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AVIAN AERIAL - By Fleeks Sputtelspecht

Edited by / with suggestions from: Dove (Floofcheeks), SkiesOfSilver, Xenastra

FAIR WARNING: This story contains TFTG, Eggs, and loss of self! Also Birds. But you like birds. Who doesn't?

"Hello and welcome to Southtown Radio!" the radio announcer almost yells in what seems like a way too good mood for this time of the day. "It is 8 in the morning! Let us know your music wishes for today by calling 555-366-366-0! 555-366-366-0! We've got tons of news today only for you and all the newest gossip around our town! But before we start..."

Fresh from bed and only in boxers, you're putting your frying pan on your gas stove while the background noises of the coffee machine and radio contribute to the usual morning atmosphere in your kitchen. Usually, you eat breakfast out on the way to work, but for some reason you feel more energetic today than usual. The snooze button didn't even tempt you this morning! It feels like some special day to you.

Some song you've heard hundreds of times already plays on the radio. Your mood is pretty good, and while you're cutting some chives you prepared beforehand, you can't help yourself but hum with what is playing on the radio.

The song fades out. Ambient music plays while the DJ starts talking:

"That was a great song! One of my favorites. A true classic. Now, as I said, we've got quite some news today." The DJ pauses for a moment. You hear paper rustling in the background.

You're cutting some sausages. The pan starts sizzling.

The DJ continues. "Some strange stuff happened in West Hill. The city is still closed down. We wanted to take a peek, but even Southtown radio wasn't able to get a glimpse. The authorities stopped us -- authorities in Hazmat suits! It's wild! People from nearby cities assume it may be due to a problem with the chemical factory in the neighborhood, but we couldn't get any confirmation."

You heard about that. Yesterday, there was a huge ruckus in your neighborhood. Your colleagues told you about government cars racing toward West Hill, a town only 20 miles away. Some of your co-workers couldn't go back, and they're still stuck in Southtown. It's completely shut down. People assumed it was a gas leak, others had some more wild conspiracy theories.

Music plays again. Another song. You don't particularly like it, but it's so catchy, you just have to hum with it. You cut some more vegetables into tiny pieces.

Suddenly the song fades into static. You turn to the radio and nudge it a bit. You turn the knob, but it only causes the frequency of the noises to slightly change. You nudge it again, a bit firmer than before. Nothing. Maybe the batteries?

Then, suddenly music returns. You haven't heard this song before! Did you end up at some alternative radio channel? Doesn't matter, music is music. Though, the music seems a bit strange. It doesn't seem to have lyrics or follow some common beat. Seems to be some post-rock thing or math or however they call it. And, admittedly, it makes some good background noise. You turn to your food again and throw the sausages and the vegetables into the now hot pan together with a bit of oil. The sizzling noise is satisfying. You stir the contents of the pan.

The strange song fades out, and suddenly some chirpy bird noise rings from your radio. You turn toward it, wondering what that was. A rather squawky voice starts to talk.

"Good morning, early birds! I am your host Chico and this was a great new song in our lineup from the talented, attractive hen Twinkle and her album 'Free As Birds!' An instant classic!" The voice in the radio almost trilled. Like a bird?

A jingle plays. One that kind of sounds like it was sung by a cockatiel, fading into a long drawn, melodic Aviary Aerial.

You never heard of this particular radio station. It must be new. Strange concept, it seems to be bird themed?

The tittering voice in the radio resumes. "I hope you had an excellent day so far, hens out there! We'll soon switch to our adorable fowls from our 'Eggcelent Morning Show', but for now we'll go straight to the weather! The wind today is perfect for your travels to the main city from the east, air density is good with a temperature of 27°C. Air quality index is good, with a low pollen and mold count. Partially cloudy skies with a low chance of scattered showers to the south. Highs today of 30°C with a low tonight of 17°C. Perfect weather for flocking if I do say so myself!" The moderator pauses briefly, and then he segues into the next segment with the words: "Now, let's give our mic to the beautiful fawns from the Eggcelent Morning Show."

You feel like this particular weather forecast was a bit strange, but you can't really point out what the exact issue with it was. You shrug and think that the weather is pretty fine. Finally, it gets warmer again. You return your focus back to your task of breakfast and stir the contents again to prevent them from burning. It's starting to smell very enticing. This is becoming a fine dish. You're wondering why you don't always eat breakfast at home.

"Thank you for this awesome compliment, Chico! A charmer as always! Hello, hens at home!" A female voice lilts from the radio. You're turning your head towards the device, wondering why it was calling you, the listener, a hen. What a weird show. You ponder about changing the channel, but you find yourself thinking that it is kind of entertaining. Somehow you do not want to miss that show. "Today I am here with my adorable co-host hens, Cackle and Xena!"

"Thank you, Skye! Today we'll have so much to talk about! Welcome to our Eggcellent Morning Show, hens!" another squawking voice titters through the speakers. Eggcellent. That's very eggcentric, you think and chuckle to yourself.

"Yes, Cackle! The most eggcellent show out there if I may say so! Especially today, where we'll talk about the newest, hottest drake out there! Music star and actor Hoots Quill! And he just won the Songbird trophy!" A third, very chirpy voice announces. "I could swoon only thinking of this name!" She lets out a very long drawn, sweet sigh.

When you hear the name, you kinda feel excited, but you're not really sure, why. And what's this Songbird trophy they are talking about? It sounds like quite a prize!

"Totally!" Cackle agrees. "He is like, wow, the most handsome stud out there. And that talent. His hens must be so happy..."

"Gosh, yes. I can only dream of bearing his eggs..." Skye enthusiastically agrees and croons into her microphone. "That plumage..."

You scratch your head, slightly confused. They seem to be really dedicated to the bird theme on this channel. Is this how girls usually talk? How did you end up on that strange channel?

You reach to the radio, your spatula in the other hand, to switch off the radio. You pause just before the power switch. Why would you do this? You find yourself eager to listen to those hens talking. Every fiber in your body strives against what you were sure to do only a few seconds ago. And you don't know why you wanted to switch it off in the first place. After all, you listen to this show every morning. Or do you?

You take a glimpse at the clock. 8:30 am already? You'll be late to work! Or... Wait, will you be? You shake your head. Something is strange with that thought. Your body feels a bit itchy. You have to scratch yourself.

"His voice... just so... perfect! And my own beloved drake is really envious!" Xena giggles.

You look at your free hand. Downs? Where did those come from? You look down at your legs. Where you expected skin there is suddenly a patchwork of white and light blue feathers. You panic. This isn't normal. Or is it?

Skye chuckles. "I love my drake, but... He is lucky I will probably never even meet Hoots." She lets out a silly giggle. "Sorry, Cracker, but it's the truth! Smoochies!"

The other girls laugh with her.

You stare at your legs. Feathers. Feathers everywhere. Spreading. Good, you think. Those bald spots are really ugly.

You shake your head again. Wait. No. Not good. You're not supposed to have feathers! No. Wait. Are you? But why are those there then? You look at your arms. More feathers. Even longer feathers. Feathers. Beautiful, white and dark blue feathers. You find yourself adoring them. But you're worried.

"He is like totally my type! And... to say it again... his voice... it is totally perfect! Bari... something!" Cackle giggles. "Every hoot makes my heart melt, hhhaaaa!" More croons follow from all three hens.

What are you worried about? You look at your hands. No... not hands. Wings. You spread your feathers. It feels wrong, but also right? You blink your eyes. Wings. You don't have wings. You shouldn't have wings. Wings are for birds. But yes, you're a bird. But is this right?

What is this sharp smell?

The food! You switch off the gas stove, with those wings it takes a few attempts, but you succeed and take the pan from the cooktop. You almost burned the food to crisp! You let something distract yourself. What would he say?

He would probably call you a silly hen again.

You shake your head once again. Who is he? Hen? What is going on? But he seems so familiar... you miss him. But who... is he? You put a wing against your face. You need to focus. You're confused.

Suddenly something appears in front your vision, poking your wing. It seems to grow from your face. You can feel your lips widen and harden, and your tongue lengthen. You touch it. It's hard, like your beak should be. Yes, your beak. But should you have one? You close your eyes for a few seconds, trying to focus. You feel quite lightheaded. You think about your situation. Something is off. You open your eyes again. A long tapered beak is in your vision, ever present in front of you. You look around. Suddenly everything seems so much more colorful. Or... was it always so colorful and you just didn't notice? That seems silly, how would you ever overlook such beauty? It was always like this.

Or was it?

You eye your environment some more. Is this really your house? The furniture is warping. The chairs are deforming to a strange shape for something not entirely human, while you feel something poking from your back against your waistband. Without much thought, you drop your boxers as they grow uncomfortable. Feathers fan up behind you. Your tailfeathers. You're quite proud of them, but why do they feel so wrong? You get a lot of compliments from him for those.

There he is again. Who is he? He... You don't understand. He seems so important, but you can't really recall. He. He. You rub your feathery forehead with your wing. Strains of hair fall off to the ground and disappear as soon as they touch it. You scream internally, you don't want to lose your hair! But then... why would a bird have hair? You're supposed to have long, beautiful dark blue plumes, aren't you? You stroke your wings over your feathery head and feel something long extruding from above your eyes. Good, there they are.

You look into the direction of the entrance door. Your shoes are gone. You feel like you should find this terrifying... But then - what even are shoes? Why would you need them? You look down at your long, scaled legs and your elongated, flexible three toes. It would be quite uncomfortable to constrain those with whatever footwear. That's for the drakes. A picture of a very particular big and manly owl man appears in your mind when you think of drakes.

You shake your head again. What are those thoughts?

You go back to your dish. Time to add... You pick up an egg, but somehow this puts you off. What are you supposed to do with it? Crack it into the still-sizzling pan? You feel disgusted by that thought.

"My last clutch had five whole eggs!" Skye announces in excitement.

You blink your eyes. Where the egg was, you now hold a King Prawn. Yes, this is more acceptable than... than what again? You shrug and add them to the dish.

"Wow, your drake must have been, like, totally proud!" Cackle responded. "I never made more like three on a good day, totally cool! I am prouuud, sweetie!"

You feel like you're missing something. You can't help it, something about this all feels wrong. Like you entered some realm of horror. Like your mind is playing tricks on you. This whole feathery body seems as alien as it is familiar. You feel like these feathers shouldn't be there. But - why shouldn't they be? Aren't you a bird? A beautiful Heron girl? His chosen hen?

Hen.

You panic as you see your blank, meaty torso. Where is your plumage? And with this thought, soft plume spreads all over your chest area, growing poofier and fluffier. With every square inch of plume emerging, you feel more and more relief.

What did you worry about again? Your heart races, but you don't know why.

But it doesn't stop there. You can feel your chest bulging outwards. Breasts? But you're... A hen. Right. Do hens have breasts? They must have, since you have them. And you're a hen. Further and further they grow swiftly, from nearly unnoticeable to large and full and then a bit more, making your chest plume look even fuller. You touch them with your wings, squeeze them a bit... It feels very good. Those will feed your chicks...

The thought of chicks scares you for a second. Where does this anxiety come from? You contemplate for a few seconds and then you come to the conclusion that there isn't anything to be scared about. You know you will be a good mother. He has said this multiple times. And your drake is always right.

Xena's voice sounds from the speakers: "We need more facilities in public! I sometimes barely make it to a place to lay!"

Lay. That word sends shivers through your spine. Down to...

You gasp. Your crotch is feeling strange. Inward motions, and your lower body is stirring. The sensation is overwhelming. Maybe you should call him... Him again... No, a good hen doesn't rely on... who exactly? Hen? Who is hen? You feel dizzy.

"But now, without further ado, let's listen to that hot new release from Hoots Quill!" Skye announces hearably impatient. There is a short moment of crooning from the other hosts, and then a melody starts to play. An Intro, strange in... wait no, it isn't strange at all, you notice. Why would you think this? It sounds perfectly normal. A few more notes, and then...

You can hear a raspy baritone from over the air; not quite human in its tone, but so beautiful. And so familiar. Can it be? Somewhere between the notes, you can make out a nasal whistle that you remember from somewhere. From someone. It elicits a memory of a moonlit walk through the woods. Beaks touching. You remember an owl calling for some reason, but you can't put your finger on exactly why. It makes you feel so calm. Your beak feels wet. Tears?

Suddenly a contraction in your lower half hits you harshly. You panic. This can't be good. But then, something in your mind kicks in. Instinct. Eggs. It is time. You're overdue.

The voice in the radio sings about a beautiful heron fowl. And about a drake, claiming her, from the other side of the pond. Two worlds, so different, but still connected. You shiver. Memories you didn't know you have fill your birdy brain. Countless laid eggs. While it is pulsing, pressing and contracting down there, your neck is pushing upwards, elongating while your hips swell. You look down at them. You can't help yourself but admire them. Perfect for attracting drakes and carrying eggs. Where did those thoughts come from? They seem wrong... yes! Of course. There's only one drake you need...

Your belly is swelling. You feel so full... oh goodness, you think. You are so full. So unbearably full. You need to... You press. You push. The hen in your mind -- no, the hen you are -- knows exactly what to do. You go into a squatting position. You huff and shudder. The voice in the radio sings about eggs. You can feel the egg crown. You look down there to catch a glimpse of it. It feels so wrong. But it also feels so right... so normal, so familiar. You feel like you shouldn't do this. You feel doubt lingering in your mind. But, above all that you feel, you feel pride. And how could that be any wrong? The voice on the radio praises the hen. You push the distracting doubts out of your mind, together with the egg.

"A result of our love!" The voice in the radio sings. And there it is - the first one, falling onto the carpet below you with a muffled whomp. You can not contain yourself and sigh in relief, but then more contractions emerge. You can feel that the next egg is on its way! The voice in the radio praises big clutches. How many are there this time, you're wondering. It suddenly feels more like a routine, as if you had done this hundreds of times in the past already... and of course you have! Yet, why does it feel so new? You've been an adult hen for a while now. Right?

The song in the radio slowly fades out while you lay your second egg. And your third follows fast. Whump! Clack!

"And now a word from our sponsors!" Xena announces. The Avian Aerial jingle plays, then the commercial break starts.

Another egg leaves your body.

"Worried about clutch season? Keep your health with Dr. Horus' High Energy Supplements!" A friendly voice promises.

You're always worried about your clutches! So far they were all infertile, but he will... ugh! Another egg... almost done. It falls on the soft carpet. Your favorite place to lay.

"Itchy feathers? Clouds of dust? Try our quality preen oils from Falcoline Oils! For the hen who cares about her feathers!" Another friendly voice pledges.

... Yes, you want to be pretty for him! Maybe you should... push. Yes. You're laying the last egg.

"Noctusol. Make the day your night. For our valued nocturnal birds."

He will keep you up the whole night... maybe... today... It is clutch season after all. And he...

You've laid your clutch. You feel relieved. It is a small clutch. At first you feel a bit disappointed about the size, and because you know none of the eggs are fertilized, but you also feel proud of yourself. And a thought occurs in your mind! Now you've got room. Room for...

You can hear noises at the door. A key making its way into a keyhole. You panic. Where are you even? This is all wrong! This doesn't look like your house...

Because it isn't, your rational mind tells you. The mind of the hen you are. Of course not. It is his. It is his house.

The doorknob turns. With a clack, the door swings open. You feel scared. You feel excited. He is standing there. He is the one... the owl...

"Welcome home, my drake." You say out loud in a feminine, squawky, but melodic voice. For a moment you're shocked by your own voice and choice of words, though you're not quite sure why. Why should it be wrong to greet your drake? And is this a smile forming around your beak?

Of course it is. You are so happy. He's back. Your drake. And... You're his...

He steps toward you and smiles down at you. He, the most handsome bird stud in the world. His scent fills the room. You look over his feathers that shine in all possible colors to your avian senses, his plumes, those big impressive eyes, his big, tall frame...

"My hen. My beautiful fowl." He rumbles.

This voice. This familiar nasal whistle. You shiver. Those urges...

You get up and stumble toward him, into his arms. You wrap your wings around him eagerly, tears in your eyes. Of course! Now you finally know what you have missed. Your big drake. Your big virile drake. His musk. His voice. He was gone for so long!

"I am sorry I let you wait. But you know my business." he says while stroking your crest and back with his massive wings.

"I... I cooked... for you, Hoots!" you say nervously in response. You're wondering why you're so uptight. He's your trusted mate after all. On the other hand... he's just that good. He makes your long legs shake.

"You're adorable. But I ate out already, at the airport. So... Let's warm it up later. I am sure it will be still good." He bends forward and beak-kisses your crest. It feels amazing.

You nod. "O... Ok, my drake!" you answer. His presence makes your plumes rise up in comfort and excitement. Hopefully he will...

He smiles. "But... there's another hunger I have."

You understand the needs of your drake. You understand your needs. A hen understands her drake's needs. You eagerly nod.

"Y... Yes!" You respond. "P... Please!" The emptiness inside you burns like a hot fire. You need... You rub your frame against his body and bury your long heron beak in his chest plume.

"Well, then, my needy fowl." He looks at the eggs you laid only a few minutes ago with a smile. "Let's make a proper clutch then. I let you wait long enough."

You nod even more eagerly. He picks you up with his strong arms, he gives you a deep kiss, and walks with you toward your room for your fun. You're the happiest hen in the whole world while he carries your light frame with ease. You, a fertile hen, can barely wait to be finally mated!

He opens the door to your bedroom with his free arm. Behind the door, a massive room filled with cushions is revealed -- and, to your surprise, it is full of excited hens of different shapes and sizes welcoming your drake! For a moment you feel an immense jealousy rising up. But it quickly fades. Why would you feel jealous? Hoots is a famous bird singer and stud. Of course he's got multiple hens! A whole nest of females and eggs like any proper cock has. He can have as many fowls as he wants. As long as you're part of them you'll be a happy hen. And, after all, it is your turn now. He will sing sweetly for you tonight.

"... and did you see his newest romance? She is such a beautiful heron, I could die. I am so envious!" The voice of Skye follows the both of you into the room.

Yes, you think. She has all the right to be envious. Your life is perfect.

THE END