Nebulous Sojourn [BNHA Fem!reader Insert]

4. Two makes a Murder

It had always been a bother, but you wonder why it spurred you to snap today.

"Get off." You growled, pulling in your wings closer to you as a short child tugged on a long primary feather, whose eyes seemed to reflect awe at their size. They were pretty sensitive, so you bit your tongue to not bat the kid down with them.

Careless people or people who had no respect for personal space just loved to feel them. If they got too touchy-feely -- in other words, more than just an accidental brush, you thought yourself compelled to either A) Tell them to fuck off, or B) punch them in the face with the top joint of your wing.

But one tug was particularly harsh, and it let a feather loose, drifting to the floor.

You stiffened.

As fast as lighting, you snatched it off the ground and dusted it, pushing the kid to the side in a harsh manner, making a note to hold back and prevent harming them. The problem with the feathers coming off (aside from how uncomfortable they were) was that you couldn't make use of them and needed to wait for a soul to house itself within it to control any aspect of them.

Maybe it was time to go 'soul-searching'. Literally.

You shot a piercing glare at the toddler, whose eyes did not waver in the slightest bit.

Their parent was quick to apologize, thoroughly scolding the child for their rude actions. But the toddler looked so... Innocently self-justified. They held pure curiosity without regard for you merely to feed the hunger for an answer to the whims of the mind. At the scolding, they bowed with a quick apology and looked to their feet.

You huffed and glanced at your wings. Fluffy down feathers suck out from under the fully grown larger ones, and pin feathers were covered in wax-like needles, making you look particularly dishevelled, but you brushed through and brought out a palm-sized down feather, small but soft like a wisp, streaming fibres like a fountain of grey. You handed this to the child in resignation.

You saw much of yourself in the child. That same unknowing tilted head. Annoying actions that would have them punted to the moon if not for laws. They genuinely could not tell apart rude from nice or that people around them had emotions too.

Though you saw -- it was amusing to the kid.

If you stifle a bubbling joy, does that mean all that is joy is also incorrect?

"Ask before doing those kinds of things. Sometimes they can hurt." You explained and placed the large fallen feather in your backpack. It didn't fit and was left to stick out of an open zipper like an ashen arrow pointing you out in a crowd.

The child cupped the delicate object into both of their hands. You didn't fail to catch the widening of their eyes or its flicker between the two of you in surprise.

You tried to breathe slowly to mask your sigh. You felt a little perturbed and your feathers fluffed, standing on end.

You had an inkling that something coming. Something just... Didn't sit right. Your gut wrenched and your palms became cold. You rubbed your hands on the insides of your sleeves, turning and walking away towards your house.

You watched a passerby trip, stumbling, tripping, and dropping the shopping bags they had been holding. You covered your mouth and cackled, lightening the brewing mood and frustration at the lethologica. Some good Samaritans thanked heroes who were strolling for patrol, one person handed one a neatly wrapped gift. Some teenagers were striking a pose to take a selfie. A businessman holding his phone to his ear and briskly walking with a purpose and swinging the rectangular leather briefcase side-to-side like a pendulum.