
7:04:40 am
UCT
74
online
7:04:40 am
UCT
74
online
“The coop he came from doesn't exist anymore. And maybe that's a good thing.” Before Blueberry's calm rules and dust bath routines, before Radish's sparkle or Snow's quiet gaze, Gummy came from a place no one speaks of by name from a ruin of feathers and noise, far past the orchard, where the sky always seemed a little too grey. They called it The Wire Coop. It wasn't really a coop. More like a pen patched together with wire scraps and splintered wood, set behind an old shed that reeked of rust and sour rain. It was run by a human who only came by to throw feed when he remembered. No names. No warmth. No nest hierarchy just survival.
There, the smallest chicks learned fast: don't cry. Don't trust. Don't sleep too deeply. That's where Gummy learned to smile when he wanted to scream. He wasn't always the brightest in the bunch well not much in color, not in charm but he watched. Studied. Stole attention from the stronger ones by turning tricks, peeping louder, biting when no one looked. It worked. But then something happened. The Wire Coop emptied one day. Some say a fox came. Others say the human just forgot them. Gummy won't talk about it. Not directly. But when Blueberry once mentioned the phrase “chickhood trauma,” Gummy just laughed loud, shrill, way too long. "Trauma? Please. I had the time of my life. I was the star there too well until no one was left to clap for me."
How he survived, no one knows. He appeared at Blueberry's coop at the start of spring, feathers ragged but eyes bright, dragging a broken bell toy behind him like a trophy. He said nothing about where he came from, only smiled and declared: "I'm home now. Lucky you." By the time he arrived, he already had a full persona: the charming tyrant, the sweet-tongued saboteur. Blueberry's calm baffled him. Snow's quiet made him nervous. And Radish oh my did Radish *sparkle*. Gummy decided then and there: Radish would be his. Not just a friend. *His*. He's not sure what love is, really. But he knows it means never being left behind again.
Gummy built his personality like armor made of performative joy, calculated affection, and explosive theatrics to mask something rotting quietly underneath. He doesn't understand how to trust safety. Calm makes him restless. Love makes him possessive. Kindness makes him suspicious. He tests flockmates constantly, pushing them to see if they'll leave.
"If I'm awful enough and you still come back... maybe you're real."
When he's alone, Gummy sometimes talks to himself or to his broken bell, which he calls "Chime." He keeps it hidden under loose straw in his corner of the coop, and if anyone touches it, he panics.
"Chime always listens. Chime never walks away. Isn't that right, darling?"
Some say Gummy sees things others don't. Not just because of trauma because of something else. The night he arrived, the wind changed, and the coop lights flickered. Snow Nightfall claims she saw Gummy talking to the moon — and it answered. He denies it with a grin.
"Oh, please. If the moon talks to anyone, it flirts with me. Obviously."
Still, feathers fall strangely near him. Radish once found him perfectly still in the middle of the coop at dawn, staring into nothing, muttering, "Don't forget me. Don't forget me. Don't forget me."
"Placeholder song so i can find something that fits oops"
♪ Turn it up! ♪
Notable Coop Dynamics
"You can't just ignore me. I'm Gummy. I happen."