The sun rose gently, as though it didn't want to wake anyone.
It crept through the curtains, spilling light like a quiet invitation, spilling across the floor in lazy, golden pools. The house, usually a whirlwind of clattering spoons and stomping socks, was still. The air seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting for the walls to catch up with the secret it already knew.
Archielle sat upright in bed, her legs crossed beneath her, one hand resting gently on her stomach.
It wasn't big yet. Not enough to make her look like she was carrying something more than just the weight of anticipation. But there was something in the way she held her hand there—tender, soft, a promise—something fluttered beneath her palm, a tiny, secret heartbeat, a quiet rhythm she'd learned to recognize.
She didn't cry. Not today. Today, there were no dramatic displays of emotion, no sudden outbursts of joy or fear. It wasn't needed. Instead, everything felt warm and tight in her chest. Swirling in a knot of something she couldn't name. A quiet joy. Something hers. A secret that only she and the tiny fluttering life within her shared.
Azrael, the master of napping in any position possible, was snoring into her shoulder.
He looked like a cat who had fallen asleep on a windowsill, all tangled curls and innocent oblivion. One of his legs had escaped the blanket entirely, as if it had somewhere to be. His shirt was inside-out, and there was a pillow crease so deep on his cheek it looked like it could have its own zip code. He looked peaceful, clueless, utterly trusting.
He was hers.
Archielle stared down at him, lips curving ever so slightly as she whispered, "You're going to die."
Azrael made a noise—more like a soft groan than anything intelligible. "Mmmmrrff... Did you... steal my... calculator..."
Archielle snorted, brushing his hair back from his face with a fond shake of her head. "Nope," she muttered, her voice softer than a summer breeze.
Azrael blinked open his eyes slowly, stretching like he was emerging from the warmth of a long, deep nap. He squinted at her, his eyes half-lidded in that still-drowsy way that only people who lived in a world of endless chaos could manage. "...Is it Tuesday?"
"Saturday."
He froze, mid-stretch. "Did I miss the dentist?"
"What?"
"Nothing. Just had a nightmare about it."
Azrael yawned and then, without warning, draped himself back across her lap, nestling like a content, confused cat. "You smell like cinnamon and danger. What's up?"
She didn't answer him with words. Instead, she gently reached down, guiding his hand to rest against her lower belly, just below her ribs.
Azrael blinked once.
Then twice.
Then a third time, like if he did it enough, maybe the world would make sense again.
"...Wait... wait wait wait—"
"Yeah," she whispered again, her voice quiet, almost imperceptible in the early morning stillness.
Azrael's eyes were wide now, his hands stilled as he stared, mouth half-open in disbelief. "Wait… again?"
"Yes."
"You mean baby baby??"
"Twins."
Silence.
It felt like the world had paused. Somewhere, deep in the house, the fridge let out a small creak, almost like it was gasping for air.
Azrael blinked again. He was still staring at her stomach, as though it had just handed him a pop quiz about quantum physics. "Tw—twins?? Like... two? At once?"
"Surprise," Archielle said with a mischievous grin that seemed to dance in the soft light spilling across the room.
Azrael flailed backward into the pillows, his body flopping with the grace of a giraffe trying to do the cha-cha. "I wasn't ready for this plot twist—"
She snorted with laughter, shoving his shoulder lightly as she leaned back into the pillows.
"Mama?" came a small, sleepy voice from the hallway.
They froze.
Azrael scrambled upright, pulling the blanket over his head like he could hide from responsibility itself. "Nope, nope, nope—don't make me do it—"
Archielle rolled her eyes with practiced ease, leaning over and shoving him back down. "You're telling him."
The door creaked open, and in padded Archie, his hair a complete mess, still wearing his dino pajamas. His little feet shuffled across the floor like a mission was underway, his face scrunched in sleepy determination.
"I had a dream Mom turned into a crow."
"Reasonable," Archielle said, her voice dry but affectionate.
"Then she tried to peck Mama for eating the last muffin."
"Also reasonable," Archielle added, clearly amused.
Archie yawned and climbed over Azrael like he was scaling a small mountain, burrowing into the spot next to him. Azrael was vibrating like a toaster on the verge of explosion.
Archie narrowed his eyes. "Mama, why is your face doing the panicky thing?"
Azrael, still in a slight state of shock, cupped Archie's tiny face in his hands, bringing his focus to his son. "Sweetheart," he whispered, voice soft but heavy with something he couldn't quite name, "Mama has... news."
Archie's eyes widened in an exaggerated show of curiosity. "Did we adopt a snake??"
Azrael blinked, surprised by the randomness. "No—"
"Is it alive??"
"What—no!"
"Then what is it??"
Before Azrael could stop her, Archielle jumped in, her voice teasing, but her eyes soft. "You're going to be a big brother. Again."
Archie froze.
His little face morphed into an expression of confusion. Then, slowly, "...Again?"
Azrael nodded seriously. "There's two babies. In Mama's tummy."
Archie stared at her stomach for what felt like a solid five minutes, his little mouth opening and closing like a fish.
Then he did the only reasonable thing. "We're gonna need more cereal."
Azrael burst out laughing, his chest shaking with the sound. It was loud, and sharp, and had that slightly strangled note that told you it came from a deep, pure place of love.
Archie scrambled up Azrael's body like a squirrel on a tree, and pressed his ear to Azrael's belly. "Can they hear me yet?"
Archielle smirked, her voice soft but teasing. "Not quite."
Archie whispered anyway, "Hi. I'm your big brother. You don't have to share snacks with Astraeus if you don't want to."
From the hall: "I heard that!"
"Snitch!" Archie yelled.
"Traitor!" Astraeus shot back from the other room.
"Goblin!"
"Gremlin!"
Azrael held up a weak peace sign, barely able to contain his laughter. "Maybe... maybe no yelling near the belly."
"NO PROMISES," both kids screamed.
Archielle just leaned back into the pillows, one hand lightly resting over her stomach. The chaos, the noise, the ridiculousness of it all—it was back. But it didn't feel like a disruption. No. It felt like home. The world spinning sideways, full of ridiculous love and the sound of laughter.
Azrael reached out and took her hand, his fingers weaving through hers. His expression softened, something ancient and tender in his eyes, something deeper than just the surface of his usual goofy nature.
"You okay, Mama?" she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her.
Then, after a beat, his voice was almost a whisper. "Do you think they'll like me?"
Archielle looked at him—really looked at him. The soft crinkles around his eyes. The nervous flutter in his thumb. The vulnerability he never quite showed, the one he hid beneath his jokes and his careless bravado. The one that asked if he was enough.
"You're the safest place they've ever known," she said, her voice low but steady. "Of course they will."
Azrael blinked, his eyes shimmering just a little.
"…What if I mess it up?"
Archielle pulled him closer, her arms wrapping around him. "Then you'll love them even more. That's your superpower, remember?"
He buried his face in her shoulder, his voice a quiet murmur. "Do I still get to be the little spoon sometimes?"
She kissed his hair, letting the words hang between them. "Every single time."
(OW1 A/N: OW2 ruined my innocent mind when she showed me the idea for the last chapter and now my writing style is all messed up and I can't think straight so mah beste'll take over for now....)
(OW2 A/N: Dear OW1's IRL Cousin, Write as extensively as necessary while maintaining precision and purpose. Every word should contribute to the overall impact, leaving no room for excess or weakness. Efficiency does not mean brevity; it means deliberate intent. If realism strengthens the narrative, incorporate it seamlessly—do not force it. Quality is measured not by length, but by effectiveness.)
(OW1'S Reply: Nomi, What's with the formal?)
(OW2's Reply: To which particular formality are you referring to?)
(HIIII OW1'S COUSIN!!!! 😆💖💖💖 ITS SO NICE TO SEEE UUUU!!!!!!)
Lake Oregon, 1 year later
NOTE:
I want to sincerely apologize for submitting the draft late. I realize that this has become a recurring habit, and I take full responsibility for not managing my time more effectively.
Moving forward, I want to assure you that if I am asked to submit another draft in the future, I will complete and submit it well before the deadline.
Thank you for your patience and understanding.
Sincerely,
OW1's cousin
---
It was one of those rare, brilliant days—the kind that made the sun a living thing, bathing the world in a golden glow that didn't feel like a mere reflection of light but an embrace, soft and warm, that kissed everything it touched. There was no rush in the sky, no hurry to the air—just that perfect, sighing pause, where even the trees, in their endless, swaying dance, seemed to stretch out in a languid stretch of contentment. The breeze was alive with the scent of blooms breaking free, mingling with the cool dampness of earth still waking from winter's quiet sleep. Birds flitted in the trees, their song a hushed, gentle chorus that seemed to weave through the air like a story being told in whispers.
Everything, in that single moment, was exactly as it was meant to be. A perfect alignment. A soft hum that seemed to play just under Azrael's skin, a song only his heart could hear, a lullaby that whispered of peace.
But, of course, peace doesn't tend to linger in the world of Azrael.
The tranquility shattered with a force that felt almost unnatural, an explosion of sound that could've shattered glass if the air had been that thin. Two high-pitched wails ripped through the quiet, slicing it in half. Azrael's heart leapt so hard it could've jumped out of his chest. His body didn't even need his mind's commands—his feet were already moving toward the nursery before he fully understood what was happening.
The sight that greeted him, in all its wildness, almost made him pause to blink and reassess reality itself. Because, of course, Archielle was there already. His wife, that calm center of chaos, was standing in the doorway, an embodiment of quiet control. Her posture was one of effortless command, the air around her bending to her will with nothing more than a slight curve of her lips and the deep, knowing softness in her gaze.
The twins, still so impossibly small, only three months old, were already beginning to be aware of the world. They couldn't yet recognize the faces of their family, but they already knew warmth. They knew comfort. They knew that unspoken thing—love. Archielle's voice, smooth as silk and just as potent, filled the room, soothing their little hearts with each word. Slowly, their cries softened, turned into whimpers, the storm within them quieting as if her very presence could calm the rage of a tempest. Azrael stood for a moment, watching, the awe in his chest swelling, as she moved with a serenity that made him wonder if she truly could silence the world with a single breath.
"Good job," Azrael murmured, the words soft but full of a kind of raw affection that made them feel more like a whispered prayer than simple praise. Archielle didn't respond immediately, but he saw it—just a shift in her posture, the faintest curve of her lips. A smile so subtle, yet full of unspoken understanding, that only those who knew her as well as Azrael did would ever notice.
Then, of course, there came the inevitable chaos that seemed to follow their family around like an invisible shadow.
Astraeus burst into the room, her energy and determination a force of nature in their own right. She was clutching plush toys with such fervor that it was clear she was on a mission. "I brought Mr. Bun and Twinkle!" she declared, as though she were presenting the solution to a great mystery that could save the day. Without hesitation, she tossed the stuffed animals into the cribs, their soft landing nothing more than a whisper against the air.
Azrael's heart skipped a beat as he watched her. This—this was his family. Wild. Untamed. Full of love in the way that only they knew how to give. It wasn't perfect, not by anyone's standards—but it was theirs, and it felt like the most beautiful, chaotic thing he'd ever known. And Astraeus, with her unflinching seriousness, dropped the truth as if it were gospel: "The babies were crying. They missed their friends."
Azrael couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he glanced at Archielle. There was something about their life that was so ordinary, and yet, so extraordinary at the same time. "Good thinking, Arty," he teased, his voice warm, with just the faintest hint of humor dancing in it.
Before anyone could fully soak in the quiet, the shuffle of feet signaled the arrival of the next family member. Archie, his bedhead resembling a wild, unrestrained bird's nest, shuffled in, his blanket trailing behind him like the cape of a sleepy superhero. His eyes were heavy with sleep, his voice thick with the weight of dreams still clinging to him.
"Why's everybody awake?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with one hand, his blanket still wrapped around him like it was the only thing holding him together. "It's still sleep o'clock..."
Astraeus, never one to let a crisis go unnoticed, jumped into action, her little hands planted firmly on her hips. "The babies were crying, but I fixed it," she announced with the gravitas of a knight on a quest to save the realm. "Mr. Bun and Twinkle are here now."
Archie blinked, still lost in the haze of sleep, and nodded as if the importance of the situation was settling into his brain, though it was still sleep-heavy. He wandered over to Azrael, leaning against his leg like it was the only solid thing in the universe. "Can I go back to bed now? Or are we havin' breakfast in the nursery?"
Azrael chuckled, a sound full of affection and a deep sense of peace that only his son could bring him. "Go cuddle on the couch. I'll be there in a minute."
Like a sleepy little soldier, Archie trudged over to the couch, curling into it with the quiet familiarity of someone who had spent their entire life in this very spot, comforted by the soft, unspoken promise of rest. Astraeus, always the vigilant guardian, skipped after him, humming a melody as if the world itself needed a little soothing.
Meanwhile, the twins were peaceful once more, nestled in their cribs, clutching their plush toys like anchors in the stillness. Azrael stood for a moment longer, letting the scene of his family's chaos settle into him—a perfect, fleeting peace. His heart, strangely still, realized this: right here, right now, this was home. This was everything.
But of course, before the peace could fully claim him, there came the heavy, unmistakable sound of footsteps that seemed to fill the very air. Gabriel, loud and ever-present, entered the room with the weight of a storm in his steps.
"Did you hear them?" Gabriel's voice boomed, unmistakably protective, as if he were ready to fight any battle to shield those he loved. "Those babies. They sound like they're being murdered."
Azrael blinked, his brow furrowing slightly at the raw urgency in his brother's tone. "They were just crying, Gaby," he replied softly, the kindness in his voice a gentle cushion against Gabriel's loud, protective barrage.
"All the more reason to take them seriously," Gabriel retorted, his gaze scanning the room, watching the cribs like a hawk searching for danger. "I'll take the first watch."
Azrael's eyes flicked to Archielle, and the understanding between them was immediate. Then, with a small, teasing smile, Archielle spoke up. "You always take the first watch," she teased lightly, the amusement in her voice breaking the tension, but never losing that familiar sharpness. "But they're already asleep. Calm down."
Gabriel, ever steadfast and unyielding, didn't let up. "That's not the point. Something could happen," he grumbled, though his eyes never left the cribs. "You don't leave them unguarded."
Azrael, with a sigh that spoke more of love than exasperation, turned to Gabriel. He didn't need to say much—just that look, the one that conveyed everything without a word. "You okay?" His voice was quiet, the underlying concern clear.
Gabriel's posture didn't change, his usual intensity still present, but there was a brief softening in his eyes. "If anything goes wrong, I'll be ready," he muttered, the protective instinct in him never wavering, even when it wasn't necessary.
Azrael, feeling a tightness in his chest loosen, stepped forward. "Thanks," he said softly, his voice thick with unspoken gratitude.
As Gabriel lingered, Azrael turned back to the couch where Archie was now completely asleep, his little body curled up like a contented kitten. Gently, Azrael ruffled his son's hair, his heart swelling with a quiet kind of love that made everything—chaos, peace, everything—seem worth it.
"Can I go back to sleep now?" Archie murmured, barely a whisper. "Or should I guard the babies too?"
Azrael's smile was warm, almost wistful. "Go ahead. Rest. You've earned it."
And as the room settled once more into quiet, Azrael felt that stillness wrapping around him, cocooning him in the certainty that, no matter what chaos might come next, this—his family, messy and loud and so full of love—was all he would ever need.
But just as his eyes fluttered closed, a low, distant rumble shook the air. The walls groaned, the earth itself shuddered with a deep, terrifying groan.
Azrael's heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong. His gaze snapped to Gabriel, who had already gone tense, his eyes wide with shock. "What was that?"
Without waiting for an answer, Azrael's body moved before his mind could catch up. The house was groaning with an ominous warning. And somewhere, something wasn't right.
(Started: 14/04/2025 - Finished: 22/04/2025 - Published: 22/04/2025)
(Written By OW1 at the first bit then OW1's cousin at the end but then edited by OW1 after his cousin gave the draft - Wasn't reviewed by OW3 (He's asleep) - Proofread by OW2)