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breakingsomething · 4 years

Text

Dawn Station - Part Two

Basic summary: Chase Brody is being kept safe, far away from other people. So he thinks.

Content warnings: gore, body horror, stabbing, emeto, death mentions

Chase Brody is not ok.

Of course he's not. How is he expected to be? Ten people have died, and now he's being told he's next. He's been under police protection for days and judging by the strained snippets of conversation that he's caught from officers, even the others that had been with him are gone. Ten people, they had said. As far as Chase is aware, there were only nine other youtubers who'd been roped into this shit. Who else has this monster that wants them dead killed along with them? Does he even want to know?

He's been in this room for… three days? Four? Fuck, he doesn't remember. All he knows now is white walls, too close around him, with a bed, a tv in the top corner that he doesn't have a remote for, a black bin, a rolling table that's covered in books and other assorted things that he managed to bring with him, and two doors, one of which that leads to a small bathroom and one of which that leads outside. The second door only opens when he's being brought food. No one's telling him anything. He's scared out his mind.

An officer, a pale skinned woman with orange braids and a sympathetic smile, comes in a couple hours after he wakes for the day with breakfast. Toast, cold, with butter slabs and little packets of jam and sugar for his tea. Also cold. "Sorry, we don't have any Weetabix," she tells him with furrowed eyebrows and a sad tilt of the mouth as she clicks the door behind him. "We do have Cheerios and porridge, if you want something more to eat."

It's all he can do not to laugh. "No, thank you," says Chase, in a hoarse voice that hasn't been used in hours. "I want my phone back."

The officer winces. Her eyes are dark, crimson lipstick slightly smudged. Her nametag says "Sarah" on it in violet ink. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, in a voice so soft and falsely sympathetic it makes Chase want to scream. "I don't know if we can do that. We -"

"The others are dead, aren't they?" Chase interrupts. He knows this already. But it's worth saying to see the woman flinch. "All of them. So much for your oh-so-safe "police custody" bullshit."

She attempts to gather herself as professionally as she can, which is seemingly rather difficult. "I'm sorry," she repeats, and something about her tone is more genuine than before. "They are. But I swear to you, Mr Brody, we are doing everything we can to -"

"If I am going to die today," Chase says, interrupting again. "I want to talk to my goddamn family one more fucking time. Please get me my phone."

She stiffens, but gives a jerky little nod. He doesn't smile at her as she leaves. Not much to smile about. But she comes back ten minutes later and wordlessly hands him his slim rose phone, no expression on her face. He manages to upturn the corner of his lips in response.

Once she's left again, he turns his phone on and practically sighs at the sight of his two kids on his lockscreen. Little Connor and Louise, tiny kiddos, dressed up in their pristine school uniforms and grinning cheesily. His heart swells, and he swallows hard as the lump in his throat seems to expand. He can't cry. He's been crying enough lately. To think that two weeks ago, he was ecstatic to be receiving an email from Jack Mcloughlin himself, giving him the opportunity to play his new game's demo early. Look at him now.

Stacy is at the top of his contacts list, but only because he has her favourited still. He's not sure why. It just feels right to have her there. Her picture is a small, grainy image of her face next to a three year old Connor's. He has her looks more than Louise. Louise looks like her dad. She's a daddy's girl. Chase misses her so much it aches, and closes his eyes as he clicks Stacy's number.

She answers almost immediately. "Chase?" she yells, causing him to wince and pull the phone away from his ears. He hears her inhale sharply. "Sorry. Christ, Chase - Where the fuck are you?"

He swallows again, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. His legs are already beginning to bounce. "Police didn't tell you anything, huh," he mutters. "I'm in custody. They're apparently "keeping me safe," but I'm well aware of the fact that the others - Persephone, Rodney, Stanley, and Khia - are. Well." He clears his throat. "Dead."

He says it so matter of factly that you wouldn't know how close he was to tears had you not seen his face.

Stacy shifts, and Chase hears a door slam faintly. Two small voices giggle far off. He bites down on his lip as Stacy talks again. "Yeah. That's… yeah. Chase, I'm sorry. Uh… Jack Mcloughlin's dead too."

Chase sits bolt upright, eyes suddenly wide. "What?"

Stacy sounds alarmed. "I - Yes, did they not tell you? He died maybe two days ago. Same way as all the others. I'm sorry, Chase."

He can't breathe for a moment. Then he's numb and his body settles into cold, unfeeling static.

"Ok," he says flatly. "Great."

"Chase -"

"How are the kids?" he asks before she can finish. He's tired. He's been doing nothing but sleeping and he's tired. "I can hear them in the background, ha. Sounds like a fun time."

He can hear her scratching the space behind her ear. She does that when she's anxious. Nervous habit. She had gotten a little tattoo of a bee there when they were seventeen. It was a dare from their friend Daniel, who had also gotten a tattoo of a crocodile on his left thigh. Chase has a black bear on his right shoulder from the same occasion. When he and Stacy had been together, they would sometimes kiss the other's tattoos and descend into giggles remembering that slightly drunken night back in Ireland. His chest feels tight thinking about it. His eyes glaze over, and he tries to focus on something across the room.

"They're… not great," Stacy murmurs after a moment, making him jump. He had almost forgotten she was there. "Some brat at school told them about - this whole situation. Told them their dad was going to die. Apparently, she made up a song about it."

Chase hisses softly, grateful for another emotion besides grief and missing to focus on. "Fuck's sake. Which kid was this?"

"You know that girl who was making fun of Louise's accent last year and put chips in her hair?"

"That kid again? I thought the school dealt with her."

A sigh. "Apparently not. They came home in tears. I've been keeping them home since then."

Chase shakes his head in disbelief. "Shit, Stace. Can I… can I talk to them?"

She sighs again. "I… I suppose. But - how have you been? I take it its not been great, but are you at least ok?"

What counts as ok? He doesn't know. "I'm not dead yet. So there's something. I guess I can't really say much more than that."

"Papa?" cries a voice on the end of the line, and a grin breaks Chase's face as he recognizes his son, Connor, yelling from somewhere quite close to Stacy. "Is that Papa? Mama, let us talk - Louise, Papa's on the phone!"

Chase can't help but laugh as his daughter also chimes in, two little voices clamoring for his attention. "Calm down, kiddos, there's plenty of me to go round," he grins, pushing his hair back from his face so he can concentrate. "How are you both? One at a time, Louise first."

"Favouritism," he hears Connor sulk, but the boy quiets.

"I'm ok," Louise beams. He can hear her smile, and sees it when he closes his eyes. "I can't go to school cause Megan Penicuik was being mean. We made cookies, though, me and Con-Con! All by ourselves, no help from Mama at all!"

"Now, that's simply not true," he hears Stacy laugh in the background. Chase laughs too, his heart suddenly aching. Something weighs heavy in his chest, but he tries to push it away, feeling sick.

A scuffle on the end of the line, and then it's Connor speaking. "I miss you, Papa!" he cries. "I wanna give you a - a chocolate chip cookie, I have one here." His voice becomes muffled, and Chase hears him chewing. "Yum yum yum. Can we push a cookie down the phone? Like, through the speakers, Mama!"

Chase listens to a small squabble break out, then hears Stacy sigh dramatically. "They're doing just fine," she says, sounding so tired, yet vaguely amused. "I… I hate to say it, but I should probably go. Connor's games club is in half an hour and I haven't gotten ready at all. My makeup's a state." Her voice softens. "Will you be… ok?"

Will he? He doesn't know.

"Stace," he murmurs. His chest feels tight. "I could die. Like, tonight. That's what people are saying. I'm the last one left."

A pause, then Stacy lets out a shaky sigh. "Christ, Chase…"

He gathers his strength. "Listen. Listen, Stace. If I die tonight - I just want you to know how much I love you, ok? Even if we… if we weren't meant to be together anymore. You're one of my best friends, you know? So… take care of the kids. Don't lose yourself. And by god, don't start drinking again."

She gives a choked laugh. "Chase. God, I - Don't fucking die tonight."

He doesn't know how to tell her he won't have a choice.

As soon as the call's ended, he opens up his roommate's contact. He can't stand the echoing silence that seems to go on forever in the minute or so before the ringing starts. He supposes that if tonight is his last night alive, he should say goodbye. Even if it hurts. Even if it makes him feel sick to say it.

He nearly sobs with relief when he hears the line click, and a familiar German accent speak loudly in his ear. "Chase?"

Chase sniffles, laughing softly. "Hey, Henny."

Henrik curses, and something slams. "Mother of God, Chase Brody, do you have any idea - Are you - Fuck, are you alright?"

Good question. "I don't know," he admits, bouncing his leg anxiously, and staring at his chipped black nails. "I mean, I'm… scheduled to die tonight. So probably not. Really, I've been weirdly calm about all this."

Henrik huffs, and Chase can almost picture him getting red in the face, yanking back his hair and staring out the window of their flat with narrowed, pale blue eyes. "They have not done anything about it? Surely it is not possible that a murderer who is killing in patterns cannot be apprehended? You would think that would be easy, especially if you are being held in high security. Motherfucking useless British police. Not that German ones were much better, but Christ -"

Chase cuts him off before he can rant for another five minutes. "How are the others? Are Jackie, Marv and Jem holding up ok?"

Henrik sighs, blowing out his cheeks. "Mhm. Marvin has gone a bit mad. Fucking idiot is spending way too much time online, reading up on your situation. He seems convinced that you are going to die as well. According to Jackie, he spent all of yesterday out of the house and came back saying he had been performing. But Jackie says he had not had any parties scheduled for that day, so he was talking shit."

Chase winces. His friend Marvin is a child's birthday party performer, a magician, and spends a lot of time perfecting fun tricks and illusions to add into his routine. Chase knows how much he enjoys his job. But he also knows that Marvin's habit of spending hours on internet forums and sites, learning things from other performers, can be bad for him. "Christ. I… Goddammit it. How's Jackie coping?"

He hears a microwave go off in the background. Henrik mutters something that Chase can't hear, then keeps talking. "Jackie has been at the gym every day since you were taken in. Overworking himself. He did come round yesterday and, uh, spoke about how scared he was for you. Cried a lot, poor man. I am not good with comforting people, but I tried. He does not know what to do with himself anymore."

This isn't surprising. Chase is well aware of Jackie's habit of overexercising and pushing himself too far when he was angry or upset. "And Jameson?"

Something clatters, like Henrik's rummaging in a cupboard. A fridge opens and slams shut, and then Henrik is back. "He has been round at our flat a lot. Did you know Euan ended things with him? I did not, until he told me the day before yesterday. He was dreadfully upset. The timing was… not great, to say the least. I do not think he is doing too well, but he refuses to accept any of the help I wish to give him. He kept asking about me instead. Really, sometimes I wish he was not such a good actor."

So does Chase. Jameson is never one to be open about his feelings, instead trying to help everyone else first. Chase loves him a lot, but he wishes the filmmaker would be less stubborn and insistent that he was always ok. His heart aches at the thought of Jameson suffering alone, especially now - he and his boyfriend Euan had been so close, as well. The thought that he might never be able to figure out what happened between them hurts. "Me too. God, Hen, me too. Give them all my love though, yeah? Tell Marvin to take some time to do self care, and tell Jackie to take breaks, and tell Jameson to talk to his therapist. And you… don't you overwork yourself either. I know what you're like. Only one cup of coffee a day, dude, remember. Don't make me come over there."

Henrik laughs softly, but there's a sadness to it. "You sound as though you are saying goodbye."

Something stabs into Chase's heart. He tries to catch his breath through the lump in his throat. "Henrik. I'm going to die tonight."

There's a long pause. He can hear Henrik adjusting, rubbing his face and knocking his glasses askew. Maybe he knows his roommate too well. Far too well, maybe well enough that he knows what he'll say next. "There has to be another way."

Chase shakes his head despite Henrik being unable to see him. "No. No, Hen, no. This - this is what's happening, and we can't just… fix it. I wish we could, cause I don't even understand why, and it's so scary, and… God, I wish we could. I have so much left I want to do, and…"

He trails off. Henrik doesn't speak. Chase imagines him pulling the phone away from his face, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his mouth so as not to cry. The image hurts. Chase hurts. He holds the phone tight, aching to be somewhere, anywhere else other than here.

"You know," he says, voice choked as he speaks. "It's ironic how much I wanted to die a few months ago, and now I'm here, and I'm suddenly so scared."

"You are not going to die," Henrik suddenly shouts. There is anger in his voice that Chase knows is not directed at him. "You are not. It will not just all end like that, Chase Brody. I will not let it."

Something hot pricks the backs of Chase's eyes. He swallows hard, his chest tightening, his legs bouncing harder. "Henrik. Henrik, I - I have to go. I have to go. I'm sorry. I love you, dude. You know that? I love you."

"Chase," Henrik practically sobs. "Shit, I love you too. But you are not going to die."

Chase ends the call and throws up in the black bin next to his bed.

Night comes quickly, Chase thinks.

He thinks, because an officer comes to take his phone soon after his call with Henrik ends. He's starting to regret hanging up, but it had to have been what was best. Of course it was what was best. No need to make this hurt so much more than it already does. This is something he has to keep telling himself. No need to make this hurt so much more than it already does.

The officers ask what he wants for dinner that night instead of giving him choices. He gets it. It's a last meal. He takes full advantage of it and orders pepperoni cheese stuffed crust pizza and garlic sticks, his favourite, with barbeque sauce and churros. It all tastes like cardboard. He eats it anyway, because he's bored and his mouth still tastes like vomit and if he's going to die, it's only fitting that he goes out with a Domino's in him.

Before he's even finished eating, an armed guard comes and takes him across the building. It's the first time he's left his room in days, and he's surprised to see how dark it is outside, how little people are around. The few people he does see stare at him, some open mouthed with awe, some with sad eyes like a parent trying to tell their child that their pet fish died. Chase stares at the floor. Stares at the gun tucked into the waistband of the officer in front of him. He's scared, and his heart is racing faster than it has in years, and he thinks he's dissociating a little because he doesn't feel real and his fingertips are numb. Adrenaline thrums through his body, warming him and erasing the painful cold. Fuck, but he's scared. He's so, so goddamn scared.

He's taken to an entirely different room, a slightly bigger one that looks nearly the same, but with wooden chairs sat all around the border. There's no TV in this room. "Sit here," one of the officers says, guiding him to the blue covered bed and gesturing for him to sit. He does so, feeling silly and light with panic. He thinks he's going to be sick again. His breaths aren't coming right and fuck, he might faint from the sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness that's washing over him now.

One of the officers that has just come in walks over and sits next to him. He's in full uniform, a radio on his vest, a bat strapped to his belt. "Are you alright, Mr Brody?" he asks gently, looking at him with kind brown eyes, and Chase sobs with relief for some kind of comfort.

"H-h-having a p-panic attack," he stammers, shifting on the bed to try and feel something, clawing at his skin under his grey hoodie and desperately trying not to cry. "N-need my - my - my asth-ma in-inhaler, p-please, I can't br-breathe -"

He's brought his inhaler, and he clutches it gratefully, clinging to it like a child. The cold button grounds him. Maybe, maybe if he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough, he'll wake up in his bed at home and be able to get up and shower in a bathroom that's not small or lit too brightly and then he can go downstairs to the kitchen to find Henrik half asleep at the table, three cups of coffee in front of him, wearily participating in whatever Chase's dumb early morning joke is, and then he can eat toast that's not burnt or done too lightly and play his music while he writes or goes on a walk outside. Maybe. Maybe.

The armed guards keep watch over him for two full hours.

Chase Brody is terrified.

It's when it hits the two and a half hour mark that he begins to notice anything different. A faint ringing in his ears. He thinks it's his tinnitus and waves it off, simply swatting at the air around his head like that will help at all. One of the guards notices immediately. "Sir, are you alright?"

Chase nods. He's not, but he doesn't need them dithering over him. Unfortunately, the guard doesn't let up. "Seriously, it's important that you tell us what's happening. Anything at all. Anything that could help you."

Well, that's reassuring. "Strange noise," he murmurs, shaking his hair out his face. "I think it's just me, though, I'm alright -"

But the guard is standing, muttering something into the radio strapped to his chest, and is it Chase's imagination, or are more people entering the room? "What's happening?" he asks, but he gets no response, and he's starting to feel strangely dizzy and tired, like something heavy is dragging his eyelids down. "I don't… h-hey, I don't feel too… too well…"

Someone is speaking to him but the world is already blurring, his head light, floaty. "Stacy?" he slurs, trying to get a grip on the bedsheets beneath him. "Someone needs t'... m'kids, they…"

Chase Brody is no longer in the same room as he was before.

He doesn't know when that changed. He can't pinpoint the exact moment where the walls darkened and raised with pipes and doors and panels, he doesn't know when his bed disappeared beneath him and the floor became sticky and black, he doesn't know when the bright light of his room became a soft blue glow, lighting up the room from behind him. He doesn't know when the room had stretched both ways into a long hallway, lined with slivers of light through the windows. He doesn't know why, when he stands, his legs nearly crumple beneath him. And when he turns - god, when he turns, and he looks out the enormous windows behind him - he doesn't know why a calming sensation of numbness settles over him, burning his skin like pins and needles.

He is staring out at the vast abyss of space.

It's a blackness he's never seen before. It seems to go on forever, and maybe it does, and there is nothing but tiny pinpricks of silver light of gaseous stars piercing the inky nothingness. Nothing but that, and the ball of green and blue that Chase knows, somewhere in his mind. Earth. Earth, where he is and isn't, where his body should be, where he never left, and what kind of nightmare is this? What kind of sick nightmare, he thinks dizzily, his thoughts chugging slowly as though through a thick soup. Everything is spinning. There is no sound, the world is broken, and the space is fucking endless.

Move, says the tiny part of his brain that still has sense. Get out. Get out.

His footsteps echo on the metal panes of the floor, and he resists the tightening urge in his stomach to vomit.

He doesn't know why this place is familiar.

The hallway seems to go on forever. All the doors along the way to the left have small, glowing panels beside them that seem to demand some type of access keycard, which Chase very much does not have. Eventually he reaches one that he can open, and stumbles into a large room with a table in the centre, the walls covered in photos and clippings that he doesn't bother taking closer looks at. There is only one small window in here, over a sleek black couch that seems to have nearly been shredded right through the middle. The table has a bolted down chair and a large pile of papers next to a cracked laptop that splutters weakly as it asks for a password. The room is too dark. Chase slowly walks through it, wincing at the sound his boots make on the floor, wincing at the silence, heart racing with the promise of another panic attack that he pushes down forcefully, gripping his own wrist for support. This isn't right, screams the universe. This is too familiar. This is too real. This is too familiar to be real.

Chase has noticed that everything in this place, despite its immediate appearance of immaculate properness, seems to be slightly out of place. This becomes more apparent in the room adjacent to the one he'd just been in, a room filled with sealed metal crates and boilers that bubble menacingly from their perches on the walls, a room which has clearly been nearly destroyed. Black claw marks have torn out chunks of the walls, wires ripped from the floor, buzzing weakly and sparking from wherever they were thrown after their violent uprooting. Dark red stains splash across the floor like a tragic painting that makes Chase's stomach upturn sickly. A vent on the ceiling hisses, and the man jumps and bolts, all last dregs of courage leaving him in an instant. He knows this is a dream. This is a dream, nothing is real, nothing is real, it must be just a dream.

"I've gone to hell," he sobs aloud, clamping both hands over his mouth as a cry climbs up his throat. "O-oh my god, I've gone to hell."

This is what you get for being a shitty, alcoholic dad and husband, he thinks, and promptly throws up on the floor next to the fresh bloodstains.

The rooms start to blur. Objects to objects, light to light, black walls and coloured glow and sparks, hissing, echoing rumbles, all becoming one in Chase's mind. He's long gone past the stage of a panic attack; he's in a state of utter numb calm, now. In one room he finds a long, black lighter and holds it tightly in his hands for comfort, twisting it round and round in buzzing fingers just to feel something solid against his skin to ground him. Please, he prays softly, wiping sweat from his forehead, struggling to breathe as his chest tightens and the world seems to grow hotter and smaller. Please, let me wake up, let me wake up from this, please.

And then something is standing behind him.

He doesn't know how he knows. It's just a sensation of silent shock in him, of I am not alone, a stabbing feeling as the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Something is there. He feels eyes on him. He can't - fuck, he can't move, and all the emotion in him seems to be rising to a painful crescendo. I am not alone in here. I am not alone in here.

"Who's there," he says in a small, cracked voice, not daring to turn. It's barely a question. "What do you want from me."

Nothing but a low hissing, and, most frightening of all, a rumbling growl that nearly sends Chase to the floor in a faint.

He has to look.

He looks.

It's an… an astronaut.

Neither of them move, and Chase's grip on the lighter in his hands tightens, trying to find some form of comfort, anything. "Why am I here?" he manages, swallowing back hot bile that burns his throat and makes him gag softly. "Why, why, what nightmare is this? Am I dead? Did the killer get me and this is my hell?"

The astronaut is silent.

Fury bubbles in Chase's chest, overriding the fear for a moment. "Talk!" he shouts, perhaps stupidly, but he doesn't care. "Please! What is happening?"

Then things get perhaps even stranger, somehow. A glowing 2D box of light appears in front of the astronaut, hovering in the air, too quiet until black text begins to appear on it, cartoonishly video game like blooping noises playing with each letter. Chase watches in awe. He's unable to speak.

<TheAnti.chr_v09> You are the Player.

Chase reads the words over and over and over.

"My name is Chase Brody," he says, voice wavering with uncertainty, because something here is wrong, wrong, wrong, so ridiculously wrong, and he hates the way things are clicking in his mind. "I shouldn't - be here. I think I'm dreaming and I want to go home."

The text flashes.

<TheAnti.chr_v09> You are <player_variable_BroAverage>. You are the Player.

Chase feels like he's above his body, like nothing he's seeing is real anymore. "Please let me go home."

<TheAnti.chr_v09> I am <TheAnti.chr_v09>. I am the Anti. You are the player. Player objective: escape. Anti objective: kill the Player. Initialization - Upon game startup, play <soundtrack_opening2>, set spawn and character sprites -

Chase can't take this. "Stop it!" he cries, and he shouldn't step forwards so confidently, but he does, slashing his hand through the air in front of him. "Tell me what you -"

The astronaut explodes.

No. No, it doesn't explode; Chase's mind is taking a moment to make sense of it, to rationalize the way the helmet has shattered and there is nothing but sheer white and glowing green eyes, hundreds of them, underneath, the largest one on the being's neck, splitting open with disgustingly inhuman squelching sounds, and the way the suit has torn and a mouth has opened up on the stomach, a gaping maw with knives for teeth and a slimy crimson tongue, and the way rips open along the material and more eyes open, burning red skin like charred meat, black veins rising under its skin. It hisses and cracks and growls and hums and it isn't like anything Chase has ever seen before, or maybe it is, because he knows this monster. He's seen this monster. And fuck, now he knows why this world is familiar, because he's been here, he's played this game. This can't be real. This can't be real.

"Posttraumatic nightmares," he can hear Henrik saying to him, the man's voice comforting. "Nightmares that occur after a traumatic event and can contain, what is the word… recurring themes that make you experience intense negative emotions. Maybe that is why you are having such strange dreams, my friend. You have been through a lot in these past few weeks."

That had been months ago. I thought I got over those dreams. I thought I got over those dreams.

He's running. His legs are already burning, chest already tight, why did he have to have used all his energy on his panic attack? Is the monster still following him? Chase can't turn to check, and the blood in his veins is racing through his body faster than he's used to, his heart in his ears as he flies round a corner, barely able to catch a breath. This isn't real, he thinks. It's another nightmare. Please, this isn't real, this isn't -

And then something wet is snaking round his chest, pulsing in a way that makes Chase gag, and something sharp presses into the skin on his back and a burst of numbness runs over him like cold water, causing his body to go limp against the alien - because it is an alien, isn't it, he knew this already - behind him. Cold heaviness seeps through his veins, combatting the light weightlessness that the adrenaline was giving him. He tries to cough again, to speak as his lungs empty of air, but the alien only grips his arms tight enough to piece his skin with sharp claw-like fingers. A glance down at his chest, and he sees the tip of the bloodstained rod jutting through his skin. It doesn't really register. A light laugh escapes his lips, because it's funny, really, how he's about to die at the hands of a video game antagonist.

No, he's not about to die. This isn't real. It can't be, it's another bad dream, of course it is. But if it's not real, then what happened to Jack Mcloughlin and the others, all of those… all of…

The world spins.

And the world lights up in flames.

Chase had briefly forgotten about the lighter he'd picked up for support, and now he's putting it to good use; one flick of the switch and the alien is alight as though it had been soaked in gasoline, burning orange spreading across its suit, the crackling drowning out the monster's screeches. Its grip loosens on Chase's arms, and he pulls free, and the universe spins as the rod in his chest slips out like it's nothing, leaving a gaping emptiness in him. Please, he screams, in his mind or out loud, he doesn't know. Please. Please.

Please, wake me up.

White light. It floods the whole world, for just a moment, and then Chase's eyes are open and he is gasping for air, hands flying to his chest and feeling nothing but the soft material of his shirt, no pain except for the squeeze of his lungs as he coughs desperately into his sleeve. There are people surrounding him now; the police officers and armed guards from before, helping him sit up, holding a sick bucket in front of him as he throws up the little that's left in his stomach weakly, too much noise but nowhere near as bad as the silence of the Dawn Station. Nowhere near as bad as the hissing creaks of the Anti. Nowhere near as bad as his nightmare, because it was a nightmare, of course that wasn't real - nowhere near as bad as the nightmare that he'd thought was going to kill him.

I lived. I survived the night.

He's had this thought before, but this time, it's met with relief.

"You dreamed about the setting of a video game."

"Not just any video game. The, uh… the new Jack Mcloughlin game, Dawn Station. All the people who played the demo… died. I didn't die. The night I was supposed to, after all the others, I - I dreamed about the game. And the antagonist of the game. It's this, uh, this alien thing, in an astronaut suit. Tried to kill me. Apparently it's weak to fire, although I don't remember that from the actual game, maybe it was a secret that wasn't in the demo we were all sent, but I burned it, and it stabbed me, and I got away, not - not in that order. Does that… does that make sense, doctor?"

Dr. Ross scrutinizes Chase for a moment before turning his chair back to face his computer. The sound of his mouse clicking fills the room, off beat from the eternal clicking of the plain white clock on the plain white walls, decorated only with bookshelves and trays of medicines. Chase has never been in a more boring doctor's office. Usually his therapy sessions have more to look at, but this is a different therapist than he normally goes to, and all he can do is fidget with his hands on his lap and stare out the window at the

earth, the stars, the black abyss of emptiness that Chase could get lost in and never be found

setting sun through the trees just outside the building. The doctor's pen clicks, clicks, clicks. It sounds like the Anti's teeth, chattering against each other as it yawns, its maw opening wide enough for a head to be torn right off. Click, click, click. Chase closes his eyes, the repeating sounds like a mantra. He focuses on that instead. It grounds him.

"You have a history of nightmares."

Chase nods without looking. "I was prescribed triazolam by my first therapist. I took them for a year or so without changes except the lowering of doses a couple of times, because I was getting weaned off them. They helped. Nightmares didn't continue after that."

The other man nods slowly. "Hm. I can imagine the trauma of this recent event that you've been through was enough to bring these nightmares back to the forefront of your mind, especially given the contents of this dream in particular. We may have to ease you back onto medication over the course of your next few sessions here, which should be easier, given that it'll be a couple weeks before we send you home. Is that alright, Mr Brody?"

Click, click, click. Chase nods. Sunlight warms his face, and he sighs softly. "Sounds good, Dr. Ross. When will I be able to see my family?"

The man frowns, his forehead creasing. "Hopefully soon, although it will be slightly complicated, given the circumstances." A breath leaves him, and he tilts his head to the side slightly. His white collar digs into the fold of his neck. Chase keeps his eyes trained on that. "And these are strange circumstances, are they not?"

"They are," Chase mutters. He clenches his fists in his lap. "They are, yeah."

He should have died. He doesn't know why he didn't die. He doesn't even know what it was that killed the others. Really, the nightmare he'd had makes sense. It was easily written off as a traumatic event that had brought back old nightmares. Of course there was no way any of it had been real. That's ridiculous. Just ridiculous. He doesn't know why he's thinking that.

His hand trails down his shirt. Underneath, on the skin of his stomach, is a thick scar that hadn't been there before the nightmare he'd had. Right where the rod had pierced his stomach.

Coincidence. Coincidence.

"Do you have any other concerns, Mr Brody?"

"I don't believe so."

"Good."

Click. Click. Click.

#boop writes #jacksepticeye #chase brody #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #dawn station

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xenolithium · 4 years

Text

Morning Sickness (Prussia & America)

Alfred awoke when the room grew oddly silent. Silent enough that he could hear a pin drop or listen to the spider in the corner of his hotel room spin it's web. Which was strange, because he most certainly had fallen asleep next to Gilbert of all people last. He remembered because neither of them had been in anyway drunk for a change after having a bit of fun out and about. Eating and drinking to their heart's content before finally making their way back here to play a few games and then pass out on the bed together. However, they made sure not to drink too much this time, because they both had a meeting to attend today. And a meeting hungover was just an extra headache added to the one you normally got attending sober.

Alfred suddenly heard the faucet in the attached bathroom turn on. Which gave him an idea of where Gilbert went to, if he wasn't snoring louder than a jet engine beside him. So Al closed his eyes, realizing his friend was okay and attempted to sleep again. However, when the bathroom door opened and Gilbert didn't immediately join him in bed again only to attack him with surprisingly cold feet, he peeked over through his lashes.

What he saw immediately had him sitting up and sliding out of bed. Concern clawing at his mind as he witnessed the much older nation clutching both the doorframe for support and his stomach in pain. "Gilbo, what happened? You okay?" He couldn't help reaching out and steadying the other man, even if it got him a scathing glare. The proud Prussian was never one to accept help, or have Al clinging to him, because currently his urge to protect the albino was too strong to ignore. Protecting Gil from anything was apparently an insult to the war born nation. And one he made well known every time Al did it. But the amount of shits Al gave was equal to zero, he didn't just sit back and let shit happen to his loved ones.

"I'm fine, this is nothing," he said through grit teeth, sweat dotting his brow. "The awesome me doesn't get sick."

Alfred frowned and looked him over, gently moving a hand to press against his stomach, only to get a startled yelp in response. "I'm not doubting your awesomeness here but I think you should get some rest, my dude."

"I'm fine! I'm going today and that's final!" Gil argued which Al honestly expected as he sighed, glancing around the room.

"I think I have some stomach medication in my suitcase."

"Are you listening to me, arschgeige?!" Al received a swift kick to his lower leg for his troubles. Which he normally would've pretended did something to him, just to boost Gil's ego. But he wasn't in the mood for ego boosting, he needed to get Gil to bed before he got any worse standing around like an idiot.

"Stop calling me weird things and get some bed rest."

"I said I'm fine!"

Al was just about done arguing with him when clearly it wasn't getting them anywhere. So he dragged Gil's ass to bed regardless. Ignoring his protests and how he would throw a fit similarly to a child the whole way there. Finally bundling him up under a few blankets before experiencing possibly the cutest glare ever, just beyond the thick sheets. Gilbert openly calling him random insults in German, which didn't sound too insulting if he were being honest.

He grinned at him, which got him another kick from under the sheets as he moved to retrieve a hot water bottle for his companion's stomach as well as the stomach medication he promised he had laying around earlier.

"Ya, done insulting me?" He teased as he placed the hot water bottle against Gil's stomach and watched him take the medication.

"No. I told you I'm not sick. I don't get sick, this is completely useless." Alfred couldn't help but snicker at the blush painting Gil's cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Which caused him to look away in embarrassment.

"Food poisoning happens to the best of us. Besides I can be your totally awesome and good looking nurse while you recover!"

Gilbert gave him a long and hard look. "Great, now I'm sure to die."

"Hey! I'm a great nurse and you can't even die from this!"

"I'm sure you'd figure out a way," Gilbert huffed, turning away from the American and grumbling into his pillow.

Alfred shook his head and rolled his eyes, staring at Gilbert for a good long while as he decided what to do next. He settled on something that always turned Gil to putty in his hands. Reaching out and gently popping every sore spot and knot along his back. Chuckling at the surprised moan he got, the grumbling from earlier shifting to demands to go lower or higher. Which was then accompanied by another moan. It seemed his complaints would be forgotten, for at least the time being.

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theplumsoldier · 5 years

Text

NO KISSES

Summary: y/n is a guest at the red sea diving resort and is down to fuck the hot guy in the reception. also again i tagged some sweet people that i thought might be interested—do let me know if you are not, i dont wish to inconvenience anyone. as always, feedback is most appreciated!:)

Pairing: ari levinson x reader

Word count: 3227

Warnings: smut, vulgar language.

Truly and in all certainty, the man behind the counter had to be created by the meticulous hands of God himself—hell, if that was not Jesus standing right there in trunks and a buttoned-down shirt you swore the Earth might as well be off and be flat. But then again, religion was ancient and so was that bird-brained belief, and the man you had come to know as Guy, he too appeared to belong to the ‘archaic’ variety of men who had caught your interest.

He was not old. You did not think so, at least, still, he certainly was the kind to age with grace, much like wine and although you never had found yourself able to appreciate a good glass, this man seemed to be the ideal type to drink a bottle with.

Chest hair peeked from behind his open shirt, a fine glow that the sun had left on his skin made the beads of sweat glisten so beautifully in the yellow light. The Magen David pendant hung in swaying motion from his neck and you had to curse yourself for imagining it jumping from his chest while he pounded into you. Undoubtedly this was a vacation and you were going to have fun now that you finally were single, only you could not imagine this was a vacation to him, this was work. As a woman working in a bar, you were widely familiar with those late-at-night-attempts to get some, and therefore you had more respect for both Guy and yourself than to hint towards the conspicuous sin.

The hour was late, and the resort deserted. You figured most had gone to sleep or were out by the beach for a late-night drink, considering there were few places in the vicinity providing leisure of that kind. The friends you were at the retreat with had retired to the bedrooms you shared. As the day had consisted of little besides ample writing, you were nowhere near tired enough to sleep and the humid weather did nothing but make you toss in the sheets.

And that was why you had yet to join your friend, thinking it better to leave her be to doze off while you could tire yourself out some. So, sitting in the foyer, you were leaned in over papers, some with and some without writing, a pen spinning between your fingers and half a bottle of exotic, combustible liquor.

Guy had been wandering about for some time, disappearing and reappearing every now and then, taking care of his late-night resort business, you supposed. The next time he was away was a little while longer than the last, making you wonder just what he was occupied with, missing the sight of his fine figure.

By the time he returned, you were too caught up in your paper to take notice of his approach. However, once he cleared his throat your head lifted and you could not help but smirk at the cocksure man, holding a pot of coffee and two cups.

You leaned back in your seat, pushing at the chair opposite you with your foot under the table, gesturing for him to take a seat. “I was wondering when you were going to stop playing hard to get.”

Guy let out a laugh on took you up on the invitation.

“I hope it’s that paper keeping you up this late and not your room,” said he and tilted his head curiously to the side, as if asking a question and you caught on.

“Oh, no the room is very accommodating. It’s really just my friend’s snores that are rather offensive.”

“Ah,” Guy chuckled as he got comfortable, pouring the coffee and speculated what it would feel like to have a large man such as himself to pin you down, or in good hap, pound you, even. “Mind my asking what you’re working on?”

“It’s an article. About the prosperous lands of the African savannah.”

“Really?” ticked he, nonplussed.

“No. At this point, this—” you held the smaller stack of papers into the air, “is just a bunch of zany scribblings of a drunk. You know, it was my friends that picked this place and planned the whole trip. Just, like, a getaway, ‘cause apparently their actuary- and retail jobs are so fucking stressing, and I got curious, you know? Of all the places in the world, they settled on Sudan. I mean, now that I’m here, this is nice, I guess, it’s nice! But they must have spelled something wrong somewhere and fortuitously got us shipped off to this desert, and—shit, I’m sorry, I’m maundering.”

Guy held out a cup for you. Accepting, you leaned over the table and you swore your heartrate increased the moment his fingers brushed yours. You almost knocked the bottle of liquor over when you pulled back, cheeks flushed.

“No, please—continue. I have been wondering what brings people so far out.”

“Well, to begin, your brochure was extremely tantalizing,” deadpanned you and inhaled the smell of the steaming java. “Also, I figured heck, so I did some research about Sudan and ended up on some wild goose chase, somehow stuck on fucking Mossad.”

Candidly, your words ignited a spark of fear in Ari, his azure composed eyes widening for a split-second, though you did not take notice of the change before he shifted and regained composure. Circumspect he observed you warily and shifted in his seat, trying to read you but you were not as much of an open book as he would have preferred. This made you interesting, yet perilous for a man of his taste.

“Anyway, I ended up with more questions than I had to begin with and decided it might be an interesting place to spend some time. Though I have to admit, I thought there would be more of a chance of getting a taste of the culture, but this is nice too.”

Coming to understand you were no threat, he soon relaxed in his place. You were no more than a tourist. He decided it was safe to let down his guard and be a nosy parker, asking where you got with “that Mossad story”.

“In retrospect, I can honestly say not far. I mean it was more of a conspiracy theory than anything. Still, I had the audacity to, on a whim—” you were chuckling by now, taunting yourself as you now could see why your boss had allowed you to take some time off, clear your mind. “—run it by my editor, but he turned me down. Our paper just made a deal to have a column-collab with CNN, which he wants me to be in charge of, so he’d rather have me go with something, said “more appropriate”, like a tribute to John Lennon or fucking post-its. Can you believe that? I didn’t get into journalism to gossip; I write to make people feel something; incite revolution; I wouldn’t mind that now.”

“Huh,” hummed he fairly entertained, curiously eyeing you as he lifted the cup to his lips. “Well, I have to admit, I’m a bit of a sucker for conspiracy theories myself, so, I mean, I’d love to read it sometime.”

You chuckled and shook your head, leaning over the table. “Oh no, I fed that garbage to a shredder long ago.”

Guy’s face dropped, seemingly contorting into a mix of disappointment and concentration as he was deep in thought.

“Trust me, you did not miss out,” said you and eyed the trepidation in his entangled fingers. “This piece, however, now that would be worth your while! Nothing that’s ever going to see the light of day but it’s a fine review of this corner of the world, complimenting your superlative resort here.”

“Is that so?” uttered he with a sly smirk and you nodded your head, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Aha! Also, I needed something to distract my mind with, seeing as I have been going at whatever the hell this is for hours now. I can assure you; a sleep-deprived drunken state is the circumstances a writer could ask for.”

He clicked his tongue and his head tilted back, mind going elsewhere. “Doesn’t sound very healthy, though. I could think of other sufficient ways if it’s a distraction you’re seeking.”

A coy smile curled your lip upward, needing no more to assimilate the overt hint and had it not been for the alcohol, your face would have been red as the sunburnt Germans on the tour.

“You know, if you want to fuck, all you have to do is say so.”

He seemed taken aback, but his pacific eyes flashed only a glimpse of surprise before he felt himself break from the daze. “And here I thought I was being bold.”

Humming in reply, you suppressed your smirk and wet your lips, trying to read his face.

Then he spoke up again, “it was Y/N, yeah?”

Nodding your head slowly, you felt your heartbeat increase and your legs’ position shifted as you struggled to tend to the tingle fluttering between your legs.

“Good.”

“And Guy?”

A short moment passed by in silence until he uttered a low “yeah” in reply. Then another passed, one where you took the time to wonder if you really were going to have sex with a complete stranger. The thought, although you never would have considered yourself so adventurous, was appealing to you and the heating sensation only stirred in you. You watched as Guy took you in and he hurriedly looked around him, the sound of his chair’s legs screeching against the floor.

“So, let’s do this.”

And Guy set marching.

His pace was moderate, something for you to keep up with, still, he did not walk five feet without casting a glance across his shoulder to make sure you still were at his tail. You were, of course, and like an eager dog following the food of that. In the end, he ended up reaching for your hand to pull you along, faster and you could not help but grin at the hurry he seemed to be in.

Finding yourself in his company, in his room, you looked around you, though he gave you little chance as he quickly had you caught against the shut door. Dipping down to connect your lips, Guy never got further than grazing your plump, soft lips, ever so slightly and he gave you a questioning look, a funny smirk tugging at his features and you explained, naming your one condition.

“No kissing.”

Guy pouted like a child finding coal rather than candy in his stocking on Christmas morning. “But that’s half the fun, darling.”

And you laughed at him, one hand teasingly sliding down his chest to unbutton the rest of his shirt. “Well, I’ll try my best to make up for it then.”

From excitement, Guy emitted a begging whine and his head dropped back, knowing all too well what you implied, and he had grown impatient even before you could rid him of his shorts. Reimbursing him with a teasing kiss just below his navel, you pulled down the cover. Springing free from strains, his cock stood tall and proud, saluting you and you gaped at the size and thickness of his girth. Surely, that was a mouthful, but you did not let yourself scare and rather blinked up at him, breaking a coy smile, before wrapping your hand around him. Feeling him, your fingers curled him and ran up his shaft, enjoying the sounds you pulled from him at the simple action. He was so responsive, and his cock twitched when your lips brushed his mushroom head. Darting out your tongue to teasingly swirl around him, you set at the base and licked along the prominent vein, humming a sweet sound for him as you complacently watched his blissed expression. Wetting your lips, you wrapped your lips around the tip, tasting the hint of salt he had to offer and for balance, your hands steadied you on his thighs while he moved the hair from your face. Taking a few inches, you dragged yourself up and down his cock, drawing back to spit on him and then fit more. While accustoming your throat to the considerable size of him, your one hand worked on what you had yet to fit, squeezing around him. Guy moaned your name as your tongue massaged against him, reveling in the pleasing sensation in which you provided.

Working on him for minutes, you could feel yourself wet at the very idea of him down your throat and you had to bring your hand down between your legs to take care of yourself all the while. The sound escaping you was almost pornographic, gagging around his cock as his hips bucked forward, fucking your face.

Hissing, Guy was ready to burst at any given time and urged you deeper on his cock, when you shifted. You received a questioning gaze through his daze when your lips left his cock and you merely grinned for yourself. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought a man such as himself would so easily be wrapped around your finger, but here he was, wanting you more than anything, making you feel divine as you stood from your knees.

You never had been one to stride from an honest challenge in this time was no different, although it proved none at all when he so complaisantly fell under your curse. Thus it was nothing but nature for you to take what you wanted, and knowing you had to be dripping down your thighs by now, you reached to suck on his neck, pushing him onto the bed.

Feeling him rock hard against your clothed cunt, he elicited a moan from you the had him groan low in his chest. Desperately Guy wanted to take control of the moment and set a bruising pace, only he could not recall a time where he had felt so small, not to mention the part of him enjoying a woman in power.

Straddling him, your dress hiked up you fevered skin and his rough hands helped you pull it over your head, exposing your body for the humid air to embrace. Exploring hands admired your bare chest, tugged you down by your waist, grinding against him and his large hands fell to your bottom. Adroit fingers rid you off your garments in seconds and he hoisted you closer to him. It was then he got a sense of just how wet you were for him. All for him and he grunted, smirking to himself at the thought of how slippery you had gotten from sucking him off.

Driving yourself crazy by running your sex up and down his pulsing shaft, you spread your wetness across his cock and made a mess when you decided you had kept him waiting long enough. Steadying yourself with a hand flat on his heavily heaving chest, you lifted yourself and lined his head with your slick entrance, before sliding down.

Guy winced, pleasure engulfing him as your warmth swallowed him whole. Panting a faint moan, you heaved yourself unsteadily and the precariousness of a lady, eyes squinting shut at the all too missed feel of a man filling you.

Alleviating hands kneaded the soft spots of your body, holding you by the waist to guide you up and down him. His azure eyes were fixated on where you met, head craned out of comfort, pulled off the pillow to watch how well you took him. The sounds you made were hushed but pornographic and became more so when he pulled you down, close to his face and he could smell himself on you as you coveted climax.

“You hear that?” mutters he into your skin, voice husky and responsible for the shivers sparking through your bones. While your head was long gone in a state of ecstasy, the taunting slap of his balls on your skin echoed through your mind and you whined in response, nearly collapsing as you failed to keep up with him. Fucking up into your clenching cunt, Guy grunted against you, his one hand lifting your chin, forcing eye contact and you moaned at the sight. With all but his glorious, damp expression and the resonating, squelching sounds from between your thighs blocked out, you shuddered, hoping to God, not a soul had heard, for your frolic affairs could not be mistaken. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, Y/N.”

And barely in the mental state to keep yourself composed; Guy stripped you from all chances of keeping quiet as his hand snaked between sweaty bodies to toy with your clit. Whimpering, you harshly bit down on your lip, your own hand tentatively, shakingly clasping against his and he can do nothing but watch keenly in wonderment as you came around his cock. Ponding you through your orgasm, he did not heed the thumping sound on a fist on the wall, refusing to let the face of Max ruin his orgasm. Squeezing around him, Guy felt himself unable to restrain any longer, and he pulled out, his thick load painting your stomach and pussy.

Moaning an elongated cry at the absence of his bruising thrusts, you ground out your fading orgasm on his stomach, his cock twitching beneath you, still spurting. Fragile as glass, you were collapsed on Guy, breath hitched in your hoarse throat, nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck as you attempted to pacify your rapid breathing. Moments passed, recalibrating your respiration and his soothing fingers kneading the spots where marks had been left.

Drawing in a deep breath, you gently lifted your head, shifting and leaning your cheek on your open palm. Simpering and with a hint of thoroughly-fucked in your kittenish eyes, you stole his half-lidded gaze, catching a peaceful smile.

“I should go,” breathed you, catching yourself lick your lips when your eyes darted to his.

Lips parted, Guy moved a little beneath you, hand resting on the small of your back while his thumb still drawing circled patterns.

“You don’t have to,” muttered he with a short pause, only after voiced, realizing his words may have sounded importunate. And that was the last thing he wanted to paint himself as, but he had scant to worry about—after all, he had just fucked a stunning stranger and not one of the two was in rue. “Not yet, at least.”

And you hummed with a smile, one that later would make an appearance in his deviant thoughts. Softly placing your hand on his chest, you leaned in close and ghosted your lips over his, hungry for more but tantalizing in essence.

“This was fun.” Lightly tapping his sturdy chest, you pecked him on his bearded cheek and cast him a smile before making your entrancing exit. “We should do it some other time.”

And just like that, you left him in his room with nothing but his mind to replay the previous scene of wanton happening, his cock hardening only at the notion of sweetest gasps and sinful pants you had offered him. He fucked his hand one last time before he drifted off, off into the deepest slumber he had had in a long time.

TAGLIST: @patzammit @draeluna @chibi-crazy @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @tanyam93 @valentina-booth @peach-acid @jeanily3000 @jamesgiuseppe @loilko

#ari levinson #ari levinson smut #chris evans smut #Chris Evans #chris evans imagine #Steve Rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #ari levinson imagine #theplumsoldier

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darling-child-tisarwat · 4 years

Text

Morgan Reads Dune: Part 1

So as I previously stated I’m attempting to read Dune again. I read the first two chapters years ago and bounced off it cuz I hated it so much. I still hate it, and will likely continue to hate it, so yes this is a hate-read.

If you like Dune: cool, I can see how you might even though I don’t. You might not want to read this live-blog tho cuz I will drag the hell out of Herbert and dear special Paulie boy.

This isn’t meant to be taken as serious critique. I’m sure there are plenty of people who have given measured and nuanced critique and analysis of the text who know a lot more than me and are way better writers. Dune clearly is a pillar of Old School Sci-fi, etc etc. The purpose of this live-blog is to help me drag my way through the book to finish it so I can say I did it. That’s it. Also, mild entertainment value for Radchdome.

Dune apparently has no chapters which annoys me further so I’ll be going by page numbers. Basically I’ll do a new live-blog post at every big Manual of Muad’Dib quote, assuming they keep happening consistently in the book. I have the mass marker paperback ISBN 0-442-17271-7 if that helps but probably not.

I would do readmores, but I’m gonna have to do most of this on mobile so I apologize for that.

If you want to blacklist this, I’ll tag all posts with #MorganReadsDune.

Anyway, here we go:

Pages 1 through 13:

“A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. Except at Waffle House.”

Again I’m like 4 paragraphs in and all my brain is doing is smashing two pans together and screaming about how Paul should have been trans and it would have been a much more complex and satisfying narrative. But you know, Herbert.

Actually losing my mind at the names Paul and Jessica. This is not a unique or new thought, but god. This happened last time but it’s so jarring and I hate it. It’s worse juxtaposed to the Secondary World words like Arrakis and Atreides. Paul. Paul! He sounds like he could be on the Jersey Shore. Jersey Shore: Arrakis Vacation. Anyway I’m still on page 1.

“The awakened boy could see a bulky female shape.” 1. The gendered not-asleep human could see with his sight orbs a human person of exact gender that he knew” 2. Writin’s bad

“Gom Jabbar.” My brain: jabberwocky. Never ending gob stopper. Name of a shitty throw away side character in Star Wars.

Actually hold on I love that I read good sci-fi before any of the “old guard” cuz I just keep reading “reverend mother” and being like “Harrowhark’s corpse mom” so that’s who this woman whose eyes have been described with 3 separate terms is now.

“In all the upset during this time of change, the old woman was the strangest thing he has seen.” That’s just how Cishet men are.

Also: Kwisatz Haderach sounds like something Geralt of Rivia could slay with one hand behind his back just saying.

“There has been so many things to learn.” Head full, many thoughts. “Arrakis-Dune-Desert Planet.” Just keep repeating those vocab words Paulie it’s gonna be on the big Spicy Test later.

“Their mortal enemies, the Harkonnens.” Two households, both alike in dignity. In fair Arrakis where we lay our worms. Also the Harkonnens are my fav because if Paul hates them, I don’t.

“Under a CHOAM Company” Chode company, got it.

“The geriatric spice, melange.” OLD SPICE

“Arrakis-Dune-Desert Planet” stop fucking say that I do NOT need to be reminded.

“Arrakeen” CONLANG MASTER HERBERT OVER HERE. He’s said the work Arrakis 5 times on this page.

“Paul awoke to feel himself in the warmth of his bed—thinking... thinking.” What a window into this characters thoughts...he’s definitely having them. Thoughts.

“The faufreluches” And now we are German.

“Arrakis—Dune—Desert Planet” EARTH—SHIT HOLE—BLUE PLANET

Okay I’m not even going to quote this one but the part where he does meditation and Herbert just uses a shit load of ellipses. Extreme Boomer text message energy. “I’m picking up spice at the store... do you need anything... will be home soon... need to talk to you... bye... :))”

“The animal destroys and does not produce” No?? Animals constantly replenish the land when left to in their native environments?? For a book about ecology, this man knows nothing about food webs and sustainability.

“He studied the tallness of her” Herbert just say she is tall. God.

“... He saw the hint of tension in her shoulders as she chose clothing for him...” WHY IS HIS MOTHER DRESSING HIM. HE’S 15.

I am going to imagine Paul has a pair of shoes with little bells on them, and every time he goes somewhere, the words “here comes a special boy here comes a special boy!!” mixes with the sound of the jingling.

Herbert is obsessed with em dashes and ellipses.

“If only she’d borne us a girl as she was ordered to do!” Now-we-don’t-have-time-to-unpack-all-that.jpg BUT ALSO: Paul-should-be-trans Example-1.

“One gestalten flicker” whole book gonna be like this, huh

“Hair: the Duke’s black-black” Paul Atreides has Vanta Black Hair. Harkonnen House Is Banned From Purchasing Vanta Black Pigment

“...With the browline of the maternal grandfather who cannot be named...” Vold... Voldemort??

THE CUBE. “She turned and Paul saw that one side was open—black and oddly frightening. No light penetrated that open blackness.” VANTA BLACK just like Paulie boy’s special hair.

This animal talk shit... humans are animals. The Beliefs and the Philosophies My Dude... simply geriatric.

Paul with his hand in the Cube: “just like Minecraft”

“We seldom administer this to men-children.” Paul-is-trans example 2.

Fist My Box Or Die, Man-Child.

Ok we gonna replace the word fear with the word cum just to get me through this:

“I must not cum. Cumming is the mind-killer. Cumming is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my cum. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the cum has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

“No woman child ever withstood that much [pain].” A-CisHetMan-Wrote-This.jpg Paul’s special boy bells be a jinglin’!!!

My concentrated rage for this book is what powers the box. Also we get into the first titillating bits of ableism text: If you’re human, you can withstand pain and even override it. Get fucked!

“He senses Truth! Could he be the one? Could he truly be the one?” Jingle jingle jingle

Mommy is allowed back to baby boy’s side now that he has passed the Hate and Pain test. As you know women must always be tested for Hate and Pain.

“Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a man’s mind.” Those kids on their damn phones! Ok Boomer.

“You did that on remarkably few clues.” Jingle jingle

“Separating human stock from animal stock—for breeding purposes.” Eugenics! In! Space!

“We look down so many avenues of the past... but only feminine avenues.” “It is said a man will come one day and find in the gift of the drug his inward eye. He will look where we cannot—into both feminine and masculine pasts.” Paul-is-trans example-3 but also, Herbert what the absolute fuck are you talking about.

#MorganReadsDune

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bear-jews-bitch · 5 years

Text

Wilkommen

Hey! This is my first Basterds fic. It was requested as “what the Basterds think of you when you first join” but I thought it might be better if I wrote it from Donny’s perspective with bits from Aldo and Hugo. So, here you go @liebgoth I hope it doesn’t suck :/

DONNY’S P.O.V:

Fuck. A. Duck.

We been waiting for this broad who’s meant to be helpin’ us for three days now and we still ain’t heard any word from her.

Three days “camping” outside on damp leaves in the freezing cold French winter. I say camping lightly because in order to camp, you gotta sleep outside. I ain’t been doin’ much of that because I’m too worried about how this broads gone and left us exposed without so much as an explanation.

I been tryin’ to convince Aldo to move on to the next town so we can get on with what we came here to do but he insisted that we gotta wait for the girl and, “treat her like a gentleman,” when she eventually gets here.

Apparently, she’s too important to our mission to leave behind. Or treat like one of us it seems, thanks to the Lieutenant. She better not expect me to act like no butler. She better be at least a little bit hot.

ALDO’S P.O.V:

I could see Donny seething from his place at the small campfire.

This girlie was really gettin’ to him and she wasn’t even here yet. I must admit I am quite annoyed myself, this woman has left us open and ready for attack here. Not that my boys couldn’t handle it, they just shouldn’t have to right now.

Donny had begged me to move on quite a few times during the last three days and I had half a mind to follow his pleas. But I couldn’t. Being told she was what stood between us and killing that son of a bitch Adolf was proof enough that we needed her. And when she got here she would be treated like a princess.

If only she’d turn up.

Pulling out my snuff box, I had just begun to sniff when I heard, rather than saw, a car in the distance.

I closed the box and turned quickly to my men who had all congregated around the fire before hand and were now attempting to put it out with their boots.

Quickly doing so, they took up their weapons and attempted to hide themselves behind trees. Peeking out from behind my tree, I was met with two bright headlights which belonged to a sleek German vehicle.

Cocking my weapon and shooting a knowing glance over at Donowitz, I knew this wasn’t gon’ be good.

HUGO’S P.O.V:

Not many things excite me. Not many things bring me absolute joy. But a German motorcar pulling up alone to our little hideout in the middle of the night? That was one of them.

I wanted to be the one to murder whoever the bastard was driving that car.

I knew that our sniper rifle was sitting perched and ready for use at the top of the hill behind me, so I turned and lay on my belly, crawling up to the rifle like a proper soldier.

Taking my place behind the gun, I curled my finger around the trigger, itching to squeeze but knowing I had to have patience.

Deutsches schwein. German pig.

I had gone three days without murdering any Nazi scum. That doesn’t mean none had been killed. Wicki got to kill the last patrol all by himself. It wasn’t fair.

The sight of the car door opening pulled me from my thoughts and forced me to look through the scope on the rifle.

Peering through, I was met with the sight of a head of flowing h/c hair and a rather revealing red dress.

Was ist los? What is this?

DONNY’S P.O.V:

Hearing the creak of the car door open, I pulled my shotgun up to my chest to grip it with my other hand, ready to aim at our mystery caller.

I turned to look at Aldo to ask for the signal to shoot but instead was met with a look of surprise laced with confusion.

He caught my eye and winked, then proceeded to walk out from behind his tree.

What is he doin’?

“Miss. Y/L/N?” he asked, hands in the air in mock surrender but I knew he had a .38 stuffed in his back pocket.

Wait... Miss Y/L/N? Is this our broad? What the hell is she doin’ in a Kraut-mobile?

“Yes. Ja. Oui. I would continue Mr. Raine but I’m sure my answers will be heard and understood by each of your hounds lurking in the trees.”

She is feisty. I ain’t heard her speak more than a few words and I can already tell you I’ll have trouble dealin’ with this one.

“How you know where they were?”

She laughed. It was such an unfamiliar sound. Female laughter. It was beautiful.

“Well Mr. Raine, I have no doubt that you tried well and hard to hide your men from me, and you may very well have succeeded, had it not be for the giant beast of a man you have hiding the tiny tree not less than five feet away from me.”

She was talkin’ about me! What the fuck! Giant beast?

I quickly came out from my hiding place and was intent on giving her a taste of a Bostonian scolding when I stopped in my tracks.

There stood this woman no more than five foot three, staring up at me expectantly. She was clad in a deep red dress that had a slit in the leg almost reaching her... Stop that Donny!

I met her E/C eyes and couldn’t think for a moment. There was a playfulness in them. Either this woman was crazy or cheeky. Maybe both...

Her rouge lips pulled up at the corners. She was smirkin’ at me. Maybe she thinks I’m hot... No, you moron, she’s smirkin’ ‘cause you’re standin’ there gawkin’ like an idiot! Say somethin’!

“Who you callin’ beast, doll?” I said, towering over her, tryin’ to ignore her cleavage right in my line of sight so I could focus on tryna’ be intimidating.

She said nothing, only winked at me before turning to my Lieutenant to talk.

Oh, I was gonna show her beast, alright. Just you wait, doll.

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Raine. I’m sure you and your boys are none too happy with me.” she addressed all of us, the others having emerged from their spots. You got that right, doll face.

She sauntered over to the logs placed round the fire and sat down, the fabric at either side of the slit in her dress falling away, showing off her sculpted leg, all the way up to her thigh. Holy shit. Who has legs like that! I bet they feel like velvet... STOP! I ain’t supposed to be thinkin’ about her like that. Ain’t supposed to be thinkin’ ‘bout how her legs would feel wrapped round my head, or how she’d taste or how she’d whine as I licked her...

Holy fuck. I’m a lost cause.

“I hope my reasons for being so late will excuse me and bring some joy to you and your men. You see, upon arriving in France, I had planned to stay in my hotel room until it was time for us to rendezvous. But upon reaching my hotel, I was informed that my room would only be ready for my occupancy two hours after my arrival. So, I sat at the bar and enjoyed some very tasty cognac, and was met with an opportunity. A German sturmbannfuhrer, a major, approached me and was very smitten with me. I decided I could use a little fun and indulged him with the intent of eventually luring him to bed where I would, of course, murder him brutally.”

She paused only to take a drag of the cigarette she had just lit up, eyeing me up and down.

“The bastard was a gentleman, in his own terms. Wanted to wine and dine me before doing the dirty. Took a bit longer than expected. At one point I had to endure an hour long conversation, or rather lecture, about why the Luftwaffe are superior in every way to the RAF. I could have shot myself then and there but then you boys wouldn’t have had the pleasure of knowing me”

I saw the Lieutenant quirk his eyebrow at me, the same level of confusion shared between us.

“I eventually got him to take me home. Nazi prick had his pants around his ankles when I slit his throat. I raided his kitchen for supplies and brought any medicine he had with me. I left a little message for his Nazi friends too. Cut his dick off and put it in his mouth.”

She cackled. She looked maniacal. I could see the glint in her eyes that most of us Basterds had. And in that moment, I knew I had to have her. She was amazing, fucking spectacular.

I heard Omar gulp when she shot him a look, winking at him and settling her eyes back on mine.

“You scared Beasty?”

Nawh, more like highly aroused.

I narrowed my eyes at her and went to look in the car. Sure enough, the back seat was filled with food, some male clothes and toiletries.

“You steal his car, too?” I heard the Lieutenant ask her with an almost impressed tone to his voice.

She just giggled and stood up, bowing in a grand gesture.

Aldo looked her up and down and began clapping, shouting that, “this girlie deserves a round of applause!”

And as everyone was applauding, I couldn’t help but look over at her again, admiring the proud smile on her delicate face.

She was worth the wait.

HUGO’S P.O.V:

This woman. This woman who was so passionate about slaying Nazi scum, was to become a Basterd? No. That title would not do. She was an angel.

Who would have thought this beautiful woman is capable of such things. She is more like a bunny than a killer. Hasi. Meine Hasi. Bunny. My Bunny.

God has sent us wretched men His most perfect creation and I will cherish and protect her no matter what. She will be mine. She will be my joy in this world of hate.

And as I approach Hasi, hoping I will show her how much adoration I already have for her through my eyes and next moves, I take her delicate hand and bring it to my lips.

“Wilkommen, Hasi.”

FIN

#inglourious basterds #donny donowitz #aldo raine #wilhelm wicki #hugo stiglitz

72 notes · View notes

moro-nokimi · 4 years

Text

March 9, 2010

AN:

TW: Joke about alcohol, death of a loved one, guns, pregnancy, vomiting to be safe, crimes against children.

I got my timeline all fucked up, sorry for that. You'd think that I'd be able to keep track of all that, considering that Raye and Naomi would be the same age as my mother... Whoops.

Yes, they are that couple where Everyone Can See It. See my post about Umi Ga Kikoeru vs. this fic and the relationship dynamic.

ffn.online

Smirnov whistled. “What are you wearing, Misora? Come on, it’s March, and you’re wearing leather?”

“It’s my bike clothes. Give me a moment before you talk my ear off,” Naomi replied. She was surprised that the lack of caffeine and sleep had left her semi-coherent.

“You own a bike?” Sheridan said. “Sounds like you’re more of a rebel than we thought.”

“It’s not rebelling to own a motorcycle, Sheridan. What are you doing in here anyways, Smirnov? Need a hangover remedy?”

“Ha ha, Misora. No, check your work email.”

“If it’s a joke, I’m asking to be reassigned.” She pulled off her jacket and reached for her laptop, then opened her work email.

“Agents Misora, Sheridan, and Smirnov:

You all are being recalled to Washington D.C. I expect to see Agent Misora in the briefing room at 10am sharp on March 12. Plane tickets are being mailed as of now.

Best wishes, Director Mason”

She whistled. “For whatever reason we’re being recalled, it’s probably confidential.” She scrolled down. “It takes an hour to get from here to Narita, light traffic at best. It’s probably best that we get going in an hour.”

“But what would he want with you alone?” Sheridan asked.

“Beats me. But right now, I think we should just get packing and all that.”

“Nope, just you,” Smirnov said. “My stuff’s ready to go.”

“Good to hear. I’ll be a bit. Grab me some breakfast while you’re down there, will you?”

“Sure.”

⁂

“So, who has any ideas as to what Mason’s thinking?” Sheridan asked as they boarded. Naomi hit her on the forearm. “Keep quiet. For all they know, we’re just a bunch of tourists visiting. We can discuss this later.”

“It’s technically later right now,” Smirnov said. “So, anyways--hey!”

“Pay attention to what I said. If someone who has access to Kira knows that the FBI is--was--in Japan, then all of us are at risk. Which means the both of you need to shut up until we’re in the car with Mason.”

“I was only joking around! You didn’t have to hit me that hard!”

“Even a joke can get someone hurt. The both of you should know better by now.”

“All right, all right.” Smirnov huffed.

Naomi Misora has never had the habit of sleeping on flights. As her colleagues dozed, she stayed wide awake.

Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if we hadn’t met, she thought.

“Naomi, please, don’t you want to start a family someday?” Audrey said.

“Sure, but on my own time. I’m not unfulfilled--I’ve got a great job,” Naomi replied.

“But no boyfriend.”

“Oh, look at that, I’m choosing not to date a man, the world is ending. I’ve got nothing to lose by not dating.”

“You can say that when you’re 40 and don’t have any kids.”

“More reason to spoil yours, right?”

“Do I really need that much help, Director? The both of us know that I’m perfectly good at my job alone,” Naomi contested.

“Sure, but you’re lacking in base knowledge of firearms--which Agent Penber has,” Director Mason said.

“While that’s nice, Director Mason, I don’t need the help.”

“You can say that when you can’t ID the gun or caliber at a crime scene,” Raye said. They were friends in the academy, but apparently the fact he knew he was useful had inflated his ego to the size of Jupiter.

And there she was, at the stalemate. Either she accepted the help and continued on her job, or she continued to go the route of arrogance and end up crawling back to him. Fine.

“Fine,” she said, jerking her head outside of the Director’s office door. “Come on, jagoff, I’ll show you the ropes.”

“I’m not a rookie. I joined when I was 23,” he said, as she walked him to the unit’s office.

“I'm aware of that, you dork. You haven’t worked in this unit, so you’re a rookie. Jesus, you're 24 right?”

“25 in a month. Shouldn't you know this?”

“It's been a while, go easy. And it's nice to know.” She stopped at her desk and pulled up photos from the latest crime scene--exhibit B showed at least a clip of bullets. “Show me what you know.”

“Excuse me?” he said, both eyebrows raised.

“I know you're a good agent, but I don't know about you as a firearms specialist.”

He narrowed his eyes and leaned over the desk, clicking through to the body and then back to exhibit B. “That’s at least a clip of a 10 millimeter Auto.”

“Stats?”

“Six inch barrel, an average of 546 foot-pounds per square inch of energy. Velocity. This cartridge was used in the Miami shootout seven--dammit, eight--years ago. After that, the FBI issued new cartridges--this one--to each agent in Hostage Rescue and Special Weapons and Tactics teams.”

“So you could easily say that this person has connections to the FBI. At least, these specific branches.”

“Mhm. Against something like a .40 Smith and Wesson, the .40 has better recoil, and it’s better for both civilian and law enforcement use. Not for the 10 millimeter, though.” He stood straight. “What's that tell you?”

“I think you’ve given us a new lead. Don’t go letting that get to your head, though.”

“You’re letting it go to your head,” she said.

“I am not!” Raye replied. “Okay, maybe a little, but still.”

“Either way, it’s going to your head. Call in the interrogation team for me, I’m gonna go grab lunch.”

“Hey! I’m not your errand boy!”

“Sure, but you’re still doing your job. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“I better get something,” he said.

“I’ll see about that. You're not very imposing, you know.”

She returned five minutes later indeed. “So, what’s going on right now?”

“He did actually have a connection to the FBI--cousin, I think. Poor dude’s probably agonizing over it. Where’s my food?”

“In the breakroom. You can tell me more when you get back.”

“You could’ve at least brought it back.”

“I already tried, but I couldn't balance anything for shit. And I could eat a whole person.”

He sighed through his nose. “Dahmer. I’ll be back.”

She shook her head. "The one time my coffee takes precedence and you compare me to a serial killer."

"Oh, does it suck?" he asked. He smiled and she felt like she got punched in the chest.

She blinked as the plane landed. “Wake up, we just touched down,” she said.

Sheridan groaned. “Have you been awake this whole time? Dude.”

“It’s not like I haven’t stayed up over a day before. Wake up Smirnov for me while I grab our luggage.”

“I never pegged you for the guy who liked to cook,” Naomi said, leaning on the doorframe.

“My mom made sure,” Raye replied. “As for my dad, he just taught me the German and Russian stuff. And I’m a tad sick of takeout.”

“I can’t say I blame you for that. I gotta give a high five to your mom, though, you’re a stubborn bastard.”

“Hey! First of all,” he said, pointing the tongs like a weapon, “I took to it rather nicely. And second of all, I resent that statement.”

“You can take it. What are you making anyways?”

“Spaghetti. Not what you expected, hm?”

“Not really.”

“I won’t introduce you to the German and Russian stuff yet. Kinda heavy, if you catch my drift. Our favorite food is potato. Wait, no it isn’t. Either way. Do you wanna help?”

“Nah, I’m good.” She hopped up onto the counter anyways. "But tell me you can make Japanese."

“Oh, so you’ll stay around and potentially get in the way but not help? Tch. I see how it is. And of course I can, what kinda mother do you take mine to be?”

“Hey, I could’ve just left, but I decided to grace you with my presence. And I don't know her, dork.”

"Watch it, I might take that as flattery."

"Get a room already!" Suruga said.

"Shut up!" they shouted.

“Naomi?” Sheridan said, snapping her fingers inches from Naomi’s nose. “Dude.”

“Sorry, I spaced out for a second.” She pulled Sheridan’s luggage down and handed it to her, then Smirnov’s, and then her own.

“Yeah, lack of sleep does that to you.”

She inhaled. “Come on.”

⁂

“Glad to see you, Director,” Naomi said. “Is this a matter you can discuss as we ride to HQ?”

“And you as well, Misora. Unfortunately, I cannot. This is to stay confidential, between the people I summoned, so Sheridan and Smirnov cannot hear as well.”

“Understood.” The ride lapsed into silence. She said, “Is it related to Kira?”

“Yes.”

She settled into her seat, desperately trying to keep her eyes open until she got into her hotel room.

“I see some familiar faces,” Director Mason tried.

March 12, 2010

Naomi wiped her hands on her slacks as the door clicked closed. She could count at least ten people.

Immediately, whispers started.

“No, kid, he doesn’t mean you,” a blonde woman said to her colleague. She rolled her eyes.

“The Bureau handed me over to the Agency, you know,” her colleague replied. “And he knows my dad. Of course he means me and a handful of other people.”

“Sometimes, I wish I didn’t know your tragic backstory.”

Mason cleared his throat and stepped aside to reveal…

A teenager. Playing with robots.

“This is N. He’s L’s successor. The both of us hand selected all of you for your respective skills, from both the CIA and FBI. This is the organisation known as the Special Provision for Kira.”

“And what if we don’t believe that?” one man said, crossing his arms.

“Tucker,” Naomi said, “don’t be stupid. What reason would Mason have to lie about that? Use your head.”

“After the original L died, he was replaced,” the teenager said. “The L that we all know of is a front put up by the Japanese Task Force.”

I wish I could be surprised, she thought. Their styles are too different.

“Fine, fine, I believe you,” Tucker said.

She shook her head.

“As you were saying, N?” she said.

“Thank you. As you all know, the Kira case first appeared in 2003--six years ago. I trust that you all know the basics of how Kira first appeared and what his MO was.” N pulled up his--Gundam?--transformer and using it as a puppet, and said, “But, as the case progressed, Kira had went on a two week hiatus. Then, all of a sudden, it was white collar criminals that were being killed in addition to the typical criminals. The MO had changed.”

“So then the weapon changed hands,” Naomi said.

“Correct. Then, after roughly five months, Kyosuke Higuchi--the Kira behind the crimes--had dropped dead after a car chase that brought down even my predecessor, who was famous for having never shown his face. The killings stop for one week. Then, they pick up again. The MO had changed--back to the original MO, but then murdering bank robbers and the like. The weapon had changed hands again.

“The day after the killings resumed, my predecessor had died, and was replaced by the Japanese Task Force, who did not want to cause alarm.”

“So can we assume that Kira had accomplices?” the blonde woman asked.

“Indeed. If you all remember, there was the Sakura TV incident.”

“What happened?” McEnroe asked.

“The Second Kira had made a broadcast on Sakura TV, which is known to be your typical yellow journalism hotspot in Japan,” Naomi informed him. “She held the entire station hostage, and called out to the original Kira.”

“She?”

“Women’s speech patterns vary from men’s. I don’t remember how, but it’s rather different. Where do we go from here, N?”

“That’s a good question, Naomi Misora. From here, we’ll be moving to headquarters in New York, downtown Manhattan. I’ll probably get into contact with the Japanese Task Force, and then we can share information back and forth.”

Somehow, she didn’t think that he was telling them the whole thing.

“Meeting adjourned,” Mason said.

Sheridan and Smirnov were waiting outside the door, and ambushed her just as soon as she got out.

“So, what was all that about?” Smirnov asked, one arm around her shoulder.

“Get off of me,” she said. “It’s confidential for a reason.”

“Aw, come on! It’s not as if you’re a civilian.”

“It’s still confidential, Smirnov. I’ll hear none of it.” She ducked under Smirnov and Sheridan, and said, “I’m going to ask the Director about possible arrangements for my apartment and… other things.”

“Of course. Don’t keep us waiting!” Sheridan called.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Director, a word?”

“Of course,” Director Mason said.

“I’m going to have some issues moving my things across country. See, my apartment is in Los Angeles--my--” she swallowed and forced herself to say it, “Raye’s brother is currently staying there, and I need a couple days to transfer the lease and move all of my things out, as well as make arrangements for therapy and the like.”

“Take as much time as you need. The building won’t officially be finished for another couple months. September, at least.”

“Oh, that’s later than I thought. Well then. Thank you for answering. I’m going to go and arrange a flight.”

She walked out of the building, and narrowed her eyes at Dunleavy asking a civilian for her phone. She made note of it and climbed into her car. She’d barely buckled when she almost backed into someone.

“You know, it’s usually considered good form to check your mirrors,” the blonde woman from earlier said.

“Sorry about that. I haven’t had much sleep,” Naomi said, after pausing for a second. Wow, she is… really pretty.

“Mhm." Halle nodded. "I look forward to it. You’re a legend.” Halle smiled.

She leaned onto the wheel and said, “I don’t know about legend. Though, I don’t think this organization needs one.”

Well done, Naomi, already venting to a woman you don’t know. Scratch that, barely know.

“You’re not known as one for no reason, Misora. I’ll see you around.”

Naomi nodded, and made sure to check her mirrors before backing out this time. She fell face first onto her hotel bed with a sigh.

“Totally blew that,” she muttered, peeling off her jacket. Her phone buzzed. “What’s up, Adrian?”

“Nothing much. Sorry that it’s taken me so long to call. I’d wish you a happy late birthday, but…”

“It’s bad luck. I know the superstition. Sorry, you were saying?”

“Anyways, I just wanted to ask, since this apartment’s lease is coming up, are you going to renew it?”

She swore. “When is that?”

“The 27th.”

“Gotcha. I’m going to renew it. By the way, you and your wife are going to need to move out sometime--I’m heading back to LA. I can stay with your parents for a while, but I’ll need to get back into my apartment before I lose my mind.”

“Naomi! Why do you never tell us these things…”

“I’m in DC right now, actually. I hadn’t learned that I was going to be coming back to DC until the ninth, so I couldn’t have told you and your family.”

“That’s fair. And confidentiality laws. Anyways, when are you going to head back here?”

“A day or so.”

“That’s not a lot of time to pack.”

“You won’t have to, not for a while. I’ll transfer the lease over before I leave, and then you and your wife will officially be renting it, not me. That’s when I have to move to New York.”

Adrian whistled. “You sure do move around a lot. Though, I remember Raye did that too. Comes with the job, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she said. Somehow, it didn’t hurt as much when he says it.

“Where in New York, out of curiosity?”

“The Big Apple, actually.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I am not. How’s your wife doing?”

“She’s all right. End of the seventh month--officially at 28 weeks, now. Are you planning on being the gay, spinster aunt?”

“Bye, Adrian.”

⁂

“I’m sorry mom and dad couldn’t make it. They’d love to see you,” Michael said. Naomi climbed into the car. “And, of course, Adrian and Laney are in the same boat.”

“What’s going on with Laney?”

“Morning sickness is back and worse than ever.”

She winced, though she had yet to experience that. All plans of it had went out the window when he died. She pursed her lips and forced all thought of Raye from her mind.

“Yeah, after her bout with HG the first time… Anyways, I heard you had to move to the Big Apple for work. Tell us how it is.”

“Providing I can get a chance alone, ha.”

“Trying to remain busy?”

“Busy as I can get, yeah.”

He tapped out the beat to the lyrics of All Apologies. “It’s weird to realise that you’re outliving your oldest brother.”

She smiled wryly. “I was all of six weeks younger than him. It’s weird to think I wouldn’t have died six weeks after.”

Michael was silent. The only resemblance that him and Raye bore was the cut of their eyes and their stature. Beyond that, it was hard to tell they were brothers at all.

“Naomi… You are in counseling, right?”

“I’m not suicidal.”

Scratch that. Same personality.

“You’re depressed, at best.”

Raye scowled. “I don’t like this guy.”

“Then kick the damn door down and let’s be done with this,” Suruga replied.

Even a glance at his face, cool but barely restrained anger boiling beneath the surface, could’ve told you his thoughts. He braced himself against the brick a la Rorschach in The Watchmen, and with one quick, almost stablike jam of his heel by the doorknob, it burst wide open. The children in the house recoiled from the door.

“Oh, Jesus,” Gardner muttered. “Raye, go upstairs with Naomi and search the house.”

Gardner's knees popped as he knelt to talk to the kids. Naomi cast an anxious glance behind her and followed Raye up the stairs. He was muttering darkly under his breath, about what he’d do to the guy if he weren’t with the FBI.

“Don’t beat the dead horse here,” she muttered, not intending the pun of the perp’s display name on the dark web.

“It won’t be a dead horse until he’s dead or in prison forever,” he replied. The clack of the slide being jerked back punctuated the statement. If he did do something rash, she wasn't keen on holding him back.

“Yoohoo, Naomi? Anyone home?”

She blinked. “Sorry.”

“He is the worst kind of person, and I’m not even a little sorry about saying that. Making snuff films of children,” Raye muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Agreed. Children are the one thing you should have restraint on,” Suruga said. “But at least we're not talking, like. Fetal abduction.”

Always the optimist.

"Dude, don't. I'm already sick to my stomach." (And he was looking a little on the green side.) The ME passed him a can of flat ginger ale.

“It just, uh… reminded me of a joke I made. By accident.”

Michael shrugged. “All right.”

⁂

“So, how long are you going to be in California?” Nana asked.

“With the rent as is? Good luck,” Michael said.

“Oh, I know, it’s horrific. Luckily I make a decent amount of money each month, so I can make rent. And if I can’t, then I have lots of money in savings.”

“Or you could board with someone.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Once we get to know each other I can ask. I wouldn’t feel comfortable encroaching on a stranger’s space.”

#tw alcohol #tw death of a loved one #tw guns #tw pregnancy #tw emetophobia #tw crimes against children #vd.writing #long post #the entirely italicized parts are flashbacks #naomi has a lot of those. i love one traumatized lady <3

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years

Text

9x05: Dog Dean Afternoon

Welcome to our last hellatus recap. This is one of our themed episodes and it’s not too late to guess what that is. You’ll win bragging rights forever! Anyway, our show is back tomorrow!

Then:

Obligatory Teddy Bear shot of how AbsUrD this show can be. Note to Show: Don’t highlight the absurdity of this show when you’re about to air a so-so episode.

Now:

As a very dedicated taxidermist works on his Game of Thrones masterpieces, his very smart, very loyal German Shepherd, Colonel, alerts him to danger. They head through the halls of stuffed animals (but they’re all fake because who the fuck is stuffing these bears and shit? Also, a dog? Aren’t tigers endangered? WTF is all this?). Anyway, a man with a snake tongue attacks the taxidermist and Colonel sees it all.

At the bunker, Sam’s got a case.

Once at the Taxidermy shop, they find it covered in red paint, and a little paw print symbol. Sam takes a picture.

Agents and Michaels and Deville enter the crime scene. And by crime, I mean all the dead animals. WTF? Like. WTF? Let’s assume all these animals died of natural causes, so we can pretend the victim was “a good egg.” Sam heads off to tour the place and Dean stops to interview Mr. Stevens. As Dean learns about “entrails” and such, Sam looks over the merch.

Poor Dean Bean continues to have frightening reminders about why he’s a germaphobe.

The boys are thinking witch, but decide to keep digging.

At their motel, Sam discovers the “wiccan symbol” is really an animal right’s group symbol. (LOL, I totally don’t remember this episode and I’m totally NOT changing my caption from above.)

Dean and Sam head to a vegan bakery where we learn that Dean knows the smell of Patchouli. Yeah, you might mask that with disdain for non-meat eaters, Dean, but we see you. They head to interrogate Olivia and Dylan, two founding members of S.N.A.R.T., the animal right’s group. They’re wearing sunglasses inside, so Dean thinks they’re douchebags. The brothers flash their badges. The couple sits down to talk about the victim. “You know how hunters are. They’re selfish dicks who define themselves by what they kill.”

They explain that someone attacked them with pepper spray and that’s why they look like douchebags.

Back at the motel, Sam further investigates the attack and the brothers surmise that they were attacked by venom.

At the local animal shelter, Brad gets a visit from Snake Man. Brad knows the guy and gets a $100 to let him walk into the kennel. The dude gathers ALL THE CATS and Brad wanders in to watch him EAT ONE. Yeah, we’re technically not on hate watch week anymore, BUT I STILL HATE THIS.

Brad doesn’t last long.

At the new crime scene, the brothers try to piece together the new information. Dean sees Colonel in a cage and ACCUSES HIM OF BEING A SUSPECT. GUH. Dean, just say you hate dogs and go home. Colonel doesn’t react to silver and Sam guesses they “can rule out killer.” Colonel starts barking.

How would you like to come home with me and live in a nice big bunker and go for car rides all the time and eat liver sausages and help solve mysteries?

Dean THE SMARTEST BEAN AROUND Winchester notices that Colonel is reacting to the local cop’s hat, so he tries it out. Bingo. Colonel was a witness to the crimes.

Sam thinks there’s a way to communicate with the dog to find out what he’s seen.

Kevin gets them a spell to talk with the dog. Dean agrees to drink the Mind Meld concoction because he doesn’t want Sam to take on more than healing from near death even if he doesn’t know if because he has an angel possessing him. Whew.

The spell doesn’t seem to work (But it DID, so can I like get said spell? I’d really love to talk with my cat on the regular, lolz, I’m not crazy.)

After eating lunch, Colonel sits up and asks for the channel to be changed. DUDE. It’s Foreigner. No one puts Foreigner in the corner. Dean’s on my side and has a nice argument with the dog while Sam watches confused.

Dean gets to the point of the situation and asks about the cowboy hat. The killer wears a hat. WBK. As he throws away his food wrapping, Sam wants to know about the cats. Dean retrieves it like a good boy. (but seriously, German Shepherds ARE NOT RETRIEVERS. Good luck getting them to return anything!)

Suddenly, there’s a noise outside and both Dean and Colonel head to the window to harass the mailman. Yep.

Back at the motel, Sam tells Dean that side effects of mind melding with an animal can include developing animal urges. Suddenly I’m reminded of Dean’s fascination with the dog familiar from season eight and feel horribly uncomfortable. Dean angrily opens a chocolate bar, only for the dog to warn him off of it. No chocolate? This is an outrage!

Outside, a pigeon poops on Baby. “Hey, dick move, pigeon!” The bird returns anger with insult. “Screw you, asshat!” Apparently all animals have a universal language just sprinkled with insults! Dean shouts at the pigeon with all the subtlety of a very large human-shaped dog.

Sam manages to drag Dean into the car, but not before I make a diorama of this scene and place it on my Supernatural altar of Very Good Things.

Dean and Sam argue over whether they should leave Colonel in the car. “You think we like that?” Dean asks, ROYALLY insulted. Hell, no. Colonel’s going in with them. In a moment where I curse my horrific prescience, Dean gives a lusty once-over to a nearby tied-up poodle. I…just…

Inside the shelter, Dean interrogates all the shelter animals. There’s only one dog who can give any good intel, and the dog only delivers in exchange for a belly rub. From Sam.

The dog gives them a tip: they’re looking for a cowboy hatted villain who works at a nearby restaurant. Dean lets all the animals free before they leave. “I didn’t peg you for a softy,” Colonel remarks. But WE all knew. Dean Bean <3

The Winchesters break into the restaurant that evening and discover a giant stash of prescription medications and…a cage of mice. The mice give Dean a tip: animal bits and pieces are stored neatly in the refrigerator. Sam finds a spell: with the right magic, ingesting a certain bit of animal helps the magician to temporarily gain that animal’s power. The guy’s mixing various animal parts to experiment on the effects and fun new powers he might develop.

Dean and Sam encounter a chef and waiter preparing a private dinner (featuring shark fin) and shoo them out under the guise of health inspector.

Chef Leo nibbled on a chameleon, which allows him to get the drop on Sam.

He swipes at Sam’s throat. Gadreel flashes to life and heals Sam’s terrible throat slash. Leo witnesses this miraculous healing and decides that Sam’s the ultimate snak - I mean, meal.

Leo sniffs out a dog, only to turn around and see…Dean. When the chef learns that Dog Dean and Angel Sam are brothers he is many levels of confused, but that doesn’t put him off his plans to chow down on Sam Fucking Winchester and his creamy angel filling. Dean, being a dog, immediately sniffs out some new information about Leo: he has cancer. Traditional treatments did nothing to help Leo, but his animal power worked. While his quest began sympathetically, murder is a side effect that Leo’s totally cool with as long as he can keep pushing the boundaries of man and beast. “Guess you eat enough predators, you start to become one.”

The chef pulls out a wolf heart so he can tear Dean - a mere dog - into little kibble sized bits. Dean breaks free just in time and leads Leo on a merry chase outside. He looks oddly triumphant for being cornered by Leo in an alley, and whistles sharply. A pack of the stray dogs come running and tear Leo to bits.

Dean races back to check on Sam and calls for Sam…or Zeke...to wake up. “Don’t make me lick your damn face,” he pleads dramatically. Sam snaps awake. Hooray! Happy ending!

We jump to the Colonel meeting the vegans from earlier. They wuv that cute widdle puppy wuppy! Dean regrets that they can’t take Colonel along with them but it’s no life for a dog! It’s vegan dog treats from here on out.

The spell wears off just as Colonel tells Dean, “Dogs aren't really man's best friend. I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but the real reason we were put here was to…” He starts barking, and the spell’s done at last. I’m sure we’ll finally learn the truth about dogs in the final scene of season 15, right? RIGHT?

At the car, Dean checks in with Sam. Sammy’s fine, but he’s a little weirded out by what Leo said about him - why did he want to know WHAT Sam was? Dean dissembles awkwardly and they take off for further adventures, played out to the credits by sad guilt violins.

These Quotes Have Fleas:

The slippery nipple shots at the Dolly Parton Dixie Stampede nearly killed the guy

Always knew I'd find the source of all evil at a vegan bakery

You know who wears sunglasses inside? Blind people. And douchebags

I need a Raquel Welch poster and a rock hammer

I’m getting extorted by a dog

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 9x05 #dog dean afternoon #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 9

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fingergunsbidean · 4 years

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Thank you to @dean-is-love for tagging me!

rule: answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better

1.name/nickname: sarah

2.gender: cis female

3.star sign: sagittarius

4.height: 5′7

5.time: 12:18 am

6.birthday: december 3

7.favourite bands/groups: i’m going through a kpop phase and i don’t want to talk about it, so i’m just going to leave that there lmao.

8.favourite solo artist: harry styles always

9.song stuck in my head: weirdly enough, i don’t think i have one right now?

10.last movie: ww84...mistake lol, but then again i never watched the first one and i’m just not a superhero person.

11.last show: i’m currently rewatching gossip girl, and it was a GREAT decision lmao

12.when did i create this blog: i never stopped watching spn, but i definitely lost interest in it for a while, but the season 13 grief arc brought me right back, and i decided i wanted to check out the fandom side of spn.

13.what do i post: i mostly just reblog stuff, but occasionally i post fanvids.

14.last thing i googled: restaurants to order dinner from for tonight

15.other blogs: this is mostly just it

16.do i get asks: not typically, which is fine, because i’m much more of a reblogger than an opinion poster or anything

17.why i chose my url: because dean is bi

18.following: 158

19.followers: 900

20.average hours of sleep: like...5-6 hours lol

21.lucky number: 4

22.instruments: i used to play piano, but i think i mostly forgot how now

23.what am i wearing: leggings and a very fuzzy disney spirit jersey

24.dream job: actress, but i’ve literally done nothing to pursue that. OH OR A MAKEUP ARTIST! i’m probably more qualified for that lol.

25.dream trip: i don’t know, dude, i just want to take a year off and go everywhere.

26.favourite food: PIZZA

27.nationality: american, but if we’re going to do my european origins then scottish and german, and apparently...8% greek?

28.favourite song: looking too closely by fink

29.last book i read: i only read fanfics over here, what are books?

30.top three fictional universes i’d like to live in: still harry potter, but fuck jk rowling, GOT but without all that nasty shit (just clothes and dragons thanks), uhhhh...once upon a time? i just really like the whole fantasy aesthetic.

tagging: i’m letting this be a free for all, because i simply can’t tag 20 people lmao

#personal #non spn

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spaceskam · 5 years

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I Put A Spell On You (a magical au)

Summary: People are going missing and Michael decides this is his problem to solve.

she’s here! long and finished! special thanks to @lire-casander who read a completely out of context scene for this becuase I was having doubts. Hope you all enjoy!

ao3

“What’s wrong?”

Liz Ortecho sniffled and looked up to Michael with eyes that screamed ‘why, are you going to explode?’, but she didn’t say it out loud because Liz Ortecho was nice. She was the only one aside from Isobel who didn’t treat him like a toddler playing with a gun instead of a ball.

“It’s my sister,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. Michael looked over to Isobel who was nose deep in a book on German Spells because ‘you never know when you’ll need it’. He sat down in front of Liz. “She… she always reaches out to me every single day, but it’s been three days and I think something bad happened.”

“Like what?” Michael asked.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t go looking for trouble. What was the point of being the Chosen One if you didn’t help everyone you could? Yeah, he was a shitty Chosen One when it came to controlling his magic or casting spells or not accidentally murdering fantastical creatures that sneak up on him, but he could fight and Isobel was super clever with her magic. Together they could solve any problem.

Even this super vague one involving Liz Ortecho’s sister.

“I don’t know,” she said, “She’s just gone. It’s like… It’s like she vanished.”

Michael couldn’t help himself as he spent the rest of the day thinking about it. A magician was missing. That felt like Chosen One business. A magician doesn’t just go missing, just like a magician doesn’t just give up their children. Michael wasn’t an anomaly and he didn’t think Rosa Ortecho was either.

“Are you sick? I’ve never seen you eat less than two plates of food,” Isobel said, destroying his train of thought, “Please tell me you’re not thinking of Alex again, you really need to stop being scared of him.” He looked up to her with inquisitive eyes and ignoring her statement.

“Have you ever heard of a magician just, like, disappearing?” he asked. Isobel narrowed her eyes at him.

“What did you do?”

Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “I did nothing, but I was talking to Liz and apparently her sister is missing. That’s weird, right? Have you ever heard of a magician going missing?”

Isobel shrugged, deciding not to mention that he’d said he spoke to Liz Ortecho. Her twin, Max, had been obsessed with her since she first graced the campus and she’d never given him the time of day. That gave her a healthy distaste of the girl, though Micahel was sure it had more to do with the fact Max turned into an idiot when she was around.

“I’m sure there’s more, but the only one I can think of off the top of my head is Noya Manes because that was, like, huge mage news when it happened.”

“Like ex-headmaster Noya Manes?”

“The one and only.”

Michael furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t know that she disappeared. It wasn’t really spoken about. It probably didn’t help that he had only joined the World of Mages, like, a few years prior. He didn’t know much about the history of anything. He didn’t really pay attention in history class either.

“Okay, so a headmaster and a random young mage go missing a million years apart. Cool,” Michael sighed.

He wanted to help, he really did. He hadn’t done anything helpful in over 8 months and it was starting to weigh on him. Even then, that event had pissed a couple of people off. They were having class outside and a giant cerberus had made its way onto the grounds and was snarling with all teeth bared. A few other people did their best to send spells to make it run away, but it didn’t work.

So Michael blew it up.

Most people were at least semi-thankful he stopped it from tearing them apart, but a handful of people were very upset that he killed it and Alex Manes had made a point to tell him he was an idiot. Still, he got praise for it from The Mage which felt like a win.

Now he needed to do something REALLY good. He needed to solve a mystery and save the girl and figure everything out. He needed to know everything.

Alex rolled his eyes when he entered his room to find Guerin surrounded in papers and looking more intense than he should be.

“Are you actually studying for once?” Alex said, eyeing the curly-headed boy he’d been forced to share a room with for the last seven years. He didn’t think he would ever be able to overcome to grief his father gave him when he found out as if it was his fault that the crucible paired him with the defective Chosen One.

When Guerin ignored him, he just went into the bathroom.

Alex had fuzzy memories of his childhood, mostly of his father insisting that he didn’t turn into a shit mage. He’d gone on and on for longer than Alex could remember about how he and his mother only planned on one child, one child to dedicate all their magic into.

And then they had Alex instead.

He wasn’t spectacular as a child, he wasn’t like Guerin. He didn’t have natural, raw magic that seeped out of his skin like sweat. His was trained and honed and he was good. He was never the most powerful naturally, but he practiced like no other and that made him a force to be reckoned with. You’d think his father would be proud.

“I should’ve become The Mage after your mother,” his father would say, almost as if he was giving some big villain monologue at the end of a season of Buffy, “But, instead, Jim swept it out from under me. The Manes are meant for that, not Jim fucking Valenti.”

Jim fucking Valenti was actually nice, though. Alex had to give him that. He was nice in a way that he tried his best and did what he thought was good for the coven. For example, when a Normal suddenly burst full of magic 7 years ago, The Mage happily took him in as his heir and gifted him a magical heirloom in the form of his necklace.

Which was really nice of him if you didn’t talk about the part where he had a son of his own that was the same age and was gifted a shitty, store-bought wand.

Kyle‒The Mage’s actual son‒wasn’t bad. He didn’t seem to hold much jealousy of Guerin‒the Normal with magic‒even though he had every right to. It helped that Kyle didn’t really have an interest in magic in the first place. It was almost pathetic, but it made him easier to be around. He was the only person who didn’t seem to view Guerin as some sort of God.

The prophecy had stated that a mage with unparalleled power would come and be the savior of the magical word. It was vague as all hell and the fact that everyone so willingly accepted that it was Guerin felt suspicious. Alex could count a million reasons on how Guerin was so unremarkable and obviously a Normal. However, he couldn’t deny the power he radiated. That was definitely unparalleled and that had to be why people were accepting of it.

Sleeping hardly four feet away from a boy who felt like an atom bomb of magic for seven years had been… interesting to say the least. He was always buzzing if not glowing. Everything he was was under the surface of his skin, burning to get out and almost becoming unbearable to be around for any mage too sensitive to the feeling of magic. Alex had seen teachers request he be moved out of their class because the simple presence of him was too much. As annoying as Guerin was, Alex didn’t think he could ever understand that.

Feeling Guerin’s power felt like a privilege that he couldn’t get enough of.

Alex stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, fully dressed in his sleep clothes to see Guerin dead asleep. He was still surrounded in those papers, one of which was smashed against his cheek and the bed. His curls spilled over and reached over the edge of the bed in an annoyingly natural fashion. His lips were slightly parted and, for a moment, he looked peaceful. The boy never looked peaceful when he was awake because he always had this need to fulfill his duty by getting into shit he shouldn’t. Like that time Alex lured him into the woods and then Guerin “saved” him from a chimera whenever it was supposed to be attacking Guerin. He could be so spectacularly stupid sometimes.

Hating Guerin was easy. He was dense on the best of days and horrifically positive about everything. He weaseled his way into every situation under the sun and felt pride when all he could do was destroy everything in his wake. He would follow people if he had a “feeling” and he and his little lackey Isobel Evans would find themselves in genuinely horrible situations. Last year, they got kidnapped by a crew of rogue werecoyotes‒Alex still wasn’t sure how they got free. He was infuriating and instigating and powerful beyond belief. Yes, hating him was easy.

But trying not to be hopelessly in love with him was a burden Alex was still trying to fight.

Michael crossed the bridge out of Watford with ease.

There was a bar not too far outside of Watford that had its doors open for any magical creature that was willing to place nice. Michael liked it there better than any other place in the world. He was an oddity, but no one there treated him like that because they were too. He’d met vampires and werewolves and sea monsters with legs. He’d met people who were hundreds of years old and others who were surprisingly young for how they looked. He loved it there.

The owner of the bar was easily one of the most powerful mages he’d ever met‒Mimi DeLuca. She was the one who made it easier for him to get over the bridge in the first place. He always asked her why she chose to run a bar instead of being on the political side of the world and she said she didn’t care for it. She didn’t care for Watford and she didn’t care for the judgment that came with the title of being a magician. She just wanted to be. Michael envied that.

“Well if it isn’t Michael Guerin. Haven’t seen you in a while,” Maria, Mimi’s daughter, said when he walked through the doors. She was pretty and kind and Michael had tried so, so hard to figure out how to tell her that. He was bad at it. He was bad at a lot of things. Mimi and Maria were the only ones who didn’t seem to mind.

“I know, I’ve been busy,” he said, leaning onto the counter. She smiled at him that pretty smile and got him a drink that he was technically too young to have. Maria was a year older than him but had never actually gone to Watford. Mimi had said she never even considered sending her, but Maria had told him that she wouldn’t have been let in and so it saved her the heartache. Apparently, Maria’s father was a Normal and so, in the eyes of a lot of mages, so was she.

Michael knew that was bullshit. With the snap of her fingers, his drink poured itself. She was powerful as hell.

“Is your mom around?” he asked, still smiling at her. Maria gave him that look that she gave him often. He felt that urge to tell her she was pretty again, to reach across the counter and kiss her. He’d only kissed one person in his life and it was pretty unspectacular. Maria felt like she could be spectacular.

“Always looking for my mom and not me,” she said. Michael leaned a bit closer.

“I could look for you,” he said, “If you wanted.”

“Now I would know that hair anywhere.” Michael immediately looked towards the voice and saw Mimi walking towards him with open arms. He fell into them easily. She was his favorite person in the world aside from Isobel. She always hugged him like it was the best part of the day. It was for him.

“Hi,” he said dumbly, not letting go of the hug until a few seconds after she did. She grabbed his face in her hands and he couldn’t help but smile up at her.

“Now, why didn’t you stay around here for the summer? I told you that you’re always welcome and you didn’t even stop by for months! I haven’t seen you since June! That’s four months too long,” she doted, pushing back his hair.

“I stayed with the Evans’ for a little while,” he lied. The Mage had this policy where he wanted him to go back to group homes during the summer, saying he didn’t want him to lose his connection to the normal world. That was what made him the Chosen One. He’d gotten more than a little irritated when he found out that he’d stayed with the DeLuca’s a few summers prior. “I had a question for you, s’why I came.”

“Mm, can’t even come for the luxury of our company,” Maria teased. Mimi squeezed his cheeks between her hands lightly before letting him go and sitting beside him.

“What’s the question, love?” Mimi smiled, stealing the drink Maria had made for him.

“So, I’ve been doing some research for a project,” he said, “About Noya Manes. I can’t figure out why she could’ve possibly gone missing. I didn’t know mages could go missing. I figured you’d be the best person to ask if there was anyone else.”

Mimi went silent as she stared at him. Then she looked around the bar and then gestured for him to follow her into the back. Maria stayed to man the bar.

“What exactly did you find out?” Mimi asked him hesitantly as they slipped into the backroom. Michael shrugged, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to hear what she knew.

“Nothing much,” he said, “Just that Noya Manes disappeared on October 31st twelve years ago. And, you remember Rosa Ortecho? She went missing October 13th this year. And I was doing research and I found a couple of other people that went missing through the years, but there was nothing done about it. I figured you would know more about anyone that might’ve gone missing.” Mimi watched him with nervous eyes.

“Michael, is this for a project or are you trying to be the hero again?” she asked. He didn’t answer. “I know you think you need to search for trouble because you’re the Chosen One, but I really wish you would stop running into things. It makes me so nervous.”

“But what if this is my thing? I’m supposed to, like, save the World of Mages. What if this is it? I mean, all these mages have been going missing for years. It has to mean something,” he said. She sighed and stared at him a little bit longer.

“Is Isobel working on this with you?” Mimi accused. Michael shook his head. Because she wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. He was trying to find all the evidence he could before bringing it to Isobel and then she would just kinda piece it all together because she did that really well. “Listen, Michael, I think this is something you should keep your distance from.”

“Why?” he prodded, “What do you know?”

Her face was grim and she looked around again, like she thought someone might listen. She leaned close.

“I know at least two magicians go missing every October. They’re always powerful, powerful people,” she explained, that fearful look in her eyes again. “You need to stay away from looking into this. You don’t need to draw attention to yourself.”

“I mean, how much more attention could I possibly bring to myself?” Michael asked, “I’m already the Chosen One. If they’re gonna come after me, I might as well be prepared, right?”

Mimi stared at him for a long time before she held up a finger and went to rummage in the closet. He furrowed his eyebrows but stayed put as she’d said. The DeLuca’s were incredibly quirky and after years and years of being around them, he decided to stop questioning them.

She returned with a sword that, despite being shoved in the back of a closet, still seemed to glisten with pride.

“This is The Sword of Mages,” she said and his eyes widened. He’d heard of it before, something that had been allegedly lost to time within one of the old families. Yet, here it was in the closet of what was decidedly not an old family.

“How do you have this?” he asked, holding his hands out flat and being careful as she handed it to him.

“I stole it,” she admitted and a smile found his lips, “When I was your age, Jesse Manes told me I could never be as powerful as he was because I was a girl. So I stole this sword from his grandfather. Not sure he even knew it was there, but I did and that’s all that matters.”

Michael checked that it was okay with her before he ran his fingers over the blade. It hummed with his touch, almost like it was meant just for his touch. He looked back up at Mimi with wide eyes. She smiled wearily.

“This sword fits right into your side if it’s for you‒it appears into your hand whenever you need it,” Mimi said, “If you’re going to be chasing down some power-hungry monster, I want to know that I did my best to make sure you can protect yourself.

“But, Mimi, I‒”

“Go on, see if it fits,” she urged. Michael tried not to smile too big just in case and thought about it molding into him.

It did.

She smiled again, though it seemed to be disguising a whole bunch of fear and worry. He tried not to seem too excited. It fit. The Sword of Mages was his to have.

Not even a Manes could claim that.

The pile of papers on Guerin’s bed was becoming unbearable.

Alex had never allowed himself to believe that Guerin would ever be genuinely tidy, but this was becoming even worse than it had in the last few years. He’d genuinely considered casting a spell to clean it up and then thought about a spell to just make it be thrown away so it couldn’t get like that again. Instead, he settled on just picking up the papers off the floor so they wouldn’t get wet shoe-prints on them due to it being spectacularly rainy and knowing Guerin couldn’t pull off a spell to dry himself.

He was being nice today.

All the papers seemed to be neatly torn from books or were nicely cut from articles in newspapers. They were of all sorts of people‒people that Alex had never fucking heard of. He didn’t even think they were magicians and, if they were, they weren’t important enough to be spoken about in the magical world.

Well, most of them.

He landed on one paper that had almost been tucked beneath Guerin’s bed that seemed to be the only one from a mage’s newsletter. The only reason he knew that was because it had a picture of his mother on it, cradling him as a baby. There was another, bigger picture that was just of his mother, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the one with him in it. He’d never seen it before. Granted, his father had taken it upon himself to rid their house of his mother’s presence, but…

The article was about her disappearance.

It was about how she brought her son, James Alexander Tiberius Manes, to the nursery at Watford on Halloween, went into her office, and then never came back out. They’d searched the entire room and the halls and the windows and everything, but there was no sign of anything. She’d just disappeared.

Alex was overcome with sadness as he stared at the picture. He didn’t really remember her very well. He was four when she went missing and that didn’t leave much room for his memory. The few times his father had spoken about her, it’d been mainly about how she was ill and he should’ve known he was marrying into a flight risk. She was powerful and smart, but she didn’t care about her family. But, looking at the picture, she seemed to care about him. She was smiling at him in a way his dad never had. She looked like she loved him. He wondered if she would’ve been nicer than he was. She was certainly prettier.

She had long, dark hair that was slicked back into a low ponytail in both pictures. Her skin was darker than his own, though he seemed to be darker when he was a baby than he was now. He had her nose and her eyes. That irrefutable longing seeped into his veins again as he thought about her. He missed her dearly, even if he hardly remembered her in the first place. He loved her more than life itself. He had to.

However, he was then rudely thrown back to the realization that Michael fucking Guerin had an article of her on his floor.

Alex tried to keep his cool as he used a fine-tooth comb for his mother’s name in all of Guerin’s bullshit. Tons and tons of results came to him, the most damning being a notebook that had a page where literally the only thing written on it was his mother’s name, date of disappearance, and, in parentheses, Alex’s mom.

Alex sat for a moment and tried to calm down.

There had to be a rational explanation for this. Guerin had been pouring over these papers for over a week now and it seemed to be important. Of course, Guerin seemed to think everything he did was important. And, besides that, he shouldn’t have been looking into Alex’s mother. That wasn’t his business. Nothing was his business.

He had two options. He could go find him now or he could wait until Guerin got back. Logically, he knew he should wait. The threat of the anathema would help him keep his hands to himself. Possibly. He wanted to murder someone. Well, not someone, Guerin.

Another hour or two passed before Guerin returned and it left far too much time for Alex to create wild ideas for why Guerin had so much about his mother. Hell, he went through all of the papers he had. It was tons about missing persons, all in October, all for seemingly no reason.

Guerin opened the door and immediately froze when he saw Alex waiting for him like an angry father.

“You have about fifteen seconds to explain why you are researching my mother before I strangle you,” Alex demanded. Guerin just stared at him.

He did this thing when he was trying to think up an idea where he’d just stare all wide-eyed and beautiful. His curls would hang towards his eyes and his cheeks would turn all red. Alex hated it. Part of him wanted to kill him and the other wanted to kiss him senseless. Not that either of those would go well.

Alex stalked towards him, ready to threaten him with a little more animosity when a sword appeared out of nowhere and was pointed at his chest. Alex immediately jumped back, glaring at the boy who looked almost feral as he held a sword towards Alex.

“Are you stupid?! Are you trying to get thrown out of Watford?” The anathema was simple. You hurt your roommate, you get physically thrown out of the room and banned from the school. Simple as that.

Alex hadn’t actually heard of anyone breaking it since he was there, but he wouldn’t put it past Guerin to be the first.

“You said you were going to kill me!” Guerin defended, lowering the sword but still not putting it back where it came from. Wherever it came from.

Alex took a slow breath, doing his best not to fucking lose it. “It’s called a veiled threat, you idiot.”

“You’ve tried to kill me before, how was I supposed to know?!” Guerin whined. Alex pinched the bridge of his nose.

He’d never tried to kill him before. Hurt him? Yes, but never kill. Had that been a side effect, though, he wouldn’t have been too angry about it. He hated the way he felt towards the Chosen One. If he was gone, then it’d make things easier.

Not that that had any significance now.

“Just tell me why you’re researching my mother,” he demanded, “And put that sword away.”

“I know how to use it,” Guerin threatened still. Alex rolled his eyes, though he knew it was true. After a few too many times of him getting into shitty circumstances, The Mage had taught him a few different ways to fight. Alex still could picture how sweaty he’d get and how his shirt would stick to his skin and how fantastic he looked while swinging around the sword he kept beneath his bed.

Those were good days.

“Will you stop being a child?” Alex sighed, hoping to push away the stupid thoughts. “Tell me.”

The sword melded into Guerin’s side and was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The act was shocking, but Alex didn’t allow himself to show his shock. Like he’d grant him that.

Guerin was quiet for a moment longer and Alex considered just killing him right then anyways. It was irritating. His question was simple and yet he was still being denied an answer.

“Guerin, I swear to‒”

“Alright!” Guerin said, taking a big breath, “I think there’s a massive conspiracy happening and everyone is too scared to do anything about it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen!” Guerin said, moving fast to grab all the papers, “All these people are mages that have gone missing over the last twelve years! It all started with your mother, but every October after that, at least two have gone missing. And they’re all-powerful, so I think someone may have found a way to steal power or something and they’re just using them. Or, or something. I don’t know. I haven’t gotten past the research part of just trying to put them all in order. I want to get a comprehensive list of every single one, you know?”

Guerin kept rambling, speaking as if they were friends for some reason. Alex could barely wrap his head around everything.

“Wait, stop,” he said, holding out his hand, “You think my mother was kidnapped?”

For years, Alex had been told his mother had just ran away. There was no sign of foul play. She had made sure he was somewhere safe and everything before she went. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes!” Guerin exclaimed, throwing his arms out and he looked excited about this revelation. Any other moment, Alex might’ve acknowledged how cute he looked. Today, he just glared.

“You are sick.”

“No, listen,” Guerin said, stepping closer. He smelled of sage and mint, courtesy of Watford provided soap and toothpaste. He exuded power. Alex felt like he was standing in front of a bonfire. “As soon as I can put all the pieces together, I’m gonna find your mother.”

“You?” Alex scoffed, shaking his head. He didn’t want to get his hopes up that maybe, just maybe, Guerin could do it. As reckless as he was, he was usually successful. He always did what he set out to do. “Alone?”

“Yes,” he said, “Well, and Isobel.”

“Why do you even think my mother is involved in this? Why do you think she’s still alive? Why do you think any of this?” Alex demanded.

“She fits the pattern and I think she was just the beginning. I’m not saying she’s still alive or anything, Alex, I’m just saying I don’t think she left you because she wanted to,” Guerin said. Alex wondered if he knew how much his words felt like a punch in the face. “Don’t you want to know for sure? Don’t you want to find out if something bad happened? And, if it did, don’t you want to make them pay?”

“If you’re right,” Alex said, stepping into Guerin’s space to seem threatening. It only seemed to backfire though as it just filled Alex’s mind with inappropriate thoughts. “Why would I leave that to you to solve?”

Guerin’s eyes seemed to widen in realization. “You wanna help?”

Alex thought about saying no, but he realized that’s actually what he wanted to do. If someone had taken his mother, he wanted to be the one to get justice. He didn’t want Guerin to be the one to do that. This was his battle to fight.

“Yes.”

“How do I know you won’t kill me?” Guerin asked. Alex rolled his eyes and held out his hand.

“Truce, for the time being. I’ll be civil if you help me figure out what happened to my mother,” he said, “Because if there’s even a chance that you’re right, then I’m not going to stop you. But you can’t pull swords on me either.”

Guerin hesitantly grabbed his hand and shook. Neither of them let go as they stared at each other for a moment.

Alex could feel his body filling up with dread.

“Truce.”

Michael was extremely distracted as he made his way towards The Mage’s office.

He couldn’t get over the fact that he had a truce with Alex Manes. It felt weird or like a trick. He’d spent nearly seven years a few feet away from a boy who hated his guts and now they were working together. Michael was waiting for the moment Alex turned on him, even though that really wouldn’t benefit him at all. They were looking for his mother‒ he wouldn’t betray him while doing that.

Right?

Michael had always had a sneaking suspicion that Alex wanted him dead, but that was confirmed last year when he pushed him down the stairs. Well, technically he punched him in the face after Michael had accused him of stealing his necklace and they just so happened to be by the stairs‒but he still sent him down a flight of stairs. It was confirmation enough.

But now they were working together. What could possibly go wrong?

“Sir?” Michael called as he knocked on the door. This was his last stop before he bundled up his information and brought it to Isobel for her to work her magic on. Well, not literally. Or, actually, possibly literally.

When he stepped inside, he saw not one but two men in the office. The Mage was sitting behind his desk with that ever-present grim look on his face and, across from him, sat a man Michael recognized as Jesse Manes. He looked mean. He always did.

The two of them had gone to Michael together after his magical outburst when he was 10. They’d apparently done a lot of research into the Chosen One together and, when they felt him, they knew it was him. Mr. Manes always kept his distance, though, and treated him more as a science experiment than anything else. It wasn’t much of a secret that he hated him, hated his power.

Michael had asked The Mage why he disliked him so much when he was young and he’d gotten a story of how Jesse Manes had always desired of being the creator of the Chosen One if not the Chosen One himself. He was simply jealous that someone else had the pleasure of being that. That seemed like a good enough explanation.

“Yes, Michael?” The Mage asked. Michael looked between the two men and thought about the risks of asking this question in front of Jesse Manes. As mean as he looked, he never really felt like a threat.

“I need to ask you a really important question,” Michael said. If The Mage felt it was okay to say something super important in front of Jesse Manes, then he assumed it was. So, when The Mage nodded, he took that as a sign of ‘all clear’. “Did you know that Rosa Ortecho went missing?”

Both men seemed suddenly interested in what he had to say.

“What do you mean, missing?”

“I mean she disappeared. Just vanished,” Michael said, “Do you know what might’ve happened?”

The Mage slowly stood. He wore regular slacks and a button-up shirt rather than the classic Headmaster robe that everyone before him wore. It made him both more and less relatable.

“Is this your not-so-subtle way of trying to tell me that you’re going digging in something out of your depth?” The Mage asked, “What did I tell you about digging?”

“No,” he promised even though it was a lie, “Just… Liz was sad and I was wondering if you had any information.”

The two men shared a look.

“You have a crush on the Ortecho girl?” Mr. Manes asked. Michael blinked his confusion. Then oh and perfect.

He smiled as shyly as he could manage. “I just don’t like seeing her all sad, you know?”

“Rosa Ortecho was a troubled girl,” The Mage said, “I’m sure she just ran away. I wouldn’t worry too badly about it.”

Michael looked between them. They seemed honest enough, so he nodded. So much for getting any information from him. Of all people, you’d think The Mage would’ve noticed the string of mages going missing. Then again, he probably is distracted by a million other things.

“Okay, thanks,” he said.

“Michael,” The Mage called before he could leave, “Don’t go digging, okay? Just focus on school. This is your last year.”

Michael nodded, but he had no intention to listen.

“I need to talk to you about a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A very important thing.”

Michael ignored the look on her face as he stole a few fries off her plate. He wanted to give her the rundown of information while they were eating alone so that, whenever she came to the room later, she didn’t have to deal with Alex being in the know too. That would be a lot.

It was already a lot between

“Well, are you going to leave me hanging or what?” Isobel asked. He smiled at her.

“So, you know how Rosa Ortecho went missing?” he started. She gave him a look.

“Michael Guerin, what are we getting into this time?”

Before he could even answer, screaming started echoing through the courtyard followed by people running away. Michael took that as his cue and his sword was quickly in his hand.

“Wha‒Michael, where did you get that from?!” Isobel demanded, tone more motherly than anything else.

Michael searched the courtyard for whatever was scaring the masses and found his answer in the form of a giant flying fucking lion. The manticore swooped and growled and landed a few yards away. Its eyes were trained on Michael, both eerily human and utterly animalistic. The scorpion-like tail whipped around and it started gearing up to pounce.

magic bubbled inside Michael, seering to the top layer of his skin and begging to be released. And it didn’t really wait for his consent. His skin was glowing and the sword did too, unintentionally becoming an extended part of his skin. He was ready for a fight.

“Back off!” he shouted and… basically, nothing happened. He felt Isobel’s thin hands grip his shoulders.

“Michael!” she seethed.

“Go away, go hide,” he told her, backing up just a little as the manticore seemed to laugh at his attempt.

“Like hell,” she scoffed, drawing her wand and pointing it over his shoulder. “Stand your ground!”

As if to mock her spell, the manticore immediately flew upwards. The wings were swinging heavy enough that it was hard to stand near, pushing them back. Michael was trying his best to think of what to do, but he was confused as to what it was trying to do. He’d never seen a manticore in real life before, they are supposed to be just creatures that hate humans as a whole so they stay away. But, here it was, at fucking Watford and doing things.

Before Michael could figure out what the best course of action was, it chose for him by sending a fucking spike from its tail that only didn’t hit them because Isobel was quick enough to deter it. Michael stared, trying to block out the screaming from his classmates while simultaneously trying not to explode it like he did that cerberus last year.

“Leave me alone!” Michael yelled and Isobel clutched him harder.

“Those aren’t magic words!”

“I’m trying my best!”

Another spike flew their way which Michael slashed in half with his sword, it landing right in front of him. He was beginning to realize he had limited options. He was going to have to hurt it.

The tail whipped close and Michael swung his sword, hardly even nicking it up it was enough to keep it from doing any harm. There was a rumor that, if you got stung by the tail of a manticore, it’d paralyze you. No one had gotten close enough in recent years to confirm or deny it. Michael wasn’t about to find out.

“Hang on,” he told Isobel and then he closed his eyes.

He let the magic in his body take over, letting it have a mind of its own other than his single desire not to die or let Isobel die. Waves of it left him with ease and, when he opened his eyes again, his sword was on fire and the manticore seemed to be recovering from a hit. Isobel was holding him tight.

“Michael…” she said softly. She was shaking which was very unlike Isobel. He looked back to her and she was staring at the flaming sword in his hands. She looked awed, but it seemed to ignite something in her and that very distinct Isobel look resonated in her eyes. “Keep fighting him off.” And then she let go.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded, “Stay behind me so I know where you are!”

Except Isobel started running, pointing her wand to every student who was still stupid enough to be outside and even the ones pressed to the windows inside. She was casting spells left and right, forcing them to turn away and to stop being reactant. Michael turned back to the creature and hoped she knew what was doing.

“Easy does it!” Michael shouted. It was one of the only spells he could remember off the top of his head and, with the support of his magic and desperation, it seemed to work for a moment. The manticore’s movement slowed just enough that he could cut down two spikes in a row without too much panic. Isobel whooped from somewhere in the field behind him and he was too scared to look back. He didn’t want to see her just chilling in the middle of the yard because that was just such an Isobel thing to do.

But then the manticore caught up to real-time again and crowded in on him.

Michael found himself pressed against a tree, his flames on his sword the only thing keeping the manticore at bay. And, even then, it seemed to be getting more and more comfortable with it. He really needed to explode this thing.

“Guerin!” he heard.

Both Michael and the manticore turned to see Alex fucking Manes legitimately walking on air. He’d seemed to come from the third story balcony that came off the “liquid magic” lab. Michael got scolded every time he entered and called things potions, so he stayed away. Alex clearly didn’t.

He looked straight up elegant. His black hair seemed to defy the point of the spell, staying perfectly straight and still as it hung to his shoulders. His face was utterly confident and, in the Watford uniform he wore, he looked damn near regal. Even the manticore had to stare.

Alex landed on the ground with a level of skill Michael could’ve never achieved. Hell, he didn’t even know the spell he’d just used. He just knew it was badass.

“Barking up the wrong tree!” Alex cast, his voice confident as ever as he stepped closer with suave movements that said “seduction” rather than “fighting for his life”.

The manticore backed away from Michael at the spell and Michael took a breath he didn’t know he was holding. However, again, that spell only lasted for a few seconds. Alex sent it a few more times. He walked closer and closer like he didn’t have a fear in the world. Michael was struggling to process the entire scene.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Isobel cast from somewhere and Alex’s voice amplified as he walked closer. He repeated a few spells, just enough to make the manticore stumble back for a moment. However, with each hit, it seemed to resist them a little more.

Alex firmly placed himself between Michael and the manticore. It put a lot of fear in Michael. He was the Chosen One. If he died fighting a manticore that trespassed and seemed to be targeting him, that was one thing. If Alex Manes died fighting something that was targeting Michael, that was something else entirely.

“What are you doing?!” Michael yelled, “You’re going to get killed!”

Alex looked back at him, something in his eyes that was unrecognizable. Then he smiled. Well, smirked. But, still, that was more than Michael had ever seen on his face. It fit.

“Every man has to die sometime,” he said simply.

The manticore stepped closer, snarling with sharp teeth bared in all their glory only a few steps away from Alex. Anxiety pooled in Michael as he watched the tail whip around Alex and threatened to sting him. It didn’t even want Alex, it kept looking back at Michael, but it didn’t seem to have a problem taking him out in the process.

And Alex stood fearless.

And it was beautiful.

And Alex acted.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

Micahel felt his eyes widen. Far somewhere in the other, he heard Isobel casting ’nothing to see here’ and Michael almost wanted to tell her to stop. Alex was doing something incredible.

“If turnips were watches, I’d wear one by my side. If “if’s” and “and’s” were pots and pans, There’d be no work for tinkers’ hands”

Michael tried to place the nursery rhyme in his head, but he only seemed to find awe for it. The manticore took a step back, staring at him almost in shock that he was able to do that. Able to force him back and stay that one step away. Michael couldn’t see Alex’s face, but he knew that smirk was there and he felt his stomach churn.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

Alex began again and the manticore roared in a symphony of blaring, out-of-tune trumpets and whipped its tail too close to Alex. It hit his right leg just as Michael dove forward. Instinct won over thoughts and he grabbed Alex’s sides in the same way Isobel had been holding him. Alex’s body physically weakened by whatever the manticore had done, but Michael’s power outdid it.

“Take what you need,” he whispered. It wasn’t meant to be magic and it wasn’t even meant to be said. He just did and Alex began to glow. Just like him.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

He started from the beginning, voice louder and power-ridden. The manticore silenced its voice, taking another step away and this time it was even more apparent. Alex recited the nursery rhyme with unmatched power and Michael focused on letting him take every ounce he needed.

It felt good. There was no straining, there was no burning, there was no explosion. It felt like sharing a hug with a person you hugged every day, like the most natural and pleasant thing in the world. A wave of relief or pleasure or release overcame him as he gave Alex whatever he needed. He could feel the adrenaline leaving his body with the fear as Alex spoke the rhyme again. He bowed his head against the back of his neck.

Michael was so lost in the feeling that he didn’t notice when the manticore fled.

“Alright,” Alex said, not angry or demanding, just a quiet notion of letting Michael know it was over.

Michael blinked back to life and drew his power back as best he could, letting go of Alex. Which immediately resulted in Alex falling to the ground.

“Whoa,” Michael said, doing his best to catch him. They both ended up just laying there in the grass, fatigued and staring at each other and trying to figure out what just happened. What the hell did they just do?

“It stung me,” Alex explained calmly, breathing slow and steady, “I can’t actually feel my leg.”

“But you were standing,” Michael said dumbly. He knew why he’d been able to stand. Michael’s power had held it off.

Alex stared at him a bit longer and it was the nicest he’d ever seen him. There was no hatred or closed-off look in his eyes. He was just laying, long hair splayed around his head, and staring openly. Michael wanted to touch him again, to see if it did the same thing again. To see if it felt like he fit.

Isobel running up to them snapped Alex’s walls into place and destroyed any chance of Michael actually trying that.

“Oh my god! You just cast a nursery rhyme!” she exclaimed, standing above them. Her hair was wild and her eyes were sparkling.

“And you just held back an entire student body,” Alex responded, “Well done, Evans.”

A smile quirked onto Michael’s face. That was the nicest he’d ever sounded. Well done, Evans.

“Me well done?! You just cast a nursery rhyme!”

“I am so sorry. Do you need anything? Dinner? Tea? Water?”

“I’m fine, Guerin, stop mothering me.”

“But it’s my fault!”

Alex rolled his eyes as he sat on his bed. He still couldn’t feel his leg. Or, the bottom half. Somewhere below the knee, it felt like it might as well not be there. He wasn’t really allowing himself to panic. He could still walk‒it just required a splint and a crutch. And no one knew if it was permanent or not, so it hardly even mattered until it did.

“Evans, will you shut him up? I already said I’m fine and I’m considering strangling him,” Alex said, though it wasn’t as harsh as usual. He could still feel Guerin’s magic buzzing in his body, could still feel his breath on the back of his neck, could still hear how goddamn alluring his voice was when he was offering himself to Alex as a gift.

“Is anyone going to tell me what happened out there?” Isobel demanded.

Alex looked up at her. She was standing between their beds, hands on her hips and looking like she was about ten seconds away from taking away his Xbox. For a moment he questioned how she was even in here considering there was a spell that forbade girls to enter the boys’ dorms, but he didn’t put it past her to break some shit.

“Nothing,” Alex and Guerin said simultaneously. Alex’s stomach tied in knots.

“Oh, right, that was totally nothing!” she said, “I saw what happened!”

“What’d you see?” Guerin asked and he sounded genuinely curious. Isobel turned that motherly gaze on him.

“You know.” She flopped her arms down and she quickly became a pouty child. “You did something. You made him more powerful.”

“Did I?” Guerin asked. Alex furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at him. Did he really not know or was he playing dumb? It honestly could’ve been either.

“Stop it! How did you do that?” she asked. Guerin’s shoulders slumped a little and then he shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just did,” he admitted, “I just… wanted to help so I did.”

Isobel sat beside him and Alex watched them closely.

“But that’s unheard of,“ Isobel said softly, touching his arm. Alex gulped softly. God, he wanted to do it again. He’d never felt so right in his life.

But he couldn’t do that.

"And Alex of all people!” Isobel added a whole lot less softly. Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you help?” Guerin asked him, “You didn’t have to.”

Because I’d rather die for you than inevitably have to kill you myself when my father asks it of me, is what Alex didn’t say. Instead, he just found the logical part of him and tried to look irritated.

“We had a truce,” Alex said, “And you’re the only one who has even suggested that my mother didn’t abandon me and that she might be out there somewhere. I’m going to at least keep you alive for a little while.”

“Wait,” Isobel said and it suddenly dawned on Alex that she had no idea about anything, “What is happening?”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel special.

The next few weeks went by weirdly simple.

It didn’t make sense for Alex to mold into the little dynamic that Guerin and Isobel had created, but he did. He did it nearly seamlessly, in fact. They dug all they could into the missing persons and they had come up with little to no leads. It felt like they were at a dead end.

Except it wasn’t all that frustrating. Alex hadn’t realized that he’d never had legit friends before. It was strange, but he enjoyed it.

“Alex!” Isobel shouted from across the hall. She ran over to him with wide eyes and a warm smile. Originally, they’d been sort of cold towards each other and, still, Isobel was the first to warm up. He’d been insulted by how quickly she no longer saw him as a threat, but it only took a few days for him to take it as a compliment instead. “I was thinking about it and I think we should spend Christmas break interviewing the families of those who’ve gone missing.”

“Oh, right, and they won’t find that suspicious at all,” Alex retorted. She rolled her eyes.

“Look, we can’t figure out what they all have in common rather than them all being powerful. We don’t know what else there could possibly be to make them targets, we don’t know if the days leading up to their disappearances had anything in common, we don’t know where to look. The only thing I can think of is to ask the families and Christmas break is the only time we’ll be able to,” she explained. Alex didn’t say anything, but he knew she was right.

They made their way towards the boys’ dorm building, Alex staying silent as he listened to her talk. She never seemed to have a problem with walking with him even though he knew he walked slow. It’d been a little over a month and the feeling in his right leg had never really come back. They’d tried healing spells and they’d tried giving it time, but it didn’t come back. He’d basically accepted his future of being resigned to walking with a splint and a crutch. He was fast enough when he needed to be and he was still an amazing magician, so it didn’t matter.

Alex was okay with it. Not like he had much of a choice.

They walked into the room just as Guerin was coming out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. His hair was wet and matted to his forehead, curls already forming. He had the same habit of a young child in the fact that he never properly dried off and it left his shirt and shorts sticking to his body almost obscenely. Alex had to look away.

“So, what are you doing for Christmas?” Isobel asked, flopping down on Guerin’s bed. Alex sat on his own and immediately took off the splint. He understood that it helped him walk, but it was annoying as hell.

“I don’t know,” Guerin said.

“Don’t you stay with the Valentis? I mean, The Mage made you his heir instead of his own son,” Alex said even though that was common knowledge. They both looked at him. Guerin’s expression was blank, but Isobel’s said ’shut up, we don’t talk about that’.

“Nah, I usually stay here or with the DeLucas,” he admitted, sitting at the foot of his bed.

Alex could feel his power reverberating off his skin. Guerin was a match and Alex was desperate to be the wick. He’d had it once before. He hadn’t forgotten how good that felt. He wanted it.

God, how desperate could he be?

“Why don’t you stay with the Evans?” Alex asked. Isobel again gave him that look. Not like he planned to actually listen.

Guerin smiled and Alex considered melting. Then he considered ripping the smile off his face.

“Mrs. Evans doesn’t like,” he said simply.

“No, she does like you, she doesn’t like that you make Max unable to sleep,” Isobel corrected. Alex furrowed his eyebrows. “Max is super sensitive to power and if Michael has a nightmare, Max gets overwhelmed. It’s a mess.”

“I’ve never had a problem,” Alex admitted simply. Guerin smiled again, this time for him. Alex looked away. “I more so have a problem that I have to share a room with you in the first place.”

“Rude.”

“Wait, maybe Michael could stay with you over break!” Isobel suggested. They both looked toward her and she seemed overly proud of herself.

“My dad hates him.”

“Cast a be our guest on him, it’ll be fine,” she said, waving it off. He supposed that was an option. “He’ll be difficult to access here if we find out any information. I mean, this is our biggest opportunity to search into things further. He needs to be outside of Watford.”

“No, there’s no way I’m staying with him,” Guerin said and it was so matter-of-fact that it almost felt like a punch in the face. “Truce or not, there’s no anathema to keep him from killing me at his house.”

Alex didn’t argue. If he thought he was a murderous threat, then so be it. It made things easier.

“He’s got a point,” Alex agreed.

“You both suck,” Isobel groaned, “We’re going to have to investigate on our own now.”

Alex didn’t say anything.

Michael hated the snow.

There was nothing more isolating than being alone on school grounds and surrounded in snow. It felt like he was trapped inside.

The more he sat there, the more he regretted not going with Alex. He knew they were both solving the mystery and he was stuck. What happened if they figured it out and got attacked? He wasn’t there. They should’ve stuck together.

To combat the horrible feeling brewing in his stomach after only two days being stuck at Watford alone, he made his way off campus and to the bar owned by the DeLucas. If anyone could keep him company and calm his worries, it’d be them.

Their research was at a spectacularly frustrating dead end. They had so many names that it seemed impossible that they would’ve all run into the same person to take them. Hell, if not for the coincidence of them all going missing during October, Micahel would’ve thought that maybe he was wrong. Maybe Rosa Ortecho and Noya Manes and a ton of other people all just ran away because magic was too much.

But that couldn’t possibly be the case. It was just fishy enough.

When he walked into the bar, it was eerily silent and the only person in there was Maria. He only knew it was her because her hair was unmistakable. Otherwise, her back was to him and nearly all the lights were off as she sat, counting money.

“We’re closed,” she said.

“Even for me?” he asked. She didn’t turn around. His heart began to thud in his chest as he put together that something was really wrong. Forget the missing persons problem, fix this. Fix her. “Maria?”

“You can stay if you don’t talk,” she said sharply.

He did as she said, sitting beside her.

Michael stared at her. She was beautiful as ever, her face wiped clean of makeup and her hair pulled back into a tiny puff of curls. She was staring down at a stack of fives and she looked almost completely out of it. Usually, when he saw her, he thought about asking her out. She had always seemed like a good happy ending. Lately, that thought hadn’t been on his mind.

Now, however, that didn’t seem to matter. Where she fit in his future didn’t matter as long as she was okay enough to be there at all.

“Maybe I can help,” he offered softly, carefully eyeing her so he didn’t push any buttons. She sniffled.

“You can’t. You can’t Chosen One your way into everything, Michael,” she said, her lips quivering until she broke and fat tears started pouring down her cheeks. He quickly put his arms around her, holding her close.

His mind was reeling. He needed to know what was wrong with her and how to fix it. He hated seeing her so upset. Then, the longer he held her, he wondered where Mimi was. She was usually the first one to know if something was wrong with Maria.

“Where’s Mimi?” he asked. Then she cried harder. His heart sped up and he could feel his magic pulsing under his skin as he began to panic. She squeezed his arm.

“Please,” she sniffled, “Please don’t go off. Please.”

“I’m trying,” he promised, closing his eyes as he focused on reeling it back in, “Just… what happened?”

“She… she didn’t come home last night,” Maria whispered, sniffling as she wiped her eyes and lifted her head off his chest. He still held onto her. “I haven’t heard from her and I don’t know what to do. It’s like she just disappeared.”

Michael’s world got impossibly small at that word. He started digging and now more people are going. It wasn’t even October. That either meant this was completely unrelated or whatever it was building up to was happening soon.

He didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Did you call The Mage?” he asked. She rolled her eyes, but nodded.

“He said not to worry, that she’d probably show up,” Maria sniffled, “But I think I’m going to go to the Normal police soon. She wouldn’t just… she wouldn’t do this to me. I know it.”

Michael sat on his thoughts for a moment. He thought about what he could do at this point. Now it was more crucial than ever. Not only was he trying to find Liz’s sister and Alex’s mom, but this was his… his Mimi. This was the closest he got to a parent ever. This was his only person.

“Are you okay to be on your own?” Michael asked, combing a few stray strands of her hair back. Maria looked at him through glassy eyes.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to save her. I promise.”

She sniffled and nodded. “I’ll be okay then.”

He gave her a kiss on the head and ran out the door. He ran and ran and ran until he got to a train station and started making his way towards the Manes Manor. He didn’t stay still the entire ride.

It didn’t occur to him until the train was almost at the station he was getting off at that he could’ve called first.

“Alex, a friend of yours is here.”

Alex looked up from his book to see the maid his father insisted on getting when his mother was alive. Julie was a short and thin woman with four children of her own and she still found time to dote on Alex more than his father did. In fact, once it became a known fact that he was queer, she baked him a cake.

“Friend?” Alex echoed. Kyle wasn’t due to come over until Christmas day and there’s no way either of the Evans twins would come all the way to his house. That didn’t actually leave anyone else. “Who?”

“I’m not sure,” Julie responded, though the telling smile on her lips told him it must be someone important, “He’s just wearing one of your school uniforms.”

“Okay,” he agreed and, with the help from his crutch, stood to his feet.

The walk to the front door seemed to drag on longer than it should’ve and it had everything to do with the ambiguous identity of the person at his door. When he got there, he realized he shouldn’t have been confused at all.

Guerin stood there on the mat, clothes and hair stuck to him with muddy snow. He looked not too unlike a wet rat. Alex wanted to stab himself when he realized that, even like this, all disgusting and wide-eyed, he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to dry him off and he wanted to strip him bare. None of those were options, so he sighed.

“Look what the cat dragged in, I suppose,” he noted, fishing for his wand. He pointed it at Guerin’s, well, everything and cast a simple clean as a whistle. He knew Guerin wouldn’t‒couldn’t‒do one on himself.

“Thanks,” Guerin said, looking around before settling his eyes on Alex himself, “Mimi DeLuca is missing. Whatever’s happening‒it’s getting worse. I think it’s happening soon. I can feel it.”

Alex sighed again and, this time, it was a little sadder than he anticipated. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wanted this search to continue. He liked hanging around with Guerin and Isobel. He wasn’t really looking forward to when they solved the puzzle and the truce was over and he was legally resigned to hating them both again.

“Come in,” he said moving out of the way so Guerin knew he was welcome. He rubbed his nose with the sleeve of his jacket and Alex even found that endearing.

Maybe it was a good thing that this quest was almost over.

“Will you stop fidgeting?”

Michael grunted in response as he tried to find a comfortable way to sit in the clothes he’d borrowed from Alex. They had all been tailored to fit him, so they didn’t quite fit. The shoulders were tight and the legs were too long and he felt like he was cosplaying as a member of One Direction with the fucking blazer.

“These pants are itchy.”

“Merlin help me,” Alex sighed. He, on the other hand, looked fantastic in non-Watford clothing. They fit him so perfectly and were snug in all the right places. He looked like he existed with a purpose. Michael look like he stole from him. “Listen, when we get to the Ortechos, you can’t be fidgeting like that. They’re going to think you’re on drugs or something.”

“I’m trying!” Michael whined. Alex just smirked and pressed on the gas pedal of his sleek car.

The night prior had gone… somewhat decent, he supposed. He’d never really stayed in a house that large and he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d slept in a room alone. The guest bedroom Alex had put him up in was big and admittedly terrifying. Every creek of the house or weird noise had him jumping and, by 11 PM, he’d had his sword drawn and almost killed his own shadow.

At that point, he’d gone to Alex’s room and, childishly, asked to sleep in there with him. Alex had smiled‒legitimately, sweetly smiled‒and gave him a blanket to sleep on the couch in his room. He’d slept better in a room with a man he knew wanted to kill him than he ever would’ve alone in the other room.

“Just focus on the fact that we’re a few steps closer to figuring shit out instead of the itchy clothes. We’re gonna figure it all out,” Alex said.

It was weird. He was so warm and comforting on the few times he wasn’t legitimately overwhelming and threatening. Michael didn’t know how to rationalize it in his mind. But he figured he could save that for after he found Mimi and Rosa and Mrs. Manes.

“Boys! Hi!”

Mr. Ortecho was a man that was too nice for his own good sometimes. He’d met them both possibly twice at magic shows during first and third year and that was about it. Yet, he still greeted them with hugs. Michael accepted it warmly and Alex accepted it in the most awkward way Michael had ever seen him. He almost laughed.

“What brings you here?” he asked, letting them inside the small, homey space. Liz was sitting on the couch and she almost immediately shot up at the sight of them.

“Actually,” Alex said before Michael could open his mouth, “We wanted to speak a little about Rosa if that’d be alright.” It was probably best that he took over. He was suave in a way Michael could never be.

Mr. Ortecho’s face faltered a little bit, but he excused himself to go make tea before their chat.

“What are you guys doing here?” Liz asked as soon as her father was out of earshot.

“We’re putting stuff together,” Michael said, “So we’re looking into everyone and seeing what else we can find out. Maybe we’ll be able to find out what else they have in common.”

Liz eyed them both, but she nodded. “How many are missing?”

“As of yesterday, twenty-nine,” Alex said. She gulped visibly and nodded, going to sit back on the couch. Alex smoothly sat on side of her and Michael sat on the other.

He did his best not to be fidgety as Mr. Ortecho brought them tea and answered all the questions Alex seemed to have neatly mapped out. However, the more he spoke of Rosa’s tendency to feel a little extra irritable on some days and forgetful on others, the more he found himself anxious. Mimi used to do that. Or, at least, he’d been told. Maria had once told him that she used to be an alcoholic, but she’d gotten sober within the last decade. It was good for her.

But how easy it would’ve been for someone to blame her disappearance on a bender.

“I’m just hoping she’ll come home once she… clears up her mind,” Mr. Ortecho said. Alex nodded and smiled a comforting little smile.

“I’m sure she will.”

They stayed a few minutes longer to not be rude, but eventually excused themselves from the Ortecho residence. Michael felt like it was an important stop. It seemed like whoever was taking these people were taking them under the knowledge that their disappearance could easily be excused away. How fucking smart.

However, the moment they got into the car and Michael explained that, Alex’s little mask went away and he was glaring and heavy breathing and clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. Michael stared at him for a solid five minutes.

“You okay?” he asked.

Then Alex swerved onto the side of the road, got out of the car without turning it off, and stalked into the woods with the crutch in hand. Michael blinked a few times in a failed attempt to process what the hell just happened before carefully turning off the car and following him. It took him approximately five seconds to find him pacing around back and forth between two trees with the crutch, gripping at his long hair with his free hand, and growling each breath.

“Alex?” Michael said carefully.

Michael had never actually seen him lose his cool before, but he wasn’t really eager too. They’d fought and they’d been cruel and they’d sent spells each other’s way, but Alex always had his mask on tight. He never let it slip. Right now it was gone entirely. Michael didn’t have the slightest idea how to help.

“It has just occurred to me,” he said, laughing almost, “That I shouldn’t be fucking looking for my mother.”

Michael blinked a few times and took a step closer. “Why not?”

“Because for my entire life, I thought my dad was a fucking liar,” Alex said, hands emitting flames that Michael questioned if they were on purpose or not. If it were him, it wouldn’t have been. Alex had more control usually. “I thought he was lying when he said that she lost it when I was born! I thought he was fucking lying when he said I made her a flight risk!”

Michael watched him as it got worse and he watched him as trees started catching on fire.

“This whole time I thought she didn’t leave me!” Alex said, tears forming in his eyes and wasting no time before they started pouring down his cheeks, “And now I’m hearing that, even if she didn’t, she probably would’ve! And it’s my fault!”

“Alex, this isn’t your fault,” Michael tried, eyeing the fire, “Someone took her.”

“I made her a target!”

“Alex, c’mon, put out the fire,” he said, taking a step closer. Alex was sobbing and pacing and making a big ass forest fire. It was approximately the opposite of a situation Michael wanted to be inside.

“No!”

“So you wanna die before you find her again?” Michael asked, raising his voice as he tried desperately to figure out how to fix this, “When we find her, she can tell you herself that she didn’t want to leave you!”

“I don’t deserve her!”

“Yes, you do!” Michael screamed, “She didn’t want to leave you, Alex! No one wants to leave you!”

“Everyone wants to leave me! No one wants me!”

And then suddenly Michael, in the middle of a burning forest, decided to kiss him.

Kissing Michael Guerin could possibly be the farthest from what he assumed would happen over Christmas break.

Alex pulled away within a few seconds and just stared at the boy who was still holding his face. A smile slipped onto Guerin’s face and, for a moment, he looked the way Alex felt whenever he was being powered by him like a generator. He looked like yes, like this is it, like I’ve been waiting for that feeling.

“Make a wish,” Guerin cast with a newfound focus, gripping the back of Alex’s neck in a way he’d never felt before. Then again, he’d never actually kissed anyone before. He never had a chance. He never thought he was going.

Now he was crying and the boy he was stupidly in love with was looking at him like he was home and he could hardly think.

The fire extinguished around them, but Alex was just staring at Guerin. He wanted to kiss him again. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d even gotten kissed in the first place other than to shut up. However, he’d already embarrassed himself enough, what harm could going in for another kiss do? So he dropped the crutch from his hand

Except for some reason, as he went in for another one, Guerin moved forward too.

Alex wasn’t too sure how long it all lasted, but the fire seemed to die out in system the longer the kisses went on. Somewhere along the way, they ended up on the ground and against a tree. Guerin was holding onto his hips, squeezing every once in a while and pulling him closer and closer. They were basically morphed together and Alex had no thought process left for it.

They kissed and they kissed and they kissed. Closed-lipped, open-mouthed, tongue-full, bite-leaving kisses. Any kiss he could’ve imagined, he got. And they were all with Michael Guerin.

This was a luxury he hadn’t anticipated. Staring at him for seven years had originally felt like the most self-indulgent he’d ever allow himself, but now…

“It’s getting dark,” Guerin whispered between kisses, twirling Alex’s hair between his fingers and sliding his tongue into his mouth because apparently that’s how you tell someone you want to leave. Alex felt like putty in his hands. Guerin may have sucked at controlling his magic, but he was a goddamn connoisseur at kissing. “Maybe we should head back?”

Alex was scared to agree. What if this was it? What if they had to go back and pretend this never happened? He didn’t want that. He wanted to do this again and again and again. He ran his thumb over Guerin’s slightly stubbly jaw and looked at him, savoring the moment.

“Let’s go,” he agreed.

Guerin helped him to his feet and then pulled him into another kiss. Somehow, Alex was shocked. Guerin squeezed his hips and gave him his crutch.

“By the way, Alex,” Guerin said as he started up the car, “People do want you.”

There was actually nothing in the world that could prepare Alex for the night he had.

He had gone into this Christmas break as a boring time stuck with his father and researching empty leads to find his mother, and instead he was laying on his bed with Michael fucking Guerin on top of him. Guerin was smirking and staring at him like he wasn’t even nervous or confused. He just looked like he planned it. Alex wondered if maybe he had.

Alex could feel the muscles on his bare shoulder flex and move as he came down, kissing him senselessly. It was jarring. Guerin had the entire car ride to take back the kissing, to say he regretted it, to say he did it just to keep him from burning down the woods, but instead he just wanted to do it more.

They didn’t sleep that night.

“You know, we should practice,” Guerin whispered. They were huddled under the blankets of his ridiculously massive bed, pressed close together in the middle. They were both shirtless and had just hit a two-hour mark of making out. It felt like they set a record for longest time two teenagers could make out in bed without having sex.

“Practice what?” Alex asked. Guerin just smiled at him, tracing idly over Alex’s chest.

“The magic sharing thing,” Guerin said, moving an inch closer so their noses were bumping, “If something happens… You have better control over my magic than I do.”

“So, if shit hits the fan, you want me to take your magic?” Alex clarified. Guerin breathed slow, dragging his hands down Alex’s chest and very quickly making his mind lose its train of thought.

“If you can do what you did on the manticore, then yes,” Guerin whispered. Alex took a heavy breath and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, “Let’s try.”

Guerin nodded and closed his eyes, murmuring so softly that Alex couldn’t even hear him. But he felt the rush of power enter him just like the last time, filling him like a custom fit glove. It was warm and overwhelming and perfect. It felt like it was his.

“Cast something,” Guerin whispered, “Use it, but, like, control it. Don’t let it get big like I do. Don’t, like, explode.”

Alex stared at him and, powered by his magic and his kisses, cast, “Caution to the wind.”

“That’s a truth spell,” Guerin said, eyes going wide and playful, “That’s not fair.”

“I disagree,” Alex said, giggling. He giggled. He was starting to feel high on the magic in him. “Why have you kissed me all night?”

“I wanted to,” Guerin said, “You look beautiful and I want to.” Alex knew it was the truth spell working as intended and he felt like he was floating on air.

“Have you thought about it before?” Alex asked. Guerin’s eyes narrowed accusingly, but his mouth spoke because it didn’t have a choice.

“I don’t know,” he said. Which was a strange answer. Still, Guerin’s eyes fluttered closed and he seemed drowsy all of the sudden. Alex wondered if sharing magic drained him.

“Do you want to do it again?” he asked instead.

“I never want to stop,” Guerin said and his nostrils flared, “I will be very annoyed if you use my magic to put a truth spell on me again.”

“Mmm, I bet,” Alex chuckled, moving forward for a kiss all over again.

As he distracted him, Alex could feel the magic leaving his system.

He wasn’t upset.

“You look nice today, Isobel.”

Isobel smiled blankly at Kyle as she let her eyes follow his father instead. The Mage and his son came over yearly on the night before Christmas Eve because that was how he kept tabs on the old families. Or, that’s how Isobel saw it. She couldn’t think of another reason he would be doing that.

Ever since she got word from Alex that Michael had shown up and said that Mimi DeLuca had gone missing, her mind had been reeling. She’d tried to think of all the possible people who could want power and could take whoever they wanted. Then she thought of who benefited the most from the disappearance of Noya Manes.

What a coincidence that that person also happened to be the one who went to find Michael, the most powerful mage alive.

“Thanks,” Isobel said to Kyle, ignoring the smiles he sent her way as she followed his father towards the dining area.

Dinner went by with way too much small talk for her liking. That was the best part about being friends with Michael‒he didn’t even know how to make small talk. However, that seemed to be the only thing her parents and The Mage could do. It was exhausting and frustrating when she was 99% sure that she was sitting across from literal evil.

The only thing more frustrating was that she had to keep it to herself because she had no actual proof.

“Max, you should go show Kyle that new game system you got,” her mother said once dinner was over and her father and The Mage excused themselves, “And, Isobel, why don’t you go do the dishes.” She opened her mouth, ready to say how sexist it was that she was the one being singled out whenever there were plenty of men who were capable of doing their own dishes, but she stopped when she remembered the kitchen was right next to her father’s study.

“Okay,” she agreed, grabbing a few plates before heading to go obey her. Her mother looked more than slightly shocked that she agreed so easily, but smiled nonetheless.

Isobel scrunched her nose up at the pile of dishes stacked up beside the sink as she turned the water on. She let it run for a second and then looked around the kitchen to make sure no one was around. When she was sure that her mother was busy doing whatever mothers do when they get alone time and the boys were probably spewing insults to people in different countries also playing their game, she went to press her ear to the door that led into her father’s study.

“Just… keep it quiet, Evans,” The Mage said, “That’s all I ask.”

“I agreed whenever you told me it for research and that they went willingly!” her father argued, “But now a nineteen-year-old girl goes missing and you expect me to believe that? I’m sorry, Jim, but I don’t.”

“I’m looking into it!”

“You don’t even know what’s happening? You don’t know‒”

“Uh, Isobel?”

Isobel snapped her head to the voice, shushing the figure of Kyle Valenti immediately. He blinked with wide, compliant eyes as he gestured to the slightly overflowing sink. She rushed to turn it off before shushing him again. He held his hands up in surrender.

She went back to listening at the door.

Kyle appeared beside her, facing her as he pressed his ear to the door too. When she furrowed her eyebrows, he smiled and then put his finger to his lips. She scrunched her nose up.

“Listen, I have a lead,” The Mage said, “Just, please. I don’t want to draw attention. If he knows that I’m onto him, then he’ll do something drastic.”

“Him? Who’s him?” her father snapped.

“Just… give me a few more days.”

“That’s it and then I’m going to the coven. This has gone on for far too long.”

“You’re right. I’m going to bring an end to it.”

Isobel and Kyle listened for a little longer, but they changed the subject to something a whole lot less interesting. Something about teaching methods, nothing about missing persons. Isobel itched with the need to tell Michael what she knew. Especially when The Mage had seemed totally oblivious to it before. He either was the culprit or he knew who was.

“So, uh, you eavesdrop a lot?” Kyle asked, rolling up his sleeves.

“Excuse you, you’re the one who came in here and eavesdropped with me, so I don’t think I should be the one asking questions,” Isobel said, using that stern tone of voice that always made Max and Michael obey even if she wasn’t making sense. Kyle just smiled.

“I was coming in here to ask if you wanted help with the dishes because your brother is boring,” he said, “But you were clearly doing something a lot more interesting.”

Isobel chewed on her lip as she stared at him and then took a step towards him. He smiled wider. She tried not to think about that.

“Do you have a car?” she asked. He nodded slowly. “If you drive me to Alex Manes’ house, I’ll tell you why I was eavesdropping.”

“I didn’t even say I wanted to know,” Kyle said, but he was grinning wildly, “But, you’re right, my interest is piqued. You know what my dad has a lead for?”

“Yes,” Isobel said slowly. She didn’t want to outright accuse his father of something. No way he’d drive her then. “Can you meet me outside my house at, like, 10:30? I have to sneak out or my mom will question me.”

Kyle chewed on his bottom lip and for a moment, a short one, she understood why most of the girls thought he was cute. She’d always thought they liked him because his dad was powerful. That’s why most of them liked Michael. You know, until they met Michael and understood he was a handful and a half.

“You want to go to Alex Manes’ house at 10:30 at night?” he asked. She nodded simply. “Okay then. I’ll see you then.”

“Good.”

“I would be a bad boyfriend.”

Alex looked over to Guerin and nodded. Rejection makes sense. He always expected it. He’d just expected it to come instead of spending roughly 24 hours memorizing the way he tastes. That made it a little harder, but no less expected.

“Me too,” Alex agreed, lifting his numb leg up to tie his shoe. Isobel had just texted that she was coming over because she had information and he didn’t want to look as kissed senseless as he’d allowed himself to be around Guerin.

Guerin nudged his shoulder with his own. His nose dragged along Alex’s jaw and that was really hard to resonate with the rejection he was giving. Alex tried not to let his eyes close and give in to the hot breath against his neck.

“I’m impulsive,” he said, “I’m constantly getting myself into dangerous situations. And I have no idea if I’m gay or straight or… Alex-sexual.”

“Okay,” Alex said. Why was he dragging this out? He didn’t need a list of all the reasons they couldn’t be together. It was already painful enough.

“But,” Guerin whispered, pressing a kiss to his clothed shoulder, “I really like you.”

“You admitted you didn’t even think about it until yesterday,” Alex pointed out. Guerin shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said, “Or maybe I just didn’t realize that’s what I was thinking. ‘Cause now that I have a name for it, I think I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“Okay,” Alex said again. He didn’t want to keep digging this hole. It was annoying enough to know that, while Alex had been falling in love with someone he was supposed to hate, Guerin had just focused on the hate part.

“I want to…” Guerin said, “I don’t know.”

Alex stared at him. He took in his beautiful hair and his sweet lips and the light red coloring his cheeks. He absorbed the feeling of his power that was hot and burning and ever so present, the power that Alex could still feel throbbing in his own body from when they’d played around with it for hours the night before and the entire morning. He admired the way his own shirt fit snug on Guerin’s shoulder and how the v-neck was already stretched out from him fiddling with it.

“We’re trying to solve a mystery and you want to have this conversation?”

Guerin gave that dopey smile. “I just wanna be able to kiss you a lot.”

Alex snorted a laugh and shook his head. Guerin leaned forward and captured his lips in a very over-exaggerated kiss that had a little too much saliva. Alex laughed and tried to lean away, but Guerin leaned with him and continued his slobbery kisses with pride.

“Alex?” Julie called from the other side of the door, knocking three times before opening it. It gave them just enough time to act normal. Julie was still smiling like she knew. “Your friends are here.”

“Okay, thank you,” he said and she left before he could ask ’friends plural?’.

“Thought it was just Izzy,” Guerin said, standing up and handing Alex the crutch. He took it with a nod.

“Yeah, me too.”

When they got down into the dining room, they found both Isobel and Kyle Valenti. Alex was immediately lost and, when he looked to Guerin, he saw that he was too. He didn’t actually know that they even knew each other.

“Hello, my favorite human and his enemy,” Isobel said, giving a delightfully sinister smile that only belonged to Isobel. He felt his heart thud a little harder and his mind screamed ’she knows, she knows, she knows’, but she didn’t know. There was actually no way she could know.

“You brought Kyle?” Guerin asked, pointing directly at him. Alex and Isobel both swatted his hand down, mumbling about how it was rude to point. He just rolled his eyes.

“I needed a car and Max is a stick in the mud,” Isobel explained.

“Yeah, also, you think my dad is kidnapping people, so I feel like my presence is valid,” he said simply, smirking in a way that was uncannily similar to Isobel’s. He could feel Guerin’s magic building and burning beneath his skin and he gave him a look that said ‘cool it’.

“Kyle, they haven’t heard that part yet!”

Which led to where they did hear that part.

They spent the next few hours discussing everything they’d learned and putting things together and, weirdly, including Kyle into the mix. Isobel had a point that The Mage might have something to do with it, but, if he did, he wasn’t sure that they should be trusting Kyle with all of their findings. What if he knew and was just going to go right to his father and tell him everything that they knew? That would suck. Sure, he was friends with Kyle, but not that good of friends. Hell, he knew Isobel better than he knew Kyle.

“Michael,” Isobel said once they were done relaying the information, “Are you okay with us looking into The Mage?”

Guerin was quiet and, for a moment, Alex wondered if Kyle was the one he should’ve been worried about.

“I don’t think he’d do this,” Guerin said softly. Alex wanted to touch him, but he didn’t. They hadn’t discussed that part. All he knew was that they were possibly boyfriends who could share power who also had a lengthy past of torturing each other.

“Okay, but if he is behind this or if he knows who is and is covering for them,” Kyle said, looking at Guerin directly, “Then he deserves to be brought to justice.”

For a moment, Alex had insane admiration for him. It takes a big man to see your father in that light. Alex himself still struggled to do that with his own father despite the fact that he regularly wanted nothing to do with him. And, when he did bother back before Alex had sealed himself away into the opposite wing of the house, it was never kind. He didn’t like to think about it.

“Okay,” Guerin said, nodding his head, “Okay, we can look into The Mage. Just to cover our bases.”

“Awesome! Come on then, Kyle can drive us home and we can keep an eye on The Mage. They live, like, right down the street, we can look through the windows,” Isobel said. Alex didn’t miss the way Kyle smiled up at her like she said something literally anything other than stalking his father.

“Huh?” Guerin said, looking up from where he was sitting at the head of the table. Isobel blinked innocently at him.

“I know you don’t want to be staying alone with Alex,” she said, “And my mom won’t mind. I’ll tell her you got lost in the woods or something.”

Alex looked past them and tried to act like he didn’t care. He really, really tried hard to be the person who hated Guerin and not the one who craved the feeling of his skin on his. And he really tried not to feel disappointment when Guerin nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “Okay.”

Alex watched as he stood and took a step towards Isobel before he stopped.

“Wait,” Guerin whispered, “Don’t you guys come over here on Christmas?”

Kyle looked shocked that he knew that and nodded. “Yeah, we do.”

“Then wouldn’t it be better if I stay here? You two can keep an eye on him there, we can watch him here,” Guerin said. Isobel eyed him oddly and then looked over to Alex who was focusing on keeping his face blank.

“I mean…” Isobel trailed off and she looked between them again, “I guess.”

“He’s got a point, Isobel,” Kyle said. She looked at him with a face that said ’literally who even brought you here’ and he gave her a smile and a small head tilt that said ’you did’. Isobel rolled her eyes.

“Are you going to return him back in one piece?” she asked Alex. He raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said, though they both knew he would. The truce was still in effect.

“Okay,” Isobel said, “Then we have a plan. Watch The Mage and see what he knows but won’t tell us.”

“Lovely.”

Isobel and Kyle left with about as much pizzazz as their arrival. It left Guerin and Alex alone once again, this time in the open space of the dining room. Guerin walked around the table, his lips pursed in a way that was making an irritating squeaking noise as he dragged his fingers across the tabletop. He was slowly making his way towards Alex.

“Do you actually want to stay here or do you want to go stay with Isobel?” Alex asked. Guerin stopped the irritating squeaking and looked to where he was sitting through his hair.

“Why?” he whispered. It was not quite the answer he wanted. Rather than act upset or disappointed, Alex chose to act like he couldn’t care less.

“Look, just go if you want. You’re not stuck here,” he said, smiling like he did when he hated him. Guerin just blinked all wide-eyed and innocent at him. It made it harder to rationalize why he was pushing him away. “Go.”

Guerin shrugged with one shoulder, sighing with his lips closed so that they buzzed together. He took a slow, hesitant step towards Alex as he tapped on the table.

“I dunno,” he whispered, “I just… I wanted to…”

“What? Roll around and play boyfriends?”

Guerin stopped tapping. “Is that an option?”

Alex let out a disbelieving laugh.

Neither of them were surprised when they ended up shirtless in Alex’s bed for the second night in a row.

“So, you haven’t noticed anything about your dad?”

“Not really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Isobel,” Kyle laughed, looking over to her. She was damn near vibrating in her seat. He didn’t really see how she planned on getting any sleep. “If I knew, I would tell you.”

“Would you? Because we aren’t friends,” Isobel said, then paused for a moment and added, “Or, like, are we?”

“I’d like to think so,” Kyle hummed. Isobel huffed in her seat, still squirming as she murmured to herself. She still had her hair all done up from dinner and she’d tucked the dress she’d been wearing into a pair of jeans to make it a shirt. He found it endlessly charming.

“I just can’t figure it out,” Isobel groaned, “He’s already The Mage. What would he really get out of stealing power? He’s at the top. I feel like I’m missing a piece, but I can’t figure out what it is.”

“Well,” Kyle sighed dramatically, “We could go to the smartest person I know.”

Isobel eyed him. “I’m right here.” He smiled at her.

“Okay, second smartest,” he said, “Liz Ortecho is incredible at putting shit together.”

“Okay, but she already knows people are missing,” Isobel pointed out, turning in her seat to face him instead of the window. He suddenly felt like he was under a microscope. “She hasn’t said anything.”

“We haven’t given her all the information,” Kyle said. Isobel nodded slowly. “Tomorrow we can go see her and see what she knows if you want.” Isobel groaned and threw herself into the seat.

“Tomorrow? Can’t we go tonight? I don’t think I can wait that long,” she whined. Kyle bit down on his lips, trying not to be too amused by her.

“Well, Mr. Ortecho is nice, but not so nice that he won’t be annoyed by us knocking at his door at two in the morning.” Isobel whined a little louder.

“Fine, you have a point.”

By the time they got back to the Evans’ house, he felt just as eager as she did. She must’ve rubbed off on him. Still, he watched her climb back through her window and made sure she locked it just in case before driving the few houses down to his own house.

He never really gave a shit about magic before and he wasn’t exactly powerful either. He had enough, but he didn’t really care for it. He was perfectly fine doing normal things and, if he had a choice, he wouldn’t even be at Watford. Alas, he didn’t have that choice because his father ran the show there, so he was there too. He did well enough to pass, but he’d had many teachers pull him aside and tell him that they felt he wasn’t living up to his potential.

What they meant is that they expected more from him when his father was The Mage and his brother by proxy was literally the most powerful being in the World of Mages. Which was fine. He didn’t care.

But he did care about justice and if his father was being shitty, then he wanted to help. It was just a bonus that Isobel cared too.

He woke up the next morning to Isobel standing disturbingly at the foot of his bed.

“Why are you here?” he grumbled instead of screaming. It helped that he had dreams of her more than a few times a month. “It’s, like, seven in the‒”

“It’s almost noon and you said we were going to the Ortechos, so I came to bother you,” she said with a smile, plopping down on the foot of his bed. It was decidedly the last on a long list of reasons for why she would be on his bed.

And on his bed she stayed as he excused himself to get dressed and brushed his teeth. He tried not to think about it when she laid her head on his pillow while waiting for him to choose his socks.

They both got into his car for the third time in roughly twelve hours and headed towards the Ortechos. Kyle really didn’t have much time to think about what exactly he was going to say to her about this, but, by the way Isobel was rambling, he assumed she did.

Liz stepped outside before they could even reach the door.

“Hi,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hey,” Kyle said, looking over to Isobel for a moment, “Uh, can we talk to you about something?”

“Is there someone stealing magic?” she asked, her voice hushed as she looked around to see if people were listening. Kyle blinked in shock. “Because that’s all I can think of.”

“I’ve been thinking that too,” Isobel said without even hesitating, “But, with my main suspect, I don’t know why he would need it. He’s already power hungry. And then he hasn’t taken Michael.”

“Okay, but people would question Michael’s disappearance,” Liz pointed out, “But maybe they wouldn’t after he graduates.”

“Whoever is taking people is speeding up,” Isobel said, “I don’t think they’re waiting.”

“Girls, I’m glad we’re on the same page and all, but maybe we should go somewhere a little less out in the open? Anyone could listen,” Kyle said carefully. They both stared at him for a minute before nodding. And then they both went to his car like that made sense. “Alright.”

Kyle listened for over an hour to the two girls going back and forth with information, both clearly more intelligent than he was. Or, at least in a different way. It seemed like they were built to solve mysteries.

By the time they were done, they decided that Michael could possibly be the next target if whoever was doing it planned to take care of it all while they were on break.

“We need you to get me an invite for dinner at the Manes’ tomorrow,” Isobel said sternly. Liz scoffed before looking at him with just as much sass.

“Me too.”

“Okay,” Kyle agreed, primarily because he was scared to disagree, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Sometime during night three of being in bed with Alex Manes, Michael actually got some sleep.

Actual sleep too. Like, he passed out at 9pm type of sleep. The last thing he remembered was laying on Alex and feeling his fingers in his hair which was easily the most comforting thing in the world. It’s what made him fall asleep so fast.

That being said, when he woke up in the middle of the night, he wasn’t pleased to find Alex no longer holding him.

“‘Lex?” he groaned haphazardly, feeling around for him. They’d been touching for almost three days straight and he’d be lying if he said he was okay with being separated. He had no idea what was going to happen when they went back to school, but he was eager to bask in it now.

When he couldn’t find Alex, he opened his eyes. He forced himself to sit up and look around the comically massive room for any sign of him. There wasn’t one.

“Alex?” he called once again, nerves spiking in him. What if they took Alex?

He quickly scrambled out of bed and went to the door. As he threw it open, he found Alex about to open it. He immediately shoved him into the room, locking the door behind him.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Michael asked, looking over Alex to make sure there was nothing wrong with him. Alex pressed his hand over his mouth and Michael’s eyes widened.

“Don’t freak out, don’t worry,” he said, but the look on his face did absolutely nothing to calm his fears, “But I don’t think we’re going to have a good day.”

Michael’s eyebrows pulled together and he reached to grab Alex’s sides. He was anxious and his magic was pulsating under his skin, preparing to burst. He wanted more information. He focused on breathing and then pressed a kiss to Alex’s palm that was still over his mouth.

“I heard my dad arguing on the phone with someone,” Alex whispered, looking over his shoulder like he thought someone was behind him instead of the door behind locked. Michael held him tighter. “He said it was happening. And, while I’m not sure what it is, I think I can put it together.”

Michael blinked a few times as he tried to follow Alex’s thought process. “Maybe we should ask him.”

Alex smiled a sad little smile and shook his head, grabbing Michael’s cheeks and pulling him down enough for him to press a kiss to his forehead. Then he pressed a kiss to his lips and it felt like a goodbye. Michael’s heartbeat sped up.

“Let me go check it out,” Michael insisted. If he figured it out before it happened, he could keep everyone safe and he could blow up the problem and could go back to bed with Alex.

“No,” Alex said sternly, gripping his arm.

“Alex, let m‒”

“No.”

Michael wriggled out of Alex’s grip and pushed past him, unlocking the door.

“Guerin, will you listen for once in your‒”

“No,” Michael said simply, heading down the corridor and trying not to be too scared when he heard Alex’s crutch following closely behind him.

Kyle rubbed his eyes as he yawned for the 6th time in the last twenty minutes.

He’d resigned to being in a ball of blankets on the couch that night, his face illuminated by the Christmas tree he put up himself and the light of his phone. Liz and Isobel had put him into a group chat, but hadn’t added Michael or Alex for some reason. He liked to think it was to annoy them, but really it was just preventing him from sleeping. His phone would buzz every few seconds, but he was too scared to go to sleep in case something bad happened to one of them. They were investigating his fucking father for god’s sake.

And, speaking of his father, he woke Kyle up from dozing off with a loud slam of his bedroom door.

Kyle watched as he hurried around the living room, searching for his car keys presumably.

“Dad?” Kyle asked, “What’s going on?”

The Mage stopped for a moment to look at him with a look he didn’t recognize.

“It’s Manes.”

And then he was out the door. Kyle stared for a moment before fumbling to call Isobel.

“Kyle?” Isobel said hesitantly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the doorway.

“My dad just ran out and left,” Kyle said, “He said ‘it’s Manes’. What are the chances that has something to do with the disappearance?”

Isobel was quiet for a moment before she said, “High. I’ll call Liz, come get me.”

Kyle didn’t really like speeding, but he did that night. He raced to get Isobel and he raced to get Liz and then he raced to get to Alex’s. Alex annoying lived the farthest away and, even with the speeding, it was 30 minutes of agonizing stress.

When they pulled up into the driveway, his dad’s car was left on and the front door was open. Kyle looked to the girls in his car and wondered if they should go inside.

“Give it a minute,” Isobel whispered, “If Michael goes off and we’re inside, then it’ll hit us and he’ll feel really bad.”

So they waited.

Alex did his best to keep calm as he following Guerin down the winding path towards the basement.

He had no idea how Guerin knew where to go, but he chalked it up to him being super fucking powerful and just doing things on accident. He was genuinely terrified for what they were about to walk into. He wanted to call Guerin back and force him to go back to bed for a couple more hours. Just to savor it. He felt like he was wasting their time.

He wasn’t ready for this.

“Guerin,” Alex tried one last time as he reached the door. Guerin looked over his shoulder.

“Take what you need, Alex” he cast softly as if it was a spell and he supposed it was. But it was just his.

Alex slowly but surely felt that familiar swell in the pit of his stomach that spread across his body. It was warm and comforting and he wanted to use it to cast little spells on Guerin while they laid in bed. He didn’t want to use it to do whatever they were about to do.

God, what the hell were they about to do?

Guerin opened the door and walked inside, sword drawn at his side. Alex didn’t remember seeing it before, but, if he knew Guerin, then he knew it’d been there since the moment he realized Alex wasn’t in bed. Alex took a deep breath and resonated the magic in his system before following.

“Alex…” he whispered from somewhere in the darkness of the basement. He couldn’t see a damn thing.

“Let there be light,” Alex cast, deciding that it’d be a fair fight if he could fucking see.

Except he very quickly realized that he didn’t want to see.

The entire basement was full of people. Not just any people, but the people that’d gone missing. Alex felt his skin start to burn as he breathed heavier, taking in each face that he’d been researching for two months now that had been in his fucking basement the entire time. He’d been so close and didn’t even know it.

They were all standing and frozen, eyes open but empty. None of them seemed to have any life left in them. It was confusing as best, terrifying at worst. He looked for Michael amongst them and found him looking more than a little overwhelmed. Alex was about to go to him, but was stopped once he spotted a face towards the back.

“Mom?” he said carefully. She didn’t respond because of course she didn’t. Alex ran to her anyway.

He hadn’t seen her since he was five, but she didn’t look any different. It was as if she’d been frozen in time, still in her Watford robes. He was taller than her now and it was jarring to him. He didn’t know what to do. He grabbed her face in his hands, disregarding the crutch that fell to the floor.

“Mama? Are you in there?” he asked softly, trying to keep hold of all the magic inside of him rather than giving in to the panic he was feeling.

Was this was Guerin felt like all the time?

“Alex,” Guerin called to him and he found him right beside him. His warm hand touched the small of his back.

The door slammed open again.

The two of them swiftly turned to face the person at the door, Guerin’s sword ready and Alex’s wand pointed. It was The Mage. His face was red and he was breathing heavily, his hands held up in defense.

“It’s your father.”

Before Alex could even mock him for stating the obvious, hands grabbed either side of his head.

“I put a spell on you,” Jesse Manes’ identifiable voice cast, “And now you’re mine.”

“They need our help, let go of me!”

Isobel had gone from waiting to give Michael a chance to feeling like something was very, very wrong within a few seconds. Kyle was holding onto her and his annoying tight grip was the only thing keeping her from running inside.

“Do they?!” Kyle asked, looking almost as desperate to keep her in the car as she was to get out of it, “Michael’s the Chosen One! What if this is his moment?! I’m not letting you get caught in the middle of that!”

“He needs me!” Isobel said, tears of sheer frustration brimming her eyes as she stopped fighting him.

She knew Michael better than anyone. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t have the knowledge to have his big, final boss battle yet. He was still preparing‒she was still preparing. Maybe Kyle was right in the sense that she would definitely get caught in the middle of it, but it felt downright wrong to leave Michael alone in this.

He was gunpowder. There was no aim, there was no skill. There was an explosion.

Isobel had to be there to ground him. She had to be there to add some skill to the mess. She had to be there to save him when he didn’t think to do it himself. They’d been in scary situations before and they’d always only gotten out of it because they had each other with the small exception of that one time that Alex helped.

Michael was going to die and she would have to live knowing she didn’t do a damn thing.

“Guerin,” Alex said slowly, “Get behind me.”

Alex seemed to get it faster than Michael did. He was frozen, blinking and desperately trying to piece it together as he watched Alex’s father cast a spell he’d never heard on The Mage. Then The Mage seemed to go limp for a moment. Then he was another lifeless statue, staring blankly alongside the rest of the people. Alongside Mimi. Michael tried not to look at her.

Alex didn’t even seem shocked. He just seemed cynical. Michael didn’t fucking get it.

“Guerin, please,” Alex said, his voice controlled.

Michael slowly moved behind Alex but pressed his back into his instead. Alex reached behind him with his free hand, squeezing his hip slightly. Jesse Manes laughed for some reason.

“How cute,” he said coldly.

Michael couldn’t see him, but he felt something happen and it seemed like all the bodies powered on. Alex squeezed him again.

Oh. Oh, he wanted control. Jesse Manes wanted to be in control.

“Remember,” Alex said as the bodies started coming towards them, surrounding them with their magical pieces and murmuring spells under their breath, “They’re still people. They’re still in there, I think. Don’t kill them.”

Michael nodded and he reached down quickly to grab Alex’s hand and squeeze before he let go.

Sharing magic was hard on Michael’s mental state. It made him want to sink into it and just go to sleep into the feeling of being surrounded by warmth and safety and love. However, he couldn’t give in to that as spelled hurdled toward him and he had to somehow fight it off with his sword. He got tired faster than he should’ve.

Alex kept pulling out spells Michael hadn’t heard, causing each one of them that came close to at least stumble. Some fell, some seemed to turn off. They stayed back to back just in case.

“Nonsense!” Michael and Alex cast at the same time, watching it work a little better than it did when they did something alone. Hell, Michael saw Rosa Ortecho blink. “Nonsense!”

Michael used his sword to knock magical pieces out of their hands, rendering them slightly less powerful. He kept shouting alongside Alex, though, casting what he could in the magic that they shared. It knocked them back, sent them into a daze. It worked.

Once all 30-plus of them had resigned to the floor on different levels of useless, he let himself fall to his knees. He would’ve leaned into Alex, but he knew Alex didn’t have his crutch and the only thing keeping him mobile was adrenaline that pushed through the pain the split caused him.

And, God, Michael was so fucking tired.

“Alex,” he whispered as he bowed his head. He wasn’t going to be much help, not like this. He couldn’t fight with that feeling. “Take it all.”

“Okay.”

“What if Michael isn’t the Chosen One?”

Kyle and Isobel both looked towards Liz was sitting in the back seat. She was leaning forward, eyes trying on the front door and her eyebrows pulled together. She looked like she was working through an epiphany.

“What do you mean?” Isobel sniffled, “His power is unparalleled. He fits the prophecy.”

“Exactly,” Liz said, a smile slowly forming on her face, “And what’s more unparalleled than using the power of another person? I mean, it’s unheard of.”

“I don’t understand,” Kyle whispered.

Isobel gulped and focused in on the literal castle. She could feel the power within growing, strengthening. It wasn’t like Michael’s explosions, it was stronger and controlled. It felt like something had just clicked.

“So, that day in the courtyard,” Kyle said carefully, “That was just practice?”

Liz hummed in a way that neither confirmed nor denied his statement.

“God, you better be right,” Isobel said and took that moment of them being distracted to run out of the car and straight into the house.

Alex felt Guerin’s power well inside him in a way stronger than it had ever been before.

He closed his eyes for just a second, almost forgetting what was happening and reveling in how goddamn right it felt. However, in that stupid moment of his, one of the bodies grabbed him. Well, not just one of the bodies. It was the body of his mother, the first one Jesse had claimed and therefore the strongest.

Nerves built in him as he weakly tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but he couldn’t manage it. He didn’t want to hurt her. Fuck, he couldn’t hurt her.

“Stand your ground!” he yelled to his father, hoping it would at least buy him a little time to get out of his mother’s grip. He was high on Guerin’s power and he could have done anything, but he didn’t. He was scared shitless.

And that meant his spell didn’t fucking work.

His father laughed and shook his head, stepping closer. Alex’s eyes went to where Guerin was all but slumped against the wall while sweat beaded his forehead and he took slow, ragged breaths. His eyes were closed. His sword was a few feet away. He was defenseless.

And Alex was terrified.

He watched as Jesse Manes grabbed Guerin’s face. He watched Guerin’s hazy eyes drag open, not even aware enough to be scared. He supposed that was good. Still, Alex wriggled harder in his mother’s grip.

“I put a spell on you and now you’re mine.”

“Michael!” Alex screamed, fighting harder. Michael just slumped back down, this time landing on the floor.

He needed to do something, he needed to do something.

Alex closed his eyes and let himself become overwhelmed like Michael did. He let himself become that bomb. Still, it wasn’t as reckless as Michael always had been, but it was enough. When he opened his eyes again, he was glowing just like Michael would.

And his mother let go.

Jesse stared at him in something akin to pride. It was nothing short of revolting. Leave it to him to only be proud by something Alex stole. This wasn’t his. This was never meant to be his.

In that same moment, Alex watched Isobel pad into the room on the tips of her toes. He chose not to look at her anymore after that, deciding to keep his eyes on his father to make sure he didn’t notice. His father just continue to marvel at him.

“I knew it,” he said, “I knew I created something better than you.”

Alex sneered, “You didn’t create this.”

Before anything else could be said, Isobel threw him Michael’s sword which he caught with impressive accuracy. Jesse laughed. Alex looked down to see Isobel holding Michael and whispering a barrier spell. Thank God.

“Give it up, son,” Jesse said, letting Alex circle him, “You and your little friends can’t do anything. They’re all under my control. You can do what you want, but I still win. I will always win.”

Alex was buzzing, glowing. He suddenly couldn’t think of any spells. He didn’t need any spells. All he had to do was believe something, need something, and it happened. He needed his father to stop moving, he froze to the ground. He needed everyone to stop being in his control, they all collapsed.

Is this what it was like to be Michael? Is this what he felt all the time? Was this how powerful he was? Was this the control he had?

Alex pressed the sword beneath his father’s chin, watching the man scowl as he tried to move and couldn’t.

“I should’ve known,” Alex whispered, “I should’ve known that the only person who would’ve thought they could benefit off my mother disappearing was you. I should’ve put it together.”

“You aren’t smart enough for that,” Jesse said, huffing as he shook his head, “You’re just a coward. You always have been.”

It shouldn’t hurt like it did. His words shouldn’t feel like a knife, not after everything. They do. Alex lets the magic become him entirely. He lets go.

“You’re done hurting and controlling me,” he said firmly, his voice seeming somewhere other than his body, “And you’re done hurting and controlling them.”

And just like before, it happened.

Jesse’s eyes went wide and his body started to react like it was choking. Alex took a step back as he watched his father convulse a few times and dropped to his knees. And he watched as he collapsed to the floor.

And then it was silent.

After a few moments of silence, Alex let go of the power and let it go home. He assumed that’s when Isobel let the barrier around him go. Alex watched her crawl over to Jesse Manes and check his pulse. Her eyes shifted to Alex, not scared and not pitiful. Just… Isobel.

“He’s dead.”

And Alex couldn’t find it in him to feel remorse.

Kyle and Liz followed Isobel back into the basement after everything had finished.

They walked around to all the people who had been asleep for however long and tried their best to talk to them and see if they were able to reorient. The people who had been taken more recently seemed to snap back into being normal if only a little drowsy, like Rosa and Mimi and The Mage. The people who had been taken years ago, however, were completely unhinged. The Mage explained that it had sort of been like they’d been in solitary confinement for however many years; they would need rehabilitation.

Kyle looked over to see Rosa and Liz hugging so tightly he was surprised either of them could breathe. Mimi and Isobel were speaking in hushed voices, probably about Michael and about the sword. His dad was on the phone, calling someone to tell them what had gone down and to send a car to take the people who weren’t able to reorient themselves quick enough.

And then, in the corner, Alex was holding Michael. Or maybe Michael was holding Alex. It was hard to tell which limb belonged to which boy. He couldn’t tell which one was more upset which was jarring. Alex was the one who had just lost his father. Then again, Michael had just gotten the power back that had been used to kill said father. So, he supposed that made enough sense.

He turned away when Alex ran a hand through Michael’s hair and whispered something like, “It’s alright, love, we’ve solved it.”

It was no longer his business.

“So, I’m the Chosen One?”

Alex kept his voice soft as the five of them stayed huddled up in their tiny dorm room back at Watford. Michael was asleep on his bed. He still hadn’t seemed to catch up on the fatigue that came with surrendering yourself over. Alex stayed beside him, though, not really carrying who saw anymore.

“I mean, you did save everyone,” Liz pointed out. Alex raised an eyebrow at her.

“I also woke people up, some of whom have massive trauma from being locked in their own brains for years,” he said. He doesn’t add how one of them was his own mother and how she had at least six months in a psychiatric ward to go.

It was the only reason he even decided to go back to Watford. He couldn’t do anything for her outside of visiting her whenever he could and staying at his house felt eerie. He hated that it was stained with the memories of everything his father had done.

“Did we ever figure out why he chose October?” Kyle asked whenever the conversation stilled and Alex smiled when both women slapped his arms. “I’m just asking!”

“It was the time of year,” Alex said, “It’s when that phrase was used the most. It made it stronger.”

All that strength had made the coven realize that they probably shouldn’t have one main person in charge. Jim Valenti seemed to be perfectly alright with that, staying at the headmaster at Watford and only that. It made their lives just a little easier.

“Are you two gonna be okay?” Isobel asked sometime after Kyle and Liz had left. Alex looked down to Michael.

He hadn’t taken the news that he was powerful enough to kill with a thought very well. In fact, it led to about an hour-long breakdown of him thinking he was bred to be a killer. Why else would he be so powerful unless he was designed to murder? Alex took him to therapy with him after that. It’d only been about a week since he started, but it already seemed to do him some good.

“I think so,” Alex sighed, rubbing his eyes. Isobel nodded and kissed both of their heads before leaving them completely alone.

Alex laid back on Michael’s bed, curling up behind him and falling asleep a little too quickly.

When he woke up, Micahel was staring at him. He smiled lazily and nudged his nose against his, breathing him in with a soft inhale. Michael didn’t reciprocate.

“I’m a coward, I think,” Michael whispered, not caring that it was far too early to be having a conversation of this caliber, “I just gave up when I should’ve protected you. I should’ve fought longer.”

“You were drained,” Alex said, combing his fingers through his hair, “You made the right choice. You giving me full control saved both of us.”

They laid there for a moment longer in silence, Micahel relaxing just a bit more than he had previously. Alex liked when he relaxed.

“I guess I’m really useless, aren’t I? I wasn’t even good at being the fake Chosen One. That’s the only thing that’s made sense my entire life,” he grumbled. Alex rolled his eyes and pulled Michael closer.

“Will you stop? You were perfect. You fought and that’s all I could’ve asked for.”

“So you don’t think I’m useless?”

“Never.”

Michael moved in for a kiss.

#malex #malex fic #my carry on au #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #rnm #rnm fic #michael guerin #michael guerin fic #alex manes #alex manes fic #my fic

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chaoswillcalmusdown · 5 years

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Title: saw your face and got inspired Pairing: Mohammed Razzouk/Amira Thalia Mahmood Summary: Amira’s getting ready for another year of university when she meets a special someone who knocks her fully off her feet. My @yousanaexchange gift for the awesome, super sweet and super smart @thickskinandelasticheart I tried really hard to make it enemies-to-lovers as per your request but it might be a bit more of dumbasses-to-lovers. Either way, I hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing it. Special shout out to @naslostcontrol for reading it over and making sure it was fit for public consumption 😊

It's not like Amira planned to end up in this situation, it just kind of spiraled out of control. She's never been scared to speak up or voice her opinion, but she's realising that they've been arguing for 15 minutes at this point and the rest of the group is starting to shift in their seats and look at their phones. Amira takes a deep breath, then stares into Mohammed's frustratingly sparkly eyes and calmly says, "Look, I just don't think it's fair to demand emotional labour from oppressed groups in order to educate those who don't give a single shit." She shrugs and then looks over at Faizal, the president, and says, "Uhm, sorry, this really wasn't relevant for the meeting."

She can see from the corner of her eye that Mohammed's head is tilted as he stares her down from across the room. As if she's going to be intimidated by that? What a dick.

Faizal smirks, rolling his eyes, "oh, so we're allowed to move on now? You're finished now?"

Amira smiles angelically, simply adding, "Yep."

The meeting was supposed to be about what kinds of educational events the islamic society wants to do, and Amira thinks all the suggested options cater way too much to the Alman desire rather than intra community issues and needs. She's honestly sick and tired of having to sit through the same kinds of panels discussing whether or not islam is actually feminist/sexist/peaceful/violent/homophobic and so on, she's sick of force-feeding Almans hours of information and sharing her lived experiences only to be met with the same kind of liberal 'color blindness' bullshit she's faced since kindergarten. She deals with enough of that from her fellow students, professors, even the girls from time to time. The islamic society was supposed to be a place where she could chill and hang out with "her people". Faizal decides that they'll postpone the decision making another few weeks and in the meantime asks everyone to make sure they send in suggestions, so the future votes can be as democratic as possible.

Amira takes that as a slight dig, because she knows her opinions aren't really popular among the group. She came into the society looking for friends from within the community but she's managed to clash with most of the group in some way, either with her views or more likely the way she presents them. Nothing out of the ordinary, to be honest. She honestly understands the point of inclusive or educational events, but she would just love it if they could do something else as well. She'd love for them to go beyond what makes the university look good and woke, and do some important things. Create real change. The way German society still isn't okay with hijabis in certain careers is only one of the issues that she's passionate about, but the rest of the society seem to be fine with focusing their attention and resources on holding Eid barbecues and islamic panels where everyone always agrees on everything. She wants to do something that makes a difference. Something that matters. Maybe this society isn't the place for her, after all? Maybe Amira should be focusing more on the campus political parties in the next semester? The meeting wraps up and there are always snacks at the end, so Amira pours herself some tea and grabs a pastry. It's only Tuesday but her mum's been texting her all day about coming to the mosque this Friday. She's really running out of excuses that aren't the truth, but it feels too complicated and ungrateful to put into text and send to her mother, so she just replies with an affirmative.

Faizal comes over to her, giving her a fond but exasperated look. "Dude, I know you've gotta be tough to handle politics, but like. I think you need to relax just a tad. You-" He cuts himself off when someone walks behind Amira to get to the cups. "So, now you've met our charming Amira, eh?" he says to this person, grinning way too widely for Amira's comfort. Sure enough, she turns around and is face to face with Mohammed. He's frustratingly perfect-looking up close, even though his hair is stupidly swoopy and his eyebrows are huge. He's grinning at Faizal in a way that feels condescending as hell. Awesome. Amira sighs, ready to say something mean so she can excuse herself from this entire narrative.

But Mohammed beats her to it. "Yeah," he says softly, this time directed at her rather than at Faizal, "The girl with the coldest gaze." Amira really doesn't like his tone. It's condescending and smug. "It's been an enlightening but terrifying first encounter, Frau Bundeskanzlerin." He mimes a tiny bow, still fucking smirking, and then walks off. What a dick.

- - - - -

Amira has a lot going on in her life. Apart from her combined history and political science degree and her part time tutoring job, she's a sister, a daughter, a friend, and apparently a severely underpaid life coach. She's sat with Sam and Matteo in the campus coffee shop, drowning their sorrows in pastry and trying to get some work done at the same time. She attempts to listen intently to Matteo's latest crisis while she watches Sam sketching for a project. There's something going on with knitting and apparently it's all about dimensions and angles. It's kind of interesting, honestly, with the geometry of it all. But it's mostly making her feel a bit dizzy because of how circular Matteo's anxieties are.

Amira can't help but interrupt, "Matteo, habibi, you know I love you?"

"But shut the fuck up?" he asks self-deprecatingly, scrunching his face up, still dragging one hand harshly through his hair.

"Hä? No, no. I was going to say that we've had this exact conversation before. And, remember how I told you that there's nothing wrong with going to therapy, even just to try it out."

Matteo clenches his jaw, dragging his hand down his face, then letting it drop limply onto the tabletop. He'd gone once during his gap year, but after he'd decided to study programming he claimed he felt "much better" so he never went back. David's been worrying about him, and has tried to involve Amira in his plan to get Matteo to therapy. Along the way they've found that it's truly not possibly to get Matteo to do anything Matteo does not want to do. Amira still prays that he'll find peace and get help, but she's really stopped nagging him. However, when he brings up feeling overwhelmed and frustrated she can't help but speak up and repeat the suggestion. Maybe he'll eventually take the advice.

David arrives and drops down next to Matteo. He's working on a short film outside of his studies and is currently storyboarding, which of course means that Matteo is going to do anything he can to disturb the creative process. It might be cute how they devolve into play fighting even after multiple years, but Amira honestly just finds it ridiculous. Sam is asking about Amira's studies, nodding along to Amira's story about the world's most boring professor, when the impossible happens. Mohammed walks up to the table, wearing the cafe's apron, asking if they've got any empty cups they want to get rid of. Sam thanks him, being friendly in a normal way. Amira's just frozen. Before he leaves, he gestures to Amira's full black outfit complete with black nails, then to her phone which is lying on the table with the case side up, proudly stating 'Black is my happy colour' and says, "Black suits you." Then he turns and jauntily walks into the back, with his tray of dirty mugs. Amira can feel her face heat, which in turn pisses her off. Thankfully, at least no one else can tell she's blushing.

"God, what a dick," Amira huffs.

"Hä? Amira!" Sam laughs. "He didn't even say anything bad?!"

"He commented on my looks? Is that seriously necessary?"

"God, Amira, don't be such a manhater. He was just appreciating your aesthetic. I'm sure he's a totally nice guy. I mean, he's really attractive, and you know incels are always fucking ugly."

Matteo apparently tunes into the conversation at this point, "hey! What's this about hating men? Men are totally awesome!"

Amira narrows her eyes at him, gesturing to where he's stretched across David, keeping him from his sketchbook and holding David's pen high in the air so David won't be able to reach it.

Matteo straightens up, puts David's pen back. David grabs it with a wink in Amira's direction. "I mean, sure, we're stupid, but all men aren't?"

- - - - -

Whenever she says she's busy, Amira's mum gets annoyed with her, so Amira finds herself at a random event at her local mosque. There's some kind of lecture, and then supposedly there'll be food after. Amira can't help but notice that neither of her brothers were nagged into attending, but that's fine. She's somewhat excited to see the girls she used to hang out with all the time, but now only really sees occasionally at the mosque. Or at someone's wedding, which there have been a lot of. She's officially the last one out of her Sunday school group to be married, not that she would have expected anything less. Aunties have always told her she'd have a hard time finding a man to put up with her "strong opinions".

Amira grabs a mug of tea, and is about to scan the room for her girls when an older couple appear. She vaguely knows who they are, thinks they're parents of one of Omar's friends from school. She says hi, and tries to make some polite small talk. Then, the woman goes, "Oh, we heard your brother's getting married!" and Amira realises what's about to happen. She pastes on a polite smile and replies, trying to look around for someone who can save her from this conversation. The husband continues on to jokingly ask if she's next, and Amira keeps the smile on her face when she says, "Oh, I'm focusing on my career first. I still have another a bit left until I graduate." The wife pats her husbands arm and points out that Amira is studying politics. He chuckles and asks, "Are you still doing that? And what are you going to use that degree for? Are you planning on being the first German chancellor with a hijab? While somehow managing a family, as well?" They both chuckle, in a kind of 'oh how silly of her' way. The wife says, "No, Amira, habibi, I think it's great that you're getting yourself educated. They always say that an educated woman teaches a whole village."

Amira sighs, draining her mug. "I don't know about a whole village," she laughs dryly, then says a somewhat polite goodbye and hightails it out of there. When Amira finds her friends, Nadia's talking about her new husband, complaining that he expected her to know what to buy his mother for a 50th birthday present. Someone else is laughing and saying, "Well, wasn't he always a bit distracted?" Amira remembers him well from school and cannot imagine that he has since grown out of his fuck-boy phase into a good husband. While the girls chat about their awful spouses, Amira's attention drifts and she somehow ends up on Mohammed. With a woman in a hijab and two younger kids. She feels a bit unsettled, even worse when they lock eyes across the room and Amira feels her face heat. Mohammed looks confused but then gives a tiny wave before he turns back to the kids.

When Amira snatches her eyes back onto her friends, everyone's looking at Amira. "Hä, sorry?"

Nadia rolls her eyes, "We were just wondering if there's anyone special in your life?"

Amira barks out a laugh, "Wow, no, I'm way too young to get married." She might have forgotten to censor herself there for a second. "Um, I mean, I'm going to graduate first, but I'm looking into post-grad right now, so. It's not a priority yet."

- - - - -

Amira gets home from the mosque annoyed. Over the weekend she goes to a boxing class, and afterwards decides to focus on her studies, and figure out what she's going to do about the islamic society and everything else later. And what she's going to do about everyone at the mosque constantly asking her about her future, all now that your brother is getting married, isn't it your turn next, dear? She's got a few really interesting classes going on at the moment and she heads to her first tutorial which is on European politics. She sees a few familiar faces and chats until the professor shows up and they all file into the room and pull out all their notes. Amira's rooting around in her bag for a pen to lend to her neighbour, when she hears the door open and a smooth voice say, "sorry I'm late". The professor, a really nice but very old white man chuckles and says, "no worries, we haven't quite started yet." Amira reflexively looks over to see who it was, locks eyes with Mohammed, and firmly looks away. This is fine. There are always new people in tutorials, and sometimes you recognise them from around campus. No big deal. Amira passes the pen along and logs onto her computer. She's always been an achiever, and she's not planning on letting herself get distracted by anything. As always, she raises her hand to answer the first question the professor asks, but is surprised when she looks over and sees Mohammed already raising his hand and speaking. Even worse, he's saying the exact thing Amira was going to say. She drops her hand, cracking her neck and stretching out her shoulders, and makes sure to be the first one to raise her hand at the next opportunity instead. Game on.

- - - - -

As much as Amira tries to focus and center herself on what she's trying to achieve, her education and all the things that matter in her life, she can't help but feel unsettled. Every time she has a politics class, Mohammed is just there, raising his hand a split second before Amira and constantly just arguing and disagreeing with her. Whenever she goes to an islamic society meeting, Mohammed is there and yet again, frustrating her and disagreeing with her. She keeps up with her routine, prays and goes to boxing with Sam or Hanna, and tutors, and studies. But she keeps getting distracted, while studying and while praying and even while boxing. All because of one annoying guy. She's heading over to her brothers' shared apartment on a Friday night to drop off a text book for Essam on her way to Mia's place for "girls wine and cheese night". She's got two essays almost due and would genuinely love to get a start on those, but the girls won't let her sit at home on a Friday night while doing research for school. Sam had said it's out of the question, mom.

Essam opens the door, while stuffing his face with pizza. Amira plops her bag down on the floor by the door and shakes out her shoulders. When she looks up, Essam's got a confounded look on his face, "Are you carrying around bricks?!"

"I wish," Amira mutters pulling out the book he needed and dropping it on the ground, letting it thunk. "Gimme some pizza."

Essam snorts and gestures into the apartment, "Bad week?"

"You don't even know. The most annoying guy is in my class. And literally everywhere I look. Such a fucking pain in the-" They turn the corner into the open plan kitchen-dining-living room, and who's sitting at the breakfast bar, handsomely typing away at a computer? Mohammed, of course. At this point, Amira should be fucking expecting it.

Essam grabs Amira a slice and, upon seeing her bewildered face, goes, "Oh, you haven't met! This is my pal, Mohammed, he's the guy who's gonna take over Omar's room after he gets married. My soulmate, yadda yadda."

Mohammed smiles at Amira, "We've met, actually," he says. Amira swallows around her bite, trying to smile since she can't speak due to the chewing. "Through the islamic society," Mohammed adds, shrugging. Amira tries to read off his face whether he heard her ranting as she entered, or not. He doesn't look very offended, so she figures he probably did not.

"Huh," Essam says, nodding. He turns to Amira, "Hey, sorry, you were venting. Something about a really annoying guy?"

Mohammed leaves about twenty minutes later, apparently heading home for dinner. Amira waits approximately 2 seconds after she hears the door close, until she's rounding in on Essam. "How did you not tell me about Mohammed?!" She demands, not realising how ridiculous that sounds, until it's too late. Essam stares at her like she grew a third eye.

"I don't tell you every time I make a friend, Litschi! What the hell?"

Amira shakes her head, pacing. "That's Mohammed," she says. Essam nods, looking towards confusedly at the now closed front door. "No, Fruchtzwerg, it's Mohammed. The annoying guy who appears in every fucking part of my life, and frustrating the hell out of me. It's Mohammed."

"Oh shit."

- - - - -

Essam's confused about the entirety of Amira's story, because Mohammed never argues and Mohammed's the nicest guy ever and most confusingly Mohammed? Is in the islamic society committee? Really? Amira's at a loss. Essam claims to know the guy, but either he doesn't know anything about him or Mohammed's just different with different people. And that's always a bad sign when it comes to guys. Obviously guys lie, and Amira's had enough interactions with guys from all over the place to know not to trust one at first sight. Not that she would want to trust Mohammed for any reason. She just doesn't want her brother to be scammed or anything. It would suck for Essam if Mohammed turns out to be a shitty person.

Amira eats most of Essam's pizza while she fumes over Mohammed's occupation into yet another aspect of her life. She really doesn't know how she's supposed to handle all this exposure to his dumb face. And then Essam points out that Mohammed's going to be in Omar's wedding, so Amira needs to somehow settle a truce with the guy, which is just perfect.

That Sunday marks some anniversary of Kiki and Carlos' which requires a house party. Amira arrives after her prayer with some vegetarian pizzas from down the road. She catches David and Matteo chatting, or probably more likely making out, right inside the front door, and then gets encased in a monster hug from Sam. They chat over pizza, and then, who comes through the door after Jonas? At this point, it should not even surprise her. Mohammed walks through into the living room, waving awkwardly as he gets introduced to everyone. Sam and David seem to already know him, and Matteo, too. Amira is just lost. Even more surprisingly, Essam walks in after them. He waves excitedly at Amira, and Amira really longs for a time where all the different parts of her life were neatly compartmentalised and never met each other at house parties. Next, she's gonna have to introduce her parents to Kirlos or something equally ridiculous.

"He's very cute, huh?" Sam asks Amira, jabbing her playfully with her elbow. Amira rolls her eyes reflexively. "Oh come on, Amira, he's cute. And he's wholesome. You always say I need to date more wholesome men."

Amira shrugs. "But you know a lot of arabs are racist," she mumbles, taking a swig of Pepsi to calm her suddenly agitated nerves.

Sam snorts, "Yeah, thanks, I know. I can be careful, mom."

Kiki and Mia walk over, with Kiki looking between Amira and then Essam and Mohammed. "The blond guy was waving like he knows you," Kiki points out, while Amira curses Essam's entire personality and existence, "Are these guys like your relatives?"

Sam busts out giggling, asking Amira in a silly voice, "Do you know all the arabs in Berlin, Amira dear?" When Kiki looks shocked, she adds, "No, Kiki, I'm kidding, don't worry, sorry, sorry," all while still giggling. Amira thinks back to the time when Kiki had asked Sam if she and boy Sam were related.

"Ha-ha," Amira mutters. "I actually do know them, though. The blond one is, unfortunately my brother."

"No way!" Mia gasps, slapping Amira's shoulder. "You're nothing alike."

"Alhamdulillah," Amira mumbles, setting Sam off into another bout of giggles. Mia smiles, but manages to restrain herself. Amira huffs, adjusting her scarf. "No, he's not that bad… he's just loud? He's my younger brother so of course he annoys me".

"What about the other guy," Mia asks, "You know him, too?"

Sam hums, "Hot, right?"

Mia's appraising Amira very intently and Amira really hates it. She shrugs, "He's a friend of Essam's, I don't know him very well."

Essam appears at her shoulder with Mohammed in tow, and they all get introduced. Essam flirts way too much with Kiki, and Amira tries to melt into the ground with secondhand embarrassment. Eventually Carlos drifts over, probably to show Essam that Kiki is taken, which is just cringe worthy on its own. Amira catches Mohammed's eye just as Carlos wraps his arm firmly over Kiki's shoulders and Kiki looks back at him confused. Mohammed looks like he's trying really hard not to laugh, and he raises his eyebrows, pinching his lips together. Amira shrugs, mouth lifting into a smile before she can stop herself. She pulls her eyes away, anywhere else. Her eyes settle on Jonas trying to teach Matteo some chords on the guitar, and Hanna chatting animatedly with David in the corner next to them. Then, she overhears someone daring to besmirch the name of Mohamed Salah. She looks up, locking eyes with a grinning Mohammed. Carlos is saying something ridiculous about Manchester United, and Amira truly cannot believe the joy she's seeing in Mohammed's eyes. Or the way he's confidently nodding along with Carlos' unbelievably incorrect rant. Sam and Mia look lost, but Essam's grinning gleefully at Amira. As the middle child in a family of strong opinions, he's grown up to become the most neutral person Amira knows, and watches sports mostly to see how riled up Amira and Omar get. "You must have an opinion on this, Litschi, as someone who has a life-sized cardboard cutout of Mo Salah in their room?" Essam's making himself sound like a beat reporter, looking around the group to make sure he has everyone's attention.

Amira clenches her jaw, knowing that she'll never live that nickname down now that the girls have heard it. She can see Sam mouthing it, looking delighted. "You bought me that cut-out, Fruchtzwerg, but yes, I do have an opinion on Mo Salah, the best football player of this generation."

Her argument doesn't quite convince the boys, but then her Maghrib alarm goes off and she slips away to Kirlos' bathroom followed by their bedroom. She's perhaps making a lot of effort to walk without stomping, but having to be at a party with her idiot brother is just really fraying on her nerves. She's never had to interact with him and her friends at the same time. She knows that he thinks she's acting weird, and so will the girls, probably. The'll think she's too harsh on him, or something. Amira's really not a massive fan of praying in her friends' bedrooms, but it's better than a bathroom so she'll take it. She can hear literally everything that's going on in the party, the bass vibrating the walls and floor, and honestly doesn't know how she's meant to be able to focus on anything except that new Zara Larsson song that Kiki's doing a cover of.

When she walks back into the living room, she can't help but feel frustrated about the way she always misses random chunks of parties. She'll come back from praying and catch the girls in a joke that falls flat when they try to explain it to her. You had to be there sometimes feels like the story of her life. The groups have rearranged since she left. Kirlos have ended up on the sofa, with Sam and Mia still talking to Mohammed, while Essam seems to be bonding with Matteo. God help them all. Amira walks over to Sam, because she's still holding Amira's drink. Not for any other reason. She can't help herself, so she asks Mohammed if he's not going to go pray, knowing full well that Essam won't. His smile falters, but he shrugs and says, "I'm not really going to bother in these circumstances," gesturing at the loudness of the party.

Amira can hear Essam's carefree laughter, bristles at the ease and lack of tension in Mohammed's shoulders and she truly doesn't mean to, but she ends up saying, "So you just pray when it's convenient for you?"

Amira can hear Sam make a noise of awkwardness next to her, and she knows she's out of line, knows she has a tendency to attack first, but she's bone-tired and frustrated and nothing she does or is expected to do is ever easy or convenient.

Mohammed, eyes hard, replies, "I thought Islam taught you not to judge. And I don't know if you know, but Germany has laws that regulate a person's right to practice religion how they want, or not practice at all, thank you very fucking much." He looks disappointed at her, which hurts more than she'd like. And then he turns and leaves. Amira feels like the whole party has quieted down, like everyone saw that, but in reality only Sam and Mia did. Though Essam will probably hear about it later.

"Ouff," Sam whines, "Amira, that was harsh".

Amira groans. "You okay?" Mia asks, looking concerned. Amira sighs, squishing her eyes shut.

"Fuck."

"You look like you need a drink," Sam points out. Amira laughs, desperately. "Let's make you a fabulous mocktail. I'm too tipsy to solve anything right now."

- - - - -

Amira wakes up in stages, first noticing the offensive brightness of the room, and burrowing deeper into the covers to try and avoid facing the day. She and Mia went home with Sam and ended up falling asleep and Amira can hear Sam and Mia chatting away, though in hushed tones. She can't help but groan as she stretches. It's far too early.

"Morning, Litschi!" Mia calls, and Amira groans louder. She forgot about that.

The girls let her wake up while they get some tea and wrangle together breakfast. Amira stares at the ceiling and pointedly does not check her phone. She does, however, get up to pee and then pray. When she gets back the girls have managed a decent spread with the leftovers in Sam's fridge.

"We should talk about Mohammed," Sam points out. Mia nods. "You were really mean." Mia nods again.

"You like him, don't you?" Mia's got her knees up, chin resting on them. Amira sputters in response.

"That's a yes!" Sam cheers, giggling.

"It's not," Amira sighs. "He's just a douchebag. Like, he's so flippant about important stuff. Like religion. And he's constantly appearing everywhere I go and annoying me."

"But you still went off on him pretty harshly," Mia points out.

"Maybe he's not muslim?" Sam suggests.

Amira shrugs, mutters, "if he's not then I definitely won't like him but he's in the islamic society, so I doubt that's actually the case. Even though he's maybe not a very good muslim."

"He's there, too? Like, is he stalking you, or?"

Amira sighs, shaking her head, "No, he's just in the islamic society and in my politics class and living in my brother's apartment, and also apparently he now goes to my mosque, too?!"

"Don't forget he's pals with Jonas, too," Sam mentions, laughing. "Listen, there must be a reason this handsome but annoying man has entered your life. Maybe you just need some patience."

Amira groans, but Sam pushes on, "No, Amira, you always hate guys on sight. Like with Alex," she gestures at Mia and Amira does feel bad because she's never really owned up to that, "or with Jonas, with Stefan. Guys lie and all that."

Amira honestly can't argue with that, and she hates it. Mia's been quiet for a while, and looking thoughtful, but she then gets this sparkle in her eyes. Amira hates that even more.

Later that day Mia texts her:

(Not to play devil's advocate but, don't you think it's possible that you're hiding a bit behind the 'bad muslim' thing? Because I think you guys have some incredible chemistry)

That text might haunt Amira for a while, even if she sends Mia a very stern reply.

- - - - -

Amira's chatting to her dad on the phone later that night, and she'd been trying to finish her assigned reading for the week but she kept getting distracted. She honestly felt pretty shitty about how she'd treated Mohammed. She'd had a whole heap of small frustrations building up and she had just accidentally unleashed them all straight into his bothersome face even though most of her frustrations were not at all his fault. She knew she had to apologise, and she genuinely wanted to but she struggled admitting to her brothers that she'd gotten an actor wrong because she hates being wrong. She's always right, so she's really not good at admitting fault.

"Amira, habibi, are you doing something else while we're talking?"

"Huh? Sorry, dad, I'm just a little distracted."

"Ah, I see, well, tell your old man and he can solve all your troubles."

"Hah, thanks, dad. I don't know if you can solve it, though. I was pretty rude to someone for no reason and now I have to apologise to them."

Amira's dad hums. "Was this the same boy as the annoying one in the islamic society that your mum told me about?"

"Yes," Amira mutters. Her parents truly seem to not keep any secrets from each other.

"Hah, well, you've always been very proud, kiddo. I always loved that about you. You know your worth and you don't take shit from anyone. But, before you get too comfortable, you're also terrible at admitting when you're wrong."

"Wow, thanks, dad."

"You get that from your mum, you know. I truly do think it's a good thing, but I hope you don't feel like you always have to be perfect. You've always been strong but it's good to be vulnerable, too. It's hard, sure, but good things do happen when you let your guard down just a tad."

"Ugh, dad, that was so sentimental."

Her dad laughs, "Yes, habibi, I know, I know. Let's switch topics. Tell me about the lecture you had this morning."

- - - - -

Amira is really not in the mood for an event, but even she can agree on the importance of this specific one. It's taken a lot of organisation for everything to work out, and it involves 4 societies (which is also partly why David is involved) and spans a month with one focus each week. This week's fundraising focus is the charity Jonas volunteers for, which does a lot of work with refugee integration in Berlin. She arrives a bit earlier because she promised David and Jonas she would, even though her mother is frustrated with her for not coming to the mosque for some kind of "women in islam" lecture held by a panel of men. Kiki's asking the group chat for a pre-party and since Amira is arriving at the club, she just turns the sound off and heads in, following the music to where she expects to at least find Jonas. She sees Matteo and David hanging out by the stage, where Jonas of course is sat on a stool with his guitar. Jonas sees her and calls her over and while she's approaching she takes in the other figures in the room. She mostly sees people she's never seen or people she's possibly passed on campus before. But then she sees Mohammed standing behind Jonas, by the mic, singing quietly and chatting to Jonas about something, brows drawn. He doesn't seem to notice her, so she keeps approaching.

"Study partner!" Matteo whisper-calls out, turning around to grab and open a coke bottle for Amira, "come join the soundcheck squad."

Amira accepts the drink and asks what they're up to, trying to avoid Mohammed's eyes now burning into the side of her head from where he's still chatting to Jonas.

David wiggles his eyebrows at her, "oh, we're just waiting for the jam session to pick back up. They weren't sure on which key to use, or something nerdy like that." He turns to look at Mohammed, who rolls his eyes, but Jonas starts playing. The room is filling up, there are a few people working behind the bar and some others decorating and moving tables around. Everyone's chatting to themselves and no one is really paying any attention to the stage, where Amira assumes the boys ended up helping Jonas with "soundcheck" in order to avoid manual labour. Amira truly hates being a cliche, but when she first hears Mohammed's voice, goosebumps erupt along her arms. She crosses them across her chest, gripping the coke bottle. David's swaying along and he and Matteo whoop encouragingly at certain notes and lyrics. Amira can't help but grin at their contagious hype, but when she turns her attention back to the stage, Mohammed's looking straight at her. She can't help but swallow, caught out, but looks right back, never one to back down.

Dragging along, follow in your form

Hung like the pelt of some prey you had worn

Remember me, love, when I'm reborn

As the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

Amira can feel her face flushing as she narrows her eyes at Mohammed. He just smirks back at her, and finishes the song. The boys clap and cheer so loudly that they draw the attention of some official looking person with a clipboard, who sighs and huffs and splits them up. David and Matteo grab Amira to head towards the back and David turns on the way to yell some more compliments towards the stage. As they walk, David hums, "You know, Hozier is a man that I'm sure you would agree is an exception to the general rule of male shittiness."

Matteo snorts, mutters, "fucking Hozier…" but David carries on. "He doesn't write boring love songs. He doesn't get intimidated by confident women. To be honest, he loves a strong and terrifying woman-"

Matteo interjects to say, "It's one of those 'choke m-'" but thankfully gets interrupted by David clapping a hand over his mouth before Amira needs to bleach her entire brain and soul.

David sighs and hands Matteo a box of string lights that are supposed to go up somewhere. Matteo takes them with a wink and walks back into the event room. David shrugs, looking at Amira. "Anyways, Mo's got a good voice, right? I keep telling him, but he acts like it's no big deal."

Amira immediately feels suspicious. "How do you all know each other?"

"Huh? Oh, Jonas met him at some kind of open mic, jam thing. I don't really know. And then Jonas and Matteo, you know. We went to one of Jonas' gigs and Mohammed was there." David gestures in an encompassing way, like he's trying to say the rest is history.

- - - - -

The girls all arrive and 'ooh and ah' over how magical the location looks. Amira has to admit that it's nice, even if she's slightly on edge due to how often she keeps bumping into Mohammed while turning a corner. Sam happens to be next to her one of these times and she sighs and goes, "He's so charming. How is he so charming?!" Amira sighs and switches subjects by asking about Sam's nephew, which is honestly the most effective subject change ever. She even gets adorable baby photos out of it.

Later on she's walking from the bar with Mia, when Jonas announces a new song and Amira spots Mohammed by the stage. Based on earlier, she really can't handle another song so she slips away into the back garden. She can see Mia shrugging and looking questioningly at her through the large open doors, but she plants her feet and starts up a conversation with a girl she knows from her European History class. A few minutes later, Mia appears at her side, looking like the cat that got the cream. Amira tries to drag the conversation out, but she and this girl, Anna?, really don't have much in common so she leaves shortly after. Mia's arms are crossed, shit-eating red lipped grin and all.

"How's it going with Mohammed?" she asks.

Amira huffs, assuring Mia that there is nothing going, but she'll apologise when she gets a moment, thank you very much. Of course this is when Amira's Maghrib alarm goes off. Mia looks like she wants to protest, but in the end she realises she can't really argue with it so she just gives Amira her unimpressed tm look when Amira starts backing away, to find somewhere to pray. She was planning to scout out a good location while helping to set up earlier, but Mohammed had ruined those plans for her by distracting her with his face and voice. She asks one of the bartenders and gets led to the staff room, which has an adjacent but tiny bathroom. She's honestly had to settle for worse, even if the staff room could really use a lockable door. She decides to just hurry, and hope no one interrupts her.

Afterwards, she feels centred and calm, like always. She touches up her makeup, and quickly checks her phone. Sam's sent multiple messages to the group chat, the most recent being:

omg how sexy is mohammed's singing voice?! how is he so charming???????

Amira pockets her phone as she opens the door, but hits something. She pauses for a second and tries again. This time the door opens smoothly. Standing on the other side, running a hand through his stupid hair, is Mohammed.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I was heading to the bathroom and one of the bartenders was about to head in, so I-" He waves a hand at the door.

"Oh," Amira can't help but feel stunned, because she definitely doesn't deserve that level of consideration from him of all people. They stand in a slightly awkward silence, Amira looking everywhere except at Mohammed. She realises she's being a bit childish about it so she squares up, clears her throat. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry about my behaviour." She dares a glance up at Mohammed's face. He looks annoyingly smug, arms crossed over his chest. He waits her out, smirking. "I perhaps judged you a bit early. And harshly. It's.. It doesn't happen ever, really, but, I guess… I was wrong. Sorry."

Mohammed nods slowly, looking off to the side. "No harm done. So, listen-"

The door separating the club space from the staff space slams open and a frazzled bartender startles at the sight of them, looks confused. Amira takes this as a perfect opportunity, explaining herself, "Oh, sorry, I was just praying, you know," while gesturing at the locker room behind her and also her head. When the bartender nods, still confused, Amira hurries out to find the girls.

- - - - -

Amira's back at her parents' house for a weeknight dinner. She's helping set the table because her parents don't want her near the food, but she also does not want to sit and chat at the table since Essam's started the night by badgering her about Mohammed in front of their mother.

"Seen Mohammed any more?" Essam asks with a grin when Omar arrives. Amira sends him a look that could kill from across the table. Her dad perks up, "Oh, Mohammed's a good kid. You know Mohammed, Amira?"

Amira sighs, "Yeah, we have a class together, and some friends in common."

At this, Omar looks thoughtful. "You'd like Mohammed," he says, as if it's only just occurring to him, as if the gears are starting to turn.

Her dad latches onto this idea, "Yeah, that's a good point! You're very similar, Amira, stubborn but very smart." He pats her on the shoulder as he walks back into the kitchen to help their mother with the cooking.

When Amira walks back with a stack of plates, Essam's gleefully feeding Omar blackmail material about how Amira had unfairly snapped at poor Mohammed in front of everyone. "I was planning to try and convince them to date but Amira hates him."

"Hä? What did he do?"

"Thanks, Essam," Amira sighs, "He didn't do anything, he was just arguing in favour of stupid shit, and-"

"Like what?"

"Just… He keeps advocating for inclusive events in the islamic society. Having all our events open for everyone even though that always means a whole bunch of people appear and demand us to hold them by the hand and explain every single thing that's going on. Every single event. I'm sick and tired of having to educate ignorant white Germans who can't just google it. That's not why I joined the islamic society."

Omar hums. "Mohammed grew up in Syria, you know," he points out. "He didn't have to grow up in a country full of Almans who know nothing about islam and require hand-holding. So, maybe he just has a higher tolerance for that than we do?"

It's a fully reasonable argument, which Amira kind of hates. She hasn't really ever asked Mohammed anything, barely even spoken to him except to argue with him or be hostile to him. "Yeah, okay, sure. We're just not compatible people, that's all." Essam snorts. "Listen, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm not going to ever date a guy who isn't a proper muslim, so that's that. Leave it."

They both look confused. "What do you mean 'not compatible'? And why would you think Mohammed's not religious? He's in the islamic society, isn't he?"

Amira shrugs, "He doesn't pray? He's- I don't know, Essam said-"

"I was surprised he was on the committee, because he's been struggling. But what even is a proper muslim, Amira?" Essam asks, with a grimace. "If Mohammed isn't then I've barely been one lately either, but you don't hate me for it?!"

"No, of course I don't hate you."

"You said my crisis was valid, and I can assure you that Mohammed's was valid, too. Is this why you snapped at him?"

Amira groans, "I don't hate him… I just. Lost my temper, I don't know why. It wasn't like I snapped on purpose. He just aggravates me. He just keeps aggravating me for no good reason." She realises she's been gesturing pretty aggressively, so she drops her shoulders and lets her hands fall to her side. "What do you want me to say?"

"Oh my god, you like him."

- - - - -

Of course, it all comes to a head at Omar and Nour's Henna night. The girls have all been invited and some of the boys (specifically Jonas and Carlos). Amira had tried to convince her brothers that she absolutely did not have any feelings for Mohammed, but it seemed as if she was not very convincing. At least, she managed to get them both to agree to leave her alone and definitely not mention anything about it to the guy in question. And Amira knows they wouldn't dare cross her. During the night she has managed to mostly avoid the aunties and uncles that have been giving her far too wide smiles all night, and she's managed to duck out of several conversations before she had anyone ask her when's your turn, habibi and ended up snapping at anyone. She's chatting to Jonas and Hanna in a decently secluded corner, teaching Jonas the accurate pronunciation of all the sweets he's eating. He's shockingly good at it, and he's really pleased about that fact.

Then, there's a tap on her shoulder. Hanna's eyes widen, and she gently but firmly drags Jonas away. Amira feels this sense of doom impending, but she's also got a few hardcore butterflies appearing in the depths of her stomach. She turns, and there's Mohammed. He's got a piece of baklava in the palm of his upturned hand and he grins at her.

"Frau Bundeskanzlerin," he mutters, doing a really douche-y bow. Amira can't help but laugh, and glances around the room. God, everyone can see this, Amira thinks, even though realistically no one is looking in their direction, but instead talking to the future bride and groom.

"What's your deal?" is what comes out of her mouth.

Mohammed snorts, smile faltering just a little, "my deal?"

"It's really not cute to be flirting with a girl if you're not even fucking religious, you know. Do you know how fucking impossible and rare it is to even have decent interactions with men as a hijabi without them wanting to save or objectify you? It's literally not something that happens. I am sick and tired-"

"Wow," Mohammed mutters, though grinning, popping the piece of baklava he was supposedly presenting Amira with into his mouth and chewing. "What have I done to deserve this utter annihilation?"

"What have you done? You're impossible to read. You're debating in the islamic society one day, then you're not a practicing muslim, then a day later you're in the mosque. What's your deal?"

Mohammed rolls his eyes, crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I'll hold a full length lecture on my relationship with islam in the morning, if you want, but as for what my deal is, I've been trying to ask you out on a date." He shrugs one shoulder, like it's obvious.

Amira splutters in surprise. "You've…. what?"

"It's not my fault you're distracting. You know, you're the one who's impossible. I've literally been in love with you since you gave me that stink eye in ISOC. I think you're amazing even though you're infuriating and judgemental as hell."

"Hmm, we'll agree to disagree."

Mohammed bursts out laughing, "What? No, we definitely won't! Come on!"

Amira notices, from the corner of her eye, that a few aunties and girls she knows from elementary school are taking an interest in them and then she realises how close they've drifted during their conversation. "Shit, people are looking at us."

Mohammed hums, looks around. He shrugs, takes a demonstrative step back. "There we go, much more appropriate."

Amira rolls her eyes, cheeks aching from smiling. "So, your method of flirting is just being oppositional, then?"

"Might be… It worked, though, right?" Amira snorts. "Maybe I should've been more direct and asked for an audience through your secretary?"

It shouldn't make Amira giggle, because it's not really funny, but she still giggles like a schoolgirl she definitely is not. "Hey, Mohammed?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to go out with me?"

Mohammed bursts out laughing, "I'd love to."

#yousanaexchange #druck fic #mazzouk #thickskinandelasticheart #izzy writes #let there be no typos...... and let all my italics pls still be there

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