#but yeah my job title is 'Localization Project Manager' which apparently is a thing you can be

[kibibarel]

Kibi I missed something. What did you get your masters degree in? I thought you were going for translation.

my degree was specifically "Translation and Localization Management" and my focus was the localization track, which is considered a tech degree because a lot of it was like...learning how to use computer-assisted translation tools, desktop publishing, coding programs to support translation, etc...also general project management

i was still taking courses in Japanese too, but translation was a separate track and i'm not at all fluent, so i couldn't take it even if i wanted to 🥲

to even try getting the translation degree, you had to already be fluent (people who took this track had to take a 5-hour-long test to prove their fluency when they applied to the school), but for the localization track, since it is more tech-focused, you just had to test at "advanced proficiency" (which i did!! shockingly...)

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

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."

[solange-lol]

Crazier Than You - Ch. 2/?

Chapter Title: Pulled

Words: 2,047

[chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter four (coming soon)]

Read on Ao3

“So how’s it going with lover boy?” Lou Ellen teased at tech after a few weeks of Will going to rehearsal. He didn't need to anymore, by that point, as they were just waiting to finish building all the set pieces before they began running them. Chiron never called him out for it though so he would make himself busy backstage. Secretly he enjoyed watching it all, even with the constant stops and restarts. This was one of Will’s favorite musicals, after all.

Also, Will had gotten significantly closer to Nico. Nothing more than friend-close, of course. It’s probably the most social Will has ever been with the cast, considering Nico was somehow acquainted with almost all of them. Apparently, he’s more social than Will first thought, though he’s been assured by Nico that is all circumstantial (whatever that means).

All of this just gave Lou more reason to bug Will about his micro-crush on Nico.

“We’re just friends Lou, I swear,” Will sighed, nailing another piece of wood to the bench they were creating for the dining room scene.

“Friends who hold hands?”

“It was one time! And it was an accident!” He nearly shrieked, feeling his face warming. Will truly regretted telling Lou that story. It was a moment of panic, and he needed to get it off his chest to someone who didn’t know Nico as a close friend. He set a mental reminder to never tell Lou Ellen anything.

Unfortunately, her comment brought the vivid memory back to Will. During rehearsal that week, things were slower than usual as the cast made their way through Act Two. It got the point where Will was too fidgety to stand still anymore (curse you, ADHD) and he had already scrolled to the end of his Instagram feed. As he had fiddled with the curtains next to him, he thought he was grabbing onto the chain; while in reality, it was actually Nico’s hand. Awkward apologies ensued, and Will did his best to forget it altogether. (Also, no theatre person had the right to have hands that smooth. Or maybe Will was just used to everybody in tech’s rough, calloused palms).

“Besides,” Will continued. “I’m pretty sure he likes Piper. Nobody can have that much chemistry in high school without probably wanting to fuck each other.”

“It’s theatre. He’s probably gay!”

“Not all guys in theatre are gay! Just look at Percy.”

Lou rolled her eyes. “Just because he’s dating Annabeth doesn’t make him straight. That’s bi erasure, Will.”

“Whatever, I can’t focus on him when I have a job to do.” He was getting riled up, shooting another nail with a kshk. “Like, it’s not fair, y’know? That I don’t get the year that goes smoothly, and not because of sets or anything,” Kshk.

“Will,”

“The other day, I forgot to close the curtain before Full Disclosure because I was thinking he had to kiss her and it so fucking dumb that I want that to be me..” Kshk

“Will!”

“I think I’ve been single for too long Lou.” Kshk.

“Will!”

“What?!” he nearly dropped the nail gun as he turned to face Lou Ellen, who just pointed at his hand. As soon as he noticed blood dripping from where he had accidentally shot himself with a nail, he felt his finger begin the throb. Painfully.

“Shit,” Will cursed loud enough that even their supervisor, who was busy snooping through their snack box, turned and said “Language, Will!” He ran off the try and grab a bandage or cloth or something that didn’t have sawdust on it. Cecil dropped down next to Lou Ellen.

“What did I miss?”

Lou Ellen rolled her eyes for the nth time that day. “Will being a chaotic gay idiot.”

“Ah, so nothing new.”

**

The show was approaching quicker than Will was expecting it to. Parts of the set weren’t even finished being built yet, much less painted. He eventually gave up on trying to finish it all at once and called in Rachel to recruit art class students to start on the finished pieces while he, Lou, and Cecil built as fast as they could. It ended in a lot of late nights with just the three of them after everyone else went home; their supervisor usually dozed in the back.

After one particularly long night, Will shooed off his bleary-eyes friends, saying he could clean up himself. During this cleanup, however, Will discovered the bucket of dirty paint brushes stashed in the corner, as if whoever put it there was trying to hide it. Setting a mental reminder to ask Rachel about it the next day, Will sighed and grabbed the keys to the janitors closet. As much as he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse and/or cry, he was stage manager. This was his responsibility. Not to mention he was the only one left here to do it. So, he picked up the bucket to clean them himself.

Here’s the thing: Will hated the janitors closet. Avoided it at all costs, in fact. For his entire four years in tech, he’s managed to only go in it four times. Of course, he already knew he was going to have to in order to get the mop for the stage. It just so happened he was avoiding doing it until he absolutely had to.

The closet had a certain smell to it, one that everyone in tech seemed to be immune to except for him. It was grout and mold mixed with old paint and cleaning supplies that somehow managed to combine into a smell Will could only describe as cat pee; it never failed to give Will a headache after more than 30 seconds of being in there. Not to mention that the sink water was freezing cold no matter how you adjusted it. When Will noticed there were paint rollers in the bucket as well, he nearly cried. (They were made of some cheap fluff material that took forever to squeeze paint out of. Lou had nicknamed the task “the shitty handjob”).

Will had only managed to clean one of the six rollers in the bucket before he was interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Clearly, said visitor was confused as well as to what Will was doing, judging by his first words.

“Will, what the hell are you doing?” Nico almost seemed exhausted with him by the way he said it, although maybe he was. Will was definitely exhausted with himself. God, he was so tired.

The blonde’s answer was barely a mumble over the loud spraying of the sink. “I’m cleaning brushes.”

“What?”

“I said, I’m cleaning brushes!”

“Why are you cleaning brushes at-” Nico checked the clock on his phone. “-7:00pm? Have you even gone home today?”

When Will shook his head, Nico just laughed under his breath. “I mean, I get it. I have a sister who pulls all-nighters to finish an art project she has all the time in the world for. You were in the zone.”

Will laughed quietly too, although it was shortened by a yawn. “The worst part? This isn’t even my fault. I’ve been building all day.” He was forcing his eyelids to not go half-lidded; he didn’t need Nico interpreting what was exhaustion for, well, something else.

He went back to the roller in front of him. Nico just stood there a moment, fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Finally, he spoke again. “My sister is supporting her boyfriend in some language singing competition, and I’m her ride home. So I’m going to be here awhile if you, uh, want some help?” he offered.

Will just smiled to himself. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. Trust me, you do not want to be doing this.” When he glanced up, his hand with the sink hose shifted and he accidentally splashed water all over his jeans. “I prove my point.”

“I mean, I could sort of guess by your expression when I walked up here that you aren’t exactly enjoying yourself-”

“Tell me about it.”

Nico snorted at Will’s eye roll before continuing. “-But, maybe it’ll be more fun with someone to talk to. Plus, four hands are better than two?”

“If you insist. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though.”

Truthfully, Will was terrified. He knew how stupid that sounded, being a senior nervous to talk to this random junior that he forgot about up until a few months ago. Sure, they were friends, but always backstage with a thousand other people. Neither had really talked to the other one-on-one, and there was nobody in this wing of the school.

It was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the hose running as Nico handed him brushes to spray down.

Will took the plunge and spoke first. “How did you get into acting? You always seemed pretty quiet freshman year.”

Nico looked surprised. “Yeah, I never really thought I would like it either. But Hazel heard me singing and told me I could try out for some local church theatre. Turns out I’m not bad.”

“You’re telling me,” Will chuckled. “I couldn’t have been only one blown away by your audition.”

Nico didn’t respond, heat rising to his cheeks. Will wasn’t quite sure if it was him specifically or if Nico was just generally surprised by compliments. Honestly, he didn’t know which one he preferred either.

“Uh, thanks,” Nico smiled sheepishly before clearing his throat.“So, how did you end up becoming stage manager?”

“Dunno. I always wanted to be in one of the shows, but I figured out pretty quickly that I didn’t exactly have the voice for it, so tech crew was the next best thing.”

Nico lifted his head from the bucket and looked over at him. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked intrigued. “Usually when people say they can’t sing, they’re over exaggerating,” he pointed out. Without warning, he started pulled out his phone and pulled up the Addams family album. He tapped the screen a few times before “Pulled” started to play. When they got to the chorus, Nico started singing along.

“I'm being pulled in a new direction,

But I think I like it.

I think I like it.”

He gestured for Will to join. With hesitation, he did.

“I’m being pulled in a new direction

Through my painful pursuit,

Somehow birdies took root.

All the things I detested impossibly cute.

What do I do?”

Unfortunately, Will wasn’t exaggerating when he said his voice sucked. He had no sense of rhythm and was mostly tone deaf. Next to Nico, he didn’t sound any better. At least singing along to the recording made up for it a little bit.

He was pretty sure Nico was laughing at him, but that didn’t really matter. They went back to working on the brushes.

When the bridge came, Will accidentally splashed Nico with the hose as he mocked a violin at “string quartets,” which just resulted in an all out splash war. By the end of the song, both were completely soaked and nearly in tears with laughter.

Nico switched off his phone before the next song could play. “I don’t think you’ll be playing Wednesday anytime soon,” he said through laughter. “Though honestly, I wish you were. I would love to see that with a live band. Plus kissing you is probably easier than kissing Piper.”

Will chose to ignore that last comment for the sake of the sudden butterflies in his stomach. “You’d rather kiss me than Piper?”

Nico shrugged. “Kissing a girl is one thing. Kissing a girl who is also one of my best friends is another. That’s like kissing my sister.” They both shuddered.

(Well, at least he wasn’t being friendzoned).

“Could be worse,” he pointed out. “You could have to kiss your actual sister.”

Nico laughed. “You’re right, that’s so much worse than having to just kiss a girl.”

They finished up pretty quickly after that and said their goodbyes. Walking to his car, Will felt different. Lighter, almost.

It wasn’t until he started the engine when it clicked in his brain.

This wasn’t just some little crush on a guy he thinks is cute.

Will was falling.

thanks for reading! tag list under cut! (message me to be added/removed)

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[olicitysecretsanta]

Rings - Olicity Secret Santa 2017

Dear Carol ( @tdgal1 ),

I wish you a very merry Christmas and I hope this fic will be a nice addition to that for you. I tried to write you a fluffy fake dating soulmate AU, even though I’ve never written a soulmate fic before. At about a thousand words I realized I wasn’t even halfway through the story, so here’s a five thousand word fic for you, I hope you enjoy it :)

Lots of love,

Sietske ( @sweetme86 )

*–*–*–*–*

Title: Rings

Rating: General

Tags: #Olicity #soulmate AU #fake dating #no island #OSS2017

Wordcount: 5087

*–*–*–*–*

Legend said the Mark only appeared when one’s soul truly recognized its other half. In the seventies this had been reinterpreted to mean that you needed to sleep with your soulmate to make the Mark appear and in some instances, that did work. Of course, it also occasionally happened when people didn’t sleep together, but sex was a fun and easy way to connect to someone.

It didn’t take long for movements to emerge that protested using sex as a trigger, especially when cases of a true soulmate connection were found less and less. People were pointing fingers at promiscuity being the cause of the diminishing amount of soulmate matches.

The truth of the matter is that no-one knows exactly why soulmate matches are found so few and far between, that finding your one true match has become somewhat of a legend. Oliver Queen used to proclaim loudly and for everyone to hear that “it’s not a crime to try and find my soulmate, is it?”, whenever faced with paparazzi asking him about his very active love life.

The wink and suggestive smile that accompanied a statement like that had Felicity rolling her eyes at her screen. It’s not like she really kept up with the guy, but as a Queen Consolidated employee she had decided to do some research on the recently re-emerged ‘heir to the throne’. A little over a year ago she found herself in Starling City because QC offered her a job far away from her past. Though the playboy billionaire hadn’t gone completely unnoticed in her periphery, he also wasn’t someone she’d given a lot of thought.

It was rumoured – though never confirmed – that his parents had been soulmates. After Mr. Queen’s unexpected death, his wife had become somewhat reclusive and Oliver Queen had disappeared from the limelight and most likely from Starling City entirely. His best friend and partner in crime still made the gossip rags occasionally, but he too seemed to have cleaned up his act quite a bit.

A little over a week ago, every local news station was buzzing with the news of Oliver Queen’s return to Starling City and the rumours mostly seemed to revolve around his possible future within Queen Consolidated. Granted, the gossip rags were more interested in the ring on his finger and whether it concealed a Mark or perhaps implied a serious relationship.

Felicity didn’t care what the gossip rags were writing, but was interested in his possible involvement in his family’s company. If Oliver Queen truly was going to play a part in Queen Consolidated, it might have repercussions for her, hence her digging through old news-articles and video of one Oliver Queen.

She had been keeping a low profile at QC, trying not to stand out too much, but doing enough to ensure she got to keep her job. Her boss had always been eager to lick the heels of his bosses, and with Oliver Queen possibly returning her boss might just be looking to set an example of his 'expert leadership’.

The whole Cooper fiasco hadn’t left her uninterested in coding, but it had been a serious reality check regarding the power of a well-crafted virus. She enjoyed working with computers, helping systems run smoother with a line of code so clever she considered it to be poetry, but she never again wanted what happened with Cooper to happen again.

The ring on her finger was a result of the Cooper-fiasco. She figured if her love for Cooper was able to blind her so much so that she didn’t see his true motives, it would be exponentially worse in the event she ever – against the odds – found her soulmate. Soulmate matches happened rarely, but she was rather safe than sorry.

She knew like no other how much a person could change in just a few years, so when she was only able to find evidence of Oliver’s past digressions and next to nothing about his current exploits – or the last five years of his life for that matter, she decided to call it quits. Of course, she could dig a little deeper, but that would require hacking and she’d mostly given that up after the call that informed her of the fate of her ex-boyfriend a few years ago.

Felicity told herself that it didn’t really matter anyway. She’d been able to hang on to this job long enough without drawing unwanted attention; as long as she didn’t give her boss a reason to really notice her, the appearance of Oliver Queen shouldn’t have an impact on her position.

*–*–*–*–*

“Felicity?”

Her head snapped up at the voice that had rapidly become familiar in the last three months. “Oliver.” She slowly let go of the tension that had involuntarily lodged itself in her throat when his greeting startled her out of her coding zone.

She had tried so hard to stay under the radar, but apparently Mr. Queen’s hearing was better than she’d counted on. Her so-called boss had been trying to make himself seem better than he was when Oliver made his rounds through all the departments and Felicity had scoffed at the man’s blatant lies.

She thought she had covered it up well enough by following it up with a bit of a cough, but Mr. Queen’s eyes had found hers with a laser-like focus. He insisted she call him Oliver after that, and for some reason he kept singling her out in every meeting since.

“Anyone ever tell you to start wearing a cowbell or something? Stop sneaking up on me!” She tried to hold on to her glare when she looked at him, but as usual the amusement in his eyes was too contagious and any annoyance melted away like snow landing on not yet frozen ponds.

“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky Felicity, your focus on your work is simply stronger than should be humanly possible. Which is why I’ve come down here actually, could you take a look at this?” He handed her a folder and a USB. Why he insisted on paper copies when he could save a tree and stay digital was a mystery she hadn’t yet solved.

It was one of the very few mysteries she hadn’t really tried solving.

If he stayed digital he wouldn’t have a reason to travel down eighteen floors and see her in person, it would be a good idea to convince him to just email her when he wanted her to do something.

He was probably wasting precious time.

He must have better things to do than deliver projects to her personally.

He was being groomed to take over as CEO after all.

So why hadn’t she tried to convince him of this yet?

She told herself it was because he was smart enough to figure this out himself. After all, he’d come back from obscurity with an MBA to his name and had managed to convince the board of directors to put a Queen back at the helm of QC, be it on the condition he shadow the current acting CEO –Walter Steele – for a year before taking over.

Before she made the conscious decision to do so, her hand was already plugging the USB drive into the computer. A frown made its way to her face after flipping open the folder in her hands though.

She chanced a look at the man standing in front of her desk, but he was studiously looking at something behind her. Strange, as the only thing behind her was a blank wall. His fingers were rubbing together and if she were a gambler she’d wager he was, nervous? She’d never seen him nervous before.

“Are you sure this is the right folder?” She asked him.

His eyes flitted to her, to the folder and back to her in the span of a second. “Mmhm, yes,” He told her before his eyes went back to the apparently riveting image of the wall behind her.

Right.

“These are what, files on your family?” She was flipping through the pages that each held a portrait picture in the top right corner of the page, followed by basic information she imagined finding on résumés or if your mind went a less innocent direction, perhaps on police files. She recognized his sister, a guy she remembered seeing in a few articles regarding his sister, his mother, and finally Oliver himself.

It didn’t happen often that she was lost for words, but she had no idea what to make of this. He had developed a tendency to come to her with more delicate problems in projects he had taken an interest in, but never something with this much personal information.

She noticed him standing stock still at her desk and again not meeting her eyes, before she went back to skimming through the folder.

In addition to simple facts like age and education, there was more personal information provided too. The sheet on his sister contained a few anecdotes seemingly written from the viewpoint of a big brother; the guy on the next sheet was listed as his sister’s boyfriend of six months; according to the information on his mother, she was someone that put her family before anything else. There wasn’t much on Oliver, other than his current activities, a couple movies he liked and some other titbits that seemed more appropriate to talk about if they were on a date.

She closed the folder and tried to catch his eye, “Oliver, what-”

“There’s more detailed information on the USB, but I figured it might be best to just start with the basics.” He had started scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor, which was odd. His fingers rubbing against each other usually was the only nervous gesture that he didn’t seem to be able to contain.

She looked up at him incredulously. “More detailed information? Oliver, why do I now have dossiers on your closest family?!” She whisper-shouted at him, looking around to make sure they were alone.

“We’re friends right? I mean, we’re friendly. That…” He seemed to be gearing himself up for something, “Yeah, you- you tell me things that aren’t – you know – always about, well- sometimes we… talk? About- Not always about work stuff. And you tell me when I’m being an idiot. I’m not sure why but I feel like I can trust you?” He huffed out a laugh as he hung his head.

She expected him to keep talking, but as the silence grew thicker she couldn’t help but blurt out, “Was there a question I missed somewhere in that mess or did you suddenly just go mute?”

She scrunched up her face as soon as the sentence escaped her, she wasn’t usually this rude. Especially not to him.

“My sister is too romantic for her own good and has gotten it into her head that I need to start dating again. She’s so happy in her own relationship I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s actually delirious because of it.” The words came so fast she had to take a moment to process.

As soon as what he was saying filtered through though, her eyes found the ring on his left hand.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, they did sometimes talk about other things than work. Well, she babbled, he listened. They hadn’t ever talked about something as personal as their dating lives (or absence thereof). They both wore a ring, but most likely for very different reasons.

“Dating?” She shoved down the anxiety his words caused. “I don’t mean to pry, but you’re wearing a ring. Why would she try to get you to date?” The question made her chest ache, she didn’t want to discuss his ring, or her own for that matter.

He chuckled, “yeah, you’d think wouldn’t you. She’s been very, enthusiasticabout her own relationship. Shares more than I ever wanted to know about my baby sisters love life. I don’t think she’s ever believed you could fall in love without having found your soulmate, but ever since meeting Roy she’s over the moon, says the fates just can’t keep up with her. She doesn’t seem to realise that when she says stuff like that it only makes me call her Speedy more often.”

The soft look that had taken over his awkward fumbling while talking about his sister made her smile at him. “You’re still wearing a ring though. Can’t make it much clearer you’re not interested” she said, “And it also doesn’t explain why you felt the need to give me all sorts of random information about your family”.

Oliver wearing a ring wasn’t something she really dwelled on. When he had started showing up in her corner of QC more often, she took comfort from it. Wearing a ring had become a way to turn your back on the idea of a soulmate. Traditionally people exchanged rings during a wedding ceremony, some bearing the delicate designs inspired by the Mark that appeared circling the third finger of ones left hand. Some people chose a ring designed wide enough to cover an existing Mark or even to hide the fact there wasn’t a Mark there.

She figured she could deal with him worming his way into her life, because they both weren’t interested in finding a deeper connection.

“I know,” he replied. “Thea knows I don’t have a Mark and thinks I’m only wearing the ring for the public eye. People around here have a hard time letting go of the person I was before I left.

"She’s not completely wrong, it is easier to fend off unwanted advances with a ring on my finger, but it’s not the entire story. But I don’t really want to talk the entire story through with her.”

He started shuffling his feet again, maybe he would finally explain himself properly. His mouth opened twice without any sound coming out before he groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face. She thought she heard him say “Why is this so hard?” But couldn’t be sure as his hand was still covering part of his face.

“Just spit it out already!” She threw her hands up before sagging back against her office chair.

“Come to the pre-Christmas weekend with me so my sister stops trying to set me up with people” he said, in the same tone of voice he used to ask her help with a project.

She blinked, “What.”

“The pre-Christmas weekend? I told you about it last-”

She cut him off mid explanation, “Yeah I remember. And I heard you, all the words came through crystal clear. It’s just- the words aren’t making any sense. You… you want me to what, be your girlfriend for your family’s weekend getaway? Your Christmas getaway, with your, you know, family. As your girlfriend”

It took him a while to answer, and she had just started hoping she was just having a really elaborate case of word confusion when he said, “Yes”.

*–*–*–*–*

“I still can’t believe you wrote me files on your family.” They had been driving for a little over an hour and the view had become limited because of the trees on either side of the road.

He answered without hesitation, “You are always very thorough in any research I ask you to do. You come well prepared to meetings and you’re usually two steps ahead of everybody else. I figured I should do the same if I had any chance of convincing you to go along with this ridiculous plan.” He took his eyes off the road for a second to smile at her.

There was a tug in her belly as their eyes connected and she studiously ignored it, opting to keep her focus on the foliage around her instead. The sunlight filtering through the leaves left the air around the car tinted in a faint green. There were spots of snow on the ground between the trees, and any sunlight that made it that far created sparkles in the snow.

The world was beautiful out here.

*–*–*–*–*

She wasn’t entirely sure why she had agreed to this. Butterflies were wreaking havoc inside her from the moment the car slowed down- they had arrived.

The cabin –palace, she corrected herself- was gorgeous, the combination of wood, rock and enormous windows took her breath away. She felt a hand settle in the small of her back and looked up to see Oliver had already put their luggage on the wrap-around porch and had come back to the car, where she was still standing, gaping at the most luxurious mountain cabin she’d ever seen. Her nose and cheeks were tingling and she was pretty sure the cold had turned her normally fair skin red.

“Come on, let’s get you inside. Thea and mom are already here, I’ll introduce you.”

He smiled at her slightly panicked face, “They don’t bite you know”.

At least the nerves of meeting his mom and sister made it easier to ignore the tugging in her belly for now. “I know! Well not know know, because I’ve never met them, but I’m assuming. Most civilized people don’t bite. As far as I know.”

She threw him a desperate look, “Don’t let me babble when I meet them, they’ll never stop setting you up with people if they think I’m a crazy person!”

His responding chuckle calmed her down and made her feel a little less cold while they made their way to the 'cabin’.

*–*–*–*–*

“Ollie!” His sister almost knocked him over in her enthusiasm, “and you brought a friend? I didn’t think you were being serious!” She winked at him before looking Felicity up and down.

“Don’t be rude Speedy. This is Felicity, I would appreciate it if you could act like a normal human being- don’t want to scare her away now do you?” He teased before turning to Felicity again. “Felicity, meet Thea, my sister and bane of my existence.”

She pressed her lips tight together, but her eyes betrayed her mirth, “Nice to meet you Thea,” she said as she extended her arm, “Oliver’s told me so much about you.”

Thea ignored her gesture, instead going in for a hug, “I’m not as bad as he’d like you to believe, promise,” She whispered before bouncing back on her heels. “Mom went for a walk, but said to tell you to get settled in the blue room, she’s had it made up for you two.” Already walking further into the house, she said over her shoulder, “Dinner’s at seven, don’t make me sit through it by myself!”

*–*–*–*–*

The next morning after breakfast, Oliver took her on a tour of the cabin. He had a story for pretty much every corner they turned, and none of them were really about the cabin itself.

Everything he talked about was linked to Thea, or his best friend Tommy, “You see this nick right here?” He pointed to a scratch in the woodwork next to yet another bedroom, “Thea was running after me and Tommy again, but instead of letting her catch us, we kept dodging her. This is where Tommy dodged right into a side table with this huge vase on top. He managed to catch the vase, but the corner of the table dug its way into the wall.”

There was a smile on his face she’d seen a lot since they made it to the cabin, and it tugged on something deep inside her every time without fail. If she’d known this would happen she might not have come. It wasn’t supposed to happen, this was never supposed to happen. He was a friend, nothing more. The only reason she was here was because he didn’t want a- she cut that thought off before it could fully form. 'Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you Smoak’, she berated herself. He wore a ring for a reason, hell, she wore a ring for a reason.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Oliver continued, “It’s a miracle he managed to hold on to the vase, because Thea barrelled right into him as soon as he stopped running.” He looked at her and the smile slipped off his face.

“Are you okay Felicity?” He asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, sorry, I spaced for a second there,” she forced a smile back on her face, “you’ve got a lot of history here, it’s a shame you don’t get to share it with someone special.” The minute the words left her mouth, her heart skipped a beat. Why would she even go there?

She mentally cursed her wayward thoughts, making their way into the real world without her permission. They hadn’t really delved deep into their histories, but they covered the basics before coming here- neither of them wanted a romantic relationship. She just wasn’t sure that was completely true anymore.

She sighed, releasing a deep breath, “Sorry, my brain’s a bit scrambled. I didn’t sleep very well, strange environment and all that. Ugh,” she put her hand to her head as she scrunched up her nose as she continued, “here I am, complaining of a lack of sleep when you were bent like a pretzel all night, your back must be killing you”.

“TMI guys, T. M. I.” Thea said as she walked towards them, “I was coming to get you for hot chocolate, but I’m gonna look for something to wash my imagination away first.” She started backing away the way she’d come. Right before she was out of sight again, she said, “Tell me, what’s the best way to get rid of mental images? Bleach or vinegar?”

Felicity leaned into Oliver’s shoulder to smother the giggle that escaped her, even as her cheeks flamed a deep red. Oliver pulled her into a hug, as though they had been used to physical contact for years instead of days.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s find that hot chocolate”. His hands slid from their place around her, down her arms until he was holding her hands in his. They started walking, following Thea’s footsteps towards the kitchen.

She didn’t notice they were still holding hands until they were in the kitchen and he had to let go to pull her seat out for her.

*–*–*–*–*

Dinner that night had been strange. Would have been strange even without Thea’s not so subtle digs about pretzels and other bendy snacks. She’d hoped sitting across the table from Oliver would give her a little respite, because all day they’d been in contact in some way or other and it was messing with her head.

It was like they were magnetized and with every movement or turn their fingers would brush, or his hand found its way to the small of her back or to her shoulder. Walking around in the snow outside had been nice too, but she had to hold on to his arm because her boots didn’t have enough grip on the icy paths around the cabin. She just didn’t want to fall on her face!

All that contact had only led to more frustration though, because it wasn’t just her. If it was, she could’ve easily pushed it down, ignored the pull. But he felt it too, she was sure of it.

So she sat across from him, instead of next to him. He’d been giving her strange looks during dinner though, and as soon as dessert had been finished he claimed the mountain-air had wiped him out and went up to their room. Instead of joining him, like the pull inside her told her to, she curled up on the couch near the fireplace, staring at the fire.

The warmth from the fire and the excitement of the day’s events had her almost nodding off right then and there, if it weren’t for Thea joining her. The younger girl was uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps picking up on the strange tension between her and Oliver. They were sitting in silence next to each other for a while, before Thea was carefully choosing her words.

“He’s been avoiding relationships since his first girlfriend dumped him, that’s not a new thing.”

She pauses, like she’s not entirely sure how much she wants to share, “She got angry because her Mark didn’t appear after they slept together.” Thea’s twisting her fingers together in her lap and doesn’t look up at Felicity.

Curious as to where she’s going with this, Felicity looks at her but stays quiet, letting Thea search for words, “With dad dying and everything that came to light with it, he didn’t want anything to do with romantic relationships. When he came back home with that ring on his finger, I really thought for a second he’d found someone, that he wasn’t so lonely anymore. But he’d only closed himself off more, it’s like he didn’t come back at all.”

Thea looks up at Felicity then, big wide eyes with so much innocence and hope. She looks so much younger than she had all weekend, “A few weeks ago he started to change, mentioned this blonde genius every now and then.

"I’m glad he has you now, I think he’s finally coming back home.” Completely unaware of how much she rattled Felicity, she gives her a quick hug, whispers “goodnight” and leaves Felicity sitting on the couch.

*–*–*–*–*

By the time she gets to their bedroom, Oliver is already asleep on the couch. She’d told him the bed was big enough for two friends to share, but he’d insisted. She stands there for a second, taking in the silhouette of his slowly rising and falling chest, before pulling herself away to get ready for bed.

She’s staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, letting her mind play through every interaction she had with Oliver over the past few days. She’s pretty sure what she’s feeling isn’t one sided, but Oliver hasn’t given her any indication he wants to do something about it. In fact, he seems to have been pulling away ever since dinner.

Even if he was interested in more, he wasn’t the only one with a history that influenced the way he saw romance. She wasn’t wearing her ring for style. Letting someone in terrified her, so why was she even trying to analyse every look and touch Oliver gave her? She rolled over and groaned into her pillow, before remembering she wasn’t alone in the room.

On the outside she froze up, but her heartbeat thundered in her ears, not allowing her to listen for changes in Oliver’s breathing. She didn’t know how long she’d been laying there, willing her heartbeat to calm down so she could hear any other sounds in the room, but while she was waiting she finally managed to drift off to sleep.

*–*–*–*–*

Felicity woke to the sound of Oliver brushing his teeth in the connecting bathroom. She was still groggy from sleep as she padded her way over in her sleep-shorts and t-shirt. Her hair was a tangled mess and she was rubbing the sleep from her eyes when she entered the bathroom. “Morning” she said around a yawn, before grabbing her own toothbrush.

He looked at her with a soft look in his eyes that was in direct contrast to the way he’d been looking at her last night. He probably hadn’t been awake for long either, as he was still in the sweatpants and shirt he was using as pajamas. He spit and rinsed before replying with a quiet “good morning”.

There wasn’t a lot of room for him to pass her on his way out, and she felt the heat of his body on her back when he paused right behind her, rested his hand on her hip and pressed a kiss to her temple. He continued on as if this wasn’t out of the ordinary at all, until he was back in the bedroom. Felicity blinked hard, wondering if perhaps she hadn’t woken up at all yet. On autopilot she rinsed out her mouth and dried her hands. A pinch to her arm convinced her that no, she wasn’t still sleeping.

In a daze she walked out of the bathroom, only to walk right into Oliver. He looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights.

So she wasn’t crazy for being confused.

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, just staring at each other, until Oliver finally breaks the silence, “You weren’t- This wasn’t- God Felicity, I didn’t bring you here for this, I swear.”

He swallows. Her hands are in his- how did that happen? He folds their hands together before putting them flat against his chest.

She can feel his heartbeat against her hands, as the heat of his skin slowly seeps through his shirt and into the palms of her hands. Her own heart picks up speed and that weird tugging feeling she’d started experiencing the last two days comes back in full force. It almost physically makes her take a step closer to him, but she’s already standing as close to him as one person can stand to another without being pressed together entirely.

There’s an instinct telling her exactly where this is headed, and though she’s been so afraid of it for so long, right here right now, with Oliver so close, she feels safe. Safer and more at ease than she’s felt in a really long time.

She looks up and he’s right there, looking back at her. There’s so much tenderness in his eyes, but she can see badly concealed fear lurking in the shadows. The kind of fear that is only present when faced with hope you thought was crushed long ago.

They might have very different reasons to fear love, avoid the possibility even, but the essence of it is the same. They see each other for who they are. And just like that, she knows it’s okay to be scared, she’s just not going to let it hold her back anymore.

She lifts her face up as he leans towards her, his hand sliding over her shoulder to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. She can’t help the giddy smile that takes over her lips right before they connect to his.

Neither of them notices the appearance of the beautifully detailed matched markings, wrapping around the ring-fingers of the hands still entwined between them.

*–*–*–*–*

[imaginingcriminalminds]

Solving the Case

Title: Solving the Case Author: thetheatrelady Rating: T Prompt/Summary: fulfilling the prompt referring to the criminology students discussing the lipstick on Hotch’s collar  Main Character(s): Hotch and JJ Trigger Warning: none Word Count: 1506 Beta/Editor: none Multishot: no Author’s Notes: Any spoilers for either S11 or S12?: No

“…but it doesn’t make any sense. Like okay, sure! Raise the prices for the metro system. But what is it doing? Are the trains going to be on time? Are they cleaner? Are the annoying subway performers going to be any less frequent? The answer is no. It’s still going to be the same crappy commute, only now it’s more expensive. And don’t even get me STARTED on peak fares. I mean you’re already stuffed into a car with like, a hundred other grumpy morning commuters. Why should I be punished just because my job requires me to travel at the same time as most other DC residents? It’s just… Hey, are you listening to me?”

Hanna doesn’t even lift her eyes from her laptop screen where she was staring intently as she tabbed back and forth on her keyboard. “Yeah, of course,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Hello… Earth to Hanna? What is so important that you’re not even paying attention to my most deserved tirade against the Washington DC public transit system?” I shifted in my seat, trying to get a look at her screen.

She finally turns to face me. “Nat… How closely do you look at Agent Hotchner while he’s lecturing?”

I can’t help but stare at her as if she has grown an extra head. “I mean… I really want to pass this course and become an FBI agent, so I tend to pay attention to him when he’s speaking, but I wouldn’t say I check him out…” My eyes grow round and my jaw drops open. “Oh my god. You are hot for teacher. Admit it. You wake up every morning dreaming of his glorious five o’clock shadow and you have to battle with yourself throughout class to not launch yourself out of your desk and jump his sexy, sullen, stoic bones.”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “What? No! Of course not! What is wrong with you?” She turns her computer so that I can see what she’s been working on. “Okay so as you know, I make a habit of recording all of our lectures so I can go back and double check facts when I have questions.”

I roll my eyes at her fastidious study habits. “I mean sure. What does that have to do with your torrid love affair with Agent Hotchner?”

She ignores me and begins to pull up screen pulls from past classes. “Okay so check this out. This is from our lecture on arsonists, like four months ago.”

I lean in and look at the picture of Agent Hotchner she had pulled up on her screen. He’s standing at the podium, arm outstretched towards the PowerPoint screen. “Yeah, sure. That’s him.”

“Okay but look.” She hits a few keys and the picture zoomed in on his face. “Look at his collar.”

I stare at her close up. “What about it?”

“There. Right on the inside of his collar. Do you see it?”

I move in closer and squint at his shirt. “See what? What am I suppose to be looking at?”

“Nat! Right there!” She groans and zooms in even closer.

“Wait… is that-”

“Lipstick. Yes. On Agent Hotchner’s collar. As in, sometime between him getting dressed in the morning and him coming to teach us, he had a very romantic rendezvous with someone.”

“Alright! Get it, SSA Hotchner!”

“But that’s not all. Look at these other photos.” A couple more key strokes and four additional pictures join the first on her laptop screen. “All from lectures following the arson lesson. All starring our beloved teacher, all with various shades of lipstick on his collar. Meaning that this was not a one off thing! He’s seeing someone! And considering that the average FBI agent arrives at the office around seven am and our class convenes at eleven, this mystery woman has to be someone who works here, seeing as he wouldn’t have time to leave and meet her.”

“He’s banging someone that works here?” I can’t help but screech. Several heads whip around to look at us.

“Natalie, keep your voice down!” Hanna hisses at me, tilting her laptop screen so that our classmates don’t see her research. “We don’t want him to get in trouble!”

“Sorry…” I whisper sheepishly. “So… He’s banging someone who works here, right?”

“Right,” she agrees. “Now, it could technically be anyone, but I think it has to be someone who works closely with the BAU. The teams work independently, and it would be really difficult to try to plan a tryst when the two teams happen to both be at home in Quantico. Plus, it would be difficult to explain why he was spending time with someone from a different unit.”

I pull my hair into a ponytail and open up Chrome on my own laptop. “Okay, it’s a female agent who works closely with the BAU. Let’s take a look at our potential unsubs.” I bring up the agent directory and filter as necessary. “So… we have Section chief Erin Strauss, technical analyst Penelope Garcia, and special agents Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss.”

“So I think we can rule out Chief Strauss. The color of lipstick on his collar tends to be a light pink, but can sometimes be a darker mauve. I’ve never seen her wear lipstick that wasn’t strictly a nude color. So it can’t be her.”

“Yeah,” I snort, “also that would be super gross. Can you imagine the two of them going at it like horny teenagers?”

“Focus, focus. Now the same goes for the tech analyst, Garcia.”

“Well yeah. None of the lipstick was like, turquoise or neon green.”

“Exactly. Which just leaves both of the supervisory agents, Jareau and Prentiss.”

“Hmm…” I stare at both of their pictures on my web browser. “I mean it could be either one.”

“I bet it’s Agent Jareau. Before she became a profiler, she served as the media liaison. Apparently they worked closely to pick the cases the BAU investigated.”

“But she’s not the liaison anymore,” I remind her.

“That’s true, but I cross referenced both of their names with local newspapers, and Hotch’s first wife was a blonde, which would lend itself to a type-”

“-Hanna, just because he was married to a blonde, doesn’t mean he only likes blondes-”

“-but most importantly, I found the birth announcements from both of their sons, and they attend the same school and play in the same soccer league, which Agent Jareau helps coach when she can. Which I think we can agree means they still spend quite a bit of time together.”

“Holy shit, how much time have you spent thinking about this? Like, how did you manage to get any homework done?”

“Plus, in her picture, Agent Prentiss is wearing darker lipstick, almost a mulberry. Nothing like the pink in the picture.”

“But I mean, it could still be her! She looks like someone who specifically disregards every rule set forth by the FBI.”

“Well that’s true. But I would bet money it’s Agent Jareau-”

“What, how will we ever possibly know who-”

“I will bet you five dollars-”

“Hello everyone, I apologize for running a few minutes behind. Please take your seats and we’ll get started shortly.” I sit back in my seat and turn my attention to our teacher as he takes his place behind the podium. Hanna hits me in the arm, but I already see what has her in a tizzy. Now that I’ve been made aware, it’s glaringly obvious.

As he goes about bringing up today’s lesson on the projection screen, we can see a small smudge of what is unmistakably pink lipstick on the inside of his collar.

“See it happened again-”

“I know, Hanna, I have eyes, I can-”

“Ladies, care to share with the class?” We both sink a little lower in our seats and shake our heads at our instructor. He nods back at us and turns back to the screen.

“Okay so today we are going to be taking a specific look at what used to be known as the homicidal triad. It is also known as the triad of sociopathy but it’s actual name is The MacDonald Triad. It first proposed in 1963 by the psychiatrist-”

“Excuse me, Agent Hotchner? You uhm, you left this file on my desk.” Hanna is once again punching me in the arm, but I simply reach into my bag and pull out my wallet, slapping a five dollar bill on to her desk. Because standing in the doorway of our lecture hall, case file in hand, is none other than SSA Jennifer Jareau. And even if you were to disregard the faint blush staining her cheeks, the uncharacteristic messiness of her blonde waves, and the mischevious twinkle in her eye, the soft pink lipstick gracing her lips irrefutably solved the case of what, or more accurately who had made Agent Hotchner late for class.

[smokinracer-blog]

Cafe Grumps

((I said I was gonna do it.  Here’s the drabble of Nil and Monitor’s first meet, because since this friendship is now canon (very canon), I might as well give it a proper introduction.  This drabble occurs early December of 2016))

This certainly wasn’t Nil’s first venture into the realm of toons, although she still felt she needed more time to get into the swing of film-jumping.  Being a video game sprite, she was admittedly self-conscious it would be obvious she didn’t belong.  The spider-virus was also aware she was slightly more vulnerable than she would be if she stuck to the world of code -- as the rules governing the new lands she visited were much more strictly set in place.  There were no one’s or zero’s to move around that would make things go her way.  But Nil wasn’t out for conquest, at least not yet.

Nil enjoyed observing these untouched lands.  This is why she chose to visit a very isolated video cassette.  The VHS player was plugged into a wall, allowing her access to it, and contained within were recordings of a handful of Saturday morning cartoons.  She was drawn to a section containing the Beetlejuice cartoon, feeling a land of dead people would be exactly her style.

After a while of aimless wandering, including several instances of dodging the local yokels as they cavorted about, Nil found herself in what looked to be a business district of sorts.  She entered a small cafe that seemed quiet, at least in comparison to everything so far.  She spent a fair amount of time observing, ordering several coffee’s over the course of a couple hours.  It was mid-afternoon and business was slow.  A few monsters sat at a table and one appeared to be a skeleton with a film camera for a head.  Nil squinted at it before she was distracted by the tingling of the front entrance.

A cold wind blew in from outside as a disgruntled-looking ghoul let himself into the cafe.  He was decently large, especially compared to Nil’s less-than-staggering height of just slightly over four feet.  The most identifiable feature of this ghoul were the four television screens that served as his heads.  Nil recognized the character from the couple dozen or so episodes she’d watched of the cartoon.  This was Mr. Monitor, an on-and-off antagonist that worked at some in-world television network.  Nil turned to look out a far window and, through the snow flurry outside, she could barely see the Network building towering in the distance.

“Shouldn’t you be over there, tube-head?” she muttered to herself.

Nil’s attention was taken by her phone, which buzzed, alerting her of a text.  It was from someone designated “Cobra Commander”, and she rolled her eyes upon reading the text.

“Mind your own business, Turbrat.  I don’t bother you when you’re having personal time,” she sneered, tapping the keypad with her pointed nails.

After she was finished replying to her virus acquaintance, she turned her attention back over to the ghoul, who by then was waiting in the pick-up line, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Yeah.  You’ll do,” Nil purred musingly to herself.

“This is my only lunch break.  Do they know who I am?” the ghoul breathed.

The teenaged workers behind the counter clearly were not being paid enough to acknowledge his scolding comment.  Mr. Monitor just frowned and put a hand on his hip.  Not long after, he was aware of the presence behind him.  He was not too important to ignore the grey-skinned woman when he was addressed.

“Hey big guy, do ya’ think this can hold you over?” Nil said, holding one of the paper coffee cups in her hand closer to him, “I ordered, like, three.  You can have one.”

Briefly, Monitor flicked his eyes in the direction of the cafe workers, who were taking their sweet ass time.

“You look like you could use it.  I didn’t spit in it or nothing.”

He sighed deeply before brushing off some snow that was still accumulated on his suit and turning to face her.  The frowns he wore lessened, although they still dominated his expression.  Nil smirked just ever so slightly as the cup was taken from her hand.  They turned toward the counter, taking a sip from their respective drinks almost in unison.

“How much do I owe you for it?” Monitor questioned in a droll tone, rooting into his pocket for his wallet.

“Don’t worry about it.  Pretty sure I can afford the loss,” Nil responded.

“Minotaur?” interrupted the teen behind the desk.

“Monitor!  You boob.”

“Whatever.”

Monitor curled his lip and glared down.  The stoic employee presented him with a large cup of black coffee and some kind of a sandwich in a paper wrapper.  After paying for his lunch, he turned around to find the grey-skinned woman still standing where she had been.

“You’re still here?” he snorted.

“Well yeah.  Do you wanna go sit at that corner table over there, big guy?  I’d hate to watch you have to eat your lunch all by yourself.”

Tilting his heads up in the direction of the indicated seat, Monitor paused for a moment before starting to walk.  Nil followed behind him, observing his movements with interest.

“Do you happen to know who I am?” asked the ghoul as he sat down.

“You’re that Mr. Monitor guy who does… some kinda job over at the TV station,” Nil responded, hand-waving her lack of knowing his title proper.

He didn’t seem pleased by the response, “The Neitherworld Network is so much more than a singular television station; we are the largest distributor of programming in all the Neitherworld.  And I am one of the highest-ranking ghouls working there.”

“Oh really,” Nil responded, smiling coyly, “How high-ranking?”

Monitor glowered and focused his attention on unwrapping his sandwich.

“Hey.  Come on, mister grumpy tubes,” she said laughing slightly, “It’s okay.  You can tell.  I used to sorta work in entertainment myself you know.”

He lifted his heads after having taken a bite of his sandwich.  One of his mouths chewed whilst the other three spoke: Nil found this slightly distracting.

“Is that so?” he swallowed and continued, “Very well.  I’ll have you know, I’m second in line to the throne.  Hah hah.  I’m very close with the Head of the Network.”

“Hm.  You too, huh?” Nil responded, putting her cheek in her palm.

“Me too?  Me too what?”

“Second place?  I’ve kinda always been stuck as number two back where I used to work,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, lifting his eyebrows, before shrinking in his seat, “Actually… you miscount.  I’m number three.  Ah -- the chain of command is: the Head of the Network, his Special Assistant, and then myself.  Ah hah hah.  That’s what it is on a good day, anyway.”

Mr. Monitor resumed eating as a way to avoid any further discussion of the subject.  Nil folded her hands on top of the table and waited.  Between his four mouths, it didn’t take long before the sandwich had vanished.  It was as he was cleaning his faces that he noticed the woman hadn’t bothered him further.  She must have realized he wasn’t comfortable talking about his current standing within the Network.  Given that a usual day for him consisted of humiliation and panic, he appreciated her supposed sensitivity.

“How rude of me,” he chortled suddenly, “I’ve never asked your name, dear.”

“Nil,” she said.

“Don’t you have a last name?” he asked.

“Don’t you have a first name?” she replied, smirking.

“Fair enough,” Mr. Monitor said before reaching his hand over the table.

Nil hesitated before extending her arm out.  Though his hand was almost comically large compared to her’s, he somehow managed not to hurt her: although his grip was freezing.  A pain-free handshake was a decent way to start a partnership, she thought.

“You said you worked in entertainment as well?” Monitor purred.

She slid her talon away from his massive paw.

“Used to,” Nil uttered, “Guess you could say I was sorta an actor?  But, fuck, I was never the starring role.  Know what I mean?  I think you do.  Anyway, my career was sorta ruined.  My, um, ‘show’ was, uh, ‘canceled’.  Follow?”

“I am not sure that I do,” Monitor said, before leaning in closer, “No.  You’re a warm-blood.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, static-breath?”

Monitor smiled, moving back, explaining, “Nothing bad.  Necessarily.  You’re alive is what I meant.  You have a pulse.  You expel oxygen.”

“You figure that how?  I feel pretty damn dead most the time,” Nil snorted.

“Your hand.  It was warm,” he stated, “Although you’re strange.  In appearance you could pass as dead.”

“Pardon?”

“A complement, Miss Nil.  A complement.  Hah hah,” he cleared his throats and continued, “Are you, perhaps, not from here?”

Nil was silent.  She was silent long enough for both of them to take an awkward sip of their coffees.  At last, Nil shrugged, putting her hands up.

“You got me, big guy,” she said, “Is it that obvious?”

“Hm.  Well, you don't strike me as an ordinary -- whatever you are.  I have a strange feeling in my gut,” Monitor made an attempt to explain.

“Oh I see.”

It was becoming clear that her virus infection could be picked up even when she was so far away from the digital world.  Her head sunk more heavily into her palm as she realized she could likely never blend into a crowd again.  She didn't want to cause the old ghoul trouble, so she looked away just as he started to tilt his heads in confusion.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Ohh ho ho ho, no!” Monitor projected, “Don't flatter yourself.  You aren't nearly the most nauseating individual I come across on a daily basis!  Not even remotely close, madam!”

Nil looked at him.  He was leaning back in the seat, one of his fists balled on the table, his eyes focused beyond her.

“You’re not like-- like, Beetlejuice!”

She opened her mouth but the TV was intent on continuing on.

“Obnoxious nuisance!  I'm expected to work with him, like some sort of cruel joke.  It isn't even like I can fire him.  I tried once.  Apparently, the show simply cannot go on without that annoying buffoon.  Why, I'm about through putting up with him.  But there's--”

“Nothing you can do?” Nil spoke over him.

Monitor put his elbows on the table and massaged his side panels.

“Yes.”

“Sounds like a shitty time.”

“You have no idea,” he whined, “My poor transistors.  Oh, my heads hurt just thinking about him.”

“Yeah.  I get ya.  Not fun.  Hey, big guy, I had an obnoxious friend when I was working in entertainment too.  Actually, he was the guy who ruined my life.”

“Mm,” he grumbled.

“He pesters me to this day too,” Nil added.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Monitor said, closing his eyes.

Nil continued to watch him even though it seemed like he checked out.  He ran his hand across his faces.  Suddenly, his spine straightened.  He pulled up one of his sleeves to reveal something around his wrist.  Rather than having a watch, there was a cartoony looking chart, displaying something in real time.  Mr. Monitor stared at it nervously.

“Oh.  Your ratings, right?” Nil said.

“Ah.  Hah hah.  Correct.  Oh, I don't like this,” he whimpered.

Nil was at his side in a moment, looking at the thing on his wrist.  She squinted at it.

“So what's the problem?” she asked.

“They're going down.  The ratings are going down!”

Nil was silent for a moment longer, before saying:

“That chart doesn't look like it moved to me.”

“Hush!  I'm the professional!” he snapped.

“You're a looney.”

His eyes started to dart around the cafe as he hissed, “Enough.  I have to amend this.  I must -- I must-- oh.  What'll I do?  The Network depends on me.  I'll fire my PA!  Yes.  I'll fire--”

“Woah, woah, big guy!” Nil interjected, grabbing his sleeve as he started to stand.

Mr. Monitor yowled, feeling his arm pulled.  Nil immediately let him go seeing his dramatic reaction.  He glared and sank back into his seat.

“Don't grab me,” he growled.

“You don't like that,” she said.

“No.”

“I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have grabbed you,” Nil murmured, turning her head away, “Fuck.  I of all people should've known better.”

The ghoul began to move his gaze back toward his chart, wheezing nervously.  He resumed his rant under his breath for a moment before Nil interrupted:

“Easy.  Easy.  I was just trying to get you to calm down.  Don't wanna burn yourself out, right?”

“But I--”

“Calm down.”

He didn’t seem like he was listening.  Stubbornly, he went to stare at the chart again.  It was then that Nil began to get the impression she was fighting an uphill battle.

“Are you okay if I touch you now?” Nil asked, not wanting him to freak out again.

“Go ahead,” Monitor responded, agitation in his voice.

Reluctantly, she put her hands on one of his arms.  This time, he barely seemed to notice.  She scooted in a bit, trying to get between his line of sight and his chart.

“Hey.  Look at me,” she said, waited for a moment and then added, “All of your eyes please.”

Each of his faces turned toward her, sporting rather frazzled expressions.  She patted the arm she’d been holding.

“You’re okay.  I’d hate to watch you have a conniption.”

“Hah hah.  I’m surprised it matters that much to you,” he breathed, “You’re, hah hah, worried about me?”

“Yeah buddy.  You sorta were just having a breakdown.”

“Ohh.  Don’t bother.  I’m well acclimated to the stress, Miss Nil.  Now.  Ahem...”

Mr. Monitor looked down at the arm her claws were laying on.  After she brought her hands back, he rose from his seat.  Nil mimicked him.

“I really do need to start heading back to the Network.  I am a very busy man.”

They both turned toward the cafe window at once.  The snow flurry had grown thicker.  The cold wind could be heard from outside.  Curiously, Nil observed the ghoul’s response.  He looked unhappy, pocketed his hands and let his heads sink back into the collar of his suit.

“You’ll catch your death out there,” Nil said.

“If that’s a joke…  Hmph,” Monitor grumbled.

“You game for me walking you back to work?” she offered.

“Can I not be rid of you?  Very well.  Let’s proceed, shall we?”

Moments later, the tingling of the bells at the door sounded as the pair stepped into the snow-covered city outside.

“Hmm.  I will need to come up with some kind of solution to that abysmal viewership!” Monitor scoffed, briskly moving along, bringing a hand close to his chins, “We haven’t had fresh programming in a while!  I’ll need ideas.  Ooo.  Something -- something provocative, but not stale.  Let me see…”

“Hate to interrupt your monologue, big guy, but if you’re looking, I could bring you some material,” Nil crooned, smiling, “I can pull a few stings for you.  I guarantee I can give you things you’ve never seen before.”

Mr. Monitor turned to look down at her as he walked.  He was wearing a few less than well-meaning grins himself.

“Can you?  Oh, that’s a big promise.  A big promise indeed,” he thundered, “You can bring me cheap thrills -- scandal -- the lowest common denominator?”

“Well, Mr. Monitor, you’ll have to find out tomorrow,” she told him, looking away.

“I --  Ah?  Tomorrow?” the ghoul whimpered, looking like a disappointed child.

“Tomorrow.  We’ll have lunch.  Same time, same place.  How’s that?”

“That is, ah hah hah, acceptable,” he panted, before stopping and turning to her, “But are you sure you can’t tell me what you have in mind? -- a small taste perhaps?”

“Hmm.  Okay,” she conceited, stopping herself and facing him, “You have to come in close.  I’ll whisper in your ear.”

Monitor began to stoop to get to her level.  As they came closer, Nil’s yellow teeth became visible in a tiny smirk.

But then:

“ I hate myself for lovin’ you

Can’t break free from the -- “

Staring daggers at the phone she whipped from her pocket, Nil took a step back.

“Fucking Christ!  I thought I silenced you!”

She jammed her claw into the screen and then brought it to the side of her head.

“What do you want, dickcheese?  I’m kinda in the middle of something here,” Nil demanded from the device.

“Ooh, heavens me!  Hoo!  We are crabby!” said the voice from the other side.

“No shit, Turbrat,” she snarled, “I told you to leave me alone.”

“Who are you with, sweetheart?”

“Not this shit again.  What’s it matter to you?”

Meanwhile, as this disaster unfolded before him, Mr. Monitor slowly began taking steps back.  Once he felt he was a safe distance away, he pulled at his collar, which only grew more sweaty by the second.

“Look, Turbo.  I’m living my own life now.  You’re the one who has a problem not getting over that.”

“Miss Nil, ahh hah hah,” Monitor interrupted, anxiously side-stepping, “As you’re currently busy, I’ll see myself back to the Network, thank you.”

Nil covered her phone with her hand, “Wait.  I just need--”

“No ho ho!  I’m quite okay!  I -- hah -- I’ll see you again tomorrow.  Have a nice day!”

With that, the TV monster made his swift retreat.  Standing for a few seconds with her arm outstretched, Nil witnessed him vanish into the snow squall.  Furrowing her brows, she slowly returned her phone to its position at the side of her face.  A few seconds of silence passed and in that time Nil became less tense, sighing deeply.

“So then, what have you been up to?” asked the voice, attempting to sound casual.

“I think… I made a friend,” Nil stated slyly.

“Splendid!  Who’s your new friend!?”

“Hm.  That old Beetlejuice cartoon -- you know of a Mr. Monitor?”

“I -- haha -- I’m afraid that rings approximately zero bells.”

“Ratings guy?”

“Ooooh yes.  The… evil Windows logo?” the voice chuckled hollowly, “You meet him?  That interesting.  I suppose.”

“A little high-strung,” Nil muttered, “Poor guy.  I duno.  I tried to make him feel better.  He seemed to appreciate my caring it at least.”

“Oh.  Nil, Nil, Nil…  There’s no use in that.  Status quo has to be maintained.  Trying to help is a waste of time.  That’s why I avoid the toon world -- there’s no code there, dear!”

“I know.  I wasn’t born yesterday,” Nil jeered as she sat on a nearby bench.

“See, Nil: we can’t puppeteer the likes of them.”

“Well Turbo, maybe I’m not interested in forcing this world or my new friend to do anything.  Maybe I want a genuine relationship for once.”

“You’re, haha, confusing me Nil.  I don’t think I like this.”

“Good.”

Nil hung up without another word.

((whhoooo’s ready for the follow up drabble where Nil introduces her not-boyfriend to Turbo???))