Work Text:
People knew very little about Unstable’s smartest player.
For one, Parrot was indeed a bookworm. This everyone knows. He spends hours reading books—-may it be in his bedroom, the living room, or whichever place he chooses to read. However, what people didn’t know was that, above every other genre, Parrot prefers romance.
Over non-fiction.
Over thrillers.
Over mystery.
And, most shockingly, over philosophy.
That was a universal truth.
Parrot was also a hopeless romantic—another fact the world would never know, aside from his parents.
He would babble on and on about some romantic gesture a character made—how it sent his heart racing, filled his stomach with fluttering butterflies, and left him chasing that same thrilling feeling long after he’d finished reading.
This does not mean that he does not have a vast range when it comes to reading, after all, he still needs to have knowledge in certain topics.
While reading a new book, Parrot found himself intrigued. It wasn’t unusual for the avian to become engrossed in one of his romance novels, but this time, something specific caught his attention.
A detail about avians.
More specifically, it spoke of an old courtship tradition practiced by his race called ‘serenading’.
According to the book, avians in love would sing beneath their beloved’s window late into the night, offering carefully chosen songs as a confession of devotion. Some wrote their own melodies, while others borrowed ancient ballads passed down through generations. The more sincere the performance, the more meaningful the gesture was considered.
Just reading about it made Parrot’s heart swoon!
It was intimate. Vulnerable. Deeply romantic.
That alone was enough to convince Parrot that he absolutely needed to try this tradition with his lovely wife—though, for the sake of his survival, Wemmbu should never find out that Parrot referred to him as his wife in his own thoughts. He would very much want to live for longer.
Wanting to know more about such a moving tradition, he decides to approach the only person he knows he is comfortable talking about romances with: His father, Grian.
Another thing the world would never know was that Parrot’s father was the beloved red hermit, Grian.
The man had always been Parrot’s rock—guiding him through the painfully embarrassing stages of adolescence, made infinitely worse by strange avian instincts and bodily behaviors, listening patiently as Parrot rambled on about how wonderful Wemmbu was, all flowers and rainbows spilling from his mouth without restraint, and so much more.
Frankly, aside from Theo and Wifies, Grian was Parrot’s best friend.
And he also was Parrot’s personal avian culture and behavior wikipedia so there’s that.
Knocking on the front door of his dad’s house—-it was rather small for the usual grandeur his builds usually have—-Parrot adjusted the book tucked beneath his arm and waited patiently.
He could already hear movement inside.
A loud crash followed shortly after.
“Is everything okay in there?” Parrot called out, not even remotely concerned.
“Absolutely!” Grian shouted back.
Another crash.
He must be either doing a redstone contraption—-Parrot simply doesn’t know why he couldn’t just rely on his other dad for redstone—or playing around with TNT.
Parrot sighed fondly.
A few moments later, the door swung open to reveal Grian himself, feathers slightly ruffled and red sweater noticeably wrinkled as if he had just lost a fight.
“Hey, bud!” Grian greeted brightly, like nothing had happened at all. “What brings you here?”
Parrot held up the book. “I have questions.”
Grian gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “You came to me for wisdom? I’m honored.”
“You are literally the only avian I trust enough to ask.”
“That is both flattering and mildly concerning. I trust that you have friends, yeah?”
He offered no reply.
Parrot followed his father inside, immediately making himself comfortable on the couch while Grian disappeared into the kitchen, most likely to make tea despite the fact that neither of them had actually asked for any. Must be a British thing.
“So,” Grian began from the other room, “what life-changing discovery have you made this time?”
Parrot opened the book to the folded page he had marked earlier.
“Serenading,” he answered.
The clattering from the kitchen stopped.
There was a long, suspicious silence.
Then Grian slowly peeked his head around the doorway, eyes sparkling with a dangerous amount of amusement.
“Oh.” he said. “This is about Wemmbu, isn’t it?”
Parrot immediately felt heat crawl up his face.
“No?” He lied weakly.
Grian’s grin widened.
“Parrot.” He walked back into the living room carrying two mugs of tea. “You are holding a romance novel upside down.”
Parrot now looked less of a beautiful colorful bird and more of a burnt chicken covered in ketchup.
“Yes, it is,” he admitted, burying his face into his hands for a moment before peeking through his fingers. “I really want to try serenading Wemmbu. Imagine how romantic it’d be! He’d look so pretty all flustered and—”
“I might have to stop you there, my little birdie.” Grian interrupted, barely containing his amusement.
Parrot groaned dramatically while Grian set the mugs down on the table.
“It is true that serenading is part of avian culture,” Grian explained, settling onto the couch beside him. “especially when it comes to courtship traditions. But if you genuinely want to do this, you need to understand what it actually means and the procedures."
Parrot blinked. “What do you mean?”
Grian leaned back against the couch, expression softening slightly.
“For avians, serenading isn’t just singing a love song under someone’s window because they’re attractive.” He paused. “Well, sometimes it starts that way, but traditionally, it’s much deeper than that.”
Parrot listened carefully.
“It’s vulnerable.” Grian continued. “You’re presenting your voice—your emotions—completely unguarded to someone you love. In older avian culture, serenading was considered a declaration of trust as much as affection.”
Parrot’s feathers puffed slightly at that.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. ‘Oh,’” Grian echoed with a laugh. “There are different meanings depending on the song, too. Some are playful courting songs, some are confessions, and others…” He took a sip of tea. “Others are practically equivalent to saying I want a future with you.”
The redness returned to Parrot’s face almost immediately.
“Oh my god.”
“Relax,” Grian snickered. “I highly doubt Wemmbu knows enough avian traditions to accidentally misunderstand you.” His grin turned positively devious. “Though, considering Dream is also an avian, he might end up explaining it to him. You are technically asking for Dream’s and Techno’s permission to date him, after all.”
Parrot blinked.
“Huh?” he said intelligently. “What do you mean?”
Grian stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter at the sheer horror beginning to form on his son’s face.
“Parrot,” he wheezed, “did you seriously think avians made dramatic public confessions just for romance? Just for the sake of it?”
“I THOUGHT IT WAS A LOVE SONG.”
“It is a love song!”
“THEN WHY ARE PARENTS INVOLVED?!”
“Because serenading, for avians, is formal courtship,” Grian explained, finally calming down enough to speak properly. “Not only toward the person themselves, but toward their family as well. You’re basically announcing that your intentions are serious—-serious enough that you want to seek approval for marriage.”
Parrot looked moments away from passing away on the spot.
Grian, meanwhile, looked delighted. He was clearly enjoying his son’s embarrassment.
“Family is an extension of who we are,” he continued more gently. “To avians, loving someone means respecting the people who raised them, protected them, and stayed beside them. Serenading developed as a way to say, ‘I care for your child, and I hope you’ll one day trust me with them.’”
Parrot slowly lowered his face into his hands.
“Oh my god,” he mumbled.
“And depending on how traditional the family is,” Grian added helpfully, “they might even join in.”
Parrot’s head snapped up in pure terror.
“They might WHAT?”
Grian nearly spilled his tea laughing.
“Imagine this,” Grian said between snickers. “You’re outside serenading Wemmbu, trying to look all romantic and heartfelt, and suddenly Dream harmonizes from the balcony while Techno critiques your pitch from inside the house.”
Parrot made a strangled noise.
“I’m never singing again.”
“Well, you have to if you want to do this for Wemmbu,” Grian replied, looking unbearably smug. “Besides, didn’t you tell me Dream and Techno aren’t exactly fond of you? This could be your chance to prove yourself to Dream—and, by extension, Techno too.”
Grian, uncaring for his son’s growing distress, continued anyway.
“There are traditionally four stages to serenading,” he explained, leaning back comfortably. “The first is The Announcement, sometimes called The Calling. That’s when you stand outside the beloved’s window and announce your presence through song.”
Parrot immediately grimaced while Grian enjoys the reactions he gets from the boy.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Immensely.”
Parrot groaned while Grian carried on.
“The second stage is The Proposal. This begins once Wemmbu opens the window and invites you inside their house.” Grian paused dramatically. “That’s when you formally declare your devotion through song while sitting in the living room under the watchful eyes of his family.”
Parrot stared at him in horror.
“Oh my days.”
Grian ignored him completely.
“In older traditions, this was the point where the family judged your sincerity, your manners, and occasionally your singing ability.”
“Occasionally?”
“Well, if your singing was bad enough, sincerity could only save you so much.”
Parrot looked moments away from collapsing into the couch cushions and disappearing forever.
“The third stage is The Response,” Grian continued mercilessly. “Wemmbu would be expected to answer your serenade with a song of his own.”
Parrot blinked.
“…Wait, really?”
“Mhm. Serenading is meant to be reciprocal.” A softer smile crossed Grian’s face. “It’s not just about confessing. It’s about listening, too. It’s an entire conversation cloaked under the pretense of singing.”
For a brief moment, Parrot forgot his embarrassment.
That… actually sounded beautiful.
“Back in older avian communities,” Grian explained, “those known for their singing often received more serenades. These exchanges could last for hours—sometimes until sunrise. Entire neighborhoods stayed awake listening to them. It was basically a nocturnal social event.”
Parrot imagined it for a moment: warm lantern light spilling from windows, quiet laughter in the dark, songs echoing through the night air between homes.
It sounded strangely magical.
“And the last stage?” he asked quietly.
Grian smiled knowingly.
“The Farewell.”
His voice softened slightly as he spoke.
“It’s the final song before the suitor leaves for the night. Traditionally, it’s meant to promise that this won’t be the last visit.” He glanced at Parrot teasingly. “Essentially, it's an avian culture’s way of saying 'I’ll be back.”
Parrot snorted despite himself.
Then his expression slowly fell again as the full reality settled back into
his mind.
“…I have to do all of that in front of Dream and Techno.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to pass away.”
Grian simply laughed.