#anna was so pure and radiated innocence

[chiisana-sukima]

Happy Wincest Wednesday!

What's one headcanon (cute, sexy, or otherwise) you have about the brothers and the Impala? Time spent in or on it, or things they've done in it, Sam indulging Dean somehow with it, or (etc)?

Happy Wincest Wednesday-Thursday, Phyn! Thank you so much for the ask. <3

I have so many headcanons about Sam, Dean and the Impala. The main one is that they're both very weirdcesty about it. They don't have a sexual relationship with--or even sexual thoughts about--each other. Obviously! That would be sick and bad, and especially in Dean's case, outright wrong. It would be the polar opposite of protecting and looking out for Sam, so clearly he would *never*.

...But it's hardly Dean's fault, or Sam's, that they've both banged chicks in Baby's back seat. That's just a natural outcome of the Impala being, for all those years, their only real home. And it's hardly his fault he's proud that Sam can pull such gorgeous babes, and that maybe when Sam was in high school and first started dating, Dean helped him out a bit by handing over the keys and telling him the best make out spots and giving him advice on what songs got which kinds of girls in the mood, and maybe even making sure he knew there were always extra condoms in the glove compartment (and although Dean *certainly* never looked in the glove box the next morning to see if Sam had gotten lucky, it's not his fault he has to replenish the supply so he does kinda keep track.) If he sometimes fantasizes just a little about some of Sam's chicks later himself when he's banging one out in the shower--about what they were like for Sam, maybe sweet and faux demure, laying on the worn back seat with their clothes still on but the door open to give Sam room to get his head up under their skirt, or maybe shameless and wild, going down on Sam at the drive in, with Sam still in the driver's seat and the soundtrack to whatever movie of the week was drowning out his cut off moans--well, if he thinks about those things on occasion, that's just because he's a red-blooded American man, and Sam has excellent taste in women.

Usually.

Sam usually has excellent taste in women.

There was the Ruby thing, of course. He knows--knows for certain, though he could never prove it--that when Sam would pocket Baby's keys and sneak out to get his fix while Dean seethed and pretended to sleep, that sometimes he and that demon bitch would bang right there in the Impala's back seat. Baby would stink of sulfur the next day, and Dean would hardly be able to contain his rage. But what was he supposed to say? "Alastair warned me you weren't the pure little Sammy I imagined and you'd get with any demon whore who'd give you what you wanted, so why didn't I come down off the rack and it could be me instead"? Obviously he couldn't say that. He only even thought it sometimes because Hell had fucked him up so bad.

And there was Rachel Nave. That one Dean had assumed was on him--so much so he'd still felt guilty years later and a djinn had made it the reason dream-him and dream-Sam were estranged. But okay, while he shouldn't have stolen Sam's prom date and definitely shouldn't have given in when she insisted she blow him parked behind the school only three days after said prom, it had all worked out fine. Yeah, Sam had been angry one of Rachel's friends saw the whole damn thing, but far from pulling him and Dean apart like maybe it should have, Sam had demanded Dean drive him to school the next day and pull Baby right up front; had paraded Dean around on his arm like--well. Like *Dean* was the prize in the exchange and there was no denying Sam won.

Anyway, that's all in the past now. These days, things between him and Sam are easy. Now when he gets an eyeful of a gorgeous naked babe like that Piper chick in Baby's back seat with Sam, it's just par for the course. She's hot, Sam's, you know, objectively hot too (what're you gonna do, Dean certainly can't help that). So whatever it's all about, maybe it's not exactly normal, and maybe Sam and him are both a little fucked up, but the world has bigger problems. It's only worth dwelling on in a good way.

[choruscas]

suptober day 08: electric

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list! (or removed if you prefer) it tags you in all my short stories like these so you never miss them!

also, i’m so sorry that these stories are late! i went on vacation and i totally forgot my writing ipad and had nothing else to use to post these! hopefully these long oneshots will make it up. thank you!

boss!castiel, assistant!dean

Working two years at an insurance company really had a toll on some people. Sometimes it sagged their skin, brittled their bones, or grayed their hair. Sometimes the bosses made your ears bleed and your nose crinkle, wishing it was five o’clock already.

But not Dean. Sure, he was thirty-two and going on strong, but he wasn’t old compared to the rest. There was still a kick in his step, his bones were mighty and strong (thanks to Sammy’s tips on how to stay fit while literally doing nothing) and maybe he had a little bit of a gut going on, but nothing he couldn’t fix.

His boss? Castiel Novak.

Lots of people didn’t like him, as he had lots of enemies. Dean wasn’t sure why, as he didn’t care. Before he accepted his job as assistant, lots of people told him about Castiel. (“Novak’s numbfuckin’ gorgeous, man.” — “Be careful with that one, he’s pretty rough.” — “He’s like... emotionless.” And those were only a few examples.)

He was stone cold, monotonous, soulless.

Even heartless, some said.

But there was a mighty, mighty problem.

Mr. Novak is the most attractive person in the entire world to Dean. Once he saw a picture of his boss, with his piercing blue eyes and five o’clock shadow, Dean was submissive nearly immediately. In his interview, Dean just could. not. stop. staring. Even if his life depended on it, he could not stop looking at the movement of his broad shoulders, the work of his rough hands, the flickering of his eyes like pure fire.

-

Dean sat in the office’s kitchen during lunch break. Normally he would go out and maybe grab a cheeseburger of sorts but today Mr. Novak seemed very different. He seemed sad, to Dean. And since Dean was in love — no... had a huge crush on his boss, it upset Dean himself.

Eating a spoonful of pudding and sucking on the plastic utensil, April Kelly sat down in a chair at Dean’s table, flattening her skirt before she sat. Dean eyed her suspiciously, as she looked a little revolted by something.

Hushed in a whisper, she asked: “So is it really true? Are you and Mr. Novak... a thing?”

Nearly choking on his spoon, Dean jerked his head back and began a coughing fit. A few other employees looked at Dean whose face began to turn red and the tips of his ears tinged shades of pinks.

There was a lot of things Dean had heard in his life that he had the same question for: what the fuck? For example, walking in on his gym teacher and science teacher going at it like rabbits in the teacher’s lounge, or the time poor seven year old Sammy came home with a broken arm and said that a squirrel had snapped it in half. (In reality, he fell of a tree because he tried to jump to a branch with a squirrel, but little children had dramatic memories.)

But this question? Cream of the crop. Takes the cake. Out of all the questions she could’ve asked. “Hey, are you a diabetic owl too?” Or “Have you dated nineteen Katherine’s all with the same spelling who also dumped you?” And sure, those questions would’ve weirded him out, but this one... just mind boggled him.

How in the fuck could Dean even be remotely in Castiel’s league? Hell, he didn’t even think he was gay.

“No— what? Who said that?” Dean gawked, his eyeballs practically falling out of his head.

April rolled her eyes softly. “Bartholomew.”

Dean huffed explosively. Bartholomew Strautman. World’s biggest fucking idiot in the world.

“That bastard? April, you know that’s not true. You’re smarter than that.”

The assistant knew for a fact that she was not, but he didn’t wanna hurt her feelings for rumors she didn’t even start. Dean’s nickname for Bartholomew was B.S., because that’s normally what he was fucking full of whenever he was around him. Dean’s surprised he’s never swallowed a damn sandal for how many times he stuck his foot in his mouth.

Now, Dean didn’t really like April, but that didn’t stop him from attempting to be nice to her. He was only mean to bitches who were mean to him first, otherwise, it was just insensitive.

“I just hope it’s not true.” she sighed sadly.

Dean quirked his head. “Why?”

“I really like Mr. Novak...” Her voice then became a whisper. “And... I think he likes me too.”

Dean blinked multiple times. “Uh— Yeah. Maybe.”

Her head peaked up to meet Dean eye to eye. “Really?” she exclaimed.

Now, Dean wasn’t really expecting that.How the fuck is he supposed to tell her, “Hey, you’re kinda dumbass and I don’t like you... and Castiel is mine, so fuck off.”

So instead he just told her that she might have a chance. It saved him from having to deal with a full-grown temper tantrum (which she’s had before because her printer paper wouldn’t fit in the copier. Dean had fixed it by simply rotating the paper.) in the middle of work, which he would much rather not have.

It was an hour before Dean left work. He normally got there at eight o’clock in the morning, because Castiel needed his coffee before nine. Granted, Castiel had never asked Dean deliberately to make his coffee, but Dean’s attempt to swoon him with bribery kindness were his day-to-day tasks. So at the moment,

The elevator dinged and Dean turned around in his desk, just having finished beating Kevin Tran in Crazy 8. Every day they’d play something different. Monday was Crazy 8, and sometimes they’d manage to round a few other people too. Today, they had managed to grab Bobby Singer, Anna Milton, and Meg Masters to play a few rounds. Tuesday’s, Wednesday’s, Thursday’s and Friday’s, it would just be Kevin and Dean playing.

Dean turned around to see his boss, and he just so managed to exit out of the tab and onto some random website that totally looked like work.

Fuck, was he hot.

His black overcoat was off and his white dress shirt was rolled up, the cuffs on his sleeves were unbuttoned, and he looked like a little bit of a mess. However, it was extremely attractive and Dean found himself biting his lip to stop himself from drooling over him.

The whole office sort of stifled quiet as Castiel’s cold eyes peered around the room. Dean, however, was the closest to him and he could just smell the cinnamon and black coffee radiating off of him.

“Dean.” Castiel said softly, looking down at Dean who had just grabbed a pen to twirl around his fingers.

“Yes sir?” Dean snapped up, straightening his posture and tugging at his sleeves.

“I need you in my office.”

Whispers quirked across the office floor, probably rumors about their relationship. It has never happened and Dean had told himself over and over again that it wouldn’t happen.

However, the thing that happened next was terrifying.

Once they had reached his office, which was a story up from his desk, Castiel had taken the lead and Dean found himself shaking with eagerness (and nervousness) of what’s next to come. Castiel had held the door open for him and once Dean reached inside, Castiel shut the door and locked it.

It was normal for Dean, but in this circumstance, he overthought everything. So the door locking was terrifying to him.

Castiel laid his hands flat on his desk and eyed Dean with precaution.

It made Dean tremble in his bones.

“You have heard the rumors, have you not?” he asked, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. It was such an innocent gesture that was so un-Castiel that Dean found himself nearly falling on his knees to worship him.

“Yeah-“ he stopped himself. “Yes sir.”

Castiel’s hands left the desk and he began slowly walking toward Dean, eyeing him as if he was prey and Castiel was the predator. Dean was then trembling in his shoes, feeling as if he could throw up from how nervous they were.

Now, Castiel’s next question was yet another question that Dean was not expecting.

“Are you romantically attracted to me?”

Not wanting to lie, Dean succumbed to Castiel’s look of prestigious nature. “Yes... yes sir- I...”

Castiel shushed him. “I’ll be after work. Make sure everybody is gone and turn off all the lights before you come back here. 5:30, Dean.”

Fuck.

-

Dean eyed the clock with such suspicion that he wanted to smash it in the floor and turn the minute handle to 5:30 already. At five o’clock, people should be starting to pack up and leave.

And as five o’clock pulled around, they did just that. Dean said his goodbyes, trying not to look suspicious. Because normally when the clock struck five, Dean was up and out faster than you could say cherry pie. He liked his job (the sexy boss sure helped) but relaxing was better to him in his opinion.

At about 5:15, people were still taking their sweet precious time.

5:20. Dean still had to go all the way to the basement to turn off the lights.

5:25. Anna Milton.

“Hey Dean, good job on Crazy 8 earlier! You’re pretty good.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes and slap her in the face. He knew exactly what she was doing, like she did everyday. Flirting.

“Listen, Anna— Mr. Novak-“

“Castiel is a cheapskate, he can wait.”

Dean’s nostrils practically flared from the informality and disrespect she had for him. Since Dean was in love had a huge crush on his boss, any disrespect towards him made him blood boil.

“Anna...”

“If the rumors are true...”

“They’re not.”

“Alright, whatever.” she flung her hands up in defeat, sighing like it was her last breath. “If you wanna play another game sometime, my house is always open to move some furniture around.”

Dean shivered. Anna was cute and all, but she was toxic and manipulative as fuck. He only had eyes for one man and one man only.

Shit! It was 5:29.

Once the door and shut and he knew Anna was out of the office like Castiel had said, Dean ran to the basement, his messenger bag almost falling down the stairs many, many times.

He really needed to work out instead of using Sammy’s stupid techniques of having good posture and drinking water (also while watching TV, a detail Dean “forgot” to tell Sam) to burn calories.

He finally reached his office, after having to run four flights of stairs, he finally made it. At 5:35. Fuck.

Knocking on the door made Dean realize how hard he was shaky. In all honesty, this was probably the scariest thing he’s ever had to do.

What if he gets fired? What if he breaks his heart? Fuck. Anything could happen.

“Come in.”

And so Dean did, and the sight he saw was a sight for sore eyes. His tie was untied and hanging around his neck, his belt was off, and his dress shirt was untucked.

The sex they had was indeed not heartless. It was soft, and full of something Dean never though Castiel was capable of giving him: love. He treasured him as if he was the richest gold or rarest diamond, kissing his every freckle and blemish like he was made of glass.

(tags below)

@potato-painter

[gramilano]

The Nutcracker. Gary Avis as Drosselmeyer. ©ROH, 2015. Photo by Tristram Kenton

Seeing Peter Wright’s The Nutcracker again after several years of witnessing other productions brings its success as a dramatic piece to the fore. Placing the traditional story within an outer tale of Drosselmeyer separated from, and then reunited with, his nephew Hans-Peter, adds a level of genuine emotion which cannot be matched by seeing a little girl finding her lost wooden toy. It works. It is a tear-jerking moment when Drosselmeyer hugs his nephew Hans-Peter during the score’s final bars. It closes the drama and, despite the plentiful dancing during the second act divertissements (in themselves more interwoven with the main story than is usual, with the constant participation of Clara and Hans-Peter) it returns neatly to resolve the opening scene of the ballet.

If you haven’t read the programme notes you may not know why Hans-Peter is no longer with his uncle. Wright explains:

Drosselmeyer, a timeless magician and creator of mechanical toys and clocks, was once employed in a royal palace where he invented a trap that killed off half the mouse population. In revenge the wicked Queen of the Mice cast a spell over Drosselmeyer’s nephew, Hans-Peter, which transformed him into an ugly Nutcracker Doll. The only way to break the spell was for the Nutcracker to slay the Mouse King, thereby committing an act of great bravery, and for a young girl to love and care for him in spite of his awful appearance.

Even if a backstory of a trap and a mice queen is not obvious, we do know that something lost is restored, contrasting with Clara’s loss of innocence during the ballet.

The Nutcracker. Anna Rose O’Sullivan as Clara. ©ROH 2016. Photo by Helen Maybanks

The Nutcracker. Anna Rose O’Sullivan as Clara and James Hay as Hans Peter The Nutcracker. ©ROH 2016. Photo by Helen Maybanks

The Nutcracker. Anna Rose O’Sullivan as Clara. ©ROH 2016. Photo by Helen Maybanks

The Nutcracker. James Hay as Hans Peter The Nutcracker. ©ROH 2016. Photo by Helen Maybanks

The Nutcracker. Anna Rose O’Sullivan as Clara, James Hay as Hans Peter The Nutcracker, David Udes and Paul Kay. ©ROH 2016. Photo by Helen Maybanks

Gary Avis, as Drosselmeyer, dominates the stage from the opening of the curtain to its close, swishing his cloak, while he knowingly teases and preens. Wright weaves the character into the story throughout, and Drosselmeyer casts his magic over snowflakes and toy soldiers, but it is a magic evidently less powerful than that of the Queen of the Mice. Avis’s superior yet kindly air contrasts effectively with the emotional tenderness of the reunion with his nephew. It’s a winning performance. Hans Peter, freed by Clara’s true love, is played by James Hay, a perky live-wire dancer whose slight build and crisp technique make him ideal for this role. His Clara was played by Anna Rose O’Sullivan.

O’Sullivan is Royal Ballet through and through. She trained at The Royal Ballet School and joined the Company five years ago, and was promoted to soloist last year. The ‘English Rose’ label has probably been applied to her many times already, and it’s fitting, yet with her petals there are thorns. She looks delicate and feminine yet leaps as high as the men and throws off her chaîné turns with exhilarating speed. An enchanting talent.

The Company’s always excellent corps were not always in unison for the snowflakes — the unbelievable rhythm of a month of shows with matinee and evening performances was beginning to take its toll. Even so, the scene is still uplifting and who wouldn’t be moved when the children’s chorus join the orchestra. Also, here’s a technical note for other ballet companies: snow falling from behind the downstage border in a thin strip is effective, but snow falling from the front to the back, covering the entire stage, is pure magic.

In the Sugar Garden in the Kingdom of Sweets Beatriz Stix-Brunell’s Rose Fairy shone out, as did a replacement, Joseph Sissens, who graduated into the Company from the School in 2016. He joined the equally talented Matthew Ball for the Chinese Dance, and is certainly one to watch.

The Nutcracker. Francesca Hayward as The Sugar Plum Fairy. ©ROH 2016. Photo by Helen Maybanks

The Nutcracker. Alexander Campbell as The Prince. ©ROH 2016. Photo by Helen Maybanks

The Nutcracker. Alexander Campbell as The Prince and Francesca Hayward as The Sugar Plum Fairy. ©ROH 2016. Photo by Helen Maybanks

The Nutcracker. Alexander Campbell as The Prince and Francesca Hayward as The Sugar Plum Fairy. ©ROH 2016, photo by Helen Maybanks

The responsibility for the Grand pas de deux was given to the outstanding Francesca Hayward and Alexander Campbell. Strangely impeded by some erratic tempi from the vastly experienced Barry Wordsworth, they shook off any choreographic difficulty with seeming effortlessness. Campbell is everyone’s favourite Hans-Peter and, while he maybe not an obvious choice as the prince, it was a joy to see him dance this role with his clean landings in fifth, his muscular manèges, and his attentive and secure partnering. He’s also quite a showman with his flamboyant finishes and playful grin.

Unquestionably, Campbell had a dream partner in Hayward, a dancer he is often paired with. She is THE musical box ballerina: delicate and poised with perfect proportions. She’s as light as a feather, and radiates serenity as her face illuminates the stage. Those off-axis epaulement positions which can seem forced are incorporated seamlessly into her dancing and all is presented with great ease, and also freshness, as though she’s inventing steps on the spur of the moment.

Hayward and Campbell have been coached by Lesley Collier, and it shows. Stylistically perfect with a light touch for even the most difficult passages. When they execute the same sequence, they are always beautifully together — a true partnership.

And so the ballet comes to an end — Clara is reunited with her Nutcracker, and rushing outside her house into the snow she sees Hans-Peter, who looks a lot like the boy in her dream. She indicates to him where to find Drosselmeyer’s workshop… and this is where Peter Wright should have called in a favour with Tchaikovsky: just a few more bars to saviour their reunion would make the ending even more satisfying.

The Nutcracker. Francesca Hayward as Clara and Gary Avis as Drosselmeyer. ©ROH, 2015. Photo by Tristram Kenton

Royal Ballet’s uplifting Nutcracker with Francesca Hayward, Alexander Campbell, Anna Rose O’Sullivan, James Hay and the ubiquitous Gary Avis Seeing Peter Wright's The Nutcracker again after several years of witnessing other productions brings its success as a dramatic piece to the fore.

[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

[jmoxarch]

it was probably ridiculous that he’d decided to come to the birthday party. not because there wasn’t a good reason to go, not because his friends and coworkers wouldn’t also be at the bar or because he wouldn’t have ended up passes out in the back of some shifty club anyway. none of that were reasons why jon had doubted to come at first. honestly ... a twenty first birthday wasn’t what he’d consider a fun night to himself. he’d imagined a group of girls wooing with every drink they’d order, short and silky dresses with glitter and all that. not exactly his kind of party. but, and that truly was her luck, cody had slipped the information about the bar they were going to and the name hadn’t sounded half bad. also, anna was hot and honestly – knowing himself he’d have hit on her sooner than later anyway.

hot, because of the innocence she radiated. so pure and soft in a way that he knew he had never been. and he could never be. because life hadn’t treated him that kindly, because mox grew up roughly between cigarettes, a lack of money and an addict mother. he’d lost his innocence a long time ago. and because of that he adored anna for still being this sweet girl. he need to have her because of that. and he would. he knew that one too.

the second his icy blue orbs connected with her’s for the first time, mox knew he could have her. not that he was going to be a dick about it, nah. girls like anna ... he knew he’d have to lay it on thick. would have to work and would have to hunt like a lion would with his prey. and that, just that, it teased him. got him feeling itchy under his skin, excitement burning in his neck when half a smirk grew on his lips, a large hand immediately reaching out to touch the lower of her back. like she needed to be caught, ha. ❛ nothin’ to be sorry about. if anybody should be drunk off their ass tonight it should be you, birthday girl. ❜ his voice was its usually raspy tone and jon didn’t lose eye contact just once. ❛ let me invite ya to another one ? or a cocktail or whatever the fck you wanna drink ? ❜ he hadn’t brought a gift for he. anna didn’t know yet that the gift he was about her would be the most special one she’d receive tonight.

jon gave the bartender a sign to simply bring what she’d had before. he didn’t want to bother with the order too long when he was so focussed on making sure anna was going to fall for him. it would happen tonight. he knew it. and he knew how to use it, knew how to get her there. it was easy to talk up a young and naive girl like her. ❛ lookin’ very beautiful tonight. ya got a date comin’ ya way ? ❜ the dirty blond curiously asked, making sure he wouldn’t have any competition tonight.

[notroo]

the colors of the rainbow

Lately I’ve been thinking how much my life have improved, specially my mental health. It’s been a while since the last time I’ve had a panic attack or felt so bad that I really want to end everything. I’ve been so happy these last year, of course there have been some bad days. Nothing ever it’s perfect. But it hasn’t been as bad as it used to. And I believe it’s all because of them.

I’ve finally found the people I’ve been looking the past sixteen years, the ones I want to keep in my life even after I die. These are the kind the people I would live for, I would wish for another day for. These are also the ones I would and have been opening to. I’ve never felt so comfortable around anyone in my life besides them. I call them friends, but the word feels so small for them. It just don’t explains with exactitud how I feel about them.

It’s just because they feel like sunshine, but they are so much than that. The four of them all together are like the rainbow, and each one of them is a color or a mixed of some of them.

Joy is red and yellow, which makes orange. To me she’s happiness, energy, passion. She’s my little ray of sunshine. Joy radiates energy everywhere and it’s not strange to listening to her sing or seeing her dancing. I love her voice and smile.

Joy is the one I would call the Sun, and just like it, people tend to either like her or not. I’m not exactly fond of the Sun but I can’t imagine myself not loving her, because just with the thought of her, Joy makes me happy.

Zoe is green. She’s truth and my hope. With her around I can see the future of the world being better, if not the best. She is so kind but is not afraid to speak the truth even if it would hurt, there is no sugarcoat in her words, something that assures me I can rely on her.

We’re not as close as we’re with the rest, but I know she’ll be there if I ever need her. And I hope she feels the same about me.

Zoe, as hope is, is full of mysteries, and everytime I talk to her I learn something new about her and it’s always so fascinating. Just like everything else about her.

Anna is blue. She’s purity and reminds me of the happy times of my childhood. She makes me turned back into the little innocent girl inside myself I tried to keep under locks for so long. Anna makes me see the world in a different, definitely better, way. Even though I know how full of shit this is.

Anna is my opposite who fits so perfectly with me I can’t no longer see my realistic-pessimist ass without her positive mindset. I’ve just got some of her treats along the time we’ve spent together.

Now she’s finally eighteen I hope for her to keep her pure soul intact and that her eyes never see the world the way I do.

Artemis is purple. She’s love and trust. She’s our glue. All the people I know, even myself, are completely and deep in love with her, although not in a romantic way. I just can’t imagine a person who wouldn’t love her, I don’t think it’s possible in any universe.

Artemis is the realest of us all, perhaps it’s because she doesn’t keep anything inside, she can’t actually. She might not tell you about what is happening to her or what she’s thinking, but you can see it all through her eyes. She’s an open book that tries to keep it’s words inside.

I guess this is the reason why I’m closer to her, because we’re alike.

I wish each color and mixed of them of my rainbow to always be by my side. And for them all the best in the world. They’ve showed me the reasons I should love myself, and gave me the best of them so I wish they’d do the same for themselves.

Now I know why I’ve got so long to find them, because they’re rare and real and pure. Completely magnificent. And I’m so fucking lucky to have them in my life.