steddiet-t

[goldevolution]

the thing about the fairy and walrus poll going around is that some of you are jumping through the most insane hoops about the walrus being there when my first thought for a plausible reason as to why a walrus could be at my door is like an elaborate prank where someone put a walrus on my doorstep, knocked, and then hid. which would be an absolutely insane thing to happen on so many levels do not get me wrong but a more natural conclusion to arrive at than "this walrus escaped either its natural habitat or zoo enclosure on its own to make its way to me specifically and knock on the door itself" i feel. like weve seen the shit mr beast does with his money surely a walrus prank is not so far outside the realm of imagination

[pink-peony-princess]

Laughter is the best medicine

"Oh baby, what's the matter?" Shawn asked softly as he walked into his young daughter's room for the third time in the space of an hour. It had been one of those nights, and Shawn found himself resenting the fact that after a long day of work at the local hospital as an emergency doctor he couldn't just sit and enjoy a night on the sofa with his wife.

However as he turned the corner into his daughter's room, any hint of this lingering feeling feel away. Instead replaced with extreme concern as he made eye contact with the little girl, laying pitifully on the small bed.

He felt a lump rise in his throat. He was worried, Skylar his three year old daughter was his world and he and his wife Gracie had tried for so long for this precious little girl.

This worry only magified, a sick pit churning his insides as he took in the bright red, wet and snotty face of his distraught girl. The expression on the small girl's face would pull at the heart strings of anyone, but for Shawn this was coupled by the knowledge that something had to be seriously wrong for Sky to cry like this. She was normally such a happy child. And she had been anything but that today.

Initially Shawn wasn't too worried, as much as he detested seeing his daughter under the weather, he also knew it was flu season and being too small still to get a vaccine and attending kindergarten put her at risk. This was different though. This wasn't the cry of a child that was a little uncomfortable from the flu, this was full unchecked sobbing.

"Sky, sweetheart, Daddy needs you to take a big breath okay?" He whispered, sitting on the bed and wrapping the small girl in his embrace. He could feel her curling and uncurling her hands as she grabbed fist fulls of his worn-out pyjama shirt, something she did when she was trying to comfort herself. She was so tiny compared to his nearly 6'2" frame, yet she seemed to instantly melt into her father's warmth. Her little face was hot with the tears she cried, now buried in his chest, damp hair stuck to forehead from sweat.

Shawn hummed softly as her cries turned to soft whimpers. He tried not to move even as she fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position. It was now almost nine PM and Gracie had put Sky to bed almost 3 hours ago in the hope that the two of them might get to have a rare, movie and cuddle night, something that seemed so rare these days with Shawn's job as an Internal Medicine resident. Before marriage four years ago he and Gracie would spend every weekend together watching their favourite movies, but then life got busy. Shawn had really been hoping for this night, but somehow both he and Gracie knew that it wasn't going to happen.

Sky hadn't really moved from her bed all day, something which both her parents found extremely worrying considering the usual boistirus energy that seemed so endless. And now here they were, Shawn trying desperately to comfort the small girl.

"How is she?" He heard Gracie ask from the doorway. Her voice shook, clearly she was trying not to cry and Shawn's heart gave another pang as he wished he had the ability to comfort his overwhelmed and exhausted wife and ill daughter simultaneously.

He wished nothing more than to be able to take both of his girl's pain, to make everything alright again.

"Feel sick," the small girl spoke before he had the chance to answer Gracie.

"I know pretty girl. Can you tell daddy where it hurts?" He asked, placing a hand on his daughter's forehead, feeling the heat of a raging temperature. 3 years as an internal medicine resident told him that her fever had to be over 100. Worryingly warm for anyone, especially someone as young as Skylar.

"Gracie, he spoke, turning to the door, "Will you bring an ice pack and the children's tylonol please."

His wife nodded, smiling at Sky, but Shawn saw the way she wiped a tear from her face surreptitiously as she left the room, her footsteps on the stairs the only other sound than his little girl's soft cries.

The little girl on the bed whimpered, confirming what he knew already. She was feeling miserable.

"Sky-sky, will you let daddy make you feel better? Can I use the boom-boom tool to listen to your chest?" He asked softly, using the name his daughter used to refer to his stethoscope.

She nodded mutely. Her cries softening ever a tiny bit, helping to ease some fo the hurt Shawn was feeling. He felt so helpless, something he was not used to. He was accustomed to being able to deal with issues, to staying calm under pressure when everyone else was a mess, to being clinical, methodical. This was different though, this was his little girl, his pride and joy, his precious little bundle. He couldn't help but pull the small girl just a little closer as he called down to his wife.

"Gracie will you grab my bag off the counter?" He requested, loud enough that he hoped she'd hear, but not too loud to startle Sky, who was finally starting to settle slightly.

Moments later Gracie re- appeared, ice-pack, Tylenol and, his work bag in hand.

"Want me to take her?"She whispered, nodding to Sky.

Shawn nodded, gently passing his daughter to her mother, earning a small whine.

"It's all right Sky-sky," she soothed kissing her head as Shawn had done earlier.

Shawn stood up and dug through his bag quicky, pulling out his stethoscope, otoscope and a few other bits he thought he might need before letting the bag drop to the floor- his ID badge falling out in the process. He didn't care though, his only thoughts on his little girl.

By the time his was sitting on the bed again (a mere 30 seconds later) small tears were rolling down Sky's cheeks, the familiar pang of hurt and worry reappeared as he tried fruitlessly to calm down the small girl.

"I know honey. I know," He murmured, gently rubbing circles onto her back as Gracie held her. "Daddy make it better okay."

Finally when she was calm enough he picked up his stethoscope and placed in gently to Sky's back, listening to her lungs.

"Gracie can you turn her to face me?" He asked. His wife turned Sky, earning another whine, but Shawn was quick to make her laugh, sticking his tongue out at her as he sat and listened.

He was quick to finish the rest of the exam, listening to her heart, looking in her nose, throat and ears before finally taking her temperature.

"All done princess." He smiled at his daughter, while showing his wife the thermometer which read 104. He and Gracie shared a worried glance as Sky held her arms out, making grabby hands at her father, Shawn not hesitating to take the small girl again.

"Someone's popular!" Gracie laughed as Sky rested her head on her father's chest.

"What do ya think it is?" Gracie asked watching as her daughter drifted in and out of sleep, moving restlessly on her husband's lap.

"I'm fairly certain it's just some sort of tummy bug she's picked up from kindy,"Shawn replied as he stroked his thumb down the side of his daughter's face. Nothing major, but I really want to get some medicine in her system to break this fever. If it doesn't break by morning I'll take her in to see Connor," He added, referring to one of his colleagues, and the only one he trusted with his daughter's health.

Half an hour later they'd somehow convinced Shy to take the dose of Tylenol, the ice-pack resting on her forehead as she slept peacefully in her father's arms in her bed, Gracie asleep in the across the room Shawn having managed to let him take 'this shift' though Gracie didn't need to know that her husband had no intentions of letting her be stuck awake with their daughter any longer. He knew she was exhausted and needed sleep.

Shawn wasnt overly concerned, pleased that she was getting the rest she needed, however this was broken and the two parents were on high alert once more as Sky began moving, twisting in her father's soft grasp and whimpering in her sleep.

"Sky?" Shawn spoke softly so as not to scare her. Her small eyes opened immediately whelling with tears alarming Shawn. Gracie rushed over from the rocking chair- tripping sleepily on Shawn's bag which lay in the same spot as earlier- where she had been sleeping uncomfortsbly, trying in vein to help. "What's wrong Sky?" Shawn asked again."Sick," She groaned and before either Shawn or Gracie had a chance to react she had thrown up- all over the bed, herself and Shawn , wailing as she realised what she'd done.

"SSH, it's okay bubba," Shawn tried to calm the child down as he wiped some of the sick from his sweat pants.

"Go and get changed, I'll bathe her and change the sheets," Gracie sighed, stiffling a laugh as she took in her husband. Even in this state he STILL managed to look hot. How he did it, she didn't know.

Shawn nodded greatfully, getting up and leaving his wife to deal with the remaining mess.

By the time Shawn returned, doning a fresh set of sleepwear, his hair slightly damp from the shower he had been forced to take, his little girl was laughing. And not just a little bit, she was laughing hysterically at something.

",What's so funny?" He inquired only getting more laughter. It was another two minutes before Gracie pulled herself together enough to explain.

" Sky was laughing at having vomitted on Daddy,clearly the shock of the situation has warn off," She grinned.

"So youre laughing at Daddy getting puke on me?" Shawn smiled shaking his head. "You're puke I might add," he shock his head as his daughter giggled even more.

"I'm glad she seems to be feeling a bit brighter, Shawn spoke softly to his wife as they watched as their little girl, calmed, going from laughing hysterically to soft snores in no more than a minute and a half.

"I'd feel better if she was in our room tonight." He added.

"Me too, " Gracie agreed, watching as Shawn carefully picked up their sleep oh daughter.

"Apparently laughter is the best medicine." Shawn smiled down at his little girk, sound asleep in his arms.

"That it is." Gracie agreed, the two sharing a quick kiss, before the two made their way to their bedroom, their precious bundle cuddled up between them... A bucket sat at the side if the bed just in case.

[pinkpeonyprincessblog]

Laughter is the Best Medicine

"Oh baby, what's the matter?" Shawn asked softly as he walked into his young daughter's room for the third time in the space of an hour. It had been one of those nights, and Shawn found himself resenting the fact that after a long day of work at the local hospital as an emergency doctor he couldn't just sit and enjoy a night on the sofa with his wife.

However as he turned the corner into his daughter's room, any hint of this lingering feeling feel away. Instead replaced with extreme concern as he made eye contact with the little girl, laying pitifully on the small bed.

He felt a lump rise in his throat. He was worried, Skylar his three year old daughter was his world and he and his wife Gracie had tried for so long for this precious little girl.

This worry only magified, a sick pit churning his insides as he took in the bright red, wet and snotty face of his distraught girl. The expression on the small girl's face would pull at the heart strings of anyone, but for Shawn this was coupled by the knowledge that something had to be seriously wrong for Sky to cry like this. She was normally such a happy child. And she had been anything but that today.

Initially Shawn wasn't too worried, as much as he detested seeing his daughter under the weather, he also knew it was flu season and being too small still to get a vaccine and attending kindergarten put her at risk. This was different though. This wasn't the cry of a child that was a little uncomfortable from the flu, this was full unchecked sobbing.

"Sky, sweetheart, Daddy needs you to take a big breath okay?" He whispered, sitting on the bed and wrapping the small girl in his embrace. He could feel her curling and uncurling her hands as she grabbed fist fulls of his worn-out pyjama shirt, something she did when she was trying to comfort herself. She was so tiny compared to his nearly 6'2" frame, yet she seemed to instantly melt into her father's warmth. Her little face was hot with the tears she cried, now buried in his chest, damp hair stuck to forehead from sweat.

Shawn hummed softly as her cries turned to soft whimpers. He tried not to move even as she fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position. It was now almost nine PM and Gracie had put Sky to bed almost 3 hours ago in the hope that the two of them might get to have a rare, movie and cuddle night, something that seemed so rare these days with Shawn's job as an Internal Medicine resident. Before marriage four years ago he and Gracie would spend every weekend together watching their favourite movies, but then life got busy. Shawn had really been hoping for this night, but somehow both he and Gracie knew that it wasn't going to happen.

Sky hadn't really moved from her bed all day, something which both her parents found extremely worrying considering the usual boistirus energy that seemed so endless. And now here they were, Shawn trying desperately to comfort the small girl.

"How is she?" He heard Gracie ask from the doorway. Her voice shook, clearly she was trying not to cry and Shawn's heart gave another pang as he wished he had the ability to comfort his overwhelmed and exhausted wife and ill daughter simultaneously.

He wished nothing more than to be able to take both of his girl's pain, to make everything alright again.

"Feel sick," the small girl spoke before he had the chance to answer Gracie.

"I know pretty girl. Can you tell daddy where it hurts?" He asked, placing a hand on his daughter's forehead, feeling the heat of a raging temperature. 3 years as an internal medicine resident told him that her fever had to be over 100. Worryingly warm for anyone, especially someone as young as Skylar.

"Gracie, he spoke, turning to the door, "Will you bring an ice pack and the children's tylonol please."

His wife nodded, smiling at Sky, but Shawn saw the way she wiped a tear from her face surreptitiously as she left the room, her footsteps on the stairs the only other sound than his little girl's soft cries.

The little girl on the bed whimpered, confirming what he knew already. She was feeling miserable.

"Sky-sky, will you let daddy make you feel better? Can I use the boom-boom tool to listen to your chest?" He asked softly, using the name his daughter used to refer to his stethoscope.

She nodded mutely. Her cries softening ever a tiny bit, helping to ease some fo the hurt Shawn was feeling. He felt so helpless, something he was not used to. He was accustomed to being able to deal with issues, to staying calm under pressure when everyone else was a mess, to being clinical, methodical. This was different though, this was his little girl, his pride and joy, his precious little bundle. He couldn't help but pull the small girl just a little closer as he called down to his wife.

"Gracie will you grab my bag off the counter?" He requested, loud enough that he hoped she'd hear, but not too loud to startle Sky, who was finally starting to settle slightly.

Moments later Gracie re- appeared, ice-pack, Tylenol and, his work bag in hand.

"Want me to take her?"She whispered, nodding to Sky.

Shawn nodded, gently passing his daughter to her mother, earning a small whine.

"It's all right Sky-sky," she soothed kissing her head as Shawn had done earlier.

Shawn stood up and dug through his bag quicky, pulling out his stethoscope, otoscope and a few other bits he thought he might need before letting the bag drop to the floor- his ID badge falling out in the process. He didn't care though, his only thoughts on his little girl.

By the time his was sitting on the bed again (a mere 30 seconds later) small tears were rolling down Sky's cheeks, the familiar pang of hurt and worry reappeared as he tried fruitlessly to calm down the small girl.

"I know honey. I know," He murmured, gently rubbing circles onto her back as Gracie held her. "Daddy make it better okay."

Finally when she was calm enough he picked up his stethoscope and placed in gently to Sky's back, listening to her lungs.

"Gracie can you turn her to face me?" He asked. His wife turned Sky, earning another whine, but Shawn was quick to make her laugh, sticking his tongue out at her as he sat and listened.

He was quick to finish the rest of the exam, listening to her heart, looking in her nose, throat and ears before finally taking her temperature.

"All done princess." He smiled at his daughter, while showing his wife the thermometer which read 104. He and Gracie shared a worried glance as Sky held her arms out, making grabby hands at her father, Shawn not hesitating to take the small girl again.

"Someone's popular!" Gracie laughed as Sky rested her head on her father's chest.

"What do ya think it is?" Gracie asked watching as her daughter drifted in and out of sleep, moving restlessly on her husband's lap.

"I'm fairly certain it's just some sort of tummy bug she's picked up from kindy,"Shawn replied as he stroked his thumb down the side of his daughter's face. Nothing major, but I really want to get some medicine in her system to break this fever. If it doesn't break by morning I'll take her in to see Connor," He added, referring to one of his colleagues, and the only one he trusted with his daughter's health.

Half an hour later they'd somehow convinced Shy to take the dose of Tylenol, the ice-pack resting on her forehead as she slept peacefully in her father's arms in her bed, Gracie asleep in the across the room Shawn having managed to let him take 'this shift' though Gracie didn't need to know that her husband had no intentions of letting her be stuck awake with their daughter any longer. He knew she was exhausted and needed sleep.

Shawn wasnt overly concerned, pleased that she was getting the rest she needed, however this was broken and the two parents were on high alert once more as Sky began moving, twisting in her father's soft grasp and whimpering in her sleep.

"Sky?" Shawn spoke softly so as not to scare her. Her small eyes opened immediately whelling with tears alarming Shawn. Gracie rushed over from the rocking chair- tripping sleepily on Shawn's bag which lay in the same spot as earlier- where she had been sleeping uncomfortsbly, trying in vein to help. "What's wrong Sky?" Shawn asked again."Sick," She groaned and before either Shawn or Gracie had a chance to react she had thrown up- all over the bed, herself and Shawn , wailing as she realised what she'd done.

"SSH, it's okay bubba," Shawn tried to calm the child down as he wiped some of the sick from his sweat pants.

"Go and get changed, I'll bathe her and change the sheets," Gracie sighed, stiffling a laugh as she took in her husband. Even in this state he STILL managed to look hot. How he did it, she didn't know.

Shawn nodded greatfully, getting up and leaving his wife to deal with the remaining mess.

By the time Shawn returned, doning a fresh set of sleepwear, his hair slightly damp from the shower he had been forced to take, his little girl was laughing. And not just a little bit, she was laughing hysterically at something.

",What's so funny?" He inquired only getting more laughter. It was another two minutes before Gracie pulled herself together enough to explain.

" Sky was laughing at having vomitted on Daddy,clearly the shock of the situation has warn off," She grinned.

"So youre laughing at Daddy getting puke on me?" Shawn smiled shaking his head. "You're puke I might add," he shock his head as his daughter giggled even more.

"I'm glad she seems to be feeling a bit brighter, Shawn spoke softly to his wife as they watched as their little girl, calmed, going from laughing hysterically to soft snores in no more than a minute and a half.

"I'd feel better if she was in our room tonight." He added.

"Me too, " Gracie agreed, watching as Shawn carefully picked up their sleep oh daughter.

"Apparently laughter is the best medicine." Shawn smiled down at his little girk, sound asleep in his arms.

"That it is." Gracie agreed, the two sharing a quick kiss, before the two made their way to their bedroom, their precious bundle cuddled up between them... A bucket sat at the side if the bed just in case.

[summerhuntresses]

no grave (can hold my body down)

[ao3]

After Harrow passes out in a bone cocoon, Gideon takes care of her while studiously avoiding any inconvenient revelations.

Gideon could say, with great certainty, that she had never once been concerned about the wellbeing of Harrowhark Nonagesimus. She had been concerned about the actions of Harrowhark Nonagesimus in the past, and how said actions would impact her own life in new and unpleasant ways, but the actual physical wellbeing of the Reverend Daughter of the Ninth was not something she lost sleep fretting over.

 That being said, it was extremely disconcerting to find herself fretting over Harrow now. Gideon had initially laid her down and simply wiped the blood and dirt off her face, worried about the other woman waking up in a fury over her ‘gross overstep’, but now…

 Well, Harrow had been unconscious for hours and Gideon was starting to worry about her necromancer.

She had already cleaned Harrow up as much as she could without undressing her - worried or not, that was a boundary that she was not willing to cross - and now she was just… waiting. Waiting for the woman to wake up.

 It was difficult to keep her eyes away from Harrow, honestly. Gideon knew that she wasn’t going to just stop breathing in her sleep, but the image of her lying there covered in dirt and blood and bone wouldn’t leave her alone.

 Honestly, Gideon had never really noticed just how small the woman was. True, Gideon wasn’t exactly small herself, but she had to have a good foot on Harrow and at least a hundred pounds. Looking closer, Gideon realized that she could see the individual bones in Harrow’s wrist jutting out against her skin.

 “Well, fuck.” She sighed and sat back, arguing with herself even as she knew that she was going to do something stupid. “I mean, I know I wouldn’t want to lay around for Ninth knows how long marinating in my own filth. It would be too much of a temptation for the Eighth, at the very least.” Gideon nodded decisively, smacking a palm on the bed in emphasis and nearly jostling Harrow onto the floor. “Whoops. I’m doing my duty, Nonagesimus. That’s what you’ve wanted me to do for ages.”

 Harrow, still unconscious, did not respond.

 Gideon sighed and stood. “Look, I know this is weird, but… You’re tiny, Nonagesimus. Your name is bigger than you are, for Necrolord’s sake!” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care what you have to say about it, I am getting you in clean clothes if it kills the both of us.”

 Mind made up, Gideon moved quickly to avoid pussying out. Hauling Harrow into a sitting position with one hand, she stripped her out of her heavy outer robe with the other, immediately encountering a dilemma when she realized that she needed a third hand to keep Harrow upright. 

 “Aw, fuck.”

 Never once in her life had Gideon ever even considered the possibility of hugging Harrow. It would have been like hugging a spiked mace, if the mace was malevolent and actively trying to remove Gideon’s ribcage with its teeth. Six year old Gideon would have run away from anyone suggesting the idea to her. Twelve year old Gideon would have done her level best to break their kneecap. The Gideon from a week ago would have laughed until she cried.

 The Gideon of the here and now had Harrow in what could only be described as an embrace as she struggled to pull Harrow’s damp and disgusting undershirt over her head.

 “How did you even manage to get this gross, Nonagesimus? I thought you were all about dignity and shit, this is just nasty.” Gideon took an experimental sniff of the shirt, recoiling and chucking it across the room nearly immediately. “If we didn’t pack so light I would burn that, Harrow. Burn it.”

 Sitting back, Gideon looked at the girl in her lap, Harrow’s absolute stillness highlighting just how small she really was. Gideon frowned, running a gentle finger over the ribs visible on her side. “Damn, Harrow, what’s wrong with you?” She pulled a new shirt over the other woman’s head with none of the haste she had felt earlier, taking care not to jostle the necromancer. “Eat a sandwich, witch bitch.”

 Her hands betrayed her, though, smoothing the shirt down Harrow’s side with care and sliding back up to carefully extricate a few straggly curls from the collar. She stroked the woman’s hair absentmindedly, lost in thought and ignoring the weirdly damp feel.

 A shiver under her hand made her frown. “I guess all your energy goes to being a prick and not to keeping yourself warm.” She stood and grabbed her spare cloak from her blanket nest, wrapping it around Harrow. “That seems kind of stupid, Harrow. Just sayin’.” She pulled the other woman back into her arms as she tied the cord around Harrow’s neck.

 Harrow shifted slightly in her arms, brows furrowing and a soft grumble rolling from her throat. Gideon looked down at her in surprise. “What? Not used to people touching you, Reverend Daughter?” She stroked a hand down the side of Harrow’s head firmly, the nearly rough touch seeming to calm the woman. Gideon snorted. “It can never be easy with you, huh?”

 A knock on the door startled Gideon badly, arms tightening around her necromancer and eyes darting toward the chest at the foot of the bed with the hidden longsword.

 “Gideon? Gideon, it’s me. Palamedes Sextus. Of the Sixth. And Camila as well.”

 Rolling her eyes, Gideon gently laid Harrow back against the cushions before getting up to throw the door open. “Sorry, I’m not sure I know who you are. Do you have some ID or something to make it clearer?”

 The door swung open to reveal Palamedes frowning at her. “Ninth, I’m positive you should be able to recognize who I am from my name and House. Are you feeling all right? Did you take a blow to the head down there?”

 He put a hand up, seeming to try and check her forehead for a fever before Camila smacked his wrist down, glaring exasperatedly at Gideon. “I honestly preferred it when you didn’t talk, Ninth.”

 Gideon gasped dramatically, clutching her hands to her chest. “Are you saying you don’t love my wit, charm, and dashing good looks, Cam?” She dropped her hands and grinned her most obnoxious grin, the one that made Harrow froth at the mouth and bleed from the eyes in rage. “Bullshit.”

 Palamedes swung his gaze between the women, uncertainty written across his features. “I… don’t know what’s happening right now. But! I wanted to come by and check on the Reverend Daughter. She overexerted herself badly when she did whatever she did, but she should be fine. Cam and I checked her over briefly and she showed no signs of shock or physical trauma beyond the exertion. Try and keep her warm just in case.” He smiled reassuringly at Gideon. “She needs rest, and a lot of it, but she’ll be on her feet terrorizing the Fourth before you have time to enjoy the quiet.”

 Cam sighed from her place at his side. “Somehow I get the feeling that the rest of us will never get to enjoy peace and quiet. Ever again.”

 Throwing her a wink, Gideon said, “Admit it, you like my braggadocious tenacity.”

 Cam blinked. “Nav, do you even know what that means?”

 Shrugging, Gideon told her, “No, but it sounds awesome.”

 “How did you even hear that phrase, Nav?” Cam looked perplexed, which increased the range of facial expressions Gideon had seen her wear by a factor of two.

 Gideon shrugged again. “Nonagesimus yelled it at me when we were like twelve. No idea what it means or where she picked it up, but it sounds cooler than anything I got from Necrotits Prime, volumes three through eleven, so I stole it for my own use.” She grinned. “Good, huh?”

 Camila and Palamedes shared a look that Gideon couldn’t interpret before turning back to her. “You know what, Ninth?” Palamedes sounded more uncomfortable than anything else as he addressed her. “I think you’ve got this handled on your own. Just… just keep her warm and comfortable and don’t let her get out of bed for the next twelve hours at least.” He was in motion before the words finished leaving his mouth.

 Cam watched him go with a raised eyebrow before turning to Gideon. “Good luck, Nav. She seems like she’ll be a fun patient.” She left immediately, missing Gideon’s one-finger salute as she went.

 Gideon slammed the door childishly, muttering curses under her breath as she did so. When her eyes landed on Harrow again she deflated, the irritation draining from her at the sight of Harrow practically swimming in Gideon’s spare cloak. 

 She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the edges of the cloak tighter around Harrow’s throat. “I can see you shivering, Nonagesimus. That’s honestly pathetic, it’s practically tropical here compared to the Ninth.” Sighing, Gideon stood up once more and picked Harrow up in a bridal carry. Several minutes of cursing and jostling and nearly dropping her necromancer later, Gideon had managed to tuck the other woman under both the blankets and her spare cloak.

 Harrow twitched, brow furrowing again and head rolling from side to side. “No… construct….. how...” She muttered random words in her sleep, anger and fear written on her face as she did so. 

 “Hey. Hey, Nonagesimus.” Gideon shook her gently, not wanting to harm her further after the unpleasant bone incident from earlier. Harrow didn’t respond beyond tossing her head away from Gideon, muttering continuing unabated. Gideon shook her harder. “Nonagesimus. Hey. Harrow.”

 The other woman shot straight up in bed, eyes suddenly wide open and blazing. “No grave can hold my body down, Nav.” 

 Gideon yelped and fell backwards, tumbling straight off the bed. “What the fuck, Harrow!”

 Harrow glared at her. “It’s freezing in here.”

 Sitting up, Gideon stared incredulously. “It’s cold? You wake up from a fucking coma spouting that creepy bullshit and your concern is that it’s cold?” 

 Harrow hunched in on herself, frowning as she snapped, “What are you talking about, Nav?” She drew the cloak further around herself, not seeming to recognize who it actually belonged to. 

 “Ugh.” Gideon pointed at her accusingly. “You are weird, Nonagesimus. Weird and lucky.” 

 Her finger, righteously jabbing toward Harrow, faltered somewhat when Gideon noticed the shivers wracking Harrow’s frame. She looked around helplessly, but there were no more blankets to be seen in the room and no other people either. Gideon sighed. “If you bite me I’m letting you fend for yourself, you gremlin.”

 “What-”

 Harrow’s question was cut off by Gideon flinging herself over Harrow to crash land next to her. She immediately grabbed Harrow around the waist and bodily hauled the smaller woman into her arms, wrapping her in her own cloak and drawing the blankets up around them both. Harrow spluttered, arms flailing pathetically.

 The sight of Harrow in the throes of speechless bafflement was somehow endearing, a thought that Gideon shoved into the deepest recesses of her brain to never, ever revisit.

 “What are you doing Nav.” 

 Gideon shrugged. “Sex Pal said you had to rest and you had to stay warm. You generate zero body heat on your own because you took ‘bone necromancer’ too literally, so really this is your own fault.” She relaxed back into the pillows, dragging Harrow halfway onto her chest and pointedly not making eye contact as she desperately tried to maintain her chill.

 Harrow continued to flail. “This is utterly inappropriate get your hands off me I am fine this is unnecessary what kind of cavalier do you think you are.” Despite her words, Gideon could feel the shivers receding, her own body heat making its way past the shell of ice that Harrow kept wrapped around herself.

 She tucked Harrow’s arms into the blanket. “If you sleep for twelve hours without being a prissy bitch I promise I won’t make fun of you about this for the next twelve to fourteen years.”

 Grumbling, Harrow let herself be manhandled. “Fine.”

 “Fine.”

 (Neither of them ever mentioned how they woke up - with Harrow’s head nestled under Gideon’s chin and Gideon’s hands up Harrow’s shirt. Except that Gideon totally did and Harrow absolutely tried to murder her for it.)

[7-wonders]

Where Angels Fear to Tread

Summary: When the morning comes, so does regret. Both you and Michael must deal with the choices that were made last night, choices that could either make or break Satan’s “plan” for his son and his son’s bride.

Word Count: 3062

A/N: Y’all this is so late and I’m so sorry. Nevertheless, I managed to get it up! Feedback is always appreciated, and if you liked this chapter, reblogs and comments would be wonderful to receive!

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE 

For a brief moment when you first wake up, it doesn’t feel like you’re hungover. Although you’re tired, you’re not bolting out of bed to throw up. That blissful feeling lasts for a total of ten seconds, the hangover waiting until the sunlight hits your eyes to fully hit you. And boy, does it hit you.

“Oh, God no.” You groan, covering your face with your pillow in an attempt to alleviate some of the throbbing in your head.

You’re not too terribly nauseous, but you’re still not going to be eating a three-course meal right away. Every time you try to take the pillow off of your face, your head spins. You haven’t been this hungover in a long time, and it can only be one thing causing your pain.

“The fucking vodka.” You realize, sighing and rolling onto your stomach so you don’t have to put in the effort to hold the pillow up.

Although you’ve had vodka before, it was only a shot or two at a time, never as much as you had during your pong victory last night. It should have been enough of a warning when it smelled like gasoline, but drunk (Y/N) likes to disregard clear signs of danger. When you finally feel able to lift your head from the pillow, you thank your lucky stars that a bottle of water and some ibuprofen sits on your bedside table. Remembering how you ended up back at your apartment, you wrinkle your nose in a mixture of disdain and embarrassment.

You take the medicine quickly, too hungover to be able to think clearly about the consequences of last night’s actions. Maybe you were better off with the pain of a headache, considering that each drunk memory is even worse than the one before it.

“Did I seriously pet his hair?” You mumble, sitting up against the headboard and burying your face in your hands. Speak of the devil (or the devil’s son), your phone starts ringing the oh-so familiar ringtone. You don’t even have to look at the caller ID to know that it’s Michael; no one else that you know would call you, especially on a Friday morning. “Hi, Michael.”

“(Y/N), good morning.” He greets, sounding mildly shocked that you’re awake and functioning. You’re a little shocked too, honestly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck, but the truck was only going like five miles an hour.” Michael chuckles at your colorful description of how you feel. “Thanks for coming to pick me up last night, by the way. I don’t even know why I called you.”

“You called me to berate me on my behavior. You also lamented the fact that you’re married to, and I quote, ‘the fucking Anti-crust.’” You grimace, shaking your head.

“Oh no, I am so sorry.”

“No, I deserved it. Plus, you made some good points, and I’m glad you called me instead of deciding to drive yourself home.” A smile tugs onto your face at the concern Michael has for you, quickly being wiped off when the reminder of his actions yesterday sends a bolt of pain through your lip.

“We wouldn’t have driven anyways, we took a Lyft there.” You explain, pulling at a loose string on your blanket while you wait for Michael to speak.

“(Y/N),” he says after a silence long enough to make you start to wonder if he had hung up, “can I ask you a question?”

“I know what you’re getting after, and I’m sorry for referring to you as my husband when I was in front of my friends last night. In my defense, we were all really drunk and they all thought I was just being a smartass. If you’re going to punish anyone, punish me and not them.” You interject, fully taking responsibility for your slip of the tongue that gave both of you mini heart attacks.

“Huh? No, don’t worry about that. Trust me, I know that it was just a joke to them.”

“Really? Okay then, ask me your question.” Another long silence follows, one that has you huffing in annoyance. You could easily be sleeping off your headache right now, if it weren’t for Michael being dramatic on the other end of the call.

“Would you...if you would allow me to, would you like to go on a date today? With me?” It’s your turn to initiate a long silence.

The all-powerful Antichrist, who you’ve seen command congregations of ravenous followers with a mere glance and force you to give yourself to him, who holds the most frightening amount of power you’re sure anyone on Earth has ever possessed, is nervous about asking you out on a date? You’re startled out of your inner monologue by Michael calling your name through the phone.

“What?”

“Well, I asked you if you-”

“I know. I guess I was just caught off-guard. I mean, aren’t you supposed to ask me on a date before you marry me?” You ask, smiling wryly.

“I think you and I can both agree that our union is nothing if not unconventional.”

“Hmm. Say I did agree to go on a date with you. What would we do?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve never been on a date before and this was a very spur-of-the-moment decision.” Michael admits.

“Awww, how cute!” You tease, giggling when you hear him scoff.

“I’m the Antichrist (Y/N), and though I’ve been described as many things, ‘cute’ is not one of them.” He notes. It’s quiet for a moment while you consider your options, eventually deciding ‘what the hell?’

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Michael, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“We-I-uh-great.” He stutters out. “Tonight, then? I’m sure you have classes and such today, and I’d hate to force you to do something when you’re already forced to spend the weekend with me.”

You stretch the arm that’s not holding your phone above your head, glancing over at the clock to see the time.

“I actually don’t have class today. Wanna meet me at my place at eleven?” You can tell he’s shocked at your response, and you’re a little shocked too. You’re not sure if you want to confront him while sober about how he smacked you, or if his whole ‘poor, socially-stunted Antichrist’ act actually was an act.

“That would work for me.”

“Cool! I’m driving though, so you’re gonna have to do your teleporting thing.”

“Why do you get to drive?”

“Because you’re the most boring driver ever. Seriously, you don’t even listen to music?”

“It’s distracting! I like the quiet, it allows me to think.” Michael argues.

“Car rides are for bumping your favorite music, not sitting in silence, but I digress. Does eleven work for you or not, golden boy?” The ‘golden boy’ nickname is one you’re quite proud of, seeing as it’s one of the only productive things you thought of while giggling to yourself in Michael’s car last night.

“Yes, eleven works. I’ll see you then.”

“See you in a bit!” You chirp, hanging up your phone and sitting up. Suddenly, you’re aware of your devastating mistake: you have to actually get your hungover ass out of bed and dressed within an hour.

It’s definitely not your finest date outfit, but considering the man has seen you bloody and scared out of your mind, you’re not too worried about impressing him. Besides, the point of a date is to get to know a person and make them want to see you again. You’re already stuck with Michael for life, so one half of your ‘mission’ is basically completed. You rush to the door when you hear him knock, peeking through the peephole before you unlock it fully. It’s a little infuriating just how perfect Michael always looks; he seriously could have walked right off of a runway during Fashion Week. His regular attire could put some movie stars to shame, so needless to say he makes you feel extremely underdressed. Nevertheless, he still smiles the moment he sees you.

“Hi, (Y/N).” He greets, stepping into your apartment. “I, uh, got you some flowers. I know that’s what you’re supposed to give a girl before a date.” He produces a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back, making your face red.

“Did you read my mind to find out my favorite flowers?” You tease, taking the bouquet from him and turning to find something to put them in.

“No, actually. You had told my Ms. Mead that these were your favorites once.” Now that you think about it, you had told Ms. Mead that; they had been on sale at the market you both frequented, and you had made a note that you had to buy them when she noticed them in your basket. “Are you feeling any better?”

“My head still hurts, but other than that I’m fine. I usually only throw up after I drink hard liquor.” There’s no vases in your kitchen, so you just grab an old water bottle and fill it up to place the flowers in.

“If you’d like, I can take your pain away?”

“You already left the painkillers out on my nightstand, pretty sure if I take anymore that’s considered drug abuse.”

“Not like that. I can...use my powers, and take your pain away. Only if you consent, of course. I told you after the wedding that I wouldn’t use magic on you without your permission, and I intend to keep that promise.” This side of Michael, the one who actually cares and shows human emotions, is easily your favorite.

“You can do that?” He nods.

“I could heal your lip, too.” Before either of you can really process it, his hand gently cups your chin, thumb lightly running across the scabbed-over cut.

“We’re going to have to talk about this, you know.” You mutter, Michael’s thumb moving away so that he doesn’t accidentally slip it into your mouth.

“Let me heal you, and then we can?” He proposes.

“Yeah, okay.” You lead him over to the couch, sitting and facing him. “So how does this work? Do you have to perform some sort of spell?”

Michael chuckles, shaking his head. It startles you to realize you’ve picked up on some of his idiosyncrasies, knowing that playing with the large rings decorating his fingers means that he’s nervous.

“No, you just need to trust me.” You hesitate for a moment before nodding your head slightly.

Michael places both of his large hands on either side of your face, your breathing hitching at the close contact. You watch as his eyes flutter closed. He doesn’t say anything, nor does he move, but you can feel the exact moment that his magic hits you. The pain in your head disappears slowly, but when it’s gone, it’s completely gone. You lip pulses in pain as the skin starts to rapidly stitch itself back together, speeding up the healing process by weeks. After Michael lets go of your face, you snatch your phone up and glance at the black screen. You’re completely healed, without even a scar to show for last night’s events.

“Who would have thought the Antichrist could use his powers to fix things instead of break them?” Michael rolls his eyes, studying your face to make sure your split lip is healed to his liking.

“(Y/N), I do want to apologize to you now that you’re sober. I wasn’t lying when I said I had never hit anyone before. I’ve done many, many terrible things in my life, but my terror of a grandmother taught me one useful thing, and it’s that you never lay your hands on a woman.”

“So why me, then? What changed last night to make you want to smack me?”

“I...I wish I had an answer that would satisfy you, but the truth is that I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You scoff, crossing your arms across your chest and laughing. “What a cop out. ‘I don’t know,’” you mock, “is one of the most blatant lies in the world. You do know, you either don’t want to admit it or you haven’t thought hard enough about it.”

Michael huffs loudly, running a hand through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before. All my life, people have either been terrified of me or they’ve worshipped me. You’re neither of those types. You challenge me, and constantly let me know that I’m not as special as my followers have led me to believe. You’re my equal, which is exactly what my father created you to be. I obviously have not handled this realization well, and I lashed out when you snapped at me.”

“Michael, you need to promise me that you’ll never touch me like that again. I don’t care what we are, or what your father wants us to be; you smack me again and I promise you that I’ll ruin your life.” You’re not quite sure how you’d ruin his life, but you both know that this is a threat you’ll follow through on.

“I promise you, (Y/N). I’m not someone who regrets his actions very often, but I regretted hurting you the second my hand left my side.”

“I believe you.” You say timidly, placing a lot of trust in his word. Although you’re not sure if this is the right decision, it’s one that you’ll have to make if this ‘marriage’ is going to work.

“Thank you.” Michael smiles. “Shall we go, then?”

“Where are we going?” You ask, taking his extended hand and letting him help you up.

“Well, I did tell you that I’ve never exactly been on a date before.” Michael says sheepishly. “What do you normally do on a date?”

“There’s a few different things that we could do.” You say, thinking for a moment. “Michael, do you like ice cream?”

Twenty minutes later, you’re walking through a small park across the street from your favorite ice cream shop with Michael, your hands subtly brushing against each other. As it turns out, he does like ice cream, and was more than pleased when you had suggested it. What he wasn’t pleased with was your taste in music on the drive over, begging you to unlock your phone so he could pick a new song. You had tortured him a little bit before obliging, only to learn that Michael actually likes some good music. His ice cream choice isn’t too bad, either: mint chocolate chip in a dish. It’s not something you’d have normally thought of getting, but it’s a flavor that seems to match Michael perfectly.

He watches while you talk about just how much precision and planning went into taking the first picture of the black hole, stopping every so often to have some of your own ice cream (chocolate chip cookie dough on a cone). You had assumed that he would be bored by your newest fascination, but instead he listens intently, smiling at how much you care about this subject.

“I never would have thought you’d be interested in space.” Michael notes.

“I’ve always loved space; when I was younger I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Why?”

“There’s so much out there that we haven’t explored. It’s entirely likely that there is life on other planets. While we know that black holes swallow matter, we don’t know what happens to it or where it goes. There’s a law that matter can neither be created nor destroyed, so either black holes bend the laws of science or that matter goes somewhere else. It’s extremely plausible that there could be other dimensions. Plus, I really like the night sky.”

“Oh?”

“It’s...calming, in a way. It makes me feel so small, looking up at all of the different stars, yet I also feel connected to so much. Everybody sees the same sky at the same time, and it’s interesting to know that we’re seeing the light of stars that have died thousands of years ago. I could look at the constellations for hours.”

You turn around when Michael stops, facing him in confusion. You almost think he’s tripped, since he keeps looking down at his shoe, but there’s nothing there to have made it the focus of his attention. When he looks up at you, there’s a strange look in his eye. It’s not scary or anything, it’s just one that you haven’t seen Michael wear before. It’s a mixture of pain and confusion, as if he’s deciding to do something that could easily have dire consequences.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, smiling at him reassuringly. You’re actually rather enjoying this date, and his company.

“I-uh--” Michael stutters before suddenly leaning forward and kissing you.

Your eyes widen in shock, arms at your sides as you’re momentarily stunned at this turn of events. Quickly, you decide that you actually like what’s occurring right now, closing your eyes and wrapping your arm that’s not holding anything around him. For someone who’s never been on a date before, Michael’s a pretty good kisser. His full lips work easily against yours, and you can still taste the mint on his lips. He’s a little too hesitant with his kissing, but that’s something that can be easily rectified.

It doesn’t last very long at all, Michael pulling away before you can ‘show him’ how to make out. The kiss is short and sweet, two things that you would not normally associate with Michael Langdon. His face is flushed and he’s breathing heavily, looking at you to make sure he didn’t screw everything up.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” You ask, smirking as he touches his lips.

“A week or so.” He answers.

You smile at his expression, one that’s eager to kiss you again while still being hesitant towards what you’re presuming is how you’ll react. You press your lips to his again, making Michael smile widely after you’ve finished.

“You know what you’re doing, I’ll give you that.” Since today is, apparently, about being bold, you take his hand in yours when you start walking again. With hands clasped tightly and ice cream all but forgotten about, your conversations and chaste kisses continue long into your walk.

Tag List: @sammythankyou @let-me-try-mom @ultragibbycentralworld @sebastianshoe @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @alexcornerblogthethird @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @dolceandchalamet @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @dextergirl12345 @americanhorrorstudies @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @coloursunlimited @punkysouls @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonsdemon @langdonslove @carousallie @cuddletothecake @born-on-stgeorges-day @mega-combusken @michaelsapostle @babyloutattoo89 

[britaisy]

Face of an Angel Blood of a Demon (Klance shadowhunter!au)

Keith is a skilled shadowhunter with shady past and insane demon-killing skills. Lance is an unsuspecting freshman who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They meet and everything spirals down to madness.

                                                      Chapter 1

“Lance, I am not too sure about this. You know, it’s not too late to order pizza and watch x-files.”

Lance drew in a patient breath and turned to look at Hunk. His friend’s eyes were clouded with worry as he glanced at the long buzzing, buoyant queue that had gathered outside the club’s door. It was freshmen’s week and the student union had been restlessly handing out free drink tickets and club event adverts from morning until afternoon. Every fresher would be in the club, enjoying their first of the many nights to come of independence and young adult wilderness. It was their chance to meet new people, flip over a new chapter.

“Hunk, we can eat pizza and watch x-files any time of the week. Look at these people…” the boy wildly gestured at the laughing, flushed-faced teens in front of them. They looked as if they had had an early start on the beverages, it was ridiculously easy to get alcohol here, even people under the age of twenty one had saw they had a fake ID tucked neatly into their wallets. Fake IDs were a basic college rule. Everyone knew it, no one cared.  “…They are here to have fun, and meet new people. Come on, it’s not like we’ll get the chance to be freshers again. It wouldn’t hurt to see some fresh faces, especially of the attractive kind” Lance suggestively wiggled his eyebrows, an impish grin spreading on his thin face.

Hunk rolled his eyes and awkwardly adjusted his weight from one foot to another. He wasn’t wearing his usual khakis, and he looked rather uncomfortable in his new jeans that were a bit too tight on his rounded calves. “I get it, man. I am just kind of worried about you. Didn’t the doctor say that you ought to stay home and rest…you know, keep your distance from big crowds, especially after what happened”

“I’ll be fine” Lance’s tone was more biting that he had liked to. He dismissively shook his head and revived his boyish smile. “Look, we’ll just take a look at the people we’ll be studying with for the rest of the year, get a drink to loosen up and leave. We don’t have to stay until the club closes. We’ll even have time to get pizza. Sounds like a deal, big guy?”

“Fine” Hunk gave in, and, in Lance’s relief, a small confident smile flickered on his friend’s face. “I guess a drink won’t hurt anyone. But, if things get rough, you’ll let me know, right?” Hunk gave him a look and it was Lance’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Yes mom, can I have fun now?”

The queue had finally started thinning out and the closer they got to the door, the more deafening the music got. They could hear the heavy bass of whatever song the DJ played bursting out of the club, filling the otherwise empty street. The security guy was a big man with a balding head, sinking eyes and hung cheeks that made him look like bulldog, he seemed tired, as if he had had his fair share of youngsters for the night. He only gave but a short glance at Lance’s and Hunk’s fake IDs before absent-mindedly nodding and letting them in.

Booming music pulsed in their ears once they stepped into the tight-spaced club. In the dim lighting and dried ice, all Lance could see was bodies clumsily dancing and clinging to one another. He pushed his way in with Hunk following suit. They did their best to avoid stray elbows and people who waved open beer cans like flags over their heads, spilling the cans’ insides on the hair of unsuspecting dancers.

“I am going to go get the drinks!” Hunk had to yell to be heard over the music.

“Great!” Lance yelled right back. “I am going to find where the babes are at!”

Lanced didn’t see him do it, but he was certain that Hunk rolled his eyes.

The dance floor was packed, every single inch was preoccupied by shimmying limbs and Lance had to waddle his way through towards the right corner where the couches were. Despite the sudden rush of adrenaline and heat, it was one of those rare times which Lance felt safe among a crowd. It was like a moving blanket wrapped all around him, keeping him from harm. There were so many of them that Lance was invisible, just another body in a sea of hundreds. It was quite soothing to think that way.

He was on his way to claim one of the empty couches for himself and Hunk when he spotted him. He was dressed in black and casually leaning against the wall, a good distance away from the dance floor. His arms were tightly crossed in front of his chest and he seemed as if he were looking out for something. Lance wasn’t exactly sure what drew him to the lone boy; perhaps it was because he was so desperately out of place, with his stern, perfectly still posture as if he was a guard dog instead of a jaunty teen out to have a good time. Maybe, it was those wicked, dark tattoos that peaked out from the hem of his short-sleeved shirt and cascaded all the way down to his hands. Either way, he was extremely attractive.

He headed towards the hot stranger, his top ten pick-up lines flashing behind his eyes as he approached him.

“Hey…” he drawled, smoothing out his voice. The distance from the dance floor muted the deafening music and Lance, gladly, did not have to shout.

The boy turned to look at him. He had beautiful eyes, a dark hue of a colour that Lance couldn’t put his finger on due to the reflecting club lights. They were finely shaped and accompanied by expressive dark eyebrows that were currently knitted down in annoyance.

“Excuse me?” he cried, leaping back like a cat caught in surprise. Lance saw him staring him up and down as if he was genuinely shocked that he had noticed him.

“You are excused.” Lance grinned, choosing to ignore the boy’s peculiar antics. “So…what’s a pretty boy like you doing hanging out in the background?”

“How can you see me?” the boy had narrowed his eyes now in, if Lance was not mistaken, suspicion? Was he on drugs? He didn’t quite look like it.

“How can I NOT see you? You are pretty hot” Lance light-heartedly replied. “I just saw you hanging out all by yourself, thought you were cute and decided to come and see if you’d like some company”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed even further down, his nose scrunched (he had a very cute nose, Lance noted) as he carefully took a step closer to Lance.

“Have…have we met before?”

“No. Trust me…I would remember meeting you.” Lance carried on, still using his special, flirtatious voice that was a couple of octaves deeper than his normal one.

“Are you a shadowhunter?”

A shadowhunter? What the hell was that? “Well, I don’t know about shadow…but I certainly am a hunter.” Lance wiggled his eyebrows. The boy seemed to regret asking him that question immediately. He took a step back, a cold expression now fixed on his pretty face. He clicked his tongue in irritation.

“Never mind then” he indicated in a biting tone. “Go bother someone else, your flirting sucks” he gave Lance a dismissing look before walking away.

He was just a random boy that Lance had only just met; the reasonably thing for him to was to just roll his eyes and move on. There were plenty of people to meet, plenty of people to flirt with. It was just hurtful being turned down in such a cutting way, even by a weirdo.

Lance frowned, irritated with himself. He was allowing a boy he had only just seen get him down. He shook his head and swallowed down the crushing feeling. It was just a boy and it wasn’t like this was the first time he was turned down cold. Deep inside, he knew his puns were stupid, anyway.

The couches were almost fully occupied by mountains of jackets and coats or couples passionately sucking out each other’s faces. But, Lance managed to find a clean spot at the back. He sat down, hoping that Hunk would spot him in all the havoc. It was kind of depressing, how he sat there, fully sober and alone when on the couch next to him a couple, boy and girl were ready to take things on the next level.

He nervously started tapping his foot on the floor. He shouldn’t been feeling this agitated, not after he had assured Hunk that everything was alright. That he was okay. That he could do this. He’d better cheer up as soon as possible. Where the hell were those drinks?

“Hey”

A soft voice from his right side caused him to jump. Lance turned his head so fast that he felt his neck muscles tensing as they stretched. Next to him, was sitting a smiling boy. Lance wasn’t sure if he hadn’t spotted him before or if the boy had sneaked on the couch while he was brooding.

“Hi” he mouthed back, still startled.

He took a moment to take the boy in. He had a pretty face, like the strange guy from before. But whereas the tattooed boy had a tough, rough on the edges veneer, this guy’s face was soft, laid-back and relaxed, tousled light curls embracing his round face like a halo. He calmly returned Lances’ look, his smile widening.

“You seemed kind of…down the weather” the boy carried on talking. His voice was mellow and warm, and despite the music raging on in the background, it seemed to be the most prominent sound. “I saw you all alone, sitting still and pretty, thought you mind need some company”

“Yeah…” Lance drawled in a daze.

The boy chuckled. God, his laugh sounded just like those tiny Christmas bells his family hanged around the house during Christmas time, dainty and bright. “You are cute” the boy noted.

Lance felt his cheeks flushing. It felt almost absurd being called ‘cute’ by such an angelic face.

“Do you have a name to go with that cute face?”

“It’s L-Lance” he stumbled on his words; it had been a while since Lance had been the target of a good-looking stranger’s flirtatious attempts. It was usually he who initiated it.

“Can I buy you a drink, Lance?”

Drink…wait, wasn’t Hunk supposed to be getting the drinks? Where was he? Shouldn’t be here by now?

“Actually…my friend was supposed to get drinks. He should have been here by now” Lance diverted his attention back to the dance floor, squeezing his eyes in an attempt to spot Hunk among all these people.

“Hey” Lance felt a warm hand on his cheek, slowly forcing his eyes away from the dance floor. He found himself staring at the angel boy’s startling eyes again. He felt a peculiar feeling at the pit of his stomach; an all too familiar warmth overwhelmed him, it felt as if he were sitting in his house, all cozied up in a blanket with a warm cocoa in hand.

“Don’t worry. Your friend is fine.”

Lance believed him. His voice was so soft yet convincing.

“It’s getting a bit stuffy in here” The boy complained, lifting his free hand to tuck a curl behind his ear. Lance’s fingers itched to reach out and touch his hair. It was probably as soft and smooth as silk, like his voice.

“I need some fresh air” this time his lanky fingers moved down to unbutton the front of his shirt, revealing a slender neck, pale in the dim lighting of the club. Lance was starting to get hot, too, now.

“Will you walk me out, Lance?”

He smiled at him and Lance couldn’t seem to be able to look away.

“Sure” the answer dripped from his tongue unconsciously. He stood up, alongside with the boy. He took hold of Lance’s hand and Lance felt his heart jolt into his chest, everything else seemed to fade away, the music, the dance floor, even his concern for Hunk’s whereabouts. Lance’s eyes were fixed on the back of the boy’s curly head and before he realised it, he was led through the crowd outside the back door of the club.

The chilly September air hit his face and Lance shivered, roughly reminded of the fact that he had forgotten to bring a jacket with him. The boy let go of his hand, depriving him of his warmth. He looked around him; they were on the narrow alley right behind the club. It was where the club and the Chinese take away next door dumped their trash.  It was dark, cold and he and the boy were the only ones in sight.

Lance was about to remark on the strange choice of ‘fresh air’, when he felt the softest pair of lips plastering against his own. Arms slithered around his waist, pushing him back against the cold, humid wall. The boy’s warm body pressed against his, grinding his hips against Lance’s pelvis as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into Lance’s mouth.

Lance felt giddy, it did not matter how cold and disgusting the wall behind him felt, he had never been kissed like that, like he was the only living person in this world worth to be kissed. All those lukewarm kisses he had awkwardly shared in the past…this was different, strong and passionate and the boy knew exactly how to move his tongue and hands in rhythm.

He felt lightheaded, his surrounding fading away as he shut his eyes, indulging him in the moment. Suddenly, his knees started buckling like jelly and the dizziness begun making him more uncomfortable. He stirred in the boy’s arms, but he kept kissing him…no he wasn’t kissing him anymore, he was sucking him. Lance couldn’t breathe, he tried to move away but the boy’s hands were clung onto him like vice, keeping him in place. He moaned and tried to bite him but his whole face felt numb.

Cold, paralyzing fright crushed his chest. The boy’s arms where the only things keeping him in place, his legs were useless, unable to move, it was as if his whole supply of energy was slowly being sucked out of him, black spots started flashing before his eyes. His lungs were ready to explode from the lack of oxygen; the black spots were getting larger and thicker. He was going to black out, all because he had been stupid enough to be lured by a pretty face.

Helplessly, he remained there, eyes wide in horror and waiting for his lungs to give up when suddenly, the swishing sound of a blade penetrated his ears. The boy cried out in pain and stumbled back. Lance collapsed on the street, his legs unable to hold his weight, his chest was puffing and his heart was pumping as his lungs hungrily breathed much needed air.

He averted his gaze and in his great horror, he saw the boy, the front of his shirt was splashed with blood, a nail-like blade stuck out of the centre of his chest. Lance felt panic rising like bile, he wanted to scream for help. But his mouth felt dry and the only thing that came out was a pathetic whimper.

“Fucking shadowhunter” the boy’s voice was no longer soft and inviting. It was rough and hoarse and it echoed in the alley. With a jerk of his hand he plunged out the nail and threw it aside. “Where are you little shadowhunter?” his eyes were now glowing red, maliciously narrowed as he turned around, searching for someone, probably whoever had pierced him with that blade…something that should have killed him. Lance recoiled against the wall. This couldn’t be happening to him. Had he been drugged? But how could he? He hadn’t drunk a single drop.

“...what a pain in the ass, don’t you know it’s rude to disturb one’s meal?” the boy growled. A black figure lunged out of the shadows and landed upon the boy who was knocked down on his back.

The black figure straightened up, a small black blade in his hands. Lance’s eyes widened as he realised that his rescuer was the mysterious tattooed guy he had tried to unsuccessfully hit on in the club.

“Aw, there you are…” the boy staggered back onto his feet, his hands covering the right side of his face. Steam and a black tar-like substance oozed out from his wound. The boy lowered his hand and Lance’s stomach turned. The tattooed guy had managed to slice the whole right side of his face, leaving a thick scar behind. On the periphery of the scar, the flesh was peeled back, like a banana leaf and the tar that kept seeping out of the wound burned the flesh away as if it were a plastic mask (it certainly smelled like it). Even more steam vapored from his face, or whatever was left of it because as it cleared, the angel boy had turned into a horrid creature. His pretty face had morphed into a coal-burned, wrinkly mask, as dry and rough as the bark of a tree, his curly locks were replaced by black, twisted horns spiking out of his skull and his hypnotizing eyes were now two burning red orbs glaring at the tattooed guy.

“Prepare to meet your demise, shadowhunter” his voice was scratchy and fiendish, like chalk scratching against a blackboard.

The tattooed boy, the shadowhunter, remained calm at the threats of this creature. He leaped into the air again, jumping higher than an average person should be able to. He began attacking, thrusting into the air to deliver curt and quick attacks, he moved as flexibly as a cat, thrashing his short blade through the creature while avoiding its own vicious attacks. This whole scene looked like something from a Spiderman film and Lance was absolutely terrified.

He wanted to get up, crawl back into the club and leave as fast as he could so he could go home and pretend that none of these had ever happened. Because, this, what he was currently seeing, could not be happening, not in real life. God, why was he always on the receiving end of the world’s freakishness? Hadn’t he gone through enough, already?

The creature let out a hair-rising screech of pain. The shadowhunter’s blade had pierced through the side of his neck. He plunged it out, and a waterfall of black tar cascaded down from the wound. The creature’s limbs started disappearing and dissolving into grey dust when, finally there was nothing left of it. Not even an ounce of black blood.

Lance watched as the boy tucked the small blade back into his thigh holster, his attention turning to him as he approached him. Unconsciously, Lance attempted to crawl back, pressing himself even harder against the wall.

“Are you hurt?” he could hear the panting in his voice from the intense fight with…whatever that creature was.

Lance shook his head, still unable to fathom what had just happened to him.

“Can you get up?” he carried on.

Lance pressed a hand against the wall and focused whatever ounce of energy he was left into standing up. His legs dangerously wobbled before he had a chance to straighten himself and he lost balance, he fell forwards, but the boy was ready for him. He caught him before he fell, straightening him up and wrapping a strong arm around his waist.

“I guess that’s a no” he mumbled. “Put your arm around my shoulder”

Lance didn’t comply.

“What’s wrong?” the boy asked, irritation lacing his voice.

What’s wrong? Oh nothing at all…Lance was merely just attacked by some sort of monster that sucked him dry of energy and almost killed him and then watched a weird guy with tattoos and a blade slay that monster which dissolved into bloody dust. Nothing was wrong, nothing at all.

“I don’t even know who you are…how do I know you won’t…do anything, like turn into a monster and try to eat me” he managed to respond, his voice barely audible.

“I wouldn’t go into all the trouble of saving you just to kill you, would I?” the boy impatiently pointed out. “And my name is Keith. I am here to help you. The thing that just attacked you is a demon…a life-sucking kind of demon. Had I not been here in time, he would have sucked all the life out of you and left you for dead.”

A demon? A life-sucking demon…what the hell was going on? Lance could feel his heart beat spiralling out of control, his breathing getting more rapid. He managed to hold down his panic. He couldn’t have a meltdown right now. Obligingly, he wrapped his arm around the boy’s, Keith’s, shoulder and let him lead him out of the alley.

They stopped outside the Chinese takeaway ship, its florescent lights blazing through the blurry glass with the faded letters reading “The Dragon’s nest”.

“You need to eat to get your energy back” Keith explained before Lance had a chance to question him. They stumbled into the shop, Lance still clinging onto Keith. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open and not completely lean against Keith.

There was a middle aged man behind the counter who glanced at them strangely but said nothing. He was working next to a night club, he had probably seen weirder things than a placid looking teen being carried by another bloodied, tattooed teen.

“You’re here to order?” he asked.

“A large chicken lo main, please”

“That’d be 5.50 dollars”

“Do you have money, I didn’t bring any.”  

“Back-pocket” Lance mouthed, getting dizzier by the second.

Keith lowered his arm from Lance’s waist down to the back pocket of his jeans and reached for the wallet inside.

“Easy there, big guy” Lance breathed out.

Keith snorted. “You never stop, do you?” He snatched the wallet out and fumbled until he found some cash. He paid the middle-aged man and they both watched him as he retired to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Lance was sat on the pavement of the Chinese shop, wolfing down the noodles as if he had never had food in his life before. Keith was silently sitting beside him, staring at the road as if he expected another demon to appear. Demons…Lance still couldn’t swallow that part down.

“You look better now, at least you don’t look like a ghost” Keith remarked.

“I always look dashing” Lance retorted, mouth full of noodles.

“Yup, you are fine” He stood up. He began to walk away.

“Wait!” Lance jumped. “Will I ever see you again?” he asked.

“If you are lucky, you won’t” Keith gave him one last nod. Lance watched him walked into the empty streets, until he disappeared into the shadows.

He stood there for a second, with a finished cup of noodles in his hands before he remembered…

Hunk. Shit.

        ----

@i-write-shakespeare-not-disney   I finally finished the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this. 

[ecotone99]

[SF] [HM] A New Way Forward

A New Way Forward

“I need to meet with you soon, stoopidmod” My alarm bells were already ringing, when the caller identified himself. “This is Ian, you know me as br0nytail” Great, another neckbeard incel wants to expound his ideas on how the world should work to me personally. Initially, I did not return the call, as I was far too busy sorting my collection of Pokemon cards. My name is Wolfgang, and my reddit id is stoopidmod. In addition to being an avid Pokemon card collector, I am the moderator for a few subreddits, namely; r/newworldorderdreaming r/pokemonnsfw r/pokemontrade Certain members of these subreddits have extensively searched me out, by analysing every post I have ever made. This, combined with serious web searching had enabled a few of them to pinpoint who I am. Unfortunately, I suspect my ‘for sale’ post on a popular website had alerted at least one of them to my phone number (Still for sale, by the way, 2008 unopened package of Hot Pockets – serious enquiries only). So, here we are. “I know you live nearby. We need to meet”. Ugh, no Let’s not. After spending many hours reviewing Br0nytails posts and comments in many subreddits, my initial impressions were confirmed, in an even deeper and more troubling way. His racist, misogynistic, protectionist, and clearly self-hating ideas and thoughts have come through quite clearly. The twenty-third message he had left me was a little more troubling: “I am dying, and I have something I need to tell you, and you only. You are my only friend”. Huh. Only friend. I guess my fifteen or so replies to his comments qualified me! I am a lucky man indeed.

My name is William J. Lynch, and I was appointed to the position of Assistant to the Deputy Director of the United States Space Force (USSF). I have since been seconded to the Department of Homeland Security; due to budget reallocation away from the USFF towards building the Wall (apparently our USSF business cards and snazzy uniforms consumed our operating budget for the fiscal year, rendering our department rather useless). Ian Walthorn, otherwise known as ‘Br0nytail’ on some silly website called Reddit, came to my attention when my new boss called me into his office. ‘We need you to find out what happened to this individual. There is evidence certain events related to this individual could pose a risk to national security. Assemble a team, and let me know what additional resources you require.” One of the first reports I received back from my analysts indicated that Ian had written an ‘application’ to become a member of the USSF, either as an intelligence analyst (citing his googling skills as experience) or volunteer to be one of the first to colonise the moon (according to Ian, extreme social isolation such as living on the moon can be equated to being a lifetime basement dweller from an experience standpoint.) Communication intercepts led me to an individual named Wolfgang McAllister, also known as stoopidmod, as we also discovered.

Ian buzzed me in, and I walked down the greasy carpeted flight of stairs to his basement apartment. The smell of microwaved fishsticks lingered heavily in the hallway. I knocked, and the door immediately swung open. “Come in quickly, Wolfgang”. Ian did not look well. That was obvious. Nor did his apartment, garbage strewn everywhere, evidence of his horrific diet which apparently consisted largely of Cheetohs Puffs and diet Coke . Dingy and dark, with the exception of the glow of two large LED displays identifying his primary connection with the outside world – or so I thought. I could feel a strange buzz permeate my body. “You need to hear this, and it’s going to sound weird” “You don’t look well Ian, do you need help? Are you sick?” “I am disconnecting”. At first I thought he meant he was having trouble with his internet connection. “I am coming apart, physically and mentally, I am literally disintegrating” I suppose he did look a little fuzzy, now that he mentioned it. “You know my ideas on women, politics and immigration, but what you don’t know is my power of prayer. I grew up in stifling religious family. I may have abandoned the religion, but I did not abandon prayer. I just applied it to my more modern thinking. About 6 years ago, I realized that what I was praying for was becoming reality. I truly started understanding that my power of prayer was influencing the world, at first in small ways, escalating to my stronger ideals. It was like a dream coming true. As Ian spoke, I had to keep adjusting my eyes. I could swear that he was getting blurrier. And that buzz I felt, it was getting more intense. What is going on? This all sounds a little incredulous. “I can’t prove to you that I have this power, but I know I won’t be here for long. If you know about it, maybe you can try and follow up on it, see if anything changes once I am gone? “My energy is running out, and I am fading. I can tell that you feel that buzzing sensation. It’s tearing me apart.”

I assembled a team to visit the basement apartment, not really knowing what to expect. The whole block had been cordoned off once the paramedics had called in the Department of Homeland Security. After donning our hazmat suits, we climbed down the stairs in the dim light. The place smelled vaguely of microwaved fish sticks, even through the mask filters. There he was. Or, what was left of Ian. A puddle of goo on the floor, reflecting the blue light of the computer displays. One of my team members, Dr. Lu Shuan, a physicist, poked a stick into the goo, and deposited it into a glass container, which was then placed into her tungsten briefcase. Dr Shuan then brandished her ionization detector to scan the basement apartment. She had a deeply troubled look in her eyes. I met Wolfgand Mcallister the next day. “Explain to me again why you called 911?” “At first I thought I was hallucinating, you know, there was this weird buzzing in the apartment. Then I could see Ian literally coming apart in front of me. Not like falling apart, but breaking up microscopically, with little bits sloughing off onto the floor. “I ran out of the apartment and called 911, they arrived in minutes, and took my name. I hung around outside for about an hour, but then the police arrived and cordoned off the whole area. They took my name and number, and they asked me to leave” Wolfgang indicated to me that Ian was a real jerk, who had a thing for prayer. A ‘neckbeard incel’ (I had to look that up) who believed he was controlling the world through his ‘prayer’. Wolfgang sensed that Ian just wanted to watch the world burn. Later that day, Dr. Shuan called me into her office. “We have some pretty startling news. What we have ascertained is that the deceased, Mr. Walthorn was being bombarded with high speed subatomic particles. The source of these particles came directly from beneath his apartment. Until we ascertain the cause of this, the area must remain cordoned off to all except those with the appropriate clearance. “We ran genetic testing on samples taken from the goo, and determined that specimens were complete enough to run a comparison against our national database. We found an interesting match.”

So, it turns out that Donald J. Trump is a pretty good guy, after all. After two years in office, at a time when the American people, and even his own party, have lost patience with his protectionist policies and backward-thinking, came a shocking change: Donald Trump announced a “New Way Forward” in his State of the Union Address. “I am a changed person, no longer grasping on to the archaic ideals” he said on National TV. And, as such, he quickly cancelled the construction of the wall, invoked new laws to provide support for immigrants and refugees, re-engaged with trading partners globally, appointed females to roles within his executive where seats had remained vacant for years. And this was just the beginning. Suddenly the USA became whole again, unemployment was at its lowest in history, global trade created opportunities for underdeveloped nations. And Trump became admired globally. In fact, over time he would be compared to the likes of Ghandi (ignoring Ghandi’s nasty parts) and Mother Theresa (also, disregarding the nasty bits). People were happy. What most people won’t know is this: Donald J Trump was indeed a puppet. But, not of a foreign power, like Russia or Saudi Arabia like everyone assumed, but of a neckbeard incel known as Br0nytail. Ian thought his power of prayer was manipulating the world towards his ideal. In reality, it was a little more complicated than that, and no coincidence that Donald Trump’s New Way Forward coincided with the demise of one Ian Walthorn. “Ian Walthorn was entangled with the President of the United States”, said Dr Shuan at the highly classified meeting. Einstein didn’t believe in ‘spooky action at a distance’, but apparently Ian and Donald had more than just a quantum entanglement. “Mr Walthorn lived above a geographic anomaly, a natural source of radiation , which was focused through his apartment. This radiation, when passed through the fine dust of Cheetoh Puffs, accelerated to collide and separate particles of Mr Walthorn himself. After determining through genetic match that Mr Walthorn was the unacknowledged child of President Trump, we now know that this genetic connection had a major impact on the quantity of entangled particles shared between the two men. Enough of these particles were entangled with the President, through genetic similarities, that we can ascertain that these two individuals were actually one from a subatomic comparison. What a mess. The fact that Ian Walthorn was now a puddle of goo had changed the world for the better. Wolfgang sat at his desk, reviewing posts in his subs. “You know, I have seen a big change in people’s attitudes, even in these toxic subreddits. Even when I follow the news, it’s less about global uncertainty, and more about new developments that are progressive. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are still stabbings and stuff that get reported, but since guns have been banned, there just seems to be a lot less violence.” The world indeed was heading to a better place.

Except that there is this super angry pre-teen in North Korea, who happened to reside over a strange geographic anomaly, and who just may have a genetic link to another person in power.

submitted by /u/Stormywazoo [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/30adq3z