#OKAY i got very distracted its now quarter to 1 so i need to wind down for bed BUT

[calumcest]

"Did anyone else just see that?" with Malum from the holyverse? :)

Michael’s favourite thing about Calum, he thinks, is how easily impressed he is. 

The way he smiles up at Michael when they’re lying together in bed, Calum warm and heavy on Michael’s chest, tracing runes with his fingers, is a close second. The way he sounds when he’s on the brink of falling asleep and mumbling that he loves Michael, voice soft and low and a little faded around the edges, is up there too. But Michael’s a little egotistical, so first place is taken by the look of awe on Calum’s face whenever Michael pulls out another power that Calum didn’t know he had. 

And, frankly, it’s kind of hilarious how little Calum seems to know about Michael’s powers. 

(“Why the fuck would I know anything about you?” he grumbles, when Michael points it out one day. “Not a theologian, am I?” 

“No, but you were in Heaven,” Michael says. 

“For, like, a century,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. 

“You should learn about your boyfriend’s heritage,” Michael tells him, which Calum says he would do if Michael’s heritage weren’t so fucking boring, so Michael buys him a Bible for his birthday and gets a clip to the back of the head from a black wing for his trouble.) 

Calum never seems particularly impressed by Luke, although Luke’s power almost rivals Michael’s. He’s never impressed by Ashton, either, although Michael can’t exactly blame him for that - Ashton’s not particularly impressive. It’s only ever when Michael does something like inadvertently read a passing person’s mind and comment on it, or create a thunderstorm when he’s in a bad mood for the fucking hell of it, or skip forwards in time, that Calum seems to turn around, gape at whatever it is, and turn back to Michael with a what the fuck, you can do that? 

The best part of it is that Michael tends to forget his powers, a lot of the time. He’ll tell Calum sorry, hang on, just got to locate a human for Ashton, and Calum will stare at him, open-mouthed, and say you can fucking locate people? Or, on one memorable occasion, when Michael hadn’t been thinking straight and had accidentally caused Calum to explode into his molecular components, did you just fucking blow me up?

“I don’t get it,” Luke says, when Michael mentions it over dinner, reaching for Ashton’s burger. Ashton slaps his hand away, but then there’s a second burger on his plate, and he hands it to Luke. “No, I don’t want that one. I want yours.” 

“What don’t you get?” Michael says. 

“What d’you mean, you want mine?” Ashton demands. “I’ve just made one for you.”

“I don’t get why he thinks your powers are special,” Luke says. “I don’t want that one. I want yours.” He reaches over again, but Ashton’s too quick for him, grabbing the burger and holding it out of reach. 

“I could potentially say they’re better than yours,” Calum says, which is his new loophole to get around the fact he can’t criticise Luke without his throat erupting in burning pain. 

“You could,” Michael agrees. “I mean, I did beat you in a war, Luke. That’s pretty conclusive.” 

“Nah,” Luke says, eyeing Ashton’s burger as he takes a bite out of it. “We should have a rematch. Best of three.” 

“Fuck off,” Michael says, mainly because he’s not sure where he left his sword. 

“You could send Raphael to the front line,” Calum suggests casually, dipping his chip in far too much ketchup. 

“On second thoughts-” Michael begins, and Ashton sends him a reproachful look. Michael rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Ash, you don’t like him either.” 

“I trust His opinion,” Ashton says diplomatically, and then takes another bite out of his burger to avoid having to say anything else. 

“My point is,” Luke says, eyes still on Ashton’s burger, and Michael sees a few extra pieces of lettuce appearing underneath the bun, just how Ashton likes it. “I don’t get why Michael’s impressive to you, but I’m not.” 

“No offence, mate, but the most exciting thing I’ve seen you do with your powers is remove the foundation of a building,” Calum says. “Michael can fucking read minds.” Luke scowls, and looks down at his plate. 

“Reading minds isn’t all that,” he says, a touch petulantly. “I did it for a few millennia.” 

“Yeah, back when the most exciting mind to read was a fucking fish,” Calum says, which is a good point. 

“That’s a good point,” Michael says, through his mouthful of burger, and Ashton nods. 

“It’s not like humans have many more complex thoughts than fish,” Luke says, rolling his eyes, but Michael can tell from the way he’s folded his arms that he’s a little put out. “There’s plenty of other things I can do that are more exciting than hearing about how Margaret next door’s dog’s not been taken on a walk yet today.”

“Go on, then,” Calum says, leaning forwards. “What’s the most exciting thing you can do?” Luke shrugs. 

“Molecular combustion?” he offers.

“I blew Calum up, once,” Michael says, almost absent-mindedly. 

“Electromagnetic interference?” 

“C’mon, even I can do that,” Ashton says, and then groans when his burger disappears out of his hands. 

“Alright, fuck, power granting,” Luke says, throwing his hands in the air. 

“What the fuck?” Calum demands. “You can grant powers? Why the fuck haven’t you granted me any?” 

“Made you an incubus once, didn’t I?” Luke says. 

“Yeah, in order to fuck me,” Calum says. Michael frowns.

“You were going to fuck him?” he says, at the same time as Ashton makes a noise of unhappiness. 

“I wasn’t,” Luke says to Ashton, and the burger appears on Ashton’s plate again. “Just wanted to fuck with him.” 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, a little tightly, and a drop of ketchup slides out of the burger he’s clenching in his hands. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Fuck’s sake, Ash,” Luke says, and even though he sounds exasperated there’s a pleading edge to his voice that Michael would never - could never - get him to use. “I fucking fell for you.” 

“I know, I just-” Michael zones out at that point, recognising the pained I’m about to tell you my feelings voice from Ashton. 

“Hey,” Calum says, clearly also absolutely uninterested in whatever Ashton’s saying that’s making Luke’s brow crease like that. “What’s your coolest power?” Michael shrugs. 

“Dunno,” he says. “Resurrection?” Calum wrinkles his nose. 

“Luke can do that,” he says. “He took me to see Elvis, once. In the late ‘80s.” Michael can’t help but snort at the mental image of Calum and Luke sat in the dark with Elvis’s decaying corpse crooning Blue Suede Shoes at them.

“He can’t do it like I can, though,” Michael says. “I can restore their bodies through the soul. I mean, I have automatic access to the soul. Luke has to be granted permission to get to their souls, so he can just do that weird zombie thing with their bodies.” 

“That’s why he does deals?” Calum says, sounding a little shocked. 

“Well, yeah,” Michael says. “He’s got to sweeten the pot somehow, doesn’t he?”

“Fucking hell,” Calum says, sitting back and staring at Michael. “Always wondered why he didn’t just take them.” Michael grins. 

“Part of God’s powers,” he says. 

“So what else can you do that Luke can’t?” Calum says, leaning forwards again. Michael scrunches his face up, considering. 

“Uh,” he says, and creates another version of himself, sandwiched between himself and Ashton. “That one’s pretty cool.” Calum gapes at him, eyes flitting from Other Michael to Michael and back again. Other Michael winks at him, and Michael rolls his eyes. He kind of is a little shit, hence why he doesn’t self-duplicate often.

“Fucking hell,” he says, and Michael grins, and Other Michael disappears. “Fuck. Luke, did you fucking see that? Did anyone see that?” 

“-and I’m- what?” Luke breaks off, sounding annoyed. “See what?”

“That,” Calum says, gesturing wildly at the now-empty space between Michael and Ashton. “There were two of him.” 

“Fucking hell,” Luke mutters. “Can’t think of anything worse.” 

“Fuck you,” Michael says. 

“Oh, fuck,” Calum says, gaze flitting back to Michael, eyes slightly glazed. “You’re doing that next time we fuck.” Ashton chokes on his milkshake, and Calum grins, eyes glinting. “In fact,” he continues, standing up and holding out a hand for Michael to take. “No time like the present, right?” Ashton makes a noise that might be outrage, might be horror, might just be plain distress, and Michael grins, stands up, and takes Calum’s hand. Who is he to say no to something that’ll simultaneously upset Ashton and get Michael laid? 

“I’ll be back in time for dinner, Ash,” he calls, as they head towards the door. Luke and Ashton stare at them, and Michael, just because there’s almost nothing more enjoyable than fucking with Ashton, self-duplicates again, making Other Michael sling an arm around Calum’s waist and pinch his arse on the way. He hears the noise of indignation from the table behind them, and laughs. 

“You know,” Luke calls, “I’m pretty sure pre-marital sex is a sin.” 

“Tell that to your own angel,” Calum shouts back, and Michael grins. He picked the right demon. 

[babybluebanshee]

Heavy Rains - Chapter 1 (TF2)

Being stranded at Teufort during a raging storm with a gaggle of homicidal mercenaries isn't Miss Pauling's idea of a relaxing vacation. The group tries to make the best of it, but when a mysterious illness starts making its way through the barracks, it's a race against time to find a cure before it's too late. And that's not even bringing the emotional baggage into things.

Rain was not a common occurrence in Teufort. The town got around fifteen inches of precipitation a year, and even then, most of the townsfolk blamed that on a witch’s curse.

Most of the time, it was bone-dry and hellishly hot, a barren wasteland only fit for a few determined souls and the likes of the Mann. Co mercenaries, men too tough and too damn insane to register things like heat stroke and dehydration.

So naturally, when the local radio weather station predicted bizarre torrential rains headed directly for the small New Mexico town, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and winds reaching at least sixty miles an hour, the townspeople blamed the witch and burned effigies in their front yards. The Mann Co. mercenaries were simply confused.

And although Miss Pauling counted herself among the confused, she had very little time to dwell on it. She was currently overseeing the shipment of various supplies to the men at the Teufort base, to tide them over until the storm had passed. She had put them to work loading the boxes off the truck, so they could sort them in the loading bay later. It was best to keep the nine men occupied during something like this. Each one was a volatile whack job in their own special way. Something about being stuck together in close quarters brought all that out in full, destructive force.

She didn’t need another incident like the one in Coldfront. It’d taken three days to clean up the mess, and most of the mercs still complained about ringing in their ears because of the explosion.

With black clouds looming on the horizon, the project couldn’t be completed fast enough for her liking. Sadly, the mercenaries seemed to be in no big hurry, and kept distracting themselves by bickering and trying to loot through the boxes like a bunch of excited kids, eager to see what they’d gotten for Christmas.

“I ain’t lifting that one,” Miss Pauling heard Scout shout. Looking over the rim of her clipboard, she saw him standing next to a large box, and staring up at Soldier. Scout’s face was scrunched up in what he probably thought was an intimidating glare. Miss Pauling thought he just looked constipated. Soldier carried two boxes, one on each of his shoulders, and didn’t look too happy to have Scout in his face, managing to pull off a legitimately intimidating look, even with his helmet obscuring his eyes.

“That box weighs twice as much as me. I try to lift that, I’m gonna snap in two,” Scout continued.

Soldier snorted like an angry bull, and said, or rather yelled, “Back in my day, we didn’t have Sallies like you running around. We were strong and lifted boxes all damn day. And then we threw those boxes at the Nazis and we LIKED IT.”

“Pardon me if I ain’t gonna take my history lessons from a certifiable head case like you,” Scout yelled back, jamming his tiny body as close to Soldier’s as possible. It wasn’t exactly the dominant stance he’d hoped for, since he did only come up to the bottom of Soldier’s chin, but he held his ground nonetheless.

“Oh, son, your mouth is writing checks your butt will find uncashable. Uncashable, you hear me!?” Soldier growled, lobbing the boxes he carried to the ground. He shoved himself even closer to Scout, and continued his tirade. “Insinuate that I am crazy one more time, and your butt will be escorted from the bank, am I understood, private?!”

As the two men continued to scream in each other’s faces, Engineer, Heavy, and Sniper walked by them, each carrying a box on their shoulder. Engineer cast a look between Scout, Soldier, and the three boxes lying on the ground, and then, shaking his head, picked up one with his free hand and slung it under his arm. Heavy and Sniper quietly did the same.

Miss Pauling felt a headache coming on as thunder rumbled in the distance.

It was soon drowned out by a loud, celebratory “Woooooo!” that sounded from inside the loading bay. Suddenly, Demoman came rushing out, a bottle of Mann Co. beer in each hand, and a few on the bandolier that usually held his grenades. Miss Pauling didn’t want to think about where the grenades were now.

“Feast yer eyes on this, lads,” Demo called, using a thumb to pop off the cap of a bottle and take a swig. “The lass was good enough te bring us a whole case of the stuff. This wee squall will pass in no time if I have my way about it.”

“Ya best take it easy there, partner,” Engineer said, setting his boxes by Demo’s feet. “Otherwise that case ain’t gonna last you two hours, let alone the entire storm.”

Demo paid him no attention, simply tipped his head back and drained the open bottle. After he’d gotten every last drop, he let out a long sigh of satisfaction before he pointed to Miss Pauling and said, “Bless ye, lass.”

Miss Pauling gave a small smile and said, “I figured you guys might as well have some small comforts while you’re shut up during the storm. It’d get pretty boring around here otherwise.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Just please don’t overdo it. I do not want to come back to another Coldfront.”

Medic came up behind her, carrying a box of bottled water in front of him, and huffed, saying, “It was not so bad, Miss Pauling. I managed to reattach Scout’s thumb completely after all.”

Before Miss Pauling could register that nobody had ever mentioned any thumb reattachments, another rumble of thunder, much closer than the last, made the ground tremble beneath them. “Alright, you guys,” she said, taking her lavender pen from behind her ear. “Looks like the rain is ahead of schedule. We need to get these last couple boxes in the base before we all get soaked. Heavy, Engie, can you bring them in? There should only be a few more, mostly more water and stuff.”

The two men nodded and started their way back over to the truck. Miss Pauling continued, “Medic, Sniper, get inside and help Demo, Pyro, and Spy sort through all that stuff. Try to keep Pyro away from the paper products until Engie gets back in there to distract him.”

Medic and Sniper did not look at all happy about their assignment of dealing with the firebug, but they obeyed without a fight, although Miss Pauling swore she heard Medic mumble something she knew for certain to be a German swear. She didn’t bother herself with it at the moment. Soldier and Scout were still arguing a few yards away, and Soldier had managed somehow to find his shovel. This needed to be taken care of before first blood. Tucking her pen back behind her ear, Miss Pauling walked over to them, and managed to catch more of their ridiculous argument insults layered on top of each other so only snippets could be heard at a time.

“...think your shovel scares me, ya lunkhead?”

“...and we lived on falcon eggs and rocks…”

Miss Pauling’s head ached harder. “Guys, that’s enough!”

“He started it!” Scout said, jabbing an accusatory finger right into Soldier’s helmet.

Miss Pauling saw Engineer and Heavy out of the corner of her eye. Their arms were loaded with boxes, and they cast a wary look up at the sky before dashing inside, the added weight of the supplies nothing to them. She heaved a silent sigh through her nose. “I don’t care who started it,” she said evenly. “I’m here to finish it. Now quit screaming in each other’s faces and get inside. If you don’t hurry, you’re gonna get -”

There was a blinding flash of lightning, following by a deafening crash of thunder. Then, the sky almost seemed to open up, and the torrential downpour hit them like a tidal wave beating the shore. All three of them were sodden in a matter of seconds.

“...soaked.”

Soldier and Scout looked at Miss Pauling like a couple of scolded children. Miss Pauling merely jabbed a finger in the direction of the loading bay, and they both began marching toward it. Miss Pauling followed behind them, regretting with every step that she’d decided to wear pumps that kept getting stuck in the sucking desert mud.

--------------

As soon as Miss Pauling was inside, a towel was draped over her shoulder courtesy of Engineer. She gave him a smile, set her clipboard (which had thankfully managed to stay mostly dry) to the side, and furiously started rubbing herself down. As she pulled off her glasses to wipe the rain off, she saw Sniper throw a couple of towels to Soldier and Scout, managing to hit Scout directly in the face. The towel muffled Scout’s indignant yelp, which Sniper was ignoring anyway to pull down the loading bay door.

Throwing the towel back over her shoulders, Miss Pauling slicked back the strands of hair that had come loose from her bun and pulled out her pen. “Okay, guys, time for some inventory. Just wanna make sure that everything is here. I can already check off the beer…”

Demo gave another hearty “Woooooo!”, before throwing back another bottle.

“So let’s crack open the rest of these and get them put away.”

To her side, Heavy nodded and grabbed a nearby crowbar, jamming it under the lid of the nearest crate and jimmying it open in one swift motion. He tossed the lid out of the way, and it landed with a thick clunk. Engineer tapped Pyro on the shoulder and motioned for him to help him sift through it, while Heavy moved along the line of boxes, cracking each of them open like a powerful machine for a pair of mercs to dig through. For once, Miss Pauling felt as though things were going to go smoothly.

Another crack of thunder made her jump. The noise was as clear as if they didn’t have concrete walls surrounding them, and that made Miss Pauling nervous. She didn’t like being nervous. Nervousness meant a lack of control.

“Sure would be nice if we had a radio,” she said, thinking out loud more than anything.

“Oh yes,” Spy suddenly said, pulling himself away from the box he and Sniper rifled through. “I almost forgot.” He ducked down, and pulled up a small, beat-up black baseball radio. “I’m sure this will be sufficient. Assuming it still works.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Scout shouted as soon as he set eyes on the radio.

“Don’t be such a child. I merely borrowed it for a greater purpose,” Spy said, setting the device on a nearby chair. He flicked a switch on the side, and a small burst of static began emanating from the speakers, nearly drowned out completely  by the rain beating intensely against the metal roof.

“You coulda just asked,” Scout said, the pout evident in his voice as he went back to pulling paper towels and toilet paper out of his box. “Didn’t have to go through my room and swipe my stuff.”

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized. I go through everyone’s rooms,” Spy said dismissively as he fiddled with the knobs. For a minute or two, it seemed that the radio wouldn’t be able to do anything but spit static at them because of the rain. They got snippets of a drawling political discussions and a very garbled classical music station (which seemed to disappoint Medic immensely), but finally, Spy managed to find the Teufort weather station, although it was quite faint, and interrupted by the occasional burst of static.

  “...citizens wisely preparing for what promises to be a very brutal storm, possibly the *bzzzzzt* of Teufort has ever seen. There *bzzzt* reports of mass flooding, especially along the road leading out of the town and to the highway. All *bzzt* redirected, and many of the roads closed down until the end of the storm. Civilians are advised *bzzzzzzzzt* leaving Teufort, as it is currently incredibly unsafe.”

Miss Pauling’s headache returned with a roaring vengeance.

She was stranded here. She was stranded with a group of nine mercenaries who, last time they’d been cooped up together, had caused explosions and apparently lost thumbs.

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the teeth,” Engineer muttered. “I’m real sorry, Miss Pauling. Looks like you’re stuck with us for the next couple of days.”

The rest of the mercs looked up at her apologetically. Well, except for Scout, who looked quite pleased at this turn of events. In an obvious attempt at smoothness, he said, “Yeah, that’s definitely too bad. But hey, I’m sure we can make the most of it.” He flashed Miss Pauling a crooked smile that made him look like an excited puppy. Miss Pauling had to bite back a frustrated groan.

Spy, letting out a quiet huff, rolled his eyes and shut off the baseball radio. Taking two long strides, he reached Scout’s side and shoved the radio into the boy’s hands. “Yes, we’ll certainly make the most of it,” he said, his tone borderline scolding. “Which is why Miss Pauling will be staying in my room. On the opposite end of the base from yours.”

A titter rippled through the group of men. Scout’s face reddened, and he shot Spy a glare very suited to a sullen teenager.

“Oh, Spy,” Miss Pauling said. “I don’t want take your room.”

“Nonsense,” Spy replied, waving off her concerns. “I insist. I’ll stay in my smoking room. The chairs there are as comfortable as any bed.”

Miss Pauling gave him a grateful smile. “Well, thank you, then. I appreciate that.”

Another crash of thunder made the base tremble around them. Engineer nearly dropped the case of Bonk he was pulling out of a crate. “Sheeeoot,” he muttered. “Always hated storms. Got the worst back home. Least you don’t gotta worry about twisters here. If we had to deal with one of those, I’d be heading for the hills.”

As soon as Engineer set down the case, Scout tore into it, pulling out a can and popping it open. It fizzed merrily. He tipped it back, draining the contents in seconds. Crushing the now-empty can in his hand and tossing it over his shoulder, he said, “You think a twister is bad, hard hat? Try a hurricane. Not only do you got rain, thunder, and lightning 24/7, okay? But you gotta worry about floods too. I remember when I was nine, we got hit with a really bad one. Any of you guys ever heard of Hurricane Esther? Worst one that I’ve ever been through. We got stuck inside for days. Couldn’t leave, couldn’t nothing. Made one of my brothers cry. That was actually the one bright spot of the whole thing.”

Scout’s light-speed chatter tapered off as he pulled out another Bonk and cracked it open. The other mercs seemed to deflate with relief at the silence.

The reprieve did not last, as the loudest crash of thunder the storm had offered up yet once again shook the base. It felt like a bomb had been detonated right outside the loading bay door.

And then the lights went out.

“Well, hell…” Miss Pauling heard Engineer grumble.

From somewhere in the dark, Pyro let out a frightened whine. Engineer once again spoke, this time in a much gentler tone “It’s okay, Smokey,” he said. “I can get those back on, no problem. Just gotta find a flashlight…”

There was a sound of something heavy colliding with a body, and someone let out an “oof!”

“Shit, sorry, uh, whoever that was…” Engineer said.

“No worries, mate,” Sniper ground out. “Ain’t like I need all me ribs anyways…ow...”

There was a sound of footsteps, then a cry of pain from Spy. “That was my foot, bushman!”

“You try getting a metal arm to the gut, ya bloody spook,” Sniper hissed back. “Think it’d take your mind off your shoes getting a bit scoffed.”

“I doubt it, considering these shoes cost more than that repulsive van you sleep in.”

Someone fell backwards into one of the crates, apparently grabbing Medic on the way down. Miss Pauling heard him cry out, “Scheisse!”

“Jesus, hard hat,” Scout grumbled. Miss Pauling heard him scrambling to get back to his feet. He must have been the one to fall into the boxes. “You’re gonna kill somebody with that thing.”

“Well, it’s damn dark, son. I don’t know what to tell ya.” Another thud of metal against flesh, but this time the flesh sounded much more solid. Engineer must have hit Heavy. “Sorry, big guy…”

“Is no problem,” Heavy said casually.

“Did anyone actually see a flashlight in any of the boxes?” Miss Pauling asked. She stood as still as she could. There was no need to contribute anymore to this unfolding chaos.

No one answered her. They were heading towards another Coldfront at full speed.

Then, suddenly, a tiny light filled the space. It drew everyone’s attention simultaneously. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, sat Pyro. In his hands, his lighter, burning brightly.

Engineer grinned and said, “Well, ain’t you a smart little bug?”

Pyro merely let out a sheepish giggle.

Miss Pauling did a quick survey of things - Sniper was still gingerly holding his ribs, though he looked like he wasn’t in too much pain. Spy, now that he was actually able to see them, seemed to be inspecting the damage done to his shoes. Scout hoisted himself back up into a standing position, while Medic glared daggers at him for pulling him down. Engineer was roughly an inch from Heavy’s gargantuan torso. Demo took advantage of the light to pop the top off another bottle of beer, which he handed to Soldier. Both watched the others fumble over each other from a safe distance. Miss Pauling heard them chortle.

She took a deep breath. Things were okay. No one was injured. No one was dead. She could work with this.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Engineer slap Pyro’s hand away from a roll of paper towel stick out of a crate, which he’d been slowly moving the lighter closer and closer to. Pyro let out a defeated whine.

She could mostly work with this.

--------------- It took Engineer two and a half hours to restore the power. “Would have gotten it sooner,” he said as he came back into the loading bay, wiping the sweat away from under his hard hat, “but there were a few times when I had to back off ‘cause of the lightning. Don’t wanna get cooked if it strikes here again.”

“I thought lightning didn’t strike in the same place twice,” Scout said. He’d found his baseball and was lazily tossing it in the air and catching it as it came back down.

Engineer grinned a bit and replied, “That’s just a myth, son. Been through enough storms to know that lightning tends to do strike wherever it damn well pleases.”

Scout seemed unimpressed by this fact. He merely turned his attention back to his baseball, his expression bored and, oddly enough, sleepy. Miss Pauling didn’t even know it was possible for Scout to run out of energy.

Then again, looking at the seven other men lounging around the loading bay, she couldn’t say she was surprised. In the two and a half hours Engineer had been fiddling with the power, they’d been cleaning out the crates of supplies and putting everything away, seeing only by flashlight. It had surprisingly taken a lot out of them. Demo and Soldier were both on the edge of sleep, sitting back to back, still holding bottles of beer in their hands as their heads dipped every so often. More bottles were scattered around their feet.

Sniper had pulled his hat over his face, and she noticed his body slackening every so often as he dozed. Spy took a lazy drag of his cigarette. Medic had fetched his chessboard and had coaxed Heavy into a game. Pyro was practically curled up on the floor like a kitten, napping.

The rain had eased up a bit, though it still hit the roof with rigid consistency. Miss Pauling listened to it for a minute. She supposed that the sound would be enough to lull even hardened mercenaries to sleep after a stressful day of work.

“What about the rest of the stuff in the control room?” she asked. She tried not to yawn. Confound that rain, it was soothing.

“It’s pretty much all shot,” Engineer replied. “Communications are down, and the respawn is just...out. And crawling in there to fix it while this storm is still raging is outta the question. Lightning strikes while I’m in there, I come out looking like bacon left on the skillet too long.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help the groan that escaped.

No communications. No respawn.

Normally, that wouldn’t bother her. As concerned as she was about the mercs eventually snapping from the confinement and inflicting bodily harm on each other, she at least trusted them enough to not kill each other. They feared Medic and his particular brand of “healing” enough to try and keep themselves in one piece for the next few days.

It was just one more thing to worry about. One more thing that could make things worse. One more thing out of her control. One more thing that she’d have to write up in the mountains of paperwork that were inevitably going to follow this whole debacle. Her head throbbed again.

Spy stood up, pulling her from her increasingly anxious thoughts. Taking one last drag of his cigarette and stamping it out against one of the discarded crates, he said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, gentlemen, but I find myself all ‘funned’ out. And if no one is interesting in cooking dinner…”

A collective groan rose up from the exhausted pile of mercenaries.

“As I expected. With that, I believe I shall retire for the evening.” He turned on his heels until he was facing Miss Pauling. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning towards the hall.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she replied. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d almost forgotten Spy offering his room. She found herself a little too wired for sleep just yet, but she honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do to kill time until she was. Maybe she could just lay down, stare at the ceiling, and wonder what antagonistic gods had thought it amusing to strand her here.

She let him lead down the hall, past the dining hall and respawn room, and into the barracks. They passed eight doors, one for every man in the base - except, generally, for Sniper. Like any outdoorsman, he preferred sleeping outside, and made a habit of sleeping out in his camper van whenever the weather permitted. Weather was most definitely not permitting now, and Miss Pauling had gently persuaded him to remain indoors for the remainder of the storm. Although the suggestion had made him stare at her like she’d grown another head out of her abdomen, he’d grumbled an agreement.

And Miss Pauling’s mother wondered why her daughter seemed so lukewarm on the idea of children.

She nearly collided with Spy’s back as he stopped in front of the final door, near the end of the hallway. They had reached his quarters. Miss Pauling made no comment about how close it was to a large exit sign, leading out of the base.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” Spy said as he opened his door, motioning for Miss Pauling to enter ahead of him. Ever the gentleman, even when motioning a lady into the spartan barracks of a military base.

Looking around the room as she stepped in, she realized “spartan” might even be too generous for Spy’s room. The place was almost completely bare. She knew for a fact that most of the other mercs had some personal things in their rooms - photos of family, posters, calendars, even the occasional pin-up picture in Scout’s case.

Spy’s room was completely spotless. His thin bed was made, blankets smooth and pristine, pillow propped against the wall and looking like a human head had never made contact with it. Minimal personal effects. Hardly a hint about what kind of man lived here, as much a mystery as Spy himself.

The only indication a person was ever in this room was the desk, which held a line of books, pressed against the wall. Moving closer to them, Miss Pauling realized they were very well-thumbed, having obviously seen multiple readings. One book was set aside from the others, a scrap of paper stuck between the pages to act as a bookmark - A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie.

Spy was reading a cozy mystery?

A quick look at the other books on the desk revealed similarly unexpected titles, at least the ones that weren’t in French - seven books all featuring “Austen” embossed in gold lettering on the spine. A few more Christies thrown in. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Even a dime store copy of The Andromeda Strain.

“You are more than welcome to read those.” Miss Pauling jumped a bit. She’d almost forgotten Spy was in the room, and with his infamous cat-like quietness and grace, he’d walked up to her side to see what she’d been gawking at. He’d pulled out a cigarette in that time, and had managed to silently light it.

“I simply ask that you be careful with Mr. Crichton,” he continued. “A few of the pages are falling out. Cheap glue does not last in New Mexico heat, as it turns out.”

“Yeah…” Miss Pauling muttered, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks and ears. “Um, sorry for being nosy. I just...ya know, never pegged you for much of a reader. Let alone Miss Marple.”

Spy chuckled a bit. “Things can be tedious around here when there are no battles to fight. And Dapper Cadaver is only a monthly subscription, after all.”

Miss Pauling smiled back. Though she’d never say it to Spy’s face, these books offered a look at a side of him he did his best never to show anyone - a human side. It was strangely endearing that this man, who prided himself of his suavity and mystique and ruthless efficiency at putting knives in backs, could be content with reading a quaint story about a spinster turned amatuer sleuth.

She cast another glance at the books. “I don’t get much time for reading these days,” she said. “Demands of the job, ya know? I don’t think I’ve sat down and read a full book since I was in college.”

“I would go mad,” Spy said, pulling a face of mock horror. “Surely we must catch you up. After all, you have plenty of time to fill presently.” He ran a finger down the line of books, humming curiously to himself as he did.

“Really, Spy, it’s fine,” Miss Pauling said. “I’m sure I can find something to do to pass the time.”

“Oh yes,” Spy said. He didn’t look up from the line of books. “I’m sure that Scout would be more than willing to let you ‘hang out’ with him. Sounds positively riveting.”

“...give me the damn book.”

A sly smile spread across Spy’s lips as he pulled out one of the Austen books and held it out to her. Gold lettering on the cover read Pride and Prejudice. She recalled being threatened with the book in high school, if she had chosen to take the AP courses. All the upperclassmen girls had complained loudly about it. She’d stuck with the regular English course and only had to read Huck Finn.

“I dunno, Spy…”

Spy gently set the book in her hands and closed her fingers around it. “Just give it a try, and if you don’t care for it, bring it back. I have many more in my smoking room to choose from,” he said. “I know it seems daunting, but believe me, she is worth it. Besides, I believe you’ll find...a bit of kinship with Miss Elizabeth Bennett.”

“Yeah?”

“She too often finds herself the only voice of reason amongst less than sane persons.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Excellent,” Spy said. She didn’t miss the excitement evident in his voice. “Perhaps we can even discuss it once you’ve finished?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Ah, well, it was a noble effort, no?” Spy said, his grin slightly devilish.

Miss Pauling chuckled again.

Spy’s grin softened a bit as he said, “I realize this was not the way you intended to spend the next few days. And I know the others and I...we can be a bit overwhelming.”

“That’s not…” Miss Pauling trailed off, the bare-faced lie dying on her tongue.

“I appreciate you not thinking you had to spare my feelings,” Spy said. “Although we may not act like it, all of us are fairly self-aware. We are forced to spend every day around each other. We know what we are like. I promise you, Miss Pauling, I will try and make this as uneventful as I can.”

Miss Pauling felt a warmth rise in her chest. She clutched the book a little tighter as she said, “Thank you, Spy. For everything.”

Spy bowed slightly at the waist. “You’re quite welcome. Goodnight to you, and enjoy the book.”

And with that, he grabbed up the Agatha Christie and walked out, shutting the door softly behind him.

Miss Pauling looked down at the book in her hand again. It didn’t look too terribly long, and besides, Spy had offered other stuff if she didn’t like it. There was no harm in humoring him, not after a promise like that.

Especially when a glance at her watch showed it was only a little past nine, and she didn’t feel in the slightest bit tired. Who knew, maybe a boring book would be the best way to help her fall asleep.

She sat down on Spy’s bed and removed her mud-caked shoes. She tossed them under the desk, so they’d be out of the way. Then came the nylons, which she pulled off gingerly and folded neatly. At two pair for a dollar, she wasn’t taking any chances with them.  She pulled out the four bobby pins and the rubber band that held her bun in place. She tossed them onto the nearby desk. She gave her now-free hair a quick tousle. Then she pulled her arms into her blouse and undid her bra clasp, pulling it out and tossing it on the floor with the shoes.

Fuck it, she was basically in for the night, and she liked to think no one would come in without knocking first. She was willing to put up with a lot of things, but sleeping in her bra wasn’t one of them.

She laid back, propping herself up a bit on Spy’s pillow, and nestled the book on her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something small and white at the far end of the desk.

Upon further inspection, she realized it was a bottle of aspirin. A water bottle sat on the desk next to it. She hadn’t even heard Spy set them down before he left.

Well, now there was no two ways about it. She’d have to read the book. It would only be polite.

--------------

Medic felt his eye give an involuntary twitch when he heard Scout’s loud, obnoxious groans just outside the doors of his lab. And here he’d been hoping to spend the evening in relative peace and quiet, cleaning up around the lab or doing paperwork or tinkering with some Uber upgrades, to the tranquil sound of the rain outside. Another groan, obviously meant to sound piteous, echoed through his lab as Scout stumbled in, slamming the swinging door so hard it banged into the wall and frightened many of the nearby doves into fluttering, in search of less dangerous perches.

Medic’s eye twitched again. He pushed his glasses up and said, “What is it Scout?”

He lifted his head to look at the younger mercenary, who stumbled over to his desk, clutching his stomach as if it were ripping him apart from the inside. “Doooooooc,” he moaned. He sounded like a toddler crying for it’s mother when it wasn’t getting enough attention. “I’m dying, doc, you gotta save me.”

Medic rolled his eyes. Scout was, to be perfectly frank, the biggest baby he’d ever known when it came to physical maladies. Skinned knees got him grinding through clenched teeth that he was sure to bleed out in moments. A black eye had him wailing that he was blind now, worse off even than the black Scottish cyclops. Stomach cramps got him in the fetal position, crying out that it was cancer, it had to be cancer, tell his mother he loved her. Every time, Medic checked him out, submitting him to a full physical exam if that’s what it took, simply to silence the bellyaching. He never found anything more wrong with Scout than the typical bumps and bruises that befell every other man in this God-forsaken base.

He wasn’t about to entertain Scout’s incessant whining tonight, not when the weather already had him in a less than ideal mood.

“Scout, I do not have the patience for you tonight,” he grumbled, standing from his chair and walking out from behind his desk. Perhaps if he put distance between himself and the little twerp, Scout would get the message and leave him be.

“Aww, come on, doc!” If anything, Scout’s whining got even more pathetic. “Feels like I’m gonna keel over any second. Have a little sympathy, will ya?”

“I rarely have sympathy for the idiot who comes in here every time he stubs his toe,” Medic snapped.

Scout opened his mouth, probably to plead his case again, but he quickly shut it and let out another choked moan. His arms pulled even tighter around his abdomen. If Medic hadn’t known better, he’d almost call that genuine pain on Scout’s face.

Medic didn’t have any illusions about his position. He was not what many called “a caring professional”. To him, the healing was a rather tedious side effect of his experiments. After all, it was easier to poke someone’s atrophied liver if they weren’t in danger of dying on you before you could put it back. But you just didn’t figure out the secret to cheating life-threatening injuries by being a bleeding heart to every whining toddler that came limping through your door with stomachaches and broken bones and the entirety of their blood on the outside of their body. It just cut into the amount of hours you could spend finding reasonably priced Loch Ness hamster hearts.

But he wasn’t entirely without compassion. While his comrades tended to give him funny looks when he asked for volunteers for his more...ambitious projects, they did still volunteer. The wild success of his Ubercharge was proof of that. And the biggest reason for it was because he tried his damnedest to do it as painlessly as possible. It didn’t take a dubiously achieved medical license to know that people didn’t like pain, not even mercenaries who were used to be shot, stabbed, and blown to bits.

Medic was many things, but a sadist was not one of them. It just wasn’t conducive to his curiosity.

Which is why, after another pained groan from Scout, he sighed heavily, opened one of his desk drawers, and pulled out a bottle of white tablets. He tossed them to Scout and said, “Take two of these tonight and get some sleep. If you don’t feel any better in the morning, come back. Then I’ll see what else I can do, ja?”

Relief blossomed on Scout’s face. “Thanks, doc,” he said. He turned the bottle over in his hand, the tablets clacking together against the glass. “So, these penicillin or something?”

“It’s aspirin, Scout,” Medic said, turning his attention back to his papers. “You probably will not need penicillin any time soon. Unless you have a case of syphilis you haven’t mentioned. In which case I have been working on a super vaccine from some spare bits of the bread tumors. You will never guess where that gets injected…” For added effect, he looked up slightly and gave his best maniacal grin.

What little color was left in Scout’s face drained away, and he muttered a “Night, doc” before tucking the bottle in his pocket and stiffly walking out.

Medic chuckled once he was alone. He may not have been a sadist by nature, but he seemed to becoming quite cunning in his advancing age.

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19 I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28 I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34

Sorry for taking my time, but as always, university and other personal matters. As always, patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was an odyssey to post, the browser kept lagging.

                                                    Chapter 35

Like Francis and Feliciano, Ludwig had decided on remaining in the palace for the day. With this free time, he strolled the gardens, drawn by its beauty like any other, taking sitting in one of the many banks to continue his reading from his book. He had been practicing some small wind spells when he spotted an exercise in the very section in which an arising King and Queen (or just King and Queen) could use to start the combining and mending of their power. It was another wind spell, one both he and even Feliciano had to know well before they could try to do it together.

 Yes, he could speak with him about this, they could start to do it.

 With how things were looking, it was starting to become a dire need that they started learning well how to use the combination of their power. What if they were attacked again? What if something else went wrong on the journey? What if something happens once they reached the holding field? What if…he had to close the book before his mind could wander off in that aspect. It was getting late, a servant had come to tell him that dinner was served, and he walked eagerly to it hoping it could bring him some mental peace.

 He had eaten with only the presence of his cousins, Francis and Feliciano never appearing even for when dessert was served. Once he was done, he settled off to go find them, trying to look calm and ordered, but inside, there was rage, one he was ready to direct to the King of Diamonds.

 He was reaching the living quarters, a place he rather not find Feliciano alone with Francis in, but it was his first clue to reaching them. Just as he was ready to knock one of the large doors, Francis instead opened wide, extending, showing off behind him a very large closet (Okay, so apparently this wasn’t his rooms), with suits, coats, pants, shoes, robes, jewelry, armor, seals, sashes, just about everything needed for the outer appearance of a King and space and mirrors to strut and show. Ludwig would have been more impressed…if Francis hadn’t dared shown himself naked once again, with only but that large silk golden robe he had worn the night they had arrived.

 “Mon chéri, Ludwig, you have finally found us!” He exalted, with flair and dramatization that had Ludwig rolling and adverting eyes, completely uninterested, much to Francis hurt of pride.

 “Where is Feliciano?” Ludwig instantly asked.

 “What makes you think he’s here?” He seemed to challenge.

 “He’s been with you all day and I’m sure you were both ready to spend the entire night doing nonsense that will make him loose needed sleep. Besides, I can see Pookie.” Ludwig pointed to the little lion resting in one of the many sofas of the room, shinning in comfort and peace, proof enough to Ludwig that they hadn’t done anything illicit.

 Francis, instead of being disappointed, grinned, his whole body looking like it was chuckling. “Well, if you insist to know, I only recommend you come inside and see.” He moved aside to present him entrance, but Ludwig was always so hesitant, raising an eyebrow and maintaining his still put place in the hall. “Come in, come in! This is a room of peace, confidence, power, creativity-” he took his arm and pulled him in, to a depth of the room away from any escape. Ludwig thought it was incredible how easily he succumbed to it, letting himself be placed by Francis in a designated spot, away from hangers and shelves, to an open space with even pillars, carpets, flags and views into the city. Francis excelled in even the way he had to show off his wardrobe, the lights of the city outside the window a reminder of the eyes he was trying to look well to. Ludwig couldn’t believe this, he didn’t think a person’s ego could reach such heights of plethora.

 “-and romance,” he whispered lastly, too close to Ludwig’s ear, the breaths one he quickly brushed away when Francis settled off to give his attention to some other curtained entrance.

 “Feli, my dear, have you finally finished?” He called.

 “Mhm, it’s true what you said Francis-” Feliciano pushed open the curtains and revealed himself, heading out with ease and confidence to his wear. “It’s so soft and breezy.” He twirled, showing his own long silk robe, in red, sewn with shinning symbols of the Hearts Kingdom to match with him, to dance along as he span the room proud. He wore a red flower crown on his hair, some dangling red jeweled necklaces along with his own promise cross. Only simplistic details, it was worthless to add more when the robe itself held all that was needed for attention. It was just like Francis’s, as long, as shinning and…as exposing.

 “It’s stunning, I’m so glad you had one made for me, I only hope I can make some space in the-” Feliciano stopped the embraces of himself, of trying to reach every length, dropping it all to its usual bareness when his eyes locked with Ludwig. “Oh…Ludwig! What do you think? Francis insisted that I wore it and I’m happy I did, I absolutely love it!” He extended it to show, which in turn had the frontal opening growing, letting the collar and sleeves fall slightly down his shoulders, caressing his skin softly, taunting Ludwig to see the way his body shone in perfection along the robe.

 Ludwig was halted in a haze, widened eyes in lost wonder, traveling across every inch of Feliciano’s skin that he hadn’t seen in years. He had grown to the expected splendors, slimmed but with ample softness in areas that made him the more seducing, the more exquisite and alluring. Never did Ludwig feel this need to extend his hands, to touch, kiss, bite and make it all his as it should.

 Did Feliciano notice the longing look he gave him? Because he was starting to look back just as transfixed, loving this attention he was receiving from his arising King, hands trailing over his own shoulder, his face, his curls, granting a chance for Ludwig to look and admire as he wanted.

 As one last torturous teasing, Feliciano reached down and played with the promise necklace, a reminder to Ludwig of what could be his, of what he could have to proudly love…if only he learned, if only he could be more accepting.

 “It’s uh…it’s uh…” Ludwig was speechless, any word he had taken by being lost in the glistening of his brown eyes, on the expectant expression that wanted the finality to those words, the answer to his question. “Nice…yeah um…nice, uh…Francis, you did a good job.”

 Feliciano was disappointed but…it was something, only Francis didn’t seem to mind it, since the stubborn German prince actually gave him a compliment, if even simple.

 “I just had it commissioned, the true artists were the designers and sewers, and Feliciano here who wears it divinely.” He took his hand and spun him in giggles and vitality. “If anything we can get your sizes right now and have one made for you, Ludwig.” Francis even got the measurement tape ready.

 “I rather not, not my style.” Ludwig raised his hand and halted Francis from whatever movement to complete this.

 “Nonsense, this kind robe is for all, even if somebody of your robustness and unseemly features.”

 It only made Ludwig want to have one less.

 “Enough, I came to take Feliciano to have his dinner, it’s becoming late and he should soon be resting.”

 “Or you just finally want him for yourself after not having him the whole day.” Neither Francis and Feliciano could tell if the flaring red he took was a blush or strengthening anger. “But you are right, it is getting late, my precious must go to be well fed and have good rest.” Francis cooed to Feliciano, trying to distract from any growing hostility, but he seemed to worsen it with the way he caressed Feliciano’s chin and nuzzled their noses together.

 Ludwig gripped his fist and tried hard not to suddenly punch Francis out of this…but he had learned his lesson with Haris and he had to really hold himself if he didn’t want to worsen it.

 “I’ll have the dinner served in your room,” Francis proclaimed, with one last spin pushing Feliciano into Ludwig’s protective arms the moment he saw he could trip. The result was not only having a feel of the fabric, but also an arm around free skin, as soft, as rich, and as tempting to wrap himself around it as the silk.

 “In-in our room? The dining room should be enough,”

 “Nonsense! It’s a beautiful night, something by the balcony is more than enough, and you two should take advantage of it.”

 “I already ate,”

 “Then eat again! My cooks can serve more than enough. Go on, I’ll give the orders to have everything set in a couple of minutes.”

 Feliciano nodded instantly, not minding at all, using the grip he had on Ludwig’s arm to shush him into denying this. “Thank you Francis! I’ll see you tomorrow morning then?”

 “Of course, it is the last day! We make our Spheres of Validity and you have your departure that very night, we must make use of whatever little free time we have.”

 Before Ludwig could say a word, Feliciano glistened Francis with a big smile and a bow, and with his still strong hold on Ludwig’s arm, he pulled him out of the room, in a hurried dash like they were running from imminent terror. It was hard for Ludwig to keep up, especially with the robe behind Feliciano blinding or making him trip in their hurry.

  Like Francis had said, indeed it was a beautiful night, stars shimmering, not a cloud in sight, the view of the city an addition of picturesque that Ludwig had to admit was relaxing and even enchanting. As suggested, they had their dinner by the balcony, presented to them in a cart while they sat in a long comfortable sofa. They had brought Feliciano a smoked trout salad, ham deviled eggs, onion confit, fougasse, and French toast with raspberry jam as a dessert, the only thing Ludwig took from since his earlier dinner had just been enough.

 At first, he kept his distance from him, leaving him in his picking and eating, in his eyes taken by the views, by the architecture, even the cooling breeze that played around them. Perhaps they were too tired, perhaps it had just been a long day, perhaps Francis had put something in the fine wine he gave them with the dinner, or there was just some spell in the winds of this kingdom. Slowly, they neared to each other, a centimeter a second, in silence, in leaning, all until Feliciano could place his hands on Ludwig’s thighs and he could rest down on the grown potent of his shoulder. Sure, it had grown, much stronger and bigger than in their childhood, but still it was the same comfort, the same belonging, the same trust, he could rest there with all certitude no matter what might happen in the surroundings. Feliciano let out such a breath of relief, like this simple touch had returned to him any missing peace, like he was transported back in time to the feeling, but giving a chance this time for something new.

 “Are you really going to keep wearing that?” Ludwig asked rather sweetly, looking down to notice that Feliciano was still dressed in the robe, his position doing enough to hide, but not the clarity of his chest and the length and softness of his legs.

 Feliciano nodded, with a smile he even rubbed against his arm. “It’s so cozy, I think I’m going to wear it to sleep.” He even yawned as if to assure it.

 “Won’t you get tangled in it?”

 “No, it’s too soft and silky for it,”

 “I still better not find you on the floor the next morning.”

 Feliciano giggled, “I won’t, besides, you’ll be there to catch me if it happens…won’t you?”

 Ludwig starred down to him, not being able to look away, loving the way his lips parted, how his cheeks shone, the ever present shine in his eyes, but still tired and hoping for dream, lost in whatever sudden closeness they got at the moment. He let his hands slowly fall from the back of the sofa, Aces knew how hard he tried to keep it back there, but Feliciano’s skin and body seemed to call and he fell forward to it, letting his hand roam on his arm, comforting and accepting, easing Feliciano more into his hold.

 “I haven’t let anything happen to you on this journey, and that’s something I will continue to make sure as it goes along.” He looked away, because he couldn’t give him more of a grasp, this couldn’t grow, he couldn’t settle into the temptation of kissing him, of telling him he loved him, he was already trespassing a line he had set for himself as it was, and to be honest, he was disappointed that he let this happen.

 “I…shouldn’t be…doing this with you,” he finally worded, but none of them still stopped their movements. Ludwig’s hand continued to caress on his arm, and now Feliciano’s hands and fingers traced at his chest.

 “Why though?” Feliciano questioned, dejection evident, but still settling his head more into his chest and the nape of his neck, hoping it could convince him more, hoping he could say, hoping he could finally know.

 Silence only continued, because as always, Ludwig couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t explain, Feliciano wouldn’t understand, he would do something rash, something he had prepared long ago to not happen. He was planning to simply move out of it as he always did, beginning to move his hand away, to sitting straight, stand and make his way back into the room and forget he let this moment of weakness.

 “No,” Feliciano stopped, grabbing the hand and placing it back where it was, back into its movements, its gentility and even love. Ludwig let himself be carried into it, caged once again to him, doing as he wished, as he himself longed to do.

 “I know you don’t care…I know this will later mean nothing to you…but, please, let me enjoy this for now, let us stay like this, let me rest with you.” He cradled more into his hold, even wrapping his arms around him, and Ludwig did the same, continuing his caresses, both his hands now working on him, relaxing him into coming sleep.

 Ludwig sigh, he gave up for the night, yearning to tell him that he had no idea what he would be willing to do for him. He held him tight as he would have liked to do every night, making sure Feliciano was easing over so slowly into sleep, eyes closed, breath slow, composure falling weak knowing he was resting in the shield of Ludwig’s arms. Ludwig leaned to place a gentle kiss on the top of his head, so dim Feliciano could have confused it as a harsh breeze in his sleep.

 “You never stopped feeling so nice Ludwig,” Feliciano uttered sleepily, his last trace of consciousness gone in that last breath of his name.

 Like this, Ludwig didn’t know how he could go to sleep, when his mind was reacting, denying, fighting, all throughout still maintaining that hold Feliciano had gone to sleep in. This was becoming worst, his plan was failing, but his heart was beating and it had been a while since he had felt this relax, this at peace, like he was ready to spend the rest of his days just like this. He yearned for that, maybe he really shouldn’t stand, maybe he should just give up to sleeping in this air with him like this, but the reminder repeated on his head, the horizon seemed to palpitate with the continuing journey, to where it led, to what he had to do.

 With a sigh, he decided that he had given Feliciano enough, he was getting tired himself, any longer and he could relax into the idea of sharing the same bed. No, no, no, he bit his lip every time the desire grew stronger. He picked Feliciano up in his arms, being extra careful that his steps weren’t harsh enough to stir and wake him. He lay him to rest on his bed, taking the flower crown to place in the bedside table along with any other jewelry that seemed uncomfortable. He settled himself to sleep quickly after in his own bed, but not before gazing strongly to the face he adored, the figure of the most he loved, beautiful, captivating, his perseverance to continue and fight on.

 He promised himself that these would be his last thoughts of devotion and love. He would settle them more on his mission from the next morning on.

  Although they wouldn’t leave until late in the night, their luggage was packed and ready, added with a few new things Francis had gifted them. Dressed in appropriate suits of yellows, whites and creams of the kingdom, after their breakfast, they headed to the throne room, where it was expected that Francis, Lili and Vash would create the Spheres of Validity. When Francis entered, he came appropriately dressed, with a cape, jewels, and even a proud crown. Vash and Lili came as just, with their own regality and flowers, making the three shine together as united rulers that their people could put their trust in. Ludwig and Feliciano bowed to their welcome, and they did just the same, admiring that the yellows of their kingdom looked just as fine on the Heartian arising monarchs.

 “We are finally here and what a time! With a king of the Beilschmidt line and a queen of Romulus line,” Francis announced, with high pride, expanded arms that Ludwig was afraid he would use to hug them both and he really did not need that from him.

 “I really hope what we can do is enough,” Lili worried.

 Vash and her were still new to the usage of their powers, something that had to do mostly with their young age, but it was just how things were done in the Diamond Kingdom and how it coincided with the refreshing energy of this boundary in the Club Kingdom. The siblings had read the spells the night before enough times, and although nervous, they still kept easy breaths to not keep the others concerned.

 “You will do fine,” Feliciano told them, with a confident smile and a proud standing.

 Yes, yes they would.

 “All right, I shall get the orbs then.” Francis went ahead and picked them up from a standing chest, all three empty glasses shinning as the ones Feliciano and Ludwig had to fill back in Berlin.

 Francis handed each one, remaining with his own, smiling despite the tension that surrounded. “Vash, why don’t you begin?” He suggested.

 Vash stiffed, but ended up nodding, moving ahead, taking place in a tiled design on their floors. It was a starry night…just as the one in Berlin, Feliciano noticed. Sure, the colors were different, the stars shone in different angles and lines, but it was the same concept, the same story, the same night. Feliciano could have wondered more about it if he hadn’t been distracted by Vash beginning the spell.

 A strong hold, a twirling movement in his hands, color beginning to alight in the orb, filling, glowing in Vash’s eyes, a slight rising from the floor, and then out of nowhere, gone, he was wobbling back on the floor, trying to keep his standing, Lili offering her help while he tried to rub out the pain in his head. His sphere was a bumblebee yellow, solid, more like a paint ball that was ready to throw in a childhood game.

 Francis then decided that it should be his turn, hoping he could control his outward appearance well and not look like some magical hazard, but that was not possible. As quickly as he bonded himself to the orb to begin its magic giving, his hands moved on by themselves, filling in its yellow, in its white, his hair moved everywhere in a mess, he floated, his eyes alighted, halted to the power and what the orb wanted. When it was done, he stumbled down on the floor like the rest, trying to smooth his hair, his clothes, wondering if perhaps he could use some forgetting spell so they wouldn’t remember how messed he turned for this. His own orb shone quite beautifully, in a glittery daffodil with white ribbons that fell in designed curves. Francis was rather proud of it and they all truthfully admired it. Sure, it was nice, but none had been as beautiful and as rare as Feliciano’s.

 With it being Lili’s turn now, and being a Queen (if even an arising one), Ludwig hoped to see something similar and that it was just something that all Queens did. She took the longest to prepare, easing breaths, trying to relax and remain with her Queenly aura. The magic that arose from her was more controlled than the other two, one that left her still even as she rose, even as the energy poured into the orb, as her silhouette glowed for her closed eyes, falling just as still as it settled, only then did she open her eyes with pain, rubbing it away just as Vash had done. No…she didn’t go through the same thing Feliciano had done, she hadn’t shone that much, didn’t glow to a blinding, or revealed weird symbols, wings and halos on her body. Her sphere, although beautiful, was a simplistic glittering cream, no gold, no other colors, no rarity, just another Sphere of Validity. Well…there were still two other Queens left that had a chance of showing something different, but for now, all the Spheres were done and presented towards Ludwig. He nodded, moving before him his staff. He took a position, turned and held it just in the places his grandfather had taught him. With a slight of his own magic, he brought it to the staff, and the Spheres disappeared from the hold of the Diamond monarchs, taking their places in the handle with the others from the Heart Kingdom.

 Three reds, three yellows, six dark sockets and two kingdoms to go.

 “Ah, finally!” Francis clapped, proud of the conclusion.

 “I believe, since our purpose here is done, Feliciano and I should be taking our leave,” Ludwig wanted to postpone.

 “Oh no, no, no, the carriage is not set to depart till the late hours of the night,” Francis wanted to ease.

 “It’s all according to the newly planned route, by your suggestion, we avoided big cities and common roads,” Lili filled in.

 “We’re confident that you will have no such meeting with Khaos’s men as you started,” Vash assured.

 “Is it still really necessary to wait for this carriage so late?” Ludwig still wanted to hope.

 “It is, we avoid common hours they attack, as well as alerting a big city like Paris. In the excitement, crowds could spread the news and unknowingly lead it to the wrong ears,” Vash said.

 “So please, enjoy what’s left of the day with us,” Francis settled.

 “Then, I want to spend it checking these new routes you planned, I don’t want to be left with any surprises and I need to make sure it’s appropriate for the both of us.”

 They had to cede him the chance. They bowed and agreed, ushering to follow them out to the room where they had planned this. Ludwig went on ahead without a glance to Feliciano, simply expecting him to follow behind.

 Feliciano sigh…he shouldn’t be surprised about this, it should have been obvious that it was to happen. Although Ludwig still insisted to do things together, he kept his distance this time, barely making eye contact, all a result, all a way of him trying to push it away. Maybe he shouldn’t have done what he did last night, maybe he really should have moved away, maybe Ludwig’s reaction was just pity, a small moment of granting kindness. Pookie nuzzled into his cheek sensing this coming dread, hoping he could replace it with his caring. Feliciano giggled, petting the little St. Mark, distracted in him as he followed behind the rest through the halls.

 “It was something at least, hopefully there’s still time in the trip to change this and learn some more,” he whispered with hope, and the little lion seemed to wink in confidence.

[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

Werewolf au jackcruthie?

Okay. Okay, I got this.

“I don’t know, Jack,” Crutchie whispered as he carefully stepped over a root tearing its way out of the ground. “This doesn’t seem… safe.” He shivered in the chilled breeze that swept through the quivering tree branches. A wispy cloud floated across the full moon, obscuring it’s bottom quarter, before drifting away again and allowing the watery light to filter through black leaves. “I mean, has anyone died here?” 

Jack snorted. “I don’t know, Crutch. Maybe we’ll be the first ones.”

“Don’t joke like that,” Crutchie hissed, hitting his boyfriend in the shoulder. “I swear, this place is haunted.” He jumped at the hooting of an owl in the distance, before scowling at Jack’s half-stifled laughter. “It’s not funny,” he groused, pushing past the older boy. 

“It’s kinda funny.”

Crutchie tried to frown, but he couldn’t ever completely be mad at Jack. “You know, owls can be terrifying creatures. Evil premonitions, and all that.”

“Maybe if you’re a mouse,” Jack quickly countered.

“What are we even doing out here?” Crutchie asked, mostly to himself. Spot and Race had challenged them to sneak out into the Azim Woods behind the school at midnight. The goal was to reach an old rickety tree house and text a picture to Spot or Race as proof that they had done it. The tree house was rumored to have held the corpses of three children until the bones were discovered over a century later. Crutchie didn’t hold much stock in those rumors, but now that night had fallen and the forest seemed to creak ominously with each step, he was prepared to swear by the half-whispers that sprouted, dark and thick like weeds.

“Proving that we’re men,” Jack replied, pounding his chest for emphasis.

“Can’t we just toss a football around? Or something not potentially life-threatening?” Crutchie begged. 

Jack turned quickly, surprising Crutchie, who nearly stumbled into the taller boy. “Hey,” he said, grabbing Crutchie’s shoulders. “We are going to be fine. Just snap a quick picture and then we’re on our way back home.”

“I know, just…” Crutchie trailed off, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking up. He felt as if something was watching him. He could, all too clearly, imagine red, piercing eyes following his every movement. “Let’s just hurry up and get it over with.”

They walked in relative silence for the next few minutes. Only the cracking of branches and the hiss of the wind could be heard. “Look, there it is,” Jack whispered, grabbing Crutchie’s hand and pointing into the distance. Only a hundred yards away stood the infamous tree house. The red paint of the tree house was peeling and, in the bright moonlight, looked more like oozing blood than paint. The wood had aged and chunks had been torn out by animals or adventures teenagers, relics long-gone. Dark windows gaped like insatiable mouths, shifting with shadows. The tree that upheld the tree house had once sported bright leaves, but those had disappeared in ages past. Now, only withering branches reached upwards, a solemn prayer illuminated against the moon. A tattered rope ladder hung from the tree house, moving gently in the breeze.

“Okay, this place gives me the creeps,” Crutchie announced. “Let’s just take the picture and get out of here.”

Even Jack seemed somewhat afraid. He nodded quickly and pulled his phone out. Slinging his arm around Crutchie, Jack pulled him close and took a selfie, the foreboding tree house large and dark in the background. “Okay, okay,” he said, sending the picture to Spot. “We’re good. Let’s get the hell outta here.”

Crutchie nodded eagerly and started forward, but he had only taken two steps forward, when he heard a growl, off to his left. “Jack,” Crutchie whispered, his heart clenching. “Did… did you hear that?”

Jack smiled falsely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s just get going.”

As bravely as he could muster, Crutchie grinned back. “Heh,” he tried to fake a laugh, but the noise came out all wrong and strained. “Just my over-active imagination. Hearing things and–”

Crutchie was cut off as a large… thing stalked out of the shadowed recesses of the trees, hackles raised. It was dark, like a wolf, with a long snout and proud tail. But, it was bigger. Much bigger. It’s large paw was nearly the length of a man’s foot. The wolf-creature growled, its lips curling up to display jagged teeth. The worst, though, were its yellow eyes. There was an intelligence to them. An intelligence that Crutchie didn’t think could be attributed to any normal animal. 

Jack froze at the sight of the beast, his mind going terrifyingly blank for a long moment. Beside him, Crutchie squeaked in fear, which tore him from his temporary confusion. As slowly as he could, so as to not startle the animal, Jack reached out and gripped Crutchie’s forearm. Crutchie glanced at him in surprise, edging closer to his boyfriend. Jack noticed that Crutchie was shaking and scoured his mind for something, anything, that he could do in this situation. He hadn’t been a boy scout and, even if he had, he doubted that there was a badge for how to deal with giant, man-eating wolves. Should they run for it? Surely, there was no way they could outrun the beast. Do they make noise and try to scare it off? Or just not move?

Crutchie whimpered again as the wolf licked its inky black lips, it’s tongue flicking quickly along pale teeth. They were going to die. They were going to be torn to pieces. It would be painful. It would be so very painful. Crutchie felt as if he was going to be sick and vaguely wondered how the wolf would react to him retching up his dinner.

Jack glanced at the tree house, trying to calculate just how quickly he and Crutchie could get there. It wasn’t too far, but it all depended on how fast the wolf could run. Maybe if they got a head start. Could Crutchie throw his crutch and distract the wolf? No, he needed that. Jack could throw his phone, but what if that only angered the wolf more?

Before Jack could truly figure out what would be in their best interest, the wolf bounded forward. Crutchie screamed and Jack immediately took off for the tree house. His grip on Crutchie’s forearm was iron and Crutchie stumbled along as quickly as he could, barely managing to keep up. They were so close. The rope ladder was within reach and Jack stretched his hand out to grasp for safety, when Crutchie jerked backwards suddenly.

The scream. The blood-curdling scream would chill Jack’s blood for decades to come. He turned, his heart leaping to his throat as he saw the wolf, its bright teeth digging into Crutchie’s leg. Crutchie screamed again and Jack seemed to shake the stupor away. He quickly dug his fingers into Crutchie’s armpits and tried to tug the younger boy away, but the wolf would not relinquish its grip. 

Realizing that he couldn’t get Crutchie away that way, Jack dove for the abandoned crutch and began attacking the beast with all his might. Crutchie was still screaming, his hands scrabbling in the dirt as he desperately tried to get away and the heart-wrenching sounds tumbling out of his boyfriend’s mouth fueled Jack’s attack. “Get! Away!” Jack shouted, landing a strong hit on the wolf’s nose. The beast released Crutchie’s leg, backing up. It’s yellow eyes watched Jack coolly. The wolf snarled in their direction, before bounding away.

Jack didn’t even both watching it leave, before he knelt by Crutchie’s side, his hands hovering over the blood-torn leg. “Crutch,” he begged. “Crutch, you gotta be okay. Stay with me; it’s going to be okay. The wolf’s gone.”

Crutchie bit back a whimper, nodding. “J-jack,” he stuttered, his face pale, though Jack wasn’t sure if it was from fear or blood loss. “J-jack.” It was all the younger boy could seem to say. 

“Don’t worry,” Jack soothed, pulling his cell phone out. He had bars, thank heavens. “I’m going to call an ambulance.” Not that he knew how they would get through the woods. “I’m going to call an ambulance,” he repeated, “and you’ll be just fine.”

Crutchie nodded, gripping Jack’s free hand as his boyfriend explained the situation to 9-1-1 in tight, rushed words. He would be fine. Jack said he was going to be fine. Jack was there. He would be fine as long as Jack would be there.

“They’re coming,” Jack breathed in relief. “Not much longer and they’ll be here. okay?”

In the distance, a wolf howled. The mournful, haunting noise seemed to echo throughout the woods and Jack stiffened, glancing at his boyfriend to gauge how he would react to the noise. Crutchie’s eyes seemed to gleam with a foreign light. Jack shook his head. It was fear, pain. They were both delirious with the after-effects of adrenaline.

“It’s going to be okay.”

So, this is more like the prologue to a werewolf au, but I hope it works out! Thanks for the prompt! I had a little too much fun writing this…

[blueyedcas]

Wings Like Midnight (Ch. 9)

Can also be read here in AO3

Chapter 1     ->     Previous Chapter   ->    Next Chapter

Fandom: Supernatural

Relationships: Gabriel & Other archangels and angels

Warnings: None

Summary:

An angel’s wings are a beautiful and unique thing, their colour supposedly signifying their owners personality and temperament. But when an fledgling is branded an ‘abomination’ the moment he’s created, will Gabriel find it in himself to help the little one? And is it possible that Heaven’s new angel could help him back?

(I promise the story’s better and more complex than the summary)

Hello again guys! Thanks again to my wonderful beta, Dayna! I hope you enjoy reading :) Sophie xx

Anna’s nest, on first glance, seemed just like the rest of Heaven; perfect.

Stainless walls permeated a cold glow, blanketing them in white light as they walked deeper into the nest. Light, grey marble made up the floor, speckled slightly with black dots and glimmering in the wall’s glow. Stairs, made of the same material, led upwards, rising into the unknown of the floor above. The ceiling was similar to the walls, white in colour, but lacking any ethereal luminescence. Gabriel felt suffocated by its faultlessness, boxed in by its linear lines and dizzying light.

However, on closer inspection, he noticed subtle signs of individuality and character. Small scratches at the bottom of the walls where someone had accidently scraped along its white exterior. Tiny dints could be seen in the marble floor, ruining its illusion of perfection. A group of tiny purple feathers had collected in the corner of the hallway. They floated gently upwards in as they passed by, caught by the wind.

Only the gentle patter of their footsteps could be heard as Anna, still carrying the fledgling, led him to another door. An ugly, uncomfortable feeling started to rear its head as Gabriel scrutinized how the fledgling fitted into Anna’s side, as if he were made to be there. The archangel wrestled with the emotion, pushing it back down into the depths of wherever it appeared from.

You should be thankful she’s helping.

“Is it likely that Naomi saw us?” he asked, unwilling to focus on the thoughts whirling around his skull.

“I don’t think so, she left her nest a while ago.”

She slowed as she got to a large, black door and turned round, gesturing for the archangel to take the fledgling back. He lifted his hands out and awkwardly grasped his tiny torso, grimacing in effort as he tried not to drop him. A whine rose in the little one’s throat and the archangel tried to hide his disappointment with a smirk.

“Looks like he prefers you,” he joked halfheartedly, trying to battle with the wriggling fledgling. Anna gave him a sympathetic smile, reading his hurt easily.

“He doesn’t prefer me, you’re just holding him wrong. Look, here,” she said, taking hold of his hand and guiding it to a better position.

Soon, the little one was moulded into the archangel’s side with his head resting on his shoulder. A soft smile rose unknowingly on Gabriel’s face as he looked down at the fledgling, so innocent and pure. A strange warmth unfurled in his chest again, although this time it roared into a small flame, burning hot and growing.

He finally tore his gaze away from the fledgling to find Anna regarding him with a thoughtful expression. She stopped once she realised he was looking at her and quickly opened the door.

“This is our main living quarters,” she said, bowing her head sheepishly as the Archangel peered around the room. It was similar to the hallway, except larger, and with far more indications that this was a nest, not just a continuation of Heaven’s faultless walkways. The walls were not quite as stainless, the floor not as shiny, and there seemed to odd little objects littering the floor.

“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing to one of the objects, a small, brown sphere in the corner of the room. His movement disturbed the little one who groaned quietly in his sleep, a fistful of Gabriel’s robe scrunched in his hand.

‘Oh, it’s just one of Balthazar’s toys,” she said before pointing to another object with a crude sort of likeness to an angel, “Like that one over there.”

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully.

“Where do you get them?”

“Just down the market,”

“Ah.”

An awkward silence fell as Gabriel glanced around the room and Anna looked at her feet, hands clasped behind her back. Just as he was about to enquire after Anna’s fledgling, something hanging on one of the walls caught his attention. It was square, with a thick border surrounding what looked to be a tiny, purple feather.

“Is that one of Balthazar’s?”

Happiness and pride twinkled in Anna’s eyes as she saw what Gabriel was referring to.

“Yes, it was the first feather he ever shed,” she said, breathing a laugh, “The poor thing was itching all over for weeks.”

“Itching?”

“Yes, a fledgling’s wings are sensitive. When they start to shed, they can become very itchy,”

“Oh,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “That’s new,”

“You didn’t know?” Anna frowned, “Dont you remember when you were a fledgling?”

“Yeah, well, there were other things to concentrate on at the time,”

Anna sensed the Archangel’s uneasiness and the two fell into another awkward silence, broken only by the soft breathing of the sleeping fledgling. He slept open mouthed and was now drooling slightly, his chubby cheek pressed firmly into Gabriel’s shoulder.

“So, er,” he started, attempting to break the silence, “How often do they sleep?”

“At least every couple of hours,” replied Anna with a relieved smile, “until they find their grace, that is,”

Then it was Gabriel turn to frown, tilting his head in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Their grace helps but before they find that they need sleep to grow,” Anna continued, oblivious to the Archangel’s expression of perplexity, “Otherwise, they may not reach their full-”

“Woah, wait, hold up a second. They need to find their grace?”

Anna blinked a couple of times.

“..Yes.”

“You mean to say it isn’t just.. In them?”

“...Yes.”

Stunned, the Archangel stepped back, pondering over his new discovery. He struggled to find the right words before settling with a simple,

“Huh.”

He opened his mouth to ask more questions but was distracted by the gentle patter of small footsteps and the door behind him creaking open.

“Annaaaaa,” Balthazar whined, sticking his head around the door, “I’ve been waiting upstairs for ages and - Oh.”

The fledgling stopped abruptly and stared at Gabriel. His eyes were a concoction of blue and grey, tracing up the large golden appendages sprouting from the archangel’s back. His mouth fell open slightly, wonder radiating from him, and Gabriel couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious.

“Balthazar,” Anna said, beckoning him over, “this is Gabriel,”

“H-hello,” he squeaked, gripping to Anna’s leg as if he were going to float away otherwise. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder and sent an apologetic smile to Gabriel, who nodded with understanding.

“Hiya, big guy,” he said, flattening his wings to his back as tightly as he could. Uncomfortable though it was, he didn’t want to appear as someone to be feared, obeyed or awed at.

“I like your wings,” said Balthazar, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank you,” he replied, smiling, “I like yours too,”

A blush stained the fledgling’s cheeks as he registered the archangel’s words and he beamed with pleasure. He looked up at his Guardian and tugged at her robe, making sure she had heard. Then all happiness was washed from his face, replaced with a wary curiosity.

“Is that...?” he trailed off, eyes fixed on the fledgling gripped in Gabriel’s arms. The archangel followed his gaze and realised the little one’s eyes were open, engaging Balthazar in a strangely intense staring contest.

“This is Gabriel’s fledgling, Balthazar,” she said gently, “the angel that has just been created.”

Balthazar kept his eyes placed firmly on the fledgling as he answered. “The one you took me away from when everyone started running?”

Anna looked down sheepishly, avoiding the archangel’s eyes.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, Anna, I understand,” Gabriel said, smiling softly as she looked back up. After a moment, she returned it, relieved.

“But,” Balthazar piped in, finally tearing his eyes from the little one’s hypnotic blue orbs, “I thought Archangels couldn’t have fledglings,”

“That’s normally the case but the other angels were--” he sighed as he searched for a way to explain in a fledgling friendly way-- “mean to him. So I took him in.”

“Why were they mean?” the fledgling persisted.

“They thought his wings were… Too unusual.”

Balthazar frowned, his features creasing with confusion as he stared intently at the tiny black feathers sprouting from the other fledgling’s back. Before Gabriel could comprehend his actions, the fledgling stepped forward and reached out a hand. It stopped in mid air, suspended in front of the little one’s face, where it was inspected by large blue eyes. Balthazar held his breath and waited, a blend of worry and determination painted on his face.

“Balthazar,” Anna tutted, “You're going to scare him.”

As the words left Anna’s mouth, a hand rose to meet Balthazar’s. It wrapped it's tiny fingers around the side of his palm and clung there, like a completed circuit. Gabriel and Anna swapped looks of bewilderment as their fledglings seemed to share something intangible but strong.

Then the little one let go and Balthazar dropped his arm, wandering back to Anna’s side as if what had just transpired was completely ordinary.

“Well, I won't be mean to him,” he said to Gabriel solemnly. His eyes widened with honesty, imploring the archangel to believe him.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Gabriel replied with a lopsided smile but relief bubbled underneath the surface. He was glad for allies, someone to protect the tiny being in his arms, even if they come in the form of a couple hundred year old fledgling.

“What’s his name?” Balthazar asked.

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer before realising he didn't have one.

“I didn't have chance to name him, I was too busy trying to keep the stuck up Ass-angels from casting him out.”

Anna frowned at his language as Balthazar giggled sweetly, clasping a hand to his mouth in an attempt to reduce the sniggering.

“I don’t want you repeating any of that word to anyone,” she said, turning to her fledgling, warning laced in with her words.

“But why? It’s just a word,”

The fledgling and Guardian began to argue but Gabriel could barely hear it, zoning out of the conversation to focus on idea fizzling in his head.

..Casting him out..

He felt a prickling sensation tingling his head and looked down to find the fledgling’s attentive blue eyes looking back, boring into his skull, as if urging him on.

..Casting..

“I can say ass if I want to,” Balthazar said as his eyes narrowed rebelliously, “‘Ass’. See.”

..Cast..

“Apologise,” Anna ordered, hands resting on her hips.

..Cassiel?

“Ass, ass, ass,”

..Castael?

“Stop it right now or I’m sending you to your room,”

“Castiel!”

Gabriel exclamation broke the tense staring contest Anna and Balthazar were ruthlessly engaging in. They both turned to him, surprise and confusion clouding their faces.

“What?” asked Anna.

“Castiel,” Gabriel repeated as a smile twinkled in his eyes, bringing out their golden hue. He gently stroked the little one’s cheek with his finger, provoking a soft giggle. “I name you Castiel.”

For a few moments there was silence, and a sense of significance was felt by everyone in the room. It was as if something momentous had just occurred, though no one could put their finger on what.

“That’s a wonderful name,” Anna said, her expression emitting sincerity and kindness.

Balthazar nodded in agreement. “Can I call him Cas?”

“Right, that’s it, go to your room-”

“-I didn’t say ‘ass’! I said-”

“Now!”

I hope you enjoyed reading! Thanks so much for sticking with the story, there aren't words to describe how much I appreciate every single comment and kudos. Just, thank you so so much <33 Sophie xx