For those who may have missed it...

[lynnmonster.livejournal.com]

Since cesperanza kindly invited us to post our previous "miracle"-appropriate stories here, I'm posting a couple of short pieces that were previously only in locked posts on my LJ. (I may be completely insane, but I didn't want everyone to know it...)

At any rate, a string of comments in estrella30's LJ here -- quite an entertaining read in its own right -- posited (with appropriate horror) a DS mpreg/wingfic challenge.

I took it as a personal dare:




"Are you Saint Peter?" Silvio asked the figure in front of him somewhat doubtfully.

"Do I look like frickin' Saint Peter?" asked the armor-clad angel swinging the flaming sword.

Silvio didn't think this would be a very good time to screw up, so he took the question seriously.

"We-ellll, I expected... a bearded guy with a robe, and keys, and maybe a... gate?" he asked hopefully.

"You fucknut, why would you think you'd make it into heaven after all the shit you've done?"

Silvio kept his mouth shut.

"Listen, I'm hormonal, so you really don't want to upset me," the angel adjusted its breastplate repeatedly, as if it chafed over its slightly protruding belly. "Neuter my ass," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" demanded Silvio sharply, confused and not a little defensive.

A low growling started up from the vicinity of the cloudy murk at the angel's feet. A furry shape detached itself from the mist, and he found himself looking down at a snarling white wolf. In spite of the high probability that his adrenal glands were a thing of the past, a flush of fear prickled over his skin.

"Sorry," he said, trying to back away but not actually getting anywhere.

"Dante. Silvio. Pay attention."

He looked in the general direction of the odd being's face, really noticing the eccentric hairstyle for the first time.

"You're not dead ... yet. Your body's on a hospital bed hooked up to a whole bunch of machines. If you promise to be a good boy, and do as I say, you get to live. So, go back. Go see some of your daughter's soccer games. Don't smack your dancing girls around. And when your old friend Armando Langoustini comes to visit? Do not, I repeat, do not act like anything's hinky." The angel stabbed an irritable finger upwards. "This comes straight from the Boss himself."

He had a mission from God?

"Whatever you say, sir."

Snort.

"Ma'am."

Growl.

"Uh, sir."

The angel glared at him and crossed its arms, the flaming sword dangling from one hand. The gesture made tawny wings flex and flare out behind it. Silvio was uncomfortably reminded of falcons.

"Hey, Fraser!" the creature called over its shoulder. "The farthammer's ready to go back down!"

Suddenly, the most heavenly looking man Silvio had ever seen materialized, wearing a strange red getup with blue-black wings that perfectly matched his hair.

"Follow me, if you please," he said, and led Silvio away.

[N.B.: I borrowed the character of Silvio Dante from the Sopranos.]