#featheruary

Hopefully this is angsty enough lol. For background purposes, Steve is a swan, Bucky is a magpie, and Tony is a hummingbird.

--

Steve had always been attracted to blues. And he probably shouldn’t have found it embarrassing, except of all the people who had showed interest in him, Peggy and Bucky had been the only two who hadn’t been upset when they noticed his eyes wandering over other people’s feathers when they were out and about. Peggy had politely but sternly told him that she was choosing to believe it was because he saw the artistic nature of them, and he’d agreed, because his eyes might have drawn toward blue feathers, but he was a monogamous bird.

Bucky teased him, though. It was always good-natured, but Steve couldn’t tell how sincere Bucky was when he noticed Steve’s eyes being drawn away and he grinned like a lecher and asked, ‘are they pretty?’ So he chose to ignore it like he had with Peggy. He had eyes. They caught blue and were drawn to it. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t like to share, anyway.

“Steve,” Bucky said one night, when they were all battle-sore and retired to their own rooms to decompress. They were chowing through their third pizza before they went to pass out in bed. “Have you noticed Tony’s wings?”

“Buck,” Steve sighed, and the pulsing headache he’d been trying to beat to bed caught up to him. He wiped his hand on a napkin and then lifted it to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Right now?”

“They’re blue,” Bucky continued blithely, munching on a garlic knot. “Shiny.”

“He’s hummingbird on his ma’s side,” Steve said tiredly, repeating what Tony had told him when he’d noticed Steve’s… looking. He’d assumed Steve was comparing them to Howard’s instead of ogling.

Steve hadn’t corrected him, too scared of the reaction he might get when the team learned about his attraction to blue feathers. Sure, it would probably be good-natured teasing, but he’d been looked at as odd back in the forties, a swan not sticking to his own kind like they were known for. He didn't want to test that theory.

“I think we should court him,” Bucky continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Seeing his blues against your whites would be sexy as hell.”

“Buck,” Steve tried again, even though he couldn’t tell if he was angry or shocked. He also couldn’t help but imagine it, Tony’s iridescent feathers quivering against his white ones. It was a pretty picture in his head.

Bucky slanted him a sharp look, quelling whatever he was about to sputter. “Don’t fucking play stupid, Steve. Your eyes are already saying yes. Have been since the first time you looked at him, probably. Now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.”

Steve felt himself flushing, and his mouth dropped open in shock. Despite that, he could feel his wings raising, feathers beginning to spread in invitation. “I just don’t want Tony to…” he began, helpless.

At that, Bucky’s stern gaze faded. “Tony isn’t going to think less of you, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve said quickly, because he did. He did know that. Tony was one of the most accepting people he’d ever met. Too accepting perhaps, in some ways, but it wasn’t his business to say so.

But the few times he’d worked himself up to go after blue-feathered dames, before Peggy, they’d looked at him like he was… wrong. Like he was treating them as objects to covet. And while he’d come far enough to realize some birds were so chased after that they were wary of any potential mate that came their way, he still remembered the shame he’d felt as he wondered if they were right.

“Of course, there’s also the problem the opposite direction, where he thinks we’re joking or making fun of him,” Bucky muttered, apparently taking him at his word. He rubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully as he picked through and discarded ideas. Steve waited patiently, because his tried-and-true flirtation technique was ‘god I hope they notice me first.’ Finally, he smacked his fist into his open palm. “I’ve got it. He seems to really like watching us spar.” He looked back up at Steve. “We need to manufacture a way to get him on the mat with us.”

“I’ll kill him,” Steve said simply. He was a swan. Tony was a hummingbird. Tony was only a few inches shorter than him, but his bones weren’t as solid. Delicate, Steve had called him once, and Tony had been torn between preening proudly and punching him in the face for patronizing him. Still. Steve had a hundred pounds on him of pure muscle with wings to match. Even if Tony wasn’t aware of their physical differences, he’d never allow Tony to goad him into a fight.

Bucky considered this, then leaned on the table with a sigh. “Oh boy. Well,” he groused, leaning his cheek on his fist irritably. “I suppose we can always ask Natasha to help us manufacture another ‘is that a threat or a promise’ situations with him.”

Steve remembered the situation where Tony had slanted a sly, smug look at them after mentioning him being sore for days. He remembered the lascivious tilt to his smile as his eyes flicked up and down Steve’s body before flitting to Bucky’s. He remembered the iridescent ripple of blues and greens along Tony’s wings as they fluttered becomingly behind him. He remembered the slow, syrupy drawled, 'is that a threat? or a promise,' a tease and an invitation all at once that he’d been too embarrassed to chase.

“She’ll be so insufferable about this,” Steve finally sighed, because he knew they’d be asking her.

As a huge fuck you to his dad (and may have been unknowingly partially inspired by his best friend's huge flock) Simon took his falcon wings and went around traveling to create his own flock. Making a very well known point that they were all his wards and he was not going to mate any of the women of his flock. Some joined to escape their birth flocks, others to help ease financial burdens, others did it because why not? While this practice was unusual in today's age it was not unheard of especially when it was used during times of war or plague.

When Simon told his aunt Agatha of his plan to create his own flock of wards she immediately sent for his first new one in the form of young Gareth St. Clair and his too big for his body canary wings.

"If you are creating a flock then take your cousin." Lady Danbury ordered. "Lord knows he'll be better off with a presumed rake than with that man he calls father."

The next person to join was Kate Sharma with her peacock wings. With the recent passing of her father and the financial strain on her family Kate began looking for ways to help. She knew there was enough money left for Mary to comfortably take care of one daughter and provide her a dowery but not two. Hearing rumors of a duke's heir looking to create his own flock Kate went looking for Simon. Simon agreed to take Kate on as one of his wards, and unknown to Kate he adds to money she sends her birth flock.

Next to join was Sophie Beckett and her silvery wings. Gareth had found her when Simon went to do business with Earl Gunningworth at Gunningworth's country estate. Gareth had came running up to Simon whispering about a young lonely lady. When Simon inquired further with Earl Gunningworth he was only told that Sophie was the earl's ward. Simon immediately knew the earl was just hiding Sophie away and suspected a former mistress was involved. So Simon took a gamble and offered to take Sophie in as his own ward. Just as Simon suspected Earl Gunningworth was happy to get rid of his illegitimate daughter.

The fourth member to join his growing flock was raven winged Penelope. Featherington. Simon wasn't too proud of how she ended up joining but he knew it was leagues better than where she could have ended up. What kind of father bets his daughter over a game of cards? Simon took a quick trip to the club the night before he and his flock were to leave London again. He needed a drink to steel his nerves as he always did when in London. Simon hated being in the same city as his father. There he overheard Lord Featherington betting the hand of his third born daughter in an attempt to win back some money he had lost. Well Simon couldn't let that slide, he knows of several women who would have his head if he didn't do something. Simon took the bet and won, but instead of a future wife Simon took Penelope in as his ward.

Penelope was sent to join her new flock the very next day, and then they were off to Gloucestershire as Penelope made a suggestion for their next new member, Phillip Crane who had wings like a barn owl. Penelope informed Simon that she met Phillip while on a trip to visit her cousin in the country. Penelope liked the boy but hated how his father treated him. Simon saw what Penelope meant when all he didn't even get to finish his sentence about wanting to see Phillip before Sir Crane pushed Phillip towards Simon and claiming Simon could take him.

Michael was the next to join in all his golden ealgle winged glory. Simon still isn't sure how that happened. He just kinda showed up one day when the flock was in Scotland, and then never left. But Michael really helped bring Phillip and Penelope out of their shells. So despite Michael being a pain in Simon's ass sometimes he did like having him as a member of the flock.

Now Simon definitely remembers how they got Lucy whose dove wings still had baby feathers on them when they acquired her. Penelope had gone to visit her sister Felicity, who still resides in the Featherington flock, with Michael and Phillip. The trio left together and then had come back with a small child. They claimed Lucy's parents had passed and her uncle was evil. They couldn't just leave her there! After writing to Lady Danbury to confirm that the trio did not kidnap a child from a loving flock Simon found himself with his final ward.

Once satisfied Simon then proceeded to travel the world with his flock giving them the freedoms he has been so desperately craving for years. Once in a while different members of his flock will go off and visit their birth flocks. But they always make sure to send note of their safe arrivals and leavings.

In the beginning of season of 1814 Simon receives a letter from Lady Danbury that his father has died. He must return to London as the new Duke of Hastings.

You also have three eligible young ladies in your flock. Perhaps it is time to make their debut and for you to find a mate.

Simon debates this, it is true that Kate, Sophie, and Penelope are all of marriageable age, and as the leader of their flock he does have a duty to make sure they are married and matched well, as well as Lucy when she is of age.

He brings it up to his right hand Kate, who wrinkles her nose in confusion. "I suppose it would be right to make sure Sophie and Penelope find good husbands."

Simon doesn't mention how Kate doesn't include herself.

"Edwina wrote to me as well. It appears Lady Danbury is sponsoring her this season. I want to make sure she finds a good match as well."

So off to London the flock went, thankfully Lady Danbury always threw the first ball of the season. So at least the flock would be somewhat comfortable.

Or not.

Kate looked ready to punch someone. The plume on her wings clearly ruffled. Penelope looked plain miserable as she tried to hide herself in her wings. Thankfully Sophie just seemed fascinated with the environment around her, her wings relaxed.

Time for some intervention.

"Phillip go dance with Sophie, Michael dance with Kate." Simon ordered.

Phillip and Michael looked confused. Simon gets it. Usually they paired off by age, Simon and Kate, Michael and Sophie, and Phillip and Penelope. But Simon knows Kate needs Michael to make her laugh right now, and Penelope needs Simon's reassurance or she's gonna try to blend into the walls. Phillip's calmer personality will help in keeping Sophie calm.

Before either of them could say anything Simon pushes them off. "Go on, dance with your flock mates."

Simon offers his hand to Penelope who smiles as she takes it. Leading the red head to the dance floor they start the dance. Slowly Simon watched as Penelope looses the tension in her shoulders. Glancing around the room Simon saw Kate laughing and looking more cheerful at whatever Michael was telling her. Phillip and Sophie looked to be having fun too.

At one point dance partners join in a circle with another pair before they temporarily switch off and then repeat to switch back. The pair that joined Simon and Penelope looked to be brother and sister. Simon would put them about a year a part with the brother being older and the same age as Michael. Their blue jay wings immediately give away which flock they belong to.

"Hello sir," the girl greeted. Her voice was light and musical.

"Hello Miss Bridgerton," Simon greeted her.

"I do not believe we have formally been introduced," the girl said.

"No, we have not, but your wings easily give you away," Simon said.

Miss Bridgerton thought for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Yes I suppose they do. Well since you know my family name it is only right you know my given one as well. I am Daphne."

They twirl and Simon is glancing around for the rest of his flock mates. It was weird, so much blue around them. The only one who wasn't paired with a blue winged partner was Michael who somehow ended up dancing with Edwina.

"Simon Basset," Simon said.

They switched back to their original partners, and Simon raised an eyebrow at the slight blush on Penelope's cheeks.

"Did you have a lovely chat with Mr. Bridgerton?" Simon asked.

Penelope nodded. "Yes, he was quite kind."

The dance ended and Simon led Penelope back to the rest of their flock.

"Basset?"

Simon looked around at the calling of his name. No one here has called him Basset, they've all called him Hastings.

"Basset!"

Through the crowd appeared Anthony Bridgerton.

"Bridgerton!" Simon smiled.

"How are you old friend?" Anthony asked as the two men briefly hugged.

"Learning about how true all your whining was back at Oxford," Simon laughed. "I swear my little wards are giving me gray hair."

"Hey!" five voices shouted behind Simon.

Anthony peaked around Simon's shoulder at the mismatched flock. "When I heard the rumors all those years ago about you creating your own flock I thought surely they had it wrong."

"This isn't even all of them," Simon said. "The two fledglings are at home asleep."

"Trying to copy?" Anthony joked.

Simon played along. "Mine are clearly the superior version." Pointing to each one Simon introduced them. "This is Kate Sharma, Michael Stirling, Sophie Beckett, Phillip Crane, and Penelope Featherington. The fledglings at home are Gareth St Clair and Lucy Abernathy."

Simon turned to his flock. "This Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, some of you already became acquainted with his siblings on the dance floor."

Later on Kate had gone off with her sister saying she will be home tomorrow after spending some time with Edwina and Mary. Simon nodded and after making their farewells to Lady Danbury the flock returns to Hastings House.

"He's trying to fuck me!" Was the only thing the flock heard when Kate came home the next morning.

Several members chocked on their food.

"Kate what are you talking about?" Simon finally asked.

"Your buddy Viscount Bridgerton had the nerve to unfurl and show off his wings in public to me! Right in the middle of an argument too!" Kate exclaimed.

Simon felt his protective nature over his flock creep up, and had to slow his words so he doesn't start stuttering. Something wasn't adding up. Yes it was common that the unfurling of wings and showing the underside of them was part of the mating dance in many parts of the world. Also yes Anthony was one of the biggest rakes he has ever known. But Simon knew, that Anthony knew how to act in public especially with gently bred ladies.

"Kate, tell me what happened exactly," Simon said.

Best to figure this out before the others try to send Penelope out for retcon.

Wings Over Dunwall has been on hiatus the longest, and has the most finished of its WIP chapter at 30+ pages.

The others range between 0-10 pages of finished WIP. My chapters average 30 to 45 pages a piece.

Oooooooo I love this wing concept! I changed it a bit, making it touch-based, and also threw it into the stetopher blender 😁

It wasn’t the worst night of Stiles’ life. Maybe not even the second worst. Definitely at least third. Second or third worst night, probably. 

But of all the ways for his first, and now likely only, date with Lydia to end, her getting chomped by a murder-crazy werewolf was definitely the worst. Or at least, that’s what he’d thought, until the werewolf touched him under the chin. 

Stiles froze at the claw on his skin, heartbeat ratcheting up with fear even as he fought the instinct to slap his hand away and yell about personal space. Then he felt a weight at his back. 

The Alpha suddenly lurched backward slightly too, jerking his hand away to reach behind himself. Stiles’ eyes widened when he saw a huge, pure white, feathery wing stretched out behind the werewolf. Frantically, he felt behind himself, grasping a much longer, more delicate wing; a sheer iridescent membrane stretched over a craquelure pattern. Something wasn’t right though, something-

He looked at the Alpha again. 

At the stretched out wing. Singular, one wing. 

Hand trembling, Stiles felt around the other side of his back. 

Empty. 

The two stared at each other for a moment. 

“What the fuck,” Stiles breathed out. 

The Alpha’s grip tightened on the feathers, and then he shoved them behind himself with a growl.

The wings, though world shattering for Stiles, barely put a hitch in Peter’s stride. He allowed Stiles to call an ambulance for Lydia, and then continued to do everything Stiles assumed a revenge obsessed werewolf would do anyway. 

The only hesitation came when Peter offered him the bite. 

“We’re meant for each other, Stiles. I could give this to you. You could be faster, and heal from nearly anything,” he purred out, bringing the wrist closer. 

Stiles watched him move, listening to the words with his mouth open. Not because he was spellbound by the promises, but because as soon as Peter had touched his skin again, he’d felt the push of a soulbond. Warm and beating steadily. Nothing forceful or intrusive, but noticeable just the same. 

“You feel it already, don’t you? Our bond. It could be stronger. It could be so much stronger, Stiles,” Peter continued, lips nearly pressed against his skin now. 

Ice pierced through Stiles, anger suddenly flowing through him. 

It could be so much stronger. As if the strength of a soulbond depended on him becoming a werewolf, rather than on dedication to a partner. As if his human parents hadn’t had the strongest soulbond Stiles had ever seen. 

He would not be manipulated. 

“No.”

Surprise flit across Peter’s face as Stiles yanked away his wrist, followed quickly by hurt before his expression turned to stone. An aching pang shot through Stiles at having caused it, but he refused to regret it. 

“Fine,” Peter said. “I’ll find you after this. We have some things to discuss. In the meantime…” 

Stiles watched his soulmate drive away, crushed keys at his feet and a single wing fluttering at his back. 

__________

One exhausting run to the hospital later, the sheriff couldn’t seem to stop looking over Stiles’ shoulder- so much so that he wasn’t listening. 

“Dad. Dad! This is important!” Stiles insisted. 

“Sorry-” he apologized, still distracted. “Just- did that happen at the dance? Where’s the other one?” 

Stiles ran a hand over his face. 

“I feel like there are a few more important things happening right now,” he said, trying very hard not to yell. That finally got his dad’s attention. Not that it was any use to Stiles anyway. He still ended up alone in the hallway of the hospital, watching him walk away. 

Of course, he wasn’t alone for very long. 

There was a very good chance that if these hunters didn’t kill Jackson, then Stiles would. Assuming, of course, that they also didn’t kill Stiles. Something that seemed less likely as one of the goons tossed them both into an empty surgery, Chris Argent locking the door after he joined them. 

Stiles scrambled a little against the gurney and Jackson, still unbalanced with the lopsided weight of one brand new wing hanging off his shoulder. He’d just barely gotten his feet under him when he felt a fist gather his shirt and yank him up, spinning him around and pinning him to the wall. 

He had a moment to see Argent’s face before the man’s hand brushed the skin on Stiles’ neck, beginning to say “Let me ask you a ques-” 

Before he could finish, he cut himself off with a gasp, one Stiles found himself echoing a second later. 

The uneven weight on his back suddenly balanced. He could feel a second gossamer wing brushing his skin, fluttering against the wall. 

Perhaps it was because he was younger. Perhaps it was because he’d already been through this once tonight. For whatever reason, Stiles recovered much more quickly than Chris. 

He kneed Argent in the gut and yanked the man’s pinky off it’s plate. He scrambled away as soon as he was released, shuddering from the now-familiar feeling of a surging soulbond. With a bit of space between them, he could finally see that yes, Chris had a wing, a single wing, extended from his back, frantically flapping as the hunter stood there in shock. It was a matte black moth’s wing, buffeting the air and sending surgical equipment flying. 

No one approached Stiles, but the goons remained in front of the locked door. There was still no escape, and Jackson was useless to the situation, just watching it play out with a gobsmacked expression. 

Stiles silently snatched a scalpel that had fallen to the floor, keeping an eye on Chris as he examined the wing with a stunned look; keeping an eye on the confusion that crept across his face when he realized that there was just one wing. 

“Where’s-”

“I really don’t think you want to hear the answer to that,” Stiles interrupted, voice low. 

Chris clenched his jaw and straightened, staring at him, clearly considering his options. 

“You-”

He stopped, running a hand over his face, briefly touching his wing again. He looked at the other hunters, and then Jackson. 

“Get this one out of here,” he barked at the hunters. “Explain what will happen to him if he goes outside again tonight.” 

They obeyed without question, and Stiles wondered exactly what kind of weight Chris’ name held.

As soon as the door was locked again behind them, Chris turned to look at him again with a sigh, shoulder slightly hunched. 

“This is… not how I imagined this would happen. If it ever happened,” he said, shrugging the single wing again, a hint of bafflement to his expression. “But there are things happening tonight, Stiles. It’s important-”

“I know exactly what’s happening, and I’m not telling you where Scott is,” Stiles said flatly. “I’ve known you for all of five minutes, four of which you spent throwing me around.”

“You don’t understand, Stiles,” Chris grit out. “We hunters have to maintain the safety of humans like us. I swear to you, you’ll understand once I can teach you-”

“I’m sorry, what?” Stiles blurted out. 

“It takes time to explain everything about the hunter’s code, but right now Scott is out there-”

“No no,” Stiles interrupted again. “Are you saying you expect me to become a hunter?” he asked, incredulous. 

“Once you’re in the know as a human, it’s the only way to stay safe,” Chris said gravely. 

“Oh fuck you,” Stiles said vehemently, turning away to stalk around the surgery. “Fuck both of you, I can’t believe I have two soulmates and both of them think they get to decide who I’m going to be!”

“Two-”

“I already know about your stupid code!” Stiles continued to rant, ignoring Chris as he stormed around, glaring at the walls. “A code that’s as good as worthless without anyone to check your actions!” 

“Wait-” 

“Absolutely fucking not, you’ve taken enough time already.” And with that, Stiles jammed the scalpel into the electrical box he’d just found, causing sparks to shower from the equipment above Chris. He flung himself out of the way, stumbling with the new weight of a single wing at his back, giving Stiles enough time to rush the door and fling the lock open. 

“By the way, your sister? She doesn’t give a shit about your code. If you’re going to go find anyone tonight, it should be her.” 

And Stiles was gone. 

__________

“WAIT!” Stiles screamed, throwing himself out of the Porsche as Jackson prepared to throw the molotov cocktail. 

Peter was a murderer, and a manipulator, but he was also Stiles’ soulmate, and he couldn’t just watch him die.

“Don’t! He’s my soulmate!” he yelled, hurrying around the car, not quite within arms-length of Peter’s hulking shifted form. The single wing extended behind him like a flag, the pure white of it making it look like a surrender when Stiles knew Peter would do anything but. 

“He’s what?” two voices yelled at once. 

Stiles looked from Scott to Chris, and decided Chris’ question held significantly more weight. 

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed. Chris’ mouth hung open for a moment. 

“No,” he denied, shaking his head too, as if that would change the truth of it. Stiles tried to hold on to his patience, remembering that Chris had just discovered his sister was a murderous whack-job. A dead murderous whack-job. A dead murderous whack-job who had killed their soulmate’s entire family, and then been killed by said soulmate. 

Christ. 

Stiles noticed Peter shrinking slightly out of the corner of his eye, shifting back to a more human form as he calmed slightly. Derek growled near them. 

“Stiles, get out of the way,” he spit out, claws curled toward Peter. Stiles scoffed.

“So you can kill him? I literally just told you he’s my soulmate. No.” 

“Stiles.” Stiles startled at the rough voice coming from Peter. His face still held some of the shift, and his claws were at the ready. “Why do you have two wings?” 

Stiles looked at Chris, at his very visible single black wing, and then back at Peter. The same denial living on Chris’ face grew on Peter’s. 

“No,” he growled out, echoing Chris. 

“Yes,” Stiles emphasized, beginning to lose patience. Peter lost slightly more of his Alpha shape, bringing a clawless hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Everyone in the clearing relaxed a little. 

Eventually, Peter straightened up and turned to Derek. 

“Take your shot.” 

“Oh for fucks-” Stiles couldn’t finish the sentence as Derek rushed around him, attacking Peter. Peter immediately threw him, taking the fight away from Stiles. 

Of course Peter would rather give his nephew a chance to kill him than deal with having a hunter for a soulmate. Of course. 

After a few minutes of crashing and snarls, Chris came to stand awkwardly next to Stiles, watching the fight as well. 

“I can give you a ride,” he offered. 

“Maybe after I know whether we’re going to need a funeral for our other soulmate,” Stiles said dismissively. There was another awkward beat of silence, and then-

“You know, it’s not a bad life, being a hunter.” 

“It wouldn’t be a bad life being a werewolf either,” Stiles shot back. “That’s what Peter offered.” Stiles could see outrage on Chris’ face, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a loud crack of bone breaking, and a whine as Derek finally submitted. Stiles clapped once and rubbed his hands together.

“Great! Congratulations on not dying Peter. Thanks for the offer of a ride, Chris. Fuck both of you, I’m leaving.” 

And with that, Stiles once again got into the driver’s seat of Jackson’s Porsche and tore out of there. 

Peter and Chris stared after him for a moment before glancing at each other, and then immediately looking away. 

The clearing was completely silent, until-

“Can… can I get a ride?” asked Jackson.

__________

“I am giving you space.” 

Stiles looked up from his homework to see his dad standing in the doorway. 

“O… kay?” Stiles said, confused. John pointed at Stiles’ wings. 

“I am giving you the space, and you can tell me about your soulmates when you are comfortable,” John emphasized. Stiles squinted. 

“Are you reciting a parenting book at me right now?” 

“It’s a good parenting book,” John protested, and then sighed. “I just… I didn’t get it at the time, but I just want you to know that if you have two soulmates… that’s okay.” 

“I know it’s okay,” Stiles said, eyes narrowed. 

“Then why won’t you tell me about them?” John asked, a hint of a whine in his voice. It was Stiles’ turn to sigh. 

“It’s not just that there’s two of them. They’re- it’s complicated. And I really, really don’t think they’re ready. For any of it. Honestly, I’m not sure I am either. So yeah. Space is probably the best policy right now.”

John pursed his lips and then nodded. 

“I’m off to work then. I’ll see you in the morning, alright kiddo?”

“Yeah Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Stiles listened to his dad clamber down the stairs and lock the door behind himself. The rumble of the cruiser rose up through his propped open window, and he paused to try adjusting his wings as the sound of the car faded away. 

He was getting better at moving them around. He felt more like a stumbling toddler than a newborn with no muscle control. His back barely ached at all anymore, and he spared another thought of gratitude that his wings were light. 

The iridescence still caught his eye in a distracting way, though, and even worse when they refracted light.

“They’re beautiful.” 

Stiles startled, nearly flailing out of his chair. 

“What the fuck Peter!” he hissed. “Haven’t you heard of a door?” 

Peter casually stepped down from the window ledge, inviting himself into Stiles’ room. 

“Why would I use a door when your window was already open?” he asked, wandering over to Stiles’ bookshelf to look at the titles, and giving Stiles a clear view of his back. 

“You still haven’t talked to Chris,” Stiles said flatly, eyeing the lonely wing tucked into his back. 

“I have no reason to talk to the hunter,” Peter said, turning to look at Stiles. “Just because he’s your other soulmate doesn’t mean he’s mine.”

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. 

“You’re kidding me right?”

“No fate in the universe could possibly be so cruel to give me an Argent for a soulmate,” Peter spat out before smoothing his expression. “You on the other hand, have proven yourself to be clever and capable. Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

“Your ‘offer’? The one you tried to con me into by insinuating there’s some kind of magical extra special bonus soulbond that comes with being a werewolf?” Stiles clarified sharply. 

Peter smiled unrepentantly. 

“Yes, that one.” 

Stiles stared at him, unimpressed. 

“You would make a wonderful wolf, sweetheart.” Peter approached him silently, laying a light hand on his wing. Stiles had to fight back a shiver as their potential bond surged again. 

“Feel my sincerity,” Peter urged. “You would be so-”

“Back away from him, Hale.” 

Peter and Stiles’ attention snapped to the doorway, Christopher standing there rigidly, fists clenched. 

Stiles flicked his wing away from the distraction of Peter’s touch, and said, “Okay, I know that door was locked.”

Chris just tucked a lockpick back into his pocket. 

“I heard Hale in here. I had to make sure you were safe.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“I’m fine. I’m not sure about you two though. I can’t believe you haven’t even touched yet.”

Chris looked at Peter with daggers in his eyes. 

“He killed my sister-”

“She killed my entire family-” Peter hissed back. 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles interrupted, “but you two can’t even touch each other for a second to confirm whether or not you’re soulmates. Less than a second! A millisecond! Even if you decide you hate each other and can’t stand to be soulbonded, don’t you at least want your other god damn wing?!” He folded his arms and glared at them. 

The weight of his glare was a heavy thing, as Peter and Chris quickly came to realize. Heavier and heavier with every second, in fact. And he did have a point. 

Inch by inch, they moved closer to each other, both reaching out a single pointer finger slowly. 

Too slow for Stiles, apparently. 

“Is this a re-enactment of ‘The Creation of Adam’? Is that why you aren’t touching? Is that what’s happening here?” 

Peter and Chris both shot irritated looks at Stiles’ raised eyebrows, and finally surged forward to touch each other. 

Just for a millisecond. There and apart. 

Stiles was right. That’s all it took. 

Peter lurched back slightly as the weight on his other shoulder balanced out, Chris doing the same but with more fluttering. 

As soon as they regained their balance, they looked at each other in shock. 

Stiles smiled. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice sincere. There was a beat of silence, and then- “Now get out of my room, I have homework.” 

They stared back at Stiles, shock and surprise still evident on their faces. Stiles waited a moment before realizing that he was going to have to clarify. 

“I’m sixteen, dudes. You’re both in your thirties. Now that you know you’re soulmates, sort out your shit. I know there’s a lot there, but whatever you need to do, you have two years to do it. I’m not bonding with anyone before I even have a high school degree.” 

Stiles turned around and focused on his homework again. He threw up two fingers behind himself in farewell. 

Stuckony Featheruary part II

Happy Birthday, @aurumacadicus

i don’t know why steve drew this, but i’m taking it as further proof that i am better than sam in every way. who’s got wings now, bird boy? 

(a.k.a. Mod Hell jumps on the Featheruary bandwagon, despite not knowing how to spell that. help, friends. tag for me.

I asked @reioka like a million years ago if fanart is acceptable for featheruary and I’m only just getting around to posting some of it :V

I gave Tony chickadee wings because according to my bird-expert friend (@numbfawn) they have the most similarities.