Your Guardian Angel

John and Sherlock are 5 in this chapter, Mycroft is around 10.

 

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING ON WITH THE FIC!!!!!!

A/N: It should be noted that I don't belong to any religion and have no idea what I am talking about, lol. I personally hold the greatest respect for those put their faith in a higher power, that kind of devotion and belief towards something you cannot see, touch or hear is amazing in my books. I am a person who believes in evidence and things I can see, and as far as I am concerned "We come, We live, We go". I don't believe in any form of afterlife, nor any higher power. Many times I have tried to understand religions, but they aren't really my thing. Each to their own.

So please, for the love of all things living and dead, don't start a religion war on this fic. It's very clear I know nothing about religion, and whilst I have done a little bit of research, I'm bound to get a whole lot wrong. I've made things up in this fic, but if you have found something that is especially worng, please do tell me so that I may fix it up. I want to offend as few people as possible lol. Just take it as the cute fluffy fic that it is, and don't read too seriously into anything, yeah?

ONWARDS!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“Mummy?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

“Angels too?”

“Angels too.”

“But there is no proof that they exist. How can you believe in something that you cannot see with your own eyes? Something that might not even be real?”

“It’s called having faith, Sherlock. It’s a very hard thing to do and not everybody can have it. But those who believe tend to be more content with their lot in life, knowing that any struggles they face now will be met with peace once their time on Earth is finished.” Sherlock’s mother tucked a small five-year-old Sherlock nice and tight into bed, smoothing back inky curls with delicate fingers.

“And what if you don’t have faith? What difference does it make?”

“It makes very little difference at all. In the end, nobody can be sure if a divine power exists or not. Only souls that have passed know for sure, but they like to keep their secrets.”

“That’s very inconvenient of them for the scientific community.”

She giggled, an honest smile gracing her face. “I suppose it is. But always remember this, Sherlock. Man wasn’t meant to know everything. If man knew everything, then life would be very, very dull.”

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“Mummy?”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

“What’s the difference between a Guardian Angel and a normal Angel?”

“Angels watch over us all, whereas Guardian Angels watch over one person in particular.”

“Why do they only watch over one?”

“Because sometimes some people need to be watched over 24/7, so they are guided on the right path. So an Angel devotes themselves to a single person to make sure they gain the most out of their time here on Earth.”

“That doesn’t sound very plausible, Mummy.”

“I suppose it doesn’t.” She giggled again. Sherlock always held the most interesting conversations.

“How do you get a Guardian Angel, Mummy?”

“You ask God for one, Sherlock. And if God thinks you need an Angel, he will assign one to you.”

“And how do you ask God to give up one of his Angels to watch over just one person?”

“By praying. I can show you how to do it if you like? Just in case somebody else asks you how to ask for a Guardian Angel.”

“Just in case somebody else asks me.”

She gave a small smile as her hands came together. “Place your hands like this, Sherlock. Then start with ‘Dear Lord…’, and always use your best manners.”

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“Dear Lord…” Sherlock sat up in his bed, hands pressed firmly together. He was perched with his elbows on the window sill, big eyes looking out onto the starry sky. “I would like you to giv… I would like to ask you for one of your Angels. I don’t have any friends at school because all of the other kids think I’m weird because they say I’m a ‘know-it-all’ and a ‘show-off’ and a ‘freak’. I don’t know everything, I just know a lot for somebody my age. And I don’t want to know everything because Mummy said that knowing everything would make life dull, and I want my life to be exciting. And I don’t mean to show-off, I just want to get my point across all the time. And I am not a freak, no matter what Donavon and Anderson say. I would just ask you for a friend or two, but I know that not all friends last forever. I know this because Mycroft has had lots of friends but besides from Mike, not many of them stick around. So I am asking you for one of your Angels because if I had an Angel then they would always be with me for the rest of my life. If it’s not too much trouble, could you please spare an Angel that is very good at listening. This is very important because I have a lot to say and need an Angel that will listen to everything. My Angel would also have to be very interesting, I don’t want a boring one. Can you please make my Angel a boy? Girls are yucky and gross and mean and I would rather spend the rest of my life with an Angel that was a boy, not a girl. But the most important thing of all is that he needs a big ‘heart’. Not a big heart physically because that would cause health complications, but a big ‘heart’ in the emotionally sense. I’m not very good with emotions and Donavon said that I don’t have a ‘heart’ at all, so I need an Angel with a ‘heart’ big enough for the both of us.” Sherlock looked up at his ceiling, thinking over how to say his nest words. “I doubt very much that you are hearing this, Lord, because I do not think that you exist. But I promise that if you can give me one of your Angels then I won’t dismiss the idea that you exist entirely. For full proof I would need to see you face to face. But if you can give me one of your Angels then I will have a little bit of ‘faith’ in you like my Mummy does. But only a little bit. Thank you for listening, Lord.” Sherlock scanned the skies expectantly, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see an Angel come flying down from the sky. Closing his curtain, Sherlock got underneath his covers and pulled them up tight over his head. “It was worth a try.” He mumbled to himself, sleep taking over him swiftly.

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Sherlock was really starting to hate school. It was full of idiots who barely knew how to count to one hundred and struggled to spell the most simple of words. Mummy had promised him that he just had to do this complete first year of primary then the teachers would test him to see if he should skip any years. But for now, he was stuck with a bunch of snot-nosed idiots.

“All right class, today we have a new student joining us. His name is John and he’s from…” The teacher looked down at John, not knowing where the kid was from, only being told his name.

“Up North from here. I forget the name of the town though, it’s very long.” John smiled up to his teacher, his puffy jacket making the small child look very round.

“Everybody say hi to John.”

A chorus of five-year-olds sing-songed, “Hi~John.”

“Ok, John. Please go take a seat next to…” Scanning the room the only available seats where ones either side of Sherlock Holmes. “Next to Sherlock. Sherlock, be nice and make John feel welcome.”

Sherlock didn’t deign the lady with an answer.

John walked quickly over to where the teacher had told him to sit and smiled at Sherlock in a silent, warm greeting.

Sherlock frowned, not understanding the silent greeting, and instead face the front. He was a little miffed when John did the same, seemingly happy about just sitting next to Sherlock.

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John, Sherlock had decided, was completely incompetent. It was like the kid had never held a pencil in his life before. “You’re holding too close to the end.” The youngest Holmes stated, as the class practiced their handwriting.

“Sorry, what?” John looked up from his handwriting book, his letters very wobbly and barely legible.

“Your pencil, you are holding it wrong.”

“Oh. How do I hold it then?” John turned big, warm blue eyes to Sherlock, waiting for the boys answer.

In response Sherlock just held his own pencil up, showing John where his fingers should go.

John held the pencil in the correct area, like Sherlock’s, and tried to write a few letters again. They were less wobbly this time and kind of looked like what they were meant to look like. His face lit up in excitement and he looked towards Sherlock like he had just figured out the meaning of life. “I did it!”

“…” Sherlock didn’t know how to answer. What person in their right mind would get so happy over being able to write semi-legible letters. Five or not, that was just ridiculous. John didn’t pay any heed to his silence and continued to write letters with more confidence. His fingers kept slipping down the pencil though, the boy having to readjust his digits in the process. Without a second thought, Sherlock dug into his pencil case and pulled out a small navy blue sponge cylinder. “Give me your pencil.”

John looked up at Sherlock, not impressed with the lack of ‘please’. “Ok.” He handed over his pencil and watched as the other boy pushed the pencil into the sponge cylinder before passing it back to him.

“Try it now.”

John held his pencil correctly and adjusted accordingly to the new and foreign feeling of sponge between his fingers. He wrote out some more letters and smiled broadly when his fingers not only didn’t slip down the pencil, but the lines and curves of his letters became less wiggly and wobbly. “Brilliant! Look, Sherlock, I can do it!” John held up his book and flashed the other boy his wiggly letters. A small mop of shaggy golden hair peeped over the top of the book, getting a look at his letters upside down, before smiling at Sherlock. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

“You were doing everything wrong so it was my job to at least show you how to do it right.” Sherlock wasn’t used to people his own age praising him.

“Well thank you. Without you I’d still be holding my pencil wrong. I hope you will help me from now on with other things too.” John placed his book back down on the table and began writing away happily; listening to all the advice Sherlock would give him on how to make the curves smoother and the lines straighter.

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Morning tea arrived and the children were given a brief 20 minutes to stretch their legs and play around outside if they wished. It was at the end of Autumn just before Winter, so the sky was grey and the air crisp. Any child wanting to play outside had to put their puffy jackets on for fear of their little bodies freezing.

John turned to Sherlock expectantly.

“What?”

“Do you want to play outside?”

“I don’t want to play outside.”

“Then do you want to play inside?”

“I don’t want to play at all, John.”

“Ok.” John stood up only a little bit deterred before running off outside to play with the other children.

“Got yourself a friend there freak?” Sally Donavon walked over with an annoying kid Sherlock would only call ‘Anderson’ in tow.

“As you keep reminding me, Donavon, I don’t have any friends.” Sherlock reached behind him into his book bag to pull out one of the books he had borrowed from the classroom library. It was a pointless book and he didn’t care for the actual plot, but it was good practise for reading and retaining skills.

“Don’t think that you can just act normal around the new kid and pretend that you’re not a freak so he will like you.”

“Yeah.” Anderson chimed in.

Sherlock knew without looking around the classroom that the teacher was nowhere within site. Most likely outside making sure nobody got too cold. “Go away, Donavon.”

“Or what? Gunna tell the teacher on me?”

“Yes.”

“Like she would listen to you. Even Miss knows that you’re a freak. She thinks you are weird because you learn things to quickly.”

“It’s not my fault the rest of the class learns things too slow.” Sherlock glared at Anderson before settling his gaze on Sally. “Some a little more slower than others.”

“Are you calling me dumb?”

“I never said that.”

“Yes you did, but you just said it in a way to confuse me.”

“It doesn’t take much.”

“You weird freak. Weirdo. Know-it-all. You…” Sally was cut off by a small boy bouncing over with a bunch of dead leaved in his hands.

“Sherlock, look! These leaves are so pretty!” John laid out all the dead leaves carefully on the table beside the book Sherlock was reading.

“Those leaves are dead, John.” Sherlock put his back to Sally and Anderson and focused all his attention on the new kid.

“Yeah, but they are still beautiful, look.” John pointed out to all the parts of the leaves that had been eaten away by decay except for the spines of the leaves. “See. All these liney bits of the leaves are very pretty.”

“Do you want to go see if we can find one that looks completely like that?” Sherlock pointed to the leaf John had found that was half made of exposed veins.

“Really!?” John’s face lit up, wide eyes full of hope.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Sherlock placed his book back in his book bag and left the two bullies where they were standing. John waited patiently for him to pull on his puffy jacket before they went and rooted around in the dead leaves together.

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It had been a month since John had joined Sherlock’s primary school and the two had become almost inseparable. Whenever Sally or any of the other kids were mean or would pick on Sherlock, John would always be there to either take Sherlock away from the bullies to do something else, tell the bullies off, or tell the teacher that the other kids were being mean to Sherlock. Sherlock had never been happier.

However…

Over the past month, John had never removed his puffy jacket once. It was officially Winter now, with snow and everything, so the jacket was well excused when worn outside or early in the mornings. But the teacher would turn on the gas heaters in the classroom to warm the place up a bit, and still John would wear his puffy jacket. And whilst John would come over to Sherlock’s house after school sometimes, John had never taken Sherlock back to his own home.

Time to figure out why.

“Do you ever take that jacket off, John?” Sherlock and John were sitting together at their table eating their separate lunches. John’s lunch was bigger than Sherlock’s, but the two would swap the contents of said lunches to benefit their own appetites. For example; John would give his biscuits to Sherlock in exchange for the other’s apple.

“I take it off when I get home.”

“Why do you wear it so much?”

“‘Cause I get cold easily.”

“Why don’t you take it off when you around at my house?”

“Because I’m usually cold when I’m at your house.

“Can I come round to your house today?”

“No, sorry. Father is busy working and doesn’t like it when others are in our home without him around.”

“Then he should be around more often.”

“It’s not as simple as that, Sherlock. Father is a very busy man and does a lot of very important work.”

“Then will you come round to my house today?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And will you take your jacket off?”

“If I get hot.”

“Will you get hot?”

“Probably not.”

“Hm…”

He was going to need to try another method.

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The Holmes family car waited outside the primary school with its driver standing outside in the cold. Upon seeing Sherlock and his new friend, He opened the back passengers door and let the small boys climb in. Sherlock’s elder brother, Mycroft, was already seated in the front seat. “You’re late, Sherly.”

“Don’t call me that, Mycroft. And it’s not my fault I’m late, Anderson had thrown my scarf up in a tree. It took a while to get it down.”

“And John is coming back with us again today?” Mycroft teased. “Got yourself a proper friend there, Sherly?”

“Shut it, Mycroft.”

“I’m not just his friend,” John interrupted the two brother’s bickering. “We’re best friends.” The smile he gave Sherlock was so wide and big that the youngest Holmes could see every one of John’s teeth.

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The two young boys were sitting in Sherlock’s room on his large queen sized bed. Sherlock was reading the second Harry Potter book aloud to John. He didn’t really have any interest in the book, the idea that magic and wizards existed was just absurd after all. But John loved the Harry Potter series. John was too young to be able to read through the complicated words so Sherlock read it out to him, pausing to explain new words every time they came up.

He had just finished the eleventh chapter when he put the book down and looked at John.

“What’s wrong?” John asked, big blue eyes staring intently at Sherlock.

“You’re hiding something under that jacket of yours.”

“Took you long enough to figure it out.” John laughed, flopping down on the bed so he lay on his back.

“I figured that out weeks ago. I just couldn’t figure out what you are hiding under there.”

“Hm…” John smiled at he stared up at Sherlock’s roof. The bedroom light was turned on, but when you flipped the second switch on tiny LED lights embedded in the roof would flicker away, each light placed in specific locations to replicate the constellations of stars in the sky. John had just stared up at the roof speechless when Sherlock had first shown him the starry lights.

“What are you hiding under there, John?”

“I’m not meant to tell or show you.”

“Says who?”

“Father.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too early for you to know.”

“To know what?”

“But in my personal opinion, I think it would be fine to show you.”

“Show me what!?” Sherlock practically yelled.

“We could always ask Father if I can show you now.” John tilted his head back until Sherlock was in his line of sight. “Would you ask Father if I can show you them with me? You wouldn’t have to say anything, I’ll do all the talking, but I think that if you are with me when I ask he would definitely say yes.”

“… Alright.”

“Perfect!” John sprung up from where he was laying, and looked happily at Sherlock. Go lock your bedroom door and turn on the stars, and turn off the normal light so we can see the stars better.”

“I thought we were going to see your Father?”

“I can’t take you to go see him.” John laughed like the very idea in itself was the funniest thing he had every heard. “But we can… call him.”

“…” Without a word Sherlock stood up and locked his bedroom door, turning the normal light off as he flipped the switch for the LED stars. John’s face somehow got even happier when the stars twinkled away on his celiling, his hand outstretched for Sherlock to take. The youngest Holmes climbed up onto the bed and sat right beside John, mimicking the other boys’ posture by tucking his legs underneath him.

“Right, now I know you’ve done this before, obviously, but place your hands together like this,” John placed his little hands delicately together in a prayer, watching intently as Sherlock did the same. “And whatever you do don’t part your hands, ‘cause Father will say no for sure if you do.”

Sherlock went to ask John what the hell he was on about, but John never gave him the chance to say a single word.

“Our Father who art in heaven, please hear my humble call.” John waited for to second before his face split into a massive grin. “Father! It’s so good to hear from you. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful Earth is! Oh, wait, yes you would, you created it.” John laughed to himself as he apparent listened to some silent words that Sherlock couldn’t hear. “I’m having such a great time down here. Yes. Yes I have. He’s brilliant! More than I could have ever hoped for. And so very smart! He’s practically a genius, and he’s only five! He can even read grown-up books like ‘Harry Potter’. So very clever. He’s perfect! And we are friends! Just like you said we would be. Yes. Yes he can! I couldn’t believe it! He’s actually here with me now. No, I haven’t told him anything yet. Or shown him. I would like to though, if it’s alright with you. Yes I understand. I know. But I think he could… He would never do anything like… Please give him a chance! If he reacts like you say he will I will personally take responsibility for everything. Yes, everything. I swear.” John waited for a while, listening as hard as he could, eyes squeezed shut tight, waiting for a silent answer. “Thank you so much, Father! You won’t regret this! I promise! A-men.” John smiled broadly at Sherlock expectantly.

“A-men…” Sherlock quickly spoke the ending of the prayer, and looked at John with inquisitive eyes.

“You think I’m mad.” John smiled.

“A bit, yes. But not any more than I think you always are.”

“Help me take it off.” John smiled, unzipping his jacket and throwing it to the floor. He proceeded to pull off his school uniform shirt as well, throwing it to where his jacket resided. John’s chest was covered in brown leather straps of various sizes, flat metal buckles holding all the straps in place. “I made it myself. Help me undo them all.” John grabbed Sherlock’s stunned hands and guided them to his chest, urging the other boy to start helping him. John’s hands worked excitedly over the buckles, undo them with practiced ease, Sherlock only getting to undo three of the fifteen. John sighed in relief as he slipped the offending leather off his shoulder and rolled his neck until a few pops were heard. “Please… please don’t be afraid.” A sudden trepidation entered John’s voice for the first time since meeting Sherlock.

“Why would I be af…” Sherlock didn’t get to finish his sentence out of pure shock.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, two white feathered wings unfolded themselves from behind John’s back. The kept stretching out for what seemed like infinity until each wing spread out two metres each way. Once fully stretched out, John brought them in a bit, so that they rested bent over he shoulder, the ends coming round to almost protect John.

Sherlock’s jaw dropped.

“Impossible.” He gasped, looking at every individual like it was made of everything he didn’t believe in; like magic.

“I think ‘improbable’ is the more suited word here.” John gave a weak smile, his wings coming round a bit more to shield more of his body.

Sherlock just stared it the wings, before taking note of how uncomfortable his silence was making John. “It is alright if I… if I touch them? You know, make sure I’m not seeing things.”

“Of course.” John smiled, the tension slowly melting away fro his posture.

Sherlock shuffled forward in the bed until the front of his knees were resting against John’s. Very slowly, he reached a hand out until his fingers came into contact with the tip of one of the wings larger feathers. “It’s soft.”

“I should hope so. I try to take care of my wings.” John laughed.

“No, I mean it’s softer than regular bird feathers.” Sherlock brushed his fingertips over more of the wing, soaking in all the new textures. “Yet much stronger than regular bird feather, ridiculously strong.” Sherlock tried to gently bend the tip of a feather, eyes glue on John’s face to watch for any indication that he might be hurting the boy, but the feather wouldn’t budge.

“That’s because I’m not a bird, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock leant up on his knees, hands planted on John’s shoulders as he pulled the other forward a bit so he could get a look at where the wings connected to John’s body. “But then what are you?”

“You know what I am.” John’s amusement leaked through into his voice, making Sherlock frown.

“I want to hear you say it.”

John placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips and gently pulled the curious Holmes down until he was sitting back on his knees. Taking the other’s hands in his he smiled broadly. “I’m an Angel.”

“An Angel.” Sherlock said the words very disbelievingly.

“Well, a Guardian Angel to be exact. Your Guardian Angel.”

“You’re my Guardian Angel.” It wasn’t a question. More of a repeated fact. A very real mythical fact.

“Yup. Our good Father heard your prayer and instantly went looking through all of his Angels to find the one best suited for you. And he chose me! Father said I was the ‘perfect match for a boy who needed guidance more than anyone he had seen in a very long time if he was to be all that he needed to be’.”

“So God actually exists?” Sherlock blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Only if you believe him to.”

“It’s kind of hard not to believe now when I’ve got some proof within arm’s reach.” As if to prove his point, Sherlock brushed his fingers over the wings again.

John smiled and wrapped his wings around Sherlock. “Yet somehow I think unless you saw the Holy Father in person you wouldn’t be a complete believer.”

“As much proof as you are that God exists, there are too many unanswered questions and possibilities for this situation that could just as easily dismiss the evidence or at least raise doubt to it’s credibility.”

“Such as?” John asked.

“Well, your wings could be a form of mutated DNA resulting in some sort of bird DNA growth.”

“They could be. What else?”

“And then there’s the fact that if I just asked for a Guardian Angel and got one, doesn’t it mean that there are other people all over the world that should have Guardian Angels too? And If they had Angels, of their own, wouldn’t they have spoken out about it by now?”

“Currently, I am the only solid Angel on Earth right now. Others who ask for Angels merely ask for them so that they might have some guidance through a small portion of their lives until they make it back onto the right path chosen for them. Those people do get Angels on their own, but those Angels never show themselves, merely whisper in the ear of their charge when they deter off course in the form of a ‘conscience’. It has been many centuries since and Angel had actually taken on flesh and body to watch over a charge personally. But our Father saw that there was barely any room in your very busy mind for any outside voices, so made me a slid body to walk around with so I may guide you where you need to go in person. But now that you know what I truly am, you must swear to never tell anybody about who I really am. Because if you do then I will have to erase all your memories of me and leave Earth. People don’t respond well to situations like these.”

“… I understand. I promise not to ever tell anyone about you being and Angel.” Sherlock never wanted John to go away, ever. So he would keep this secret if it meant that his Angel would always be with him.

“That’s good. Because I want to stay here, with you. You’re my best friend after all.” John unwrapped his wings from around Sherlock until the sat folded neatly behind him once more.

“Hold up. If God is your Father, then where do you go home to after school? Where do you live and sleep?”

“I don’t have a house if that is what you are implying. I sleep on clouds, usually above your house so I can keep an eye on you at night to make sure you stay safe.”

“So you can fly then?”

“What? Of course not. My wings are far too small for that yet.”

“Then how do you get up to the clouds?”

“Angel’s can do a thing called ‘flitting’ before their wings grow big enough to support them properly. It’s hard to explain, but basically put, we can latch onto prayers to carry us up. Your mother prays every night, so I usually hold onto her prayers until I reach the clouds.”

“Impossible.”

“Improbable.” John corrected.

Sherlock thought for a bit before looking straight into John’s eyes very seriously. “You’ll be staying in my house from now on. You can sleep in my bed at night after you pretend to ‘go home’. I don’t want my Angel outside in the cold when he can be inside with me.”

“That’s very kind of you.” John smiled before a yawn stretched his mouth out. “Man I’m tired.”

“Me too.” Sherlock agreed, standing up from the bed and walking over to his chest of draws. He pulled out a clean pair of pyjamas for himself and pyjama pants for John. “I imagine it would be more comfortable for you to sleep without a top for your wings.”

“You are very perceptive.” John laughed and took the offered piece of clothing from Sherlock. Taking his socks and school pants off, John changed into the pyjama pants before climbing into bed, waiting for Sherlock to change and do the same.

Sherlock changed quickly, pulling his pyjama’s on as fast as he could, diving into bed, pulling John close.

John was lying on his right side, his right wing folded neatly behind him and his left wing spread out to cover himself and Sherlock. “To protect you.” John explained. “Nothing can pierce through Angel feathers.”

“Whose going to attack me in my sleep?”

“For my peace of mind, ok?”

“Ok.” Sherlock laughed. “I can’t believe I have my own Guardian Angel.” His eyes began slowly dropping shut, his gaze falling from John’s face and sliding down his neck and collar bones as a sudden fatigue swept over him. “I wonder… how big your… wings will… get…”

John smiled as he watched Sherlock fall into a deep sleep, his wings obviously plaguing the boys dreams. Being an Angel had its perks. We had certain… abilities, one of them being able to force people into deep sleeps when they were in very close proximity to another person. And this was about as close as things could get. Lifting Sherlock’s body up a bit, John slid his left wing under his body and Sherlock’s, making sure to cocoon every inch of the youngest Holmes in as much impenetrable wing as possible. Nothing was going to hurt his Sherlock if he had a say in the matter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A/N: Naaaaw~ Aren't they just the cutest things ever!!!

And yes, I suck balls at writing dialogue from the view of a child, I know that. But I think I can get away with how Sherlock speaks because he's Sherlock. And John is a timeless Angel, so if he want's to speak like an adult in a childs body/a child in an adults body, then so be it.

There will be a big time skip in the next chapter, like, I'll either wirte them into university or just start with them moving into Baker Street. There will be smut in the next chapter though, that I can promise, lol.

If you enjoyed this then please RATE, and if you really enjoyed it then please REVIEW!! I'd love to hear what you thought about this C: