Jun 7, 2019
Hey, Chuck. I just wanted to bust into your bar, make you a PB&J shot, and tell you that one of the best things you were created were moms. Thanks. And, you know, for creating the world and me and cats.
You’re so very welcome!
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Hey, Chuck. I just wanted to bust into your bar, make you a PB&J shot, and tell you that one of the best things you were created were moms. Thanks. And, you know, for creating the world and me and cats.
You’re so very welcome!
Which angel has the fluffiest wings? :3
“Why do humans assume our wings are fluffy?” Castiel asks, giving Raphael a bewildered look.
“Probably because their only frame of reference for wings are birds.” Raphael shrugs as he answers, not entirely sure himself.
“But angels’ wings are made of grace–pure energy,” Castiel insists. “Humans cannot see nor feel them unless gifted with the sight. At best, some are able to see their shadow.”
“Humans are creative creatures, Castiel,” Raphael says. “Their imaginations know no bounds. Many have created painting and sculptures, trying to capture our image.”
Castiel snorts. “I have seen them–most are a vessel. With wings.”
“Yes, well, considering the fact that seeing our true-form usually burns out a human’s eyes, it is probably safer their artists stick to their imaginations instead of experience.”
“What are we talking about?” Gabriel asks, landing next to them with a rush of air.
“Someone wants to know which of us has the fluffiest wings,” Castiel explains, looking both confused and exasperated. “I do not believe we can answer. Grace is not fluffy.”
“Pffft!” Gabriel pulls a face. “That’s easy.”
“Please, enlighten us,” Raphael drawls.
“Umm, hello–mine!” Gabriel gestures wildly toward his own back. “Golden, soft, warm, a little sweet. Total fluff.”
“You look ridiculous, brother,” Raphael huffs with a laugh.
“How does that description equal fluffiness?” Castiel asks before Gabriel can give the Healer a snarky comeback.
Gabriel rolls his eyes. “You two are soooo busy being angelic that you miss the best things about humans. ‘Fluff’ isn’t just a physical description–it’s a whole genre! It’s fun, light, and leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy. Hence, I am the clear winner of this contest. Come on, guys–get with the program!”
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Hey Lucifer, I'm sending you a prayer shawl. People in my church knit them for those in need of comfort during times of hardship. Anyone, regardless of his/her past, can receive one without hesitation. I hope in some small way, it brings some warmth back into your life. (Shawl is full length, autumn colors, microfiber yarn, never loses warmth)
“A…what?” Lucifer sneers, holding the shawl delicately between two pinched fingers. “What exactly am I supposed to do with this? Pray?”
He laughs, high and manic, until he chokes on blood. In a move that rips decaying skin, he swings the shawl around his shoulders. It sticks to the leather, the autumn colors slowly saturating with red.
Lucifer seems to wait for a moment, glancing around the room expectantly. When nothing happens, he laughs again.
“Is this what you humans do? Put on pieces of cloth and commune with Daddy Dearest? Because, and I really do love to break it to you, but Dad ain’t listening. No matter how much you pray or scream or weave bits of sheep together, He’s not answering. But…” he pauses, adjusting the shawl so it overlaps across his chest, “I do like your gift.”
He grins, and his eyes flash with Hellfire.
“It brings out the color of my eyes.”
For the archangels (except maybe Lucifer because I'm not sure if he's in the ebst place to answer questions right now): I'm not sure if my timeline is completely off, but when you were all fledglings, Amara was still around, right? Or at least for a few of you (I'm sure Chuck didn't give the mark to fledgling!Lucifer). So, my question is, for those of you who remember, did she play any kind of role in your upbringing? Or did she stay away from all of you?
“Auntie Amara? Helping with our upbringing?” Gabriel giggles. It’s a high, uncontrolled sound with hints of hysteria.
“Ignore him, friend. He was too young to remember the earliest days.” Raphael shakes his head, and fondly pats his younger brother on the shoulder. “No, our Father kept us hidden from His Sister while we were still too young to fight. She had consumed every one of His creations, so He fled Her presence–not an easy feat for the source of all Light in existence.”
“Do you think Dad had to, like, wear a ski mask or something?” Gabriel asks, still laughing. “And what about Luci? I mean, he was the Morningstar! The brightest of us all! Did Dad roll him in mud until the Lightbringer learned to control his light-bringing?”
Please tell Gabriel that he is an idiot, Michael whispers from Heaven.
“Michael says you’re an idiot,” Raphael relays with a small smile.
Gabriel wipes the tears from his face and scowls at the sky. “I can hear you, Mickey! And it’s a legit question. People want to know–how do you hide the two brightest beings ever to exist from the Darkness?”
They both hear their oldest brother’s long-suffering sigh. Father is the Creator of all things, Gabriel. Where do you think you learned to create pocket-universes? Or did you think you invented the concept yourself?
Gabriel raises his middle finger toward Heaven. “Oh, quit being so literal! I know how Dad kept us hidden–I was joking, you humorless old–”
Raphael’s wing flared out, smacking Gabriel in the face and knocking him onto his ass. He stares down into the Messenger’s surprised eyes. “If you think you are young enough to call Michael ‘old,’ then you are young enough for me to put down for a nap.”
Michael’s laughter rolls like thunder through the sky.
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To Raphael: Have you tried knitting? You might enjoy it, and if you get really good at it you could try to teach the others. Cas might like it as well.
“Knitting?” Raphael asks, intrigued by the idea. “I remember when the Egyptians began that craft. They used it to make socks.”
“You should see what the Scandinavians could do!” Gabriel pipes up from the stove where he’s preparing dinner. “They had a technique called nålebinding. Crazy shit that came centuries before knitting as we know it. I used to get the most amazing offerings from the tribes. I think I still have a pair of gloves somewhere.”
Raphael chuckles fondly at his brother. “What is it you call me? ‘Nerd?’ I believe this is an appropriate occasion to return the favor. You, my little hummingbird, are a nerd.”
Dean walks in, just in time to hear the end of their exchange. “Of course Gabe’s a nerd–the little dweeb used to punish assholes with alien abductions. What’s he getting his nerd-on about this time?“
“Knitting,” Raphael answers over top of Gabriel’s outraged yell.
“Knitting, huh?” Dean makes a face, and snags a chopped carrot from the pile. He narrowly misses getting his hand smacked by the wooden spoon Gabriel holds like a sword. “Sounds like something Cas would like. He enjoys tedious and tiny things.”
“And I bet you’d like all the hats and gloves he’d make you,” Gabriel teases, driving the hunter further away with more spoon-waving.
“Hells yeah!” Dean smirks, dancing around the archangel to grab another handful of cut veggies. “Who wouldn’t want some handmade sweaters? This place is freezing in the winter.”
“I’m sure Cas could keep you warm…even if he doesn’t learn to knit!” Gabriel yells after the fleeing hunter.
“I am glad to see you are taking your role as the Head of a flock seriously,” Raphael says in a calm, bored tone–but Gabriel sees the smile twitching on his lips.
Before he can respond, Castiel flies into the kitchen. He turns to Gabriel with a scowl. “Would you care to explain why Dean is going on a rampage through the bunker, yelling about meddling brothers and me knitting him a rope so he can strangle you with it?”
“I am not responsible for your human’s actions, Cassie!” Gabriel waves the spoon at his younger brother. “Now shoo–out of this kitchen or you’re all eating cereal for dinner!”
Castiel disappears with a rush of air and wings. Gabriel sighs and returns to stir his pot of noodles. Raphael chuckles, shaking his head.
“Oh, you are totally teaching blue-eyes to knit.” Gabriel throws his brother a smirk. “Dean will wear anything that boy makes for him. And it’s gonna be a long winter without some form of entertainment.”
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I have an open question for Raph, Gabe and Cas. (Hope you don't mind me calling you by nicknames, it's a thing I do). So yesterday was the Eclipse and it was marvelous - even though I couldn't see it from where I live I had the pleasure of seeing drop to dead gorgeous pics. Do tell Chuck how much I enjoyed, will ya? But back to the point... there was an occurrence I couldn't ignore, which was USA President looking directly to the sun and I kind of wish he got a little blind? Am I too bad for it?
Gabriel dissolves into tear-inducing laughter. “Oh, honeybun. Sweetie-pie. Sugarplum. Babydoll.”
Raphael smacks his brother in the face with his wing. “Gabriel,” he warns, “stop calling the poor girl affectionate food-names.”
“Oh, come on, Raph!! Who eats babydolls? Freaks, that’s who! Freaks like that walking-talking orange lump of clay who stared directly into the fucking sun after being told not to!”
“Language, Gabriel. Young ears are listening.”
“What?! You can’t claim I’m being a bad influence–Sam isn’t even here!”
Raphael sighs. “I meant Castiel.”
Castiel stares at them with narrowed eyes, head tilting to the side in confusion. “Sam says ‘fucking’ all the time.”
Gabriel gasps and covers the seraph’s mouth. “Castiel! I can’t believe you would say such a thing. Don’t tattle on the baby! What kind of little-big brother are you?”
“Back to the question at hand,” Raphael says, ignoring the wrestling match breaking out across the room. “When a powerful world leader, a man who wields his influence in harmful and ignorant ways, does something incredibly stupid, it does not make you a bad person to hope he experiences consequences for his actions. Whether that means a spot of blindness for staring into the sun, or having all his business fail because he inadvertently deports his workforce, or losing his seaside resorts due to the climate change he insists is not occurring, or…”
“Raphael! I think you’ve made your point,” Gabriel calls out mid-scuffle.
“Good. Because I cannot stand that man. And I do not wish this young woman to fear her inherent goodness and worth over the likes of him.”
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Look, I finally have a question! Hey Sam! So I wonder, don't you ever feel like playing like a normal kid now that you're small again? You know, like hide and seek or just driving the angels crazier than usual? I bet they would love to hear you laughing at their expenses... <3
“Not really,” Sam answers, looking completely befuddled by the idea.
“Oh, come on, Sammy,” Dean teases, ruffling his little brother’s hair, “you know you wanna go play in the park with all the other toddlers.”
“I swear to Chuck–If you people don’t quit touching my hair, I will smite you all.” Sam sends the fiercest bitchface he can muster with his literal “baby-angel” face.
Dean snorts. “I hadn’t realized they taught smiting in angel kindergarten.” The hunter grunts when Sam’s foot connects with his kneecap. “Yeah, yeah–you’re a badass.”
“And you’re an asshole.”
Gabriel appears in the room, hands already on his hips. “Do I have to separate you two? Or should I just call your mom in here?”
Dean aims a pillow at the archangel’s face, and hits his target dead-center. “Whatever, short-stuff. We know better–she scares you more than us.”
Gabriel drops his hands and flops dramatically on the couch next to Sam. “Low blow, Deano. You know we never had moms in Heaven. How was I supposed to know they could be so intimidating?” He looks between the brothers. “So, what are we talking about?”
Sam pouts and slides further down in his seat.
Dean grins. “How much Sam wants to play now that he’s a kid again.”
“What, like coloring? Legos?” Gabriel gets a mischievous glint in his eye and leans over to whisper to Sam. “Or hide-and-seek while having the ability to turn invisible?”
Sam perks up. “Invisible?”
“Yup!”
“Hey!” Dean stalks toward them, frowning. “I ain’t playing any games with you bitches if you can’t play fair!”
“Well, what if we played in teams?” Gabriel offers, winking at Sam. “I’d say there’s a certain seraph who might be willing to hide you away in a closet somewhere…”
Sam tries not to giggle. He really does.
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Gabriel.. May I give you a hug? (I know I'm just a mortal, but I think you need one...) Anyway, what I was supposed to ask was: If someone were to instigate a Prank War within the Flock.. How do you see it playing out? Who would you most likely team up with?
“Are you kidding? I freaking love hugs! And ‘just a mortal,’ my ass! Mortals have done way more for this world than any other deities or immortal creatures out there. Believe me–I’d know.
“Now, concerning this Prank War,” his face splits in a sly grin, “I just so happen to have multiple plans of attack I’m currently forming.”
The archangel snaps his fingers and a large paper flip-board appears on an easel next to him. It is filled with charts, diagrams, and tiny cut-outs of all the bunker inhabitants’ faces. There also seems to be smears of chocolate and a dusting of sugar coating most of the pages.
“As far as instigating goes, that’s all me. I’ll be damned if I let one of the Winchester brats, or Dad-forbid Cassie, get the jump on me. Besides, I doubt any of them would be willing to start anything, because, duh, TRICKSTER!
“Teams would depend on who all decides to join. It could go angels vs humans–in which case, I would lay claim to Sam and Morpheus. If it breaks down into multiple teams, I’m thinking it would be Team ME vs Team Lovebirds vs Team WolfChild. Or it might just end up a free-for-all. Who knows with this crowd!”
“What are you doing, brother?” Castiel asks from the kitchen doorway, a bizarre expression on his face.
“Cassie!! No peeking, you cheat!” Gabriel yells. He snaps again and the charts disappear.
“But…what did you do?” Castiel asks in astonishment, his eyes tracing the outline of Gabriel’s form.
“What are you talking about, bro? I haven’t done any–”
A flash of brilliant colors catches Gabriel’s eye. It’s his wings. His wings that are no longer gold, but every color in the rainbow. His wings that Raphael had just finished grooming an hour earlier.
“Oh,” he says breathlessly. “I’m gonna kill him. Forget teams. Come on, Cas–we’ve got an archangel to bedazzle in glitter.”