wing expansion

When your favorite player isn't protected

Originally posted by somenerdthing


shades of wrong (m)

Summary: In which you’re sure you’ll hate Park Jimin with every fiber of your being for the rest of your existence, even after he is assigned your tutor for History of Magic.
Pairing: Jimin | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Smut; Harry Potter AU 
Word Count: 17,321
Author’s Note: This got insanely long, and I apologize but also not really. Inspired by @jeonbegins + her really dope HP Slytherin Jimin AU edit. I also had a little conversation with @minsvga about this and she helped me figured out the basic idea for what this story has become; and @chokemejimin has asked to be tagged in my HP work so here you go my dear!!!


No matter how hard you try, it seems as if you are always bested by Park Jimin in every aspect of life: from Quidditch to school to class popularity.

And you absolutely despise him for it.

Granted, it’s probably because he’s always simply excelled in everything while you could only manage the minimum requirement for things outside of the sport you’ve grown to be so passionate about—but that’s only deepened your dislike for the boy. It’s been like this since the pair of you were children, a rivalry already planted between you even before you knew what the term meant. Truthfully, it was pretty much written in the stars that you would develop some deep-rooted grudge against Jimin, for he was organized into Slytherin while you were put in the fiery red and gold of Gryffindor.

Beyond the clashing Houses that have officially formed your backgrounds, it doesn’t help that the boy has seemed to uphold a particular interest in doing whatever he could to see you fidget or watch you squirm or just catch you at your worst moments—although you humor yourself on the idea that these unfortunate incidents occur to you because of Park Jimin’s constant hovering. It’s a habit that’s grown since the first week of your admission into Hogwarts, in which your big mouth scored you your first detention with the infamous Professor Snape.

It’s a moment that marks the beginning of an unspoken battle between the pair of you—in which you would constantly attempt to prove yourself better than Park Jimin and Park Jimin doing everything he could to make sure you could never have that victory. During the first two years of school, this would mean beating you on every exam, knowing the answers to every question and teasing you for not knowing. Professors putting Jimin on a pedestal, marking him up as the ‘ideal student’ and unknowingly intensifying the dagger of hatred you wished to plunge deeper and deeper into his chest.

When you are twelve, you are told that there is certainly no way for you to truly despise of something (or someone)—for you are young and naive and not entirely capable to understand what it means to hate something with every fiber of your being.

But they’re wrong.

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What to Expect When You're Expanding: NHL Expansion Draft 2017

When: Wednesday, 21 June 2017 8pm EST (NBCSN, SN)
Where: NHL Awards, Las Vegas, NV
Who: 30 of your favorite players
Why: Reid Duke needs friends

Order: Players will be selected in the reverse order of the 2017 regular season standings starting with the Colorado Avalanche and ending with the Washington Capitals

Who can get drafted: see protected lists at

Rookies who have played fewer than 2 seasons (i.e. Auston Matthews, Zach Werenski, etc.) and unsigned prospects are exempt from the expansion draft and are not counted towards the protected list.

Vegas GM George McPhee has to submit their choices by 10am Wednesday. Up until this point they have exclusive trade rights to make deals with teams (either for an unprotected free agent (UFA or RFA) or to NOT select certain players in exchange for draft picks/prospects). If Vegas makes a deal for a player, they do not select a player from that team during the draft

What does Vegas need to select:
-one player from each of the 30 current teams
-AT LEAST 14 forwards, 9 defensemen, 3 goalies
-AT LEAST 20 players under contract in the 17/18 season
-enough players to reach within 60% ($48.3 m) of but not surpass the 2016 cap ceiling ($73 m)

I Understand, and I Obey

Request: “Please could you write a gadreel or Gabriel x reader fic, something to do with his wings? Maybe some jealous or protective gadreel/Gabriel? I don’t have any more specific plot ideas sorry haha I just love wing fics and there aren’t enough out there and you’re such a great writer! Thanks!”

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Word Count: 818

Warnings: implied smut and SUPER FLUFF (haha get it because wings are fluffy)

A/n: just a short lil something! I adore wing fics too :D

Originally posted by mebeingbored1

Your fingers ran along the golden feathers of Gabriel’s wings, each stroke eliciting a soft whimper. Blood stained in patches under the deep gashes you tended to; red rivers running through golden valleys. Each touch was a mix of pain and pleasure for him, your fingers tinted from patching up his wounds. He hissed at the pressure, only for the sound to evolve into a low moan when you stroked him sorrily.

“You’re not careful enough.” You scolded him quietly. “You could’ve been killed.”

“What, no ‘thank you Gabriel’? No ‘you’re my hero Gabriel’?” He scoffed, his fiery eyes capturing your attention.

You sent him a sweet smile, leaning over to place a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, glorious Gabriel, son of God and all-powerful archangel, I owe you my life.” You pronounced. Gabriel rolled his eyes at your mocking eccentricity. “But really. Thank you.” You huffed. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled brightly, although his mouth fell into an open state as you whisked your fingers across the tops of his wings. “zol ta fa” he cursed under his breath in Enochian.

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Deliberate Beauty of Humanity

Drabble Request by @starswirlblitz: Dean x angel!reader? In which dean plays with her wings and it fluffish/steamy cause she’s ticklish but also has a sensitive spot that makes her squeal sometimes? I hope that’s okay?

Word Count: 1949

A/N: So… this didn’t really turn out as a drabble… I kinda woke up at 3 in the morning and had this itch to write this one and couldn’t go back to sleep until it was out of my head and that’s how you got a full-length oneshot out of this! Also, I just had to write Dean’s POV in first person. It wouldn’t work any other way. I think this is the first time I’ve posted anything in first person on this blog. I hope you like it!

Version en Español: La Deliberada Belleza de la Humanidad

You hoped you never got used to this. You wanted every time to feel just like the first time. Maybe it was that it was a human act, or maybe it was just Dean. Either way, you would never change a thing about any of these moments.

Back when Castiel invited you along to help with the Winchesters, you never dreamed that Dean would ever look at you as more than Castiel’s little sister. You hadn’t known that you even wanted him to see you as anything but an angel. Yet here you were, laying on top of him, feeling the rigid muscles of his body move beneath yours. Bonding with your vessel and becoming one as Castiel had with Jimmy had opened so many doors and opportunities for human feeling and emotion.

It was those very feelings and emotions that you been raised to believe were weaknesses that you couldn’t get enough of now.

Dean’s lips captured yours in a breathtaking kiss. He always had this effect over you. As soon as he pulled you into his room and locked the door behind him, you were right on top of him. Vessels may contain your true form, but it just added to the anticipation and intensity as you were forced to slowly explore each new touch. Some angels saw humanity as a curse, but they were wrong.

Even when your mind wasn’t clouded with Dean’s fingers digging into your skin and his tongue tracing the seam of your lip, you still saw the deliberate beauty of humanity.

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Devil’s Advocate - Chanyeol X Reader AU Series - Chapter 2

Vampire!Chanyeol X Angel!Reader

Genre: Action, fluff, angst

Warnings: Violence, blood, language

Word Count: 3,721 (tried to make it the same length..oops)

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Before any of your other senses had the chance to return, you were abruptly, involuntarily jerked up from your resting position with the overwhelming need to vomit. You fell off of the small, metal duffel that had been holding you a few feet above the ground, landing in an undignified, feeble lump on a cold concrete floor. You quickly scrambled onto all fours before abrasively upheaving liters of blood onto the ground. Your limbs trembled as you looked around your surroundings in anxiety.

Bars… Space…

A cage.

Your vision waned in and out of focus, but you could clearly make out the outline of metal bars around you. The structure resembled a makeshift attempt at a bird cage, as you had plenty of open space surrounding your bloodied pool in the center. You unsuccessfully gasped for air to refill your lungs as another violent tremor overtook your diaphragm. A steady stream of blood pooled onto the floor once again. Your ears were met with an abrupt creaking of metal and rushed footsteps.

“Aish- He said this would happen.”

You felt a hand against your back and turned your face to the side, only to be met with the red-haired assailant from before.

“W-Why-” Your question was cut off by another vomitous spasm, leaving you more breathless than the last one.

“Shhhh, it’s gonna be okay Angel-cakes, I’m not going to hurt you, just breathe okay? Just breathe.”

You shut out everything else and focused all of your energy on keeping a steady influx of air within your lungs.

After the seventh upheaval of blood, your limbs collapsed from underneath you and you fell against the hunter’s kneeling torso.

“You’re mine now… that’s all that matters.”

Your breathing calmed as another rush of exhaustion hit you like a tidal wave.

“You’re mine… And now I have all the power in the world that I need.”

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People are messaging me about the Howard - Mrazek situation and I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall.

I will fall out of my chair if Fleury isn’t the starting goalie for Vegas next year. That means there’s about a 5% chance that Howard would be drafted as Fleury’s backup at his bloated salary.

Therefore you are protecting someone who doesn’t need to be protected and risking losing Mrazek who is cheap, young, and loaded with potential when there’s no need to even risk it.

Fleury-Mrazek-Grubauer sounds like a pretty solid trio if I’m Vegas.

anonymous asked:

Hi!! Maybe if you could, one of the "reasons not to kiss her" prompts with birb boi Warren please 👀

warren worthington iii + reasons not to kiss her

a/n; reader is an electrokinetic mutant because that’s my favourite power @kurtwxgners @mvximoff @madelyne-pryor @dicckgrayson @rax-writes @softwarren

this sort of love is not allowed. you are both too soft, and the world around you is all knives and chipped teeth

The roar of the crowd around the fighting ring is muffled by the walls between the public arena and the rooms where the mutants are kept, but it’s not enough to stop the sound from reaching you and the thrum of the bloodthirsty masses is making it hard to sleep. The dim space where you’re sitting is hardly more than the end of a large corridor with a curtain across one end, but there are a few crates and old, mildewed cushions and you’d rather call it a common room than a corridor, just like you’d rather call the complex where you’re kept a dorm than a prison. Not like the distinction matters to you anymore. Doesn’t matter to any of the mutants who’ve been here longer than a few weeks.  

Lying on your back on one of the shitty cushions the guards let you have, you idly let a spark play along your fingertips, staring up at the ceiling and imagining how your life might have been. Running away from home hadn’t been a stupid decision, but you had been careless and careless had gotten you caught. Had gotten you here.  

The spectators of tonight’s fights howl for blood and you hate them with the calculating disinterest of someone entirely removed from the situation, even though it’s not distant for you. Not at all. You can feel the sting in your shoulders from the talons Angel had raked across them. 

He’d been yesterday’s fight. He’d won. Barely. 

The dingy curtain pushes aside, drawing your attention from the ceiling as another figure enters the small space, and you glance over to see Angel walking in, wings held carefully behind him, a bottle of what you assume is some kind of alcohol clutched in his hand. He hesitates when he sees someone else is there, before sitting down on one of the other shitty cushions, unscrewing the cap of the bottle. You can see him wince at the movement, and you’re not sure whether it’s satisfaction or shame that surges through you because you know you’re what hurt him. There are angry red burns visible on his arms, harsh against the pale skin and you feel guilty for a second before you shift slightly and the sharp pain tugs at your shoulders again from the injuries he dealt you during your bout last night. You bite back the guilt defiantly, rolling over to study him. 

He looks about your age. He looked older all the times you watched him fight before last night and somehow far younger in the ring. Maybe it’s what fear does to people. Doesn’t matter now. As you study him, you realise you don’t know much about him. Not even his name, or at least you assume Angel isn’t his real name. He sounds American and he looks young and as he grimaces slightly after knocking back a mouthful of hard liquor, you wonder what he’s drinking to forget. 

He glances over at you and says brusquely “can I help you?” His eyes are a brilliant blue and in another world, you might be flirting with him. Instead, you just hold out your hand silently for the bottle. He hesitates, taking in the visible gashes along your shoulders before leaning across to pass you the bottle. Your fingertips brush as you take it and his skin is warm against yours. 

You pass the bottle back and forth for a couple of hours, not saying anything, both just watching each other in sidelong gazes and quick glances. He’s beautiful, all blonde curls and blue eyes and expansive, white wings, the pale feathers visible even through the layers of filth. If things were different you’d want to kiss him. 

You still want to kiss him. 

He catches your eye and meets your gaze straight on, and you want to say something, but the roar of the crowd makes your hands clench into fists and you remember where you are and why you can’t let yourself want him. It’s a vulnerability you can’t afford. Instead you tear your gaze away and haul yourself to your feet, muttering “thanks. Sorry about the burns,” before shoving the curtain aside, stalking back to your bunk in the dorms. 

It’s better this way. 

The “I definitely should NOT have birds” starter kit…

So as I’ve looked back on this vague post, alot of people are confused as to why I chose these options for inproper use in parrots. A brief explanation should hopefully clear up some questions you may have.

1. Cage; This shouldn’t be used for housing multiple budgies. This is even too small for a single budgie as a cage used for housing all day long, as it’s easily over crowded and does not offer adequate space for toys and wing expansion. A horizontal flight cage is a much better use of free space and allows room enough for your budgie to stretch its wings. This size ratio can be used as reference to larger birds.

2. Seed; As a primary diet for parrots, this does not offer the nutritional value parrots need out of their day to day diet. A mix of vegetables and fruits is a good accompaniment but switching your birds to pellets/crumbles off of seed is even better. Pellets have been formulated to meet all the daily nutritional needs and can be bought for specific breeds and size of parrots.

3. Millet; This is okay as an occasional treat but if fed daily can be too high in fat content. Your parrot could miss out on proper nutrients as it is an easy stomach filler; therefore consumption of nutritional foods would decrease. Growing and providing your own fresh millet is a healthier alternative.

4. Dowel perches; If they are used as the only source of perching, this can be bad for under the birds feet. Repetitive pressure points can cause ulcers, no muscle excersice and the smooth surface offers no nail trimming value. Opt for natural perches with variations of rough/smooth bark and different widths. Your parrot will also love chew the top layer of bark off the wood.

5. Value pack toys; If used for an inappropriate sized bird with a strong beak can cause lots of issues. These issues can cause injury/lesions as the plastic snaps or breaks under pressure or body weight. The plastic bells can get caught on beaks as they have the little slit, perfect for some curious birds to stick their beaks in and get stuck. The ball trio with the plastic gaps can get toes or feet caught, especially in the moving ball wheel. The plastic can become fraile and snap easy of used for too long. All this situations can be very traumatic and stressful if something does happen with your bird. Plus plastic just isn’t a nice option for chewing.

6. Rope perches  (this includes any fibrous material like happy huts and rope preeners); Birds tend to nibble on these fibres which can be swallowed (even micro fibres)which build up over time causing impaction in the crop, ventriculis (stomach) or intestines. This can result in serious medical emergency. If you provide other other sources of natural chewing materials like dried grass, bark, paper before any chewing on cotton fibres they’re likely to keep your bird occupied away from chewing cotton fibres. Natural ropes such as sisal or hemp are another alternative however in a strong minded chewing bird (like avie) they can cause splinters in the mouth (which I have had to remove with tweezers. This situation does depend on the individual bird. There is definitely not enough education around monitoring birds and cotton fibres

These are here as reccomendations only and i am not in anyway saying you can not use it with your bird its just from past experiences  (making mistakes myself) is the reason i used the images i have.

RusAme Wingtalia Oneshot

@iridulcentdays​ and the awesome anon, here you go!

7: “I almost lost you.”

Based on Wingtalia artwork by @fynniona.

Though superb in the air, when Alfred loses a beloved trinket on the night of a storm, Ivan refuses to let his own limitations stop him from helping Alfred, even if his wings are not up for this kind of trial. RusAme, AmeRus Wingtalia AU.

Word Count: 2440

Sky Dance

Blinding blue and vibrant gold. Those marked the raucous flights of Alfred Jones each time he soared through near-cloudless skies, always announcing his flight with echoing cheers of excitement. Though a life of rushing wind and sweeping arcs had been his for ages, each flight always brought him great excitement. Pace yourself, Jones Arthur had always instructed him, seeing early on that Alfred wanted to fly as soon as could be- sooner than was recommended. But Alfred had not; his wings had always been able to handle more strain than most, and always seemed to yearn to try their strength more and more. And so they had flourished, becoming expansive feathery creations that rivaled the sun.

Ivan had been more cautious, heeding the advice of his older sister and the demands of his younger sister to be careful, to do everything by the book, to never put himself into a position where he could get hurt, what would they do if he got seriously injured? And so he maintained a cautious approach for their sake. He paced himself and built up his strength slowly. It meant for a natural endurance that would someday do him great service to have, but it also meant the development of his wings was slower than Alfred’s, and their impressive thickness and potential was not reflected in their span.

Alfred was somewhat gracious about it, though even when he did not mean to tease Ivan took offense to when Alfred would stretch, wings at their full width, fluttering and twitching slightly as he worked out the kinks in his muscles. It was a blow to Ivan’s ego and desires every time he felt a gush of air puff out around Alfred as the latter took flight, like a small, smiling golden sun come to shine his rays upon him, but always out of reach. But what good was the sun if Ivan could not feel its warmth?

“Mmmm…yours are so much softer,” Alfred sighed, his cheek following behind the path his hands traced along Ivan’s platinum wings. Alfred rubbed his face into the remarkably thick, soft, fluffy down, beaming appreciatively. Ivan’s wing twitched beneath Alfred’s touches, the unoccupied one swishing as if in flight. Ivan watched, eyebrows raised at Alfred’s display. This was nothing new, Alfred’s open fascination and fondness for Ivan’s wings, his own being expansive but a bit less full.

Ivan adjusted the scarf around his neck, cheeks warm, smiling in spite of himself. Humbling though it may be, Alfred’s presence was something he would never turn down, no matter how aware it made him feel.

“Hey,” Alfred said behind pale snowy feathers. “I’m going to catch a final flight before the storm hits, see if Francis has any baked goodies for us. Wanna come with?”

Tempting though it was, Ivan shook his head. “Someone needs to make dinner in case Francis decides he does not want to feed us constantly.”

Alfred let out a bark of laughter, waving away Ivan’s statement with a flick of the hand. “Who would let these faces starve?” he asked, leaning his beside Ivan’s and squeezing Ivan’s cheeks. He was rewarded with a smack upside the head. “Alright, alright, I’m leaving before I’m abused even more. See you in just a bit.”

“Be quick!” Ivan reminded him, able to smell the impending downpour in the air.

Alfred nodded. He slipped off his dog tags and slid them in his pocket; they were his lucky charms for flight, but he had always been concerned they might catch onto something and injure his neck. Stealing a quick kiss, Alfred waved. With a great whoop, Alfred bounded off the cliff, allowing himself to fall into a dive before being carried up, up, out away from the jagged mountainside and across the valley, cheering all the way. Ivan shook his head, glad Alfred could not see the smile he was unable to fight down.


Clouds already blanketed the sky, sealed away the sun’s rays- but not its warmth- by the time Alfred could be seen fluttering home. Ivan watched with relief as Alfred drew near, a dark honey-colored mass swooping up and down in the quickening winds. Had he been much longer, Ivan would have set off to call him back, already feeling ready for a bit of a journey after an hour of flight practice and exercises.

“Miss me?” was Alfred’s first statement upon landing with a huff, treading a few extra paces as he regained his footing.

“Was hoping you would stay there overnight,” Ivan said dryly, fluttering down from their home. Alfred smiled, as if bestowed with the highest compliment, extending a hand as Ivan too landed. It was with their fingers laced, wingers brushing with tentative touches, that they entered their home for dinner.

Silverware clinked against glass plates as they ate, Alfred catching Ivan up on Francis and Arthur’s latest argument (flower meanings). It was as he rummaged through his pocket to show Ivan the tulip seeds they’d gifted when Alfred stiffened, eyes widening.

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no…no, it was here! I know I…oh no,” he moaned, patting his pockets in mounting alarm.

“Alfred, what is it?”

“My dog tags,” Alfred said, voice cracking, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. “They’re gone…I don’t know how, this nev-” He broke off, staring into nothing with dawning realization. “There’s a hole,” he breathed, feeling the tear in his pocket. “They fell out of the hole…aw, no…” He burrowed his head in his hands, shoulders sagging.

Alfred proved to be inconsolable, head bowed through the rest of dinner, shaking his head in incredulous dismay, sighing and never voicing more than a grunt or two. Ivan suggested they look after the storm, retrace Alfred’s path with a group and carefully scour the area; Francis did not live terribly far by flight. Alfred shrugged, nodding weakly, but adding that they might be washed away by then, and who knew what the elements would do to them.

Ivan frowned, watching this sad display, mind made up with every soft despondent sigh that escaped Alfred. The glow of his entire being dimmed. Ivan knew what he had to do.

“Coming?” Alfred mumbled as he traipsed upstairs to ready himself for bed, knowing sleep would not come easily.

“Soon,” Ivan said, not looking at him. Alfred grunted, heading off.

And so did Ivan.


The winds had picked up since they had been outside last, darkness falling early beneath the thick layer of dark grey coating the sky above. Cool droplets of rain fell against Ivan’s skin, though for the moment it was light enough to only be an annoyance rather than a serious inconvenience. But he knew he needed to act quickly; he needed the light and he couldn’t let his feathers get too weighted down by the water. Before he could even think out a plan, before Ivan could even decide he was going through with this, he leapt from the ledge, falling immediately into a glide rather than let himself drift as Alfred had done. The wind was cool against his face, stinging his cheeks as the rain felt like little pinpricks poked into his skin. Ivan kept his head bowed against the rain, eyes roving the dampened ground.

Teeth grit, he allowed himself to descent slowly, wings spread as far as they could go, parallel to the ground Ivan seemed to be skating over. With a great heave, he flapped up higher, needing more air. His exercises from earlier had been good; he felt at least somewhat prepared and up for the maneuvers he would need to do this right. He checked grass and rock, bush and path, house and sign, watching, always watching for a glint of silver. The wind howled around him, thunder sounding in the distance. He was soaked through, wings needing to work harder than ever to keep him up off the ground so he could take full advantage of a bird’s eye view. He panted, letting himself glide for a few moments before needing to push doubly hard to ascend once more. At last, shivering, exhausted, every muscle of his wings screaming in protest, Ivan caught sight of something glinting amongst the barren branches of a tree. He swooped, heart soaring right with him as he saw a chain and knew he found his prize. With the invigoration born from his triumph, Ivan swooped, body twisting through the air, toes pointed, arm outstretched, snatching the dog tags in one fluid motion. He felt a delighted laughter bubble from his chest, clutching the chain as if it were his lifeline.

The creaking of trees accompanied the great torrent of wind and rain, and Ivan felt sure his blood was freezing. Shuddering, arms folded against his chest, wings wanting nothing more than to do the same, he pushed, pushed, pushed himself to make the flight home. The wind buffeted against him, rain soaking him to the bone, his own shivering burdening his course through the air. With a moan, a particularly hard blast of wind caught him under the wings, knocking him right off course. Cruelly, the sounds of the air almost sounded like his dear Alfred calling his name, mocking him with what he wanted most. Through the air he was thrown, arms held protectively over his face as branches whipped at his head, chest, limbs, wings. With a cry, he felt a few sharp branches scrape against his feathers, pulling and tearing at down and skin alike. The breath was knocked from him as his body connected with a hard surface, back ringing with the sting of stone against bone. Ivan’s broken cry was drowned out as he descended, wings fluttering helplessly, too weighed down to prevent his bodily fall, the cliffside scraping against his bruised skin and battered wings. His name continued to sound from above.

He landed in a wet and defeated heap at the foot of the cliff, his own shivering causing his body to ache in protest, though he was too pained to seek shelter. The sound of his name drew closer with the coming darkness.

Distantly, Ivan was aware of some warmth beside him, barely warmer than he was but enough to feel like a wonderful hearth of glowing assurance. He clung close and so did his newfound sun though no light radiated around him. The wind and rain continued, but he was being dragged carefully, tenderly through it, navigated with a care he had not known as he was slammed to and fro through trees and against rock. He heard someone’s breath hitch when he tried moving a certain way. His own. That was his own pained voice, his own body stinging in protest, tender, broken, sore, worn.

See FF and Ao3 to read the rest!

5. ❥ guardian angel!hoseok ❥

guardian angel!hoseok // fantasy // the day you walked into your room to find an man sat on the windowsill, charred yet magnificent wings sprouted from his back…

You squinted at the strange man sat on the windowsill, watching as his lips curled up into an admittedly beautiful grin that displayed his pearly whites, the same colour as the feathery wings sprouting from his body. Your mouth shaped into an O as you watched the expanse of his wings curling around his body, a quiet chuckle sounding from his body as he studied your expression in a curious manner.

Running your gaze along his body, you couldn’t help but note the slight tinges on the edges of his wings, running down the expanse almost as if he had been hurled to Earth, burning bright. Nor could you ignore the occasional unstable twitch of his right eye as the angel smiled at you, sending an eerie shiver down the length of your spine.

He raised an eyebrow as he pointed up at the glowing halo hovering just above his head, shining heavenly light down onto his brown locks, and once again, you couldn’t help but note the crooked edge of the golden ring. What you didn’t notice, however, was the two charred circles resting on his scalp, under his head of auburn hair. 

The man tilted his head inquisitively as he stared back at you with equal curiosity, smoothing down his slightly scuffed white clothing before looking back at you, an amused chuckle sounding through the room once more as his lips finally parted for him to speak.

“It’s not clear? Why, I’m your guardian angel, of course. You can call me Hoseok.”