Chapter Text
Sharpness
The redstone was stupidly complicated, a testament to Jude’s particular brand of genius, but Sharpness couldn't focus. A persistent, maddening itch was radiating from between his shoulder blades, a deep, bone-grating discomfort that had been plaguing him for weeks.
Sharpness knew the source. His wings.
He shifted his weight, trying to find a position that didn't make him want to tear his own armor off.
It was humiliating. Sharp was an eagle hybrid, a predator of the skies. His wings were a source of pride and identity, but now they were the source of a constant, nagging irritation. He could feel how the feathers were misaligned, the barbs catching on each other in all the wrong ways and creating a friction that was slowly driving him insane.
But despite his discomfort, there was nothing Sharpness could actually do about it.
His old team had been useless. Evourai was a ghost, a name on a roster who hadn't logged on in months. And Spongs… Spongs was an idiot. A well-meaning one, if Sharpness was being generous, but an idiot nonetheless.
Sharpness couldn’t rely on either of them for anything, least of all the intimate, vulnerable task of wing maintenance. So he’d let it slide. Pushed it to the wayside.
These days, Sharpness had even fewer options for help. There was absolutely no one he could go to for wing grooming. His team had disbanded, and he was alone. He’d told himself he could handle it. He was a grown man, a warrior. He could ignore a little discomfort. Sharpness just needed to stop being a baby and just deal with it.
Sharpness gritted his teeth, trying to focus in on what Jude was explaining.
“So you see,” Jude was saying, his voice bright with interest, pulling Sharpness from his miserable thoughts. He was pointing with a stick at a block that Sharp vaguely recognized as an observer. “This is what tells the block up top to move out of the way. The connection to the pressure plate on the surface has to be near immediate, so you or I can get the timing perfect. Too slow and the trap doesn’t open quick enough, meaning your target can just wind charge right over.”
Sharpness tried to force his attention back to the trap, to the intricate mechanisms that Jude loved so much. He needed to focus. They were a team now, a real team, and he wouldn't be a liability. But then, another wave of prickling heat shot through his left wing, and he couldn't stop the guttural sigh that escaped his lips.
He fluffed the wing out instinctively, a desperate, futile attempt to alleviate the pressure. A cascade of glossy white feathers drifted to the ground around him.
“Are you even listening?” Jude asked, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
Sharpness blinked, as if coming out of a trance. “Yeah,” he said a little to quickly, doing his best to feign innocence. He ran a hand through his blond hair, a gesture of impatience that did nothing to soothe the restless energy coming off him in waves. He could feel Jude’s too-vibrant eyes on him, analyzing him, and it made his skin crawl.
“You’re not listening,” Jude accused, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re a million miles away. What the hell is your problem?” His eyes drifted to somewhere over Sharp’s shoulder, no doubt studying Sharpness’s large, white wings. “You’ve been fidgeting with those things all afternoon. You look like a molting chicken.”
A muscle in Sharpness’s jaw jumped. “It’s nothing,” he bit out, his voice clipped. He hated this. He hated feeling weak, hated the thought of Jude seeing him as anything less than completely in control. He deliberately smoothed his wings back, trying to force them into their proper alignment, but the feathers were a mess. He didn’t need to crane his head behind him to know they were sticking out at odd angles. “It’s just an itch.”
“It doesn't look like ‘just an itch’,” Jude pressed, his curiosity overriding his annoyance. “They look like they’re bent all weird.”
“They’re fine,” Sharpness insisted, his tone final. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He couldn’t stand here and be dissected by those piercing magenta eyes. He turned away from the trap, his movements stiff. “Look, I need to go and, um, check on some stuff. I’ll… I’ll review the design later.”
Before Jude could protest, Sharpness was gone, his powerful strides eating up the distance as he made a beeline for the ladder, leaving a trail of fallen feathers in his wake.
—
Judelow
Jude stood there for a long moment, staring after Sharpness’s retreating back, a frown creasing his brow. Something was wrong, and it wasn't 'nothing'.
His gaze drifted downwards, down to the scattered feathers on the ground around the trap. They were beautiful, each one a perfect, glossy white. But the sight of them scattered on the dirt floor… Jude couldn’t help but feel a distant sense of alarm.
He bent down and picked up one that had landed right by the armored toe of his boot. It was large, nearly the length of his hand, and incredibly beautiful. The middle bit was strong and white, but the vane was a marvel of delicate, interlocking barbs, shimmering with an iridescent sheen, like oil on water. He twirled it between his fingers, the feather light and impossibly soft.
How could something so delicate cause so much frustration?
He watched it turn, the crimson light of the setting sun catching its edges, and made up his mind then and there. He was going to figure out what the hell was wrong with Sharpness and his wings. He was his teammate, and his only reliable one at that. Jude couldn’t have Sharpness getting distracted by something as simple as his stupid wings, not when they were planning their next big move. This was a problem, and Jude was, above all else, a problem solver.
Jude pocketed the feather and straightened his shoulders. He’d get to the bottom of this.
—
It took him two days, but luck was finally on his side. Tracking down a member of the Pirates was usually a fool's errand; they were nomadic, their ship basically untraceable on the vast ocean of the SMP. But a storm had rolled in the night before, forcing their boat to dock for repairs. It was the only break Jude was going to get.
He found Falcuno on the docks, on his knees as he secured a heavy-looking crate to the deck of the ship with thick rope. The falcon hybrid’s brown-and-cream speckled wings were folded neatly against his back, but Jude could see the way they twitched with life at the caw of a passing seagull. Jaden was nearby, shouting orders from the helm, but Falcuno paid him no mind, his movements practiced and efficient.
Jude cleared his throat, hopping up onto the wooden planks of the dock. “Falcun.”
The falcon hybrid looked up, his eyes—sharp and intelligent, like polished amber—immediately landing on Jude. An undeniable wariness swam in their depths.
It was a look Jude was used to.
“Judelow,” Falcuno greeted, his voice even and calm. He stood up, brushing off his knees, but his gaze never left Jude’s face. Subtly, he shifted his weight, angling his body so he was between Jude and the ship’s ramp. “What can I do for you? Looking for some… supplies?” He eyed Jude’s trap-laden inventory belt with undisguised suspicion.
Jude resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was always the same suspicions with these people. “No, I’m not here to buy anything. And I’m not here to trap you, either,” he added, holding his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. “I just have a question.”
Falcuno’s expression didn’t change, but Jude could see the tension in his shoulders. “Alright,” he said slowly. “I’m listening. Make it quick, we’re trying to get out of here before the tide turns.”
“It’s about Sharpness,” Jude said, getting straight to the point.
At the mention of Jude’s teammate, Falcuno’s suspicion seemed to ratchet up another notch. “What about him?”
“His wings,” Jude explained, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “He’s… off. Totally restless. He’s always twitching, or fluffing them out, and he keeps dropping feathers everywhere. He’s distracted.”
Falcuno watched him, his yellow gaze unwavering. He was silent for a long time as he seemed to ponder Jude’s implied question. “Well…” he began slowly, “has he got anyone to groom them?” he finally asked, his tone deceptively matter-of-fact.
Jude blinked. “Groom?”
“Yeah, groom,” Falcuno said, grabbing another crate and hauling it up the dock. “Wings like those need to be preened. Someone else has got to get in there and straighten all the feathers for him. You can’t really reach your own back properly, can you?”
Jude shook his head in answer.
“Well, neither can Sharpness. Winged hybrids can’t effectively maintain all their primaries on their own. It’s a two-person job, especially for the pin feathers. If someone goes too long with a grooming, it gets painful. The feathers start to chafe. They might even get infected.”
Jude frowned, his mind racing. He thought back. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Evourai log on, so he was definitely out of the question. And Spongs… the thought of Sharpness entrusting something so essential to that bumbling idiot made a hot, irrational surge of anger rise in Jude’s chest. If Sharpness had gone to that sponge of all people, Jude would be… offended. Genuinely offended.
Not that he was jealous or anything. That was ridiculous. It was just a matter of principle. Sharpness was his teammate, now. He should have come to Jude.
But he hadn’t.
Falcuno seemed to read the entire emotional journey on Jude’s face. He let out a soft, weary sigh, the sound of a man who’d seen it all. “Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “That’s probably it. Knowing Sharpness, he’s too proud to admit it, but he needs help. Maybe offer to lend a hand.”
With that, Falconu turned back to his rope, a clear, but not unkind, dismissal.
Offering a kick thanks, Jude hurried away.
On the trip back home, Jude was left to brood, turning over Falcuno’s words in his mind. Groom his wings. The phrase echoed in his head, the repetitive rhythm of his windcharges doing nothing to entertain his thoughts. Unbidden, his brain conjured an image in his mind, making him flounder mid-air.
He saw himself standing behind Sharpness, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. He imagined reaching out, his fingers brushing against the powerful muscles of Sharpness’s shoulders before sliding down to the base of his wings. He pictured Sharpness’s feathers, how pretty they would look up close, a breathtaking landscape of pure white.
Jude could almost feel the texture of them—the surprising strength of the quill, the silky softness of the down near the skin, the way the longer flight feathers would feel, smooth and sleek like polished ivory. He imagined taking one of those long feathers between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the slight give, the way the barbs would separate and then zip back together under his touch.
How would Sharpness react? Would he shiver, a full-body tremor of relief as Jude worked out a knot, or straightened a bent feather? Maybe Sharpness’s head would fall forward, a soft, helpless sigh escaping his lips, his wings fluttering involuntarily at the sensation.
Groom his wings.
Jude imagined the trust it would require, the sheer vulnerability of it all.
A wave of heat, so intense it was almost dizzying, washed over Jude. His face felt like it was on fire, a deep, burning blush that spread from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones.
Damn.
He landed clumsily at spawn, his legs feeling like jelly as he stumbled his way back to his base. Even still, the fantasy refused to flee his brain. He groaned, tugging on both of his long rabbit ears to cover his flushed face, as if the physical pain could distract him from the riot happening in his head.
Why couldn’t Sharpness be a more normal hybrid? Something sensible, like a rabbit! At this point, Jude would even settle for something like a dog. At least then he could just… throw a stick or something. But no. He had to be an eagle, all majestic and powerful and complicated, with wings that were apparently the most beautiful, infuriating things Jude had ever seen.
Maybe Jude should just damn him to uncomfortable feathers for the rest of his life. Teach him a lesson about communication, and all that.
No, Jude thought, steeling his nerve. He was a problem solver. And if Sharpness’s restlessness could be fixed by something as simple as Jude grooming his wings every once in a while, he’d do it. For the success of their team.
It was the only logical response, after all. It had nothing to do with the way his own heart was hammering against his ribs, or the phantom feeling of soft white feathers still tingling on his fingertips. Nothing at all.
—
Sharpness
The rhythmic scrape of steel on whetstone was the only sound in the quiet of the base, a smooth, repetitive motion that offered Sharpness at least a sliver of peace. It was a meditative task, one that allowed him to focus his irritation, to channel the ceaseless, buzzing hum of discomfort into something productive. Anything to soothe the never-ending pulse of agony radiating from between his shoulder blades.
It had never been this bad.
He wasn't a fool; he knew it was his own damn fault. He’d left it for too long. These days, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had another person preen his wings. Evourai, his only competent teammates, was long gone. As such, this was by far the longest he’d ever gone without another person to preen his wings for him.
The great white appendages were half-splayed behind him as he worked, a forced, unnatural position. Having them closed, pulled tight against his back, was unbearable now. The feathers were too misaligned, and the poky center shafts would stab into the soft skin beneath, a constant, sharp reminder of his neglect. Half-splayed was the only compromise, Sharpness’s attempt to alleviate the pressure without looking completely undignified.
Like a sunbathing seagull, Jude had once said, when he’d caught Sharpness with his wings fully extended. Sharpness rolled his eyes fondly at the memory, a slight smile gracing his lips.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts and the methodical sharpening of his coveted sword, his world narrowing to the glint of metal and the feel of the hilt in his hand, that he didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of armored footsteps on the wooden stairs above. In fact, he didn’t even register the presence of another individual until someone cleared their throat, loudly and deliberately, right behind him.
Sharpness went rigid, every muscle tensing as he shot upright. The movement was instinctual, and his wings snapped closed behind him with a sharp, painful thwump. A fresh wave of agony washed over him as misaligned feathers dug into his skin, but he ignored it. It always felt weirdly vulnerable to leave his wings splayed in front of others, so defenseless and open to attack.
He turned, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.
“Jude,” he said, his voice low and rough as he resheathed his sword with a decisive click. At least it wasn’t an enemy who had managed to sneak up on him.
Only, there was something distinctly strange about Jude’s expression. The bunny was frowning, his brow furrowed in that familiar way it often was around Sharpness, but he also seemed oddly… nervous. He was fidgeting anxiously with his hands, twisting the hem of his shirt, and there was a distinct flush that painted his cheeks a pretty pink, creeping down beneath the collar of his shirt. He looked… flustered, almost, and, if Sharpness was being honest with himself, kinda cute.
“So,” Jude said, going for serious but coming off more hesitant than Sharpness had ever heard him.
Sharpness swung his knees all the way around the block he’d been sitting on so he could face Jude fully. Clearly, this was going to be a Conversation. Focus, Sharpness, he told himself, trying to ignore the buzzing, pulsing irritation that had begun throbbing in his wings the moment he’d snapped them shut.
“So?” Sharpness parroted, his own voice coming out uneasy. He didn’t do well with capital C Conversations. They usually led to feelings and other such complications he preferred to avoid.
“I’ve come to fix you,” Jude declared, his voice gaining a sliver of its usual confidence before faltering. He gestured jerkily at Sharpness’s… something. His whole person, it seemed.
Sharpness bristled, his feathers fluffing in irritation despite the fresh wave of pain it caused. “Fix me?” he squawked back, deeply offended. He thought he was perfectly fine the way he was, thank you very much. A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but certainly not in need of fixing.
“Ugh- not like that-” Jude began, his face flushing even deeper as he tripped over his words. Anxiously, he pulled on one of his long rabbit ears, a nervous tic Sharpness had come to recognize. “It’s just… I talked to Falcuno and, um, I noticed your wings were bothering you and… and I-thought-I-could-help-you-groom-them.”
The last part came out in a rush, a jumble of words that Sharpness’s brain took a moment to decipher.
Groom them.
When words finally clicked into place, a wave of heat so intense it was dizzying washed over Sharpness. His own face colored pink to match Jude’s, a horrified blush creeping up his neck. He stared at Jude, his mouth slightly agape, the rhythmic ache in his wings suddenly forgotten, replaced by an overwhelming rush of shock.
“What?”