboo, then over to Tubbo before looking back at the book. He opened it to the first page and scanned through the foreword.

There was no use of the words "divine" or "god" in the passages in Old Common, but it wasn't exactly subtle at hinting it took a higher power for totems to exist as living and thinking beings. The rest of the book was even more obvious, he discovered as he scanned the page of section titles.

"That first bit said people like Foolish are created by gods, right?" Tubbo asked brightly, and Phil stiffened.

"In a few more words, more or less yeah," he replied carefully.

"But he's also a shark hybrid," Tubbo said, and oh boy Phil didn't like the way Tubbo's eyes were glittering. This kid was thinking too hard.

"He is."

"Tubbo, you're thinking something," Ranboo said slowly. "What're you thinking?"

"Phil," Tubbo said with a big smile, picking up his mug and tapping his fingers against the glazed pottery, "is Foolish a demi-god?"

"Tubbo, you can't be serious," Ranboo said, warbling a few notes. His tail was flicking behind him. "Phil, what…"

"The lightning, Ranboo," Tubbo said.

Phil frowned, and sank to the floor. Lightning?

"Phil?" Ranboo was sounding more hesitant. "Phil, you… oh, you knew, didn't you."

He looked down at the small book in his hands, reading over the third section title: Contrasting Totem-Human Hybrids, Living Totems, and Totem Gods in Respect to Their Creation and Methods of Reproduction. He sighed, heavily.

"Yeah, mate," he said truthfully, "I knew. Foolish didn't want others to find out, treat him differently… The two of you had better respect that." He looked up at them. Ranboo was nodding, but Tubbo was tapping the end of his quill against his cheek.

"I'm pretty sure those egg people know," Tubbo said. "And Sam. Foolish scared them off with a bolt of lightning after what looked like a big old speech, like… a month ago? Something like that."

"Mmhm, mmhm." Ranboo nodded harder. "We were there. We were there. We saw it."

Phil dragged a hand across his face. Foolish could be a dramatic bastard sometimes. "Okay, well, don't tell anyone else. And before you ask, no. You're not getting anything else outta me. If you have questions, you can ask Foolish yourself." He grimaced. "After his rut is over."

"Uh huh, yeah. Good idea. Right, Tubbo?"

Tubbo deflated and nodded glumly. "Fine. I guess I can wait," he grumbled. Then, with a hesitant grin, "Do you think he'll let me experiment on him?"

Ranboo tossed a book in his direction. "Stop theorizing and start reading!"

Phil ignored their ensuing antics and flipped to the book's third section. He only made it a sentence in when he reached for a quill, ink, and blank paper. There was a lot in here for him to learn.

Hours passed. For how small the book was, there was seemingly endless information Phil either wrote down or stored away in his mind for later. At some point Ranboo got up, mumbling something about food and Michael and nap time (it wasn't entirely clear who was taking the nap, and honestly Phil kind of wished it was him).

"Hey Phil," Tubbo asked, finally breaking the silent and focused atmosphere, "d'you know Ender?"

Phil looked up. "A little bit," he admitted. "Why?"

"Do you know this word?" Tubbo stretched out an arm, sliding a book along the floor with his finger on a word.

Phil peered down at the line. "You read Ender?" he asked absently.

"Ranboo kinda re-taught it to himself, and I picked up a little bit. I'm shit at speaking it though." Tubbo laughed softly. "I'm really bad at making that trill sound at the back of my throat? And it's kind of an important sound, so." He shrugged. "I'm okay at reading it, though. Just… really, really slow."

Phil nodded, then frowned at the word. "I think that means persuasion? But it has a modifier that's pretty rare and I'm not sure how it changes the meaning in this context."

"Oh, okay." Tubbo nodded. "Thanks, Phil."

"Yeah, no problem mate."

They both looked up as Ranboo walked in, surrounded by his seemingly ever-present cloud of endersprites.

"Michael's down for his afternoon nap," he said with a soft smile. "He ate his golden carrots and apple sauce no problem." Ranboo carefully passed a steaming mug of tea to Tubbo, then even more carefully moved one of two mugs in his other hand and held that out for Phil to take.

"Thanks, mate," Phil said.

"If you're hungry, uh… the kitchen here is still empty but I'm sure we could scrounge something up from the house."

Phil nodded and waved a hand. "I'm fine, if I get hungry I brought some food."

"Oh, okay. That's alright then." Ranboo settled back down on the floor, his tail curling around his legs.

Phil looked over at Tubbo. "Which books had information on shark hybrids?"

Tubbo pointed, without looking, at a pile of four books to his left.

Phil dragged them closer with a sigh. There was still a lot of reading to do. He hoped Eret was doing alright with Foolish.

Chapter Text

The past three nights Eret had spent at Foolish's summer home had all featured some fucking weird dreams. None of them made any sense. They were disjointed, and only a fraction of those snippets stuck around after waking up. But… they also felt oddly familiar, those flashes. Almost like pieces of memories, even though they were of places Eret had never been. Even though they all felt old.

Some of them were longer, more detailed. They still felt old and fragmented, but they also carried a sense of… almost, of coming home, strangely enough. Maybe because those ones actually contained one thing Eret could recognize: they all had Foolish.

Not the Foolish Eret knew. The Foolish in Eret's dreams stood golden and tall, maybe Bad's height, and had beautiful wings. Eret loved the wings. Looking at Foolish now, in the waking world, it sometimes felt wrong to see him so small and wingless.

And then… then there were the dreams that involved Foolish that were more… intimate in nature. More than once Eret had woken up in Foolish's nest in the middle of the night, heart racing and hoping desperately Foolish would never notice the panic and excitement flooding Eret's body. Any level of arousal was not a good state to be in around a rutting shark hybrid, especially now that Eret had an inkling of how such an encounter would turn out… if those dreams had any truth to them.

(Whether they did or not, Eret started to be particularly careful about his pair of fins near the base of his tail whenever Foolish needed help with moving. Shark anatomy was weird.)

Eret fiddled with the pair of black-lensed glasses and watched Foolish swim gracefully through the shallow pool. Foolish seemed to be more comfortable with the glasses off—unlike everyone else Eret knew—and it was taking some getting used to.

Eret turned to the stairs with a sigh, and slid the glasses on. At least in the desert, they had a practical use.

It only took a couple of hours to get through the daily chores. Some more ferrets had shown up (although still not a single one ever followed Eret into Foolish's nesting room) and they helped with a few of the chores: mostly the simple tasks that required no heavy lifting. They often perched on a wall and told Eret in their quiet little voices the goings-on elsewhere.

Phil, Ranboo and Tubbo were doing a lot of reading still, on their second day of research. Phil had said so already, the day he'd left, but the ferrets had added an interesting tidbit of info: the books they were reading had been in Foolish's possession until a few weeks ago.

They had little news about the Egg-controlled people. All they could say was there was a lot of activity going on in the Egg's chamber, and reminded Eret the Red Banquet was in two weeks. Eret thanked them for the reminder.

Whatever else they had left to say was trivial, or simply spoken to amuse. Eret enjoyed their company, and their quiet chatter and silly antics. There was only so much time Eret could spend with them, and away from Foolish.

After those two hours of chores, Eret bid them a temporary goodbye and walked down the staircase carrying two servings of a midday meal. Foolish was sitting in his nest room, unclad and still wet from the pool, surrounded by salvaged blankets and some other pieces of soft material Eret had scrounged up. He seemed to be rearranging the makeshift nest, constantly coming back to one worn old blanket Eret had found tucked in a corner of the pool room two days ago.

Eret coughed lightly to get Foolish's attention, and lifted up the platters. "I brought lunch."

Foolish blinked at Eret, then smiled hesitantly and reached out for his food. Eret passed it over and settled on the edge of the raised nesting platform, bending one leg and laying the platter flat on that knee.

Foolish plucked at the old blanket and idly lifted a bite of food to his mouth. "Phil is okay?" he asked suddenly, his voice quiet, deep and rough from general disuse.

Eret swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, Phil is doing alright. If you're worried about his leg, last he's told me it's not hurting at all and the scars are barely visible. It healed well."

Foolish nodded.

"He's working hard to help how he can," Eret continued, figuring it wouldn't hurt. "He and Ranboo and Tubbo have been doing a lot of research. Apparently you helped them out a lot with that."

Foolish turned to look at Eret, clearly questioning that statement.

"Books. You gave a bunch of books to Ranboo and Tubbo, and I've heard a lot were quite useful."

Foolish's eyes widened and he froze. "Oh." He cleared his throat and looked down at his food. "Forgot," he muttered.

The two of them spent the next few minutes just eating.

"Eret?" Foolish began, frustration and determination both clear on his face.

"Mmhm?"

"It's… hard for- hard to talk." Foolish made a motion near his head. "Foggy. Slow. Have to concentrate on-" he made a face- "so much. Sorry."

Eret immediately waved that off. "Don't apologize, Foolish. You take your time when you need to tell me something, and don't worry, okay? I'm not gonna judge you for any of this."

Foolish's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Yeah." He finished the last bite of his meal, then continued. "Tired. Mad body." His fists gathered up handfuls of the blanket, and he snorted. "Hazy… battle. Always." Then he looked at Eret, as though to make sure what he'd said had gotten through.

"Your mind is sluggish, but your thoughts and instincts are still fighting it out," Eret guessed. "Must be one hell of a headache."

Foolish's expression cracked into a real grin. Then he opened his mouth, and frowned.

"Take your time," Eret said gently.

"After… this. After the- the Red Banquet." Foolish caught Eret's gaze. "Talk. We need to talk."

Eret blinked, then nodded slowly. A serious talk was long overdue between them.

Foolish took in a deep breath, then turned away quickly and closed his eyes. A violent shiver shook his whole body, and Eret winced as already-tight muscles corded up. Foolish couldn't quite hide his muffled whimper.

"You alright, Foolish?" Eret asked softly, knowing better than to offer a comforting touch. That was a mistake made only once; Eret felt no need to be thrown to the floor again, pinned by a snarling six-foot shark totem with hunger of all kinds in his emerald eyes.

Foolish seemed to cringe into himself, another shudder wracking his body. This time Foolish stayed silent, although his claws scratched against the stone under the blankets.

"Do you want me to leave, or do you want me to stay? You need to tell me." Eret hoped the question would provide something for him to focus on, but so often when these moments happened Foolish shut down and wouldn't speak.

The shark totem hybrid curled up into a tight ball, burying his face in the old blanket as his arms gathered more of the soft nesting material close to his body. The next shiver brought a strangled groan out of him, and his body didn't relax from its impossibly tense posture.

Eret's mind raced. Leaving Foolish in such a state felt so cruel, but was it Eret's very presence causing the painful tremors? Every other time it had happened (four times in the previous three days) Foolish had asked Eret to leave. He'd had to beg the first time—fighting against both his body and his mind to find the words—because like Eret was struggling now it had felt so wrong to leave a friend in so much pain and distress.

So Eret remained, although feeling just as useless as all the other times. No more painful shudders seemed to hit Foolish, but he was still balled up in a pose that couldn't be comfortable. He stayed like that for minutes on end. Then… Foolish's back, dark grey with thin gold lines of healing scars, slowly regained the softer lines of lax muscles. His pose loosened and his dorsal fin dipped until an edge touched the blanket behind him. His tail shifted, and his limbs unfolded.

Eret breathed out shakily. "Can I put my hand on your shoulder?"

Foolish nodded, after a second. He still flinched under Eret's touch, but didn't react any further.

Eret hoped comfort and concern had been transmitted through. It was all Eret really had to offer.

A few moments after Eret had withdrawn, Foolish spoke. He sounded exhausted, fed up… nearly defeated.

"Do you… understand..."

Eret sat quietly, then realized Foolish was waiting. "Do I understand? Understand… why those tremors happen?" Eret shrugged. Foolish was still turned away, though, so Eret added, "No, I don't."

The sound of breathing filled the silence. Eret was starting to wonder if Foolish had drifted off when he said with a touch of bitterness, "My body... wants you." A pause. "I have to stop it from taking- from taking what it wants. Stop myself. Hard fight. Hurts."

"Oh," Eret breathed. Swallowed. Glanced at the exit then back at Foolish. "I see."

"You don't want- I don't- I'm not-" Foolish huffed out a breath and struggled to sit up. When he turned to face Eret, a slight blush had coloured his face and he wouldn't meet Eret's gaze. Eret could also see fresh tear tracks across his skin.

"Never going to force you. Past… past partners, we talked before. Before rut, before it's time for instincts to take over…" Foolish closed his eyes, swaying a little. "Can't let instincts take over this time," he said quietly. "Don't care what Phil says. Too dangerous."

Eret paused, then offered, "I… I'm glad you're aware of that."

Foolish hummed, still swaying slightly.

Eret's communicator pinged. There was a private message from Phil.

Phil: hey m8 hope it's going well, been learning a lot of shit I wish we knew in the first week of this fucking mess

Before Eret could think of a reply, another message came through.

Phil: apparently Foolish should've been adding gold to his diet for the past three weeks, we need to get on that asap it's part of the reason why he can't keep food down sometimes, and why his instincts get the better of him and he ends up in the cow pen

"Gold?" Eret muttered out loud.

"Gold is good," Foolish said into a blanket. Eret glanced over. He was curled up again, this time facing Eret.

"Are you supposed to be eating gold while rutting?" Eret asked.

Foolish grunted and shrugged. "Prolly. S'pose it… helped in the past."

Eret frowned, mouth open to say something- but the communicator pinged again.

Phil: we should also definitely avoid letting Foolish kill any more cows, apparently while it's natural for shark hybrids to hunt during their mating cycle there's some stuff about ritual sacrifices and blood bonds when it comes to totems lol

Eret: LOL that's not good

Eret: I'll get moving on the gold, thanks for the tip Phil!

Phil: np mate we're all trying our best here

Phil: I'll probably be back tomorrow with all these notes and we can work out an action plan for the last week or two of his rut

Eret: Okay Phil, see you tomorrow!

Eret blinked and directed a very hesitant and shaky grin at the messages. Blood bonds and a diet of gold, hmm?

"Wha' Phil say?" Foolish mumbled, barely audible.

"To get some gold into you," Eret replied, standing.

"Should be a basket. Raw gold nuggets, processed em outta… netherrack. Few weeks ago. Forge, I think." Foolish had his eyes closed, and his lips were barely moving with each word he spoke. "Nap first," he added at a whisper, burying his face into a blanket.

Eret gathered their empty food platters and walked to the bottom of the stairs. Looking back, seeing Foolish curled up in his nest, it stirred that nagging feeling of familiarity. It was getting harder and harder to ignore. Eret could only hope Foolish would have answers in a few weeks, whenever they finally talked.

Eret sighed and climbed the stairs. Answers would just have to wait.

Chapter Text

"Tubbo, no. I'm not letting you do that."

"Tubbo yes," Tubbo replied with a nod and a smile.

"No, Tubbo! It is way too dangerous, so much could fuck up-"

"More dangerous for you," Tubbo retorted mildly, swinging his arms as he hopped over a deep crevasse in the path, lava glowing from below. "Ranboo said so, right Boo?"

"Well, no I said- Tubbo, no, I said he didn't react the same-"

"See? Nothing to worry about Phil!" Tubbo hiked up his pack and looked over his shoulder, grinning at Phil's exasperated expression. "Trust me!"

Ranboo warbled softly. He flicked one of his ears.

"Oh, don't give me that. Ranboo you know it's gonna work out."

Ranboo sighed. "Not really, no. Not really."

"C'mon," Tubbo said, drawing out the word. "Trust in the research at least! We all read the same books. Well-" Tubbo eyed Phil with a disgruntled look- "except for the two a certain someone refused to translate for the rest of us."

Phil sighed. Ranboo sighed. Tubbo smiled. Their trip through the nether was going well.

. . .

"Tubbo, no!" Eret gaped at the teen. "There's no way we can allow that."

Tubbo rolled his eyes and laid belly-down on the dusty cobbled courtyard. His feet hurt from all the walking. Why stand, when he could have this conversation from the floor? Genius idea, in his opinion.

Ranboo settled down on the ground beside him, tucking into his familiar cross-legged tail-wrapped pose with a sigh. A sparse cloud of endersprites covered the ground, and his shoulders, and legs, and head.

"Pretty sure he's made up his mind, mate," Phil told Eret quietly like the easily-swayed adult he was. "Just hear him out. I had to."

Tubbo grinned at Ranboo. Ranboo dragged one hand over his face and gestured for Tubbo to proceed with the other.

Tubbo wormed his way out of the straps of his pack and rolled over onto his back. He folded his hands on his belly, looked up at Eret, and said, "I'm a minor, so of course I don't know what sex is." He ignored Ranboo as he choked on a laugh. "But also, I've done a lot of research on mating cycles, and not just the past two days Eret. I know a lot of obscure facts!"

Eret sent an obvious long-suffering look in Phil's direction, which was honestly not fair. Tubbo had only just started explaining.

"So basically," Tubbo continued, raising his hands, "we've figured out a lot of little changes you two can inpel- impl- inplemate-"

"Implement," Ranboo muttered.

"-but the one Ranboo and I gotta help with is a big one we gotta start doing now. Foolish's rut is giving him all this energy, all this drive to go out and uh…"

"Find someone special," Ranboo suggested.

"Find a mate?" Phil offered.

Eret only offered a strangled sound.

Tubbo nodded, agreeing with all of the above. "Go out and fuck, yeah. But circumstances dictate otherwise I guess, or he just doesn't feel like it, whatever. Either way, he's not using that energy, and it's probably tearing him apart!"

Eret sank down and nodded slowly. Phil looked between the three of them, then folded his arms and stayed standing.

Tubbo sat up and scooted around to face everyone. "So that's why Foolish should have exercise and combat sessions with Ranboo and me. We're both too young to register as rivals like Phil. We all know he'd outright slaughter Phil if given the opportunity, okay, there's no way you can convince me otherwise."

"And what about me?" Eret demanded. "You two are too young, I don't care- I know how capable of a fighter you are, Tubbo; and Ranboo, I assume you must be adept if you're so close with Phil and Technoblade-"

"I don't like fighting," Ranboo interrupted gently, "even though I can. But Eret, c'mon. C'mon. Foolish must have told you- or at least hinted in the last few days you've been here, how he feels about your presence. What his instincts tell him. During a rut, especially- according to the texts we've read, both shark hybrids and totem hybrids follow the instinctive urge to label everyone as a threat, or prey, or mate, or child, or safe. Phil: threat. Me and Tubbo: safe. I doubt his instincts would label you as safe and definitely not a child, and the remaining options… well, none of those would be great to enter into a high-pressure situation, you see? None of them would be great."

Tubbo snickered. Judging by the bright flush taking over Eret's face, Foolish had indeed told Eret—and it probably wasn't threat.

"Fine," Eret finally said in a clipped, guarded tone. "But we're going to need conditions. And safeguards. Backup plans, and… we should definitely talk to Foolish."

Tubbo nodded. He'd already gotten started on a few of those. As exciting as the idea was to finally see Foolish being utterly feral, the problem was Foolish would be utterly feral, and that wasn't particularly safe.

Okay, he'd admit it, if only to himself. This plan was brilliantly stupid and completely dangerous. (So really not too far off from all of his other plans.)

. . .

"Tubbo, no."

Tubbo threw his hands up and groaned. "Why do people keep saying that to me?" he complained loudly. "It's a good idea!"

"Terrible idea," Foolish growled, an emerald eye glaring out from the blankets circling his form. "Dangerous. Idiot."

"That's right, Foolish, you are being an idiot," Tubbo agreed sagely, nodding and putting his hands on his hips. "Glad we could agree with one thing."

"...Fuck off."

Tubbo pretended not to hear. Eret shifted against the pillar they were leaning on.

"So here's the plan, big man. Twice a day, yeah? Morning, we see how much energy you need to get out. I think we'll stick to blunt weapons drills, maybe teach you a thing or two." Tubbo's eyes shone brightly. "I think by the time evening rolls around, you'll need another go at it. Luckily, you've got me and Ranboo, so there should always be someone around to kick your arse."

Foolish lifted himself into a sitting position and glowered at Tubbo. Tubbo grinned back, bouncing lightly on his feet.

"So what d'you think?" Tubbo asked, the moment dragging on too long.

"Stupid idea." Foolish didn't lessen his glare. "I'm not violent. Don't fight."

"Tell that to Phil's leg you nearly tore off," Eret muttered, and both Tubbo and Foolish froze.

"Ouch, man," Tubbo said, not taking his eyes away from Foolish. He'd gotten good at identifying emotions during the many years and many roles he'd lived through, and there were a lot of them crossing over Foolish's face at the moment.

"You're a bit of an open book, y'know," Tubbo told Foolish.

Foolish snorted, and okay, maybe that was fair. But at least he knew he was dealing with a demigod now, one who might actually be old. Older than Phil, even. Tubbo felt he knew more about Foolish than Foolish was aware he knew… and Tubbo was gonna keep it that way.

Eret stepped forward. "Look, Foolish… you know better than everyone else here how badly you need an outlet. The past few days, we've seen it… Phil's seen it, experienced first-hand what happens when… y'know. You don't have control anymore. Don't you want to make sure that doesn't happen again?"

Foolish's eyes flashed. "Of course I do," he snapped. "So what if… it happens with Tubbo? Or Ranboo?" He gathered fistfuls of fabric with a snarl. "Bloodlust will take over, Eret, I-" His voice broke, and he closed his eyes with a grimace.

"Phil's gonna be standing by with his bow and a quiver full of tipped arrows," Tubbo said. "He'll stop you before anything bad happens. Maybe not before I stop you from hurting Ranboo, and vice versa, though." He smiled grimly. "Trust me, we know what we're doing."

"It won't come to that, though," Eret added reassuringly. "Maybe the first day or two will be tricky, but once it's a regular thing I'm sure it'll get easier."

"Well actually-" Tubbo stopped himself, freezing his wide gesture and squinting. Should he mention the likelihood of an increase in predatory tendencies? Should he mention the likelihood of territorial and possessive behaviours? They weren't guaranteed, but a lot of the texts that had anything on totem hybrids (and all of the texts that talked about shark hybrids) mentioned the possibility of at least one of those things happening under these sorts of circumstances. Maybe it would be best to let that slide. For now. The benefits far outweighed those possible downsides.

"Y'know what?" Tubbo spun on his heel and fastened a smile onto his face. "Nevermind! Day one, let's do this, who knows what could happen! Probably something exciting! Nothing terrible! Let's go!"

He walked up the stairs quickly, keeping that smile on his face, and wondered how long it would take Eret to convince Foolish to get out of his nest.

. . .

It took Eret nearly an hour to emerge from the cuddle basement (or nesting room, whatever) with Foolish in tow. Ranboo snickered and put out a hand, and both Phil and Tubbo grumbled as they passed over the few emeralds they'd found in their pockets and packs.

"They were your emeralds anyway," Tubbo told Ranboo, and Phil gasped in mock outrage before laughing at Ranboo's expression.

Eret walked up to them, clearly not up to asking what they found so funny, which was understandable but also a shame. Foolish hung back, looking shiftier than usual.

"Okay, boys!" Phil clapped his hands together. "Looks like it's game time."

"Foolish wants you both wearing your armour," Eret said. "And you can wear a weapon at your side, but as we agreed earlier you're all to be fighting with sparring sticks. I'll go fetch those, I know where Foolish keeps the hardwood staves."

A few moments after Eret left for the training weapons and Phil left for something else, Tubbo leaned over to Ranboo and whispered, "Is that a euphemism?"

"Is that a- what?! No, Tubbo, no, it was not a euphemism, I think they were being completely literal, Prime-"

Tubbo shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? Especially considering the circumstances, like-"

"Tubbo…" Ranboo had his warning voice on. "Just- ohhh-kay. Just- okay. No. Tubbo go put your armour on, just for that you're going first I swear to Prime."

Tubbo snickered and offered an unapologetic shrug as he went to put his armour on.

A few minutes later the two of them were geared up, and Eret was leading them and Foolish over to the fancy courtyard with a giant colourful design on the floor. Tubbo waved at the stark silhouette of Phil perched on the top of the structure bordering the whole area. The late afternoon sun was behind him, casting his long shadow across the quartz and sandstone.

Foolish still hadn't said anything as he collected his pair of sparring sticks from Eret and walked over to the eastern side of the courtyard. Ranboo hung back, leaning against a massive pillar, and Tubbo grabbed the pair of sticks Eret was holding out.

Eret turned to call Foolish to the middle. The shark totem was staring towards his beacon in the Temple's pyramid, then glanced over at his name and wandered back.

Eret studied the both of them with a narrow gaze. "We all know what we're doing, yes?"

They both nodded, Foolish far less enthusiastically than Tubbo.

Eret turned to Tubbo. "Don't make us regret this." Glanced to Foolish. "Please, at least give it a try." Then Eret stepped back and waved a hand.

Tubbo beamed at Foolish, who shifted in place and didn't raise either of his sticks. Tubbo rested his own on his respective shoulders, then bounced on his toes. "What footwork style do you go for?" Tubbo asked him. "Three-point? Four-point? Or linear?"

Curiosity sparked in Foolish's eyes. He cleared his throat, swallowed, then said, "Been a long while. Not practiced any of those."

Tubbo raised his eyebrows. Did that mean he knew all three fighting styles? "Well three-point is fun, we can start with the basic six-step foundation drill!" Then, because it was a fun idea and thoughts of self-preservation were rarely at the forefront of his mind, Tubbo swung and aimed a blow for Foolish's shoulder.

Foolish blocked it easily, slipping immediately into form. They both paused, each of them drawing their sticks back to rest at their shoulders.

Tubbo laughed softly, then moved into the next form, slowly this time. Their sticks clacked together, barely any force behind either of their blows, and the same went for the next few moves.

They went through the steps methodically, rotating constantly around each other without stumbling or slipping up in form. After what must have been minutes of the same thing Foolish started to increase the tempo, and Tubbo was only too happy to respond. Pretty soon their movements were a blur as their sticks audibly whirred through the air, making contact with sharp cracks.

"Switch it up," Tubbo managed to gasp between panted breaths, and Foolish parried rather than met his next strike before backing off.

Tubbo stepped back, laughing breathlessly, then readied his sticks and started the next series of moves. Foolish matched him easily, his movements smooth and effortless like he hadn't gone a day without practice. It didn't take long for Tubbo to begin to feel the strain in his muscles, and the evening desert heat meant he was sweating hard under his armour.

He called for a break after two more sequences. The lower edge of the sun's disk was touching the hills of the western horizon. Both of them were panting harshly, although Foolish didn't look like he'd broken a sweat at all. Maybe he just didn't sweat.

Tubbo pried his helmet off and plodded over to Ranboo, grinning widely. Ranboo pushed a hand against Tubbo's chest, keeping him at an arm's distance.

"Stay back, you're all sweaty. Ew."

"I'm a sweaty boy," Tubbo agreed. "It's fucking hot, Boo. We're in the desert." He paused, and eyed the cluster of endersprites clinging to Ranboo's shoulders. "There's a lot of them today, huh?"

Ranboo shrugged, displacing the sprites. They fell for a second, then floated up waving their tiny limbs and emitting the smallest of shiny purple particles. A few clung onto his hair. Most remained hovering behind him.

"They're worried about you. And Foolish. And me. And… and Eret and Phil, they-"

"So, everyone. They're just worried."

"Mmhm, that's exactly it. That's exactly it. Yep."

"They should try not to worry some time," Tubbo suggested.

Ranboo sighed and offered him a canister of water. Tubbo drank from it gratefully.

They both glanced over to Foolish, who was crouched on the far end of the courtyard, his head lowered and his tail pressed to the floor for balance. They could see the fading shine of gold lines all over his body and lit by the rays of the setting sun, shifting with each breath he took.

"He never struck me as the sort who'd… y'know," Tubbo began, his voice a lot quieter. "I guess… I don't know. It's just weird. Seeing him like this."

"Yeah." Ranboo shifted in place. Then he laughed nervously. "There's been moments, times where I thought, 'oh, this is what it looks like when he's lost it,' like that whole debacle with the chandelier I told you about. But those were nothing like this. And we were never around for the bad parts, like Phil was."

"It's pretty messed up. Yesterday, Phil said Foolish kinda forced himself into a worst-case scenario with his rut." Tubbo tapped one of the sticks against his leg. "But it's getting better. I mean, if it wasn't, or if Foolish wasn't as good at controlling himself-" Tubbo grimaced- "we'd know."

Ranboo's tail flicked, and he sighed heavily. "Phil's lucky Eret showed up," he mumbled. "But Eret's even luckier Foolish rarely loses himself. Completely, I mean. Phil mentioned the attack was the only time. I know you read what I read, about…"

"About shark hybrids utterly losing their shit, even if things aren't too bad? Yeah." Tubbo paused. "He's a demigod though. From what Phil has and… and hasn't said, he's been around for a long time. He's had a lot of practice at not losing his shit."

A few endersprites settled on Tubbo's armoured shoulder. They all watched as Foolish slowly stood up, his back turned to them, then left his sparring sticks on the ground and walked towards his temple.

"I guess fight practice is over," Ranboo observed, a hint of relief evident in his voice. 

Tubbo grunted. "You're up tomorrow morning," he reminded Ranboo. He snickered as Ranboo's face immediately fell.

Eret and Phil joined them at the edge of the courtyard, Phil leaning his bow against the wall and Eret staring at Foolish's receding back.

"I should go after him, make sure he's alright," Eret said, stepping forward.

Phil reached out and snagged Eret's sleeve. "Nah, mate. Leave him be. Go to him tomorrow morning if he hasn't gone back to the nest overnight. He needs some time to recharge with that beacon."

Eret stopped, but remained silent for a long moment. With a posture that remained stiff and tense Eret turned and faced the rest of them. 

"You better make sure you get some sleep too," Ranboo suggested.

Tubbo agreed. Eret looked properly exhausted.

Eret sighed and looked away. "Yeah, I'll… I'll try."

Chapter Text

Foolish stood in the middle of his temple, in the beam of energy, his eyes closed and his head tipped back, and drew in a deep breath. The light of the beacon, scattered and reformed into the brilliant green of lifeforce, surrounded him entirely. He basked in its all-encompassing glow. The energy coursed through his body, through his entire being—he was barely an obstacle in the torrent.

Here, his mind was quieted. His mortal senses were dulled. The green current overwhelmed all that. It drowned him, saturated him to his core until it touched his very self with all the gentleness of a lightning strike.

Foolish found much comfort in that sensation.

As his self recharged and his body fell into a state of rest, Foolish's mind drifted. His thoughts were still scattered and slow; even here he couldn't escape his rut. But he was alone. He was safe. He would be unbothered for as long as he remained in his temple. He didn't need to worry about his mortal mind and body and their reactions, their urges. He could drift, aimless and not held down.

He was too worn out to cast his mind into the world, ride the winds and play among the currents of life as XD had taught his species hundreds of years ago. So he drifted, and waited. Thoughts came to him gradually, floating through layers of consciousness until he became aware of them.

It hurt, so much, to have Eret so close. To have Eret care for him—as a friend, and not a mate. He knew he'd let old wounds fester. He'd been so good at ignoring them, ignoring the pain and filling the void Eret had left, with… with death and bloodshed, at first. Next, with self-hatred. Then, with the single-minded drive to create and repent. But Eret was here and not only did that mean Foolish had to face old unhealed wounds, it meant those wounds were being lanced. Becoming fresh, once again. Cut open with the sharp edge of reality.

It hurt. 

Healing often did.

His mind had always bled memories. There were so many that included Eret; he could never avoid those entirely. Sometimes he could talk about them, as he had with Eret once or twice. Maybe the first time, when it had been revealed Eret truly did not remember Foolish, he had felt that familiar old ache return… 

It hadn't been until then that Foolish realized had how much had changed. 

But maybe… maybe that was okay. Change was inevitable; Foolish hadn't lived thousands of lifetimes to not know that. For a while, centuries ago, Eret had been the only thing in his existence that was a constant. Then suddenly, abruptly, Eret was no longer beside him.

And then, then, somehow, the fates smiled upon them and Foolish was reunited with Eret. However the fates were never so kind and of course, Eret had lost all memory of him. Of course, Eret no longer held any of the sentiment and feelings Foolish had been harbouring for three hundred bitter and painful years. Eret was not, and likely never would be, the Eret Foolish had lost. Even if all memories were regained tomorrow, the relationship they had once had would not return.

But Foolish would rather have Eret in his life and be treated as a new friend, than not at all.

Change was inevitable. If the world had decided Foolish and Eret no longer needed that old, complex and indescribable relationship (so much more than partners, than dear friends, than lovers, than confidants) and could live with a far simpler love, then Foolish would adapt.

He knew he could. He knew he would. Eret was worth it.

. . .

A lantern, its wick trimmed low, cast wavering warm light across the small makeshift table strewn with papers and tucked into a corner of the snake structure. Eret was perched on a chest serving as a seat on one end of the table, while Phil was leaning over the table in search of a specific page. Gentle snores issued from the loft-like second floor above them, where Tubbo and Ranboo had set up their bedrolls and fallen asleep hours ago. Even gentler snores were coming from a pile of curled-up ferrets nestled around a crow.

"Here it is," Phil said in the same quiet voice they'd both been using all night. He brandished a piece of paper with haphazard scrawls, then settled awkwardly on another chest across from Eret and began to read.

"Totem gods are actually uhh... a demigod species caught between mortals and gods … often require an energy source… they choose an Aspect in the mortal realm that binds them here … can change Domains and as such compete with minor deities… " Phil rubbed his forehead before flipping to the other side of the paper. He cleared his throat. "Like most godlike beings residing in a mortal body, the urge to create is heightened during a mating cycle. Totems will typically direct this natural buildup of lifeforce into a physical totem relic, resulting in the creation of a child totem . At the age of five the child will either successfully bind with an Aspect, or die ." Phil slumped in his seat, then continued. "It is more difficult, although not uncommon, for a totem to create new life completely outside of their mortal body's mating season."

Eret slowly leaned forward, looking a little dazed. "So Junior…?"

"Yeah."

"And you think he'll want to… have another kid? Make another kid?"

Phil cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Does he have totems available? He's a totem god… demigod, whatever; he must have them lying around."

Phil made a sound awfully close to a strangled enderman. "I don't think he does. Puffy told me a few weeks ago how she delivered Junior. Before Junior was alive."

"Delivered makes it sound a lot weirder," Eret muttered.

Phil raised his hands. "Hey, don't blame me. She used that word first."

"So what can we do?"

"Maybe Ranboo could spare one. We'll have to ask him tomorrow."

Eret nodded, distantly aware of a looming headache. All this information, so much was new and Eret had to take it all in…

"And then… there's these books," Phil said, dragging Eret's attention back to him. He set down two small volumes and laid a hand on top of them. "Can you read Galactic? Or Tradespeak? Old Common?"

Eret frowned. "No, I can't. Maybe a little bit of Old Common?"

"How about Ender? Or any of the ancient dialects before they became Old Common?"

At Eret's headshake, Phil sighed and drew the books closer to himself. "Okay, well, this first one goes deep into detail about living totems. Apparently there's some key differences between old gods that are totems by choice, new gods created from the totem relic, the demi-god species that we think Foolish is, and then totem hybrids that have lost or were never born or created with an ounce of godhood. The whole thing is very information-heavy, written like a bunch of scholars penned it. It's very thorough, very detailed. Very dangerous for Foolish, if it gets into the wrong hands."

Eret raised an eyebrow. "Is that the book Tubbo kept complaining about? The one you weren't translating for them?"

Phil nodded. "That, and this one." He slid out the smaller second book and opened it to the first page. It looked like a personal journal, with a loose and tumbling script filling the page, little notes crowding the edges and the occasional odd doodle overlapping a word or two.

"It says you wrote this, Eret," Phil said, and Eret's mind stuttered to a halt.

"What?" There was no way.

"Right here," Phil turned the book around to face Eret and tapped a brief line of script on the back of the front cover. "It's in an old mountain dialect of Tradespeak. It says 'Eret, a Child of Herobrine.' More or less. And it's clearly done in the same handwriting as the rest of the journal." Phil looked up, and Eret met his eyes through dark-tinted lenses. "I skimmed through it before I saw the signature, Eret, and there's… Foolish was mentioned a lot. There's a lot of personal things, stuff I really think you should talk to Foolish about."

Eret gingerly took the journal, flipping the page and scanning the foreign words. The language was unfamiliar. There was no sudden understanding, no miraculous return of memory. Not even a snippet or a glimmer.

"Also mentions the Wither Cult," Phil murmured, no longer looking at Eret.

Eret frowned and closed the journal. "The what?" Foolish had mentioned that a few months ago, when they were working together to clear some of the bloodvines. He'd said something about defeating the Wither Cult… hadn't he?

"I think that's another thing to talk to him about," Phil said softly after a long moment of silence. "And maybe… hmm. No, nevermind." Phil closed his eyes, suddenly looking very weary.

"There's been times where Foolish seemed to know far more about me than anyone should," Eret said after a brief pause. "He calls me his old friend. He's… he mentioned the Wither Cult, once. He seems to think I've lost a whole chunk of memory, time I've spent with him, but-" Eret stopped, unsure if it would be wise to continue. There was no way he was missing a whole lifetime's worth of memories of adventuring and companionship with a literal god. That's the sort of thing someone remembers.

"That's alright, mate. You two just need to sit down one day and talk. Maybe he'll have all the answers you need."

Eret nodded, agreeing hesitantly. They had both decided, after all, that a talk was long overdue. Now it was only a matter of waiting for Foolish's rut to be over.

Chapter Text

Loud whoops, shrieks and giggles rang through the early morning air, rousing Phil from his sleep. He moved his wing away from his face and squinted at the trio of crows perched on the chest next to his bed roll. They squinted back.

How he'd managed to get the three quietest crows to serve as his morning wake-up call, he didn't know.

All it took was a cursory glance to realize everyone else was up, and probably out causing the racket. Phil rubbed at his face with a sigh, then changed into the day's clothes and walked out to the water pump to quickly freshen up before he joined them.

It wasn't at all hard to find the group. Between the unending noise and his crows (who were constantly flying up into the sky then diving down), Phil had rounded the tail of the cobra and found them easily. What took him far longer was understanding just what he was seeing.

Foolish was sitting cross-legged in the centre, laughing openly and loudly in a way Phil hadn't heard or seen in ages. He had a small basket next to him, but Phil couldn't see what was inside—although it was probably raw gold nuggets, judging by the sparse but organized line of Foolish's small worker beings passing handfuls of just that to deposit into the basket. Eret was sitting across from Foolish, grinning and watching as Tubbo and Ranboo scrambled around. The two teens were throwing things up in the air and the crows seemed to be catching whatever it was-

A crow fluttered down to Phil, landed on his shoulder, and dropped a gold nugget in his palm.

Phil blinked, then looked back up as everyone cheered.

A little golden creature- wait, no. It was Junior, tumbling around Ranboo's legs and tripping over Tubbo's feet, squealing and flapping his tiny little wings, waving a particularly large piece of raw gold. Then the toddler plopped down on the dusty cobble and chomped away at the metal tidbit.

A glittering gold nugget tumbled through the cawing flock of crows, and another cheer broke out as Foolish deftly caught it in his mouth. The god let out a whoop, but caught Phil's eyes and his smile immediately faded.

Phil stiffened. Maybe he shouldn't be here, he should give Foolish space-

Then Foolish leaned back on his hands and offered him a grin.

Phil could tell there were some complex emotions hidden behind that smile, but it was still a genuine smile—more than he'd received from Foolish for days.

Eret turned and raised a hand. "Hey, good morning Phil! There's some breakfast waiting for you over there. We've all eaten, take what you need."

He sat with the rest of the group and ate breakfast eagerly, sometimes joining in on the conversations (and always cheering when someone caught a gold nugget), but not taking too much time away from the food. He could tell the… the doozers? He was pretty sure that’s what they were called, and he could tell they had fixed up the breakfast because every bite was near-about perfect. The egg toast was golden-brown, the apples were crisp and sweet, and the cheese wasn’t greasy despite the heat. Even the water was welcome and refreshing, although Phil preferred washing food down with a good cup of ale.

At one point Junior wandered over and held out his little golden hands, clearly asking Phil to hold him. Since Foolish was watching and didn't look at all concerned, Phil set down his plate and took the young child into his arms. Junior grinned toothily and placed a hand on Phil's cheek, then babbled something that made Phil instantly regret picking Junior up.

"Aww, he likes you!" Foolish cooed.

"What language was that?" Tubbo asked.

Phil was starting to feel remorse for having eaten all that delicious food so quickly. "That was in Godspeak," he croaked. "Junior just said my soul looks tasty."

Tubbo and Ranboo both just laughed. Foolish was also clearly amused, but Phil guessed it was more by his reaction than by anything else. Eret, at least, had the decency to look almost as unsettled as Phil felt.

Phil set Junior down, and stared at his remaining food.

He was still hungry, even after that.

Once the doozers had collected Phil’s empty plate, Foolish drew Phil aside with a light touch to his shoulder, not quite meeting his gaze. Phil looked to Eret, who gestured for him to go with a nod. The rest of the group were already heading up to the temple courtyard, Junior clinging onto Ranboo’s leg as the lanky teen hobbled behind a cackling Tubbo.

Phil followed Foolish, and they both came to a stop alongside the flank of the cobra structure.

"Phil, I…" Foolish paused. "I have a lot of things to say, and I want- I need to start with-"

"If you're about to apologize, mate, don't." Phil crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the shark totem. "There's no reason for you to."

Foolish laughed softly, a little bitterly, and shook his head. "Phil, I nearly killed you. Don't brush that off. Don't give me an out. And don't say I had no control over my actions—even if that was true, it shouldn't mean I can't be held accountable. There were so many choices I made before that night that led to me hunting you."

"But you weren't in control," Phil protested. "I saw it, I… I was an idiot and I challenged your rights to the kill. You reacted. It was all instinct."

Foolish met his gaze and studied him for a long moment. "One way or another, I'm always in control, Phil." His lips curled, but there was no amusement behind the expression. "What you saw was who I am when I don't care. It’s easy to call that “losing control.” Easier for me; easier for everyone. Maybe you've experienced that personally, too. You're what, a few thousand years old?"

Phil shrugged, frowning. "I don't know," he replied truthfully. "I've lost count."

"We've both lived long enough to see—really see—how much or how little effect a simple action can have. Death can change so little. It can also change the entire course of history. But either way, what does it matter, when you'll simply outlive it all?"

Phil swallowed and looked away. He wasn't going to admit it, but he knew Foolish was right. There had been times—some not too long ago—when he'd cared very little about the lives he might have been affecting. He might've been ending.

"You understand." It wasn't a question, and there was a measure of sadness in Foolish's voice.

"Yes," Phil replied softly. He looked up. "And I accept your apology."

Foolish blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. And I hope you'll accept mine."

"Phil, you don't-"

Phil scoffed and raised his eyebrows. "We've both lived long enough, Foolish, to know that blame should never fall on a single party. If you're saying you should have done better, then so am I. We both made mistakes, we both fucked up. You were hurting and I couldn't help—and I didn't do much to get you help. So I'm sorry, too."

Foolish looked at him, then smiled. "Thank you, Phil. And thank you for the help you did give me. Thank you for listening, and for being here."

"Sure thing, mate," Phil mumbled, but he returned Foolish's smile with one of his own. "And it's great seeing you so much better. Now… I think you have a sparring session to attend?"

Foolish sighed heavily, and his shoulders slumped. "Yeah." He flashed a sharp grin at Phil. "Maybe you'd like to do the next one. I promise I won't try to kill you again."

Phil sucked in a breath between his teeth. "Mmm… don't know about that one, Foolish. Maybe I'll take you up on it once your rut is all out of your system."

Foolish snickered and patted him on the shoulder. “Sure thing, old man.”

Phil rolled his eyes at him. “I’m practically a child compared to you,” he groused, “why am I still called the oldest here.”

Foolish just laughed as he started to walk towards the temple courtyard.

. . .

Ranboo was an interesting sparring partner, Foolish decided as he blocked the next strike from the enderman child. For someone so young, not even three decades old, he was remarkably skilled. He also seemed to switch between a couple of fighting styles—not techniques, but rather his behaviour changed. Sometimes he was defensive and calculated, only to change it up a few minutes later to a fighter who moved with pure instinct. It made Foolish all the more glad he had a handle on his rut today, and that they were only doing simple drills again.

When Eret called for a break, Ranboo smiled at Foolish and inclined his head. “You fight well,” he said in Ender.

Foolish dipped his head in return. “As do you, Warrior,” he replied, smiling at the pleased surprise that crossed Ranboo’s face at the title Foolish had used for him.

After the brief break for water, Foolish waved off Ranboo’s offer for round two. He had a lot to catch up on, and he wanted to get a start on some of it—especially the preparations for the Red Banquet. Before his rut had disrupted all his plans he’d mostly finished sorting out his attire for the event, but he did have the engravings to finish for the pocket watches he wanted to give to a few of his friends. He also needed to bottle some ambrosia. He couldn’t forget that.

(As much as he wanted to believe the egg people were truly ‘turning over a new leaf,’ he wasn’t going into that banquet blindly trusting them.)

The day passed quickly, full of busy little tasks he threw himself into with cheer, a healthy number of breaks interspersed between them. He spent a lot of time with Junior, too; his son was starting to learn some Common on top of the Godspeak he already knew, and at some point Tubbo joined them. He had a knack for teaching languages to a child.

(Foolish was sure both Tubbo and Ranboo sorely missed Michael, who was still back in Snowchester with Tommy looking over him. He made sure to suggest setting up a playdate between the two children—after the Banquet of course, and the time and day was always their choice.)

Later that evening Eret found him in one of the rooms under his temple, leaning over a large drafting table with a piece of graphite and a ruler.

“What’re you drawing up now?” Eret asked from the doorway, voice soft and muffled by the rows and rows of shelves holding old and dusty blueprint scrolls, and bookcases that were stuffed full of volumes in every language.

Foolish looked up and smiled. He stepped to the side and gestured Eret over. “You’re welcome to take a look. I’d started the plans a month ago, but… obviously, haven’t been able to work on it again until now.”

Eret walked over and stared down at the plan, lit in the soft golden light of an oil lamp hanging over the table. “Is this… for your portal?”

“Yup.”

“Do you need a portal that large?”

“Nope,” Foolish replied, popping the ‘p.’

“Huh. Well,” Eret slid the tinted lenses off and leaned closer. “It sure looks impressive on paper.”

“Trust me,” Foolish said happily, “it’ll look so much cooler once I build it.”

Eret looked up at him with a soft smile. “I’ll look forward to seeing it, then.”

. . .

Eret gazed at the sunset over the dusty golden-grassed savanna across the river, eyes tracing the sweeping dark purple clouds that split swathes of orange and rose and bright yellow. Distant birds were singing their farewell songs to the sun, and in the growing dusk one of the desert foxes screamed.

The smell of hot sand and cooling air wafted by on a lazy breeze. Eret sighed.

Foolish was finally doing better. It had taken so much work, so much worry and stress and time. But he was improving, he was even nearly back to normal—or what amounted to his normal.

When Foolish had shown up that morning after the first sparring session with Tubbo, after he’d spent the night in his temple and come back with… well, it had been like the past few weeks hadn’t even happened. He was no longer semi-verbal and only strong enough to walk from one place to another unless rut-fueled; he was laughing and joking and eating willingly. For the last three days Eret and Phil had been waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Foolish to worsen once again… but that never happened. In fact, he was only improving.

Eret knew it wasn’t just the beacon beam in the temple that changed things. Gold, a nest, the sparring, Eret’s stubborn refusal to let Foolish skip a meal—not to mention Foolish was undoubtedly, and finally, nearing the end of his rut—had all been helping factors. Even having Junior wreak havoc for the past three days seemed to have helped, and Eret was glad for the chance to get to know Foolish’s little son.

The last rays of sunset disappeared, leaving only a golden glow on the western horizon.

A part of Eret wished nothing would change from this moment, or from these past few days. It felt like the calm before a storm, even though they’d all just made it through a tempest. It felt peaceful, and it felt right. Even if Eret never got answers from Foolish, this felt like a good life to live. It was a far simpler life than the one that awaited the return of the Greater Kingdom’s monarch.

The glow on the horizon was now a pale blue. Stars were appearing in the sky: tiny scattered points of silver in a velvet blanket of deep indigo.

Eret climbed down from the cobra structure’s left head and went to find an available bedroll. Tomorrow, Eret would be leaving Foolish’s desert home and returning to the castle and to Community, returning to all the duties and responsibilities. A copy of the documents Eret had originally travelled all the way here for was tucked safely away in Eret’s enderchest. Eret’s small travel bag was packed and ready.

Eret felt far from ready, but it was time to leave—and it was time to prepare for the Banquet.

. . .

HBomb stepped through the purple veil of the portal, breathing a sigh of relief as the cool morning air washed over him. It was one of the few things he still missed back home at his mansion in the savannah; hot and dusty was a given there, so this change was always refreshing. He only got to experience it when he had to make the trip to Community and its large market. The village just a short walk from his mansion supplied a lot of his needs, but not everything.

He rubbed his eyes, his head still aching from last night’s hangover, then moved along the paved stone walkway that led towards the town centre. The portal wasn’t busy this early in the day, as most people—aside from the wealthiest merchants who could afford the guards and the risk—preferred to use the roads in the overworld rather than risk passage in the nether. He couldn’t blame them.

The closer he got to the town square and the open courtyard of the community building, the thicker the crowd became. There were small vendor carts lining the wooden walkways and paved stone streets, having arrived too late to find a place in the proper market just past the centre. While the town wasn’t exactly small, most people who bought and sold in the market travelled in every day from the surrounding small villages. This town had a reputation for… a certain level of unpredictability, and thus the average Greater Kingdom citizen preferred to make their home and their living near but not in the town.

Speaking of the Greater Kingdom. HBomb stared down the widest of the paved roads, the one that led to the castle. As always, the gate in the thick stone wall was open and a steady stream of citizens were trickling in. A lot of them would be looking for an audience from whoever was serving as the Justicer now that Eret was off on some unofficial visit who-knows-where.

Then he squinted. On the top of the wall, overlooking the crowds, two tiny figures stood between the massive stone parapets. A moment later they disappeared.

HBomb frowned. From his brief time as a sworn Knight, he knew very few people were allowed up there. Then he shrugged and turned away. It wasn’t any of his business now.

He'd only visited a few of the merchants he needed when a familiar voice and a heavy hand clapping onto his shoulder interrupted him.

“HBomb! It’s been a while, how come you haven’t stopped by to say hey?”

(He knew she was teasing, he could hear it in her voice, but it still smarted a bit. A lot of things smarted a bit, nowadays—or maybe it was the isolation talking. Maybe he wasn’t used to… friends. Not anymore. Prime, he could use a drink.)

HBomb turned with a grin. “Hi Puffy, how’s it going?” He’d actually nearly run across her two weeks ago, but she’d looked very stressed and obviously preoccupied and while HBomb always wanted to help his friends out, he hated interrupting anyone who looked concerned with far more important matters.

“Oh, it’s going.” She laughed lightly, and HBomb couldn’t help but smile a little. She still looked a little worried, but a huge weight had clearly been lifted from her since he’d last seen her.

“I just met up with Eret,” she continued. “Foolish is finally doing well enough, so Eret’s back now.”

HBomb frowned and stepped off to the side, away from the bustling crowd. “Is that where Eret went? And what was wrong with Foolish, was he sick?”

Puffy stared at him, clearly shocked silent. Her ears were even pinned back. HBomb gulped. Had he said something wrong? Was it not something he should’ve asked about, should he just-

His expression must have given something away, because Puffy laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. “I just assumed you would’ve known. Prime. You really didn’t hear?”

HBomb stared at her.

"About Foolish?" she added, and her tone really was hinting something but HBomb sure as heck wasn't picking it up.

Oh, how he adored feeling like an idiot in front of his friends. He could really use a drink right now. It was a good thing that was the second merchant he went to; his pack was heavy with bottled alcohol.

"What about Foolish?" he finally asked.

Puffy pushed her thickly-curled hair away from her face, hooking most of it behind her horns, and breathed out. Then she beckoned him down one of the small side-streets, away from the crowded market.

"Foolish has been rutting for the past twenty-five days," she told him once they got to a quiet and empty corner. "Eret and Phil had to help him through it- not like how I'm making it sound though, Prime, this is- Foolish was in a bad spot and not taking care of himself. Not eating, not moving… or moving too much… eating a whole cow…"

(That last one was muttered under her breath and HBomb was mostly certain he'd heard her wrong. There was absolutely no way anyone could eat an entire cow, no matter how hungry or how determined they were. It was simply impossible.)

Then the number of days clicked in his mind. That day he'd offered his very specific services to Foolish… 

"Oh Prime," he said, suddenly feeling queasy. "Did I trigger his rut?"