T̲̅h̲̅e̲̅o̲̅n̲̅...???

7!t̲̅e̲̅e̲̅n̲̅

O̲̅c̲̅t̲̅o̲̅b̲̅e̲̅r̲̅ 9t̲̅h̲̅ ハ⎯୧

if he's nervous tho he'll fidget with his fingers and avoid eye contact (this also goes for if he's lying about something) HE'S A TERRIBLE LIAR

Theon sat hunched in a plush armchair, his wings – a magnificent, feathered span of iridescent gold and deep sapphire – tucked tightly against his back, rustling softly with every nervous twitch. His right eye, a startling golden orb, darted around the room, catching every movement, every shift in light, while its twin, a deep, placid blue, seemed to gaze inward, lost in thought. He’d been unusually quiet tonight, even for him, picking at a loose thread on the armrest. Elara, a sleek, obsidian-scaled woman with eyes like molten emeralds, sat opposite him, nursing a steaming mug. She watched him for a long moment, her reptilian gaze surprisingly gentle. "Theon?" she murmured, her voice a low, resonant purr. "You're… quieter than usual. Even for a rainy night."

Theon flinched, his head snapping up. His eyes blinking rapidly "Oh! Oh, um. Sorry. Was I being… loud? Or too quiet? I can be too quiet sometimes, people say. They say, 'Theon, are you even there?' And I'm like, 'Yes! I'm just… processing!' But then sometimes I'm too loud, like a startled pigeon, which is funny because I'm a bird, but not a pigeon, not really, more like… I don't know, a griffin? Without the lion part, obviously, just the bird, but bigger, you know?" He gestured wildly with one hand, nearly knocking over a small, carved wooden bird on the side table. "Oops! Sorry!" Elara chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound. "No, you weren't too loud, little griffin. Just… thoughtful. Is something on your mind? You seem a thousand miles away."

Theon’s wings gave another nervous twitch, a flurry of golden and blue. He picked at the thread again, his gaze dropping to his restless fingers. "It's… it's the rain," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "And… and the quiet. It makes me… think about… before. Before here."

Elara’s expression softened further. She knew, vaguely, that Theon had a past shrouded in shadows, a common thread among their disparate, hybrid family. But he rarely spoke of it. "Before here?" she prompted gently, her voice an invitation, not a demand. "Would you… would you like to talk about it?"

He paused, then sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years. His golden eye fixed on the dancing flames in the hearth, while the blue one seemed to gaze into a distant, painful past. "It's… it's not a pretty story, Elara. Not at all. It's… sharp. And cold. Like a winter wind that strips you bare." He shivered, despite the warmth of the room. "But… maybe. Maybe I should. You all… you've made me feel… safe. Like I can actually… land." He gave a shaky, self-deprecating laugh. "Bird pun! Sorry! My brain just does that sometimes. It's like a flock of starlings, all flying in different directions, then suddenly, whoosh, they all turn at once!"

"It's alright, Theon," Elara assured him, her voice unwavering. "Take your time. We're here. All of us. We understand."

He took a deep, shaky breath, then another. His hands stilled, though his wings continued their subtle, restless movements. "Okay. Okay, then. It started… well, it started with nothing. No parents. Just… an orphanage. A big, drafty building that always smelled of boiled cabbage and stale fear. I was… different. Right from the start. The wings, you see. They were there, even when I was tiny. Just little nubs, but they grew. Oh, they grew. And the eyes. Always like this. One gold, one blue. The other kids… they called me a monster. A freak. A demon bird."

His voice grew quieter, infused with a raw, ancient pain. "They didn't understand. They'd never seen anything like me. And the adults… they tried. Some of them. But they were overwhelmed. Too many mouths to feed, too many broken children. I was just… another problem. A feathered, squawking problem." He winced at his own words. "I had… bird habits, you know? I’d preen my feathers, even the tiny ones. I’d tilt my head, listening to sounds no one else could hear. I’d collect shiny things. Buttons. Bits of glass. They’d find my little nests, hidden under beds, filled with stolen trinkets, and they’d laugh. Or worse, they’d get angry. Said I was a thief. A scavenger."

His gaze drifted, unfocused. "The bullying… it started early. Little shoves. Whispers. Then shoves turned to punches. Whispers to shouts. 'Bird-brain!' 'Chicken-boy!' 'Ugly bird!' They’d pull at my feathers. Just little tugs at first, just to see me squawk. And I would squawk. I’d hiss. I’d try to peck them. But there were always more of them. Always."

The rain outside intensified, mirroring the storm brewing in Theon's memory. His breathing grew shallow, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. "There was one time… one time that was… the worst. It was winter. Bitter cold. The air was like knives. I’d been trying to find a quiet corner, just to read, to escape. But they found me. A whole group of them. Three, maybe four older boys. They cornered me in the old woodshed, the one out back. It smelled of damp earth and decay. And… and fear. My fear."

His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, his throat working. "They… they said I was a nuisance. A pest. Said I needed to be… plucked. Like a chicken. So I’d be normal. So I’d stop being weird." He clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "I fought. Oh, gods, I fought. I kicked. I screamed. I flapped my wings, trying to hit them. But they were bigger. Stronger. They held me down. One held my wings. One held my legs. And the other… the other started… pulling."

A strangled sob escaped him. His golden eye was wide with remembered terror, the blue one glazed over with unshed tears. "They just… ripped them out. One by one. Big, glorious primary feathers. Smaller, softer down. They laughed. They laughed as I screamed. As I thrashed. As the pain… the pain was like fire. Like every nerve ending was screaming. I could feel the blood. I could feel the raw, empty patches on my back. It felt like… like they were tearing away pieces of my soul. My wings… they were me. They are me. And they were just… ripping them away."

He hugged himself, rocking slightly. Elara said nothing, just reached out and gently placed a hand on his knee, a silent anchor.

"When they were done," Theon continued, his voice a choked whisper, "they just… left me there. Bleeding. Shaking. Bare. Like a plucked bird, indeed. I could barely move. Every breath was agony. And the cold… it seeped into my bones. But worse than the pain, worse than the cold, was the humiliation. The utter, soul-crushing humiliation. I was… broken."

His eyes, though still tearful, gained a fierce, desperate glint. "I just ran. I didn't know where. Just away. Away from the orphanage. Away from the town. Away from everyone. I ran until my legs burned. Until my lungs screamed. Until I couldn't see anything but the dark road stretching before me. I just kept going. Stumbling, falling, getting back up. My wings were in agony, but I used them to balance, to push myself forward, even if I couldn't fly. Not then."

"I ended up… deep in the wilderness. Miles and miles away. I don't know how I survived. Instinct, I guess. Pure, desperate instinct. I found a cave. A hollow log. Anything to hide in. I scavenged for food. Berries. Roots. Grubs, even. Don't look at me like that, Elara, hunger makes you do things! My bird brain helped me find things, I suppose. And the feathers… they slowly grew back. It took months. Agonizing months. But they did. Slowly. Painfully. Each new feather was a testament to survival. A victory."

He paused, a faint, almost wistful smile touching his lips. "I lived out there for years. Alone. Just me and the trees and the sky. It was… hard. So hard. Lonely beyond words. I talked to the squirrels. I sang to the moon. I learned to hunt. To track. To listen to the wind. I learned to fly again, too. Properly this time. High above the world, where no one could touch me. Where no one could hurt me. Where I was just… free."

His golden eye suddenly darted to the window, watching a branch sway in the wind. "But after a while… the loneliness… it started to eat at me. Like a slow, creeping frost. I missed… people. Even after everything. I missed the sound of voices, even if they were cruel. I missed the idea of connection. My brain… it just needs stimulation, you know? It needs to bounce off other brains. It's like a little ping-pong ball, always looking for a paddle!" He gestured emphatically, then dropped his hand, a shadow falling over his face.

"So, when I was older, when my wings were strong and my scars were mostly healed… I decided to come back. To try again. To introduce myself to the world. And it was… terrifying. Oh, gods, it was terrifying! Every shadow was a bully. Every whisper was a judgment. I was so awkward. So clumsy. I’d stammer. I’d fidget. I’d accidentally preen my feathers in public, or tilt my head at strange noises, and people would stare. They’d point. They’d laugh. And every time, it felt like those feathers were being plucked all over again. That pain… it never truly goes away, does it? It just… fades to an ache."

He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. "I tried to fit in. I tried to hide my wings, to tuck them away, to make myself smaller. But it never worked. I was always… too much. Too different. I’d go to markets, and my eyes would dart everywhere, trying to take everything in, but then I'd get overwhelmed. Too many sounds, too many smells, too many faces. My brain would just… fizz. And I'd panic. I'd run. Again. Always running."

His gaze finally settled on Elara, a raw vulnerability in his disparate eyes. "And then… then I found you. All of you. This place. I heard whispers. Of others. Others who were… like me. Not just bird hybrids, but… different. People who understood what it meant to carry a part of the wild within them. People who knew the sting of being an outsider. People who didn't flinch when my wings rustled, or when my eyes darted, or when I started rambling about, well, about anything and everything!"

A fragile, hopeful smile bloomed on his face, pushing back the shadows. "And for the first time… for the very first time since I was a tiny, scared bird-child in that orphanage… I didn't feel so alone. I didn't feel like a monster. You don't laugh when I collect shiny things. You don't tell me I'm weird for wanting to perch on the back of the sofa. You… you just see me. And you accept me. Wings and all. Golden eye, blue eye, ADHD brain, awkwardness, everything."

"It's… it's still hard sometimes. The nervousness. The memories. The way my brain just goes. But now… now I have a flock. A real flock. And it makes all the difference. It makes… it makes everything feel like maybe, just maybe, I can finally stop running." The rain outside began to subside, replaced by a softer, more persistent drizzle. The flickering gaslight seemed to glow brighter, illuminating the hopeful tears that finally tracked paths down Theon's cheeks. He didn't wipe them away. For the first time in a long time, they felt like tears of release, not of pain.

okay so if Selah was out eating w/ him and everything and she tried reaching for his phone, first of all, he doesnt know that. he'd be more scared for the fact u are trying to take his food so he'll quickly pull his plate back and shove it all in his mouth