#im so sorry for the person i will become once this (unnamed show) comes out like im about to be SO LOUD

[mooksie01]

With Teammates Like These, Who Needs Friends (4/5)

Chapter Summary: It turns out that the only thing worse than a tense first date in an airship... is an awkward first date in a haunted dust mine.

Or: In which Clover feels like a moron, Elm causes problems, and nobody knows how to deal with a crush.

Warnings: More swearing, canon-typical combat, SPOILERS for V7C3, light angst

AO3 Link: [X]

Link to First Chapter: [X]

Notes: THIS IS A REPOST. Tumblr basically blanked my first attempt at posting this a few hours ago. Hopefully this one will actually show up. 

Long chapter today to make up for the short one yesterday! I hope you all enjoy!

Please like, reblog, and comment if you like this chapter, and thank you so much to all of you who have been! Your support means the world!

(Just to preface, I haven't edited this chapter as thoroughly as I usually do, as I'm currently in the process of packing to go back to college tomorrow. I might come back later and give it another run-over when I have time, but for now, I'm sorry if there are any major mistakes or awkward spots in the chapter!)

---

Walking through the abandoned dust mines with Qrow, Clover can’t help but be… a little distracted.

Up until now, Clover had only ever seen the other man move in a manner so instinctively disconnected and introverted that he’d just assumed that that was how Qrow always was. Now, though, he sees that he was wrong before; beside him, Qrow marches forward, back straight, shoulders carefully held lax in preparation for any possible conflict, head high, and eyes shining with a startling clarity and determination that takes Clover’s breath away.

In short, he’s a vision and it’s a herculean task not to stare.

Still, Clover is a soldier first and foremost, and he doesn’t allow himself to be sucked in so much that he might lose focus on the mission.

After a few long moments punctuated by nothing but his team’s routine check-ins, Qrow speaks up, “Gotta say, ’m still not really used to working with other huntsmen in the field.”

Clover glances at him out of the corner of his eye, mentally jumping hurdles in an attempt to figure out what the best route to steer this conversation in would be. He decides to tread lightly--nothing too personal. “But you were on a team before, weren’t you?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know. That should be safe.

Qrow sighs softly and his gaze darts to the ground.

Fuck.

Just kill him already.

“Long time ago…” Qrow’s voice comes out sounding gruffer than usual, “I’ve just found working alone tends to be for the best.”

Clover’s heart constricts in his chest. What is he supposed to do?! He’s already upset Qrow (twice, now!), how is he supposed to avoid doing it again?! He doesn’t want him to shut himself off from the Ace Ops just because Clover can’t stop sticking his foot in his mouth! Should he comfort him? He seems like he needs comfort. Fuck, he has to respond. What can he say?!

“Well, I think that’s a shame,” he blurts out, and immediately wants to punch himself.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he is saved from having to ruminate over his social missteps when Qrow suddenly pitches forward, his foot catching on the uneven terrain of the cave floor underneath them.

Clover dives after him, seizing him by one arm and grunting with the unexpected strain of having to pull his partner back to his feet, then moves one hand to clasp his shoulder and make sure he’s steady. He is unsure if he has his skill or his semblance to thank for the feat, but he is grateful nonetheless to whichever it is.

He determinedly does not think about how this is the second time today that he has gotten the opportunity to hold Qrow close. Because that would be weird.

Once Qrow is standing again, they stare at each other for what feels like a long time, but is probably only a split-second. Clover feels like tiny nevermores are making a mess of his insides the longer he looks into Qrow’s eyes.

Then, those incredibly nice-looking eyes narrow into a slight glare and Qrow takes a firm step back. Rather than think about what he’s messed up this time, Clover decides that now would be a perfect time to report in to his team.

“Alpha, here. Give me an update.”

Qrow falls into step behind him as they proceed forward. Once again, the minutes pass mostly in silence but for the intermittent interruptions of their comms. Unlike Squads Bravo and Charlie, they see no sign of any sentinels or the target itself, but Clover has a feeling that they will soon enough.

His comm buzzes in his ear and makes a soft beeping noise, a signal that someone is contacting him through the Ace Ops’ private channel. Clover is about to answer aloud, but stops when a quiet series of taps and drags echoes down the line. It takes him a second to realize he’s being spoken to through morse code. His heart starts racing. They almost never use morse code in the field. Has something gone wrong?

He listens closely.

“ ....  ---  .--  …  /  -.--  ---  ..-  .-.  /  -...  ..  .-.  -..  “

HOWS YOUR BIRD

He takes a deep breath in and steadily lets it out through his nose. Now is not the time to figure out if it’s possible to throttle someone through a comm line. Instead, he tries to discreetly raise a hand to his ear and respond:

“  ..  --  /  --.  ---  ..  -.  --.  /  -  ---  /  ..-.  ..  .-.  .  /  -.--  ---  ..-  “

IM GOING TO FIRE YOU

“Who are we firing?”

Clover startles, whipping his head around to look at Qrow. The other man stares impassively at him, a single eyebrow raised. Clover swallows hard because oh no, he’s hot. “Nobody. Well, Elm, probably.”

“What did she do?” Qrow asks, quickening his pace half a step until he is walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Clover again.

“Fooling around on comms during a mission. Don’t worry about it.” Clover stops walking, turning to face Qrow, who takes the hint and also comes to a halt. “How do you know morse code?”

Qrow shrugs, folding his arms over his chest. “Just a useful skill for a huntsman to have, isn’t it?”

Clover scrutinizes Qrow for a long moment, detecting that there’s something more to that. Unfortunately, though, he’s not Robyn, and he doesn’t know Qrow well enough yet to pick up on any tells he may have, so he just nods and they continue walking.

“Must’ve been something real interesting,” Qrow says after a few more minutes spent in silence, “to get you to blush like that.”

Clover’s steps falter. His face grows hot as he stares after Qrow’s retreating back.

Fuck.

He isn’t allowed to stew in his embarrassment for long, as their target suddenly phases through the cavern wall and appears right in front of them. Before Clover can even react, Qrow has already drawn his weapon and started shooting one-handed at the geist.

While Qrow keeps the creature busy, Clover shakes himself out of his stupor and speaks into his comm, “This is Alpha! We’ve engaged the target!” He pulls Kingfisher from his belt. “All squads head towards our position!” He extends the pole, and casts out the line, hoping to catch the geist by its ribs and haul it in before it can reach any materials to build a body out of. Unfortunately, his shot misses, the hook clattering to the ground just as the target darts into a giant chunk of ice sitting on the cavern floor.

Pieces of rock and ice begin to float into the air around them, pulled unrelentingly into the geist’s orbit. Clover curses under his breath and rushes forward, hoping to snag the geist and pull it out of its half-formed body before it can finish construction….

...Only to hear Qrow’s panic-filled voice echo from behind him, “Wait, stop!”

Clover looks up just in time to see a large metal beam tumble from the ceiling above. He raises his arms and takes a stumbling step back as it crashes into the ground just a few feet in front of him.

When the dust settles, he peers down into the hole it had made, taking the target with it.

Dammit.

He knows for certain that that beam would’ve done some serious damage if not for Qrow’s warning. He probably wouldn’t have died, but he certainly would’ve been out of commission for more than a little while.

Still, the target got away, and as Qrow runs to stand beside him, he reports in to the rest of the teams, “Target escaped. Last seen headed east.”

He shoots a sideways glance at Qrow, who is staring contemplatively down into the chasm, a strange light in his eyes that Clover can’t quite comprehend.

He looks back into the seemingly-bottomless darkness. Kicks a medium-sized stone into the newly-made pit in an attempt to get a rough estimate of how deep it goes. “Thanks for the call-out,” he says, suddenly remembering that he should probably express his gratitude toward Qrow for saving him an awful lot of injured leave. He props a hand on his hip and shifts his weight as the rock lands below. “That could’ve been bad.”

Qrow sighs heavily next to him, “I wouldn’t thank me….”

Clover is taken aback at the sheer amount of self-loathing and shame loaded into those four little words. He looks at Qrow. The other man is firmly avoiding his gaze, and the strange quality that Clover had noticed in his eyes earlier now registers in the back of his mind as guilt.

This… was not the Qrow Branwen that Clover had thought he’d be dealing with. Just a few hours ago, he couldn’t fathom a world in which such a famous huntsman would be anything less than confident and secure in himself, but it is becoming increasingly clear that that assumption couldn’t have been more wrong, as the intense self-contempt Clover hears seems to settle within a well-worn place in Qrow’s face and voice.

Qrow angles his upper body away a bit more so Clover can no longer see his expression. “My semblance brings Misfortune. Sometimes… I can’t keep it under control.” His voice gets weaker at the end of the sentence. His fists clench weakly at his sides.

Clover’s chest seizes with some unnamed emotion.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course Qrow had been upset this morning--his semblance was literally bad luck and here Clover had been, walking around with a bunch of good luck charms and making luck-based puns.

Reviewing the events of the past hours, more and more pieces fall into place. Qrow’s sudden shift in mood from playful to downtrodden after they’d run into each other, how he’d repeatedly downplayed his hurt feelings as “dramatics,” the way he’d said on the airship that he “couldn’t blame” Clover for--for what?

He remembers the way Qrow had gestured to his ensemble earlier. His world tilts on its axis.

Oh, Brothers, Qrow thought that Clover already knew his semblance and had been wearing all of his charms as some sort of twisted precautionary measure. To ward off him. A human person with thoughts and feelings.

Stupid, stupid, so stupid.

He shakes his brain’s attempts at self-punishment away. What’s more important at the moment is that he now knows what’s wrong, and that he can fix it, and Clover decides in this moment, a million thoughts running through his head, that he no longer cares about the other Ace Ops’ teasing. If hanging around Qrow from here on out is what it will take to boost this gorgeous man’s self-confidence, then that’s what Clover will do.

“That so?” Clover asks, as though he hasn’t been rethinking every single one of their interactions up to this point. When Qrow turns to look at him, eyes wide with shock, having obviously expected a far worse reaction, Clover flashes him the most reassuring smile in his repertoire (and that’s saying something, since he has a lot of reassuring smiles saved up at this point). “Well, hey,” he says, purposefully making a show of glancing casually at his scroll’s screen and extending Kingfisher, “don’t beat yourself up about it.”

(He hopes desperately that this remark comes off as encouraging, rather than callous.)

He pulls down what’s left of the metal beam that had almost crushed him, resulting in a small-scale landslide that just-so-happens to give them a way down with which to follow the target.

He turns to face Qrow, making direct eye contact with the other man, who seems to have frozen in place.

And hey.

“My semblance is good fortune….”

If he can get in a little flirting while he’s hanging around the aforementioned gorgeous man?

“...lucky you, huh?” He gives the other a wink as he speaks. Qrow’s eyes widen. Clover raises his eyebrows and turns away, watching Qrow until the last possible moment.

Well, that’s neither here nor there.

---

More Notes: And there we go! Only one chapter left in this part of the series! I'm glad everyone seems to be liking it so far, and I'm so, so thankful to those of you who have been so kind and supportive in the comments. You're all amazing! Lots of love, fair game rights <3

[rowdy-revenant]

The Beauty of a Beast - part 8

Characters: Lucifer (Novak), Castiel (Novak), Jack Kline (Novak), Charlie (Middleton) Bradbury, Balthazar (Bradbury), Chuck Shurley, Asmodeus, unnamed Queen

(Future) pairing: Gabriel x reader

Words: 1500+

Beta-reader: @nobodys-baby-now​

Warnings: Mentions and depictions of minor character deaths, abandonment, child abuse

Chapter summary: The pasts of Gabriel and his servants are told

[Series masterlist] [General masterlist] [Gabriel masterlist]

Part 8 - Days in the Sun

Kelly Kline didn't live to see her son. All those conversations of raising a child together and she never even got to hold her first born. It broke Lucifer's heart.

Their son was named after Kelly’s father. That was chosen name if the baby was a boy. Jack Kline Novak, Kelly’s last name as Jack’s middle to honour her.

Lucifer did his best to raise his son alone. He used his talent of playing the piano to entertain at parties and events, earning just enough to get by. He even taught little Jack how to play, his son sitting on his lap, little toddler hands pressing the keys at random, creating beautiful musical chaos. It reminded Lucifer of how he and Kelly would sit side by side to play duets.

It was the day when his brother came to visit that Lucifer’s life changed.

Castiel Novak, Lucifer’s younger brother, sharing his blue eyes but with dark hair in contrast to his blonde. He worked as the head chef at the royal palace, a tall and impressive building about an hour’s ride from Lucifer’s village. Lucifer was a little jealous of his younger sibling’s success.

“You could work for the prince too.” Castiel suggested. “He entertains guests often. I could get you a position working for him, playing music at parties.”

“But Jack-”

“Jack could come with you. You can live in your own quarters. Some other servants can help you raise him.” Castiel assured. “When he gets old enough, I'm sure he could get a job of his own too, earn a little more.”

Lucifer looked at his son, sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the room the two shared. Jack deserved better than this. Lucifer accepted the offer, and thanked his brother.

Crowley couldn’t remember his mother. Not in the way that you can’t remember the face of a stranger you met once, or the way you can’t tell if something was a memory or a dream. He just couldn’t remember her.

Fergus knew his father left them before he was born. He knew his mother raised him, but every time he tried to picture her face, it would just become a blur. No face, no voice, no name. He woke up one morning when he was younger, alone. It was like waking from a dream.

Maybe that’s all she was.

The name Crowley seemed foreign on his tongue. Fergus Crowley. It seemed off, like his last name was an alias. But he was always Crowley, right? Your last name doesn’t change at random.

Still, the name Crowley soon earned a reputation. Fergus would shine shoes to earn enough money to get him by. One day, when Crowley was just in his teens, a tailor showed up at his stand. Fergus muttered something under his breath.

“I beg your pardon?” The tailor asked.

Crowley looked up at him, his face growing red. “I said those shoes don’t match your outfit. They’re far too casual.”

The tailor chuckled in amusement. “Perhaps you’re right.” The man stood, handing the boy some money. “Perhaps if you stop by my shop later, you could show me a better pair.”

So Crowley went to the tailor’s. It was a whole new world for him. The tailor saw the boy’s eyes widen at the sight of the fabric, the pins, the thread, and offered him an apprenticeship.

So a new life began. Fergus had an eye for fashion. He could design, make, and mend clothes like nobody else. He soon took over for the tailor when the older man retired.

Crowley never forgot where he came from though. He’d use leftover scraps to repair the clothes of people who couldn’t afford new ones, often for free, though some insisted they give him what little money they could spare.

Fergus Crowley’s career flourished in his village, until one day he had a special request. A letter from the prince (though not directly from the prince, just written by one of his servants by the name of Charles) arrived. It said that a guest at a recent ball had been wearing something Crowley made. The prince Gabriel wanted an outfit too, only better. The opportunity, and the reward, were too much to refuse.

After more and more requests for increasingly intricate outfits, Crowley sold the shop and moved to the palace to work full time as the prince’s personal tailor.

Charlie Middleton and Balthazar Bradbury had known each other since they were children. The two were best friends- and in an arranged marriage. Both loved each other, that was true, but not in the way their parents wanted them to. Neither wanted the marriage, but neither had the courage to refuse it.

Balthazar took his fiance up on a hill to watch the sun set. The two sat side by side as they watched the colours of the sky change.

“So…” Charlie muttered. “Wedding’s soon…”

“Indeed it is,” Balthazar replied. “Mr and Mrs Bradbury…”

They sat in an awkward silence for a bit before Balthazar spoke again, “I don’t want to marry you.”

“What?” Charlie asked.

“I’m sorry! You’re a lovely woman, and my best friend, but- but I can’t see you as anything else but a friend,” Balthazar explained.

“Oh thank god!” Charlie sighed with relief. “I didn’t want to marry you either.”

“You don’t?”

“No! I… I like girls!”

“That’s okay! I like men!” Balthazar replied. “And women. I like both.”

The pair fell into a fit of laughter, glad to have their feelings off their chests and glad the other felt the same.

“So friends?” Charlie asked.

“Friends.” Balthazar agreed. “I don’t think our families will take no for an answer though.”

“Well, we could get married for them, and… be open to other relationships?” Charlie suggested.

Her fiance smiled. “Agreed. Hell, we could even move to a place where nobody knows we’re us and just… live our lives. What do you say?”

“I’m in.”

The Shurleys had worked for the royal family for five generations. They always held high positions in the castle, advising, planning, organizing, and a great deal more.

Charles was three years older than the prince, though the pressure put on him by his family to succeed and continue tradition forced early maturity on the boy.

Gabriel and Charles, though the prince called him Chuck,  grew close. The two would get into trouble together quite a lot. Sneaking into the kitchen to steal sweets, running around in the garden and getting messy, making book forts in the library.

Gabriel’s mother thought it was sweet that her son had a best friend. Gabriel’s father did not. The man was strict, cold and power hungry. Mercy was weak. Friendship was weak. Love was weak. Weakness was unacceptable.

Gabriel was ten when the queen got very, very sick. She spent all day in bed, growing paler and weaker each day. Gabriel never left her side, so by default, Chuck never left his.

“She’ll get better, right?” Gabriel asked his friend with a whisper, looking over at his mother.

Chuck’s words were stuck in his throat. “I don’t know…”

The doors to the queen’s chambers slammed open. “Out,” the king growled, advancing towards the Chuck. The boy quickly nodded and, after one last glance back at Gabriel, he rushed out.

“Asmodeus, he’s just a boy-” Gabriel’s mother feebly protested.

“He’s a servant,” Asmodeus growled. “You hear that boy?” He asked Gabriel.

“But- but he’s my friend!”

“He’s not your friend,” the king spat. “You’re royalty, royalty don’t make “friends” with peasants.”

Gabriel nodded, amber eyes glancing back at the door his friend- his servant left through.

Days passed. The queen’s health got worse.

“Gabriel,” she whispered. “Step closer.”

The prince did as he was asked.

His mother’s skin was white as snow, her voice as faint as a breeze. Shakily, she lifted a bony hand and held out a book to her son. Brown leather with a rose painted on the front and the hand-painted words ‘The Sonnets of Shakespeare’. “This is for you. Read it and think of me.”

“But you’re going to get better!” Gabriel protested. “You can read it to me!”

“I’m sorry, Gabe,” the queen replied. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Mother?”

She was silent. Her amber eyes looked at him and saw nothing.

“Mother!”

Asmodeus firmly put his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “It’s time to go. Let the servants take care of this.”

“No!” Gabriel screamed. He tried to pull away from his father’s grasp and move to his mother’s bedside. “Let me say goodbye! Let me tell her I love her!”

“It’s too late for that.”

“No it’s n-”

The king struck Gabriel across the face and the prince went silent with a whimper. Gone was anyone who could get in the way of Asmodeus’ rage. “You listen to me, boy. Your mother is dead. She isn’t coming back.”

The blow on his cheek stung, but Gabriel’s heart ached even more. It was broken, and all the love had been drained from it. The prince’s heart became like ice, and the prince became like the king. He didn’t love anymore. Love was weak. Weakness was unacceptable.

~ Murdoch’s tag list - want to be added or removed? Send me an ask! Problem with the tag list? Let me know! ~

All: @a-r-c-h-a-n-g-e-l @ashiewesker @ashtheironbat @baritonechick @crowleysprincess159 @cynda-kiwi @d4rzill4 @fayepummeluff @gabriels-depressed-angel @kristaparadowski @lenawiinchester  @like-gabriel-and-castiel  @madelineannmolder @micachu1331 @oldpaperfan  @sdavid09 @shrimpdrake @tangle-of-ivy @team-barry  @thehowling1234 @thewhiterabbit42 @treitike @tyrex15 @unsink-the-titanic @youre-my-monomania

Supernatural: @gabriels-trix @wanna-see-my-lease

Gabriel: @elven-leaf @hiddles-and-skittles @hp-hogwartsexpress @im-gabriels-bitch @elenawrit @trollhunter94 

TBOAB: @a-michellerae-things @a-vast-african-plain  @jasura @katgirl05 @person-born-winchester @red-bandana-girl @tardisandtiaras