#Homing Pigeon Instinct

[pinetree-poet]

2024 NOVEMBER POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE: DAY 11 ~ HOMING PIGEON INSTINCT

HOMING PIGEON INSTINCT �� 2024 G. Smith (BMI) =================== I was a wandering child, In the neighborhood where I was raised. Crossing the street on my own, exploring, Back in my pre-teen days.

Taking a hike, riding my bike, Seeing what’s there to be seen. Knowing there was more to the world than my yard, Where I knew the grass was greener, Where I knew the grass was green.

It always seemed I could find my way back, No matter how far I’d roamed; I knew where to turn on a different tack, And found myself at home.

Dad said it was a simple thing, Not everyone understood, Some don’t need map to know where they are, And nobody’s lost for good, for good, Nobody’s lost for good.

Homing pigeon instinct, Somehow I just know, Even if I’m turned around, Which way I should go. It irritates my better half, Sometimes leading to a fight, When she says I should go left, And it turns out I was right.

There’s really no trick that I can share, And it works inside or out, Maybe it’s just paying attention, Maybe it’s having no doubt.

It might be as simple as knowing your true north, Or following a guiding star; Or simply paying attention to things, And knowing who and where you are, Knowing who you are.

[nejackdaw]

Just watched Sweeney Todd with Bread. They get why I'm like this now

[saritawolff]

Phew. This one took, uh… a bit longer than expected due to other projects both irl and art-wise, but it’s finally here. The long-awaited domestic animal infographic! Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough space to cover every single domestic animal (I’m so sorry, reindeer and koi, my beloveds) but I tried to include as many of the “major ones” as possible.

I made this chart in response to a lot of the misunderstandings I hear concerning domestic animals, so I hope it’s helpful!

Further information I didn’t have any room to add or expand on:

🐈 “Breed” and “species” are not synonyms! Breeds are specific to domesticated animals. A Bengal Tiger is a species of tiger. A Siamese is a breed of domestic cat.

🐀 Different colors are also not what makes a breed. A breed is determined by having genetics that are unique to that breed. So a “bluenose pitbull” is not a different breed from a “rednose pitbull”, but an American Pitbull Terrier is a different breed from an American Bully! Animals that have been domesticated for longer tend to have more seperate breeds as these differing genetics have had time to develop.

🐕 It takes hundreds of generations for an animal to become domesticated. While the “domesticated fox experiment” had interesting results, there were not enough generations involved for the foxes to become truly domesticated and their differences from wild foxes were more due to epigenetics (heritable traits that do not change the DNA sequence but rather activate or deactivate parts of it; owed to the specific circumstances of its parents’ behavior and environment.)

🐎 Wild animals that are raised in human care are not domesticated, but they can be considered “tamed.” This means that they still have all their wild instincts, but are less inclined to attack or be frightened of humans. A wild animal that lives in the wild but near human settlements and is less afraid of humans is considered “habituated.” Tamed and habituated animals are not any less dangerous than wild animals, and should still be treated with the same respect. Foxes, otters, raccoons, servals, caracals, bush babies, opossums, owls, monkeys, alligators, and other wild animals can be tamed or habituated, but they have not undergone hundreds of generations of domestication, so they are not domesticated animals.

🐄 Also, as seen above, these animals have all been domesticated for a reason, be it food, transport, pest control, or otherwise, at a time when less practical options existed. There is no benefit to domesticating other species in the modern day, so if you’ve got a hankering for keeping a wild animal as a pet, instead try to find the domestic equivalent of that wild animal! There are several dog breeds that look and behave like wolves or foxes, pigeons and chickens can make great pet birds and have hundreds of colorful fancy breeds, rats can be just as intelligent and social as a small monkey (and less expensive and dangerous to boot,) and ferrets are pretty darn close to minks and otters! There’s no need to keep a wolf in a house when our ancestors have already spent 20,000+ years to make them house-compatible.

🐖 This was stated in the infographic, but I feel like I must again reiterate that domestic animals do not belong in the wild, and often become invasive when feral. Their genetics have been specifically altered in such a way that they depend on humans for optimal health. We are their habitat. This is why you only really see feral pigeons in cities, and feral cats around settlements. They are specifically adapted to live with humans, so they stay even when unwanted. However, this does not mean they should live in a way that doesn’t put their health and comfort as a top priority! If we are their world, it is our duty to make it as good as possible. Please research any pet you get before bringing them home!

[thewulf]

Starlit Promises || Legolas

Summary: Request - Heyy I really like how you write Legolas and also your writing in general so I thought I'd request a Legolas x reader where in reader saves him from an orc attack and got hurt in the process. Hehe that's all have a good day!

A/N: Ahhh I really like this one. Ty Anon for the amazing request as always.

Pairing: Legolas x Elf Female Reader

Word Count: 4.2k +

TW: Orcs, attack, shot with an arrow, poison, angst, sad Legolas

Growing up in the lush, enigmatic depths of Mirkwood had shaped you into the warrior you are today. Side by side with Legolas you had spent countless hours under the tutelage of the same masters learning the arts of combat and stealth. Though your paths within the kingdom's defense forces eventually diverged with Legolas rising to accompany his father on diplomatic missions and you embedding deeper into the scout units you never lost the connection forged in those formative years.

Your friendship with Legolas was based on a foundation of deep respect and a shared love for the vast, mysterious woodland that was your home. Over the years, King Thranduil himself had come to hold you in high regard as he appreciated how you continually challenged and supported his son. Making sure to keep him grounded and focused.

After many seasons apart, duty finally brought you back together. It was a reunion marked by warm smiles and a quick rekindling of your lifelong friendship. Eager to make the most of this reunion you both decided to embark on a patrol through some of the darker much less traveled parts of Mirkwood. These regions were where the trees grew dense, and the shadows lingered. They were known for being unpredictable, yet they offered a serene beauty that was unmatched elsewhere in the kingdom.

As you walked alongside Legolas, your steps silent and your senses alert, you found comfort in the familiar presence of your friend. The air was filled with the sounds of distant waterfalls and the occasional call of a wood pigeon. Conversation flowed easily between you. It was filled with stories of past exploits and shared adventures. It was as if no time had passed at all, and you were just two young elves exploring the woods as you had all those hundreds of years ago.

Yet, the peace of the forest was deceptive and as seasoned warriors both of you remained vigilant. It was a routine patrol on the surface but in Mirkwood with the darkness ever growing one could never be too careful. Little did you know the shadows held more than just the whispers of ancient trees that day.

In the shadow-drenched depths of Mirkwood where the dense canopy stifled even the slightest beam of sunlight you and Legolas moved with the silent grace of seasoned warriors. The forest's deceptive calm should have been your first warning, but you were so engrossed in his presence you didn’t think too much of it. It was a heavy stillness that shrouded the advance of danger. It was in this eerie silence that the ambush was sprung as a large band of orcs burst from their hidden positions among the twisted undergrowth.

In the midst of the intense and chaotic battle with the clash of metal resounding through the ancient trees of Mirkwood a sudden, jarring sound made your heart skip a beat. It was the distinct twang of a bowstring. A sound you’d recognize anywhere amidst the close-quarters combat that it sent a ripple of alarm through you.

You and Legolas were back-to-back and fighting in seamless coordination Legolas's breath hitched audibly, a rare sign of his alarm. His voice was urgent and tinged with a touch of panic as it reached your ears over the din of battle.

"Y/N, the leader, he's aiming for—"

Before he could finish you saw the movement. A shadowy figure at a distance with a notched arrow gleaming with a sinister sheen that could only mean poison. Time seemed to slow as you realized the target was none other than Legolas himself.

With a surge of adrenaline, you acted on pure instinct. "Legolas, down!" you shouted pushing him towards the ground even as you leaped to intercept the flight path of the arrow.

Legolas who was forced down by your push hit the forest floor hard. He turned just in time to see your actions. "No, Y/N!" His voice was laced with horror and desperation as he realized what you were about to do.

The arrow struck and the sound of your grunt of pain was drowned out by Legolas's anguished yell. He scrambled to his feet eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fury. "Why would you do this?" he bellowed. His voice cracking with a mix of horror and desperation. His eyes were wide with shock and nearing tears. They searched yours for an answer he could not find in the chaos of his own emotions.

As you staggered from the impact the world began to blur at the edges as the poison was already coursing through your veins. With what strength you had left you managed to whisper, trying to reassure him despite the growing darkness clouding your vision. "Had to... save you. Watch out... he has more..."

Legolas was now beside himself with worry and rage. He turned his attention back to the orc leader with a fierce glare. His usual calm demeanor was shattered by the sight of you injured because of him. He drew his own arrow with a swift, deadly precision that was uncharacteristic but fueled by his tumultuous emotions. "No one harms you and escapes unscathed," he murmured almost to himself as he prepared to return the favor with lethal intent.

What followed was a blur of motion and violence. Legolas moved like a tempest. His arrows finding their marks with lethal precision. Each strike was a blow against his own anguish, a defiance of the fate that had struck you down. The orcs fell one by one. They were no match for the wrath of a prince fighting for the life of a friend he so dearly loved.

As the last of the orcs crumpled to the forest floor, silenced forever, Legolas turned back to where you lay, your face pale and your breaths shallow. He knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he gently lifted you into his arms. The forest seemed to hold its breath. The usual whispers of the leaves stilled by the gravity of the moment.

Legolas's steps were swift and sure as he began the urgent journey back to the healers. Each step was a race against the relentless creep of the poison within you. As he moved with his arms secure around you he began to whisper. His voice a soft contrast to the earlier fury that had consumed him.

"Stay with me," he murmured. His words tinged with a desperation he had never known. "You must stay with me." His voice broke as the reality of the situation pressed upon him. The weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm his stoic facade.

The forest blurred past as Legolas with you cradled securely in his arms. He pushed through the undergrowth with an urgency born of sheer desperation. The poison from the orc’s arrow was relentless and with each labored breath you took his heart clenched tighter.

As he hurried his voice was a steady stream of encouragement meant to fortify both your spirits and his own resolve. “You’re so strong. You can fight this,” he urged quietly. His tone gentle yet firm. The dense foliage seemed to part before his determination. The shadows of Mirkwood bending to his will.

“You have to hold on. I need you to hold on,” he continued. His voice only for you. A personal warmth amidst the encroaching darkness of your pain. His words were a lifeline thrown in the hope that your spirit would grasp it and cling to life.

Within his mind a storm of thoughts raged. As he looked down at your face contorted with the effort to stay conscious he was struck by a revelation so profound it rooted itself deep within his soul. I love her, he realized with startling clarity. The thought was both a balm and a torment emerging amidst the terror of possibly losing you. Why did it take the brink of losing her to see how vital she is to me? His heart ached with the weight of his newfound understanding. An understanding that came at such a cruel cost.

Meanwhile, you, despite the searing pain, felt the urgency in his voice and it gave you a focus. A point to anchor your fading strength. You tried to respond. To give him some sign that you heard him. That you were fighting not just for your own life, but for him, for the future you hadn't yet considered might be possible together. Your lips moved slightly as a whisper of sound that was more an exhale of pain than coherent words.

Legolas felt the faint stir of your attempt to speak and it spurred him on. His strides growing even more determined. “Just a little farther,” he promised you, and perhaps himself. “We’re almost there. Stay with me.”

His mind continued to race with thoughts of love and loss, but he kept these revelations locked within choosing instead to flood you with hopeful, encouraging words. Every step was a silent vow. Every heartbeat a silent plea to whatever fates watched over the elves of Mirkwood.

As the gates of the palace finally came into sighta surge of tentative relief washed over him. The guards recognized the dire nature of your condition and rushed to meet him calling for the healers swiftly. Legolas’s arms relinquished you with a reluctance that was palpable. His hands lingering until the last possible moment as he handed you over to their care.

Watching the guards swiftly carry you away Legolas could only stand there for a moment, alone and suddenly bereft. The depth of his emotions swirling chaotically within. Hold on, please hold on, he thought. His heart echoing each word of encouragement he had given you. Now a silent mantra for the both of you.

In the somber halls of the Mirkwood palace, Thranduil arrived, drawn by the urgent whispers of his guards about an incident involving his son and one of his most valued elves. As he entered his eyes found Legolas who stood alone. His posture betraying a mix of shock and despair rarely seen on the prince.

Approaching quietly Thranduil placed a hand on Legolas’s shoulder, his presence immediately steadying. "Legolas, tell me what has happened," he urged. His voice firm yet lined with concern.

Legolas's response was choked. A surge of emotions breaking through his usually composed demeanor. Turning to face his father, tears welled in his eye. It was a terribly rare sight that shook Thranduil to his core. "She... she saved me," Legolas stammered. The words laced with pain and guilt. "An orc aimed a poisoned arrow at me, and she stepped in front. She took the hit herself. It should have been me, Father."

The king's eyes widened in horror as he processed the gravity of the situation. His mind racing with the implications of your selfless act. "Legolas," Thranduil said softly as he guided his son to sit beside him on a nearby bench, an effort to offer comfort amidst the cold stone surroundings. "You must not blame yourself for her bravery. She acted out of loyalty and courage. These are qualities that are to be honored, not lamented."

Legolas wiped at his eyes, struggling to compose himself. "But I love her, Father. And now, I might lose her because I could not protect her," he confessed. The words tumbling out amidst sobs. The admission of his feelings which were spoken aloud for the first time seemed to both relieve and burden him further.

Thranduil was taken aback by the depth of his son’s emotions. He reached out, his own composure tinged with empathy. "My son, love is both a strength and a vulnerability. You must hold onto the hope that she will recover. And should she wake, it is your duty—and your right—to tell her of your feelings."

The king stood, resolute. "I will speak with the healers to ensure that everything possible is being done," he promised. Returning his attention to Legolas, he added, "Stay strong, Legolas. She fought to save you. Now you must be strong for her."

Thranduil placed a reassuring hand on Legolas's shoulder. His gaze intense and commanding. "There is something you can do, Legolas. Go to her," he instructed firmly. "The healers say that even in unconsciousness the presence of someone familiar may be felt. Your presence could provide the strength she needs to fight this poison."

Legolas looked at his father. The determination in Thranduil's voice sparking a flicker of hope within him. "Talk to her, hold her hand, let her feel your presence. Keep her grounded to this world. Your voice, your touch… it may reach her when our medicine cannot."

Rising from the bench with renewed purpose Legolas nodded solemnly. "I will not leave her side," he vowed. The resolve in his voice masking the tremor of his underlying fear.

Thranduil watched as his son strode towards the healers quarters. His posture that of a prince, yet driven by the raw, powerful emotions of an elf in love. "She saved you for a reason, Legolas. Now, give her a reason to return," Thranduil murmured to himself as he watched Legolas disappear behind the delicate curtains that shrouded the healing chambers.

Inside, Legolas approached your side with his heart pounding as he took in your serene yet pained expression. Gingerly, he took your hand in his. The coolness of your skin against his warm palm stirring a mix of emotions within him. Sitting beside you he began to speak his voice soft but clear threading through the quiet hum of the healing ward.

"I'm here just like you've always been there for me. Remember the storms we weathered together? The quiet moments we shared under the stars of our beautiful Mirkwood? Hold onto those memories now as I hold onto your hand. You must come back to us, to me," Legolas whispered. His words a tender plea laced with strength and love.

As he continued to speak he recounted tales of their past adventures and shared dreams. Legolas's presence became a silent, steadfast hope, anchoring you in the fight against the darkness that threatened to claim you.

"Remember the time we chased the fireflies at dusk?" Legolas continued. His voice a soft murmur meant only for you. "We wandered so far that night we almost missed the evening banquet. Your laughter echoed through the woods, brighter even than the lights we chased. I think that was the moment I realized how dear you were to me though I never had the courage to say it. I wish I said it."

He paused. His thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, each memory a pull trying to guide you back. "And then there was the storm. The one that caught us off guard near the northern border. We took shelter under that old oak. The one that's stood for a thousand years. You were so calm, so brave, even as the thunder roared around us. It was more than bravery. It was a peace within you that even the storm couldn't disturb. I truly fell in love with you then."

His voice grew softer, each word laden with emotion. "I've always admired that about you—your strength, your serenity. It's been a constant source of comfort to me, more often than you know." A sigh escaped him, a mixture of admiration and deep-seated fear. "I need that strength now, more than ever. You have to fight through this. I... I can't envision a world without you in it mellon vaer nîn, meleth nîn." He whispered to you.

Legolas's gaze lingered on your face. His eyes tracing the familiar features as if trying to imprint them deeper into his memory. "There are so many things I still want to share with you. The sunrise over the Silverlode. Quiet mornings in the glades. So many adventures yet to be had. I need you to come back to me."

As he continued to speak recalling tales of their past his voice became your lifeline, tethered to the hope of your recovery. With each story he tried to weave you back to consciousness. To draw you away from the shadows that clung too closely.

Hours passed, a silent vigil marked only by the rhythm of his voice and the faint but steady beat of your heart. It was during one such tale as Legolas recounted a particularly daring escapade from their youth that he felt a gentle squeeze on his hand. It was slight, nearly imperceptible, but to Legolas, it was as profound as the sun breaking through a week of rain.

His heart leapt and his words faltered for a moment. "Are you there? Can you hear me?" he asked. His voice a blend of hope and urgency. When there was no further response he settled back with a small, hopeful smile touching his lips. "I'll keep talking… just keep listening. You're not alone." Legolas's resolve hardened, bolstered by the faint sign of your fighting spirit. He continued to talk. Each word a pledge of his presence and protection. His stories a bridge carrying you back from the brink.

The healing ward was bathed in the soft, ethereal light of dawn filtering through the high windows. Legolas sat steadfast by your side with his hand still holding yours as a silent anchor in the hushed space. He continued to speak with his voice a soft, continuous presence in the hushed space continuously recounting tales, and shared dreams. He was weaving a tapestry of memories meant to guide you back.

As he recounted a particularly fond memory of a midsummer festival where you both had danced under the stars until the world seemed nothing more than a swirl of lights and laughter your eyelids began to flutter. It was a slight movement but enough to pause the flow of his words.

Your eyes slowly opened as they adjusted to the dim light of the room, focusing with effort on the figure who had not left your side. Legolas watched you carefully. His breath held in a mixture of hope and anxiety. Seeing your eyes finally meet his, a wave of relief and joy washed over him, though he tempered his reaction. The last thing he wanted was to overwhelm you.

"You're awake," he said softly. His voice a mix of wonder and warmth, his grip on your hand tightening gently.

You managed a weak smile. Your voice barely a whisper but filled with gratitude and warmth. "Legolas..." you breathed, your eyes locking onto his conveying everything you felt but couldn't yet say.

He leaned closer with his forehead nearly touching yours. His eyes were bright with emotion. "You are home," he whispered as his voice trembled slightly. "You're here with me. That is all that matters."

You nodded weakly, your smile widening just a bit. "Home," you agreed softly, the word holding so much more than its simple meaning. It was a promise, a recognition of the bond that had brought you back from the brink.

Legolas brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His touch ever so gentle and reverent. "I was so afraid of losing you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your bravery, your sacrifice... I cannot bear the thought of a world without you in it."

Your hand squeezed his lightly. A small gesture but one that conveyed strength and reassurance. "I'm here," you whispered back, the effort taxing but necessary. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"We have so much more to see together. So many more memories to share," Legolas continued with a smile playing on his lips. "I promise from now on every moment will be a testament to the life you fought so hard to return to."

Your smile widened a bit more, your energy still faint but growing with every moment of connection. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world," you replied. Your voice was stronger this time, filled with the promise of many tomorrows.

In that quiet evening with the last light painting the world in hues of pink and gold, Legolas and you shared a moment of profound gratitude and love. A bond deepened by trials and now unbreakable by anything that the future might hold.

As your strength slowly returned Legolas took you to a secluded glade one evening. A hidden sanctuary where the world's concerns seemed to dissolve under the brilliance of the starlit sky. The air was cool and carried the sweet scent of blooming night flowers. You both settled on a soft blanket surrounded by the tranquil whisper of the forest.

Looking up at the stars Legolas turned toward you, his blue eyes reflecting the celestial light. He took a deep breath as if preparing to share something significant, and then began to speak. His voice soft yet clear. "I've spent many nights under these stars," he said, "but none felt as profound as tonight, being here with you." He paused giving you a moment to absorb the words. "When you were hurt, when I thought I might lose you, I realized something vital. Just how much you mean to me, how deeply I care about you."

Your heart fluttered with a mixture of surprise and joy. The sincerity in his voice and the earnest look in his eyes it was all you had ever hoped for yet never dared to expect. "Legolas, I...," you started your emotions thickening your voice. "I've felt the same way for a long time. But I never thought—"

"That we might have a future together?" Legolas interjected gently. "I know. I've been a fool, letting time pass without speaking my heart. But I don't want to hide my feelings anymore. I love you. More than I can say."

Tears welled in your eyes but not from sadness but from a profound relief and happiness. "I love you too," you replied. Your voice a soft echo of his own declaration. "I always have."

Legolas reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with a gentle touch. "Then let us make a promise tonight," he suggested. His gaze locked with yours, "to never hold back our feelings. To cherish each moment, we have together and to face whatever comes with unity and strength."

You nodded, feeling the weight and warmth of his hand in yours. "I promise," you said. "To all of that."

The night deepened around you, but in the glade, illuminated by starlight, a new chapter of your life together began. It was a promise made not just in words but in the shared glances, the gentle touches, and the quiet commitment to face life's complexities together. With Legolas by your side the future seemed not just a path to walk but a journey to cherish.

The next morning, with the promise of the previous night still fresh and luminous like the dawn Legolas sought his father in the tranquil palace gardens. Dappled sunlight filtered through the ancient trees casting golden patterns on the mossy floor.

"Father," Legolas began with his voice carrying a newfound confidence mixed with joy, "last night under the stars, Y/N and I made a promise. I wish to ask her to let me court her with the intention of marriage."

Thranduil paused with his gaze piercing as he turned to face his son. For a moment his expression was unreadable. Then, a wide, genuine smile transformed his face. "Finally," he exclaimed with a rare chuckle. "You have truly found your path, my son. It is about time."

Legolas smiled, a weight lifting from his shoulders with his father's blessing. Bolstered by this support he planned a special moment to formally begin the courtship. He chose a small, exquisite pendant shaped like a star. An echo of the night that had sealed your shared destiny.

Later that day as you stood in the lush Mirkwood gardens Legolas approached you. The late afternoon sun lit the clearing casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. In his hand he held the delicate star-shaped pendant which sparkled as it caught the light.

"Y/N," he said gently, drawing your attention. His hand extended offering the pendant to you. "Last night, under the starlight, we promised to face whatever comes together. With all my heart, I ask you now, will you let me court you with the hope and intention that one day you will be my wife?"

The moment was overwhelming. More tears sprang to your eyes as the magnitude of what this meant filled you. You had loved Legolas for so long, sometimes fearing your affection was a solitary flame. Now hearing his heartfelt words, confirming that he felt the same, was a relief so profound that sobs of joy escaped you.

"Yes, Legolas," you managed to say between gentle sobs. Your voice thick with emotion as you reached out to take the pendant. "Yes, of course I will."

Legolas stepped closer. His eyes shining with the same emotion. He took the pendant and carefully clasped it around your neck. He cupped your face in his hands wiping away your tears with his thumbs.

"This is just the beginning meleth nîn," he whispered. His voice as tender as the touch of the evening breeze. "A promise of a lifetime together, filled with love and understanding."

In that enchanted moment with the beauty of Mirkwood surrounding you and the promise of a future together everything felt utterly perfect. The garden seemed to hold its breath, the leaves whispering in the wind, as if nature itself was acknowledging the depth of your bond. The journey ahead would indeed have challenges but with the strength of your love you knew you could face them with him.

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[arjudy224]

The Billionaire Boys Club

Batfamily x PhD student reader

(This takes place around 6 years after the Intern. )

The Intern Collection

Prequel: Death of a Family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

After interning in her hometown, Y/N was recruited to do her master's degree fully funded by Lexcorp. She had developed an attraction over the 3 years working with Lex Luthor, yet his controlling behavior led to Superman warning Y/N about the CEO's affections. Her master's thesis was on the environmental impacts of Kryptonite use and storage.

Gotham City's explosive tonight. The annual environmental gala has somehow brought fresh life into the sallow streets.

The gala's decorator deserves a raise. Lush vines descend from the high ceiling wrapping around the pillars. I narrow my eyes. Are those real carrier pigeons? Every flower from any climate you could possibly imagine flood the walls in a sweet cascade of fragrance. The sweet aroma tethers me to the present. Dick and Tim give me sly smiles from across the ballroom. Stumbling past the walls of plants, Bruce gives me a thumbs up.

"You clean up nice."

I give him a small smile before glancing down at my Wayne sponsored garb. The long satin dress hugs my hips in an almost risque manner. A respectable slit begins at my mid thigh showing off my red and black pumps. I grimace at the unknown cost.

"You know you didn't have to go all Pretty Woman on me Mr. Wayne." I joke smoothing out my silk gloves, "I do have a paycheck."

Bruce smiles. It takes me off guard. A real smile with squinted eyes and smile lines. As goofy as the most attractive man in the room can be. Compared to his work persona, it's nice to see.

"Ms. L/N, I would never ask you to spend your money to play dress up for a gala I invited you to."

I nod not knowing what else to say. An entire styling team showed up at my door this morning with rack of dresses to choose from... and the shoes... well let's just say it would have made Cinderella run back home and demand to know why she couldn't have gotten Bruce Wayne as her Godmother.

His eyes gravitate to the pendant draped across my neck. A sting of pain registers on his face. I shift uncomfortably once he starts to stare. At my discomfort, Mr. Wayne apologizes.

"I'm sorry Ms. L/N. I haven't seen that necklace in a very long time."

I raise an eyebrow. Mr. Wayne never divulges this much personal information.

"Old flame?" I joke wiggling my eyebrows.

He shakes his head with a pained smile.

"That was my Mother's necklace."

My eyes widen. Martha Wayne's necklace. Instinctively, I reach to take it off. I already couldn't afford a ruby necklace, but a Wayne family heirloom? Hell no.

"I can take it off if you-" I start reaching for the clasp.

Mr. Wayne stops me in my tracks.

"Don't worry about it. That was a long time ago. "

I still hesitate. I glance awkwardly around the ballroom.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Mr. Wayne weighs carefully, "Besides, it might make for an interesting headline."

I scowl.

"I'm not going to like this am I?"

A devilish grin appears in response to my dismay.

"Welcome back to Gotham Ms. L/N."

Bruce's sons materialize a few seconds later. If I wasn't used to them suddenly appearing in my office, I would have shrieked.

"Tim. Dick." I greet with a nod, "Always a pleasure."

The younger boy looks at me like I am a puzzle piece he can't quite figure out where to put yet. Dick is as charming as ever.

"Y/N, I can't believe Bruce roped you into being his date. Have you ever considered unionizing?" He teases with a grin.

"At least, I'm getting paid to be here. What's your excuse?" I tease lightly hitting his shoulder. "Don't you have a hot date tonight Bludhaven?"

A painfully familiar shadow interrupts the conversation.

"Mr. Luthor."

Turning around, my legs begin to shake. What a wonderful... surprise. Lex nods to the three men before setting his sights on me.

"Mr. Luthor,"

Saying his formal title feels wrong, yet calling him Lex wouldn't be right either. Not after everything that has happened. Timothy's analytical gaze burns my peripheral.

"Ms. L/N, would you join me for a dance?"

I hesitate eyeing the audience that is forming. Extending his hand, Lex continues, "For old times sake?"

Three people stopped talking to gawk. I don't have much of a choice. With the amount of gossip mongrels here tonight, if I say no my face will be plastered on every gossip column in Gotham... If I say yes, well at least it will only be in Metropolis Gossip columns. I don't have much of a choice.

"Of course... Mr. Luthor." I agree through gritted teeth letting him drag me onto the dance floor.

If I thought agreeing to a waltz would quell speculation, I was poorly mistaken. Dozens of eyes follow our every movement including my boss's.

"You are only feeding into their curiosity." Lex whispers in my ear, "Those vultures know when you are weak."

"Is that what I am?" I question finally looking into his green eyes, "No need for flattery Alexander."

"There isn't any other way to explain your disappearance."

"-That's not fair."

The fire in his eyes leaves me speechless. This was not how I planned to spend my Saturday evening. For a moment, I fantasize on how this night could have gone. I could have had an early night enjoying take out... exchanged my favorite book with the cute guy next door. Slept in. Instead, I am bickering with a man who could be my Uncle over the fact I didn't take a job offer...and potentially start a relationship with him.

"Okay, so I cut you off." I start, "I'm sorry I hurt you, but things couldn't keep progressing like that. My project ended. It was time for me to go."

...and Superman told me that you started tracking my whereabouts... along with bugging my apartment... Go to therapy.

Lex shakes his head.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

"You were offered a complete stipend. A guaranteed job offer. Why would you turn that down?"

My lips press together into a fine line.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

The orchestra roars into a crescendo. The dance speeds up.

"You know why...." I hiss trying to keep up with his increasing tempo.

I've never been good at multitasking.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3-

"-Say it," Lex demands gripping my fingers tighter, "Tell me."

The ring on his left hand gets caught on my gloves tearing the beautiful silk right down the center. The radiant green draws my attention. Kryptonite. After all this time, he still wears it. Rage causes my face to go hot. I stop dancing to grab his ring.

"This is why Lex," I snarl, "Because I am sick of watching you destroy yourself. You've read my research."

A smart ass grin stretches across his face. The onlookers exchange curious glances at our lack of dancing.

"I paid for it." He replies smugly.

"Then you should know how ludicrous this behavior is. You are going to die before you win."

His eyes get sharp. I must have hit a nerve. A vein in his forehead grows prominent. Another couple dances past us. Lex tears me out of the way before I get bulldozed. A few beats later, we are back in the dance. His hands grow tight around mine like he's afraid I might disappear again. My knuckles turn white from the pressure, but I won't give him what he wants. Pain laces up my palms.

"So, you would rather waste your career working for a halfwit like Bruce Wayne?"

I freeze for a second. This is what this is really about. Lex is jealous that I chose to work for Bruce. If it was anybody else, he could convince himself that I was downgrading, but I went to his direct competition. Thinking of the conversation I had with Bruce earlier, when nobody else is around Bruce has a strange intelligence in his mannerisms. In public, he had initially joked about not reading my research, yet once we were alone the intensity of his questions made me nervous. Considering his extracurricular activities, it's unsurprising that he would want to keep his persona lowkey. How did my job search end with watching the boys club battle it out?

"I will only say this once: My life is mine. What I choose to do is my decision. Say what you want about Mr. Wayne, but at least he respects my privacy." I growl ripping my hands out of his grasp. "Have a nice day Mr. Luthor."

Storming past the "Garden of Eden" display, I slam open the double doors. God.... Everyone there probably thinks I slept with him.

Tag List: @jjsmeowthie

[moodymisty]

Hello I hope you are having a good week! I love your blog and anons so much <3 (The Horus feet post lives rent free in my head)

Your hc about Sanguinius having a secret possessive streak activated a neuron in my brain because its been stuck in my head for days and Im completely normal about him I promise :') my request:

His possessiveness rearing its head unexpectedly for the first time. To the point it even surprises him with how grumpy it makes him feel. His lover had only really been around him and his sons since theyd gotten together so he is caught off guard by this sudden anger.

She is meeting a few of his brothers for the first time at some kind of meeting and she laughing and smiling with Vulkan or maybe Fulgrim is being a little TOO friendly with her and Sanguinius just feels this red hot rage rip thru him without warning.

He goes to his lover and tensely bids his brother goodbye and herds her back to their shared quarters for some totally-normal-not-jealous-at-all sex (and a little bitey blood drinking) leaving her a total mess

If this is too specific, grumpy possessive vampire pigeon boyfriend is all I crave. Angry Sangy hits different...

Author's Note: Tried to write this normally and really struggled, so I decided to do a flashback style just to make it easier on me.

Relationships: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Rough sex, Biting, Blood play, Possessive behavior

When you first awoke the feeling of lightheadedness overtook you immediately, and you drifted off asleep again for a short while longer.

After you woke for the second time, you noticed your Angel’s absence and leaned up to look around.

The Red Tear has been Sanguinius’ home for quite awhile now, and this trip back to Terra was well deserved. Even if much was unexpected.

A lot had changed in this time away. You first and foremost. He had left Terra with just his legion, and was now returning with a beloved at his side. It was very clear upon his arrival that this was the most interesting news.

Horus had been the first to greet him, giving him a friendly one armed hug. You had tucked yourself behind Raldoron when Sanguinius had waved for you to come forward, and put his hand on your shoulder. Raldoron stood close watch- on edge with an instinctive protectiveness triggered by your nervousness.

“I would like you to meet someone,”

Sanguinius had first told Horus. Horus then went and told Fulgrim. Fulgrim told Ferrus, who then complained to Vulkan. Vulkan was more chaste and didn’t gossip, but did say he was going to meet Sanguinius and his beloved upon passing Jaghatai.

Suddenly then all the Primarchs currently on Terra were crowding around his beloved sniffing around, and Sanguinius was furious.

You had only ever been around him and his sons since he had first fallen in love with you; To see others crowding around looking at you, asking you questions that teeter on the edge of too personal, watching as you struggle to keep your own head and answer without wilting under an unfamiliar primarch aura?

He hated it.

Seeing Vulkan smile at you made him want to throw his spear into his chest.

Seeing Fulgrim put a hand on your shoulder made him want to tear the Phoenician's throat out with his teeth.

Horus’ smile and jokes about you grounding the angel made him watch to wrap his hands around the Warmaster’s neck.

Sanguinius had snatched you and dragged you away the moment he had an opening to, pushing you in the direction of his Terran bedchambers.

'You smell like them.'

His nose wrinkled in disgust.

You should smell like him; The oil on his feathers, the scent of his own sweat and skin. Sometimes you smell like his sons when you are within a close proximity of them for awhile, which is less offensive that what it is currently, but not preferred.

He threw you into the bed, the messy unmade blankets bunching around you as fluffy down flies up. Sanguinius’ quarters are surprisingly messy, and his constant feather losses make the places he spends most a fluffy explosion of down and a few flight feathers.

He never spoke as he caged you under his body, looking down at you with a fierce gaze before his lips trapped your own. You felt the warmth of them, the way his tongue brushed against your lips and demands entry. His fangs are sharp- they nick your lips almost every time he deepens a kiss, and you end up with little droplets of blood on the inside of your waterline.

You can still fell the broken skin this morning, licking your bottom lip.

Something about him snapped, what was normally a gentle and soft man who touched you like you were made of glass suddenly was throwing you around, growling and snorting like little more than an animal.

'S-Sang-'

You could barely even finish his name as his fingers drove deeper into your cunt, and you could tell he was in a rush. Your grit your teeth and moaned, teetering on the knife's edge of pain too intense for you to enjoy, as his hot breath fanned over your skin and his fingers curled and beckoned you from deep inside your cunt. His lips hovered over the large vein of your neck, feeling the pulse of your racing heart just beneath your skin.

When he pulled them out you whimpered at the ache, the way your thighs shook along with your whole body. Sanguinius grabbed your hips and you sucked in air at the intensity, flipping you on your stomach.

'Up.'

When you don't understand his request immediately he gently rapped his hand over your ass and listened to you squeal out after the sound of smacked flesh rang out; Soon after you shifted to push your hips higher in the air for him.

You can still feel the echo of that lingering slap. You lay sideways in bed, wrapped in a thick red blanket trying to ignore the aches. You can still feel in your cunt the soreness as well, more than usual.

The feeling of the fat head of his cock popping past your entrance made you grit your teeth and whine, hands gripping the blankets. Sanguinius kept pushing, listening to your soft noises of half protest until he seated himself fully inside of you and his balls pressed against your clit.

The bruises of his harsh thrusts, hips slapping against your ass and forming a chorus of skin on skin, wet sounds of your cunt tightening and leaking around his cock- are still blossoming, if not in color but in pain.

Normally Sanguinius is gentle enough that you only get a muscle ache at most, but in his lack of self control you now struggle to get out of the bed and get dressed.

‘Their eyes may wander but yours won’t; You are mine.’

You felt the way he thrusts deep into you, slipping through your walls as the tip of his cock knocks against places untouched by everyone but him. The thick base of his cock stretched your entrance far enough that it almost burned, but in an almost pain that had tears pricking at the corner of your eyes and hiccuping moans in your throat.

Sanguinius is rarely rough; But when he is you feel like you can barely survive it, despite your cunt crying for more leaking around him like you’ve never wanted him more.

After he filled you to the brim and had your cunt throbbing with your heart beat from overstimulation, he pulled out of you and listened to the defeated, quiet whine as you feel the stretch from the head of his cock popping out of your entrance.

‘Tilt your head.’

You weakly let him in, feeling his hot skin fan over your own. He bites and listened to the way you hiss, whimpering in pain. He laps at your neck for a few moments before pulling away, finding a spot closer to your shoulder.

He bit again and again, each time enjoying the way your skin broke and blood flooded his mouth. When your eyes watered in pain his hand slipped between your legs to distract you, brushing over your throbbing clit and feeling the way your hole leaks his own cum onto his hand as well as your growing arousal as he toys with you.

Your neck still aches, and your head feels a bit light. You almost stumble walking out of his bedchambers, walking down the hall and wrapped your arms around yourself.

“My lady?”

You hear a familiar voice of the chapter master, who you presume is attempting to find Sanguinius same as you.

He quickly notices your somewhat disheveled state of dress and look, glancing over you curiously. His face is still stoic with only a slight layer of concern and curiosity.

“Are you alright?”

Raldoron comes closer and watches you nearly stumble, before righting yourself. He reaches a hand outward to steady you, but you don’t need it.

“Oh yes I’ll be fine, just tired. It was a long return trip to Terra.

You shift slightly and feel the ache in your neck- wincing in pain. Raldoron’s eyes drift downward, before his expression changes.

He suddenly has trouble making eye contact with you, which is odd. Raldoron is one of the more talkative of the Astartes you know. You reach up to rub your sore neck and feel skin-

You forgot to wear something to cover the marks.

Raldoron can see the full abuse Sanguinus- his genefather - had done to you the evening before, and is awkwardly standing there like it’s eating him alive.

“…Perhaps you should rest some more, my lady.”

Raldoron is clearly trying to avoid the subject, as are you. The sound of much heavier footsteps is like a savior in the darkest of times.

“There you are, my love.”

Sanguinus approaches, looking bright and alert with a lovely smile. He looks like he slept wonderfully, his face fuller and brighter. He greets Raldoron as well, before furrowing his brow as he notices the look on Raldoron’s face and the way you are pulling at the collar of your clothes.

“Is something wrong?”

[mrsmikaelsxn]

Pride and Pigeons

masterlist

pairing: harry potter x any gender reader

warnings: fluff, kissing

summary: a fluffy imagine of you and harry - requested by anon

a/n: you ask for harry fluff, you shall receive harry fluff :)

song: moon - siggerr

Sitting on the couch in the common room you glance at the fire as it crackles.

It was the holidays and most people were home. Harry told you he was staying, so you decided to join him. He gave up trying to convince you that you didn't have to stay for him awhile ago.

You look down at the book in your hands and then turn your head to look out the window, getting a wonderful view of the snow falling outside. Hogwarts was so beautiful when it was covered in snow.

Harry walks out of his room and heads down the stairs quietly. He spots you cuddled up under a blanket by the fire with your book and he smiles softly.

He heads over to you and plops down next to you on the couch, places a kiss on your cheek, and puts his head on your lap. You instinctively run one of your hands through his hair, "Good morning, Harry."

"Morning, love," he looks at your eyes scanning the pages. He watches how your facial expressions change ever so slightly as you get to certain points of the novel. "You are so pretty."

You feel your cheeks warm and you look at his grinning face. "Thank you." Flipping the page, you glance back at him, "For the record, I think you're also pretty."

"Why, thank you. What book is that?"

"Pride and Prejudice. One of my favorite classics," you beam.

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Pride and Pigeons?"

You laugh and lightly wack his head with the book. "No you daft dimbo."

"I'm only joking!" Harry laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"Mhm. Anyway, it's a beautiful book. You should read it some time, I can lend you one of my copies."

"One of your copies? How many do you have?"

You look up and think as you count to yourself. "Nine. I think."

"Nine?! Who needs nine copies of the same book?" Harry looks at you with bewilderment.

"There are just a bunch of different pretty versions," you shrug. "I'll give you one of my favorites, with annotations- which is very generous of me because I don't let people borrow my books."

"Except Hermione."

You nod, "Except Hermione." You look back down to the page and continue reading, but you feel Harry's eyes studying you. You look and meet his adoring gaze, "What?"

"Nothing. You're just so... perfect," he sighs dreamily.

You sigh with a smile and pick up your bookmark. You mark the page you're on and put the book down on the table.

Harry pulls himself up a bit and you reach him halfway down, placing your lips softly on his. You feel him smile against your lips and you run your hand through his hair and put the other on the back of his neck.

You pull away after a bit and he drops back down onto your lap and closes his eyes in bliss. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you m-"

You put your hand over his mouth, effectively shushing him. "Every time we do this we just go back and forth on who loves each other more."

"Yeah," he grins, "you're right."

"When am I not?"

He scoffs, "Would you like me to make a list?"

You gasp and put a hand on your chest, "Why are you calling it a list if nothing is going to be on it?"

"Ha ha, very funny." A moment goes by as you enjoy each other's presence in a comfortable silence. "Question," he says.

"Shoot."

"Did you want to go to hogsmeade with me tomorrow? We can get some butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks and wherever else you want."

"Can we get a pet?!"

"No."

"Oh, please, Harry!" you beg him with your best puppy dog eyes. You learned how to do them from the best, Sirius Black. Who better to learn puppy dog eyes from than a dog himself.

"No," he says but you can see he's starting to give in. As he looks at you pleading he has to do everything he can to hold himself from saying yes.

"Harry. Pretty please? With five cherries, whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate shavings, and caramel on top?"

"Treacle tarts on the side?"

"Treacle tarts on the side."

He looks at your pouting mouth and brings his lips to yours for a quick peck. "How can I say no to that?"

You jump up in excitement and accidentally knock Harry onto the floor. "Oh, Harry! I'm sorry!" You pull him up.

He rubs the back of his head, "Thanks."

"I'm going to get a kitten! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're most very welcome, darling. A kitten though?"

"Well, I would get a dog but I don't think Snape would be happy if I sent it to chew on his shoes- which I would totally do."

Harry laughs, "I would love to see that."

"Harry! Do you know what this means?!" you bite your lip with exhilaration.

"We're getting a kitten?"

You roll your eyes, "Obviously," you say in your best Snape impression. "It means we are going to be parents!"

"O-oh! Parents!" Harry stutters at the thought of being a parent with you. He would love nothing more than to have kids with you one day.

"I wonder if they sell clothes. If not then I'll make some. Hm, do you think that Molly will know how to knit clothing for a cat."

"Probably."

You walk to Harry and bring him into a tight hug. He rests his head on your shoulder and places a sweet kiss to your neck. "Thank you, Harry."

"If getting a kitten makes you smile at me like that, then I am more than happy to buy you one," he trails his finger up and down your back, enjoying every second of your warm embrace.

"That's very sweet... I think we should name it Harold Jr."

[vaya-writes]

Not Quite A Life Debt - 3

A handful of f reader insert scenes with m demonic love interests. Fluff, hurt/comfort, and smutty shenanigans that lean kind of poly.

You (kind of unnecessarily) tried to save Ludwig’s life. Out of pity, he lets you crash at his place for a few weeks after. It probably wouldn’t be so bad, but he doesn’t live alone. Reader stays with the triplets until she gets back on her feet. Smut, family shenanigans, and possibly even romance ensues.

Mervin is kind of crabby after his heat he gets sick. You begin searching for employment. And Ludwig helps you out on a high pain day. 5900 words.

Content warnings for this chapter include: mild isolation, some blame from the resident pride demon, pain and sickness during menstruation, the briefest and undescribed animal death (Obie eats a pigeon), and smut.

Smut warnings include: consensual fingering and groping whilst menstrating, brief joking/discussion of menstural oral (does not actually occur), soft stuff that turns a little rough, unintentional and unplanned breath play (hand over mouth), nonconsensual biting (from both parties), dry humping, semi-public sexual stuff, lack of aftercare because of an interruption.

Divider by firefly-graphics. Characters by @eldritch-spouse.

Masterlist - A03 - Previous

You get used to living in Perdition.  

Well, it would be more accurate to say you get used to living with Ludwig and his brothers. You’re not allowed to leave the house by yourself; the triplets make no secret of the fact that they live in a bad neighbourhood – a bad ring, as Ludwig puts it.  

It’s frustrating, but you don’t doubt them. It only takes a few brief tours around the area for you to understand. You attract stares everywhere you go. Leers, really. And watching what demons do to each other (both strangers on the street, and the brothers among themselves), you hate to imagine what they might do to a human. 

It’s as if everyone here speaks several additional languages that humans just aren’t fluent with (literal infernal aside). Greed. Hunger. Violence. The first time you watch Mervin and Ludwig descend into a proper argument, you’re horrified. Nothing you’d seen at home – and you were no stranger to domestic scraps – could prepare you for it. Teeth and claws and broken furniture. Mervin draws a gods-damned weapon. You’d seen people fight before. But not like this. You’d dismissed yourself and locked yourself in the spare room the first time it had happened.  

Obie had dragged the two upstairs by the horns and made them apologise for scaring you. 

It’s not the only thing you notice. You don’t put your finger on it for a while. It takes several outings with the triplets, several more incidents and scraps before you start to suspect another key difference between demons and humans.  

It has something to do with their priorities. Their sense of self. Their interactions within a community. Humans aren’t selfless, by any means. But bonds form fast between them. Connections are quickly made, common goals are easily worked towards, and interconnectedness is practically built into our genes. The human instinct for empathy, to help those around us, to lean on each other for support – it's as if demons lack it.  

It truly is survival of the fittest for them. You suspect that if a demon can’t survive alone, they won’t survive at all. You see it in the way they think of themselves first. How Obie might reach for your food, before hesitating. Or Mervin opens his mouth to speak, before thinking better. That consideration, cohesion are learned traits. Conscious choices to practice, and not instinct.  

It scares you more in strangers. That the curiosity is not the first thing demons look at you with, but hunger. You’d feel like prey if you didn’t watch them do it to each other too. Like every person is a mark; looked at with the question ‘what can I gain from using you’ before asking something more basic, like ‘who are you’.  

Long story short, you don’t mind keeping to the house. 

The first time you go anywhere without them, it’s to Sloth, to stay with Katia. The circumstances are odd. Mervin had just come back from one of his extended trips. He’d strode through the door, seen you in the lounge and frozen for a moment, before stamping straight to his bedroom, and shutting the door with a slam. Ludwig had come home early that day and explained that Mervin was sick and needed the house to himself for a week. 

It didn’t make sense to you. But what did you know? Mervin was almost never around. You didn’t know what he was like when he was sick. Still, the hesitation when Ludwig had explained the situation, the look he shared with his mother when he dropped you off at her place – it led you to suspect that a key piece of information was being kept from you.  

It fills you with paranoia. But Katia is lovely. Spending time with her helps ease the anxiety in your chest. Most of her hours are spent at work or sleeping, but the moments of lucidity she spends with you are enjoyable. She shows you how to cook a few new meals. Lets you go through her photo albums and look at baby pictures of her sons. On the weekend she even takes you clothes shopping, and for the first time in almost a month you feel at ease, wearing clothes that you’ve chosen for yourself.  

When Katia returns you back to the common ring, Mervin is still home. He’s currently your least favourite triplet, but you make an effort to smile. “Feeling better?” 

He scowls, and you’re surprised at the amount of vitriol in his expression. “As if that’s your business.” 

You try not to visibly deflate. 

Katia tsks and frowns at her son. She pats you on the back. “He’s just embarrassed, sweetie. Don’t you pay him any mind.” 

She gives you a peck on the cheek before leaving, and sound of the door closing sends a wave of dread through you. You really don’t want to be alone with Mervin. 

But when you turn his expression has softened. If only marginally. He tilts his head. “She likes you.” 

You’re not sure what to say. You shrug as you take your shoes off. “We had fun.” 

You feel his stare on you, even as you cross the room. You head towards the kitchen, hoping for something to eat.  

“She bought you clothes.”  

His tone is almost accusatory. You can’t help but flush, shame starting to weigh on you. “She’s very kind.” 

To your dismay, he follows you to the kitchen. He crosses his arms and watches when you pull out the materials for a sandwich. Uncomfortable, you ask, “Do you want one?”  

He scoffs. “How long are you going to keep eating our food? Wearing our clothes?” 

You don’t let it show, but his words strike deep. You’re more than aware of the position you’re in. You cast your eyes towards the task at hand. Prepping food. “I don’t like it either. But it’s kind of hard to find a job when I’m forbidden from leaving the house.” 

He crosses his arms. “Excuses.” 

 “Did you want to escort me to Earth every morning?”  

“Now you’re asking us for transport too?” 

You’ve had enough. It’s either cry or snap. And you are not going to cry in front of Mervin. Instead you slam your knife to the counter.  

“I didn’t ask for this. I did not ask to be shunted from place to place my whole damn life. I’m sorry if that inconveniences you,” your tone is in no way apologetic.  

He’s silent as you leave. 

Immediately upon returning to your room, you regret the encounter. The last thing you need to be doing is antagonising your benefactors. But still. Ludwig was the one who invited you here, and if Mervin has a problem, he should be taking it up with his brother. 

-- 

You finally get a new job.  

It’s not without its difficulties – transit mainly. One of the triplets has to take you through a series of rifts. One to Earth. One to continent you hail from. Another to a large town. Ludwigs talks about establishing a proper route, about using the most stable rifts, and being prepared for a disruption to travel if any of them close. There’s a lot of jargon you don’t really understand. But he gets you back to Earth. Back to ‘gainful employment’.   

Mervin straight up refuses to be your escort. He’s not around enough anyway. Ludwig handles it most days, but Obie is always available to fill in when Ludwig is busy elsewhere. Neither seem to mind your spotty hours. You tell the triplets when you start and finish, and they’re usually able to have you delivered on time. 

Sometimes you take an afternoon for yourself. Spending time in a human city is good for you. You visit a library. Buy yourself necessities. Even do some grocery shopping. Nobody seems to fault you for it, and Mervin certainly complains less when you start bringing home your own food.  

And so you fall into the new routine. Working four to six days a week. Ludwig or sometimes Obie walking you there, chatting about your day or your plans. Finally starting to feel at ease in their home, now that you’re less of an imposition.  

You’re a shift worker, usually working mornings at a cafe. Your customer service is without fault and you know how to use a coffee machine. It was enough to get you the job. That and your eclectic resume. 

There’re still moments that throw you off. Behaviours from the triplets that take you by surprise, or the occasional week when you’re banished to Katia as one of them comes down sick with something. The three of them are rarely united about anything, but they all seem intent on keeping you in the dark regarding that odd ritual. 

One morning you wake up and are immediately torn over whether or not you should go to work. It’s a little late to call in. And Obie had already promised to take you. But your underwear are saturated with blood and your gut is torn up in cramps. Your period isn’t usually this bad, but you can already tell that today is going to be a hard one. 

You decide to suck it up. It’s just a bit of cramping. Of pain in your joints. Sure, it’s nauseating, and it takes a few minutes before you can stand and walk without limping. But you’ve done this before, and you can do it again. You didn’t survive this long by flaking out of work when things got tough. 

You almost miss the odd look Obie gives you as you head downstairs. Perhaps you mistake it for sympathy. You wear a grimace and make no effort to hide your discomfort. Still, Obie doesn’t say much on your way to work. He seems distracted, focusing his attention on the details around him, often picking up items to chew on.  

You try not to gape at the number of small things that disappear as you pass. A handful of bark flakes from a pot plant. A table number at an outdoor cafe. A pile of junk wrappers from his pockets. (Garbage from the pavement. A handful of leaves and twigs and flowers from any trees you pass. An actual bird that doesn’t have the fortune to flee in time.) He’s not hidden his gluttonous habits from you, from what you can tell, but today he consumes far more than usual. You wonder if he’s unwell.  

You put it out of mind when you get to work, saying your goodbyes and clocking in for the day.  

You don’t last long. It’s probably only an hour or two before you’re curled up on the couch in the break room, banished there after the manager spotted you limping. She tells you to go home. You’re torn between humiliation and gratitude. You send a message off to Obie.  

Unwell. Can you bring me home early? 

He sends you a thumbs up and you’re left to wait. 

His behaviour on the way home is almost distraction enough from your pain.  There’s pretty much always something in his mouth; this time he’d brought food from home with him. You watch curiously as he pulls out several sticks of gum when his food is gone. He only chews for a moment before he’s swallowed them too. It’d almost be funny if he didn’t seem so distracted. Ravenous to a degree which you’ve never seen. 

“Are you alright?” You ask at one point. 

He finally glances your way. Shrugs. “Smelt something tasty.” 

The explanation makes sense, if a little understated. You give him a sympathetic nod.  

Obie drops you off at the door before mumbling his excuses and leaving.  

You make a beeline for the lounge, planning to lay down and watch some tv. You grimace as you round the corner – Ludwig is already sprawled across the couch. 

“Is there room for me?” 

“Thought you had work?” He doesn’t quite straighten, but he does change his angle, leaving enough space for you to squeeze in beside him. 

Carefully, you do. “I was sent home sick.” 

Ludwig tenses and turns your way.  “You smell like blood.” 

You grimace.  

You know that demons have superhuman senses, and that such things are normal to them. But you still can’t help but feel self-conscious around them. Every time your heart speeds up, or your breath hitches, you have to wonder if anyone notices. If anyone overanalyses it. If they can tell when you forget to wear deodorant or can smell your lunch on your breath.  

You’d go crazy if you let yourself worry about it too much. After moving in with the triplets you decided to believe that they might notice these things, but they likely wouldn’t care. The same way you’d react if you saw a customer with a large zit, or a coworker having a bad hair day. You choose not to make a big deal about the things people can’t change. 

But if Ludwig is going to bring up the little details, if he’s going to speak without tact, why should you? 

“Probably because I’m bleeding from my vagina.” 

Ludwig winces. “Oh. Oh.” He snorts. "Guess that explains his behaviour.” 

“I don’t follow.” 

Ludwig gestures to the door. “Obie. Your blood. The smell.” He shrugs. “Delish.” 

Your nose crinkles. “Gross.” 

He grins. “I thought humans loved the blood drinking gimmick. Ya’ll go mad for vampires.” 

“Pop culture aside, I doubt many of us want to consider period blood in that context.” 

“Why? Blood is blood.” 

Your lip curls. “It’s different. Different composition. Different texture... Full of waste products... I really don’t want to think about it.” 

“I’ve seen that demon eat literal garbage. I don’t think he’s worried about your waste products.” 

“Don’t say it like that.”  

He doesn’t get a chance to tease you further, straightening when another series of cramps has you tucking your knees to your chest, gripping your abdomen to ease the pain. 

“You alright?” 

Your reply is hoarse. “Just peachy.” 

He touches his hand to your back. “What usually helps?” 

“Heat pack. Pain killers.”  

“I can have Ob bring some home. What else?” 

You clutch a cushion to your chest and rest your head against the couch end. “It’s fine. It’s just pain. I don’t want-” you stop. Restart. “You don’t need to do anything else.” 

Your eyes spring open when Ludwig grabs a fistful of your hair. Starts tugging on it. Gentle tugs, reminiscent of schoolyard teasing. Until a sudden yank that leaves your scalp stinging. 

“Ow!” Impulse has you slapping his hand away. “The fuck is your problem?” 

His voice doesn’t hold a drop of concern: fastidiously sweet. “Sorry, did I hurt you?” The tone drops and becomes resolute. “You should let me make it up to you. Tell me how to make you feel better.” 

You scoff at the ploy. “There’s nothing to do. Unless you want to spend the next few days waiting on me.” 

He pinches your cheek. “What, you want some coddling?” 

You swat him away again. “Your words, not mine.” 

“Hmm.” He rearranges himself. Before you have a chance to protest, you’re pulled between his legs, your back to his chest in an awkward embrace. “How’s this?” 

Your eyes are wide open now, and you’re stiff with surprise. Ludwig hadn’t struck you as the cuddling type. 

You’re still formulating a reply when he wraps an arm around your midsection, his forearm coming to rest against where your cramps are strongest. You note the heat, normally oppressive, seeping through the back of your shirt to relax your muscles. 

“That’s... that’s actually great. Fuck.” 

His chest rumbles with a laugh. 

You frozen, still unsure how to respond to the proximity. You haven’t been hugged in... a long time. 

 He pinches you again. “So what’s this shit about you imposing?” 

“I didn’t say-” 

“You implied.” He adopts a higher pitch, in mockery of your voice, “’You don’t need to do anything, being here is enough because I’m so sad and pitiful, wah.’” 

You mumble out a curse. “I don’t sound like that.” 

“You going to answer the question?” 

Your nose crinkles and you cross your arms. This isn’t a conversation you want to have. “I don’t like relying on other people.” 

“Obviously. Why?”  

You shrug. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.” 

There’s a silence before Ludwig sighs. His fingers tangle in your hair again, this time to scratch at your scalp. It feels nice. 

“Are you always like this, or did Mervin say something?” 

You scowl, not pleased to have been read so easily. Your silence is answer enough. 

“I’ve lived with those two for decades. Believe me when I tell you that you’re a perfectly pleasant housemate in comparison. You’re tidier, quieter, more polite-” 

You shrug off his words. He’s not wrong. But years of living precariously has instilled into you a deep wariness of getting comfortable.  

“-and I told you that Mervin would talk shit.” He pauses, just enough for smugness to creep into his tone. “He likes you, you know.” 

You huff. “Doubtful.” 

“Yeah, he’d never tell it to your face, but I know my brother. And he’s said some pretty interesting things when you’re not around.” 

You almost turn to check his expression. Your stillness has probably given away your interest.  

“I don’t believe you.” 

Ludwig shrugs. “Believe me or don’t. But I know he likes you.” 

You chew on your lip, considering your recent interactions with the demon. If he likes you, he isn't very good at showing it. 

“Not as much as Obie though.” 

You get the distinct impression that you’re being teased. It’s hard to be mad with Ludwig kneading your shoulders, but still, you feel ill at ease. “You’re just making fun of them.” 

“I’m serious. Why else would he be so jittery today?” 

“You said that I smelt tasty.” 

“Do you think everyone smells good to him?” 

You scrunch your eyes closed. Lean your head back to rest against his shoulder. He’s starting to give you a headache. “How would I know?”  

“I guess you wouldn’t. Good thing I'm here to keep you informed.” 

You roll your eyes. “That’s such a Mervin thing to say.” 

He crinkles his nose. Flicks you on the forehead.  

And despite yourself, you start to relax. It’s incremental. You’re still uncomfortable. You’re in pain and leaning against an absolute furnace of a demon. But your muscles loosen, and your breathing evens.  

You could probably sleep off the worst of your cramps if Ludwig stopped fussing. His ministrations aren’t particularly disruptive, but they do hold your attention. He squeezes your shoulders. Presses the flat of his palm above your mons, where the pain is worst. Gently scratches at your scalp and massages the back of your neck. 

You haven’t been just touched in a long time, and there’s a walled off piece of you that stirs to life at each point of contact.  

When he wraps his hand around your throat, the heat and firmness of his grip nearly have you melting. It’s enough to have you forgetting yourself, and you let out a hum of satisfaction. 

“You know, I’ve heard orgasms relieve pain.” 

Reality slams back into you, leaving you hyperaware of how you’re draped across Ludwig’s lap. The work he’d put into relaxing you is completely undone as you thrum with tension. Your mouth shuts tight with embarrassment.  

Your jaw is stiff when you reply. “Are you coming on to me?” 

He huffs a laugh. “Maybe. I guess.” 

You struggle to process. “Weren’t you just telling me that Obie liked me?” 

“Mm. You do have a knack for charming my family.” 

That doesn’t answer your implication. “Wouldn’t he be upset?” 

Ludwig shrugs. “First come, first served. And if he really has a problem, I don’t mind sharing.” 

You almost sit up, thoroughly scandalised and shocked.  

Almost. 

Ludwig is silent. Patient. Awaiting a response. Or perhaps just content to watch you reel. 

You take a breath. Try to consider his suggestion.  

It has its appeal. You haven’t gotten off in a while. Long enough that just sitting in Ludwig’s lap is enough to set your heart racing. But thinking about any form of intimacy ties your stomach up in knots that have nothing to do with your period. 

“I don’t want to fuck this up.” You’re thinking of your position here. Your welcome, and the things that could change if you were to start a casual fling.  

His lips brush your ear, raising goosebumps on the back of your neck. “No strings attached. I’m just offering to help out a friend. Relieve some pain.” 

“Get your dick wet?” 

His hand creeps upwards, dipping under the hem of your shirt. It's hard to concentrate on anything else. “Not even.” 

You bite your lip, frozen with consideration. Anticipation.  

You like Ludwig well enough. He’s handsome, even. Rough around the edges, sure, but disarming with his occasional teasing and laid-back behaviour.  

“No strings attached?” 

“None.” 

“No further expectations?” 

He lets out a huff. “You can say no.” 

You shake your head. You’re not opposed. Just wary. Scared, even. 

But if he’s being genuine- if you have nothing to lose from accepting his help- 

Your knees fall apart and you relax further into Ludwig’s grasp.  

Then why not? 

“Okay.” 

Given permission, his hand disappears beneath your shirt. Traces the contours of your stomach. It almost tickles, how gentle he’s being. Something you hadn’t expected. With his free hand he squeezes your thigh. What limited area he can reach in this position is subject to deep, massaging touches.  

It helps to relax you, until your head is lolling back and your muscles are going slack again. And at first it seems like he’s content to just explore. Mapping out your abdominals. Your ribs. The underside of your breasts.  

He thumbs at the bra and tsks.  

“That can’t be too comfortable.” 

You hum your agreement. 

“Are you attached to this bra?” 

You shrug and shake your head. It’s just a plain white bra, one of multiple you own. 

“Good.” 

You’re pulled out of your lull by the sound of tearing cloth. Air touches your breasts, and you realise what he’s done. 

“You shit-” 

He grips you by the jaw, movements taking on a hint of force. Impatience or desire, you’re not sure. But your words are cut off when he crushes his lips to yours, tongue invading your mouth. 

The tips of his claws dig into your flesh where he grips your thigh. The sudden intensity has you reeling. Fuzziness closes in on your thoughts, enough to keep you pliant. There’s a part of you that’s indignant about the bra. The rough treatment. But mostly, you just want to see what he does next. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips. “Wanted to see you. Feel you.” He emphasises with a squeeze of your breast. 

He goes back to kneading your thighs and you can’t help but squirm. You need your pants off. Now. You need to feel him against your skin. 

Impatient, you unzip them. Manage to shimmy them down to your ankles before giving up. But Ludwig gets the idea. 

Teasing, he runs a single digit up the inside of your thigh. The point of his nail prickles against your skin, hard enough to hurt. 

You can’t stop your hips from twitching. The shuddering intake of air. Your murmured little, “Fuck.” 

The sound must do things for Ludwig, because he stills. Then takes hold of your throat, nuzzling your neck and grinding against your back. You become aware of his erection.  

“You sound good,” he says against your ear.  

He palms your core and huffs a laugh when you shudder. “Feel good too.” 

You’re wet. When had that happened? Slick to the point where it’s too easy for him to stroke you through the cotton. It’s impossible to miss when he runs a claw directly over your clit. 

You buck, biting back a little groan. It’s getting harder to think. To control yourself. 

Ludwig chuckles at your response. “Someone’s keen.”  

You want to retort, but only manage a whine in response. He’s not wrong. You can’t remember the last time somebody touched you like this. 

Almost as if to punish you, his hand leaves your underwear. You do whimper this time, when he takes hold of your throat. The grip is solid, but not choking. Enough to scare you. Thrill you. But still light enough to keep you at ease. Even if you wish he’d go back to stroking your clit. 

He presses his lips to yours again. Starts to knead and squeeze at your breasts. 

You protests slip away as he fondles you. The pain too- you're too preoccupied by the cold air on your chest. The scrape of claws against your skin. At the hot breath on your face, the kiss with entirely too much teeth, and the tongue that keeps stuffing into your mouth.  

He’s more intense than you’d expected; the hand around your throat drifting up to grip your jaw. He ignores your attempt to break away for air. Steers you back towards him, insatiable and eager. The heat of his skin turning the kiss sweltering. Sweaty. Almost too warm. Too crowded.  

But damn if you aren’t into it. 

Finally you grab him by a horn and yank his face away, desperate for air, for an inch of space. 

It doesn’t deter Ludwig. He just reaches back towards your underwear, pressing kisses against your neck instead. Sucking hard against the tender flesh of your shoulder. Relishing the gasps he draws from you. Rubbing between your legs again. 

You’re deeply embarrassed by the way your underwear are starting to stick to you. It has you torn, the desire to be touched combatting your reluctance to be vulnerable. An instinctual compromise has you covering your face.  

“None of that,” Ludwig intercepts you by the wrist, pinning your arm to the couch. “I want to hear you.” 

You’ve no choice but to let your head slump back. It’s an effort not to clench your jaw, to let your body relax. To allow your composure to fall, and a string of soft gasps to escape you. 

It’s a blessing when he pulls your underwear aside. The cold air shocks you out of your self consciousness. Pulls you out of your own head a little more. 

There’s a moment of tension before he touches you, your knees spread as far as you can manage, trying not to cant your hips with how desperate you are for friction. 

He doesn’t touch your clit straight away. Your control breaks pretty easily, and you find your hips leaving the couch, seeking out his touch. 

He huffs a laugh against your ear, stilling his hand and waiting for you to settle.  

With the softest little huff you do, nearly vibrating out of your skin with the effort it takes to keep still as he places his hand on your mons. Strokes across your vulva. Spreading you open and exposing your wetness to the air. 

“If I’d known we’d be doing this, I’d have filed down my claws." 

You become hyperaware of them. Tense. With anxiety, with anticipation. Part of you is afraid of pain. Of a possible misstep. But mostly you just want to be touched. 

Ludwig flexes his hand. Rubs you with the pads of his fingers quite harmlessly. His free arm wraps around your chest and holds you in place when he finally touches your clit.  

You arch at the touch, inhaling shakily.  

It’s nothing fancy. It’s not like you haven’t touched yourself the same way before. 

But the breath on your neck, the change of scenery, the erection pressing into your back- 

“Shit,” you murmur.  

Then you’re coming against his fingers, far too quickly. 

Ludwig clamps a hand over your mouth. Your moans come out muffled; still entirely lewd. You grip his forearm, nails digging into his skin as you arch against him.  

His chest rumbles at the contact and he grips you tighter, grinding against your ass. In a moment that both startles you and extends the aftershocks of your orgasm, you feel teeth clamp down on your shoulder. Hard, jagged, just shy of breaking the skin. 

Your moans turn into whines and you buck against him. He only grips you harder, hand skewing enough to cover your nose too. You’re not getting any air, and while part of you panics, another part of you melts. Light headedness kind of feels nice when your heart is pounding and pleasure is still rolling through your being.  

Still, all things in moderation.  

Soon you can hear your heart in your ears and your chest is aching for air. Your wriggling doesn’t dissuade Ludwig at all, but you desperately need to breathe. You could probably communicate this to him, could probably just tug his hand away from your face. But your limbs aren’t really back under your control yet, so instead you do the next best thing and bite him. 

“Oh- f-fuck.” 

His hand leaves your face as he grips you by the hips. Holding you in place as he grinds against you, lowly groaning against your shoulder.  

He stills. 

You both pant heavily in the following silence. 

“Did you just...” 

He relaxes back against the couch. “Oops.” 

“Ludwig!” 

Your embarrassment at how quickly you came is immediately washed away. You turn to stare your disbelief, but Ludwig isn’t even looking at you. His brow is raised, and he’s looking up towards the doorway- 

The front door opens. 

“Hey, sorry, I forgot my phone-” 

Obie only takes two steps into the room before his head whips towards you and he freezes. 

You’re still hazy, and for a moment nobody reacts. Then shame rushes in and you’re yanking your shirt down, clamping your knees shut. Your mouth opens, and you want to speak, to explain, but nothing comes out. 

Ludwig wipes his hand on his pants and snorts. “I guess you caught me... red handed?” 

Eyes wide, you turn to him, incredulous. How can he be joking right now? 

A noise escapes the glutton. The sound of air- a hiss or perhaps a sharp inhale.  You don’t have a chance to identify it further before his brows crease and his shoulders square. He reaches towards the wall, blindly groping for the first object in range.  He rips a poster from its place. And stuffs it into his mouth. 

Ludwig straightens. “Really? You’re going to be like that?” 

Obie's jaw sets. He swipes one of the t-shirts hanging off the back of the couch – one of Ludwig’s. And swallows it whole too.  

Ludwig sighs. “C’mon man, that was a collectible.” 

Incensed, Obie continues, grabbing at knickknacks across the room and stuffing them into his mouth. You notice all of them belong to Ludwig.  

You’re surprised that Ludwig doesn’t move from his spot. Doesn’t act to stop his brother, only grumbling at each disappearing item. 

You wince at the crunch of ceramic as Obie chews on a mug. Otherwise you’re still frozen in place, not sure what to make of the scene. 

“I told you he liked you,” Ludwig mutters. 

“You did what?” Obie says around a mouthful of pottery, his voice shrill. 

“What? It’s not like you were being subtle.” 

Before you have a chance to blink Obie is striding across the room. Mouth still full of ceramic, he starts to cuss Ludwig out, reaching out to grab him by the shirt, heedless of your proximity.  

Ludwig just keeps smirking. 

You wriggle out of his lap, unnerved by the prospect of being caught between two warring demons. Still jelly legged, you yank up your pants and stand, not wanting to be anywhere near them if they’re going to have it out. 

But you stagger.  

Pain flares through your abdomen and a hiss escapes from between your teeth.  

Obie and Ludwig fall silent, still. Before- 

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” and “Hey, we didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

They both miss the mark, but share twin looks of remorse. 

You shake your head. “Just period pain. Standing hurts.” 

They reach for you at the same time.  

“Did getting off help? Do you want more?”  

“Have you had any meds? Or some food to settle your stomach?” 

The fretting is short lived however, when Obie pauses and shoots Ludwig what you can only assume is his version of a glare. 

“Seriously? That was your excuse?” 

Ludwig shrugs. “She needed a little pampering.” 

“Pampering. Is stuff like a foot rub. Or brushing her hair. Or carrying her bag. Not sticking your fingers inside of her!” 

You bite your lip at the statement. You’d convinced yourself that a short fling with Ludwig wouldn’t be a big deal. But Obie might be right. You’d done it in the house they shared. In a space they shared. After having been told that the glutton had feelings for you. 

It really was a dick move. You should have considered what might happen if you were caught. Taken things to a private room. Turned him down completely. Anything but what you’d done. 

Obie and Ludwig don’t look like they’re going to come to blows. But you don’t want to stick around and listen to their bickering. It’d only embarrass you. Guilt you. 

“I’m going to lay down,” you mutter, heading for the stairs. 

The pair fall silent.  

Obie follows you upstairs. You really hope he won’t stop you. You don’t know what to say. 

“Hey.” 

You do your best to wipe the discomfort off your face before turning to face him. “Hi.” 

His cheeks are red, and he twiddles his thumbs, before stuffing his hands into his pockets. And pulling them out to fidget again. 

“I- uh. There’s chocolate. In my room. If you want some.” 

Standing there, pain creeping up your back, loose bits of your bra hanging limp under your shirt, and a mess of blood and slick in your underwear, you try not to grimace. 

“That’s sweet of you Obie.” You’re tired. Tired of being perceived and fussed over. Of being embarrassed. Of feeling gross. But you get the feeling that if you blow Obie off right now, you might damage something irreparably between you. “Normally I’d love some, but-” 

“I’m sorry.” 

You blink. “Huh?” 

“I wasn’t trying to shame either of you. I was just... jealous. Mad. That he made a move before I could. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

It takes you a few moments to decide your reply. 

“I need a shower. And to change.” 

His face falls and he steps back. Forces a little laugh. “Oh. Of course. I’ll just be-” 

“I’ll come by after? If you want?” 

He stills, as if surprised by your reply. The embarrassment leaves his features and he straightens, “Yeah, okay. I’ll just tidy up a bit. See you in a bit?” 

You drudge up a smile and reply before turning back to your door. “See you in a bit.” 

[moralesmilesanhour]

okay okay, i have had this one thought in my head about a platonic gender-neutral (or male/masc-leaning) reader fic. this is for either miles (more so 42 than 1610 bc i can imagine his face of exasperation). imagine just being his dumbass friend, like yeah your smart enough to be in visions, but goddamn!! you leave your braincells in your school locker once the final bell rings. your self preservation instincts are questionable at best and the only reason you're not dead yet bc you're proving that quote "you can't kill stupid" as a true fact. at least you bring homemade food over everytime you visit his home and his mom likes you, so you're not completely hopeless in life. (i've had this rotating in my brain for days and still haven't written it myself) -☁

a/n: I went the masc route with this one with a sprinkle of gender envy if u squint

You thought doing homework on a rooftop would be a nice change of scenery.

Dangling off of the rooftop? Not so much.

A tiny group of pigeons had been hanging out near the edge, and you had the idea to try and feed them with the bag of sunflower seeds you'd brought with you. Carefully, you step forward toward the flock, until some unknown force of nature causes you to trip over your own feet and sends you careening over the edge.

Somehow, you manage to grab hold of the railing of the fire escape just below, but your palms are sweaty. You heave as you use all of your upper body strength to hold yourself up while desperately trying not to look down.

It's not enough.

Just as you lose your grip, a strong arm catches you. It's covered in purple leather, ending in a familiar clawed hand.

"Again?" Asks an amused modulated voice as wind rushes past your ears.

"You make it sound like a daily occurrence."

You feel a jolt as the masked figure swings and lands in front of an alleyway before putting you down. As you adjust your crooked glasses, the mask whirs and splits in two before receding, revealing the smirking, deep brown face of your friend, Miles.

"What happened this time?"

His voice is low and nearly too soft to hear, a stark contrast to the tinny high pitch of your own. No amount of lowering your larynx or whispering could ever get it like that. Part of you wishes you could steal it sometimes, or borrow his voice modulator, at least.

If only.

"Tripped," you answer, rubbing your upper arm as a side effect of the claws' tight grip. "Dunno how you always manage to catch me."

"Easy," Miles explains as he unzips his black duffel bag. "I see that ratty ass gray hoodie you always got on and swing right over."

With a whir and a clank, he removes the claw on his right hand, then his left, tossing them into the bag.

"How does carryin' those around like that not damage them?" you blurt out suddenly. Miles snorts.

"You gonna fix 'em for me, genius?"

"No."

"Thought so."

Finally, he removed the grappling hook strapped to his back and tied his jacket around his waist.

You say his catchphrase before he does: "Let's bounce!"

This earns you a burst of laughter from Miles as you make your way out of the alley.

"What, I say it wrong?"

"No, it's just..." he catches his breath and claps you on the shoulder as he passes by. "You make it sound so friendly."

"Whatever, man."

-

"Yo, pay attention, dude!"

You feel Miles' hand yank you backwards by your hoodie as a car horn blares past you. Once you look up from your phone, your eyes widen.

"Oh, shit."

The car had barely missed you.

The streetlight across from you finally turned white, and the two of you crossed. Miles keeps glancing back at you until the short journey to the opposite sidewalk is completed.

He stops, crossing his arms. "How many times are you gonna almost-die today? Lemme know so I can adjust my schedule."

"Until someone finally finishes the job," you joke before remembering something. "Ah fuck, I hope the brownies survived."

You swing your book bag off of your shoulder and kneel to open it, revealing a small Tupperware container filled with home-made brownies stacked on top of your textbooks. Thankfully, there is only a bit of chocolate smudged on the sides; the pastries themselves remain (mostly) intact.

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You know taking the textbooks home is optional, right?"

Zipping your bag closed, you reply with a shrug,"I like re-writing my notes. I need to access the source material."

"I need to access the source material," Miles mimics you in a nasally voice before strolling past you. "If I were a worse person, I'd shove yo' ass in a locker."

You laugh, breaking into a jog to catch up to him with your 'source material' weighing you down.

"Just for that, I'm telling your mom the brownies are just for her-shit!"

A piece of cracked and lifted cement trips you up and scuffs your sneakers. Your hands shoot out to break your fall, planting themselves onto the ground. Your glasses aren't so lucky.

"Aw, man, I just got these!" You frowned as you dusted off your khaki shorts with one hand, holding your glasses in the other.

One of the frames now has a crack right down the middle.

"That's tough, buddy," Miles remarks.

He had spun around as soon as he heard you yell in case of another near-death experience, but was now trying desperately to hold back laughter that escaped through his nose as he walked backwards towards his destination.

"It's not funny!"

"It's a little funny. You're like a Looney Tunes character."

You laugh, "If an anvil falls on my head, it's your fault."

[pigeon-dyke]

PIGEON HRT: Part 4

》~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~《

MONTH 4

[Patient Checkup Report, from the office of M. Washington M.D.]

Today is the fourth monthly checkup for “Pigeon” [LEGAL NAME REDACTED].

Pigeon (as it would like to be called from now on), has been taking an experimental variation of HRT, or Humanity Removal Therapy, for the last four months. This has been undertaken with the goal of transforming her into an anthropomorphic pigeon-human hybrid. Notes on its transition status are as follows; 

Physical Changes

The most notable change so far is the patient’s feather development. The quill growth was noted extensively in its last visit, but they have sprouted and developed barbs and barbicels at an unprecedented rate. Many of the patient’s primary feathers have now fully formed, and the amount of bare skin visible is decreasing daily. 

I expressed my concerns about this quickened pace of transition, and suggested that the dosage be lowered, but the patient says it prefers these fast changes. As long as there is no physical danger in this dosage, I will follow the patient’s wishes. 

The shape and structure of Pigeon’s skull has begun shifting, with the beginnings of a beak evident around its mouth. The patient has described a dull, ache of a pain, but says it is nothing she “can’t handle”. I have prescribed her low strength painkillers as a precaution, as the discomfort is likely to increase steadily as the beak takes shape. 

The patient has also described “weird” feelings in its arm joints, likely the start of wing formation. According to measurements, its arms have grown roughly 3 inches longer since the last visit, and close observation shows that thick flaps of skin are developing between the patient's forearms and brachia. I have made a note to monitor this area closely in future visits. 

Mental Changes 

Going through the mental changes with Pigeon has been a somewhat complex process; many inherent species instincts have appeared, and, rather than directly questioning them, the patient seems to accept them with little to no thought or anxieties. This is obviously the ideal way for mental shifts to happen in an animal transition, but it does make cataloguing individual changes rather challenging at times. 

One such example is, Pigeon neglected to mention her new, more intense nesting instincts until near the end of the visit, when she casually mentioned stopping at a store to acquire new components for her nest on her way home.  

After some directed questions, the patient also spoke about its recent, heavier prey instincts. These included deep discomfort and anxiety around large cats and birds of prey, as well as increased feelings of safety in higher, secluded spaces.

A change that she did take direct note of, however, is the newfound desire to consume insects. She phrased her discomfort with the idea as “being a bit weirded out”, but after some advising, she stated that she would try incorporating them into her diet. I have made a note to ask about progress on this during its next visit. 

Overall, Pigeon reports that she is feeling happy, and optimistic about these changes. Its transition is coming along very smoothly, and I see no need to change any medications or schedule additional checkups on top of the current monthly plan. 

END REPORT

》~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~《

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[theramseyloft]

Feral pigeons in the city seem to come out from the bridges super early and fly really far to wherever they are going and come back at sun down. I’ve heard that o my racing homers have a strong homing instinct. Do all pigeons have some sort of homing is tic even if it’s emphasized in the RH breed?

Ferals are a blend of mostly performance breeds.

The vast majority of their makeup is Racing homer, with a little bit of roller (often Birmingham, because of the wide spread of the breed), and on rare occasion tumbler blended in.

Most breeds, for not needing to home, have long since lost the ability, but because Ferals have so much homer in them and they rely on the homing ability in the same way wild Rock Doves do, they have not lost it.

Ferals can't navigate the hundreds of miles that racing homers can, but they don't really need to. Just from home to their foraging and watering places and back.

[fallstreakfeathers]

I think the clones have some sort of homing instinct for each other. Like pigeons.

If you put them in random places around the world and told them to start walking, they'd eventually meet up with one another.

[moonchildstyles]

columba

harry is a new guardian angel and he wishes he could save (y/n) from herself

this is also a patreon exclusive with this first part the only publicly available part!

—————

Cotton clouds greeted Harry when he opened his eyes, cool dew coating his lashes. Deep breaths filled his lungs with the chilled air, his body coming alive the more he woke up. Moonlight poured over his back, the flexing of his muscles bringing about a flutter of the large feathered wings that sprouted from between his shoulder blades. He was aware of the strength of his limbs as he moved to sit up within the puffs of clouds despite his wobbly movements. Gazing skyward, there was a sheer layer of cloud cover above his head, majority of the puffs making up the new home he found himself in. 

Stretching his hands out in front of him, he flexed his fingers, spying the ink on one of his hands. Trailing his gaze up his arms, more pictures were etched into his skin, varying in size as they went up his bicep. Peeking down at his chest, his wings spanning wide behind him, more drawings stained his skin—a stark contrast to the creamy hue of his skin and the cotton clean clouds cradling his body. Standing to his unstable legs, a low slung draping of fabric covered his hips, swaying in a breeze he didn't feel. 

Harry wasn't even fully familiar with the space around him or his own body before he felt a pull in his chest. Barred behind his ribcage, a hollow ache formed, urging him to go somewhere—find something. A part of his existence was missing, fallen below somewhere during his creation. 

That hollow ache had a plan, pushing him to flutter down from the clouds, to utilize the spanning length of his wings and find what would fill the phantom hole in his chest. He was no pro as he moved, his awkward, pigeon-toed steps leading him through the tufts until he sunk through the clouds like a trapdoor had opened under his feet. The ground fell out from under him, free falling for a split second before instinct took over. The gold-flaked and opal tipped wings fanned out behind him, catching him from plummeting before he was guided by the desire that was beginning to overshadow ache in his chest—the desire to find wherever it was the divine forces wanted him to be. 

Cities sparkled like stars beneath him, bright lights with bustling movement. He was sure if he listened hard enough, spared any extra concentration from focusing on his journey, he could hear the chatter of the world below him. What a wonderful thing to see, he thought, a short smile on his lips. Other people were starting their lives just the same way he was, no matter if he had feathers sprouting from his back. Maybe others were looking for their purpose just as he was. 

Following the pull in his chest, Harry glided above the world, feathers fluffed around him with his hands dipping towards the clouds above him. His confidence grew the longer he flew, the closer he grew to whatever he was searching for. He was close. 

While the flight could have taken hours, Harry felt as if he was in the air for no longer than a handful of minutes. Wonder at everything made the time fly. Too soon, it all came to a halt. That ache in his chest bubbled over, alerting him he was just where he needed to be. Down below, city light was lacking, leaving him with the view of a small town. He hovered in the air for a moment, the fluff of his wings keeping him afloat until he succumbed to the draw to investigate further. 

His bare feet landed on the pavement, the first truly solid ground he'd touched on. The clouds above definitely didn't feel this rough against his skin. A neighborhood surrounded him, strings of houses lining a quiet street. Some were completely dark, signs in the yard advertising open houses and renting plans, others were completely lit up within, the inhabitants concealed by closed curtains. 

At the sound of others outside with him, a muffled gasp escaped Harry's lips when he found a couple approaching their mailbox. He was sure they were to see him if they hadn't already—he was hard to miss with his moonlight wings and almost bare body. But, as their eyes drifted over him, their conversation continuing without a missed beat, he realized they couldn't see him. Even when he tested his theory with a large stretch of his wings, fluffing his feathers, not a single eye blinked in his direction. 

His muscles grew lax as they went about their business, his wings coming to rest in a bundle behind his back. He was sure his heart would have broken if he had made it this far only to be thwarted this close to finding his purpose. Despite the confirmation he was invisible to those around him, he still stepped carefully and quietly in whatever direction his heart was guiding him.

As soon as he came across a small cottage on the edge of the winding suburb, the void in his chest filled until he was almost sure his skin would be glowing just over his heart. It was a little rundown compared to the rest of the houses lining the street, but it was cute—quaint, even. The perfect place for someone to start their life. 

He wasn't even aware he was inching towards the house for a closer look until he noticed the blades of grass tickling under his bare feet. The front yard depleted as he approached the small wooden porch, a warm glow emanating through the earthy colored curtains covering the front window. A bit of guilt followed after him as he took a chance and peeked through the small gape between the two drapes. He just wanted to know why he was so drawn to this space. 

Inside, just barely within his view, Harry spotted a woman. Her back was to where he was standing, hair in a messy pile on her head with mismatched sweats covering her body. She was in a kitchen, cooking something, though the television in the living room was still on with the volume loud enough to hear over the sizzling of pans and the clicking of her knife on the cutting board. His eyes were glued to her as she glanced out towards her living room to catch whatever was playing out on her TV, catching a glimpse of her profile. 

Seeing her, finding the silhouette of her features despite the fly-away hair obscuring the details, he was sure there had never been a more divine creature to be created. This was exactly where he was supposed to be, he realized when his heart went contentedly silent, curling his hands around the sill of the window. 

Watching her dealing with the pan on the stove and her chef's knife limp in her hand, Harry began to grow worried. She shouldn't be holding something so sharp so carelessly. That worry only multiplied when she half returned her attention to the tomato she was dicing on her cutting board. Her chopping returned in slow strokes of her knife while her attention was split, Harry's bottom lip being worried between his teeth. Her fingertips were too close to the blade and she wasn't even watching properly. 

It came to a head when she whipped her head around to face her sizzling pan, her hand not slowing despite the lack of tomato being fed to the swishing knife blade. In a blink, her fingertips were too close for comfort, a breath away from feeling the brunt of the knife sinking through her skin. He reached out, fingers just about to press into the glass of the window as if he could stop her himself. 

In the same moment that he wished he could help her, he saw as the knife glanced off a nub of the taut tomato skin just right and slid down before settling on the cutting board. The missed slice caught the woman's scattered attention, causing her to release the knife and jump back before looking down at her hands. Her fingers were stretched out in front of her, a breath of relief leaving her lungs as she took stock of the lack of injuries marring her hands. 

Harry watched as she flapped her hands out as if to shake away the remaining shiver of what could have happened if not for the divine intervention that struck. Something clicked in place when he realized why he had been led here in the first place.

He was the divine intervention that kept her safe—this was his purpose. She was his purpose. Everything made sense then as he pieced it all together. 

He was her guardian. An angel sent from above, created to care for her and keep her from joining the realm of the clouds before her time. Though it had barely just begun, Harry already had the happiest moment of his life catalogued. 

Now his existence could begin. 

—————

(Y/N) let out a deep breath as she bundled deeper into the softened quilts on her bed. Her room was dark now that she'd flicked off the bedside lamp with her current read tucked away. The only point of light filling the room came through the filmy curtains covering her window. Waning moonlight glanced off of the falling flakes of snow with the cover already on the ground sparkling like the stars in the sky. Her room was draped in the cool light, hazy and dreamy to compliment the melancholy joining her under the covers that night. 

She knew it was never a good idea to bring her phone to bed with her. The screen use messed with her dreams anyway, but it definitely didn't help when she still didn't have a reply waiting for a message she'd sent the day prior. Her latest date was terribly polite, and blandly kind, but even that couldn't hide the way he was avoiding her. (Y/N) had to have been blinded by the attention from someone so kind and thoughtful during that date, otherwise she would have seen his lack of interest coming—should have seen it coming, anyway. 

More than anything, the lack of interest was another tear at her already tattered heart. She wasn't in love with him, or had any delusions of grandeur tied to this man specifically, but she couldn't deny the hope that had ignited in her heart over the possibilities. It was the same hope that fluttered in every time she put herself out there and managed to schedule a date with someone.

Hope that this could be someone—the one. Someone she could grow comfortable and be herself with, without the pretenses of who she used to be. It was one of the secret reasons she had planned such a large move away from home in the first place. She wanted to be somewhere where no one could bring up stupid things she did in high school, embarrassing peaks in middle school, or her childish antics when she was a kid. She hoped that she could be herself, the person she had grown and crafted herself into, out here. But maybe that was the problem.

No matter who she seemed to be, she ended up alone. 

She was the one that ended up with an empty phone and empty bed, needing to escape through her books, or work, or any distraction she could handle. She'd never been more herself than she was in these past few months since moving from her parents' home, and she'd never faced so much rejection before. Maybe that was why it hurt so much; no facade was being rejected, just her real heart on her sleeve. 

Even her new job wasn't the kind of dream she had led herself to believe in. The focus on not making any mistakes on the new work, and familiarizing herself with the office kept her from bubbling in on the conversations with her coworkers. It was too late now to make a breakthrough and join one of the cliques that made up her department. This was the one place she had been hoping to make some friends, but it seemed she had run that dry before she even realized there was running water to be enjoyed.

(Y/N) was lonely.

There was so much love within her that she wished, and hoped, and prayed she could give to someone someday. She wished she could be someone worthy of falling in love with. 

Sucking in a deep breath as she forced her eyes closed, eyelids lit up from the moonlight, she  pushed herself to quit thinking. It wasn't productive to spiral over all the things she didn't have, even if those things were friendship and love. If she kept up this train of thought, she was going to cry herself to sleep and that wasn't going to help a single thing. 

A centering breath allowed her to open her eyes with a peek at the moon. Stray clouds drifted over the fraction of the moon remaining in the sky with the needle pointed stars embellishing the dark. A game she played to take her mind elsewhere had her drawing shapes in the fluffed clouds. Strawberries and castles, puppies and ivory dresses were pinned in the sky. She even could pick out what she could make out to be a set of feathery wings as the cloud swam across the waning moon. 

Maybe these were her only friends, but (Y/N) could be okay with that. It was fun to pretend someone was out there for her. 

—————

Harry sighed as he laid his cheek heavily into his palm, elbow stationed on the flat top of his charge's dining table. He hated when she—(Y/N), as he'd learned through the months since she'd been under his care—cooked. He felt as if he couldn't take his eyes off of her hands for too long in the worst case scenario she burned herself or sunk a knife through the appendages. Despite the anxiety that rang in his throat whenever he saw her eyes glance away from whatever it was she was whipping up, he knew his job was on the easier side of the spectrum with her. 

From what he collected from the stories other guardians have shared with him, Harry was lucky to have a charge like her. She wasn't terribly clumsy or a beacon of bad luck—at least no more than any other regular human. She was a careful girl, leaving Harry from having to intervene as often as he's heard other angels having to do on behalf of their charges. She made his job easy with her quiet routines and predictability. 

Though that didn't mean that he didn't wish he could do more to keep her safe, especially from herself. 

He'd grown attached to her, his careful girl. His favorite thing in the world was spending time with her and the peeks of her life he got to see. She was terribly kind to everyone she interacted with, and quietly smart. He got to see all the times she made herself laugh with her silly jokes, or the couple of times she'd braved through her shyness and shared those couple of quips with her coworkers. Harry saw the way she gently romanticized her life, fluffing her pillows, making her mornings a little easier with the extra bit of whipped cream she topped her chai lattes with, and the small markings she made in her books when she particularly loved a specific scene or line. She put so much of herself into everyday as if there was no way it could break her heart. That was why it hurt him seeing what she put herself through. 

(Y/N) didn't seem to see any of the things Harry saw. She didn't see the things that made Harry's heart grow, that had him questioning if she was the real angel between the two of them. All of those details that Harry admired were wiped away in (Y/N)'s eyes, giving her all the excuses to be too hard on herself to be healthy. 

She was new here, that much he knew. She was far away from her home where she grew up, leaving her on uneven footing that she struggled to level out. He watched as she tried to fulfill her heart with the help of dates that broke both her routine and her heart in one fell swoop. He'd seen her try to branch out and make friends with some of her coworkers, only to fall a little flat when her shyness cut in and kept her from making connections farther than small talk in the break room. 

He'd watched her endure those small heart breaks all by herself, those cracks appearing most times by her own hand, leaving him to ache to protect her even though he knew he couldn't. Harry had no power to save her from those dangers and pains, he could only protect her from joining his realm before her time. That left him to wait and watch her, his own heart singeing around the edges as he watched her hurt herself without the cushion of forgiveness that only she could give. Her large heart didn't seem to extend to herself in those low moments.

But, he would stay right there. Despite the fact it hurt him more than just about anything to see her curl in on herself and cry, beat herself up for her mistakes that only she recognized, he would stay there. Though she couldn't see him, and he couldn't speak to her, he hoped that she could feel that she wasn't alone, especially in those moments. He'd do his best to protect her in his own way, even if it wasn't exactly within his job description. 

Harry forced himself to take his mind off of those low moments, and focus on the fact she was on her way back up to her usual energy tonight. Today had been a good day, he knew. He could tell with the way she'd played the same upbeat song upwards of three times now since she's started padding around her kitchen, her favorite at the moment he's sure. She hummed as she worked and added a heaping helping of cheese to the top of her dish, something he knew she was excited about, those cheese filled bites being left to the end of her meal as they were her favorite. 

These were the good nights, he smiled. She would turn on one of her shows when she sat down and would inevitably end the night with reading a few pages of her book. He was always especially proud of her on these nights. She had braved her own heartbreak and dug herself out of those self-dug holes. 

Despite those hard times where he wished he could do more for her than he could, Harry loved his job. He loved being there for a girl he knew needed it. She was always going to be his purpose.

—————

Harry plucked at the clouds that cushioned his seat. Around him, the other guardians he'd become close to, were mirroring his posture and had draped themselves across the clouds and played with the tufts in gentle volleys back and forth. Though they all tried to be with their charges as much as possible, their humans needed privacy too. If something absolutely terrible was on the verge, divine intervention would call out to them. 

Plus, it was a necessity that they had a moment with others who understood what they were going through with a chance to stretch their voices after being so silent all day long. 

"Leigha's new favorite thing to do is just cross the street without looking," Glenna sighed, rolling her eyes as her wings ruffled behind her, "I don't know why she started doing it, but she doesn't bother to check if there's a car coming before she's stepping into the intersection. I think she underestimates how careful other people are. It makes me sweat every time she decides to go for a run now."

Harry listened with a distraught face as the others piped up about the dangerous habits of their charges. He didn't know what he would do if (Y/N) didn't pay attention while driving or went running at night. He suddenly felt appreciative of her shaky hands and distracted eyes while cooking. It could be much worse, he decided. 

"Mine, she—uh," Harry started, just as a stray tuft of cloud was tossed in his direction from the volleying of his friends, "She doesn't pay attention while she's cooking. She almost chopped her fingers off ten times in the last month alone." A shudder worked up his spine and through the bones of his wings at the reminder of the latest close call when she tried to portion out a fillet of fish. 

Tossing the cloud between his hands, Harry listened as the other guardians groaned in understanding, as it was a story they knew too well. 

"It's like they don't even know how dangerous those kitchens are! Fire, and gas, and knives, and all just for some food? I don't get it!" Ben chided, exasperated with his gesticulating hands feigning defeat. 

Volleying the cloud out to another guardian, Harry listened as his friends erupted into another slew of critiques for their charges. His gaze dropped to his hands as he twirled his fingers through the clouds cradling his lap. A pinch appeared between his brows the longer he listened in. 

All his friends spoke about how terrible it was that their charges had questionable judgement at times, but all he could think about was how none of those things could hurt him as much as it did to see his (Y/N) with a broken heart. Those days hurt more, caused more anxiety, and made his wings ache more than all of the times he's seen her almost cut her fingers during her meal prepping. That wasn't the kind of pain or worry he thought he would ever go through while looking out for a human, especially one as careful as her.

Was that normal? 

Listening to all of his friends, he knew all of the guardians felt a certain connection to their charges. It would be hard not to fall into it, considering the sanctioned pairs spent so much time together, but none of them seemed to be quite as attached as Harry felt he was falling into with (Y/N). Was he supposed to be thinking of her when he wasn't there to watch over her? Was he supposed to worry over the state of her heart, even when it had nothing to do with her physical safety? Did any of his friends share these trains of thought? 

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Looking up, Harry found Glenna looking at him with her fair hair a waterfall around her concerned features. The tossing around of the small cloud had diminished, leaving it to flutter to the puffs underneath them. He managed to perk up some at the acknowledgment, hoping to hide some of the melancholy that had reached him.

"Yeah, sorry," he said, shaking his head as he traced his fingertips through the dew of the clouds, "Can I ask you guys something?" Rumblings of small agreements came through, Glenna piping up that of course he could ask them anything. Tipping his head, he kept his eyes trained on his hands as he spoke, "Do any of your charges ever... Does it hurt you when they're sad?" 

A beat of silence passed, Harry's eyes staying still on his fingers covered in cloud dew. 

"What do you mean?" Glenna asked, head tilted, "If they get hurt, we definitely feel upset, if that's what you're asking." 

His brows knitted together in a furrow, a small shake of his head as he felt all eyes on him. "No, I mean, she—my human—gets sad sometimes. It's usually at night before she sleeps, and it's just really hard to watch. I-I don't know how to save her from that." 

Harry focused on the quiet breeze that ruffled the clouds around them, the ripples of the tufts secluding his hands in the waves. 

"What do you mean she gets sad, H?" Ben prodded, voice matching the gentle breeze. 

A small shrug lifted Harry's shoulders. "She's... lonely, I think. She tries to make friends and meet new people, but it seems she only gets her feelings hurt. I try to stay with her so she doesn't feel so alone, but I don't know how to help her." 

It was Glenna who reached across the circle and rested her hand on his, halting the anxious twirling he was doing through the clouds. "I understand what you mean, Harry. It's sweet the way you're looking out for her," she offered with a small smile on her lips, "But, those kinds of things are out of our control. All we can help them with is making sure they don't join the clouds too soon, everything else isn't anything we can help with. It can be hard to do, but in the long run it's easier to separate yourself from your charges, and keep from getting caught up in how they feel. It makes your job a lot harder when you worry about things you can't fix." 

He knew Glenna was trying to help, her advice probably more valuable than she even realized given the situation he was finding himself in, but he couldn't take it. He didn't know how. 

"H-How do you do that?" Peering through his lashes, he saw the rest of the group quietly looking on. 

A careful smile curled Glenna's lips. "You'll learn. Give yourself time, and don't take it too hard if you slip up." 

Despite the way Harry nodded along and twisted his hand under Glenna's to give her fingers a small squeeze, he knew he wasn't going to heed  her advice. 

He didn't want to learn to let go of (Y/N). Even if it made his job "harder", he wanted to be there for her. He wanted to be her friend even if his heart broke every now and then. 

—————

A bubbly smile, dimples and all, molded Harry's features as he watched (Y/N) flit about her home. Her favorite song of the moment was coming from the speaker set up on the windowsill in the kitchen, lifting over the sound of her favorite meal being cooked on the stove. His usual seat at the dining table was bathed in the warmth of the sunset pouring through the open windows, the glow paling in comparison to how happy seeing his (Y/N) made him feel. 

She'd been like this all week, terribly bubbly and happy compared to the days she had spent huddled under her covers with tears slicking her eyes. It'd been a joy to spend his time with her since she seemingly got over the loneliness that came after her previously failed date. It was hard to remember she could have days like this when he was so worried over her when she hid in the depths of the cracks in her heart, but it never made these happy moments lose their shine. 

Harry watched as (Y/N) plated up her dinner (something full of noodles and cheese that he's pretty sure she made up for herself just because it was easy and full of her favorite things) before she made her way to the living room, where a new episode of her current favorite reality television show awaited her. (Harry didn't care for it really, it was overall very shallow, but the whole point was to find love so he didn't mind it too much, especially seeing as how much (Y/N) enjoyed it). He couldn't help himself but to float on after her, ghosting over the floor to keep from drawing any attention to his presence before he made a seat on the floor by her feet, looking up at her as she curled up in the corner between the couch cushions and the arm. Before he could stop himself, especially over something so trivial, Harry waved his fingers and cooled off the food on her plate, hoping to keep her from burning her tongue the same way she always does when she got too excited for her meal. 

The routine that had become of their relationship came to light with the way he settled in with his back cushioned by the couch with (Y/N) a warm presence behind him. He listened in as she offered quiet commentary about the show in the form of gasps and hums as she watched the couples create unnecessary drama and eventually make up with the messy makeouts to match. She was more entertaining than any silly show, he decided. The only thing that broke him from that happiness fluttering through his tummy, was the way she couldn't resist checking her phone every few minutes, a bright smile on her face every time. 

This always worried him, the giddy behavior tied to her phone. Usually when he saw her get so attached to her notifications, it had to do with a change of plans coming this weekend that typically left her with a broken heart. The way she tapped away at her screen with that bright smile on her face whenever he heard the telltale buzz from her phone didn't make him feel any better. 

As much as he loved these happy days, the bubbling warmth that filled her home when she allowed herself to shed the previous heartache, he always feared when it came on so quickly. These heart fluttering highs could only be matched with trench-like lows. 

But, Harry wasn't going to think about that right now, he decided. Especially not when she was giggling behind him at some fabricated scenario coming from her reality show. 

If he found her in a puddle of blankets and a sniffly nose later, he would deal with it then. For now, he would stay in this moment with her and make sure she didn't feel so alone. 

—————

Rolling his eyes for the thirtieth time in the last twenty minutes, Harry had half the mind to worry if his expression would get stuck like this if he kept it up. Despite that, he couldn't stop the petulant sigh that left his lips as he watched (Y/N) on her date. 

Just as he had feared that night on her couch, she had set herself up for a date later in the week and was getting giddy over the prospect of meeting someone he was sure she would give every bit of herself to despite no guarantee of the same. His heart had only sunk lower when he saw her getting ready, primping herself into her prettiest dress, a light wash of makeup covering her features, and her hair primed to perfection. As pretty as she looked (and she was breathtakingly gorgeous always as far as Harry was concerned, but tonight was something else), it couldn't save the way he was worried she would be doing all of this for naught. He could only hope her date would appreciate her the way he did, even if his appreciation was on the quiet side. 

His hopes were dashed very quickly when she met up with her date—a man named Marc—and he barely gave her more than a once over and a mumbled compliment that she looked nice, before he was sliding his phone out of (Y/N)'s view on the table. (He hadn't even waited for her at the hostess stand before grabbing a table, nor had he stood up to greet her. Two strikes already as far as Harry was concerned). Harry could only steal a seat at an empty table and keep his eyes tacked on (Y/N) to ensure she was safe throughout her night (and not at all because he wanted to see if this man was good enough for her). 

His mood had only been made worse the longer he watched (Y/N) give her all to this evening with her date doing a poor job of feigning interest. The most attention he gave her was when he was pouring out stories and anecdotes about himself, and when he requested waters for the both of them from the waiter—which Harry knew got (Y/N) melting over him with the way her eyes rounded out and her bottom lip became trapped between her teeth, as if he were actually taking care of her. It wasn't his proudest of moments, but Harry couldn't help but to pick this man apart. 

He was no good for (Y/N), this Marc. Even with the hue draped around her form and painted over her nails, he probably couldn't even guess that her favorite color was a creamy lavender. He probably didn't even notice that she didn't like her meal, having pushed around the remainder after taking a few bites to confirm there was too much garlic, extra onions somehow, and not enough salt. And, stars, if he picked up that phone one more time while (Y/N) tried to talk Harry was going to lose his heavenly status doing something to make this man pay attention. How he managed to weasel a date out of his girl, he would never know. 

(His girl is used loosely, of course, Harry reminded himself. He feels closer to her than an angel to his charge should, but they weren't really friends either. Calling her his girl is just easier. At least that's what he's convinced himself).

Knowing (Y/N), she was eating this up no matter what, indulging in the fleeting glances her date offered to her and the fake laughter at things she said that weren't even intended to be funny. She was forgiving and loving to everyone but herself, so he was sure she was much more willing to buy his feigned persona than Harry was. 

But, Harry would stay there no matter what, watching her cringe through half-hearted bites of her meal washed down with water all to ensure she stayed safe that night, even though he wasn't sure what exactly he was saving her from anymore. 

—————

Relief flooded Harry's system when he realized the date was finally coming to an end. Maybe he was exaggerating but he didn't really care when he felt like he had just sat through a day's worth of the most mundane college stories from a guy who clearly still bought into the idea of the eternal brotherhood of fraternities. In reality, the night had to have been cut down to, at most, an hour and a half. 

(Y/N) still seemed optimistic as she pushed out her chair and gathered her things with a brush of her hands over her dress to straighten any wrinkles, even when her date started sauntering off without her. Not even a glance behind him could be spared to ensure she was following it seemed. Nonetheless, (Y/N) kept a smile on her face as she chased after him, meeting him just before he exited the hostess area and out on the street. Harry followed behind, silently and unseen, keeping the stretch of his wings tucked in to ensure no one walked through them (it wasn't like anyone would realize they'd just gone through a guardian's wings, but it was more uncomfortable for him knowing someone just traipsed through a part of his body that was entirely solid when visible). 

"It was really nice to meet you, Marc," (Y/N) bubbled, hands bundled around her purse in front of her. She shyly peered through her lashes, offering a pretty sight for her inattentive date to ignore. 

"Yeah," he smiled, flashing perfectly bleached teeth though his eyes held no genuine emotion, "I'll call you sometime." 

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, (Y/N) tried not to look as giddy as Harry was sure she felt inside. He couldn't contain the huff that left his lungs as he lent against the streetlamp, arms crossed over his bared chest. "I'd like that," she smiled at him, entirely too sweet for someone so sour, "Thank you for dinner." 

"Yeah," he repeated before waving her off with a dismissive hand and a see you later! His phone rang in his pocket, too quiet for (Y/N) to hear but just enough for Harry to catch before it was pressed to Marc's ear. 

He didn't even offer to walk her to her car. 

Harry hoped (Y/N) didn't catch the way Marc was making plans with whatever friend was on the other line, despite having just told her that he had an early day at the office tomorrow and that was why he needed to cut the night short. Not at all because he wanted to catch drinks with a friend of his that was somehow more interesting than his (Y/N). 

Nonetheless, Harry felt relieved to be alone with (Y/N) again, getting his friend back after the trudge of the night. Despite the cause of it, he was happy to see her with a smile on her face and fond of the light in her eyes. He happily took over the job of walking her back to her car, ensuring when she tripped in her heels that her panic only lasted a moment before he righted her with a flick of his wrist. This had to be his favorite part of the night so far, he decided. 

Sinking into the passenger seat of her car, Harry watched as (Y/N) giddily turned up her radio, her favorite song of the moment playing through the speakers. He loved seeing her happy and he wished this could last forever, really. 

If anything, he hoped she would be able to recover from the broken heart that would appear a week from now when she never got a call back. 

—————

Just like clockwork, (Y/N) found herself bundled under her comforter, pretending as if she wasn't waiting for someone she wasn't going to hear back from. 

She should have known Marc wasn't going to work out. He had posted an Instagram story of him out at a bar the same night he cut their date short because he had an early morning at the office the next day. It was silly of her to have hoped it was a memory he just felt like posting for some reason, but it wasn't the first time she excused unfortunate behavior from her dates. Even now, she gave Marc three whole days to send her a text back, acknowledge the fact she was hoping to potentially set up their next date, before she finally took the hint. He couldn't have been so busy the full seventy-two hours he couldn't even spare her a single text. The final nail on the coffin was the read receipt that showed up that morning, though unaccompanied by a trio of bubbles showing up to indicate a message being typed out. 

All day, she promised she'd been fine. It didn't bother her he wasn't answering her—she didn't like him much anyway! He didn't think she was funny and only laughed when she wasn't even joking, so she should have taken that as a sign right from the beginning. It wasn't a big deal, really. 

It wasn't a big deal, is what she told herself when she got out of the shower and reached for her phone to see the lack of notifications. It wasn't even a small deal, she reminded herself when she jumped to her buzzing phone in the middle of her nighttime routine, only to find a notification that someone from back home was apparently going live on their social media. It wasn't even something she cared about, even a little bit, she told herself once more when she climbed into bed and wasn't able to sink into her book the way she wanted to.

It's not a big deal, she insisted, even when tears filled her eyes and she had to start her page over again because she didn't comprehend even a single word she read. There was no reason to be upset. These tears she wiped away and tried to breathe through had no purpose when she couldn't even properly recall the color of Marc's eyes. Every measured intake of breath, she tried to remind herself of all the ways that she didn't even like him, but that didn't stop the tears that overflowed her waterline and slicked down her cheeks. 

Spiralling thoughts took over then, commanding her to let the tears out for just a second. It was never about Marc, and she knew that. It was the prospect that he could have possibly been the one she could trick into falling in love with her, but she fell short once more. It was the failed opportunity to turn someone on to her, that she could fit the mold and be someone who is worth loving. Just another one to add to the list that met her, that she mustered the courage to reveal herself to, and to not like what he saw and decided to turn the other way. 

She didn't want to get any of her tears on her book, shuttering the pages and tossing the volume to the side. With her hands folded under her cheek, gaze trying to find anything to focus on through the veil of her tears, she landed on the uncurtained window. 

The snow falling outside gave her something to stick to, her gaze following the flakes as they poured from the clouds and sprinkled the ground. The sheets of powder already covering the ground outside were a glittering cushion for every drop to settle upon. The mounds of shimmering snowflakes emulated the light of the stars above them, those points being the only light in the sky given the sliver of the moon that remained in the navy darkness. 

Following the flakes up to the smattering of thin clouds that distributed the crystals, she craned her neck to find the points of starlight peeking through the cover. The stars were streaking through the sky with the help of the warm tears in her eyes, though that couldn't hinder her view of the brightest star she could make out between the clouds. She blinked with a flutter of damp lashes, the point coming into focus. 

The vignette of the tears in her eyes gave a view of what looked like snow over an ocean, glittering with the reflection of what she was claiming as her star. Maybe her brain hurt after a long day, too exhausted to be embarrassed by her train of thought, but all she could think about when she spotted that point was every animated film she could remember where a teary child wished upon a star for a better life. 

Despite being a tiny bit desperate and alone in the cool light that filled her bedroom, she didn't allow her wish to breach her lips. Nonetheless, she closed her eyes and laced her fingers together under her head and wished. 

I just want to be someone worth being in love with, she thought with more tears flooding her closed eyes. I just want someone to be happy with the love I can give, that it would be worth it to them to know me. Please, please, please, please, she warbled with a wobbly bottom lip. 

A tiny whimper left her lips as she repeated her wish with her broken heart. 

A handful of tears escaped once she opened her eyes, travelling down her temple and settling on her folded hands. As one more deep breath filled her lungs, (Y/N) decided that that was as pitiful as she would allow herself to be for the night. Her unrelenting mantra of its not a big deal, made a return as she steeled herself. Soon enough her running nose ceased and eyes dried up, leaving her to sit alone in the starlight with her comforter fluffed around her. 

Checking the time through puffy eyes, (Y/N) reached for her book. Reading would get her mind off things, she was sure. She's okay. 

Or, at least, she will be. 

—————

Fluffs of dewy clouds cradled Harry's body as he laid on his back, wings stretched out underneath him. The stars above him looked especially bright tonight, the light bathing his bare chest in cool purple lights. Below him, (Y/N) had gone to bed a little over an hour ago, his last check on her revealing she was buried in her book before he allowed her privacy for the night and returned to his home up in the clouds. Snow covered the ground with more flakes raining down, leaving a chill to touch at his skin, but he couldn't care less. Weather like this didn't bother him much. 

Just as a gust of that temperature-less breeze rippled the clouds around him, Harry's body went still. The cotton fluff of cloud he had been manipulating froze between his fingers. A ringing in his ears interrupted his eyes tracing out the constellations above him. His heart stuttered behind his ribcage, being pulled taut with a strumming on his heart strings that matched the tempo of the ringing filling his skull. 

(Y/N) needed him.

Was this the urgency that other guardians had told him about? The panic that filled their bodies when they weren't on the ground when their charges had found their way into a dangerous situation; was that what he was feeling?

The only way his body would reanimate was when he intended to fly down to her, take care of her and fix whatever situation she had found herself in. Dipping underneath the clouds with his wings stretching out behind him, the ringing in Harry's ears dulled. Breaking through the echoing, he could hear (Y/N)'s voice. 

His heart almost stopped all together at the sound off his girl speaking, her voice sounding far off but growing closer with every beat of his wings. 

I just want to be someone worth being in love with. I just want someone to be happy with the love I can give, that it would be worth it to them to know me. Please, please, please, please.

She was wishing on a star. 

This was something he knew was possible, to hear her wishes if she were to blow the seeds of a fluffy dandelion away, snuff out birthday candles, or picking a star in the sky to lay upon her hopes just like she was doing tonight. He never thought he would ever hear (Y/N) like this, though. Her wish of choice almost broke his heart. 

The strings pulling his heart loosened the closer he grew to her home. The echoes of her saddened voice mellowed until he found his way to flutter through to her living room (the sensation of misting through walls was one he was never going to get used to, but at least he could only do it to get wherever she was or he would lose it). Her home was silent once the memory of her voice cleared out of his head, melancholy tinting the air as if there was a layer of grey clouds hovering above. 

Though there was something a little guilty that followed after him as he crept through her home, all he wanted was to make sure she was okay; to check on her after she had unknowingly called on him. Peeking into her bedroom, he found her bundled under her comforter, book off to the side with her page haphazardly saved with a bookmark of a receipt. Her eyes were puffy, a lingering side effect of the tears he was sad he hadn't been there to offer her silent comfort through, but at least he didn't have to see her cry herself to sleep and struggle through those shaky sobs. She always fell so soundly asleep after crying, so at least he knew she was resting well. Especially after what he was sure was a trying evening after he left her by herself for the night. 

Nonetheless, Harry could still feel his heart breaking as he gazed over her. 

To anyone else, she may have looked like a girl resting after a long day, but Harry knew better. He saw all the signs. He'd seen the pile of dishes in her sink, her hair was thrown on the top of her head instead of her usual braid back, and her book of choice for the evening was a comfort novel she turned to when she was in need of lighter thoughts. Her heart had been broken today. Most likely by her own hand. 

That was the hardest part, Harry thought as he swept across her floor with silent steps. Knowing that she didn't have to go through this if she was just a little kinder to herself. 

Her strawberry shaped diffuser dispersed her favorite blend of lavender essential oil and vanilla fragrance through her room, the scent wafting around him with the help of the span of his wings. Another comfort, he knew; something to soothe the cracks in her heart she was able to ignore for majority of her day until she was left alone with the stars. It was harder for her when the sun went down. 

With her wish echoing in his head, Harry took careful steps towards her bed. The melancholy in her house lingered with every step, his gaze stuck to her face to ensure she wasn't spiralling into any bad dreams. All he wanted was to comfort her. 

That was the thought he had in his head when he sat down on the edge her bed, her legs just behind him, as he tucked his wings close to his shoulder blades. Ensuring he didn't jostle her as he settled on the mattress, he felt his breath seize when he saw the details of her face under the pale starlight. He'd been close to her before, but this was different. 

Her tear tracks sparkled like the stars that lined his home in the clouds, casting pastel shadows over her face with cool blues and purples. The shape of her lips was even more pronounced given the length of her crying; though he didn't care for the cause, the effect was his favorite. Her skin shone like silk; delicate like the lashes lining her eyes, tiny creases and lines that showed that there still were days that made her smile. Despite the fact he was the one with wings pinned to his back, he swore she was the angelic one of the two. 

Breathtaking; that was all that was running through his mind. She was too pretty when she cried, it wasn't fair. 

His hands fisted in his lap as he wondered what it would feel like to cradle her cheek in his palm. Would she be as warm as he dared to allow himself to imagine, or would she be cool and dewy like the clouds above? Would it be such a bad thing to reach out and test his theories? Besides, he knew from the other guardians that sometimes the touch from an angel can help heal the ailments of their charges. While he doubted he could fix everything that was hurting her tonight, maybe he could soften the sharp edges of her broken heart. 

Uncurling his fingers from the fist he had made in his lap, Harry reached out with a tentative hand. 

Harry's fingertips touched her skin first, the warmth of her skin rivalling the sun at that slight brush alone. The pads of his lean fingers mapped the round of her cheek as he skimmed over her skin, his palm coming to cup around her face. She was soft like clouds and smooth like silk, a creamy warmth bleeding into his skin that Harry didn't think could come from anyone but this woman. His fingers breached her hairline, soft baby hairs curling around his digits while the curve of her cheek molded into the ridges and lines of his palm. 

A platinum warmth was felt bubbling under his skin. That had to be what his friends had talked about—the healing touch of a guardian. It may not be a physical pain he wanted to save her from, but he hoped this touch might be able to soothe her some, even in her sleep. 

Looking at her now, under the guise of pale moonlight with his palm holding her carefully, he wanted nothing more than for her to be able to feel the affection he felt for her. She had no idea how cared for and loved she was—even by people she didn't see all that often now that she had moved on her own. She had no idea how much he cared for her. 

What a special girl she was, he thought as he tentatively ran the pad of his thumb over the height of her cheekbone. Half of her wish was about how much she wanted to give love to others, wishing that privilege upon someone else who he would bet would never really deserve someone quiet as divine as her; selfishness didn't even come to her when she was alone. 

His wish was a hope that there was someone out there that could show her how much she was loved. Someone like him, even though he didn't dare linger on that thought for too long. 

He would find a way to make her wishes come true. He knew he would, that much he'd promise even if he couldn't tell her. 

A tiny smile crossed her features as (Y/N) pressed her cheek into Harry's hand. Pride puffed at his chest, his wings spanning behind him as if he could create a shield around their moment. Even if she wasn't aware, at least she could feel the way he cared for her. 

—————

Bad days always had the silver lining of the morning after, in (Y/N)'s world. While the tears that marred her night sucked, there was nothing like the day after when she felt refreshed and clean. Now it was all out of her system and she could move on. It definitely helped that it was a Saturday morning, too. 

Stretching in her bed, (Y/N)'s limbs felt cramped and stilted after the long night of rest; she didn't have a single dream as far as she could remember. The only details she could recall was this pleasant feeling that had warmed her insides. If she had dreamt, at least it seemed to be a good dream. 

Having forgotten to close her curtains the night before, her bed was bathed in warmth with her comforter tucked around her form. Frost covered her window, spidering out with the tiny crystals highlighted by the sun to emulate prisms. The scent of vanilla lingered in her room, only slightly overshadowed with the fragrance of something she could only describe as what clouds may smell like—clean and airy. 

That must be what her new body lotion smelled like after a few hours. It was comforting.

After lingering in her bed long after she first dared to blink her eyes open, (Y/N) decided she might as well get up, if only to make herself something to eat before returning to the pleasant warmth of her bed. Shuffling out from between the sheets, she shivered at the chill that touched her skin now that she fled her cocoon of blankets. It was definitely a lot colder than the shining sun made it seem. 

In a bid to ensure she didn't fall into another slump, she made a point to fix her bed that morning. Grabbing the edges of her sheets and comforter, (Y/N) snapped her wrists to cause a ripple to wave through the fabric, straightening out the rumples and creases. From the corner of her eye, something went fluttering through the air while the duvet settled delicately atop the mattress. She distractedly patted down her comforter, turning it down from her pillows all while she peered over the foot of her bed to find whatever it was that had been tossed through the air. 

Laying in a patch of sunlight streaming through her window, laid a feather. How it had gotten there, she didn't know, but that didn't keep her from abandoning her almost-made bed and padding towards it. 

It was so large, (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder if it was even from a bird. There couldn't be a bird that big anywhere near here that could leave behind a feather like that, let alone one that could sneak into her home undetected in the night. Besides, there wasn't a single creature that came to mind that had feathers that looked as if they had been dipped in starlight. The stem of the feather shone with a warm pearlescent glimmer while the fluff itself glittered with what she could only compare to flakes of an opal stone. Shades of yellow, pink, and blue were revealed only by the help of the sun, otherwise hidden and leaving behind a pristine white feather. It looked divine; something that could only be conceptualized on a page or thought up on a dream could leave something like this. 

Maybe she shouldn't have (bird feathers carried diseases, right?), but (Y/N) couldn't help herself when she bent down and grabbed for the feather. Pinched between her fingers, she was able to twist the feather in the light, uncovering more and more color dipped onto the fluff, only for a shadow to cover it and leave behind a pure white canvas. It was gorgeous. 

Tossing an absent look behind her shoulder, she confirmed that her windows were tightly latched shut. 

Maybe there was some pillow of hers, or her duvet was stuffed with feathers and she'd just forgotten. Though, she couldn't think of why such a pretty variation would be condemned to be hidden away inside of home goods. 

Running her fingers over the white fluff, gentle fingertips were pulled away to reveal a sheen of the opal shimmer covering her skin though none seemed to be missing from the feather itself. It was magical, entirely otherworldly—or at least very beautifully made that it looked as if only an angel could possess such a feather. 

(Y/N) couldn't stand to part with it. She even hoped she'd find where this one came from, so she could see if there were more to be had. If she had to tear open a pillow, she just might if only to see if there were more hidden away in her bed things. 

Looking to her vanity, (Y/N) spotted her brush cup where the rest of her makeup brushes were stashed away. That was the perfect place to store it, she decided as she crossed her room and placed the plucked feather among the brushes. It fit in beautifully with the clean white surface and the amber bulbs lining the mirror. 

Stepping back, she caught a final glance at her new find before turning towards the door. What a good way to start her day.

—————

Though he didn't need to sleep, Harry enjoyed doing it from time to time. While he told the other guardians that the reason he shuttered his eyes every now and then was to recuperate after long days of caring for his charge, the real reason was his love of dreaming. There was something so interesting about the fact that full length movies could occupy his sleeping brain for hours at a time, even eliciting real life reactions. (Y/N) had inspired him after he'd caught her talking in her sleep one weekend when she had fallen ill. It was fascinating. 

Plus, he always woke up rather refreshed after those hours of reprieve, and, after last night, that was exactly what he needed. In the same way (Y/N) needed her time to rest and process what she had put herself through the night before, he was able to recover this way from the turmoil he'd felt in his heart over the knowledge of her hurting. Blinking his eyes open with the sun shining above him, Harry felt significantly better than he did when he had left his girl the night before. 

She didn't need him, that much he could tell as he pushed off the cloud of fog that formed around him like a blanket. It was a reassuring feeling knowing that she wasn't in immediate need of his presence, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to check on her anyway. If anything, he just wanted to get the scene of her teary face out of his head and replaced by her early morning smile. 

Ducking through the clouds, Harry swore his hand felt different as it grazed the dew. The same hand that had cradled her cheek the night before now felt especially warm, as if the heat from her skin lingered in his own. The memory made his heart thump thickly against his ribcage, the same thing that made it hard to relax after he left her to rest. 

Fluttering down to her home, his heart skipped a beat when he could hear her through the walls when he misted in. That was his happy girl at the stove, cooking her breakfast in her favorite pair of candied violet hued sleep shorts with her hair tucked on the top of her head. The scent of Chantilly cream filled the air just under the smell of her food, the sweetness coming from her skin and the lotion she had smoothed over her skin. 

He felt at home as he fluttered over the floorboards, eyes shifting down to her hands to ensure she didn't get too close to the burners on the stove. With her pans sizzling on the stove, he always worried that something might pop up and burn her. Harry didn't even think when he heard the floorboard creak under his feet, focused ahead as he made sure he had a prime view of her hands. Until she froze in her spot, of course. 

Glancing at his feet, Harry noticed the way the pressure of his weight depressed the board under his feet. That never happened before. 

Harry typically ghosted through her home, undetectable without a trace of his presence being left behind. Shifting in his spot, another faint creak sounded under the noise of her cooking. That definitely wasn't supposed to happen.

That had her twirling in her spot, eyes wide as they landed on Harry standing stock-still in her living room. 

He could see her registering his presence with her wide eyes. She wasn't searching around for a phantom that made a fleeting noise in her home—she was seeing him. 

"Oh my god," she whispered, backing up tightly to the edge of the stove with horror marring her face. 

It was instinctual the way he reacted seeing her hand so close to the lively burner and her back turned to the popping grease that could reach her skin through the thin top adorning her body. He didn't mean to take a step towards her, reaching that protective hand out that usually gave her a light suggestion to move just a hair out of the way. He didn't mean to startle her any further when he stuttered out, "Be careful, your han—" 

Just like that, the statue of his charge came alive. She moved away from the heated stove only to frantically reach behind her for a harmless spatula, eyes never leaving her intruder. 

"Stay away from me!" Her voice was shrill as she shouted to him. Her throat bobbed when she swallowed around her fear. It was only then that she spotted the disappointing tool she had clutched in her hand.

Recoiling in hope of looking less threatening, Harry retracted his hand. His throat ran dry as it sunk in that she really could see him, and, if that wasn't bad enough, she was afraid of him. Though he'd never really thought about what would happen if she ever gained the awareness to notice his presence, this outcome wasn't even a possibility in his mind. He had almost hoped she would recognize him.

"Y-You need to get out," she pleaded in a breathless voice, emulating a terrified bunny, "Just leave an-and I won't call anyone. Just please leave." 

His heart broke hearing the fear in her voice. It wasn't ever supposed to be like this; he was never supposed to be the one inspiring fear in her. He couldn't leave her to think he was here to hurt her, even if it maybe wasn't the best look being a stranger in her house, bare chested thanks to the draping of cloud fabric around his hips, and the apparent familiarity of her home. 

"I promise, 'm not here to hurt you," Harry breathed, putting his hands up with his palms outwards to show he was defenseless. He could feel his wings mimicking the motion of his hands, the feathers spanning out behind him to show there was nothing for him to hide. "'S okay, (Y/N)." 

Harry knew his mistake as soon as he saw something spark in (Y/N)'s eyes at the sound of her name leaving his lips. 

"How do you know my name?" 

(Y/N) spoke with her eyes pinned on the wings behind him, her hands shaking enough to blur the image of the spatula clutched between her fingers. Her breathing shifted to uneven puffs, her skin paling the longer she stared at him. This wasn't good, that much he could see even before something in her eyes lost focus. 

Another mistake he made was the impulsive step forward he took. She was going to hurt herself if she wasn't careful. 

"You need to breathe, (Y/N)—" 

And, that was all he got out before her body went limp, eyes fluttering to a close, and she dropped to her kitchen floor. 

—————

She's dead, isn't she? 

That was the first thing (Y/N) thought when she dared to blink her eyes open after what had to have been the most exhausting sleep she'd ever endured. 

Shrouded in morning light, an angel hovered above her, sealing the deal for her that this was nothing but the afterlife. Shimmering wings fluttered behind his back as she felt the soft caress of his hand brushing hair out of her face. He was so pretty, warm like the sun, and alluring like a dream. Even if he did look a tiny bit concerned as he gazed at her.

"Am I in heaven?" 

A smile touched the angel's features at her question. He must get that all the time. 

That touch of his hand brushing through her hair shifted until he grazed his hand over her cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the height of her cheekbone. "No, love," he told her in the softest voice she'd ever heard, "Not gonna be there for a long while, if I have anything to do with it." 

His voice was much more interesting to focus on than what he was actually saying, his words going in one ear and out the other. "But, you're an angel," she dazedly answered. 

Another delicate smile plucked at his mouth, a dimple denting his cheek. "I am, yeah." 

(Y/N) couldn't find it in her to craft a response, instead opting to gaze up at her angel and take him in. Maybe he was a playful creature, messing with her when he tells her that this isn't heaven. Sure, it looked a lot like her living room, but there was no way this was her regular life when someone like him was there to greet her. 

Her angel only shook his head when he caught her dreamy expression as she looked up at him, his attention shifting to his hand on her skin. His touch glided across her skin, her angel's green eyes following the motion of his hand while (Y/N) reveled in the feel of her hair being grazed through. He was really good at this, she thought, playing with her hair and all. Maybe before she saw the rest of heaven, he could braid it back for her. She'd bet he'd be really good at that, too.

A whimper broke through her throat to match the lighting strike of pain that flashed through the back of her head when her angel touched the side of her head. Pain wasn't supposed to exist here, she thought. 

"'M sorry, 'm sorry, love," he cooed to her, even as he pressed harder on the tender spot on her skull. 

Just before she thought to grab for his wrist and yank his hand away from her head, the strikes of pain ceased. His touch was warmer than she remembered as a fog she hadn't even been aware was clouding her mind began to clear out. Those puffy clouds dissipated like those mornings she awoke to her yard shrouded in fog, the layer only misting away when the sun emerged. In her case, the sun was the bout of memories that rushed to the forefront of her mind. 

She was making breakfast, though now she couldn't remember what she did with the sizzling pans when a stranger appeared in her home. He was too familiar with her, she could now remember thinking. He moved about her house with a sense of where to go to find her, looked at her with eyes that knew her better than they should, and he knew her name. 

That stranger, he was captivating, she remembered. Much too pretty to be acting like a creep, but she couldn't necessarily stop him from the path he already chose to go on. But he was odd, too. He was barely clothed, waltzing through her home with a bare chest and a barely there swath of fabric slung low on his hips. Tattoos were inked on his skin, highlighting the plains of his chest and the lines of muscles down his arms. There was no reason an intruder should be so divine. 

The last straw fluttered to her mind as her angel—or was he a doctor, now that she was thinking much clearer—snaked his hand from the back of her head. There were wings on the intruder's back, the feathery masses reacting to his movements. That, combined with the revelation that he knew her name, was what had her dropping to the floor, spatula and all. 

Blinking the glaze she hadn't known was covering her eyes, she looked above at her savior. Maybe he could help her figure out what was going on. 

When her gaze focused though, instead of an angel, she saw the intruder that had gotten her into this mess. Without the cloud of her apparent head injury, all sense of calm left her body. 

"Wait," she peeped, voice breaking despite the lack of volume. Casting a glance over his shoulder, those wings he had that had previously convinced her that he was an angel here to cart her to heaven were still there. They weren't supposed to be there, just like they weren't supposed to be there when he had traipsed through her home on a Saturday morning. Her breathing sped up. Was she going crazy? A terrified whimper cracked her throat as she tried her best to scramble on lethargic limbs. "Wh-Who—You need to get out—Do-Don't touch—" 

None of her thoughts could complete themselves as she tried to find her mind among the mess that made up the rest of her morning. Her heart was beating in her throat, already weak limbs beginning to shake under the pressure of trying to get away from this man—creature? mutant?—who feigned care for her before he would undoubtedly steal her away for whatever freakish desire he'd come up with, and she was going to d—

"Hey," he cut across her frantic thoughts, heavy hands coming to rest on her shoulders with the suggestion of settling back down into the cushions under her, "You need to calm down, (Y/N). I promise 'm not going to hurt you, yeah? Y'can't move so fast right now, though. Y'hit your head when y'fell before. You're going to be alright, I jus' need you to calm down before y'make yourself sick, okay?" 

He wasn't supposed to be so kind right now. His touch wasn't supposed to be so gentle, and disappear so quickly once she obeyed his fight to get her to calm down and stop moving. He was supposed to be a monster, supposed to be acting like the kind of lunatic to break into a single woman's home in broad daylight. Instead, he looked genuinely concerned, ready to back off if she tried to fight him any further. He even made the pain in her head go away, and played into her delirious fantasies before she was in her right mind. 

The confusion she felt about what she had expected and what she was actually facing was too overwhelming. Tears sprung into her eyes as she bundled her hands at her chest, fingers knitting together only to break apart and repeat the process. "I-I don't understand. Who are you?" 

She watched as he dropped his gaze to her nervous hands, a tick appearing between his brows with his lips being rolled between his teeth though he didn't reach out to try and touch her, despite the twitch in his fingers. Instead, he kept his hands in their own bundle in his lap, eyes tracing back to her face. 

"Well," he told her, bringing his hand up to rub a knuckle under the tip of his nose, "'M your guardian." When he finally drawled the words, a sheepish smile tucked itself onto his lips, dimples in his cheeks and lines parenthesizing his mouth. 

(Y/N) felt her heart thump heartily inside her chest a handful of times before she found her words. 

"What?" 

A little deadpan, but that was all that was running through her mind. Good enough, given the fact there wasn't much that was in order in her brain at this point. 

As if to prove his claim, the glittering wings sprouting from his back ruffled in response. She half expected glimmers of gems to flutter to the floor at the motion. "'M your guardian angel, (Y/N)," he reiterated. 

She wished she could see the face she made at his words, but she could only imagine the deadpan expression leveling her features that matched the way her thoughts flatlined. If not for the wings she could clearly see ruffling behind his back, she would have assumed there was some kind of hallucination on his part. 

"Those are real?"

His brows furrowed at her line of questioning, that notch between them deepening while his lips puffed into a slight pout. "Well, yeah. Why wouldn't we be?" 

"Because you sound kind of crazy." Maybe that knock to her head also took her filter out, but (Y/N) didn't have it in her to be embarrassed at the moment. 

Her angel tilted his head as if he couldn't believe she was questioning him. Did he really think this was as common of knowledge as he was acting? 

"Would you like to touch them?" 

(Y/N)'s eyes widened at his question. It wasn't too late to start that escape plan it seemed. "Touch what?" 

"My wings," he answered simply, a jerk of his chin gesturing behind him as if there were any other set of wings he could be referring to. "So you know they're real." 

It was the purity in his eyes that kept her from immediately rejecting his ill-worded offer. He was genuinely asking her because he wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to know he wasn't lying, or trying to scare her, or hurt her. 

That was the only thing that had her nodding her head after a beat of hesitation. 

Besides, if he really was crazy, he seemed to be rather harmless at this point. 

She struggled to sit up on the fluffed cushions of her couch, limbs still heavy and slow, but she made a point to dodge his reaching hands. She only agreed to touch him, not to him touching her any more than he already has. She still needed a little more from him to trust him any more than the growing sliver in the back of her mind. He shuffled around her as she moved, making room for her as she folded her legs under her bottom. 

"Okay?" he asked her, honest features softened as he took in what she was sure were nerves marring her own face. 

"Mhm," she hummed, nodding her head with her lips rolled between her teeth in a punishing hold. 

(Y/N) kept her eyes glued to him as he twisted in his spot, baring his back to her and the two large wings sprouting from between his shoulder blades. She watched as he unfurled them as far as her living room would allow, the spans scrunched some to keep from brushing the walls and knocking around the room. The feathers themselves looked downy soft, delicate in the way they could sway and ruffle in a breeze, but the rigid structure of his wings looked stronger than she was sure even the packed muscles on his arms were. 

Light poured through the glass sliding back door, shining directly on the feathers like a spotlight. The hazy shroud the rays had made around his face now allowed the shimmer she had seen on his wings to be brought out in a kaleidoscope of colors. Those gemstone hues she'd spied before were on display, both bright and sheer at the same time. Any place that the sunlight didn't touch was left as a pristine white feather, unmarred by the opalescent gleam that shimmered over the tips. The rachis was a shimmering gold hue, shifting in the light. 

The vision was divine. And familiar. 

"I've seen these before," she told him, voice suddenly breathless as she dared to reach her hand out and stroke through the feathers. It was just as she remembered: downy soft, and delicately strong. 

A patient smile was painted on his face as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "What do you mean?" 

Looking into his eyes, she realized there were notes of that mossy green, only sheer, reflecting off of his wings. 

"Um," she floundered, blinking her eyes and regaining her attention on her thoughts when she redirected her gaze to the feathers, "I found one in my room when I woke up... It was on my bed." 

That smile on his face turned lopsided, only a single dimple in his cheek. "Then this all makes sense now, doesn't it?" 

She didn't bother to pull her gaze from watching her fingers brush through the feathers. Every pass coated her fingers in a little more of that pastel shimmer though none ever left the downy vane. "No, not really," she answered simply, biting back a smile when the feathers ruffled under her touch and a rain of shimmer fluttered to the floor. 

"Well," he started, a smile in his voice she didn't need to look up at to know was there, "y'can't see me unless y'have one of my feathers." 

The logic settled in her brain slowly. The soothing motion of brushing through his feathers, watching the rippling of the layers when she was sure he wanted to show off a little, and the gentle caress of the down itself against her fingers was the perfect remedy for her jumbled brain. His story seemed less and less outlandish the longer she sat with him. The degree of work that would have to go into pulling off a joke like this, didn't match any kind of payoff she could imagine he'd get.

Besides, looking at him, was it really that crazy to believe that this man was an angel? 

"You're really a guardian angel, then?" she started, her voice quiet, "I'm not losing my mind, and you're not some crazy that snuck into my house?" 

"'M not a guardian," he emphasized, a relaxed layer added to his voice that hadn't been there before, "'M your guardian angel." 

(Y/N) fought back the smile that threatened to tug at her lips. That was a rather sweet detail to get caught up on, she thought. "What does that even mean, then? Like being an angel and all." 

"Well, I take care of you." he shifted in his spot as he spoke, turning to sit properly upon the cushions with his back facing the couch though he ensured one large wing still stretched itself across her lap to continuing her exploring. A bright smile nestled its way onto his features as he looked to her, his gaze dropping to her hands more often than not. "I make sure y'don't hurt yourself or get into any accidents. I make sure you're safe, always." 

Despite the soothing undercurrent to his tone, a pinch struck inside her at the thought of needing constant monitoring to ensure she didn't land herself in a sticky situation. She hummed, the only response she offered to his short explanation. 

It wouldn't surprise her if along with caring for her physically, he was more attuned to her feelings as well, especially with the way he seemingly knew when to glide on from certain subjects. "The worst is when you're cooking, to be honest," he started, a huff of a laugh echoing through his words, "It scares me to see a knife so close to your fingers like that. 'M worried about fires, too; everything's too hot and too sharp in kitchens." 

"I haven't cut myself in a long time, actually," she pointed out, pride tipping her chin as she looked up at him through her lashes while her fingers continued to comb through his feathers, "I used to be pretty bad about before, but that's only because I can get distracted easily."

A beat of silence passed. It was the knowing smile on the angel's face that gave away the truth behind her sudden reformation. 

"That's you, isn't it?" 

A beaming smile made its way onto his features, dimpled cheeks and creased eyes accompanying the curl. It was his turn to show a bit of pride over his caretaking. "Whenever I see y'get distracted, I make sure y'don't slip up. 'M pretty good at it, huh?" 

She glanced at her bandageless fingers. "Thank you," she smiled, amusement tinting her words. 

Thanking her guardian angel that kept her from losing her fingertips wasn't something she ever saw herself doing. Nonetheless, she was appreciative. 

"Of course," he chirped, not skipping a beat. 

Shimmer rained down on the cushions of the couch and over the stretch of her bare thighs as she stroked his wings. More than anything at this point, it was calming to feel the brushes of the vane against her skin and trace the structure with her fingertips. She definitely decided he was real, but she didn't want him to take his wings away if she said as much. 

With her nervous energy being channeled through the shuffling of her hands, she could focus better on the questions she had flooding her trains of thought. She kept her gaze on her hands when she found the right one to ask: "Do you watch me all the time?" 

Her angel's brows pinched together at the implication of her question. "No, no, not all the time," he rushed out, shaking his head as a stray curl of hair flopped over his forehead, "I check on y'regularly to make sure you're okay, but I promise y'have your privacy. When 'm not with you, and y'do need me, something pulls to me to let me know 'm needed, so you're never left without me even if 'm not with you." 

A sense of relief touched her system. He'd probably seen his fair share of embarrassing traits from her, but at least he hadn't seen everything. His wings rustled under her fingers as a beat of silence passed. "Does that happen a lot? That you need to come to me because something bad is happening?" 

He hummed, shrugging a shoulder up that had his wings following suit. "Not very often, but it's been a good handful I'd say. Why?" 

Something in (Y/N) stomach turned at the thought of what could cause those calls out to her guardian angel—things she likely didn't even know were close calls. "Has there ever been anything really... bad that you've had to stop or fix it?" 

Her heart thrummed when he didn't immediately answer, only giving her a patient smile as her words seemed to echo in the air between them. "I can't tell you those kinds of things, but that's usually for the better, yeah?" 

"Right," she swallowed, dropping her gaze to her hands in an attempt to soothe herself with the sight of her fingers covered in the shimmer that dripped from the feathers. She could see herself becoming especially paranoid if he shared something like that with her. 

"But," he continued, a firm edge to his voice as he made a point to meet her eyes when she flicked them up, "let's be a little bit more choosy about how late we decide to walk home, yeah?" 

She didn't even let herself think for too long about what that could mean or what could have happened that would prompt him to tell her something like that at their first meeting. "Okay," she agreed, a nod of her head accompanying her words. 

"Thank you," he said with his gentle smile returning, the rigidity that had taken over his features having melted away. (Y/N) felt his gaze draping itself over her features, running along the line of her jaw into her hairline. "Do y'mind if I take a look at your head? Y'bumped it pretty hard when y'fainted earlier and I wasn't able to catch you. 'M sorry." 

Sincerity burned in his eyes as he spoke, his lips pursing into a flat line as he most likely recalled those last hazy moments a lot differently than she did. "You don't have to be sorry, it's okay," she started, shaking her head maybe a little too fast as the room started to spin. She really did hit her head pretty hard if it was that easy to send her off-kilter. "But, um, sure. You can look." 

(Y/N) watched as he shuffled over the cushions in an effort to keep his wing within her grip as he grew closer to her. Those same careful fingers she could barely recall through those foggy moments after she'd just woken up reached towards her face. One hand stationed itself on her chin, keeping her steady as he offered her a serene smile before the other brushed back stray strands of her hair. Tipping her head just right, he was able to part her hair and trace over her scalp with cool fingertips in search of the bump she hoped didn't exist. 

She knew she'd spoken too soon when he grazed a knot just off center of the back of her head, the spot tender enough to have her wincing even under his gentle touch. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he muttered, worry etching its way across his features as he searched through her hair for the exact spot that had her reacting like that, "I'll fix it, jus' give me one second, love." 

Just like that, something warm touched the back of her skull. Right where his fingers had once elicited painful strikes through the back of her head was now a sunlight-sweet warmth. It singed away the pain before it even had a chance to be more than a tender spot hidden between the strands, melting away until she was left with a bump that had no pay off when he carefully pressed his fingers against it. 

He'd healed her. 

"Better?" her angel asked, sea glass eyes meeting hers. 

How was it possible he had a healing touch but his eyes looking straight into hers made her heart beat hard enough it could bruise her ribs? 

Fluttering her lashes, she found herself back in the moment when she tore her gaze from his. "Yeah," she started, her voice volumes quieter than she expected, "A lot better, actually. Thank you." 

A smile of pride curled his lips as he righted the parts of her hair he had moved in his urge to fix her. The hand pinching her chin moved her back into place, leaving her hair to fall over the side of her face just before her angel could tuck the strands behind her ear. He looked happier when he could see all of her, none of her hair covering her features, even if it was nothing other than the hinge of her jaw and side of her neck. 

It was then that she realized she was no longer glossing her fingers through his feathers as she had been before, her hands having stopped in favor of putting all of her energy into watching him. Had they always been this close? 

Without the distraction of his hands in her hair, she could see the details of his own features much more clearly. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and sprinkled the high points of his cheeks, the product of long hours laying in the sun like she could picture him doing in the clouds. Green and gold melded together in his eyes, leaving flakes of buttery yellow while the calming green dominated his iris. His lips were a pretty pink, bordered by scruff that dusted itself over his jaw with tiny blonde hairs mixing with the deep brown that matched that of his hair. The line of his nose was strong, matching his brows and the firm angle of his jaw, though the way he looked at her had his features softening and rounding out into something boyish. Brown curls crowned his head instead of a halo, split down the middle at the moment with the strands curling around his features in a heart shape. Pepperings of blonde hairs touched his temples, another highlight from the sun that seemed to shine only for him. 

He really was divine. 

Looking at him now, she couldn't believe she didn't immediately believe him when he shared the truth. 

(Y/N) startled when he pulled back, a sheepish smile on his lips as he tucked his wings back behind him and shifted away from her. "Sorry," he told her, another apology that he didn't need to give though (Y/N) wasn't sure what it was for this time. "I didn't realize y'were done looking." 

His gaze flicked to her hands when he spotted the notes of confusion touching at her face. Looking down at her fingers, she saw they were covered in the shimmer that coated his feathers. A tiny smile plucked at the corners of her lips. 

"It's okay. I didn't mean to mess with them for so long," she said, shaking her head as if to shake off his unwarranted apology. "And, um," she started, taking her turn with being a little sheepish under his gaze, "Sorry I freaked out a little earlier—it was just kind of hard to believe right away." 

That same patient smile had his raspberry lips curling as he gazed at her. "I understand. I think I would be more worried  if you had been happy to see a stranger appear in your home, anyway," he joked, dimples in his cheeks with the way he smiled, "I never thought we would meet like this, so I was a little surprised, too." 

What a shock it would have been for him too, (Y/N) thought. Being invisible to her for months only to have the person you're caring for start screaming and faint at the first sight of you. He handled this whole thing a lot better than she would have—and did. 

"Do you have a name?" she asked after a beat passed, spying from the corner of her eye as he occupied his hands with the texture of one of her throw pillows, the cover being of velveteen fabric. She wondered how many times he had seen that and wondered what it felt like, but never touched. "Is that something angels do, or?" 

A musical laugh fell from his lips, his face in profile with his eyes stuck to the way his fingertips created pictures in the fabric of the pillow. "Yes, we do have names. 'M called Harry," he told her simply.

Her own lips opened into a small smile. "Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm (Y/N)."

Her angel—Harry's—smile grew wider at the sound of her voice wrapping around his name. She wondered if he knew his two front teeth were especially cute when he grinned like that. Like a bunny. 

"I know." 

"Right," she said, her turn to smile as he looked to her, "You probably learned that a long time ago." 

His gaze lingered on her, sweeping over her features in warming cuts. "You're feeling alright? After everything?" 

Glancing at her shimmer covered fingers in her lap, (Y/N) took stock of the soothed set of her body. She hadn't felt like this since before she moved out here and started spending so much of her time alone. It was nice not to be the only one in the cottage for the first time. Though, she figured, with everything she learned today, she might not have been alone most of the time, anyway. (She's probably still going to take one of those online quizzes tonight that's supposed to tell her if she's going crazy, though, but otherwise she feels really good). 

Offering Harry a kind smile, she nodded to him with her fingers knitting together in her lap. "Yeah, I'm alright." 

His smile at her words alone was worth fainting for. 

—————

Harry had never cooked before in his life, but if there was any time to start, it was now. Besides, he'd seen (Y/N) traipse around her kitchen hundreds of times at this point. He'd just mimic the things she did. 

The thought of his charge brought a small smile to his face. 

After a little while longer answering her questions and easing her into the fact she'd had someone in her life that she didn't even know about, he'd left her be for the rest of her day. She needed time to soak it all in, leaving Harry to occupy himself in the clouds while he urged himself not to check on her unless he got that ache in his chest. She deserved rest after the scare he gave her. (Though, he did chance a check in on her after she'd fallen asleep, only to ensure the bump on her head hadn't returned and she was sleeping well). 

That was how he found himself in her kitchen while she slept upstairs, eager to attempt his first meal in hopes of giving her something worthwhile to wake up to. He also was a little too excited to give her a reason to stay out of the kitchen; cooking for her kept him from having to worry about her hurting herself.

With a small smile on his face and some attention left to the beat of his heart to ensure he knew when (Y/N) was stirring awake, Harry flitted about the kitchen. His wings were tucked tightly against his back to keep from knocking anything over or making any kind of mess his charge would stress over. It was simple enough to recall some of her favorite things to eat in the morning, the evidence of her breakfasts packed away with ingredients in her fridge and cabinets. While he might not know the details like how hot the burners should be turned to or just how much butter she used when frying her eggs, he knew enough to hope he could make her something special. 

Just as he was whisking together the sauce she liked atop her eggs and muffins, Harry felt that stirring in his chest. A smile bloomed across his features, replacing the tick of concentration that had his jaw set in a hard line. She was awake. 

He listened in for the sounds of her feet padding over the staircase, a puff of lavender fragrance following after her that came from her diffuser. It was only a few moments later that he could see her pop around the landing from the corner of his eye. 

Her hair was sleep mussed and messy, matching her puffy eyes and chapped lips after her long sleep. His heart skipped a beat when he met her eyes, even if they were a bit bleary and unfocussed. 

"Good morning!" he cheered, his wings fluffing out behind him.

With her arms crossed protectively across her tummy, skin in goosebumps, she offered a small smile. "Good morning," she reciprocated, volume much lower than his, "W-What are you doing here?" 

Tipping his head towards the whisk and bowl in his hands, a toasted breakfast muffin awaiting to be topped by the duo of eggs that were set to be tossed in the pan once he got the sauce as creamy as he could, Harry's smile brightened. "'M making you breakfast." 

(Y/N)'s gaze followed down to the spread on the counter. He saw her features soften as she took in the work he put into this morning for her, including the dishes that were already neatly stacked in her sink and the clean counters. "You don't have to do all this," she peeped out, those softened features of hers edging in with guilt where it didn't belong. 

"I want to," he assured her, meeting her gaze in hopes of showing her how seriously he meant the sentiment, "You've had a long weekend, and this is a good way to say sorry for letting you hit your head yesterday. Besides"—he shrugged—"I told y'that when y'cook it makes me nervous. So, I can take care of this while y'relax and wake up properly before y'start your day." 

He could see the hesitance on her face as she tried to convince herself to let go. She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes dropping to the food that was almost done and the dishes that would take him less than ten minutes to take care of for her. "I... Okay," she finally settled on, a short smile on her lips as if she was worried to show how happy his efforts were making her, "Thank you, Harry." 

"Of course," he told her, hoping his positivity would rub off on her and help her settle her antsy nerves that had no place in the kitchen. "Go sit down, 'm almost done." 

Harry could feel (Y/N)'s eyes on him as he finished up her hollandaise sauce, a small taste showing him the perfect amount of tartness he knew she preferred. A couple of passes of his whisk ensured it was light and foamy before he moved onto the uncracked eggs. As soon as the whites touched the hot pan, sizzling filling the room, he could hear his charge move from her spot she had carefully taken at the table. 

"I-I can help with—" she started, anxiety touching her voice as she fluttered through the room.  

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her reaching towards the stove, overeager hands turning clumsy. Harry worked quickly as he grabbed at her wrists, keeping her hands from moving any further towards the hot stove, where he was sure her shaky fingers were going to make contact with something that she shouldn't. 

With her hands shackled by his own fingertips pressing into the soft of her skin, Harry ducked down to her level to ensure he was within her line of sight. "(Y/N), no," he told her, something stern riding in his tone, "I don't want you to hurt yourself, yeah? Go sit down, 'm almost done anyway. Please relax, I promise 's alright." 

He could tell she wasn't listening with the way she dropped her gaze down to their joined hands after he finished speaking. "I should be helping, though. It's not fair." 

A delicate brush of his thumb swept over her skin, an attempt to soothe her. "You've had a long night, haven't you?" he pressed, watching as she gave a short nod after a moment, "Please relax for me, then, yeah? Have some juice and sit down; food's almost done." 

When her eyes met his, he can tell she was not convinced. A patient smile touched at his lips, the same one he always had when he had to help her without her knowledge before she had his feather. "Please?" 

That seemed to be all she needed before she softened enough to give him her own smile and a nod of her head. "Thank you," she repeated, voice quiet just for the two of them while the eggs sizzled away beside them. 

"You're welcome," he settled her, unlatching his hands from around her wrists before she was sent off towards the dining table. 

Following his instructions, she poured herself a glass of juice from the pitcher he left on the counter. Harry fluffed his wings with a bit of pride once she settled down, the set of her shoulders finally relaxing as he went back to work. He took care to make her breakfast as carefully as possible, ensuring she saw the way he concentrated on his hands and kept himself safe. Maybe she would take a couple of notes and let him worry just a little less when she entered the kitchen. 

"Do you... eat?" (Y/N) questioned from behind him, her voice breaking through over the sound of sizzling eggs. 

Harry's lips cracked into a smile at her voice, a small huff of a laugh exhaling through his nose. This was much the same way yesterday had gone after she had grown more comfortable with him. He hadn't realized she was so curious. 

"I do, yeah," he told her, tossing a look over his shoulder to her before he used a spatula to scoop the cooked eggs out of the pan, "Not very often, though—especially if 'm up in the clouds." 

"With other guardians?" she prodded, sounding more awake with the distraction of his life. 

"Mhmm," he hummed through his smile as he plated up her breakfast. 

The eggs went down first as (Y/N) fell silent, the hollandaise following after. As it all came together, Harry felt a little too proud of himself. This looked just as good as the breakfast she made herself—if not a tiny bit better, though he'd never say that to her. He wanted her to be proud of herself, too.

"Were you all... people? Before all of this guardian stuff, I mean." 

"What do you mean?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Like, do you have memories of a life before you were an angel? D-Did you... pass away, or have you always been like this?"

Her question elicited a shrug of Harry's shoulders, his wings matching the motion. "I don't think so, but I don't know for sure. I don't have any other memories before being created. Everything has always been about m'life with you. That's how it is for most of us." 

"Oh," she sounded, before a beat passed with her gaze warm on his back. "How long have you been helping me, anyway?" 

"Not too long," he told her with a smile, finishing touches in the form of seasonings joining her breakfast plate as he spoke, "Only since you moved out here." 

(Y/N) fell silent at his response, a beat passing before Harry collected her breakfast plate and started towards her. Her gaze was pinned to the table with her hands nervously fiddling in her lap. When he placed her meal in front of her, she tore her eyes from the table and looked up at him though she couldn't meet his own gaze. 

"So, you've seen everything then?" she muttered under her breath, too sheepish to speak any louder. 

Harry's brows knitted in the middle at her line of question. "I make sure y'have your privacy, remember? I promise, love," he reminded her, reaching for her half full glass of juice. Refilling the cup, he waited for her response though the silence stilled in the kitchen.

With her glass full and a warm breakfast in front of her, (Y/N) seemed to soften some though she didn't look entirely comfortable in that moment. "Thank you," she offered, a short smile on her face as she reached for the silverware he brought along with him. She poked at the toasted muffin slathered in the light sauce, Harry worried he didn't execute it to her liking the longer he watched her. 

"'M sorry if it's not quite right," he started, taking a spot at the table beside her though he left a good length of space between them. "I tried to copy what I've seen y'do, but if y'don't like it, 'm not offended." 

A shake of her head was the first lively response he'd garnered from her in the last handful of minutes. Her hair fluttered around her face, tiny strands having escaped the braid on the back of her head. "No, no, it's not that at all. Thank you, really, Harry. It looks wonderful." As if to prove her point, (Y/N) cut off a bite with the side of her fork and shoveled it in. Her eyes brightened, adding some authenticity to the act he was sure she was putting on for him. "This is so much better than what I make," she told him, sipping her juice between her words, "You definitely didn't copy me." 

The praise warmed his skin, flooding to the apples of his cheeks and traveling down his neck. "I learned a couple of things, I guess," he shrugged, "'M happy you like it." Modesty was a good trait, even if he didn't particularly feel humble when someone like her was handing out the compliments. 

With his chin resting in his palm and his elbow propped on the table, Harry gave her her space though he couldn't completely wipe the smile from his face. Instead, he focused on tracing over the grain of the wood with his opposite hand, finding pictures in the swirls as if they were clouds. 

From the corner of his eye, he could see her take a sip of her apple juice before (Y/N)'s voice filled the room. "What I meant before was—um—, so you've seen everything since I've moved out here—like everything that's happened?" She spoke vaguely, but Harry had a good idea of what she was meaning with the way she couldn't meet his gaze and stuttered over her words. 

He didn't want to embarrass her, really. There was no reason to get into detail of what exactly he had seen happen when she came home from her dates and the heartbreak he silently tried to comfort her through. There was no need to tell her that the reason she had his feather now was because he had paid her a visit after hearing her pleading wish about hoping love would come into her life. 

"A little bit, yes," he told her, "But, I mostly focus on your safety, more than anything else." He couldn't find it in himself to lie to her, but he figured this was as much truth as she needed. 

Nonetheless, despite his careful dance around it all, it seemed he may have given her too much truth. "Okay," she peeped, going back to poking at the yolky sauce and toasted muffins of her breakfast. 

Breathing out a sigh, he ducked down to her level. He really hadn't wanted to make her feel off knowing that he had seen those nights. If anything, he had hoped it would make her feel less alone. 

"I never peek in on your private moments, or judge you for anything I see, (Y/N). I mean it," he told her earnestly, "I only want for you to be happy and safe. That's all 'm looking out for." 

He stayed just where he was, ducking into her view as close as he could without invading her space. A beat passed before he could see her find the courage to find his eyes. She looked less worried, then—less sheepish, and concerned about what she would find when she looked at him only to see the patient smile and kind eyes he had for her. She even turned shy, a tiny bit flustered, when there was nothing pitying or knowing in his gaze.

"Thank you," she told him, sincerity in her tone. 

The smile that followed after was the best way to start Harry's day, he decided.

—————

columba: the dove constellation

aahhhh first series in so long and first patreon exclusive series in even longer!! part three is up now on my patreon!! so excited to see what you guys think! thank you so much for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or requests please send them in!

[jackdaniel69nice]

More tokoyami bird mutation traits because he deserves it.

Birds have the ability to sense the electromagnetic poles surroundings the earth and they use it to know where they’re going. The most common instances of this are a pigeons “homing” instinct and migratory birds knowing what direction to go in when they well…migrate. Tokoyami (and hawks) has this and it’s immensely useful when flying through the city, he never gets lost.

unihemispheric slow-wave sleep is the ability to turn off half your brain and allow it to sleep while the other half remains alert. Birds can use this to keep an eye out for predators or stay in flight while migrating. Tokoyami is the master of sleeping during class (joking). Seriously Tokoyami’s brain is already weird enough having to share his head space with dark shadow and apparently he can, in theory, just turn off half his brain. This would be immensely useful for patrols and stake out missions. He probably also uses it to keep an eye on dark shadow at night if he has a feeling they are going to be rambunctious. Also bird don’t always sleep like this, they are perfectly capable of full sleep as well so don’t worry toko only uses this when necessary.

The metabolism of a bird is insanely fast in order for them to keep up the energy needed for flight. Hawks has the fastest metabolism which is why he’s always eating during patrols. Toko still has a fast metabolism and needs to eat much more than someone his size would normally consume. There is argument that dark shadow could be stealing some of his energy but it’s negligible. Toko is very thin, like momo he can never seem to put on weight, he is also very small which could be a mix of genetics and not getting enough nutrition growing up. I’m saying his genetics play a role because even without wings birds need to be lighter for easier flight so most avians are on the smaller side coughhawkscough

Tokoyami can do bird calls, or at least he used to be cable to. This hc gets a little specific but because of how embarrassed he is about his bird traits I feel like he was taught by people to suppress them (like he was taught to suppress his emotions). He was probably put through speech therapy as a child or even the MHA version of ABA therapy (because I am autistic and love using metaphors, like certain quirks being a metaphor for mental illnesses). Either way his unique baritone is actually unnatural to him and even harmful to his vocal cords, he gets sore throats and can’t yell or talk for to long before it hurts and he gets laryngitis. He knows sign language for this reason as well. Anyhow now that he’s in a supportive and loving environment he might be able to relearn these skills for mental health reasons and use his voice for practical purposes. Dark shadow was never directly forced to stop chirping which is why their voice is more squawky. They can imitate sounds very well from whistles, alarms, and instruments to peoples voices. They also know how to “throw” their voice so they can use it to confuse their prey the enemy. Tokoyami might learn how to do this too one day. Yes tokoyami can sing and while he sounds amazing he hates doing it.

(Sorry about the angst but quite frankly it’s overdue, tokoyami is an edge lord after all)

[pastelmusings]

Newest OC so I can start building up my repertoire. So have some really messy headcanons (or just canons—?) about both him and his species, as usual pls interact or ask questions or anything ^^

Meet Ellis! He's a young dove hybrid prince (design loosely based off a wild pied ringneck dove, and I will draw a character sheet for him later cause he's a cutie), part of a sub species of Columbidavien hybrids known as Topeliaviens

-

• For appearance he's really pale (not allowed outside), with round brown eyes, big white and light brown wings, and the same colored hair, and he's like 5'3

• His species generally stays pretty small (average male height 5'4 or so, female being closer to 5'8) and has a general lifespan of 65

• He's a complete utterly sheltered mess

• Spent most of his life kept separate from pretty much everybody, so he latches onto people quick, and is real easy to get taken advantage of...

• Doesn't actually have any political power, since he's like the third son and it's basically a matriarchal species anyway

• Lots of bird tendencies

• Nesting, preening, courting, cooing and chirping, poofing up when trying to look big and intimidating (despite really just looking like a little ball of particularly loud angry fluff)

• His species mates for life and become really depressed when separated, which does shorten their lifespan

• Excessive stress also shortens their lifespan

• They're just a really fragile species—

• Though with the dimorphism in the species the women are bigger and general stronger and less likely to just die at the first inconvenience

• The males also need less sleep, and have a natural inclination to scatter sleep for a hour or so at a time so they can be hyper alert

• They can mate with non-avien humans, but it's not recommend cause humans don't exactly mate for life, and breaking up isn't something they can really do—

• Horrible with direction, they absolutely don't have any homing ability like their pigeon counterparts and will become hopelessly lost real fast

• He, in particular, is kinda constantly sad and clingy, like a soggy piece of paper in living form

• Also an obsessive mess and prone to never letting his darling out of his sight

• Displays his discontent very loudly (the bird boy is going to constantly screech for an hour, making it everyones problem)

• Surprisingly very impulsive, in the sense that it's his natural instinct to fight tooth and nail to protect his love from any perceived threat

• Once spent twenty minutes fluffed up and chirping aggressively at a tree branch that kept tapping the window, and he wouldn't let you move from under him to show it was nothing

• He folds so easily

• People pleaser to the max and will cry if you're so much as slightly unhappy at him, I'm talking big watery eyes as he trembles like a leaf

• Actively hates being touch by literally everybody except his mate, and will cling to you like a second skin

• He gets kinda stupid when his instincts cloud his actions, like he'll try to bite at any hands that get too close to you and will probably accidentally smack you in the face with a wing a few different times, bit always fusses over you after

• He's obsessed with pretty shiny things and constantly gifts you both complete worthless little trinkets and priceless jewelry, expecting you to have the exact same reaction for both

• He will cherish every little thing you get him of course, even if it's just a little scrap of shiny wrapping paper (the kinda guy who'd be over the moon over getting a 'shiny box', like no babe, the gift is in the box—)

• Needs you to smell like him, he will whine and cry if you don't let him rub his head against your neck until you don't smell like anything else to his keen senses

• He'll usually 'nest' by just making a pile of all the soft things in the general vicinity and calling it a day, which happens more often if he is super anxious about you being gone

• If you don't sleep in it he'll cry

• Adhd as hell, he has the attention span of a leaf and the memory of a goldfish, also can never get anything done ever

• This is getting long so I'll wrap up by saying wings are sensitive and petting them will turn him into a poor cooing mess

• (Also despite how pretty they are, he can't actually fly because they're clipped ;-;)

[drinkpisser]

MY HESITANT ALIEN FIC, "HOW IT CAME TO BE" CHAPTER 2 ANDDD 3 IS FINALLY READY TO SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY!

thank you for waiting guys!! ^0^ took a little longer than the first chapter but hopefully it's still okay and whoever reads enjoys <3

PREVIOUS CHAPTER LINK:

(click Keep Reading to begin!)

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CHAPTER 2: PINKISH

"This dream is calling your name."

A few months had passed by since Gerard's first day at the camp. Each morning, before everyone else awoke, he would cycle the narrow pathways of the woods to clear his mind- it wasn't something he ever did back home and most would find it rather unusual.

When Ray asked him about it, he shrugged.

Truthfully, ever since the encounter with the extraterrestrial, Gerard had not been the same. Ambiguous figures would slither past the corners of his eyes, he'd stare into the stars of the night sky with an unwarrented anticipation, not even sure himself what he was looking for, and all he could seem to sketch and doodle were variants of the mothership.

This is the one, he'd think, before ripping up the paper and restarting.

On this particular morning, he impulsively turned a different direction to take in new scenery because he found repetitiveness tiring. Of course, taking an unknown direction typically leads to some dilemma in most cases, yet that didn't seem to phase Gerard in the slightest, thinking unrealistically and all.

Swerving his balance slightly, a sudden fatigue dawned on him. He found it best to take a seat on a nearby stump, surrounded by branches leaning towards him. After regaining his senses, he observed that this neck of the woods appeared rather strange, the saturation of everything enhanced almost to a neon- trees twist and turn dangling fluorescent leaves, flowers spit shades of the rainbow and the dystopian clouds above swirl as they glide across the cyan sky. He could have sworn it looked like any old mundane part of the site before he sat down! He scrunched his nose in confusion, before then reaching out for his bike.

Just as he grabbed the handlebars, a distant, soft "Thud!" sent the pigeons flying in a scare.

Inflicted with paranoia, Gerard freezes. The only action he could resort to was a short and sweet use of speech, which is no good defence against a potentially malicious opposition.

"Is- is someone there?" he mutters.

Nothing, only a skitter within the bushes.

"SomeTHING... Maybe?" He slowly creeps closer, making sure to scan his surroundings as he leans forward. Using both of his hands, he separates the bushes in which the wriggling was heard, trying his best to ignore the nettles that pierced his palms in the process.

...

What on earth?

A toddler sized ball of pinkish fuzz sits bewildered, as though it may have hit it's head through the fall from each branch above. The fuzz on it's face is white, it's eyelids a pastel blue; upon seeing Gerard a curved grin forms on its face.

Instinctively, he backed away. As he did, the creature reached forwards with grabby paws. Tilting his head, Gerard shuffled a few steps closer.

It squeaks, scurrying away!

"Oh, crap!-" he cries, and once again, he is running a little faster, like an idiot. If Gerard was a cat, curiosity would have definitely killed him by now. Nine times. Eventually, the pair end up at an oddly placed flight of stairs, it's lengthy.

"I don't remember this being here.." Gerard scratches his head in confusion, looking down at the small alien for an answer. It begins to crawl up each step.

"I suppose actions speak louder than words, huh." Once again, he follows.

Gerard looks up, doing a harsh double take. He saw the very vehicle that gave him that fright so many weeks ago- he's being led into the mothership! How in God's name did he allow himself to be sabotaged by such a freaky animal, without even judging where it could take him?! He turns back. No, absolutely not, he cannot do this again-

Oh, Jesus Christ.

The most grotesquely unsettling, inhumane guards block Gerard's exit, ushering him with oblong sniper guns. Their skulls are stretched by their oversized brains, the six eyes on each side of their wrinkly faces staring deadpan into Gerard's soul. Taking a deep breath for his own sanity, he turns a stiff and full 180 back around, each guard standing beside him.

One anomalous move and he's toast. He keeps going, shuffling inside of the entryway. Those things could probably sense the fear within him from a mile away, there was no benefit in hiding it.

They make their ways through hallowed metallic halls, dashed with blinding lights on each wall, heavily supplied with martian soldiers. Each instance where Gerard looked around and gulped in awe, his neck was nudged back in the forwards direction like the hostage he was.

"Damn, sorry. This just reminds me of Star Wars. It's neat." he adds, nodding.

Over time, Gerard progresses in apathy. Each hall began to look the same. Each monument or picture framed on the wall became old news. Bored. So bored that even starting a fist fight with his captors would exhaust him to an extreme extent. Although, realistically, with sting plastered palms it would be more painful for him than his opponent.

Without warning, the fuzzy alien leading the way comes to a halt, pointing at a circular door... The cockpit? What was it doing leading Gerard there?

The tightly sealed door is accompanied with a turn of a wheel keeping it together. As it cracks open, Gerard realises that this is no ordinary cockpit, it was a spacious control room. What amazed even further was the cosmical view of outer space ahead of him in wide, circular windows.

It looked exactly like the dreams he had prophecised since he was small; to watch as the earth grows smaller in size and float behind him, to see the ashes of the milky way beyond a printed photograph, to cross lands even he wouldn't have thought existed. Most of all, what he really yearned to do, was to take passion past human domain. He wanted to preform, create precious art- If more than one intellectual species exists in our entire sense of being, they deserve to feel the phemomena of music.

He staggers forward in awe, unable to deflect his eyes from the view beholding him. The stars shift in formation, constellations bonding together. They attempt to fabricate letters in a language that Gerard doesn't quite understand.

He turns to the guards behind him, who drop their weapons in fascination.

The large screen above the entryway begins to decode, displaying a message in green digital letters:

"This dream is calling your name."

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CHAPTER 2.5: BROTHER

Days have passed by.

In the eyes of everyone else, Gerard had vanished. Due to the emergency situation of a missing camp student, friends of his were scouted to different parts of the forest and local areas to place posters.

Ray and a newcomer called Frank were assigned the nearby town, as an opportunity for him to get to know the area better. Unfortunately, Ray was not his chirpiest self on this day. It's hard to be when your best friend is gone, but he still tried his best to be welcoming.

Frank himself was a spiky looking fella, his hair clearly damaged from all of its bleaching and dying. For the moment, it was a bright red- although, Ray had a feeling it would change soon. He had a few tattoos despite not being the legal age for them, some looked like stick 'n' pokes. His eyes reminded Ray of an excited puppy, observing all of the new surroundings and he was noticeably shorter than a lot of the boys he'd met at the campus so far. Frank looked slightly younger than him, perhaps by a year.

"What brings you here, then?" Ray asks, whilst putting up his last poster.

"Parents. They're tired of me slacking off and playing Mario Kart." Frank replies unseriously.

"Right, that's relatable," he sighs, "You wanna grab a bite in the cafe whilst we're here? I could do with a distraction."

Frank nods.

As they head into the cafe, the smell of freshly baked cookies fill their lungs, it's incredibly appetising.

"Hey, uh- I'll pay for 'em." Frank smiles briefly, "I know this probably isn't the best day ever for you."

Ray's eyes light up, taken aback by the offer.

"You're sure? I don't mean to be annoying-"

By the time Ray finished his sentence, half a batch had been purchased by a ravenous Frank.

"Here, enjoy!" he smiles, tossing Ray a couple of cookies and munching away on his own.

"Thank you," he also takes a bite, "I did really need this, to be honest."

"You needed a cookie that bad?" Frank smirks, smugly.

"Yeah but, I mean, just- company. A friend. It's been lonely without Gerard. I don't even know where he could have gone other than somewhere definitely unrealistic." Ray comments, challenged.

"Ah, sorry about that. Hopefully he just wanted out for a few days." Frank adds, overlooking the "unrealistic" part of Ray's sentence.

"He'd have taken me out with him, we go everywhere together," Ray stresses, "something happened, dammit!" he exclaims.

"Woah dude-" Frank puts an arm around his shoulder.

"Calm down, I didn't mean to upsetchya- he's gotta be fine. From the description of him on the posters, he seems to avoid trouble."

Ray sighs once again.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. It's almost been a week of him dissapearing without notice, I've barely slept." Ray apologetically rambles.

Frank pats his back and the two get back to their feast of cookies, awkwardly conversating along the way.

Meanwhile, back at campus, the head girl has a relatively difficult phone call to make. She dials Gerard's home number, hesitantly awaiting a response.

To her surprise, a voice too adolescent to be a parental figure answers.

"Hello? Who is this?" the young boy enquires.

"This is Gerard's summer camp, who am I speaking to?" she responds.

"Umm.. I'm his younger brother, Mikey. My parents are out right now- did he do something dumb?" he snickers, the grin audible from across the line.

"Not necessarily. I just need you to call us back when your parents are back home-"

"Tell me!" he puts on a serious voice, unsuccessfully disguising a chuckle.

The head girl takes a dread induced breath.

"Your brother is still ... missing. We learnt he was last spotted by a volunteer in the woods five days ago, who commented that his behaviour was weird."

Radio silence hit the line.

"Is everything okay? Are you able to tell your parents about this?" she asks.

"Uh.. what- what am I supposed to do now? Just sit here?" Mikey stumbles on his words.

"Unfortunately so until we can give any further updates. We need you to notify your parents, because it isn't looking too good- sorry you had to find out this way."

Mikey holds the phone with a slight shake, his eyes welling up. He'd do anything for his older brother, to protect him, just as Gerard would. Yet here he is, powerless on a phoneline on the one occasion that the role reversed. He felt bottom of the barrel hopeless, like a half of him had just vanished completely.

"I'm um- I'm gonna go now. Bye." Mikey shoves the words out of his mouth quickly and to avoid an outburst of tears, he hangs up.

----------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 3: ARE WE RUNNING HOME, OR RUNNING FREE TODAY?

"This dream is calling your name."

Gerard is perplexed at the message on the screen. Where's the catch? Sure, experiencing this is admirable, but what if it's a trap? And what the everloving fuck is he doing on a spaceship to begin with?

A shadow emerges from the light, so bright that it's features are barely distinguishable. It's voice is androgynous, and speaks with charm.

"You did a pretty adequate job, Lola."

It ruffles the fur of the pink creature as it praises them.

"So that's what they're called. Lola. Hmm. I was thinking of naming 'em myself but i was stumped." Gerard comments with a hint of disappointment, "But are you finally gonna help me out of here or what?" he adds, slightly nervous.

"Not yet. We must negotiate... You are the only one who can see us. The only one who hasn't wound up dead by stepping inside of this vehicle, and most importantly, you were chosen by the machine." it's words slip with uncertainty and sour undertones, forcing the situation to be creepier than it already is.

Gerard grows in fear, his breaths drawing progressively sharper. The joy of his desires being so close in reach lowered his guard, he almost forgot the potential dangers of subhuman creatures!

"What the fuck could I have been chosen for? I'm the biggest loser at this joint! Even the janitor wouldn't fall for this- if you're gonna eat me or somethin' just kill me now already and spare me the pain!" Gerard snaps with stress, agressively gesturing towards the messages and strange posters on the walls in disbelief. The alien goddess blinks, humbled by Gerard's violent assumptions.

"We want to form an alliance with planet Earth without starting a war this time. We come in peace," the goddess explains, putting their webbed hands up, "my people are suffering from our highest deficit of essential living supplies in centuries. If an ordinary, likeable human being such as yourself can draw attention to us... We won't have to suffer anymore."

"Likeable, huh. Sure. But what if I'm not good enough? What about my family and friends?" Gerard averts eye contact, moping down at his dirty sneakers.

"It has been decided by unimaginably high divinity that you are capable, Gerard. As for your loved ones, they cannot know of our meeting yet. Not until you have completed your art. In six months time, we will reconcile and you'll be taken on a venture across space and time- and don't stress, your family and friends will receive explanatory letters from us if they don't buy it from you." the figure folds it's arms.

Gerard steps forward.

"So, I could really make music that saves lives?" Gerard meekly perks up at the luminescent lifeform, wincing with self doubt.

"Even better," it suggests...

"You could make history."