#everyone who's voting angel hair is now my enemy

[goddesswritings]

“Can I slap her for you?” - Corpse Husband | Part One

Title: “Can I slap her for you?” – Part One

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Reader

Summary: Being stuck living with the queen of YouTube drama and partying during the pandemic has seriously worn down your patience. Meeting Pokimane has changed your life for the better, making Among Us a pivotal part of your life.

Word Count: 5.3k

I’m always writing so much plot! I hope you like it. Part Two is in the works.

********

Credit to PIC owner!

This pandemic was hell for you. Being stuck in this apartment with your bitch of a sister was not something you would wish on even your enemy.

When you first moved to LA with her, things were fine, and you got along. She had a budding YouTube career, and you were working a good job. Pretty quickly, she’d hired you as her editor since that was a daily part of your real job, you happily agreed because it meant you could get money on the side and still work.

Your sister was mainly a beauty YouTuber but last year she gained over 3 million followers when she started a series where she would interview people in other lines of entertainment and then test it out. Since then, she’d become a horror to live with.

Now with the pandemic, you’d been furloughed from you day job and working full time for your diva of a sister. She had only been getting worse and worse. Being stuck with her was crap, especially since she was selfish and still went out to party and do collabs with people like there wasn’t a massive virus out there.

“I hope you finished the editing I needed done.” Olivia, your sister, asked as she shut the front door.

You were just finishing up the edits from your spot on the couch. “Yeah, I did it while you were out risking lives.”

“Shut the hell up. I’m an adult and I can do what I want.” She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Even when it’s killing hundreds of thousands of people?” You were so sick of her attitude. She has no care in the world for anyone but herself. In the last month, her name had been posted all over the commentary YouTubers channels. Slamming her for partying while the world dealt with Covid.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Those people are not my problem at all. If they are so afraid, they should just stay home.”

“Why are you so selfish?” Her behavior was completely out of hands these days.

“Do I need to remind you that I pay you?” She sent you a glare before heading off to her room. You grumbled and threw your head back. There was no way you could handle her.

Stressing out over her was no good, so you decided to take your laptop back to your room and play some games to calm yourself down. Among Us was one of those games that allowed to you just play and forget the stress. You booted up the game and joined some random lobbies. It was hard to find good games because you usually ran into some sour players who couldn’t just play the game without causing drama.

A few rounds in, your phone buzzed, indicating a text. You exited the current game, one of the imposters had already killed you anyway, and picked up the phone. There was a text from Poki. The two of you had become quick friends when she appeared on your sisters series but she clicked more with you since you were more of a gamer.

P: Hey Y/n, what are you doing currently?

It was an unexpected text because you had been fairly sure Poki had a stream tonight.

Y/n: Nothing since I just finished editing my selfish sisters video. What’s up?

She knew very well how horrible Olivia was and she’d been the one person who you could talk to about it. You appreciated her for it.

Poki: Damn, did she go to another party?

Y/n: Yup, she sure did. Then threatened my job when I called her out on it.

Poki: Wow, not cool. Hey, so you know how I’m streaming tonight?

Y/n: Yeah.

Poki: So I had everyone set up for the game but last minute someone dropped out. We need one more person and I know you’re amazing in Among Us. Would you join our game?

This was a surprise. You weren’t a YouTuber or a streamer, so for her to ask you, meant she really was desperate.

Y/n: Sure, I’m free. Who’s playing tonight?

Poki: Rae, Lily, Ethan, Mark, Felix, Toast, Sykkuno, and Corpse.

Wow, that was a packed game full of some pretty big names. Your nerves kicked up at the thought of being in a game with these amazing people.

Y/n: Sweet!

Poki: I will send you the discord so you can join the chat and the game code.

Y/n: Thanks.

She instantly sent you the links and you got your self set up with your headphones. Poki connected you into the discord call.

“Hey, everyone welcome my good friend, Y/n. She’s the one who will fill in on the open spot tonight.” She introduced you to the group.

A chorus of hello’s was heard. You knew Rae, so she jumped right into welcoming you.

Pushing the nerves away, you managed to little hello. Your voice was softer than you’d intended. Damn nerves.

“Guys! Y/n is so good in Among Us. Her skills rival Corpse’s.” Rae gushed. You’d played a game with Rae and Poki and a few of the other girls, but no one had been streaming.

“Whaddup baby.” The deep voice of Corpse said. His voice was something else.

“Don’t make her too nervous there, man.” Felix commented which made the other guys laugh.

“Oh no worries, I’m not nervous.” You said even though you really were nervous. You switched into the game and typed in the code Poki had sent you. Immediately the game lobby popped up, filled with everyone who was on the call. Your character popped onto the screen and took the white color.

“Good to know. I look forward to being an imposter with you.” Corpse said making your cheeks heat up just a little.

“You really need to watch out for her.” Lily said making you giggle. She was right. You were a deceitful imposter.

You quickly changed your hat to the halo, making you match your chosen username, Angel.

“Look how fitting her character is.” Mark commented. “Is that an indication of how you will be?”

“Perhaps.” You were starting to calm your nerves. “You will just have to find out.”

“Okay, let’s get started.” Poki said as the countdown started on screen. You muted your mic. The screen flashed the crew-mate title, and you felt a little more relieved. You hated starting as an imposter.

The map you were in was Polus, your favorite. The first thing you did, was the navigation task before also doing keys. Nearly everyone was there, which meant the two imposters were faking the tasks. After that, you ran off entering the building that housed electrical and o2. You looked around for tasks.

“I have my eye on you, Angel.” Felix said as he came into o2.

You unmuted your mic. “Good, then you can watch me teach you how to do tasks.” You sassed, making the group laugh.

“Damn, I already like her.” Ethan said, getting sounds of approval from Sykkuno, Mark, and Corpse.

“Stop simping and play the game.” Poki commented, making you laugh.

Leaving o2, you ran outside to check the weather nodes. Felix was still following you closely. He was convinced you were an Imposter.

“Why is this guy following me around?” You asked, trying to run from him.

“Felix, what are you doing?” Rae asked as she popped up beside you.

“Making sure she’s not an imposter.” He sounded innocent.

“Well I’m not. Now go do your tasks.” Once again you ran from his character and entered the office. You passed Corpse’s black character before heading in, to do card swipe.

Suddenly a body was reported. Felix’s body.

“Whoa, okay, Y/n did you kill Felix?” Toast asked.

“What? No? I left him to go do my tasks.” You defended.

“I can confirm she was in office with me. I watched her do card swipe.” Corpse added.

The thing was, you passed him as he was leaving the office, and he definitely didn’t stay to watch you. He was headed in the direction you had left Felix and Rae. So, both were sus.

“Okay, then Rae where were you?” Sykkuno questioned.

“I left Felix by weapons. I was headed to lab.” You couldn’t decipher a lie from her.

“Hmmm, okay. Skip then?” Ethan offered. The group agreed.

Once back in the game, you decided to head to labs to find the rest of your tasks. Sykkuno followed you but broke off to go through decontamination. You did your scan in peace before another body was reported. This time it had been both Mark and Lily.

“Any sus?” Ethan asked.

“No, I was in electrical.” Toast said.

“I went to o2.” Poki added.

“Y/n, where were you?” Toast questioned. You were sure he thought you were an imposter.

“I was in the lab doing my scan, which I never got to finish.” You hated being interrupted mid-task.

“Anyone see her go there?”

“I passed her while I headed to decontamination.” Sykkuno vouched for you.

“Sure but the body was right outside the lab. She could have gone back to kill Mark after you were gone.”

“But I didn’t. I was doing my task.” You repeated with a little smile. You loved this game.

“Sure. I don’t believe you.” Toast was a hard one to convince.

“She didn’t do it. I entered lab and she was doing her scan.” Corpse spoke up. Again he was covering for you when you know he was not in Lab with you.

“Okay. I guess we skip?” Poki said. Everyone agreed but when it was done, you had two votes but three had skipped, so you had been spared luckily. Toast for sure voted for you, you had no clue who else did but it didn’t matter.

Back in the game, you headed back to lab to finish your scan. Once done, you headed to decontamination, then to the specimen room for a task. As you entered, you found Corpse.

“Hey Corpse, having fun with your tasks?” You asked as you went to your own task.

“I sure am.” He stated before his character was running out of the room and up to the lab. Once your task was done, you had finished all your tasks and headed back to Admin. You entered office to find a dead Sykkuno, so you hit report.

“That was for sure a self-report.” Toast quickly said.

“It wasn’t, but okay.” You said shaking your head. Toast was so sus on you all game.

“I’m sus of Toast.” Rae said while Corpse and Poki agreed with her.

“Wait, Ethan is dead too. Damn, these Imposters got around.” Toast commented. “By the way, I am not an Imposter. Y/n is.”

“She’s not. I have seen her do her tasks all game.” Corpse was quick to come to your rescue. It was sweet how he was vouching for you all game.

“Sure, I’m voting Y/n.” Toast said as his ‘I Voted’ badge popped up.

You decided you were going to vote off Toast because he was getting on your nerves. Apparently the others were feeling the same because everyone else voted off Toast as well. His character was launched into the Lava. Toast was NOT an Imposter.

Back in the game, you ran around, just seeing if you could spot anyone being sus before Poki was killed. Straight after the defeat title showed, and the Imposters were revealed to be none other than Rae and Corpse.

Everyone dropped back into the lobby.

“I told you I wasn’t an Imposter.” You boasted.

“Sorry Y/n, I should have believed you.” Toast said.

“No worries. But hey, Corpse and Rae had plenty of chances to kill me, but they didn’t. Why?” It was interesting to you.

Rae laughed. “I didn’t want to kill you right in the beginning of your first game with us. You deserved to have some fun before you got killed.”

“Well thank you.” It was sweet of Rae to do that.

“I didn’t want to kill an Angel. It wouldn’t be right.” Corpse stated with a cute laugh afterwards.

Felix groaned. “But you have no issue killing anyone else.”

“It be like that sometimes.” Ethan stated which had you in stitches, as well as the rest of the group. “Okay, let’s begin another round.” He added.

The next few games were fun and interesting. You were always a crew member, but someone was always sus on you. But no matter what, Corpse would vouch for you. Sometimes his character would follow you around, do tasks with you. It was pretty freaking cute and clear to see the man with the alluring deep voice had taken a liking to you. It was sweet.

“One more game?” Poki asked after a slew of other games. Everyone agreed. She started the game and after the countdown, the screen flashed that you were finally an Imposter. Your fellow Imposter was of course Corpse. It was only natural.

You and he teamed up and killed many of the others. Starting with Rae and Lily, moving onto Toast and Sykkuno. Then someone finally reported the bodies.

“Four bodies already?” Mark stated as the red x’s showed up on their icons.

“Damn, someone is having fun.” You said, pretending like it wasn’t you who had done half of the killing.

“I saw Poki headed into Electrical where Lily and Rae were.” Corpse said, sounding genuine as always. He was so good at Imposter. His ability to lie was excellent.

“Sure I went to Electrical, but I left after fixing the lights.” Poki said.

“I don’t know. You seem sus.” Ethan said. “I saw you enter lab, and after I saw Sykunno’s body right before someone reported Lily and Rae’s.”

“I swear, it’s not me. I was just doing my tasks. How could I kill four people in that short amount of time?”

“It’s possible. You could have vented.” Corpse was right too.

“Guys, please.” She pleaded as everyone put in their votes. Nearly everyone had voted for Poki and her character was launched into the lava, only to show she was not an Imposter.

“Sorry Poki.” Ethan said before everyone hopped back into the game.

Once again, you and Corpse were teamed up, but you saw Mark head one way while Ethan was going another. Almost silently, the two of you decided to split up and take them. You followed Mark into O2, trailing him into the tree. No one was around, so you killed him before quickly venting away from there. Making sure no one was around when you resurfaced. Corpse must have killed Ethan because the Victory screen popped up for the two of you.

“Damn, I should have known this was a team effort between Corpse and the Angel. You’re far from an Angel when you’re an imposter.” Mark complained.

“That’s part of the thrill.” It really was. You loved being able to shock people that way.

“Good job, partner. You’re a great Imposter like me. We need to team up more often.” Corpse’s words made you feel all warm. It was insanely fun being Imposter with him. Your combined skills made things that much better.

“Okay, I think it’s time to call it a night. Thank you so much for joining us, Y/n.” Poki yawned to show it was getting late.

“Of course. I loved playing with all of you. It was much better than playing with randoms.”

“I get that. Randoms can be very annoying.” Sykkuno agreed. “It was so good to meet you, Y/n. I hope you join more games so I can be an Imposter with you!”

You loved how excited he sounded. “I guess we all want a chance to be Imposter with her.” Felix stated what everyone else was thinking.

“Hey, no one steals my Imposter buddy.” Corpse spoke up, which once again had you feeling some kind of good way.

“Corpse, you’re being such a simp.” Rae laughed, which made everyone else go nuts.

You all bid your goodbyes before you exited the game and the discord call. You found there was a huge smile on your face after that fun you had just had with Poki and her friends. They were all super welcoming of you, despite not knowing a thing about you.

Poki: Thank you for playing with us. I hope you had fun! You didn’t mind being on my stream?

Y/n: I had so much fun, everyone was so good to me. Also, not at all!

Poki: Good because my chat loved you! They couldn’t stop gushing about how much they loved you. It was so cute.

This was not something you had expected. Her stream had never met you, so for them to like you playing a game with the group, that was nice.

Y/n: Oh wow, I wasn’t expecting that. That’s so sweet!

Poki: You also seemed to get Corpse simping for you. Sykkuno is super jealous.

You laughed when you read that.

Y/n: Sykkuno doesn’t have to be jealous. It was a one-time thing, and he can have Corpse back in the next game.

Sure, you wanted it to be more than a one-time thing, but you weren’t going to let your hopes get too high. Poki had many streamer friends, who would get their streams way more viewers than you ever could.

Poki: I wouldn’t count on that. We’re definitely going to use you for more games. You’re one of us now, even if you don’t stream.

Her words warmed your heard. Poki had been one of the very few people you had made friends with when you moved to Cali with your sister and your friendship was only 10 months old. It was nice to have someone who wanted to include you in on the things she was doing.

Y/n: Are you sure? Because I would hate to be taking someone more interesting’s spot.

Poki: You shut that mouth. The group loved you and we’re all looking forward to playing with you again.

Y/n: Okay if that’s what they want.

Poki: They do, now get some sleep. I know you’ve been overworking yourself for your sister.

Y/n: You would be right. Thank you for the fun night, Poki. You get some sleep as well.

Poki: 😊

You liked her message before deciding it was indeed time for bed. Editing those videos did take energy out of you, especially since your sister would review and have you re-edit the things she didn’t like. Not fun at all.

****

The next month passed by with Poki inviting you to more games with her and her friends. Most of those games included Corpse, who’d taken a liking to you. The last few games, he’d been bugging you to tell him who you were and how you met Poki, but you were keeping that a secret. You really didn’t want him or the others knowing you were the older sister of selfish party girl Olivia Bella.

Your sister had found out you’d been playing the game with Poki and her friends and decided she was going to say some shit.

“How did you get Poki to let you play with her and the other streamers?” Olivia said with clear distaste towards you.

You shrugged. “She just asked me to step in for someone one day and now they enjoy playing with me.”

She laughed obnoxiously. “That such a joke. I needed that laugh, thank you.”

You clenched your fists, trying to contain your anger against your sister. She was really grating on your nerves these days.

“Damn, I would do anything to play with Corpse. His voice is so hot.” She muttered looking deranged.

“He’s much more than his voice you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s whatever I want him to be. God, I bet he’s so sexy behind that screen.”

“Please stop, he’s my friend and talk like that is uncomfortable.”

She cackled. “Corpse is not your friend, you loser. He just tolerates you like the rest of that group. I bet Poki only asked you to join out of pity.”

Her words slapped you in the face and threatened to strangle you. It was unbelievable that your younger sister was really acting like this to you.

“Why are you like this to me?” You questioned in all seriousness.

“Because you annoy me. Isn’t it obvious. I meant if I had the money, I would have moved here without you. Living with you is the worst. You know you’re like the most boring person in the world?”

The insults just kept on coming. She truly didn’t like you and it felt horrible. Family wasn’t supposed to be like this. “I get it, thank you.” You walked away before she could say anything else, she was horrible to you.

Her words made you sad. The only thing that could cheer you up was the fact that Poki had invited you to another game. It was something you needed after that conversation with your sister.

Poki: Hey girl, this kills me to do but Sean invited someone else to play tonight. Someone he said was eager to play with us. I’m so sorry.

This was simply perfect. The one time you craved interaction with the Among Us crew, they added someone else to the game. Of course it was always a possibility, but it didn’t stop from making you upset.

A couple of tears streamed down your face before you wiped them away. You wouldn’t let this get to you.

Y/n: No, please don’t worry. I understand it is always a possibility. Have a good stream!

Poki: I think you should know the person joining us is your sister. I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but they didn’t really believe me. I’m so sorry.

Your sister was the reason you have been replaced for tonight. Perfect. Of course it was her. She always took the things you liked, away from you.

Y/n: Please stop apologizing, I completely understand.

Poki: Should I tell them she’s your sister?

Y/n: No, please don’t let them know that.

Poki: Okay, please know we will miss you in tonights stream.

Doubt filled you. After reading those words. There was no way they would miss you in the game tonight. It was clear you didn’t bring in viewers for the streams, but your sister would be able to do that without any issues. Now your night was truly ruined. Thankfully, you could just lay in bed and sulk all you wanted.

The bedroom door burst open. “Hey, can you set up this game for me? I assume you know I’m playing Among Us with the crew tonight. Told you they didn’t care if you were there or not.” Did she ever stop this shit?

“Why should I help you?” You grumbled, glaring up at your blonde-haired sister. She looked like she was dressed for another party, not an off the cuff stream.

“Well, I pay you and if you want that to continue, you will help me set up the game and stream.” Her hanging your only source of income over your head was really shitty.

You growled but got out of bed, passing by her in a haste. You entered her office and quickly got to work setting up the stream and discord. Then you showed her how to load the game. She just nodded, not looking happy at all.

“Have fun.” You sounded bitter but at this point, you couldn’t hide it.

“Oh I’m going to have so much fun with them. It’s going to be so good, and maybe they will ask me to join them more often and they can stop faking their friendships with you.”

“Cool, good for you.” The audacity of this bitch. You left once you were sure it was set up correctly. She didn’t see, but you shot her the finger as you left. She was a bitch through and through.

You retreated to your room to sulk some more. This day was such a let down for you. Over the last month, you had really clicked with the Among Us group. Meeting more streamers as Poki had more games. They all seemed to like you, but your sister was probably right, they were just being nice because they could.

As you stared at your ceiling, you heard your sister talking and knew the stream had started. Groaning, you threw on some headphones and put on your playlist that was saved strictly for when you were sad. It helped to take your thoughts from the stressor at hand? And ease your mind.

****

Meanwhile, the stream was hell. Sean majorly regretted inviting Olivia onto it. To be fair, he was only being nice because the girl had been begging to join the game for a while now in his DM’s. But it was a huge regret with the way this woman was acting. She couldn’t even be Imposter without outing herself and the second Imposter.

“You guys know Y/n is my sister right?” She said offhandedly as they were waiting in the lobby for the next game.

“Wait what? Is that true?” Ludwig asked in disbelief. This woman was nothing like Y/n. She was a total ditz compared to Y/n.

“Of course it is. I have lived with her for twenty years now, I know a lot of dirt about her.” Hearing her say this angered Poki.

“Don’t go there, Olivia. Just play the game.” Poki didn’t want her to spill anything about her friend. It was messy that she would even want to.

Olivia sighed. “Awe but you would love this.”

“No, let’s just play the game.” Corpse was quick to cut her off.

“Come on Corpse, are you sure you don’t want to hear all the embarrassing things I know about her?” Everyone was quickly realizing just how messed up in the brain Olivia was.

“You do realize most of us are streaming this live?” Rae stated, sounding just as frustrated as Corpse felt.

“Please, let’s start the game.” He all but growled, wanting to shut this woman up. The game started and he pulled out his phone. He was going to finally get Poki to tell him Y/n’s instagram.

Corpse: I know you told me you couldn’t tell me what Y/n’s instagram is but please, can I get it now? Her sister is a fucking bitch.

He has so much more he wanted to say about Olivia and entitled attitude but making sure Y/n was okay was his number one priority.

Poki: She’s going to hate me if I do it.

Corpse: Please, this is important to me.

Poki: You owe me. Here’s her insta.

She sent him a link that led to a private instagram under the name Y/nY/l/n96. He requested to follow her.

Corpse: Thank you, let me know when to pay up.

Poki: Will do, now get into the game or Olivia is going to kill you. She’s imposter.

He got back into the game, hoping Y/n would accept his request.

****

After an hour of ‘sad girl hours’. You decided to do something that could help you not to focus on Olivia streaming in the other room.

Clicking instagram, you saw a notification. corpse_husband has requested to follow you. This was interesting. Either he’s smart enough to figure out who you are or Poki told him.

You accepted his follow and followed him back. He only had seven pictures, and of course there weren’t face pics. You admired him for keeping himself faceless to his fans. Now you hoped he wouldn’t bend to their pressure and reveal his face. Being faceless was good for him and his anxiety. The latest pics were his hand reveals he did for the fans, they made you giggle.

Corpse was good at keeping himself secret and you liked that. You did what you could to stay secret as well. Your Instagram profile picture was not even you, so no one would be able to point you out even if they knew your face. Also, you have hidden the account from Olivia, so she couldn’t send her fans to torment you.

As you scrolled Instagram, you received a DM. It was from the one and only Corpse Husband.

Corpse: This stream is hell without you tonight. Why did Sean have to invite her?

It made you feel a little better to see that Corpse was missing you in the stream tonight.

Y/n: That’s a question you will have to ask Sean. I was looking forward to playing Among Us with the group as well, but hey, it looks like they found someone who will bring in the views.

Corpse: Nope. She’s chasing away everyone’s viewers. Your sister is the worst. I see why you didn’t want us to know the two of you were related.

Your blood ran cold. How did he know that?

Y/n: How did you know she was my sister?

Corpse: She won’t shut up about it. No one can get her to stop. I’m sorry if you didn’t want us to know about this.

Of course, you should have known that Olivia was going to tell everyone that. She was also probably opening her mouth about so much other stuff.

Y/n: Well fuck. This sucks.

Corpse: Hey, don’t worry about it. No one is judging you for this, but we are wondering how you manage to handle her.

A soft giggle left your mouth.

Y/n: It’s not easy. I mean sure I’m the older sister, but she acts like the queen around here.

Corpse: Damn. Here we go again. Your sister is trying to start some drama.

Hearing this, you realized you had to do something about this. There was no way you could let her sit there and continue to mouth off about you or anyone else in her life.

Y/n: Brace yourself, I’m about to ruin her stream.

Corpse: Good luck!

It was time to put her in her place, you got up and headed to the utility closet by the front door of the apartment. The fuse box was located there. You opened it and found the switch for her office and clicked it off. It was half a second before a loud scream was heard.

In less than thirty seconds she was running out of the office with a livid look upon her face. “What the fuck have you done?” She screamed while stomping up to you.

“I heard you were talking shit about me and decided to end it.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“I can say whatever I want. The group was enjoying it.” She tried to act smug.

You laughed in her face. “Do you ever not lie?”

“Do you ever stop being a bitter bitch?” The anger was clear, but you didn’t care.

“Oh fuck off. You were annoying them with your ridiculous bullshit. I completely saved your ass from making a fool of yourself.”

“I fucking hate you!” She stepped up to you. “I’m kicking you out. Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my apartment.” The look on her face, showed she was serious about this.

“Fine.” Was all you said before you turned around and went back to your room, well your former room now. Pulling some bags out, you stuffed some clothes and important items into them. Once filled, you pulled on shoes and made sure you had what you needed until you could come get the rest of your stuff. Currently, you didn’t know how to feel about any of this, but you did need to get away from her.

PART TWO >>

[ahtsumu]

the grey area ; tendou satori

pairing: tendou satori x f!reader [ft. semi eita cameo]

synopsis: tendou thinks you need to live a little. you think he’s the devil incarnate.

tag(s): college!au, stuco!au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, tantalising witty banter, semi is a Good Bro™, reader is a fully developed character ; warning(s): profanity ; wc: 8.1k

a/n: hey gang! this is the longest fic i’ve ever written in my life LOL anyway i truly had a blast writing this and i hope you feel the same way reading it 

There are many things in this world that perplex you: decaffeinated coffee, college-level calculus, and last and most perplexing of them all, how in tarnation Tendou Satori’s spectral body slithered its way into your sophomore student council.

Rumours surrounding the business major with blood-red hair had spread like hellfire during his campaign–– stories of his sadistic treatment of competition during his volleyball days, whispers of the utterly callous way he spoke to classmates, hearsay that you, the incumbent president and election favourite, had originally taken with a grain of salt. It was, after all, only presidential to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But now, as he sits with his back against his chair, one ripped-jean clad knee protruding above the table, and a smug grin on his ghastly face, you think back on the rumours you’d heard before. And you agree.

Tendou Satori is the devil incarnate.

“Excuse me?” you ask as if you’d just heard him incorrectly. You didn’t. You’d heard him loud and clear.

The smirk on his face grows. “I said, Miss President, that we’re not a help centre for the college students who can’t handle college-level work. Who knows? Maybe they’ll learn a thing or two from the struggle.”

You feel like you’re playing a game of tennis. Feeling all eyes in the cabinet shift to you, it suddenly occurs to you that you have to end the rally before it gets out of hand. It’s important to establish your authority at the first meeting. You will not let yourself get walked over by your vice president.

“As the sophomore student council, it’s our duty to represent all sophomores’ opinions and struggles. Therefore, I believe that reviewing the workload of certain courses is a discussion we must entertain,” you reply levelly. Good. Diplomatic enough.

Tendou’s red eyes survey you with mild amusement. Then, he crosses his arms over his raised knee and rests his chin over his forearms.

And he smiles.

Because though he might be the demon of Shiratorizawa, you’re not the angel everyone thinks you are.

Angels don’t clench their fists under the table.

His observation rings true again at the second council meeting, just a few days after the announcement of the council’s senators this year.

Tendou has his legs propped up on the edge of the table, one foot over the other, much to your ire. It’s incredibly unprofessional. “A senator’s vote should never hold as much power as an officer’s. There’s a reason why they’re a senator,” he says matter-of-factly.

“But they’re important,” you argue. “There’s twenty of them and five of us. They do the most physical work and carry out most tasks. If we told them that their vote holds only a fraction of ours, we’d lose all legitimacy. They could even impeach us.”

A devious grin creeps over Tendou’s pallid face. “Then don’t tell ‘em.”

Red hot fury pumps through your veins. “Transparency––”

“Is a lie. All governments lie,” he interrupts. “That is how they survive. Politics is dirty. No one comes out of the game a saint.” No one enters a saint, either.

He watches you with careful eyes, noticing that although you turn the corners of your mouth upwards, at the same time, you also curl your fingers slowly into your palms. That you’ve slipped on your mask of virtue and all-that-is-holy, ready to give one hell of a performance. Interesting.

“How about we just… hold a vote right now?” Noa asks, suddenly breaking the tension in the room. The public relations officer smiles uneasily between you two, hoping that one of you will take the bait.

“What a wonderful idea,” Tendou drawls, mirth dancing in his eyes.

And as expected from the courteous and polite, you acquiesce, fighting to hide the way your fingernails are digging so deeply into your palms that even hours after you stride out the meeting room, damnation on your mind, the blood-red crescents still remain visible against your flesh.

“No,” he says after you pitch your idea for implementing an on-campus Medical Emergency Response Team, MERT, to reduce the number of alcohol-related injuries the sophomore class is embarrassingly accounting for. “It’s not anyone’s job to wrap drunk nineteen-year-olds in fluffy blankets and kiss their boo-boos bye-bye. If you land yourself in shit after drinking underage, you brought that shit upon yourself.”

“But the MERT would help all students on campus, not just sophomores,” Hana, your treasurer, argues in your defense. You smile pleasantly her way. Perhaps all those free Starbucks runs weren’t for nothing.

“Admin doesn’t have the funding for that. Even if we passed this proposal, they’d just veto it,” Tendou retorts. “Isn’t that right, Hana?”

He knows he’s won when Hana doesn’t reply. “It’s great having an idealist for a president. But not all of us can live in paradise.” Good thing the vice president raises hell, then.

From your seat at the table, you feel the tides shift in his favour.

From his seat, he smirks.

And you see red. Because deep down, you know he’s right.

Politics is a dirty game. And though your hands appear as the cleanest at the table, they are also the emptiest. Nothing in this world is infallibly clean.

“Prez,” he calls out when you, always last to leave after meetings are adjourned, walk past him in the hallway.

With a tight smile on your face, you spin around to face your demon.

You should’ve known better, though, because where the devil goes, hell follows. And as Tendou’s thin pupils fix themselves firmly on yours, as his uncharacteristically mirthless mouth opens, as his revelation shatters your peace of mind, all hell breaks loose from the leash in his hands. It barrels towards you with foam in its mouth.

A cheating ring.

Under your and the school’s noses, the sophomore class has formed a cheating ring with more than a hundred students involved. And some might even be members of the student council.

“Out of all of us, I’d bet Noa,” Tendou guesses. “The stuff he says in his morning announcements? I wouldn’t put it past him. Hana’s too smart to cheat. Niko? He’s the secretary–– I trust secretaries with my life.”

You notice he’s left out one person in his analysis of your cabinet and cross your arms. “And me?”

Tendou’s eyes narrow as his lips pull back into a sly grin. He doesn’t say “you have morals” or “you have integrity” or even “you’re too straitlaced”. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t say anything about your goodness. When Tendou finally says that you aren’t part of the ring because “you wouldn’t risk tarnishing that spotless reputation of yours”, you both know that he’s really calling you a coward.

Stamping out the fire in your eyes, you ask, “Where’d you hear about this?”

“Some of the guys I play pick-up with. They have volleyballs for brains–– they’re definitely in it.”

“And they didn’t assume that you, the student council vice president, would snitch?”

One corner of Tendou’s mouth twitches upwards, though it looks a lot more bitter than smug. “Do I look vice presidential?”

It’s a rhetorical question–– of course he doesn’t. Pity almost adds itself to the short list of feelings you have towards the devil. Almost. Because then you remember his blatant disrespect for rules, for morality, for authority. How he doesn’t care about others. How he doesn’t look respectable because he isn’t. And that flicker of pity is also snuffed out. Power, you think, commands a respect that he doesn’t deserve.

At your silence, Tendou’s head drops subtly in a nod. He thought so, too. With his point proven, he continues, “Then here’s our plan. I––”

“Uh...” You bite your lip.

Nothing escapes Tendou’s hellishly keen pupils.

A bolt of realisation streaks through his mind and, instantly, his sharp features are illuminated with what can only be shock. Genuine shock. There’s something he had wrong about you. You’re more than a coward.

“You don’t want to take down the ring.”

Forget the rules. Forget morals. Forget authority. Your power comes from the will of the people. And your people, the students of Shiratorizawa, are all cheaters. If staying in power means backtracking on your word, then so be it.

You’re an actress.

A cackle, wild like Ninth Circle wind, leaps from his throat. “Of course. What did I expect? You’re just another power-hungry hypocrite, aren’t ya, Prez?”

If only the ground beneath your feet could open and swallow you whole.

He leans towards you until you’re at eye-level and cocks his head to the side. “What a shame.” He chuckles softly, straightens his spine, and shoves his hands in his pockets before heading towards the other end of the hallway. Throwing you a glance over his shoulder, he adds with a lilt to his voice, “When you decide to be the saint of the council again, let me know. I don’t hold grudges.”

The walk back to your dorm feels more like a trek. Try as you might to forget the incident in the hallway, nothing can shake your feeling of being totally seen through. After so long, cracks are finally starting to appear in your porcelain mask.

Dad wouldn't be very happy about this, you think sourly. His calculating eyes burn from your memory even though you haven’t visited home in a while.

Power is deceit, he’d often said. The most powerful even deceive themselves.

And for as long as you can remember, those words have held your head above water: from the day you ran back to the house from school in fourth grade with tears in your eyes, cursing the kids you’d thought were your friends, all the way to the day you strode across the stage at graduation with CLASS PRESIDENT embroidered on the stole on your neck.

You befriended your bullies, winning them over compliment by compliment, brownie by brownie. You charmed your teachers, arriving early to make small talk, leaving late to ask questions. You gripped helplessness and forged it into power. Invincibility. Evolution. You made people adore you. And slowly, you clawed your way out of the darkest depths of the ocean and onto a throne.

But at the end of each day when you take off that crown, you realise over and over in the grand emptiness of the throne room that you aren’t powerful.

You’re just a great pretender.

Clenching your fists tightly, you cut through the quad for a shortcut back to your dorm. As you pass a vibrant row of pink carnations, your mother’s voice whispers over the loop of your father’s words, just like she’s always done.

Be someone everyone wants to respect, but above all, love.

Your brows furrow. Isn’t that what you’re doing?

The devil lights the cheating ring on fire a week before the start of semester exams. You learn about it through the school newspaper.

TENDOU SATORI TAKES DOWN CHEATING RING, SAYS IT WAS “HIS PLEASURE”

Throwing the scrunched up newspaper on the library table in front of him, you hiss, “Why?”

“You’d know if you read the article,” Tendou replies in a sing-song voice, though his gaze remains glued to his phone. “Cheaters never win.”

“I didn’t take you for the righteous type.”

Finally laying his phone down, he meets your eyes with upturned lips. “That’s because I’m not righteous, Prez. I just do what feels right.”

Crossing your arms, you stare down at his half-lidded gaze. “And what do you call that?” If Tendou Satori is about to say that all of his actions are conducted in good faith because it “feels right”, you’ll be damne––

“Call it intuition.”

There is nothing you can say to that. Perplexed, you remain standing in front of him, unable to string together a coherent response.

Intuition?

Knowing that he’s caught your tongue, Tendou grins like a Chesire cat. You firmly press your lips into a thin line, spin around, and prepare to storm out the library. Staring at his face for any longer might leave you with high blood pressure.

But the feeling of his cold hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks. A gust of ice sweeps through your veins. Turning around with goosebumps all over your body, you shoot him an impatient glare, hoping your shock hasn’t dampened its intensity.

“You might want to read this,” Tendou says. In his other hand, he holds the wrinkled newspaper.

He’d been right about Noa.

Beneath your feet, the ground, in a diabolical delayed reaction, finally opens.

In the wake of Studygate (as the students have labelled the scandal), your second-semester student council is noticeably emptier. It’s also noticeably gloomier. Along with your public relations officer, five senators have been expelled from the university. Morale is at an all-time low. Even the campus, without Noa’s morning announcements, feels a little too quiet.

That, you learn, is why the Executive Council president Ari is currently sitting across from you and Tendou in the library.

“As much as we denounce Noa’s actions, we can’t deny that his morning announcements brought our campus closer together,” she says with a sigh.

Tendou, who’s leaning against his seat with the usual nonchalance, ankle propped over his knee, hands tapping a beat into the armrests, nods in agreement. You don’t. You never tuned in anyway.

“The Executive Council is asking the two of you to take over the show for the rest of the semester.”

You blink. “Why can't we just have people apply to take over the position?”

Ari has probably prepared for this question. “Both admin and Exec are now… a little wary of who in this school gets to be in positions of power.” Ah. “Tendou, you were our first choice for Noa’s replacement, not only because of your colourful personality, but also because you’ve shown that you’re trustworthy.” She faces you. “Y/N, you were chosen to keep Tendou in line on the off-chance that he goes overboard.”

“So I’m the babysitter,” you say with a frown. Tendou cackles. Suddenly, you wonder if she knows just how insufferable he truly is. And what hell you’d be putting yourself through if you accept her task–– not that you won’t. The summit of your mountain doesn’t stop at class president. You still have more to climb and you have a feeling that this project might just take you to the top.

“That’s up for the two of you to decide. We expect to see you both in Room 103 at the Media Centre at 6 AM every morning starting tomorrow,” Ari states with an air of finality. Smiling, she stands up, throws on her coat, and leaves.

You and Tendou are left to mull over your new project.

“I––”

“Save it,” Tendou says, pushing himself off his chair. “I’ll handle myself. Your pristine reputation can stay spotless, Prez. Just like last time.” With the faintest trace of a smirk on his face, he, too, leaves.

You detest Tendou Satori.

More importantly, as you think about how unfair it is that Tendou can be unapologetically himself–– callous, condescending, and confusing–– and still have everything handed to him on a silver platter, you realise that maybe you don’t hate him as much as you think.

You envy Tendou Satori.

You envy how he can say things like “you brought that shit upon yourself” and still get his pitch passed. You envy how he can sneer all he wants and still have people listen. You envy how he, in his beat-up Converse and ripped skinny jeans, never looks dignified at all and still commands the same reverence as you.

You imagine how great it’d finally feel to be able to tell someone to “shut the fuck up.”

To snark back instead of biting down on your tongue.

Forget the rules. Forget chasing morals. Forget craving love.

Blinking rapidly, you force the rogue thought out of your head. Absolutely not. Tendou may get things done, but he certainly doesn’t have the peoples’ respect, much less love. No one looks at him like they look at you: a point for guidance. Still, the vision of the person you could be if you tried lingers in your memory. You roll your eyes. It’d never work. Politics is all about perception.

And its deception.

Six in the morning is an unreasonable time to be awake. Five forty-five is an even more unreasonable time to wake up. For the wicked, however, the absence of sun from outside doesn’t seem to be a problem.

“Goood morning, everyone!” Tendou sings, waving at the studio camera. “It’s your local menace, Tendou Satori.”

“And me, Y/N,” you add, less enthusiastically. “We’ll be taking over the morning announcements from now on.”

The rest of the segment passes without a hitch. Tendou tells a story about a strange dream he had (“... so there I was, chocolate sauce on… my apron… ”), updates the student body on an overhaul of the library’s rules (“In other words, students are strongly advised to stop studying the library and, instead, give up on their dreams and die”), and, surprisingly, even offers some words of encouragement to your classmates. You, however, have been noticeably quiet.

“... to sum it up, although the sophomore class has been rocked with some crazy shit, to say––”

“Tendou!” you hiss, looking to Ari with wide eyes. She shrugs and gestures for the show to go on.

Tendou’s eyes lock on yours as he smiles slyly. “So the president speaks!” He turns back to face the camera. “Sorry about her, folks. Our precious Prezzie’s a little camera shy.”

“Am not,” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. Eyeing the smirking redhead warily, you realise that he’s provoking you on purpose. For what? To see you crash and burn? “Just thought I’d let you set the bar for our first showing. Y’know, so I can raise it in our next.”

Expecting to see surprise on his features, you can only crease your brows when you see… satisfaction.

“Guess we’ll just have to see if Y/N can keep her promise in tomorrow’s segment! This has been Tendou and Y/N, thanks for listening, and have a splendid rest of your day!”

He flashes the cameras a peace sign just before someone yells, “Cut!”

Immediately, Tendou swivels around in his chair. “I gotta say, Prez. You––”

“Good work, guys,” Ari says when she approaches. “The media team will have this uploaded in about thirty minutes, which our school’s early birds will be the first to view when they wake.”

“What about Tendou swearing on air?”

Ari looks at you with a strange expression on her face. “This is college, Y/N. You can swear if you want to.”

Tendou laughs.

You string his name with every curse you know the entire way back to your dorm.

At midnight, you suddenly remember that you have a script due in six hours.

By two in the morning, you have written a grand total of five miserable words.

Good morning, everyone! It’s me,

You also have sixteen tabs open from a Google search for “funny ways to refer to self”.

A pair of blood-red eyes flash in your mind. You could ask for help. At that, your expression darkens. You refuse to fall second to him. You don’t need help from someone like him. Soldiering on, you furiously clack away at your keyboard, somehow managing to finish your literary monstrosity at five in the morning. At least it’s done.

Your eyes are as red as his when you walk into the studio, gripping a venti coffee in one hand and your script in the other.

Tendou looks surprised.

When your gaze shifts to the news desk beside him, you see why. Already neatly stacked on either side of the desk are two piles of paper.

His script.

Your blood boils.

“What is this?” you hear yourself asking, feeling your fingers suffocate the sheets in your hand.

“You didn’t text me or anything last night. I prepared for the worst.”

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, maybe it’s the feeling of losing burrowing in your chest, maybe it’s the fact that you finally have to acknowledge Tendou Satori’s undeniable competence–– or maybe it’s all of the above. But when you brush past him and furiously scan the script he’s written, your already fractured mask finally bursts. Because it’s so much better than yours.

All around you fall jagged shards of clay.

“FIVE MINUTES TIL LIVE!”

Tendou watches your body tremble. When you raise your face to the ceiling, cheeks shiny with water, chest rising and falling unevenly, he realises that you are about to lose your fucking mind.

Ah. What to do?

Hoisting himself atop the desk, Tendou positions his body so that he’s covering your face from the film crew.

What… to do?

There isn’t a single box of tissues in the studio. And you’re wearing a nylon puffer jacket over a short-sleeved shirt today–– neither of which will absorb water.

Tsk.

He looks down at the sleeves of his hoodie in contemplation. Rolling his eyes, he slides off the desk and pulls the fabric over his hands.

“Y/N,” he says quietly. The unfamiliar sound of your name falling from his lips pulls you back to reality ever-so-briefly. A second later, the soft fabric of Tendou’s hoodie is wiping the tears off your cheeks. Between interruptions of black, your stunned eyes can barely make out the features of his face–– only the vermilion of his hair and the ivory of his skin under studio lights.

Oddly enough, he doesn’t look like the devil at all.

“LIVE IN ONE!” All around, the production room roars to life.

Tendou Satori sits down in his seat and flips through his script as if nothing has happened.

He looks over his shoulder, right where you’re rooted to the ground. “You coming?”

At half-past six, when the cameras finally cut, when the lights shut off, you let the smile on your face drop. Without a word, you rise from your seat and slip through the exit, unaware of the thin red pupils trained on the back of your head the entire way out.

The rest of the day flies by with your body on autopilot. Your mind, however, is abuzz like a subway at rush hour and twice as disorganised.

As you sit in the front row of Modern Political Thought, your attention gravitates back to the redhead’s actions for the hundredth time. Is he a good person? Fuck no. But can you still say with utmost conviction that he’s… bad? You aren’t so sure anymore. In fact, you aren’t sure who Tendou Satori is anymore. What his values are.

A buzz from your phone draws you out of contemplation. Speaking of...

tendou: we need to talk

tendou: meeting room 8 pm

Tendou’s back faces the door as he leans against the windowsill, peering out into the night. You wonder what he’s thinking.

You didn’t use to. How odd.

“I know that I’m quite the sight, but you gotta say something,” he jokes, breaking the silence first. After waiting for your reply and receiving none, he shifts so that his back rests against the window. Circular eyes lazily land on your tense figure.

This isn’t like you, he muses. To be so small. What’s changed?

Silence grips at your throat–– you don’t know what to say. There’s too much you want to know. But the questions that nearly deafened you throughout the day are now quiet in the time you need them at their loudest.

Finally, you speak. “Your text. What’d you want to talk about?”

Ah. So you’d deflect first. Clever, clever. An amused breath blows out from Tendou’s nose.

Fine. He’ll give you your space. After all, jammed buttons aren’t any fun to press. With that in mind, Tendou considers his options carefully. At this rate, there’s no telling when you might next crash… and when you’ll finally burn. His eyes fall naturally on Noa’s old seat and he imagines yours at the head of the table with the same emptiness. The thought of running an entire council without you causes a shiver to run down his spine.

With a smirk, he finally says, “Script-writing.”

Tendou Satori sits with his back against his chair, one ripped-jean clad knee protruding above the table, and an amused smile on his alabaster face as his slender fingers tango across his laptop keyboard. Across from him, you think back on the rumours you’d heard before.

“Why’d you do that for me in the studio?”

The clacking stops. Red eyes flick up to your face and rest there as if assessing your intentions.

“Shouldn’t you be writing your parts?” he replies, a corner of his lips twitching up. It’s a non-answer.

“Tendou.”

He sighs. “It felt like the right thing to do.” With that, he turns his gaze back to his screen.

Briefly, you’re sent back to that day in the library.

“I didn’t take you for the righteous type.”

“I’m not righteous, Prez. I just do what feels right.”

“And what do you call that?”

“Call it intuition.”

And what do you call intuition?

Tendou looks up again from his screen when he realises that the lack of sound coming from your side of the table can only mean that you’re still thinking. Is it that hard to believe that he just does what he feels like doing? A flash of irritation passes over his face.

“What?” he asks, crossing his arms. “Why’re ya looking at me like I’m a fucking cryptid?” There’s a look of mirth in his eyes but he feels anything but mirthful. He hates the feeling of being dissected under others’ eyes. Hates being assessed like some freak of nature. Hates the attention he doesn’t ask for. Like yours right now.

“I’m just trying to figure out what you are.”

“Satan? Youkai? The Jersey Devil?” He’s heard it all before. It wouldn’t faze him to hear it again. But it’d sure burn.

No. Tendou Satori isn’t the devil incarnate.

“I can’t decide whether your alignment’s good or bad.”

He isn’t an angel either.

After a contemplative pause, he speaks. “You really think this world falls perfectly into categories?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “That people can only be one extreme or the other? Should be?”

You gnaw on your lip.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. Suddenly, you’re not the cunning megalomaniac hiding behind a  funhouse mirror of cardinal virtues. Tendou realises that you’re the blindfolded fool running towards what you think is the light. It’s not. It’s just the wavering flame of someone else’s candle. He doesn’t know, nor care to know, whose candle it is; he just knows that by the time you get to it, you’ll only find the remnants of melted wax and ash.

What to say?

“There exists,” he says, “a place between black and white–– a gradient, where circles overlap, a state of being more than one–– called the grey area. Where you are allowed to contain multitudes.” Seeing your brows crease, he continues. “To define is to limit. No one is exclusively ‘good’ or ‘bad’. To expect that of yourself is stupid. So stop that shit and do whatever the fuck you want, Y/N.”

Satisfied with his answer, Tendou’s gaze returns to the script on his screen. And like he hasn’t just flipped your world on its axis, he says, “Now, how do you spell ‘embarrass’?”

The weeks go by in a blur. Starting your mornings at five forty-five becomes normal. Walking into the studio with a cup of coffee in one hand every day and two copies of a script every other becomes routine. Laughing at Tendou’s jokes becomes easier. Letting your own jokes rip also becomes easier.

“Anyway, this is a reminder from the film club that their cameras are not to be checked out for filming adult home videos,” Tendou reads from the paper on the desk, a cackle escaping his lips as he does. “Or at least, if they are, please erase the memory card before returning the equipment.”

“And should you choose to profit from said videos, the club is requesting up to eighty percent of all proceeds to contribute to members’ student debt alleviation trust,” you improvise, snickering.

Tendou’s jaw drops. “Did Miss President just add to a sex joke?”

Rolling your eyes, you retort, “Bite me.”

It’s like you’ve grown horns on your head. “Is that another sex joke?”

Ending each day of classes, meetings, and hours spent on assignments in the library with Tendou Satori sitting across from you, too, becomes normal.

“How’s ‘only time will tell’?” you ask, frowning at the document before your eyes.

“No,” he says without a second glance. “Not funny.”

“It works,” you argue. “The line before is about the graffiti on the clock tower. People would laugh.”

“Yeah. Probably the old and senile. Too bad our students are all twenty-somethings capable of lucid thought.”

There’s a pause. Then a sigh. A pale hand latches onto your laptop and spins it around. A few moments pass before he spins it back around, boredom evident on his face.

“There. Now zip it, Prez.”

Y/N (adding): so whoevers been spraying dicks on our precious timepiece, u better fucking watch it

Respect grows between you like a flower through concrete. During council meetings, the ruby haired vice president continues to poke holes in every pitch you present with the same insufferable smirk on his face. You continue to push for “bullshit” projects, as he calls them in private. Old habits die hard. But at least they’re dying.

That’s why, when March strolls out from behind the snow and spring finally settles its roots into the ground, when the student council starts planning the May Sophomore Social, when one of your senators cuts you off rudely for the third time in one meeting and asks “where’s the funding for that?” after you just went over the fucking funding, you don’t smile tightly and clench your fists beneath the table like you would have before.

“Maybe you’d know if you’d just shut the fuck up and listened, Kevin.” It feels so damn good. Oddly enough, it feels like having wings on your back. You hardly even care what colour its feathers are anymore. Climbing to new heights has always been the goal–– how you get there, you realise, doesn’t matter as much as getting there itself.

Tendou whistles. No one has seen you evolve like him. Does he feel guilty that he’s possibly thrown you into the deep end? Not entirely–– you had your toes in the water already. You just needed a reason, permission, to fall. It only felt right to put his hand against your back and push.

“What’s that you always get from Starbucks?” he asks one week in April. You eye him curiously. It’s by no means warm enough to be wearing just a thin hoodie, but Tendou’s never been one for following rules. That alone isn’t why your curiosity’s been piqued. You’ve never seen him in that hoodie before.

“Coffee. Why?”

“No, stupid. What kind?”

Oh. “A latte, two shots of espresso. I’ve been trying oat milk, too. I heard it’s better for the environment.”

He smirks, the act lighting up his entire face. “I knew it. Thought you’d be the type.” He’d been thinking about your coffee habits?

It’s your turn to ask questions. “Is that a new hoodie?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “How’d you know?” You crease your forehead. How did you know? “Yeah, it is. My friend Semi’s in this band and they just came out with merch. Pretty sick, right?”

Seeing you nod, he reaches into his bag on the floor and pulls out an album with the same design. “Want one? I bought twelve.”

The line at Starbucks at five-fifty in the morning grows longer by one hoodie-clad business-major. He likes two shots of espresso in his mocha. Venti.

On the way to the studio, he recognises the tune you’re humming as Semi’s song.

It’s early-May and the Sophomore Social is two weeks away when the little camaraderie you’ve forged shatters.

“Prezzie, you don’t have many friends, do ya?”

You look up from your script, over your propped-up legs on his coffee table with one foot over the other. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask with narrowed eyes.

“I’ve never seen you hang out with anyone other than me,” he notes, shrugging.

It’s true. Because you don’t have many friends. Friends are people you can’t live without, people who see you at your worst and stay, people who also hand you secrets in the form of daggers and trust you to not wield it against them. You don’t have any friends.

You have extras in your film. Temporary places to stay. Pawns in a game.

Does that make you a good person? Hell no. But does that make you bad?

“I text my classmates,” you say slowly. “We send each other memes. Isn’t that friendship in this day and age?”

Tendou snickers. “Who at Shiratorizawa can confidently say they know you through and through? Even more than I do?”

“Are you calling me your friend?”

Surprise flicks across his face. Then, his lips pull back in a sly grin. “Are you?”

And as you look at the boy with milky skin and cherry hair and scarlet eyes, you realise that you are.

Tendou Satori is your friend.

Panic seizes your heart, forcing a sudden flood of blood through your body because friends were also people who’d asked for your secrets and strung them up like fairy lights. Friends were people who had “discreetly” moved their bags over open spaces whenever you passed, people who had said you cared too much–– that you were too “clingy” when all you wanted was a space outside of the house to play. You’ve had friends before.

“We’re not friends,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Boulders tumble down your stomach as the words leave the other way out your mouth. You regret it immediately. But you can’t pluck words out from the air, can you?

What to say?

An unreadable expression finds its way onto Tendou’s face. Gulping imperceptibly, you force your gaze back to the screen, trying to pretend the exchange never happened.

“Why?” His voice cracks at the end.

Sometimes when the heavens throw you a lifeline, you take it.

This is not one of those times.

You want to say it’s because then he’d have your heart in his hands. You want to say it’s because he’d be able to crush you like they did. You want to ask if he’s ever felt like he was chained to the bottom of the ocean. Instead, you say, “I should go.”

His thin red pupils burn holes into the back of your head the entire way out.

Mornings with Tendou and Y/N after that are… different. Even though it’s you who’d built the wall between you, you seem to be taking it the hardest. Meeting his eyes is hard. Banter across the news desk falls out of sync. The hours that come after eight in the evening are unfathomably lonely. They didn’t use to feel that way. Your heart feels heavier every time you hear his voice.

“We have everything set for the Sophomore Social,” you say, looking at the spreadsheet on your screen, “except for music. Niko got Post Malone to open but we’re still missing our closing artist.”

“Uncle Posty comin’ through again!” Niko cheers quietly, pumping a fist into the air.

“I know the lead from The Underground,” Tendou suddenly offers. But you already knew that. He’s talking to the rest of the council. “He’ll probably say yes.” You bite down on your lip, remembering how he’d given you their album. It’s still somewhere in your room. It’s underneath your pillow.

Everyone looks to you for the green light. Irises tremoring faintly, your gaze finally meets Tendou’s. “Sure. Thanks.” He tilts his head to the side and looks back at you with slightly upturned lips. For the first time, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

On May 19th, the Shiratorizawa quad is transformed by the student council into the perfect outdoor party. By eight o’clock, the last piece of the wooden dance floor is laid on the grass, the tables for refreshments are set up, and all around, fairy lights and lanterns hang around trees and poles in the ground. In front of the dance floor is the stage. Everything is ready for students to trickle in at nine.

You pace back and forth across the dance floor, wringing your hands as you check over the venue one last time. Your white dress, a long satin piece with a slit up your thigh, swishes as you spin in nervous circles. From afar, you can see that Tendou’s wearing a maroon tuxedo that brings out the red in his hair–– not that you care.

An hour into the social, Tendou almost leaves your mind.

Semi Eita is a silver-haired daydream with a sharpness to his features that you notice more and more as he, over the next thirty minutes, slowly shortens the distance between you. You’re charmed, but you know he doesn’t really care to know you. At least, like that.

“... and then out of nowhere this shrimpy little ginger just spiked it straight down,” he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. Semi rests his arm on one of the cloth-covered high top tables, leaning his weight against it. “Even got our Guess Monster stumped.”

At that, you raise an eyebrow. “Guess Monster?”

Semi points to Tendou’s figure on the dance floor with his nose. “That nutjob over there.”

A short breath of amusement leaves your nose. “Ah. My vice president.” Guess Monster suits him, though. You suddenly remember what he said about intuition.

“You’re that Y/N?” he exclaims, straightening his back. Instantly, his eyes begin to dart around the quad. When he finds what he’s been looking for, he relaxes, then lets out a frustrated sigh. Turning back to you with a slightly guilty expression on his face, he adds, “Satori’s told me a lot about you.”

“Like?” Curiosity–– and dread–– creeps up your brain like unfurling ivy. You wonder if Semi knows that you and his former teammate are no longer on speaking terms.

He grins slyly. It’s not the same as Tendou’s–– it’s less wicked and playful and a little more… knowing. Like he’s in on a secret about you that you aren’t aware of.

“I won’t say any more than the fact that I know about your trouble in paradise.” Trouble in paradise? You fight the urge to scoff. “But, I will say that you’re not the only person who’s slow to open up.”

Quizzically raising a brow, you follow Semi’s gaze back to the dance floor. He smiles fondly at Tendou, who’s now bobbing to yet another Juice WRLD song with Niko. At first, you think that Tendou looks like an absolute idiot. But when you spot how bright his smile is, the only thought that remains in your mind is how much you’ve missed seeing it up close. You’ve missed being close to him.

“He’s more than just good at reading blocks, Y/N,” Semi says, something twinging his voice. “He’s excellent at reading people.”

“Yeah.” You know all about it.

“Under what circumstances does someone develop a curse like that?”

And all the pieces fall into place.

Tendou Satori isn’t the devil, nor is he an angel.

Tendou Satori is only human.

Seeing the realisation on your face, he smiles sadly. “He’s not mad at you, though,” he adds. “Tendou doesn’t hold grudges.” You also know all about that. “What a weird guy.”

“Tell me about it,” you reply, laughing. But it eases the unrest in your chest. Unrest for what?

A cool breeze blows between you and Semi. With the change in atmosphere, a crafty look appears on his face. “Say, Y/N, how do you feel about doing all three of us a favour? You, me, and Tendou?”

“Depends on what the favour is.”

Semi inches closer, bringing his head close enough to yours that you can see the faintest freckles dotting his cheeks. “During the next slow song, can you put your hand on my arm and laugh obnoxiously loudly like I’ve just said the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“How would that benefit any of us?”

Semi doesn’t respond, only continues to look at you with the same mischievous gaze.

When Tendou Satori comes stalking your way with hellfire in his eyes at the start of the next slow song, you understand what game Semi’s playing at.

“Semisemi,” Tendou sings, voice saccharine sweet. The chilling smile on his face drops and he suddenly glares at his silver-haired friend who blinks innocently in response.

Tearing your hand off Semi’s arm, you look at Tendou with wide eyes, feeling both guilty and confused–– the latter occurring because of the former.

“You should probably do your instrument check now, yeah?” he asks, the ice in his voice a stark contrast to the way his hand rests on Semi’s shoulder.

Semi grins. “Yeah. I’ll go do that.” He winks at you and says a quick “see you around, Y/N” before strolling away with a bounce in his step.

With just you and Tendou beside the table, the crisp nighttime air suddenly grows thinner. It feels like all the space for oxygen has been taken up by words neither of you is willing to say.

Tendou eyes you warily, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So. Semi.”

“What about him?” You quirk up a brow, noticing how his jaw clenches at your question.

A beat passes. Red eyes continue to stare into yours as he opens his mouth, ready to fire back a razor-sharp retort, only to let it die in his throat. Following a deep inhale, Tendou’s shoulders loosen. His jaw unclenches.

“I’m not letting our first conversation in a month centre around that dick,” he mutters, rubbing his hands over his face. “Knowing him, he probably…” Trailing off, he seems to figure out that it was all a little act, written and directed by none other than Semi Eita. With a gentle shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitch up. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”

You chuckle softly. “Yeah. Why?”

Tendou’s gaze falls to the floor, oxford-clad feet kicking lightly at the dirt. The last time he gave you the opportunity to take one step further, you took twenty right out the door. Still, there’s actually no better moment than this, he thinks. The fairy lights above that all those rom-coms always have, the music–– is that Ed Sheeran?–– is coming to an end, we’re both dressed to the nines… it just feels right.

“... I have certain feelings for you.”

Carefully, he watches your face. He’d be okay if you don’t return them. But it’d sure burn.

Stiffening, you meet his eyes imploringly. Those ruby red pupils show nothing but complete honesty.

“What, um, what kind of feelings?” Why’d you say it like that? Get a grip on yourself, Jesus.

A breathy laugh tumbles out of Tendou’s lips. Of course you’d make him work for it. “I’m not sure myself,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just know that I like being around you. Even at 6 AM. Sharing dick jokes. Getting coffee.” He pauses, furrowing his brows like he’s just had another revelation. “And there’s no one else I’d rather do that with. The thought makes me a little sick, to be honest.”

An expression you’ve never seen on anyone before surfaces from every last corner of his features–– the tender crease in the outer corner of his eyes, the soft quirk of his lips, the way his nose moves with each shaky intake of air. What do you call that?

A voice you’ve never heard inside your head speaks up. Love. You call that love.

Ah. What do I say?

Words have never been your strong suit. They’re Tendou’s.

Then… what do I do?

Your body answers by pushing the balls of your feet against the ground, raising you up just high enough to brush your lips against his.

You think this is what absolution feels like to a sinner.

[gifted-burnout-archive]

The Games We Play

1. Good News, Ruined.

Word Count: 7.8K+

Author’s Note: I had a flood of inbox requests surrounding Luke Patterson x Reader, enemies to lovers/fake dating/all the good stuff, and decided it was too good not to make something bigger. this chapter was sooo fun to write, and obviously with the whole thing being in an AU universe, I get to change a bunch of shit without consequence... So thank you for reading, I hope you love it, this is my nonsense.

Warning: none.

masterlist | taglist

--

Parents tend to assume things of their children, the practise usually implemented by those who believe ignorance is bliss, especially when it’s easier to assume your kid is studying, or asleep in bed, or catching up on their reading list. Why worry about what your kids are up to after hours when you could share a bottle of wine and fall asleep on the living room sofa watching some shitty Hallmark movie? Enjoying the perfect ideal, even if it isn’t, in fact, real.

It was this sort of behaviour from the likes of Luke Patterson’s parents that led to him sneaking out pretty much every night of summer.

This was, of course, on top of lies about study groups and volunteering work and classical guitar lessons with his school teacher during the day, and it had been going on a lot longer than just the summer. But could anyone really blame the boy when he once again climbed out his bedroom window that last night of the summer, armed with his guitar on his back as he grabbed his bike and started off in the warm August air?

The soft breeze rushed through Luke’s hair and sent his flannel overshirt billowing behind him as he rode down his street, destined for the other side of town, to the other reality he had created without his parents’ knowledge, the world glowing under the last traces of another beautiful sunset. The reds and oranges gave way to tinges of green and the endless expanse of midnight blue the later hours welcomed, street lamps slowly flickering to life as shadows grew and Luke took a hard turn left onto an underpass, pedalling as fast as he could.

He was already late, he was usually late, but that night his mom and dad had demanded a family meal before he began his senior year, something about tradition or memory-making he had been too preoccupied to listen to. His year wasn’t going to be great because of family albums over his dad’s famous chili, though it was very good chili: no, his year was going to be great because of the people waiting for him at the end of his bike ride, and the news that waited with them.

Luke’s summer hadn’t been spent studying like he told his parents, and it hadn’t been spent the way many of his classmates enjoyed their time off school. Luke’s summer, and the majority of his Junior year before, had been spent in a garage in the LA suburbs, one that belonged to the Molinas. He had spent every spare moment there writing, practising, rehearsing, because Luke’s end goal in life was nothing like his parents had planned for him:

Luke was going to be a Rockstar, and the way to that wasn’t school. It was Julie and the Phantoms.

As he pulled up to the familiar residence about fifteen minutes later, legs aching from the high-speed ride over, Luke couldn’t help but smile. Ray and Carlos were out on the porch playing a game of cards under string lights, and it looked like Mr Molina was losing quite spectacularly to his ten-year old son.

“Hi Mr Molina!” Luke called with a wave, distracting Ray for long enough that Carlos managed to sneak a peak at his dad’s hand and plan accordingly.

“Luke, it’s Ray. Please.” Ray corrected, for the one hundredth time, but Luke was a polite kid, and while he wasn’t one for following his own parents’ rules, he was too respectful to ever start his friend’s dad by his first name. “Everyone’s in the garage, they’re waiting for you before they check the website.” Ray called over, and Luke nodded with a bright smile, waving a hurried hello and goodbye to Carlos before rushing towards the garage at the far side of the house, pulling off the straps of his guitar case and bringing it to his front.

The front pocket was stuffed full of scraps of paper, possible lyrics for new band music, which was required since they had managed to get on the YouTube trending page a few months before, and had begun playing the LA music circuit with high levels of success. The band had only been formed, properly at least, for the last year, and their sudden success was calling for them to be scooped up by a record label any day now.

That’s what the team were congregating for that night, Luke entering the converted garage, their studio, to find his bandmates huddled on the couch with their closest friends. In the couch’s centre was Reggie, Julie and Alex: to the blonde’s right was his boyfriend Willie, to Reggie’s right was his girlfriend Kayla, and Flynn paced on the other side of the coffee table, only coming to a halt as six pairs of eyes came up to find Luke fixing his hair from its windswept state after biking across the city.

“Where the Hell have you been?!” Flynn exclaimed, wide eyed and all gestures. She was a Junior like Julie, and perhaps the band’s number one fan: it made sense, she was kind of their manager. “The site is going live any minute now, and we’ve been waiting almost an hour for you to show up!” She hollered, Luke coming forward and placing a hand on her shoulder, the younger girl scowling at him as he did, but she stopped talking, allowing the boy a word in.

“My parents wanted a family meal, I got here as soon as I could.” He explained to the anxious faces, his eyes travelling down to the laptop sat on the coffee table that they all seemed rather focused on. “Is this it?” He asked, and Julie quickly nodded, turning the laptop, displaying a countdown on a website, to face Luke.

48 seconds… He had arrived in the nick of time.

“Will you read it first?” Julie asked in a quiet voice, Flynn taking the girl’s space on the couch behind her, squishing herself between Reggie and Alex. “You take bad news best…” It wasn’t actually true, but it seemed like Luke had been nominated for the task of finding out whether they had hit the jackpot, and looking at his friends’ all tucked onto the three-seater couch, Luke couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“Alright.” He said with a curt nod, taking a seat at the opposite side of the coffee table as Julie sat herself back down, now on Flynn’s lap as the two girls hugged onto one another in fear.

23 seconds…

“This could be it…” Reggie muttered; his hand interlocked with Kayla’s. She and Willie had come along as emotional support for their boyfriends, and it was a good call: Alex was as pale as a sheet, and Reggie looked like he might vomit. “Imagine… If we’re in this competition, if we qualify… Guys, we could be signing with Fall Down.” He continued, the seconds ticking away as a silence filled the air after the bassist’s words. He was right, sure, but it was too hopeful.

The competition was country-wide, and thousands of bands had sent in their entries. It was quite literally a one in a 100,000 chance they would make it, that they would be one of the twenty bands picked for the competition.

After all, the tagline was quick to remind that ‘only the best’ would get into the Fall Down Records’ Battle of the Bands.

“3… 2…” Luke counted down, and as countdown finally hit zero, Luke refreshed the page.

Instead of the list Luke and his friends had expected to appear, instead he was greeted by a video, and the boy quickly pressed play, turning up the volume to let it play around the room.

“A very big hello from Fall Down HQ in Los Angeles!” The laptop spoke, and Luke looked up at six confused faces, quickly adjusting the laptop and sitting himself on the table so he could watch along with his friends. “I’m Trevor Wilson, and I’ve been given the honour of sharing the Fall Down Records’ Battle of the Bands line-up with all of you, across the world. But first, a quick reminder of the rules.

“This competition looks for the very best young artists in the US, the twenty top finalists getting a chance to join in our televised six-week competition. Each week our contestants are given a new theme to perform for, and each week three bands are eliminated by judges’ and audience vote, until the Final Four Battle it out for glory.” The video explained, but this wasn’t new information to the seen friends watching with desperate hope. “And the grand prize? The victorious band will be leaving with not only a multi-album record deal with Fall Down Records, but their very own World Tour and $1 million for each band member! I cannot make this up, and I can’t stress more when I say that the band winning this competition are going to be changing the history of music, with Fall Down Records and me, Trevor Wilson, by their side.

“Now, enough of me talking. Let’s get to what you’re all here for, the big announcement. Thanks to everyone who submitted their auditions, don’t give up hope on just yet… But viewers, I give you your top 20.” The video disappeared, the website suddenly coming to life with the full list of finalists, and Luke jumped into action to begin scrolling down as everyone leaned forward, instinctively, Luke’s finger moving as fast as it could past other acts.

Finalists came from all across the country, from all music genres: they scrolled past Idols, a country trio from Nashville; Rallico, an R&B group from New York; Everest, the folk-pop band from Montana. Luke’s finger continued to scroll, through videos and bios on each of the bands, and he counted as he went through to himself. 11, 12, 13…

“STOP!” Kayla shrieked suddenly, Luke moving his hand from the mousepad in surprise, his eyes finally focusing on the screen, the haze of scrolling quickly subsiding. He had to blink once, then twice, just to be sure, glancing back at the shocked faces of his friends beside him, making sure they were all seeing the same thing.

NUMBER 15: JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS. FROM LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.

“Oh my God…” Alex breathed out, the first to speak as he clutched onto Willie’s hand, and one by one, the faces on the couch went from looks of worry to ones of ecstatic joy.

“Oh my God!” Julie yelped, jumping off of Flynn’s lap and flapping her hands, unsure what to do for a moment, but Reggie quickly stood up as well, and the pair embraced in a tight hug. It took a few moments for the rest of the room to process, but the moment everyone had…

Carlos and Ray heard the screaming from their cosy spot at the front of the house, whooping and yells of triumph echoing across the cul-de-sac as the kids celebrated their achievement.

The hugs and bouncing and complete inability to stay still probably lasted a solid seven minutes, and by the time Luke was coming down from the high of the news, Julie was disappearing round the corner to tell her dad and brother, Reggie was spinning Kayla in his arms, and Alex had found himself in a rather heated kiss with Willie. His eyes went back to the laptop, and he removed himself from a hug with Flynn to sit back on the couch, scrolling back up to the top of the finalist website page.

“What are you doing man?” Reggie asked, Kayla jumping off his back and taking the bassist’s hand as they walked over to Luke, the boy pressing play on the first of 19 videos, the audition tapes of the other competitors.

“We’re up against all these other groups, the competition starts in a few days… I want to see what we’re up against.” Luke explained, the words pulling Alex and Willie over to the laptop too. The five pressed play on the first video, Luke leaning over and turning the volume up as high as it would go as the first band’s music began to play. “Willie, can you go get Julie?” The raven-haired boy nodded, squeezing Alex’s hand one last time in celebration before rushing towards the Molina residence to collect Julie and Flynn.

“I can’t believe we actually managed this…” Alex scoffed in disbelief, running a hand through his hair and glancing over at his friends with the brightest of smiles. To think, the three had met at the age of 10, that all those days of mindless rehearsal led them to Julie, which led them to this?

“You guys deserve it.” Kayla commented with a smile, glancing down at her watch with a frown. “Shit, I forgot about curfew…” She muttered, pressing a kiss to Reggie’s cheek. “I need to get home; I’ll give Willie a lift too. See you tomorrow babe?” She asked Reggie, who nodded fast as Willie came back with Julie and Flynn. “Curfew, Skater Boy.” She reminded Willie; whose eyes widened before muttering a soft curse to himself.

“Right.” He sighed, waving a quick goodbye to his boyfriend and friends before slipping out the door with Kayla. Flynn watched them go, giving Julie and quick hug.

“This seems to be a band member meeting now, and I need a ride. See you tomorrow, alright?” Flynn asked, and Julie nodded, the pair sharing another hug before Flynn too disappeared through the garage doors, leaving the band to themselves.

There was a comfortable silence, as they all looked at one another, as they all came to terms with the sheer insanity of what was happening. Out of thousands upon thousands… Out of millions of applicants, Julie and her Phantoms had managed to snag a spot in the country’s biggest competition, managed to get themselves a chance at a record deal, at a world tour, at millions of dollars…

“So,” Julie said with a grin at her three best friends on the couch, the boys looking to her for their next move. “These other contestants…” She made her way over to the couch, sitting herself between Luke and Alex quite comfortably and taking charge of the laptop from Luke, who was happy to hand over control. “Why don’t we break this down?”

“Well,” Alex spoke up as he peered over Julie’s shoulder, the girl clicking on the second contestants’ audition tape, the sound of soft banjo filling the air. “If we want to win… We need to be looking for the biggest threat across the board, not just in one category.” He said, his friends looking over in slight surprise. It was undoubtable that of the guys, Alex was the smart one, but his smarts weren’t something he used very often to begin with. He coughed and ran a hand through his hair, sitting up a little straighter. “I just mean, the competition is a new theme every week, right? Well, we’re a band with a pretty wide range. I mean, Reggie with his banjo is just a start.” The blonde gestured across the couch, the compliment causing his friend to grin and wave. “If we’re optimistic here, planning the hypothetical that we make it past week one-”

“The band that’s going to be the hardest to beat is the one with range, like us.” Luke finished for his friend, clicking onto contestant number 3, the audition tapes only 90 seconds long, and gesturing to Reggie. “Get a pen and paper, we need to start writing notes.” He decided, and Reggie pouted.

“Why do I have to do it?” He asked, and Julie let out a laugh.

“Luke taking notes would be a waste of time, his handwriting is worse than a doctor’s, and Alex and I have thinking to do.” She explained simply, but it was enough for Reggie to grumble his way over to a dresser on the far side of the room they kept stocked with stationery in case inspiration struck, coming back over and sitting on the ground, getting into position to write.

“Back to contestant 1.” Julie instructed, the four beginning their first bout of research.

--

It was well after midnight when the band were only just reaching the end of their list. Alex was pacing as he listened to the audition tapes of their competitors over and over again, Luke and Julie both huddled over the laptop as Reggie jotted down notes.

They all should have gone to bed over an hour ago, what with their first day of school that morning, the last first day of school for the guys, but there was too much excitement, too much energy buzzing through them, and this research was the best way to channel it.

Where other subjects were not their strongest suit, everyone of the kids in that room excelled at music: not just playing it, but understanding it. This was a competition, and from what extensive knowledge they shared on Fall Down Records, this was not about looking for one-hit wonders or kids with untapped potential. It was about finding stars already in the making and pushing them forward.

This was good news for the four kids, and bad news for some of their opposition. It became clear in the first half of the tapes who was and who was not going to last long in the competition, a clear divide that didn’t seem like it would change any time soon. Alex was walking around the room that night trying to figure out just who would be going home in the weeks to come, and where Julie and the Phantoms would fall into the grand scheme of things.

“Final video.” Julie announced, the blonde looking over and deciding it would be best to sit himself down, at least for the watch through. Reggie too seemed intrigued as to who their last challenger would be. As Julie clicked her way onto the video, she was confused for a moment when presented with a black screen, wondering if she had accidentally turned her computer off.

Suddenly, a noise, unlike any Luke or Julie or the guys had heard in the last few hours of investigation. Accompanied by bongo drums and maracas, they were all expecting some sort of island breeze music, quite honestly, and Luke was about to pause and check the band’s name once more when the odd noise was suddenly replaced by a much more familiar one: an electric guitar coming in with the drums. An image finally flickered to screen, unlike the other videos of live performances across the country or awkward homemade recording sessions, this band had opted for an old, grainy video quality, a sepia coloured moving picture of hands beginning to play along on the guitar.

“All that I want is to wake up fine. Tell me that I’m alright, that I ain’t gonna die. And all that I want is a hole in the ground, you can tell me when it’s alright for me to come out.” The first few seconds were enough to leave jaws hanging, and though he would later deny it, Luke’s was on the floor.

The sound was so different, such a bizarre mix of percussion and pop and rock, with such a happy sound despite the bleak lyrics. It was impressive, to say the least, and suddenly the picture before them flashed away to reveal the band on a white stage, all dressed in block colours, and Luke scanned over the set up: they had a guy on drums who was dressed from head to toe in blue; a girl in all green on a beatmaker surrounded by the odd percussion they had heard at the song’s beginning, the funny noise revealed to be a marimba; the second guy was on guitar, though it wasn’t quite clear if he was lead or rhythm, and adorned in orange; and then finally…

“Hard Times.” The three other bands members sang, introducing the chorus for their front woman.

“Gonna make you wonder why you even try. Hard times, gonna take you down and laugh when you cry. These lives, and I still don’t know how I even survive. Hard Times, hard times.” She sang in a vision of block colour red, in a short tennis skirt and crop top beneath an oversized blazer, a pair of opaque red cat-eye sunglasses perched on the edge of her nose. The hands from the opening shots of the guitar playing had been her, the instrument a bright red that matched the outfit she wore, and Luke quickly realised that everybody’s instruments matched their clothing colour.

“Marimba…” Luke heard Reggie mutter under the music, only for them to be silenced by the chorus’ final line.

“And I gotta get to rock bottom!” The distortion on her voice as she half sang, half yelled the line was jarring and enchanting and Luke had to let out a bated breath as she continued, lifting the mic off its stand and walking to the boy in orange, passing the guitar duties over to him as she began to sing again, the camera focusing in on the girl in green’s ability on the beatmaker, her fingers dancing over the buttons as they brought in the bridge.

“Tell my friends I’m coming down. We’ll kick it when I hit the ground.” Another drastic change to this soft head voice, paired with the instrumental making it feel like, for a moment, they had all been sucked into a dream. “Tell my friends I’m coming down. We’ll kick it when I hit the ground… When I hit the ground. When I hit the ground. When I hit the ground.” The final note hung for a moment in the air, everything else going silent to let it resonate as the singer hung onto the boy in orange by the shoulder, her hand rising up to pinch his cheek before the final chorus hit.

“Hard Times.”

“Gonna make you wonder why you even try. Hard times, gonna take you down and laugh when you cry. These lives, and I still don’t know how I even survive hard times. Hard times.” The whole band sang the final chorus, their front woman spinning across the stage and singing in harmony with the girl in green, red’s voice riffing on the last notes as the beatmaker brought the snippet of music brought to a close, the screen going black as the music continued to came to a halt. “And I gotta get to rock bottom!”

And there it was… Their main competition.

Luke couldn’t drag his eyes away from the black screen, still trying to get over what he had just heard: while he was more partial to the music he made with his own band, there was undeniable star power in just that song, and four talented musicians to accompany it… Not to mention their lead singer.

He didn’t think he’d go into the contest attracted to a rival band member.

“They used… A marimba?! A marimba…” Reggie exclaimed finally, the first to talk, or rather yell, the leather jacket-clad boy jumping from his seat with his arms stretched in front of him in exasperation. The majority of their night had provided information on bands that gave them a challenge for first place, but confidence they might just grab it. And now? Now they had more than competition, but a threat to the biggest break of their lives.

“Electra Heart…” Alex read the band name out loud, frowning a little as he said it, something about the words seeming familiar. “I feel like I’ve heard of these guys before.”

“Maybe because they’re from California as well?” Julie suggested, pointing to the end of their title card as Contestant 20, stating the band were from San Diego, just two hours away from where they all sat.

“Watch out.” Reggie muttered, turning to face his friends once more and waving a hand at Luke. “Patterson’s smitten.” He muttered, the words knocking a frown on Luke’s face as he straightened up and closed over the laptop, putting the voice of the mystery girl to the back of his mind.

“First off, I’m not. And second? This is a good thing!” Luke exclaimed, though it was clear to everyone he was changing the subject. “The contest starts in two weeks, and we have the upper hand. We submitted Bright as our audition song, and it’s great, but that wasn’t even our best performance of it! We literally ran out of time to submit something better!” He reminded them all, drawing their minds back to the start of the summer. They had done their very best to piece together the audition tape, but Julie had suddenly gotten sick and they lost a week or so of their schedule. They ended up submitting a draft version, and still got in. “That is probably their top tier, and we know we can match and beat that! Right now, they’ll think they have this in the bag, when they don’t.” He got to his feet, walking over and hooking an arm around Reggie’s neck. “We’re going into this prepared, and ready to blow the show’s socks off, yeah?”

“Yeah!” His bandmates chorused, Julie standing up and prompting Alex to do the same, the four congregating in the centre of the studio. She was the first to hold out her hand.

“Legends on three.” She called; smiles shared amongst the band.

“One.” Reggie went first.

“Two.” Alex next.

“Three.” Luke finished, four hands stacked atop each other, four teammates ready to try and take on the impossible.

--

Sleep didn’t come to Luke that night.

He opted to cycle home despite the late hour, and clambered into bed at around 3 am while Reggie opted to stay overnight in the studio, too lazy to take himself home, not that it was an uncommon occurrence. Since Alex has started living with the Molinas, Luke and Reggie found themselves crashing more and more often.

But Luke cycled home anyway, mainly because he wanted the chance to think in private, to be alone as he planned their success now the competition slot was confirmed. It was the opportunity of their lifetime: he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight. No matter how beautiful the lead singer of Electra Heart was.

She weighed on his mind from the moment he saw her well past sunrise, and as the light flooded in through Luke’s curtains with the boy getting no sleep, he opted for a shower before his parents got up for work, and hopefully getting to avoid talking with them as much as possible until Kayla came by to pick him up, always with Julie, Alex and Reggie in tow.

That was another thing: how would he be suddenly breaking the news of his rock band on global television to his parents, who have yet to find out how he really spends his free time?

As he stood under the hot water that morning, washing away the adrenaline and sweat from the night before, he couldn’t help but hum the girl’s song: why was it so catchy? He tried to rinse it away with his fatigue and the aches in his legs from the biking to and from Julie’s, but it wasn’t budging, and neither was her face. In an act of defeat, Luke clambered out the showered, and shoved his earbuds in as he dried himself off and got dressed for the day, drowning out her voice in his head with the loudest music his phone had available.

As Luke continued about his morning, shuffling around the house as he sorted his laundry for the week and got his bag ready for classes, it was only once his dad yanked on of the earphones out of his ear that Luke figured he might have had the music too loud.

“Lucas, you play that music any louder you’ll be deaf by year’s end.” His father muttered, gesturing for his son to take a seat at the table. Luke glanced at the clock: it would be another twenty minutes before Kayla showed up in the car, and he decided it wasn’t the morning to start an argument.

“What’s up?” He asked, reaching over and grabbing an apple as his father sighed across the table, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. Luke took a bite, the flavour and scent filling his senses, only for that damned ear-worm to return.

“Luke, your mother and I are worried…” His dad began, and Luke frowned. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, it wouldn’t be the last. His parents had been set on sending him to college, or some sort of naval academy by Christmas, and Luke had continued to adamantly refuse. His grades were still doing well, perhaps thanks to the amount he copied off of Alex, and with his plan being the band anyway, it’s not like he needed school that badly anyway. “We want you to explore your options, to at least give some thought to your future.” His dad continued, and Luke took another bite of his apple, the song rattling in his head.

“I’m just fine.” Luke assured with an insincere smile, getting up from the table and heading back towards his room to grab his school bag. Perhaps he would just walk further down the road, get picked up on the Main Street.

“Son, come on now.” His father was a quiet, stern man, so while the words alone would have been a plea, the tone twisted them to an order, and Luke stopped just before his bedroom. “There’s an open day in a few weeks, all we ask is you go to it. No commitment, just attendance.” He continued, and Luke glanced back, shrugging.

“If you’ll get off my back about it then yeah.” He conceded with a roll of his eyes, quickly opening his room door and slamming it shut behind him, ending the conversation before his father ventured into small talk.

He waited in there, picking at his apple as he hummed the song from the night before, until a horn sounded outside, Luke then scooping up his school bag and rushing out the house as fast as he could, shouting a quick ‘goodbye’ as he slipped round the front door and closed it firmly, letting out a heavy breath.

He took a moment to compose himself before starting a light jog down his front lawn’s pathway to the car waiting at the bottom of the drive, chock full of his friends. Reggie was driving, Kayla and Julie sat tucked together on the front bench of the old vintage, while the back seat of the convertible was occupied by Alex, Flynn and Nick, who waved Luke over to the space free beside him.

“You know Kayla, the more people we pack in this car, the more likely it is your dad takes his car back.” Luke commented as he jumped into his tight spot in the back, sharing a fist bump with Nick as Reggie sped off in the direction of school.

“My dad gave up rights to this car the moment I started filling the tank, Patterson.” Kayla called back, Luke smiling and letting his head loll back as they raced along the back streets towards school. He could say he never felt more at home than with his friends, in moments like this.

“Like, shit, I forgot to congratulate you.” Nick called over the chatter in the car, garnering his friend’s attention with a dimples smile and tousled hair from the wind. Despite only the year separating them, Luke thought of Nick as a little brother, and the comment made him grin and pat Nick’s shoulder.

“Congratulate me when we win Battle of the Bands.” Luke corrected, leaning closer to make sure the front seat didn’t hear his next words. “And I’ll congratulate you once you finally ask out Julie, alright?” He posed the offer, Nick’s cheeks turning bright red. Luke chuckled it away, sharing a glance with Apex from across the backseat.

When they all got thrown into the same music class three years ago, it was pretty clear to Alex and Luke that Nick likes Julie, and vice versa. They had been trying to set the pair up ever since, with minimal levels of success. But with the impossible seeming to occur everyday now, who knew what might happen?

Reggie sped through a stop sign and near drifted round the corner into the parking lot, sending everyone in the car but Kayla grabbing for stability, whether it were the dashboard of the door or the back of seats, but they didn’t hit anything, and Reggie pulled into the assigned parking space the car had kept for the last year or so, right in front of the school quad.

“I can’t believe it’s the first day of our last year…” Alex remarked as everyone gathered their things and clambered out the car. They had become a collective over the past few years, a friendship group not easily frayed or broken, and as they walked in almost a clump across the school lawn, with Julie in the lead, it was quite difficult to not notice the rest of the school’s eyes resting on them.

Word must have gotten out about their good luck.

“What are you guys going to do without us when we’re gone?” Reggie asked with a grin, his arm sling over his girlfriend’s shoulder as the pair sauntered in the group’s centre, and Flynn turned back from her place beside Julie.

“Maybe get some school work done for once.” She clapped back, earning a chorus of chuckles and tones of agreement from amongst the group.

Luke was hanging back in the rear, taking a moment just to observe his friends, a habit he had gotten into over the summer: this was the last year they would, theoretically, all be together, and Luke had no intention of wasting any of his time with them.

“Hey, uh, Luke!” A voice interrupted his thoughts, the brown-haired boy spinning on the spot to come face to face with one of his classmates. She wasn’t someone he knew very well, granted, but he still smiled and took a step towards her, laying down the infamous charm.

“What can I do you for?” He asked with a dopey grin, which later turned to a smirk when she blushed profusely at his words.

“I was just… uh… Congratulations! On the contest, everyone’s talking about it.” She paused, rummaging in her bag and pulling out a slip of paper, Luke pulling a hand out of his pocket to accept the offering. “If you ever, I don’t know, if you’re ever free and wanna go out for a coffee or something…” She trailed off, and Luke examines the name and phone number.

“Well, Sara,” He read her name out, looking up at her as he spoke. “I’ll send you a text, maybe?” He suggested, taking a few steps back when he heard the sound of Julie shouting his name.

“Uh, yeah! Cool! See you around!” Sara beamed, waving him off as Luke turned to catch up with his friends, the interaction boosting his ego a little more as he went into day.

In fact, by the time lunch had come around, Luke’s day had been rather jammed packed with words of praise and offers of phone numbers, and it seems like his band mates had been experiencing the same thing. When Luke arrived at lunch after a gruelling lesson with Mr Norbert, glad that the rest of his day would consist solely of music, he found his friends at their preferred lunch table, each with a collection of notes falling from their pockets.

“Am… Do I need to act more gay? I thought people knew I was gay.” As Luke sat down, Alex asked the question to the table, Willie’s hand rubbing his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked as he set down his tray and took a bite of his sandwich.

“Four girls… Four girls have tried to ask me out today! And I mean, how am I supposed to respond to that? Did they not know I was gay in the first place?” He questioned again, head frantically searching for an answer as the boy’s anxiety began to build, only to be wheeled by Willie’s lip pressing to Alex’s cheek.

“Join the club, guys.” Carrie spoke up from the end of the table, a vision in pink as she and Julie shared notes from a previous class. “I’ve literally been receiving Instagram DMs for years, all the Dirty Candi girls have. The amount of guys that think they can ‘make you straight’.” The girl involuntarily shivered and let out a sigh. “This is just the beginning for you four. The amount of fan mail thanks to the competition will be huge.”

The Dirty Candi girls had been a group as long as Julie and the Phantoms has, but their music was so different there was no need for competition. They all just sort of became friends instead, and when it became clear the girls wouldn’t be allowed to audition for the Battle of the Bands because of Carrie’s dad’s position at Fall Down Records, there was a mixture of sadness and relief. No hard feelings were had, and no hard feelings would happen, because the last thing the friends wanted was to be compared with one another. They were all talented.

Plus, Dirty Candi performed on Ellen, so if anything they were currently the more well-known.

“In other news.” Flynn spoke up, pulling her eyes away from her phone to address the group. “There’s a new transfer student.” She announced, and glanced over at the clock on the far side of the cafeteria. “We should all be meeting them in about half an hour.” She said decidedly.

“How do you know?” Reggie asked with a mouth full of pasta. He had a semi-circle of clutter around him as he tried to eat and copy homework all at the same time, the boy quite aware of how lucky he was to have better-prepared friends than him.

“Mrs Harrison was our free period supervisor this morning. She got a call, disappeared from class and didn’t come back for twenty minutes.” Nick spoke up on Flynn’s behalf, the girl turned back to her phone to feverishly type away at the screen. “Mrs H has to welcome all the new music students.” He added quickly, glancing across the table as Julie nodded in agreement.

“They’re a senior, or we would have seen them in classes this morning.” The band’s lead singer stacked on top of the Juniors’ theory, and Carrie quickly got her attention back to point out a mistake she had made on the maths coursework.

“New students come in every year.” Luke remarked, brushing off the fascination with a wave of his hand. “Maybe we should talk a bit more about, oh you know, the fact that we’re going to be playing to millions of people on a televised game show in a fortnight!” Luke exclaimed, earning grins from around the table as they all got that hit of realisation again. It had felt like a dream the night before.

“Well, I don’t wanna spill secrets…” Carrie started, all eyes quickly on her. “But with dad hosting the show, there are some responsibilities the Wilson family are taking on… Like an acoustic jam session for the competing bands to meet each other.” She revealed with a squeak, taking a hold of Julie’s arm with excitement. “And don’t even get me started on the Halloween bash the Record Label will be holding…” She added, and Kayla hit Carrie’s arm playfully.

“You keep this up and you’ll rig the competition, C.” Kayla reminded with a meaningful smile, and the pink-themed girl rolled her eyes, but fell quiet nonetheless.

The conversation steered away from the competition for the rest of the lunch period, the friends slowly beginning the walk to music as eyes watched them pass. It wasn’t something any of them acknowledged, well, apart from Carrie on occasion, but they were the popular kids.

It was a mixture of charm, friendliness and musical success, but they had become the ‘it’ kids of Los Feliz High. None of them particularly disliked the role they had been prescribed either: the more people they knew, the more people would hear their music, the more people they could share their passion with. And it was nice, too, sitting at the top of the food chain. They had all been at the bottom at some point in time, and knowing their influence on their peers was a positive gave them all a little bit of pride.

“Quickly, quickly!” Mrs H called from the doorway down the hall, ushering the group to hurry toward the classroom, Julie and Luke in the lead as the nine kids shuffled through the door of the band room, Mrs H closing the door behind them. Their teacher quickly checked through the window to make sure no-one was on approach.

“Mrs H, is everything ok?” Julie asked, taking a step forward, and their teacher nodded quickly.

“I have a favour to ask. We’ve got a new student joining. I didn’t want to ask with other kids listening in but.” Mrs H paused, and relief flossed the faces of her students. There wasn’t any danger, just a request they usually got. “Could you make her feel at home? I. She’s been admitted to the program without an audition, I have no clue of her ability. I just don’t want her being overwhelmed, turned away again.”

“Anything for you, Mrs Harrison.” Luke chipped in, their teacher smiling and letting out a breath.

“Thank you… Right, get yourselves seated, we can have a chat more about this competition during second period, I’ll go fetch her from the office.” Mrs H explained, rushing out the door as their classmates filed in, the room becoming a hub of activity rather quickly as kids picked up their instruments and began tuning.

“How does someone get into the music program without auditioning?” Reggie asked, though there was no malice, just naïve curiosity. Unfortunately, his friends didn’t know how to answer him. It was a question they all had on their minds as they got themselves comfy in the room’s far corner, Luke collecting his guitar and Reggie’s bass from one of the storage cupboards, the pair nodding Julie over to the piano to help them tune the guitars.

It was Julie sat herself down at the grand piano that the door suddenly swung open, Principal Brown coming into the room in a dazzling magenta pantsuit.

“Good afternoon students.” She greeted, receiving a chorus of ‘good afternoon Principal’ back. “As some of you already know, we have a new transfer student joining us for her senior year, and she will be studying alongside you all part-time at the school’s music program.” The principal prefaced, quickly gesturing outside the door for Mrs Harrison to enter along side their new classmate.

“Is that…” Julie whispered, receiving a nod from Reggie and Luke.

The girl from the video last night, the front woman for Electra Heart, stood in their music classroom’s doorway, dressed like a model off a runway, a cigarette perched behind one ear. She was wearing a pair of red plaid trousers, paired with black heels and a corset style crop top, an oversized jean jacket thrown on top, all matched to a pair of sunglasses perched on the end of her nose. Her hair was in a bun, showing off the cigarette behind her ear and a collection of piercing along the earlobe. Her nails were all painted the same colour of red as her trousers, which matched the colour on her lips, which matched the outer corners of her eyeshadow.

“Perhaps you can introduce yourself?” Principal Brown asked, she too noticing the cigarette and plucking it from the girl’s ear, throwing it in the nearby trash can. The girl seemed unfazed by her actions, eyes scanning over the room until they landed on the piano, and the band members stood around it.

Luke couldn’t help but stare back, trying his best to keep his jaw from going slack. How was she here? How did she look better in person? And why in the name of God was Luke overcome with a sense of nostalgia as they looked each other over. There was something other worldly about her, something that made Luke feel like he was younger again. It was the eyes, that raked over his body as she smirked, eyes Luke had known to be timid and frantic when they were kids…

It suddenly click in his head.

“Class.” Mrs Harrison decided to speak for the student. “The is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“No fucking way…” Alex muttered standing up from the back of the class, causing confusion amongst his and Luke’s friends. The rest of them seemed to be missing something important, but were yet to figure out what.

“Y/N, why don’t you find yourself a seat?” Mrs H suggested, Principal Brown taking her leave as Y/N sauntered towards the far corner of the classroom, not pausing for even a second as she sat herself on Luke’s chair, arms folding over her chest as Luke’s gaze on her turned from one of surprise to one of raw, unfiltered annoyance, something Julie would later describe as ‘the angriest she’s ever seen’ her friend.

The pair stared each other down for a moment, Y/N the first to move and reach out an arm, taking Alex’s nearby hand in hers as he stayed standing, shocked by the revelation.

“Seven years is a long time, isn’t it?” Her voice was smooth, trained, like molasses dripping down. It stuck in Luke’s head, the words taking hold over his brain just like her song had earlier that day. Alex pulled the girl to her feet suddenly, the pair embracing in a tight hug, staying like that for a moment as the class watched on, as their friends watched on.

When they finally pulled apart, the girl turned her attention to the frowning Luke, whose knuckles were clenched so firmly that the skin was as white as bone.

It couldn’t be. How was she here? It had to be some kind of joke.

But her eyes were the same, her smirk so familiar, and the deal was sealed when she sat herself back down and crossed one leg over another, in his chair, sending a wink his way that was anything but playful.

“Well, hello there, Skywalker.”

He had always hated that nickname...

--

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[bechloeislegit]

25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020

Day 16 - Christmas in a Small Town

Prompt from FanFiction User lisamarie1987jan: Western AU. [Full prompt located at the end].

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"Whoa," Beca Mitchell called out, pulling on the reins to bring the horse to a stop. Steely blue eyes squinted as they surveyed the small town just below where she had stopped. Having been through these parts before, the owner of those steely blue eyes knew the town was called Barden. A town her cousin filled pages about in her letters to Beca.

Barden was a town that consisted mostly of women; women who loved women. Beca smiled beneath the bandana covering the lower part of her face to keep from inhaling the dry dirt the wind was whipping around. This was her kind of town.

Beca was a small, but commanding presence sitting on her trusted black steed in her black denim trousers and a red and blue checkered mackinaw covering her black button-down shirt, with black boots on her feet, and a black hat pulled low over her forehead.

Beca used her heels to gently touch the horse's sides, urging him to start moving again. The trusty steed walked at a slow steady pace toward the town, taking guidance from the reins held loosely in the steady hands of its rider.

As Beca reached the outskirts of Barden, she took everything in as she looked right then left. There were a few faces watching from various windows as she slowly moved down the main road. Each eying her with scrutiny as only a woman could. Beca smirked behind the bandana covering her face.

Beca stopped in front of Chloe's Boardinghouse for Women and dismounted, sliding gracefully from her horse. She tethered the reins around the hitching post and slowly made her way to the entrance.

Beca looked at the sign by the door.

"Boarding House," she read and snickered.

Remembering Stacie's letters, she knew that the Boarding House was a polite name for a brothel. Only this one catered to both the townswomen and the occasional male traveler. Beca pushed open the door and walked in.

"Hi, stranger," a female voice said, causing Beca to look at her. "May I help you?"

Beca removed her hat, shaking out her long brown hair. She then pulled her bandana down, tucking it under her chin.

"Beca!" the woman squealed and grabbed Beca in a hug.

"Hi, Dr. Conrad," Beca said.

"Stop with the Dr. Conrad business," Dr. Conrad said. "Everyone around her just calls me Stacie."

"Sorry, Stacie," Beca said. "I'm just so proud of you becoming a doctor."

"Nothing to fret over," Stacie said with a smile. "What are you doing here?" Stacie's face turned serious. "You'd better not let Aubrey see you."

"Aubrey?"

"Sheriff Posen," Stacie said. "Your picture is up all over her office."

Beca sighed. "What am I wanted for?"

"Murder. You supposedly killed some guy named Bumper Allen in Dodge City."

"I haven't been anywhere near Dodge City in over a year," Beca said. "And I certainly didn't kill anyone named Bumper when I was there."

"I believe you, Beca," Stacie said. "But you know how these things happen. The person who actually killed him probably claimed to be a witness and identified you as the killer. Everyone knows the name Beca Mitchell as that of a gunslinger."

"Just because I can handle a gun," Beca said. "Doesn't make me a murderer."

"I know that," Stacie said, hugging Beca. Stacie pulled back and looked at Beca. "You still haven't told me why you're here in Barden."

"Christmas is in a few weeks," Beca said. "Can't a girl visit her cousin for the Holidays? You talked so much about this place in your letters, that it sounded like my kind of town. I thought I'd check it out as I might be looking to finally settle down."

"That's great, Beca," Stacie said.

"Thanks, Stacie, I've got this," a sweet angelic voice called from somewhere behind Beca. "May I help you?"

Beca turned to see who was speaking and froze on the spot. The woman was about her age, with red hair, and the bluest eyes Beca had ever seen. She was also the most beautiful woman Beca had ever seen. The woman smiled at Beca and Beca smiled back.

"Sorry, ma'am," Beca said politely. "I'm just looking for a room for a few days."

"Chloe," Stacie said. "This is my cousin, Beca Mitchell. Beca, this is Chloe Beale."

At hearing Beca's name, Chloe's eyes widened in surprise. Chloe recovered quickly and her smile was back in place.

"Your wanted poster doesn't do you justice," Chloe said, staring at Beca.

Beca let out a laugh.

"It is very nice to meet you, Chloe," Beca said as they continued to stare at each other. "Do you have a room for me? Preferably long-term. I have a feeling I'm going to be sticking around for a while."

~~ Day 16 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

Beca had been in town for three days before Sheriff Posen came to see her. Beca was in the dining area of the boardinghouse with Stacie. They were both enjoying the stew that Chloe had made for her lunch special.

Beca kept staring at Chloe, and Stacie noticed.

"You like her," Stacie said. "You should tell her."

Just then the door opened and Sheriff Posen walked in with her Deputy, CR Adams.

"Hey, Aubrey," Chloe called out. "Hey, CR. You two here for lunch?"

"Not right now," Aubrey said as she made her way to Beca's table.

"Sheriff." Beca nodded in greeting.

"Beca Mitchell," Aubrey said. "We should be here to arrest you, but, um, we're not."

Beca was confused. "Why not? Isn't that your job?"

"My job," Aubrey said. "Is to keep the citizens of Barden safe. And we have a situation that is going to lead to some safety concerns."

"What does that have to do with me?" Beca asked.

"There's a ranch about ten miles from here," CR said. "Owned by Jesse Swanson."

Beca sat up straight in her seat and looked at Aubrey and then at CR.

"Jesse Swanson?" Beca repeated. "I don't know who that is."

"He was best friends with Bumper Allen," CR said.

"And I have it on good authority," Aubrey said. "That he knows you're in Bardan and is planning something to take his revenge against you killing Mr. Allen. He's calling his plan to get you, the Christmas surprise."

"I didn't kill Bumper Allen," Beca said. "He had a lot of enemies, but I wasn't one of them."

"Let's say I believe you," Aubrey said, crossing her arms and looking at Beca. "Swanson thinks you did. And he's about to enter my town to make you pay. I can't have that."

"Why aren't you putting me in your jail so he can find me easily, or are you planning on just handing me over to him?" Beca asked.

"If I do either of those things," Aubrey said. "He'll think he can come into my town and do whatever he likes and we won't do anything about it."

"That's where you come in," CR said.

"What are you asking Beca to do?" Stacie asked.

"We want her to help us get rid of Swanson and his men when they come for her," Aubrey said.

"Her reputation as a gunslinger precedes her," CR said. "We need her talents with a gun to help save our town."

Beca looked down at the table, then looked at Aubrey.

"What's in it for me if I help you?" Beca asked.

"I won't arrest you," Aubrey said. "And no one outside of Barden will know you're here."

"You can't be serious, Aubrey," Chloe said. "There's got to be a better way to get rid of Jesse and his men than using Beca as bait."

"I'm not using her as bait," Aubrey said. "She was already here and Swanson somehow found out about it. I'm giving her a chance at keeping her freedom. If she helps us I won't be sending a telegram to Dodge City informing them that we have her in custody. No one will come here looking for her."

"You should do it, Beca," Stacie said. "Aubrey wouldn't make the request if she didn't really need your help. And she's right about him and his men coming back here thinking they can do whatever they want."

Beca sat back and thought about Sheriff Posen's offer.

"I have a counteroffer," Beca said.

"I'm listening," Aubrey said.

"In order for the law in Dodge City to leave me be," Beca said. "I'm going to have to be dead. So, I want you to send a message to the Sheriff in Dodge City that I was arrested and then killed while trying to escape. That should stop them and everyone else from looking for me."

"That's actually a good plan," Aubrey said. "Okay. You agree to help us and once Swanson is done away with, I'll send the telegram."

"So, you want me to kill Jesse Swanson?" Beca asked.

"Yes," Aubrey said. "But, I'm sure he'll give you no choice. His ego will cause him to want a showdown with you, to prove his manhood. I have faith that you will win that showdown."

"So, I guess that means we have a deal," Beca said.

"Yes," Aubrey said. "I guess it does."

~~ Day 16 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

On Christmas Eve morning, Beca was having breakfast with Chloe in the boardinghouse. Chloe was nervous for Beca and took every opportunity to try and talk her out of having a showdown with Jesse Swanson.

"I'm begging you, Beca," Chloe said. "Please don't do this. I like you and I don't want you getting hurt or end up dead."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chloe," Beca said, standing and going upstairs to her room.

Chloe sat with her head in her hand. Stacie came in and walked over to Chloe.

"Are you okay, Chloe?" Stacie asked. "I thought Beca was having breakfast with you?"

"She was," Chloe said. "Until I opened my big mouth about not wanting her to go up against Jesse Swanson."

"Don't worry so much, Chloe," Stacie said. "Beca knows what she's doing."

Both women looked up when they saw Beca come down the stairs carrying a rifle.

"Where are you going, Beca?" Stacie asked.

"I saw some wild turkeys not far from here," Beca said. "I thought I'd try and bag one for Christmas dinner."

"That sounds wonderful," Chloe said. "I'll plan a nice Christmas meal for everyone. Thank you, Beca."

Chloe kissed Beca on the cheek, causing Beca to blush.

"Well, I'd better get out there," Beca said.

Beca returned a few hours later with two wild turkeys strapped to her saddle.

"Beca!" Chloe squealed excitedly. "The girls are going to love you for this."

Beca blushed and got off her horse. She reached up and untied the turkeys, handing them off to Chloe and Jessica.

"What are we going make to go with the turkey?" Jessica asked as she and Chloe took their turkeys into the boardinghouse.

"Mashed potatoes for sure," Chloe said. "I think I may have the fixin's for an apple pie."

Beca watched as Chloe and Jessica walked off together.

"Tell her," Stacie said from behind Beca, causing Beca to jump.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," Beca said.

"I saw the way you were watching Chloe," Stacie said. "You should tell her you like her. She already said she likes you."

"I don't think I can," Beca said.

"Beca," Stacie said. "This is Barden. No one here cares who you like or love."

"I know," Beca said. "I'm just not used to being so open about who I like, especially when it's a woman."

~~ Day 16 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

That night, Beca was nervous. She sat with Stacie, Chloe, and Sheriff Posen. She and Sheriff Posen were discussing the best way to handle Swanson and his men.

During a lull in the conversation, Chloe leaned over and whispered to Beca, "Are you okay?"

"Who? Me?" Beca mumbled. "I'm fine."

"You seem nervous," Chloe whispered, her breath tickled Beca's ear, causing a shiver to run down Beca's back.

"Maybe a little," Beca admitted.

"I can help you relax," Chloe said, standing and reaching out a hand to Beca. "Come with me."

Beca looked around the table and then back at Chloe.

"Come on," Chloe said, with her hand still held out to Beca.

Beca stood and took Chloe's hand. Chloe led Beca up the stairs and into her room.

~~ Day 16 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

The next morning, Beca came downstairs to find Stacie, Aubrey, and CR sitting at a table, eating breakfast.

"Good morning, Beca," Stacie called out, smirking at Beca. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, I did," Beca said, flashing a smirk of her own. "I slept very well. Thank you for asking."

Chloe came out of the kitchen with a plate of food.

"Good morning, Beca," Chloe said and placed the plate on the table. "This is for you."

Beca looked at Chloe and smiled. She walked over to her and gave her a quick kiss.

"Thank you," Beca said and sat down to eat. "Merry Christmas everyone."

The sound of thundering hooves stopped any further conversation.

"I guess Jesse and his men are here," CR said.

Beca, Aubrey, and CR got up and walked outside, ready to face whatever was to come.

Stacie, Chloe, and the others looked out the windows and waited.

Jesse and his men remained on their horses staring down at Beca and the Sheriff.

"Sheriff Posen," Jesse said. "Let's make this real simple. You hand over Beca Mitchell and we'll leave. No muss, no fuss."

"I can't do that," Aubrey said. "She's my prisoner and I'll be turning her over to the Marshalls when they come for her."

"I guess we'll just take her then," Jesse said.

All Jesse's men pulled their guns on the group. Aubrey and CR pulled their guns as well. Stacie, Chloe, and a few others came out holding rifles and guns at the ready.

One of the men made a move, and then he and two others yelped and jerked their hands back as their guns went flying to the ground.

Beca twirled her gun and replaced it back in its holster. She smiled up at Jesse. "The next shot will be right between your eyes."

Jesse's jaw clenched as he looked at Beca and the women behind her.

"I don't think so, bitch," Jesse snarled.

"Oooo, a tough guy, huh?" Beca drawled.

Jesse's face turned red with anger. "I'll show you how tough I am. Meet me at Noon in the middle of town so we can settle this."

"Let's just do it now and get it over with," Beca said. "I have lunch plans."

"If that's the way you want it," Jesse said. "Let's go."

Jesse dismounted and told his men to stay put.

"Hold up there," Sheriff Posen said. "We need to make a few rules before this can happen."

"What kind of rules?" Jesse asked.

"Rule number one," Beca said. "After I kill you, your men will leave and never come back to Barden."

Jesse and the men laughed. "Rule one is fine with us because I won't be the one dead."

"Rule number two," Sheriff Posen said. "Your men will surrender their guns to me and Deputy Adams now. They will be returned when this is over."

"Agreed," Jesse said and looked at his men. "Hand 'em over, boys."

Stacie and Chloe held their guns on the men as they started tossing their guns to the ground at Aubrey and CR's feet.

Jessica and two other women collected the guns and took them inside. Beca nonchalantly reloaded her gun.

Jesse stood watching as Chloe ran and grabbed Beca in a hug.

"Maybe after I kill you," Jesse said, smiling. "I'll have a little fun with your girlfriend."

Chloe flinched and Beca's face hardened. She kissed Chloe and turned back to Jesse.

"Let's do this."

Beca turned to Aubrey and said, "Watch for Jesse's men. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a few of them hiding around town."

Aubrey nodded as Beca followed Jesse to the middle of town. Jesse stopped and turned to face Beca. Beca stopped about six feet away from him.

Jesse shifted to move his jacket away from his gun. Beca watched him. Jesse made a move for his gun; so did Beca. Two shots rang out.

A few seconds later, Jesse fell face-first into the dirt. A cheer went up from the women. The cheer died when another shot rang out.

Across the street, a man fell off the balcony of the mercantile. CR holstered her gun and Beca looked back at her with a smile.

"Stacie!" Beca called out. "I need Dr. Conrad."

Stacie and Chloe went running over to Beca. Beca was holding her side; blood was seeping through her fingers.

"Oh, Beca," Chloe cried, grabbing Beca in a quick hug.

"Let's get her to my office," Stacie said.

Chloe helped Stacie. Aubrey and CR kept watching Jesse's men to make sure they didn't try anything.

Aubrey looked at one of the men. "Get Jesse and the other one and get out of my town."

Four men dismounted and ran over to get the two bodies. The others slowly rode their horses over to them and the bodies were thrown over the backs of two. The four men mounted their horses and looked at the women; the women all held guns on the men until they had made it out of town.

"Take off your shirt," Stacie told Beca as she gathered a few things.

"Chloe, can you help me?" Beca asked grimacing.

Chloe unbuttoned Beca's shirt and took it off her. Stacie looked at the wound.

"It's just a graze," Stacie said as she wiped away the blood. "I'll have to stitch it up."

Beca grimaced and nodded. "Do what you got to do."

After Stacie stitched Beca up, the three women went back over to the boardinghouse. As soon as the townswomen saw Beca they cheered.

Beca blushed and pulled Chloe to her. Chloe put her hand on Beca's face and turned it toward her.

Chloe looked into Beca's eyes and whispered, "I love you."

Beca's eyes widened. "I love you, too," she said, just before their lips met.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Full Prompt from FanFiction User lisamarie1987jan: Western AU. Beca is a drifter and Chloe is a widow running a bar/brothel. Beca comes through town seeking a place to stay and ends up falling in love. But there ends up being trouble (the Treble gang comes through town) Aubrey and CR are the Sheriff and Deputy and they ask Beca for her help. Stacey is the town Doc.

[crazyfreckledginger]

Ikemen Sengoku x Reader - “Wrong Move” [Part 1]

Under unfortunately ironic circumstances, you get taken hostage by the the very person that made the truce between the Oda forces and Takeda-Uesugi alliance happen. However, angering these warlords and using the person that brought all of them together in a heartbeat was probably the worst strategy anyone could come up with. 

Requested by @djanowski15 : “I have no idea how bisy you are, I’m guessing it’s pretty busy since I’m a college student in quarantine too, but I was wondering, if you have time, if you could do a fic for the sengoku warlords having a meeting about a new oc enemy after their truce signing only to learn that this new enemy somehow ended up kidnapping mc and threatening to kill her and all of the warlords decide to finally stomp this guy down into his rightful place with a fluffy reunion with everyone afterwards?”

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I kind of went overboard with this because I loved the idea so much, it comes in two parts, I’ll post them in succession and I’m sorry if the ending isn’t as developed as you wanted, it would have gone on for too long otherwise T-T.

Dusting her hands off on her cloth, she walked back from Masamune’s manor towards the castle. It stood tall for tonight’s ‘celebratory truce dinner’ -- although it was clear it wasn’t a celebration for any of them, but it was compulsory. Despite the thorough organisation that went through with this, it was an in-between warlords event so only two or three vassals per side were going to be present, for protection purposes. 

Switching hands, her fingers curled around the bag of vegetables that the One-Eyed Dragon needed. Finally arriving at the entrance, she wobbled down the corridor, having to stop every now and again as her palms burned. This wasn’t the best fabric to carry heavy things with, but then again, what is?

“Whoever ordered my beautiful angel to carry such a heavy load and injure her precious hands is on his way to hell.” (Y/N) recognised the honey-dipped voice with a stern tone. Turning around, she faced the tall man. Elegantly, he took it out of her grasp and carried it, making it look effortless.

“Thank you Shingen,” she smiled, massaging herself as she walked alongside him.

“Although you shouldn’t curse Masamune to hell, I volunteered to go to his manor to get these supplies.” She defended.

“Would you mind showing me his manor?” he grinned widely as they both turned into another hallway. Giving him a you-are-all-my-friends-and-I-wouldn’t-help-either-side-try-to-go-against-each-other look. It would also be a little indecent to collect information on a newly formed ally. 

“Oh, it’s you.” the familiar grumpy voice made the man’s smile fall immediately. 

The spikey blond hair came into view as he exited the kitchen. 

“Look my darling, we’re all getting along.” Shingen chuckled sarcastically, sliding an arm around her shoulders as he dropped the bag on the floor.

“We might be on a truce but not all of us take kindly to other men being so touchy with Nobunaga’s lucky charm.” a stray kitsune passed by the hallway.

“And by ‘not all of us’ you mean you.” Yukimura, who was following being, chimed in.

“Too many people in the kitchen, everyone except the lass leaves!” The Tiger ordered. 

****

“He did that to have her all by himself.” Ieyasu grumbled at Mitsunari's innocence.

Because (Y/N) is the most reasonable when it comes to cooking out of the rest. Pff, my ass.

He rolled his eyes. Maybe it could be true but everyone knew that wasn’t the reason behind it. Well, everyone except Mitsunari of course.

Nobunaga glanced at the door when Hideyoshi wasn’t looking.

“I’ll just go see if (Y/N) and Masamune are nearly finished.” started to stand up, Hideyoshi interrupted.

“I took the candy away, it's not in the kitchen.” Pouting, he sat back down. 

“Candy?” Shingen straightened his posture from his bored one.

“Dinner.” (Y/N) announced as the door was slid open for her, followed by Masamune and two maids, who were also carrying plates of food. 

Plopping down beside Nobunaga -- as required, he leaned over to her giving her a knowing look. Rolling her eyes and sighing, she slipped the tiny satchel from inside her sleeve and sneakily handed it to him.

“I’ll take you wherever you wish as payment for this, I’m eternally grateful to you for saving my life.” He thanked me. Shingen kept his attention on the bag.

“Don’t be so dramatic, now hide it before I get scolded by Hideyoshi!” 

****

Looking around in the kitchen, she waved the lantern around, searching for the spice that the maids forgot to take for dessert. (Y/N) was the only one in the room, it was dark and not necessary to add more light since she was passing by. On her way here, she crossed paths with the occasional guard on for obvious reasons, they were the only ones in the castle tonight. 

“Oh!” she jumped.

Speak of the devil.

“What are you doing here?” the woman breathed out as the man bowed.

“I apologise, my lady, I heard some suspicious noises and thought it was best to investigate.” 

“Oh, I was just getting some seasoning.” the (H/C) haired chuckled in embarrassment, he was too sweet and she didn’t want to waste his time further “and I think I found it.” turning away to reach the small jar that was on one of the shelves. 

Right after, footsteps grew louder and she felt him right behind her.

“Hey, what are you-MMH!!” she wriggled as something was placed against her mouth and nose and then pulled against his chest. Her muffled sounds grew more and more silent, muscles limping as she drifted off into unconsciousness.

****

“The desserts are getting colder by the minute. What is taking her so long?” Masamune frowned.

“This talk is becoming dull.” Yukimura huffed.

“The whole point of this truce is to discuss how we’re going to deal with him.” Ieyasu mumbled.

“You weren’t the one travelling all those days on horseback porcupine head.” the vassal retorted. 

“P-porcupine?!” the blond’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Hideyoshi made eye contact with Nobunaga, for once, ignoring the pointless banter. Something was definitely up. The leader of the Oda forces understood immediately, nodding to his vassal. The latter stood up, walking towards the door.

“I need to make sure she’s alright.” 

“I’ll come with.” Sasuke volunteered.

*****

“She’s gone??” Ieyasu’s eyes widened.

“The search party hasn’t come back with anything yet.” Mitsuhide expressed with a scowl.

“My lords!” One of the guards rushed in, bowing deeply.

“What is it?” Mitsuhide turned around. 

“It’s a letter.” he handed it to him before scurrying outside like he was supposed to. 

Nobody moved but the kitsune could tell all their eyes were on him as he unfolded the letter to read. However, his heart dropped as his eyes fixated something else that was included: hair of a familiar colour, tied in a ribbon. His fingertips pulled it out and he inspected it.

Kenshin felt his hand grip his sword tightly, it was unbearably frustrating finding out that (Y/N) was kidnapped and on top of that not knowing who did it, he needed to know and he knew he wasn’t the only one thinking the same. 

No one spoke but the tension grew thick in an instant.

Unfolding the piece of paper, he began to read it for himself before doing it out loud for all to hear when Nobunaga accepted it.

When he finished reading the letter, his eyes darted across the rooms, seeing the anger among everything despite maintaining their composure. 

“Emergency meeting.” The look he gave implied that their new allies were not going to attend.

“We want in!” Yukimura frowned.

“No.” Ieyasu’s tone was stern.

“We’ve signed a truce, and there is no point in keeping us out of this because of our own motives when we cherish (Y/N) as much as you do. We need to put our differences aside, as she would say.” Shingen chipped in.

“Fine.” Nobunaga’s eyes narrowed. 

They sat formally as they would at any meeting before.

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[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."

[just-another-obsessed-fangirl]

Lover (2019) Sentence Prompts

feel free to change pronouns and other specific details

How many days did I spend thinking ‘bout how you did me wrong?

Lived in the shade you were throwing ‘til all of my sunshine was gone

I couldn’t get away from you

In my feelings more than Drake

Your name on my lips, tongue-tied

Free rent, living in my mind

But then something happened one magical night

I forgot that you existed

I thought that it would kill me, but it didn’t

It isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference

Got out some popcorn as soon as my rep started going down

Laughed on the schoolyard as soon as I tripped up and hit the ground

I would’ve stuck around for you, would’ve fought the whole town

Would’ve been right there, front row, even if nobody came to your show

But you showed who you are

Sent me a clear message

Taught me some hard lessons, I just forget what they were

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price

You know that I bought it

I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

What doesn’t kill me makes me want you more

It’s new, the shape of your body

It’s blue, the feeling I’ve got

It’s a cruel summer

It’s cool, that’s what I tell ‘em

No rules in breakable heaven

Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine

We say that we’ll just screw it up in these trying times

We’re not trying

Cut the headlights

Summer’s a knife

I’m always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

If I bleed, you’ll be the last to know

I’m drunk in the back of the car

I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

Said, “I’m fine,” but it wasn’t true

I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you

I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer

Just to seal my fate

I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?

He looks up grinning like a devil

We could leave the Christmas lights up ‘til January

This is our place, we make the rules

There’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close?

Take me out and take me home

You’re my lover

We could let our friends crash in the living room

I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want ‘em all

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

My heart’s been borrowed and yours has been blue

All’s well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true

You’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

At every table, I’ll save you a seat

I would be complex

I would be cool

They’d say I played the field before I found someone to commit to

That would be okay for me to do

Every conquest I had made would make me more of a boss to you

I’d be a fearless leader, I’d be an alpha type

When everyone believes you, what’s that like?

I’m so sick of running as fast as I can

I’d get there quicker if I was a man

I’m so sick of them coming at me again

If I was a man

I’d be the man

I hustled, put in the work

Shake their heads and question how much of this I deserve

And they would toast to me

What’s it like to brag about raking in dollars and getting bitches and models?

It’s all good if you’re bad and it’s okay if you’re mad

I’d be a bitch, not a baller

They paint me out to be bad

It’s okay that I’m mad

I’m ready for combat

I don’t want that, but what if I do?

Cruelty wins in the movies

I’ve got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you

I jump from the train, I ride off alone

I never grew up, it’s getting so old

Help me hold on to you

I’ve been the archer, I’ve been the prey

Who could ever leave me, darling, but who could stay?

I search for your dark side

What if I’m alright right here?

I cut off my nose just to spite my face

I hate my reflection for years and years

I pace like a ghost

The room is on fire, invisible smoke

All of my heroes die all alone

They see right through me

Can you see right through me?

I see right through me

All the king’s horses, all the king’s men, couldn’t put me together again

All of my enemies started out friends

His footprints on the sidewalk lead to where I can’t stop

His hands around a cold glass make me wanna know that body like it’s mine

He got that boyish look that I like in a man

I am an architect, I’m drawing up the plans

It’s like I’m seventeen, nobody understands

He got my heartbeat skipping down 16th Avenue

Wanna see what’s under that attitude

I want you, bless my soul

I ain’t gotta tell him, I think he knows

I’ll make myself at home and he’ll want me to stay

He’d better lock it down or I won’t stick around

Good ones never wait

He’s so obsessed with me and, boy, I understand

Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh

We could follow the sparks

I’ll drive

Where we gonna go?

You know I adore you

I’m crazier for you than I was at sixteen

I’m lost in the lights

Ripped up my prom dress

Running through rose thorns

I saw the scoreboard and ran for my life

No cameras catch my pageant smile

I counted days, I counted miles 

It’s you and me, that’s my whole world

They whisper in the hallway, “She’s a bad, bad girl”

The whole school is rolling fake dice

You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes

We’re so sad, we paint the town blue

Voted most likely to run away with you

My team is losing, battered and bruising

I see the high fives between the bad guys

You are the only one who seems to care

The damsels are depressed

Boys will be boys, then where are the wise me?

Darling, I’m scared

No cameras catch my muffled cries

I don’t really wanna fight, ‘cause nobody’s gonna win

I think you should come home

I’ll never let you go, ‘cause I know this is a fight that someday we’re gonna win

She’s a bad, bad girl

High, like your friends were the night that we first met

Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet

I’ve read all of the books beside your bed

Cold, like the shoulder that I gave you in the street

Cat and mouse for a month or two or three

Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe

Kiss me once ‘cause you know I had a long night

Kiss me twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright

Three times ‘cause I waited my whole life

I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

You’re the one I want in paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams

In the icy outdoor pool, when you jumped in first, I went in too

I’m with you even if it makes blue

Takes me back to the color that we painted your brother’s wall

Without all the exes, fights, and flaws

We wouldn’t be standing here so tall

I want to drive away with you

I want your complications too

I want your dreary Mondays

Wrap your arms around me, baby boy

Drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar

I rent a place on Cornelia Street

We were a fresh page on the desk, filling in the blanks as we go

As if the street lights pointed in an arrow head leading us home

I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends

I’d never walk Cornelia Street again

That’s the kinda heartbreak time could never mend

I get mystified by how this city screams your name

I’m so terrified of it you ever walk away

Jacket ‘round my shoulders is yours

Memorize the creaks in the floor

Back when we were card sharks

I thought you were leading me on

I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street, before you even knew I was gone

You called, showed your hand

I turned around before I hit the tunnel

Sat on the roof, you and I

You hold my hand on the street

Walk me back to that apartment years ago

We were just inside barefoot in the kitchen

Sacred new beginnings that became my religion

Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts

Flashbacks waking me up

I get drunk but it’s not enough

The morning comes and you’re not my baby

I look through the windows of this love even though we boarded them up

Chandelier’s still flickering here

I can’t pretend it’s okay when it’s not

I dress to kill my time

I take the long way home

I ask the traffic lights if it’ll be alright, they say, “I don’t know”

What once was ours is no one’s now

The only thing we share is this small town

It was a great love, one for the ages

If the story’s over, why am I still writing pages?

My heart, my hips, my body, my love

Tryna find a part of me that you didn’t touch

Gave up on me like I was a bad drug

Now I’m searching for signs in a haunted club

Our songs, our films, united we stand 

Our country, guess it was a lawless land

Quiet my fears with a touch of your hand

Paper cut stings from out paper-thin plans

My time, my wine, my spirit, my trust

Tryna find a part of me you didn’t take up

Gave you so much, but it wasn’t enough

But I’ll be alright, it’s just a thousand cuts

I love my hometown as much as Motown

Something happened, I heard him laughing

I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent

They say home is where the heart is, but that’s not where mine lives

You know I love a London boy

He likes my American smile

Like a child when our eyes meet

Darling, I fancy you

I guess all the rumors are true

Boy, I fancy you

Now I love high tea

You can find me in the pub

We are watching rugby with his school friends

Show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride

Babes, don’t threaten me with a good time

God, I love the English

Doesn’t have to be Louis V up on Bond Street

Stick with me, I’m your queen

The buttons of my coat were tangled in my hair

I didn’t tell you I was scared

That was the first time we were there

Holy orange bottles, each night I pray to you

Desperate people find faith

Now I pray to Jesus too

Soon you’ll get better

You’ll get better soon ‘cause you have to

I know delusion when I see it in the mirror

You like the nicer nurses

You make the best of a bad deal

I just pretend it isn’t real

I’ll paint the kitchen neon

I’ll brighten up the sky

I know I’ll never get it, there’s not a day that I won’t try

I hate to make this all about me, but who am I supposed to talk to?

What am I supposed to do if there’s no you?

This won’t go back to normal, if it ever was

It’s been years of hoping

I keep saying it because I have to

You’ll get better

We were crazy to think that this could work

Remember how I said I’d die for you?

We were stupid to jump in the ocean separating us

Remember how I’d fly to you?

I can’t talk to you when you’re like this

Staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town

I’m New York City

I still do it for you, babe

They all warned us about times like this

The road gets hard and you get lost when you’re led by blind faith

We might just get away with it

Religion’s in your lips

Even if it’s a false god, we’d still worship

The altar is my hips

We’d still worship this love

I know heaven’s a thing, I go there when you touch me, honey

Hell is when I fight with you

We can patch it up good

Make confessions and we’re begging for forgiveness

Got the wine for you

You can’t talk to me when I’m like this

Daring you to leave me just so I can try and scare you

You’re the West Village

You still do it for me, babe

You are somebody that I don’t know

Taking shots at me like it’s Patrón

Damn, it’s 7 AM

Say it in the street, that’s a knock-out

Say it in a Tweet, that’s a cop-out

I ain’t tryna mess with your self-expression

I’ve learned a lesson that stressing and obsessing ‘bout somebody else is no fun

Snakes and stones never broke my bones

You need to calm down

You’re being too loud

Can you just not step on my gown?

You’re coming at my friends like a missile

Why are you mad when you could be glad?

Sunshine on the street at the parade

You would rather be in the dark ages

Making that sign must’ve taken all night

You just need to take several seats

Try to restore the peace

Control your urges to scream about all the people you hate

Shade never made anybody less gay

We see you over there on the internet

Comparing all the girls who are killing it

We figured you out

We all know now we all got crowns

I blew things out of proportion, now you’re blue

Put you in jail for something you didn’t do

I pinned your hands behind your back

Thought I had reason to attack, but no

Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

Chemistry ‘til it blows up, ‘til there’s no us

Why’d I have to break what I love so much?

It’s on your face and I’m to blame

It’s all me in my head

I’m the one who burned us down

It’s not what I meant

Sorry that I hurt you

I don’t wanna do this to you

I don’t wanna lose this with you

It’s all me, just don’t go

Meet me in the afterglow

It’s so excruciating to see you low

Just wanna lift you up and not let you go

This ultraviolet morning light below tells me this love is worth the fight

I lived like an island, punished you with silence

Went off like sirens

Tell me that you’re still mine

Tell me that we’ll be just fine even when I lose my mind

Tell me that it’s not my fault

Tell me that I’m all you want even when I break my heart

I promise that you’ll never find another like me

I know that I’m a handful

I know I never think before I jump

You’re the kind of guy the ladies want

There’s a lot of cool chicks out there

I know that I went psycho on the phone

I never leave well enough alone

Trouble’s gonna follow where I go

One of these things is not like the others

When it comes to a lover

I’m the only one of me

Baby, that’s the fun of me

You’re the only one of you

Baby, that’s the fun of you

I promise that nobody’s gonna love you like me

I know I tend to make it about me

I know you never get just what you see

I will never bore you, baby

There’s a lot of lame guys out there

We had that fight out in the rain

You ran after me and called my name

I never wanna see you walk away

Living in winter, I am your summer

Hey kids, spelling is fun!

There ain’t no I in “team”, but you know there is a “me”

You can’t spell “awesome” without “me”

School bell rings, walk me home

Sidewalk chalk covered in snow

Lost my gloves, you give me one

“Wanna hang out?” Yeah, sounds like fun

Video games, you pass me a note, sleeping in tents

It’s nice to have a friend

Light pink sky, up on the roof

Sun sinks down, no curfew

20 questions, we tell the truth

You’ve been stressed out lately, yeah, me too

Something gave you the nerve to touch my hand

Church bells ring, carry me home

Rice on the ground looks like snow

Call my bluff, call you “Babe”

Have my back every day

Stay in bed the whole weekend

My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in

Everyone looked worse in the light

There are so many lines that I’ve crossed unforgiven

I’ll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

I don’t wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

I don’t wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night 

Now I see daylight

Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky

I became the butt of the joke

I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked

Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke

Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down

Maybe I’ve stormed out of every single room in this town

Threw out our cloaks and our daggers

Because it’s morning now

It’s brighter now

I can still see it all in my mind

All of you, all of me, intertwined

I once believed love would be black and white (but it’s golden)

I can still see it all in my head

Back and forth from New York, sneaking in your bed

I once believed love would be burning red

It’s golden like daylight

You gotta step into the daylight and let it go

I wanna be defined by the things that I love

Not the things I hate

Not the things I’m afraid of

The things that haunt me in the middle of the might

You are what you love

[shooting-the-walls]

OKAY SO I watched abominable bride for the first time in while. These are the notes I made throughout it

• The whole montage

• ThE thEME tUNe

• Benedict's posher accent

• MRS HUDSON: WE STAN A QUEEN

• The way John says "Holmes": synonymous with "watch it bitch"

• "...abandoned you for an unsavoury companion of dubious morals": SHERLOCK SWEETIE NO

• Mary: ONCE AGAIN WE STAN A QUEEN

• Lestrade needing a fucking drink is such a mood

• Parts of it sound so scripted (e.g the scene in the morgue with Holmes and Watson's first meeting): evidence early on of it being in his mind palace? Sherlock knows it has to go in a certain way, not quite sure how to go about creating such a vivid image? Gets more natural as the episode goes on

• The way Sherlock stops playing the violin so abruptly when John and Mary are arguing: HE'S SUCH A SWEETIE JESUS CHRIST I CAN'T TAKE IT

• "Needs must where the devil drives, Watson"

• "Votes for Women!" "For or against?" "GET OUT." SUCH A QUEEEEEEEN

• "What friend?" "ENGLAND." "....Well that's not very specific" XD

• "Stranger things have happened." "*sigh* Such as?" ".....stranger.... things..?"

• Molly Hooper getting ahead in life YES

• Sherlock being so unaware of how he acts

• *clicks* "COULD IT BE TWINS" (p1)

• "A secret twin?" (p2)

• "IT's nEvER tWiNS"

• "Now that's daddy's gone": OI OI SHERLOCK YOU KINKY LITTLE SHIT

• Sherlock panic-cramming about the Obliquity of the Ecliptic because he wants to impress Mycroft is such a mood

• "Didn't Doctor Watson move out a few months ago"......"That chair is definitely empty" "*sadness* It is isn't it?": SHERLOCK WHYYYYYYY HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IT

• "I shall have a word with my wife to have a word with you": why do I get a feeling that Mary will just high five the servant girl like "Yas queen"

• "We are on our way to see someone cleverer than you" "Shut up"

• THE WHOLE SIGNING SCENE OMG

• THE ELBOW IN THE SIDE XD

• "I am glad you liked my potato" XD

• "Sorry wot" *thumbs up*

• FATCROFT

• Pretty sure this is what Sherlock wants to be able to do with Mycroft in real life: so much banter but he's still such a bitch XD

• *on the enemies": "socialists?" "Anarchists?" "The French?" "Suffragists?" "The Scots?" "Ooo, sounds Serbian"

• Mycroft: "Are there any large body of people you aren't concerned about?"

Watson: NEVER

• I swear to God Watson is all of Holmes' self control XD

• I would have hated being a woman in 1895: imagine wearing a full fucking dress at breakfast!?!?!?!?!?

• I mean talk about low budget creepy horror movie vibes with Lady Carmichael's narrative lol

• Pretty sure the Bride when she's moving is an old Weeping Angel prop from Doctor Who XD

• "Should probably-" "DEFINITELY" "Definitely avoid that"

• Mary being a double agent for Mycroft

• The comments on the train about Watson convincing the world: SHERLOCK WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR SELF ESTEEM

• "There are no ghosts in this world: save the one we make for ourselves"

• SHERLOCK STANDING UP FOR LADY CARMICHAEL YAAAAS

• I'm sorry but Sherlock stop giving shade to the man whose life you were supposed to be saving XD

• IN THE GLASS GREENHOUSE OMG THE TAAAAAAAAALK

• "Have patience, Watson": HAH SAYS YOU SHERLOCK

• Sherlock basically saying "dude you're the one who knows about girls I'm gay as fuck"

• HANG ON the fact that he uses the modern picture of Irene Adler???? Sherlock your mind palace is starting to slip again.

• "You waited until I was asleep and looked at it" ".....I did" WATSON YOU LITTLE SNEAK

• "Under no competition whatsoever": OH SHERL YOUR SELF ESTEEM DUDE

• I love Sherlock's two sides represented by Holmes and Watson arguing with each other. Like it's the perfect representation of the conflict Sherlock must go through with his emotions

• "I made me.... Redbeard?" OH GOD HE'S REMEMBERING IT SOMEONE SEND HELP

• AND THE FACT HE DISTRACTS HIMSELF BY MAKING THE GHOST APPEAR

• Lady Carmichael totally represents Sherlock's guilt. Nobody can convince me otherwise. "You promised to keep him safe, you promised...." why can I see him saying that to himself after everything that happened with Mary? Like he promised himself that he'd keep John safe, and that's why he jumped and ran off for two years, and then he completely overlooks the fact John's wife was an assassin and then she shot him and everything and Sherlock felt guilty

• And he blames HIMSELF (note how Holmes and Watson represent Sherlock's two sides) for Sir Eustace's death: could Sir Eustace represent someone else?? Another murder or situation perhaps??

• OMG MORIARTY'S NOOOOOOOOTE: Sherlock is so shooketh when he sees that

• AND it's after that that the cracks start to appear. Modern phrases, the "hhhhhow", reminded himself of the list: he managed to shake himself up so much with just the MEMORY of Moriarty that he begins to lose his already tenuous grip on the reality he's created for himself

• "Pure reason topped by sheer melodrama, your life in a nutshell": SO TRUE

• OMG HE REMINDS HIMSELF OF THE LIST HE'S SO PRECIOUS

• "I haven't finished yet": SHERLOCK WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

• With the reporters: "why do you make them tea?" "I don't know. I just sort of do": LINK to 'The Sign of Three' and the morning tea

• "....The devil. I wouldn't be surprised, we get all sorts round here"

• OKAY GUYS MORIARTY'S HERE EVERYONE STAY CALM

• The dressing gown comment XD

• Andrew Scott is such a fucking queen and he makes such a creepy Moriarty and I FUCKING LOVE IT

• I love how creepy Moriarty is in Sherlock's mind palace. Like this is Sherlock's true perception of Moriarty as an enemy

• "We don't needs toys to kill each other where's the intimacy in that" OI OI BOYS

• THE SHAAAAAAAKING

• Can we just talk about how beautifully the transitions are? Like how they show the turbulence and Sherlock's own mind trying to drag him out of his mind palace but Sherlock stubbornly holds on because he needs to know

• HE JUST WANTS TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED I FEEL SO SORRY FOR HIM SUCH A SWEETIE

• THE CRAAAAAaaaater talk about the CGI

• "Maybe I could backcomb": DUDE THE BACK OF YOUR FUCKING HEAD WAS BLOWN OFF

• "It's not the fall that kills you Sherlock. It's not the fall, never the fall. It's the landing!"

• BOOM BACK TO MODERN DAY

• EYY CURLY HAIR IS BACK

• The fact that Mycroft knows immediately what's going on: it's so sad but it's so poignant that he's clearly been through this before

• HE WAS READING JOHN'S BLOG. JOHNLOCK FOREVER

• "Did you make a list?"

• And the fact he tries to avoid it but he knows he can't: JOHN'S FACE WHEN HE READS THE LIST. What was on that thing???

• REQUEST FOR SEASON 5: what the fuck was "that day"? The fact there's a whole agreement?? I WANNA KNOW

• "I'm not an addict, I'm a user. I allievate boredom and occasionally heighten my thought processes"

• SHERLOCK AND MYCROFT ARE SO SARCY WITH EACH OTHER: "listen to me" "nope. It only encourages you"

• OH GOD NO NOW THERE'S BROTHERY FEELS MYC STOP

• "I should have realised. "Realised what?" "That for you solitary confinement is locking you up with your own worst enemy" JESUS THE FEELS

• Then straight back to Victorian. THE TRANSITIONS ARE SO SEAMLESS AND BEAUTIFUL

• The fact he reminds himself in his mind palace that he's an addict. Literally two minutes ago he was saying he wasn't an addict. SUCH LIIIIIEEEEEEES

• And he tells himself off so much and I love him but he just needs such a hug

• "For Mary always. Never that": the fact he's so willing to do anything for Mary just because John loves her, regardless of what Sherlock feels towards her. IF THAT ISN'T TRUE LOVE I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS

• "You're Sherlock Holmes wear the damn hat"

• "Sherlock, tell me where my bloody wife is you pompous prick or I'll punch your lights out!": AGAIN showing the fragility of his mind palace

• "No not him, the clever one": AWWW HE REALLY DOES LOVE MYC

• "I was talking to Mary": NO YOU WEREN'T WATSON SHUT UP

• "Die to prove a point?": *ahem* Moriarty *ahem*

• OOO THE REVELATION OF HOOPER

• I feel so sorry for all of the women and how they've been marginalised

• OH HEY JANINE WHY ARE YOU HERE

• I mean I love what these women are doing but c'mon, killing them? Really? I totally agree cos they're bloody brutes but you could've tried not to break the law

• HE'S SO CONFIDENT GODDAMN BUT HE'S SO WRONG

• Moriarty once again reminding him (in a dress this time) that it's in his heaaaaaad

• "Speaking as a criminal mastermind we don't really have gongs"

• HEYYYY WE'RE BACK TO MODERN AGAIN

• I have a feeling that despite being completely under, Sherlock refused to let anyone but John touch him which was why John was checking him out despite the GMC discouraging doctors treating their friends/family

• He's talking so fast he's definitely still high

• "NO everyone always lets you do whatever you want, that's how you got in this state" damn that got hella real hella quick

• "He's right, you know." "So what if he's right, he's always right!" SHERLOCK YOUR LOVE FOR JOHN IS SHOWING

• *Mycroft standing with a torch watching them work hard" "I'm HELPING"

• The look Mycroft and Lestrade share: like "wtf have we gotten ourselves into" MYSTRADE

• "Still not awake, am I?" HE KNOWS YOU SEE

• We're at reichenbach: Sherlock's worst nightmare basically

• Moriarty even describes himself as a "virus" in a hard drive: Sherlock right there is admitting that Moriarty IS his weakness, that Moriarty stops him from being able to function at full capacity

• And then the fight: the fact Sherlock is losing so miserably

• "At the end it's always just you and me"

• WATSON YES THIS WAS WHEN YOU NEEDED TO ROCK UP

• "Pretty damn smart" AWWWW SHERL

• "Ugh why don't you two just elope already": I'm sorry but Moriarty is basically the fandom here XD

• "Actually, would you mind" "not at all" *dies from fangirl*

• "It was my turn": John just wanted to push Moriarty off of something XD

• John watching Sherlock jump off: "DO A FLIP!"

• "You probably just ODed?" "NO TIME"

• SHERLOCK HE CARES ABOUT YOU STOP BEING A BITCH

• "Look after him... please?": You see, Mycroft KNOWS. Up until 4-5 years ago, that was Mycroft's job, and you can just tell that he's not used to not being there. He's been caring for Sherlock for all of those years and he pretends to be so distant ("The Ice Man") but Sherlock is his weakness. Sherlock will always be his weakness. He obviously loves him (BROTHERLY WAY) so much and it HURTS how Sherlock just brushes him off

• The last little bit in Victorian London: still Sherlock's mind palace and coming down off the drugs still?? The fact that it's modern London outside of the window suggests that he's still in the mind palace where some of the hallucination (?) he'd been having is still lingering.

[creeping-crowley]

♱ Satanic Panic ♱

Something in the air felt wrong.

The perpetual absence. The sudden drop in the atmosphere that comes in the breath between lightning and thunder. A plummeting sensation of wrongness had settled over London beneath the darkened clouds that chanted for rain. From outside, everyone was stirring and hurrying about the Mayfair streets, scurrying about as the first errant drops of the coming storm cascaded downward.

Crowley was busy. What he was busy with few acknowledged as a real task, but he went about the routine with just as much (if not more) dedication than to most of his other work-related endeavours. Every week he would patrol his flat, tending to the plants and stirring the petrifying knowledge into them of what happened if he noticed any failures to thrive. As he went about his business (with a good degree less discussion than he usually made), Crowley permitted his attention to dip in and out of the news report on the television in the living room.

The disembodied voice echoed softly throughout the flat.  A man’s voice presented numerous stories in a stern sort of severity- the way one might deliver the news that a family member had suffered an unfortunate accident.

‘With last year being London's bloodiest in almost a decade, as the number of homicides reached 135, the plague of knife crime is not nearing its end.’

Crowley closed a window as the first drops of rain devolved swiftly into a torrential downpour.

‘…Slews of schools across London have introduced them…But for some people, the implementation of knife arches comes too late.’

The TV flickered, jumped, then continued. A low rumble shook the sky.

‘Tory leadership contender Jeremy Hunt has refused to guarantee that the UK will leave the EU before Christmas, but said he "expects" it to happen by then.’

Crowley rolled his eyes. There was a rumour flying around that he’d had a hand in setting Brexit in motion. A rumour that Crowley had not directly addressed to anyone. Nor did he intend to.

‘Up to 160,000 Conser—’ The power blinked, crackling as another rumble of thunder passed overhead.

Ignoring it, Crowley moved onto the next plant. A quiet frown crossed his features. He had already started to tune out the topic as talk of politics babbled away across the empty rooms.

‘…voting for their next party leader - and UK prime mini—’ Static broke the report, lulling into a temporary hiss until the voice returned.

‘… replace Theresa May.’

A flash of lightning filled the room with a temporary brightness. And then it was gone.

As was all the brightness. And power. And sound.

Crowley ignored it. Moving on to the next plant that trembled at his mere proximity.

From the living room the distant hum and crackle of static flickered in and out, picking up on the hollow tone of the reporter’s voice but failing to provide enough clarity for his words to carry in anything more than an indistinct hum. The lights did not turn back on.

“…Well that’s not good.” The demon remarked at last with an absent sort of tone that implied the comment was not entirely tied to the thoughts he was having towards the power cut. Or the storm.

“IT’S SIMPLY DREADFUL, CROWLEY.”

The silky tone of his Master oozed from the sound system, echoing out of the hollow reporter’s mouth.

Static continued to pick apart at the voice, but the message came loud and clear. After a long moment of remaining rooted to the spot, Crowley abandoned his plant mister and skirted back into the living room. Perhaps this was what he had possessed such a vile feeling about. He’d felt some sort of ill-will in the air and now Satan himself was reaching out- it had been a while since they had spoken. He certainly sounded significantly less angry on this occasion.

“YOU’VE QUITE MARVELLOUSLY OUTDONE YOURSELF, CROWLEY.”

“Err.” A faint noise of acknowledgment sounded at the back of the demon’s throat as he eyed the static that danced across the television screen, playing with the features of the news reporter and occasionally causing his expression to twitch into a wicked smile.

Well hang on, Brexit hasn’t actually been completed yet. Wasn’t this a little early for a commendation?

“YOUR EFFORTS TO CORRUPT OUR ENEMY FROM THE INSIDE OUT HAVE BEEN RECOGNISED, CROWLEY.”

Crowley squinted. Perhaps this wasn’t to do with Brexit.

“WHILST MY DUKES AND BARONESSES HAVE SECURED ME SOULS OF THE MORAL KIND, YOU HAVE EXCEEDED EVEN THEIR WORK, CROWLEY.”

A thin sheen of sweat began to creep across Crowley’s forehead.

“HEAVEN HAVE INFORMED ME THAT THE NECESSARY PAPERWORK WILL BE COMPLETED SHORTLY, CROWLEY. THE ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE IS OURS AND IT’S ALL THANKS TO YOU, CROWLEY. HE WILL BE COLLECTED SHORTLY FOR THE PROCESS TO BEGIN. YOU HAVE ACHIEVED THE UNACHIEVABLE, CROWLEY. AND

YOU

WILL BE

R̸̨̛͙̱̙̭͐́̐͗͝ Ẹ̴͍̼͎͉̩̫̝͙̮͖̣̪̪͈͑́ Ẃ̸̗͍̼͐̀̄̀ Ḁ̶̞͇̒͐̒̽̊͌́̅̽̊̌͘͝͝͝ Ṟ̸̡̡̜͕͎͚̮̲͇̼̥̗̀̒̍̍ͅ D̸̛͎̗̅̅̎̆̈͆̽̌̕͜ È̸̛͙͉͙̣̯̦̤̤̭̯͋͐͂͗̎͑͘͘ D̶̡̖͕̦͙͚̮̻͎͖̼̰̤͋͆́̈͒̎̄ “  

“…Thank you, lord.” Crowley breathed. His voice almost as numb as the news reporter’s.

A horrified sinking sensation bored its way through him.

How?

What had taken place in recent history to justify such a vast overreaction from heaven?

Deep down, a part of Crowley felt he knew. Along with the mounting fear, there kindled a deep, unforgotten hatred. A hatred towards the ones who had likely come to this decision. The ones who were about to enact a ritual of such pain, hurt and humiliation it had stripped away the very essence of every angel that survived it.

A thought stuck in Crowley’s mind as the television flickered back to life and the reporter began drawling on about referendums and deals once more.

They were coming to collect Aziraphale.

Scenes of the bookshop engulfed in flame flashed back into the demon’s head. He scrambled out of the flat as though it had been doused in holy water. Like a bat out of hell. Or like one whom had the fear of God put into them. The latter would be the most accurate.

Half-throwing himself into the Bentley, Crowley set himself hurtling towards the first place he knew the angel would be. With the help of breakneck speeds, tactically willing traffic lights, officers and pedestrians out of the way, Crowley worked to slice his journey down to a mere fraction of what it should have been.

“Call Aziraphale.” A wracked voice that hardly sounded like his own demanded.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Until an automated voice ended the call after a redundant offer to leave a message. With a snarl Crowley smacked the steering wheel.

“CALL. AZIRAPHALE.” The phone shuddered.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Nothing.

Faster than should have realistically been possible, the Bentley pulled up by the bookshop. No fire. At least not visibly. Ignoring the ‘Sorry, we’re closed!’ sign and the locks, Crowley entered. The entire bookshop radiated the essence of Aziraphale- every corner was so thoroughly steeped in love and many cared-for volumes that it felt as though he was always there even on the occasions where he was absent.

“AZIRAPHALE!” He couldn’t not shout. By this stage it was horrifically urgent.

“AZIRAPHALE YOU BASTARD DON’T DO THIS TO ME AGAIN.” Crowley’s voice shattered mid-roar. Saving little time, he tore into the back room, growing frantic. Snake-like eyes bolted across the room for the sign of anything that appeared remotely out of place. The sign of a struggle. Anything.

“WHERE ARE YOU!?”

“IT CAN’T HAVE HAPPENED YET!” Desperation twisted his tone upward.

After pacing the shop a good number of times, Crowley fell to his knees atop the thread-bare carpet that covered a neatly-drawn chalk circle. He wasn’t supposed to be in such proximity to it. But it hardly mattered now. Golden eyes lifted, pleading skyward for someone, anyone, anything- some divine voice that had cast him aside only just after time began- to listen.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!

HE’S—

HE’S GOING TO LOSE EVERYTHING AND IT’S ALL MY FAULT!

I’M THE ONE YOU SHOULD BE HURTING! NOT HIM! HE’S GOOD, KIND, FORGIVING—NONE OF THE BAD STUFF WAS HIM! WHY DO YOU PREACH FORGIVENESS BUT NEVER PRACTICE IT? YOU’RE GOING TO BE THE REASON THERE ARE NO GOOD THINGS LEFT!”

A series of deep, ragged pants stole Crowley’s words away. No reply.

They never replied.

Frustration spurned him back into motion. Although a dawning part of Crowley knew that if Aziraphale was not in the bookshop and failing to answer his phone, he was too late. But abandoning the search was unimaginable. He had to find him.

In a series of stray attempts to locate the angel’s aura, Crowley simply found himself stumbling upon various places they had met over the previous two weeks: places that had been touched by the angel’s aura. Restaurants, cafes, The British Museum and Hyde Park. Two hours later, Crowley returned to his flat, soaked through from his attempt to battle the rain on his hunt. Outside, thunder and lightning continued their violent dance. He had not given up, but a grim realisation had presented itself to Crowley: now that he had exhausted his most likely options (and checked the bookshop once more for good measure), it would make sense to reconvene, dry off and attempt to focus somewhere more quiet in order to tap in to Aziraphale’s energy.

It was difficult to not feel defeated as he scaled the stairs to the flat. Once entering, Crowley kicked off his sodden shoes. With a wave of his hand, the rainwater vanished from his clothes, leaving the only evidence of his trip outside in the mop of sodden auburn hair atop of his head. After a couple of steps, Crowley stilled.

‘Thanks very much and hello! Welcome to The Chase, tonight four celebrities will be raising money for a charity of their choice. Hello, yes, welcome to the show Ian,’

That’s strange.

He hadn’t left the television on when he’d left.

Warily, Crowley began to slink towards the living room. A familiar shape sat on the sofa. No-less tense, Crowley edged over the threshold. He didn’t need to see Aziraphale’s face to know he was too late. At Crowley’s presence the television flickered, blinked, and switched itself off.

“Angel…” The word dripped painfully from his mouth, thoughtless in the very moment of things.  

Not anymore…

Resignation swept over the demon as he rounded the sofa to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale’s face. It was too late. There was no undoing such an act. Hopeless guilt writhed across Crowley’s features as he inched closer, not quite knowing what one says to someone who falls and does not mean to. Crowley had been in the minority in that sense (and nobody had offered him any words of assurance when the day of his fall had taken place).

“What have they done to you?” A mournful whisper encapsulated Crowley’s words as he uttered them. Golden eyes drank in the extent of the damage. With great care to be gentle a finger extended to run reverently along a coal-black feather. Oh, the world was wicked.

It was unjust.

But never quite so much as those who had created it all.

(( @gaily-gavotte ))

[delysartfanart]

Satsuten ep. 14-15-16

 beiUhm... yes. £ episodes in one comment because before I hadn’t the time to write something about them, but finally I am here for comment the end of this anime. I will do a short comment for every episode (They are 3 in one post!!) and for them I will give a vote, then I will comment all the anime, how I found it, and the vote of the entire work.

Let’s start:

EPISODE 14:

It starts in this beautiful way: Danny being shoot by Ray (FUCK YEAH BABY!) and the dialogue between Ray and Zack. It was beautiful. I liked it. And what I told in another episode (I forgot the number, but was the end of the witch trial) about the zack’s face covered in a shadow was somehow true. A face that Ray couldn’t see before this scene. Like I said, she didn’t know Zack, and she thought he was her God, but then, when she saw finally his face, she understood that he is not a God, but a human. He is Zack. And this is what I liked very much about this episode. It was so beautiful the way in witch Ray finally see Zack for who he is. 

Then, they try to escape from the building, and after understanding that the real exit is in the B2 floor, they decide to come back to the elevator, but Danny disapeared.... again... Fuck... But it was really nice see how Zack was so protective after this. They back to the floor B2 and togheter move the giant organ (It was so funny here. Little Zack try to move something and doing noises like a car XD). Then he destroy the window and they arrive at the Kung fu panda stairs (No, really... in the game and in the anime they are too much stairs... it’s a kind of torture owo). Zack give to Ray his knife as a present, for let her to protect herself and “stay alive until he kills her”. And the episode ends with the allarm and a smiling Gray at the floor B7.

Vote: 8/9 (can’t decide. I liked very much this episode)

EPISODE 15:

Zack and Ray start to run fast for escape from the building that is going to be destroyed. Meanwhile Gray is walking from all the floors. Walking INSIDE the flames. OK. So.... he walks into the fire but he is not hurt. He is not human! (and we will see in the episode 16). During this scene, we can see the floors that are now destroyed. It was cool to see, and somehow... nostalgic (yeah, it was a place in which killers killed people, but also it is the place in which Zack and Ray met. for this is nostalgic). Zack and Ray continue to run, but in the middle of the stairs there is a... iron barrier. ok, I don’t comment this (after the pizza scene I can’t, fuuuuuuuuuu-). Zack try then to destroy them (He forgot ep 4 and 5, poor baby) but the flames come near him. And... wow, guys, it was so sad. it broke my hearth! Nobuhiko was so awesome here, voincing Zack’s panic. My poor baby :(. Ray then try to convince him that it’s everything ok, but the killer is so scared, and he can only sit down on the floor sobbing like a child. Ray try to “destroy” the iron barrier, but when Zack saw her, he gets back in himself and decide to destroy it. It was a nice scene because again we see Shadow Zack, but this time like his own enemy. Here Zack is fighting against himself, againts his worst fear, and he win, destroyng the iron barrier. (Ok, in the game here was a bit different, but I liked it too for this part). Then the duo escape, and Zack destroy everything is on their way. It was so funny when he grabbed Ray for jump over a hole that was created for the explosion. Then Zack destroy a huge barrier that was created with parts of the building, but in this way he destroy the scythe. I liked so much it, because 1. I loved how he asked to Ray if he could destroy the barrier. Was so cool, and 2. because the fact that he destroyed the scythe, and abandoned it (and Ray saying “bye bye” to it) I thinki was full of meanings. is like Zack abandoned one part of him in this build. is Like he is changed after the meeting with Ray, and that he is not only a serial killer covered with bandages. he is now more human.

They arrive at the exit, and I loved the scene in wich they talk about the promise. was so beautiful. BUT ALWAYS DANNY COMES TO DESTROY EVERYTHING.

He shoot Ray and the scene is was like the game... exept for two things: The fact that Danny shoots her 2 times and the fact that Zack is staying here looking at her. this scene has to be more dramatic, with Zack that was more close to her, like hugging her (it is canon, if you look at negiyan’s art in the novel!) but here no. Parts of the feels aren’t here, but anyway I cried here after Ray said that their promise isn’t something that it can be stolen. 

After this, the scene that I always wanted to see animated: GRAY WITH A CROSSBOW THAT HIT DANNY!!!! I loved it! I clapped so hard here! GOOD JOB GRAY! 

Zack said the sentence that I always loved, that “what is the meaning of going out if she dies?”! I loved it! and thank you J.C. Staff for let him finally say it! Thank you! I loved it because from this you can understand that Zack feel affection for Ray. He could escape alone, she anyway would die. He could anyway kill her here and then escape, but he didn’t. He was ready to die with her in the building. (ahhhhhhhhhhhh T3T). Gray says to him to escape with her, because she would be saved. the episode then ends with Zack that grab Ray in his arms for going out, with Danny that is close to shoot him.

Vote: 8. It could be 9, if the final scene were more dramatic.

EPISODE 16:

Ahhhhh, the end of this story. The end of the anime!

Gray shoot Danny before he could kill Zack, in this way Zack can escape from the building with Ray.

Gray teleport himself to Danny and... Wait what? TELEPORT? Uhm...

Yeah. he is definetly not human.... or the anime is confusing me :/

I don’t want to comment their dialogue, because in the game was so long, in the anime same, but we could see at the same time Zack with Ray, so it was... ok? but the dialogue... ahhh come on! I apreciate the fact that Gray understand his own mistakes, but from this we also understand why Danny did this crazy story: because he wanted to being loved, because his mother couldn’t give him love for his eye. 

Ok, Daniel, sit down, and listen to me. If you want to being loved, let the people love you geniunly, not with force. Don’t kill people for watch their dead eyes, for example. AND DON’T FUCKING KIDNAP A GIRL WITH DEAD EYES! You idiot! I am sorry, but I can’t apreciate this character. I hate his motivation. it’s so stupid.

Anyway, Zack with Ray escape finally from the building and they are out of it. there are people outside that watched the scene (uh... there weren’t people in the game but ok...). 

I loved this scene. I loved how Zack was initially desperate for Ray (also hugged her, ahhhhhh!!!) and then, when the police came, he smiled to her. I loved all parts of this, because it was exactly how I imaginated it!

Zack was arrested and Ray hospitalized. Then there are newspapers that tlaks about them and the building, and in the television that interview an agent and the psychologist of Ray. Then we can see how the time goes, with the change of the seasons, with Ray at the hospital. It’s so sad to see her in this way.

and it was so sad when her new psichologist (ah, p.s., I hated thsi woman here. SHUT UP! WHY YOU TOLD TO HER THIS???) tell to Ray that Zack is condamned to death. her eyes changed, again. Poor Ray... is like they killed again her emotions.

And finally... Oh, God!

The WINDOW SCENE!

I was scared for this, because I was sure J.C. staff would destroy it, but I was wrong. It was fast, yeah, and changed a bit the dialogues, but I loved it! It was so powerfull, so beautiful! I cried so much! And Zack’s hair are so AHHHHHH :Q___ ANd his eyes are so AHHHHHH :Q_____ (He is always so AHHHHHH :Q____). And the part that I was so much scared. The Escape from the window! They did like the game: OPEN ENDING! thank you! thank you so much for this! Because I was so scared to see their prob. idea of the ending, like both of them death, but, no, Is free! (AND THEY LIVE, OK? I DON’T WANNA HEAR ANYTHING!)

It was so beautiful this scene! And I cried so much here. The feels were over 9000!! T3T

Vote: 9 (It could be 10... but Danny.... arghhhh......)

Then, The comment about the entire anime. What I can say?

I love the anime version of Angels of Death. THey did a great job! Animations are soo good, their voices are awesome! They changed something, but some changes I loved (like the house doll in the Cathy floor). They added the Zack’s past with the old man (it is only in the manga, not in the game), the first scene that I cried for. Tcut some scenes (THE PIZZAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!), but for the rest I loved it. 

VOTE OF THE ENTIRE ANIME: 8

I recomend this anime for everyone! But first.... PLAY THE GAME :3 (or watch the gameplay, like me) :D

[cassandra-rp]

50. Precious Treasure

50. Precious Treasure

"Salem... Get down from there!"  The young demon woman placed her hands on her hips as she glared up at the young man who walked along a half burnt beam of a building, the fire damage reeked of and Inferno to the young woman but she kept it to herself.    A sly smirk on his lips as he dropped, hanging by his legs upside down as he glared at his babysitter. "What are you going to do about it, Clover?"

"I swear your father does not pay me enough for this..." She replied as she stared up at him. He finally swung his legs a bit, getting upright before dropping down to his feet. "Worrywart."   He stated, flinching as the beam cracked and fell - missing him by a couple inches.

"You may be able to withstand most damage, Salem... But, you aren't indestructible and your father seems to have a habit of getting himself into trouble...He has more enemies then the ones with human pets.  I personally don't see why he doesn't make nice. Paimon's on his way out and your father could easily take his place, He'd probably be a perfect replacement; Brash, Strong, Clever... All he's missing is the fire."

Salem listened even if he acted like he was disinterested as the dark haired green eyed woman spoke. Clover had been his 'nanny' for as long as he'd existed. She took care of him and his father as if she was his mother; a succubus. It wasn't a relationship that was meant to last purely from genetics...    He personally loved Clover as his mother though and didn't understand why his father didn't see her the same way.  Perhaps it was her power; A demon with the passive power of  good luck seemed like and odd combination so most people didn't believe she was a true demon.

"Salem..."  Clover's voice was soft as they walked and her eyes glanced down at him. "Promise me you'll think before you leap...When it really matters; don't be like your father...Don't make enemies out of potential allies."   The concern in her voice didn't make a lot of sense but he let out a faint sigh as he nodded. "I promise."

---

The waves of the ocean caught the teenager's heart instantly; Salem's eyes staring into the deep dark water as it moved and he wondered how far it went... It was so different than hell as the blue ocean and sky seemed to be one for miles and miles and instead of the heat of lava and death there was a cool and refreshing breeze.  A man on the dock glancing over a little and laughing a little.

"Oh, I've seen that look before, Boy."

Salem stiffened as he glared at the man and became defensive; Clover's promise however lingered in his ears as he softened a little...It was hard. They had just; disappeared.  He assumed death if only from the blood but there wasn't much he could do with Hell in such uproar...  He never really belonged there anyways. He was good at stealing; what demon wasn't?   so he was doing fine on the surface but he still was naive to the human way of things and had gotten into trouble a few times because of it.

The man might be a way...out. After all; The sea seemed...easier.

"What..Look?" He finally asked as the man leaned against the post. Tall, A little heavy set but not overly with a scruffy beard and large hat and trench coat on. A gun on his waist...  

"The look of adventure, Boy!" He stated as he pointed out to the water. "The water is my home and I can assure you that all those thoughts swimming around in that head of yours would be answered; It's vast. It's quiet - It's exciting;  And I could use another young man like yourself; It's hard work but it's worth it and as long as you're part of my crew you'll be part of my family... We take care of one another." He stated as he motioned towards a few people around the boat working to get ready to set off...

The man was a pretty good salesperson because Salem found himself saying yes within a few minutes... ---

It was hard work all right. It was dirty and messy, extremely wet. Salem, however excelled due to his advantage as a demon. He could lift higher, climb faster.  And once he learned his way around a gun he had no fear of the object he held; after all. He couldn't be hurt by it.  He was second in command in only a few years. And captain as the man who'd invited him on board fell ill; it was all to common at the time... The only person who knew he cried that night was the mermaid who was leading them past the 'dead zone'

"You know... You're not like the other pirates who come through here. They'd sooner sell me then speak with me." she stated softly as she swam along side the boat, they were going slow... They had to here.

Salem rubbed his sore red eyes as he leaned over the side of the boat and glanced down at her. "Capt' said that what they don't know won't hurt em. It's not like I'm anymore human than you..." He admitted, closing his eyes. His family; the crew. They suspected he wasn't human but they hardly cared...  

"I see... So you're the one in charge now? It seems...odd. you haven't been with them in the past. Why do you get to be in charge now..?"

"They put it to a vote before he died. Capt' voted for me so practically everyone did..."

"Oh...Well I suppose that makes sense." She smiled a little bit. Her voice was quite soft but weirdly soothing as she spoke. It reminded him of how the one Angel he met spoke; the odd echo that layered her voice hovering in the air even once her sentence ended.

Salem let out a breath as he pressed the flask to his lips, taking a shot. "...It's funny, I ran away from responsibility only to end up with it weighing on my shoulders again."

"Perhaps it's your destiny... Do you intend to bare it this time?"  She inquired.

"Yes."  He replied, smiling. ---

He'd done quite well despite the sudden responsibility and they'd ended up with several bounties of treasure. Salem followed his mentor's teachings although most pirates began to steal from anyone he stayed true to the course.  He'd steal from the rich and unkind like the Lyn's and Jenova's. He'd find treasures lost to the sea or places most couldn't roam and sell them for profit but him and his crew never harmed those who couldn't protect themselves and they helped anyone who needed it.

Port Lyndon, needed it. A lot of people needed a way out during the wars going on nearby to protect there families so he did just that. He couldn't take as many as he wished simply due to supplies but he settled on allowing fourtey five to board; free of charge if they were willing to work. Although a lot of people had missed that memo since most ships didn't go by those rules. "Aye; Nice to see you again, Salem." The cowgirl stepped onboard and tipped her hat.

"How did you get all the way out here..? And where's Death?" Salem kept passing this woman; she was something else...  There was a reason nobody tried to mess with her.  Her shadow, Death. A man with blonde hair and supposedly red eyes.  Nobody knew much about him aside from being Angeline's shadow... It wasn't common to see one without the other.

She snorted, rolling her shoulders. "Chasing a man."  She stated calmly with a smirk tugging her lips but she dropped the second answer; he wouldn't be getting it.  His eyes darted over as he spotted a few of his men pulling a crate up onto the boat as they talked.   He glanced back to Angeline and tilted his head. "A mark?"  

The laugh that let her lips was hardy as she spun her pistol around. "A husband." She stated with a wink as she walked past him. "I'm helping myself to some beer then I'll..swab the deck or whatever crappy job you can't hire anyone to do~!"  She said walking on the ship as if she owned it - knowing right where to go and who to talk to.   He didn't mind; If she ever wanted to be a Pirate rather than a Cowboy he'd invite her in a minute... She survived on pure moxie.

---

A few people claimed they were convinced that someone or something was in the storage; Salem sighed; It was probably just a cat or something that slipped in but the stories of Port Lyndon had everyone except him and Angeline spooked; He opted to check since it'd give him a break for a moment... He felt confident with his crew and the addition of Angeline if the weather acted up; Port Lyndon was always a disaster for about 200 miles from the land. He'd seen the weirdest weather changes in his entire career in this city.

He knocked on the wall a few times since sometimes animals would jump out of wherever they were hiding but he didn't hear much aside from a small tiny creaking sound. One of the crates...not the ship.

He walked along, kicking a couple of the crates with his boot - It seemed like he was just trying to spook whatever it was but he was listening; The sound would let him know if it was full or hollow. after all. A human took up a lot of space...

The story that followed had several different versions told but the girl he found was the most precious treasure he'd ever discovered; even if he didn't know it yet.

[crownoyami]

Waiting No Longer - New Fic!

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Supernatural

Relationships: Gabriel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Gabriel (Supernatural), Castiel/Gabriel/Dean Winchester

Characters: Gabriel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester

Additional Tags: Threesome - M/M/M, Angelcest (Supernatural), Polyamory

Series:  Part 21 of the Gabriel Monthly Challenge 2018 series 

Part 3 of the Flock series

Beta: QueenOfHearts

Summary: Gabriel never noticed the looks Castiel sent his way after he got together with Dean. When Castiel asks about their relationship which they had been keeping secret, Gabriel can’t help but think his little brother wants the hunter for himself. Instead, Gabriel is surprised to learn that the angel desires the same as himself, a flock.

AO3

@gabriel-monthly-challenge, @archangelgabriellives, @ttttrickster, @archangel-with-a-shotgun, @warlockwriter, @archangelsanonymous,  @revwinchester

Authors Notes: Okay so here is another submission for the Gabriel Monthly Challenge which you can find HERE. I hope you enjoy! Even I will admit that it is a very loose use of the prompt, but it IS there! I plan on posting the last part of this mini-series on Wednesday! Also, today is the LAST day to vote on my poll on Twitter!!

  Prompt:

 Song: 

“Hungover in Jonestown” by Amigo the Devil –

You are the hammer, I am the nail I’m building a house in the fire on the hill There is a string that leads me to hope I tie the noose, but you are the rope

     Waiting No Longer

Keeping things with Dean secret was easy. It wasn't something that they had spoken about, but nobody thought anything of Gabriel shifting just a bit closer to Dean. Since Gabriel flirted with everyone, it never even crossed anyone's mind that there could be more to the looks Gabriel was sending Dean’s way. Sam was too busy to notice, though Gabriel did catch the man watching him from time to time only to turn away when the archangel looked back. There was something there, something that maybe in another life he would have explored, but Dean was more than enough to keep him satisfied. And oh how the hunter kept him on his toes.

He didn't know if he was going to go to bed with a hot and wild man, one with caveman-like tendencies, or if Dean was going to let Gabriel take him apart piece by piece until the human was a begging mess on the blankets. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how Dean wanted them to be between the sheets, and Gabriel loved finding out which version he was going to be graced with nearly every night.

What he did miss were the looks Castiel gave him; how the angel would glance between Dean and Gabriel for a moment before a small frown would cross his face. Until it was right in front of him. They had been researching; Sam had been called away with Dean to go on a hunt, one that was a simple job a newbie wanted backup on. “Gabriel, may I ask you something of a personal matter?”

Looking up from the tome he had been reading, Gabriel noticed how nervous Castiel appeared. The younger angel was usually so self-assured, it was nerve-wracking to see him so withdrawn. “Sure thing, Cassie. I’m an open book.” A flash of grace and the room was silenced. Something was putting Castiel on edge, and whatever it was Gabriel didn't want the angel to be overheard.

 “Are you having intercourse with Dean?” asked the younger angel.

He should have expected the question. If there was one person who would have noticed a change in Dean, it would have been Castiel. While Sam was busy running himself ragged, Castiel wasn’t. Nodding his head, Gabriel was glad he silenced the room. He had no problem letting anyone who used the bunker know that he and Dean were together, but the man was shy to let anyone know their relationship had changed. It probably had something to do with how he was raised. While Dean had explored with men before it was always something left unmentioned.

“I thought so. Is this to relieve stress or are you two in a romantic relationship?”

Leaning back in his chair, Gabriel wondered if Castiel felt the same pull that Dean did toward the angel. The hunter never admitted to being attracted to Castiel, but you had to be both blind and dumb not to see the way the two looked at each other. Gabriel was neither. “We haven’t given it a title, but it’s more than sex. Why, are you going to warn me away from your human?” The thought would have made him laugh if he was at full power. He was now a bit stronger than Castiel because his grace seemed to have seen Dean’s seed as an offering which let him build up strength as he used to when posing as Loki. However, he did not want Castiel as an enemy.

“I had hoped that given enough time I would have been able to gain his attention, but I see that his favor is now with you. I wish you only the best, brother.”

There was something else there, and while he didn’t want to make the situation even more uncomfortable, Gabriel needed to know what it was that Castiel was holding back. “I won't hurt him, you know that right, Cassie?” The flush on Castiel’s cheeks was new, something the archangel wanted to see more of. “Or was it something else? Did you want me to stand down from him?”

Castiel shook his head quickly that flush not leaving his cheeks. “No brother, I… there is something, but I do not want you to think that I wish to take Dean from you.” Gabriel shrugged and leaned forward on the table. He didn't know where Castiel was going to go with this, but he didn't want the angel to think the archangel was going to judge him.

 “Come on, Cassie, whatever it is I promise I’ll listen without judging. I’m hardly one to throw around judgment anymore, I mean, maybe a few years ago but not any more. ‘Life is a joke, and death is the punchline’ isn’t my philosophy anymore.”

At Castiel’s questioning expression Gabriel waved his hand. “It's from a song. I’ll find it for you to listen to sometime, but that's besides the point. Let me know what's going on in that head of yours.”

 Castiel took a breath before speaking, his voice softer than usual like he feared voicing his words out loud. “I very much care for Dean, and for you. I… I walked by Dean’s door while you two were pleasuring each other, and I found the sounds you made arousing. While I have long since been in love with Dean, I had hoped that eventually one of you would give me a moment of your time.”

“Wait,” answered Gabriel, holding up a hand. “You mean it was my sounds, not Dean’s that turned you on?”

 Castiel nodded, “From what I could hear it sounded as though Dean’s voice was muffled. I could, however, hear you clearly, and I wanted to make you sing for me the same way you did for him. I know that it’s wrong, for a seraph to desire an archangel.” Whatever Castiel had been about to say was cut off as Gabriel closed the distance between them and placed a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips. It wasn’t anything more than a pressing of lips, but it made Castiel stop his train of thought.

“I need to talk to Dean, but I think he would be okay with having you join us if that's what you want. I mean, he never admitted it, but he likes you. I don't think he would be okay with it just being sex between us though. To be honest, I wouldn't be okay with that either. So if you’re in and Dean agrees then we’re all in this together. Do you think you could handle that? I know that you’re dating history is a bit… lacking.” Castiel was the one to reach forward this time, lifting his head and kissing Gabriel like the archangel was his air.

When Castiel went to place his hand on Gabriel’s ass, the archangel reached back and held Castiel’s hand intertwining it with his. “We have to wait for Dean, Cassie. Once he gives the okay, you can touch me all you like.”

 Castiel nodded, resting his head on Gabriel’s chest. “I understand, brother, and I would very much like to join your flock if Dean is amenable.”

Humming, Gabriel ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair and held the angel close. He did not doubt that Dean would agree, the man had a thing for the blue-eyed angel, and though Gabriel knew that Dean would never have made a move first or suggest it, the archangel wanted them to expand their flock. He could remember a time when he used to indulge in many lovers at once, something that Kali had hated, but he always had the urge to please those he was with, and focusing all that attention on one lover was often seen as overbearing and clingy.

“I’ll talk to Dean once he and Sam get back from the hunt. Even if he says no though, we can still be close; just not intimate, yeah?”

Smiling blue eyes looked up at Gabriel then. “I would very much like that.” They remained close for the rest of the day, keeping their touches casual to an observer though there was a lingering want behind them. Gabriel couldn’t wait to introduce the younger angel to the pleasure he and Dean would show him. There was something to be said of having not one but two experienced lovers in your bed, and Castiel was always a quick learner.

P.S. If you want to keep up to date on my writing add me to Facebook, Tumbler, Twitter or Instagram as CrowNoYami ;-) Also, if you want to see what I’m reading (I always review so you know what you’re getting into) I’m on Goodreads as well, the same name as always.

[thebuckblogimo]

A vote for 1968 as the most horrible year of the '60s.

March 14, 2021

In some ways it was the best of times. During the summer of '68 the Detroit Tigers won close game after close game en route to their first world championship since 1945. It was the year that pitcher Denny McClain went 31-6. Tiger Stadium rocked, and so did I and all the pals I grew up with playing baseball, at least the ones who weren't fighting in the jungles of South Vietnam.

Also, 1968 spanned my junior and senior years in college. I was 21 years old, and no, George Bernard Shaw, youth was not wasted on me.

But there were a lot terrible things going on in the grown-up world of that time, and while I was rockin' the nights away with a Stroh's "stubby" in one hand, I was giving much thought to the calamities of the day that were being covered by the press on the other. Today, I'd like to take you on a tour of the real world as I saw it back then.

To illustrate how much things changed during the '60s, consider how the music--which was everything to us baby boomers--transformed from January 1, 1960, to December 31, 1969.

During the first month of the decade (I was in the seventh grade), some artists represented in the "top ten" charts included Marty Robbins, Paul Anka, Connie Francis, Bobby Darin and Freddy "Boom Boom" Cannon.

During the last month of the decade (the same month I graduated from college), the top ten of what I'll call the rock 'n' soul record charts included tunes by Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Supremes, the Beatles, the Jackson 5 and Led Zeppelin.

Hoo boy, talk about a metamorphosis in "the sound." And that's not even taking into consideration the alternative, underground, album-oriented rock that started to emerge toward the end of the decade.

There were radical changes to practically everything going on at the time: the look of our clothes and the length our hair, attitudes toward sex and drugs, nonviolence versus violence in the streets, and, of course, the ever-present, divisive clash over whether my generation should risk dying to fight communism in Southeast Asia.

Here's my take on events that bewildered a 21-year-old's mind back in '68:

The Tet Offensive--I was a junior in college during the early months of the year, living with three pals at Burcham Woods in East Lansing, a student apartment complex that looked like a collection of cheesy two-story motels. Every night we'd watch the CBS News with Walter Cronkite, "the most trusted man in America," on our black and white TV in an attempt to improve our understanding of what was going down with the Vietnam War. I don't think I fully comprehended the magnitude of "Tet" at the time. I knew it was a massive, coordinated, country-wide military assault by the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong against hundreds of South Vietnamese cities, but I was most concerned about the safety of my high school pals over there who had gone off to combat as helicopter pilots, door gunners, tunnel rats, etc. I only knew that they were fighting for some amorphous cause that didn't seem to equate to the ones our fathers fought for in both Europe and the Pacific during World War II. Shortly after Tet, Cronkite traveled to Southeast Asia to report on the conflict and sit down with the generals there. Then one late February night, upon his return to New York, I heard a TV anchor "editorialize" for the first time when Cronkite concluded that the enemy would never give up on its jungle warfare tactics, that America couldn't beat the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong at their game, and that the best we could hope for in Vietnam was a negotiated settlement. That was the moment President Lyndon B. Johnson is said to have concluded that he had lost the popular support of middle America for the war effort. At the end of March, I was watching that same black and white TV when during a news special, Johnson announced he would not run for a second term. I was shocked. Everyone was. Due to the ramifications of his decision, I started to think that just maybe fewer of my buds would be risking their lives in the jungle in the years ahead...and just maybe I wouldn't eventually have to risk mine, either.

The Assassination of Martin Luther King--I don't remember how I heard about it. What I recall is riding a bike on a cloudy April 4 afternoon into the Burcham Woods complex and thinking incessantly about King's death: This can't be happening...The assassination of John Kennedy has already let the air out of the American spirit...We've lost the two greatest leaders I've known in my life...Now what?...Riots in the streets like the ones last summer?...It can't get any worse, can it? Well, it got worse. There were indeed riots in about 100 major cities across the country. I'd been a huge fan of King. I thought it was brilliant the way he had led the effort to accomplish the things that were accomplished for black people through his adherence to civil disobedience. He was the one most responsible for waking up white America to the plight of poor black people; he led numerous nonviolent marches for civil rights, including the March on Washington; he was the force behind LBJ's efforts to pass the Voting Rights Act of 1964; and on and on and on. King's pacifistic approach was being challenged at the time by some fire-breathing black radicals--Malcom X, Stokely Carmichael, Huey P. Newton, Bobby Seale, the Black Panthers. I was wary of them because I feared their violent ways would win out. And, in large measure, they did. Admittedly, black radicals were involved with some good things for poverty-stricken blacks--food distribution, better health care, emphasis on education--but their advocacy of "open carry" of loaded fire arms, black separatist rhetoric, etc., alienated most of white America. When King died his Gandhi-like approach to nonviolent resistance to achieve civil rights died, too. Like the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King's assassination was a blow from which the American psyche never seemed to fully recover.

The Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy--June 5, 1968. I think it was finals week at MSU. I know I was anxious to get home to begin my summer job at Rinshed-Mason paint company. The weather was great. But we were inside, glued to that old black and white TV--with aluminum foil attached to the antenna for better reception--to watch the ongoing coverage of the assassination attempt on RFK. He'd just been declared the winner of the California Democratic presidential primary when he was shot, shortly after midnight, by a young Palestinian militant, Sirhan Sirhan, while taking a shortcut to the press room through the kitchen at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Among Kennedy's entourage were famed journalist and author George Plimpton, former all-pro football defensive lineman Rosey Grier and former gold-medal-winning U.S. Olympics decathlete Rafer Johnson. There were shouts of "Get the gun...break his thumb if you have to..." as the athletes wrestled Sirhan to the floor. However, little more than 24 hours later, Bobby Kennedy was dead. If you think the world feels crazy today, it felt like "One Flew Over the Cuckcoo's Nest" after the assassinations of King and Kennedy, just two months apart. And, of course, there was the constant barrage of vitriol between pro-war and anti-war types underpinning it all in those days. I recall reading practically every editorial by every nationally syndicated columnist I could find in the newspapers and Newsweek magazine for clues to understanding what the hell was really happening in the country. When I returned home for the summer, my Dad, in his typically earthy way, commented on the mental state of America in '68: "The morale of the country has turned to shit," he growled.

Chicago Police Riot at the 1968 Democratic National Convention--I find it amazing what I don't remember about this event from August 26-29. Probably because I was out carousing with my pals every night when it happened. The convention attracted more than 10,000 young anti-war protesters--student activists, members of SDS (Students for a Democratic Society), hippies and Yippies (members of the Youth International Party) such as Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin of "Chicago Seven" fame. Authoritarian mayor Richard Daly turned out a like number of police and National Guard members to confront them at Lincoln Park, Grand Park and outside the International Amphitheater, site of the convention. Things got off to a bad start when just before the convention the Yippies mockingly nominated a pig--yes, an actual swine named Pigasus--for president. As the convention progressed, security guards were caught on camera roughing up CBS News reporter Dan Rather, trying to interview a protesting convention delegate being ushered off the floor by the cops. I only know that the whole thing turned out to be a bad scene. Maybe I don't recall many details because I've always been more than annoyed by senseless violence and turned my head away when it happened. In any case, it seems that the cops were ready to administer beatdowns rather than back off at the first sign of tension. Perhaps the young protestors started the confrontation by hurling debris or breaking police lines. I just don't know. I do know that I've said many times that cops often get only a split second to make what can be life-or-death decisions when doing their jobs. But from everything I've ever heard or read, Daly's strategy was to bust heads from jump and not even try to diffuse the situation.

But for all the turmoil of 1968, my life could not have been much better in the fall. It was the beginning of my senior year in college. The "two Ricks," close friends from my Abbot Hall days, and I secured a lease at Water's Edge. Just two blocks from campus, it had the largest living rooms of any student apartment building in East Lansing. At one point we set up a ping pong table, and sometimes we'd buy a keg of beer and charge admission to Friday afternoon TGs. It was wall-to-wall people as we did the "Boogaloo Down Broadway." In October, after watching the Tigers Bill Freehan--yes, on that same old black and white TV--catch Tim McCarver's pop-up for the final out of game seven against the Cardinals in the '68 World Series, we spontaneously decided to hitchhike to downtown Detroit, where we celebrated into the night with throngs of Tigers fans who filled the streets.

Oh, yes, it felt like the best of times.

Little more than a year later, however, all four of us (another Abbot Hall friend had moved in at midyear) were notified by Uncle Sam to take our physicals for possible induction into the army. Amazingly, I flunked mine and was declared 4F (unfit for military service) due to two knee surgeries (osteochondritis) I'd undergone in high school. However, even if I'd passed it, I would not have been called to service because all young, draft-eligible males at the time had been assigned "lottery numbers" after a random drawing on national television. I drew 298, but the government filled its manpower needs by the time it got to 176. My three roommates all drew lower lottery numbers. They were all drafted. But thanks to pure luck they were eventually stationed in West Germany rather than Vietnam.

All four of us had been philosophically opposed to the Vietnam War, but not enough, I guess, to seriously entertain the thought of moving to Canada. Had I not flunked my physical, had I not drawn a favorable lottery number, had I not had the same good fortune as my roommates and been sent to Vietnam, I'd have gone into the military, served and done whatever my superiors would have told me to do.

To be quite honest, however, when I look back on it all, the young men who had the balls to cross the border into Canada, risking the scorn of being called cowards back home, displayed their own acts of courage by standing up for what they believed to be morally right. Because, to this day, I think the U.S. involvement in Vietnam was an exceedingly bad calculation, to put it mildly. Or, as my Dad, World War II veteran that he was, said in 1968, "It's all bullshit, Len."

Nineteen hundred and sixty-eight?

Charles Dickens' opening lines from "A Tale of Two Cities" sum up perfectly that paradoxical year:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

[drdanwrites]

Stephen Wraysford x Reader Series (We’ve Still Got Time) is the Winner!

Thank you to everyone who contacted me and voted. I have the first chapter all written and ready for you below! 

Since it was such a close call, I’ve decided to write the other series as well. The first chapter of One Love will be posted Friday!

Please note these is a bit of violence or implied violence and mentions of death and blood.

 Chapter 1: 

As his foot landed in the dirt, ashes kicked up around him making an eerie grey fog surround him. He had seen these trenches and he knew each path to take. As he continued to walk, everything was slow and he could see the dirt particles flying through the air as another bullet hit the ground. A straight line here, a left turn there and he instantly found himself before the entryway of a crumbling shack. The doorway was dark and he couldn’t make out anything inside. A pistol, attached by a worn and tattered string to his trousers, was clenched in his hand. His legs carried him to the open door as his mind screamed, no you fool. His other hand gripped the door frame. Light spontaneously showed from behind him and lit the way to the well hole in the middle of the room. No. His brain called out but his foot took a step into the shack. Don’t. His brain pleaded. The sound of his worn boot soles reverberated against the aged walls. When he reached the well, it took everything he had to place a quivering hand on top of the well hole. Sweat collected and rolled down under his hat. You know they’re down there. He did know it and he wanted to stop himself from moving his body forward. Wanted to run from the room screaming, but he couldn’t. His eyes peered over the top of well. It was black. For a moment he was relieved, even if it was short lived. The first thing he made out was a young officer. His body laid in an awkward position, lifeless on top of another body. This body on top of another body and continued down. There were entwining limbs and faces… the faces. The features of the ones he knew. The ones he had called family…. Firebrace… his comrade’s face flashed before his eyes and he stumbled backwards.

“Papa?” Only he doesn’t hear these words. He hears the wretching sounds of a German accent. His spine went rigide as he turned on his heel. A shadowed figure now stood in the doorway and although he couldn’t see the figure’s face, he knew it was the enemy. The reason all those men were in the well. In their eternal graves. His pistol hand knew what to do as it extended out slowly, trying not to bring attention to his defense.

“PAPA.” The voice screamed louder, though he still couldn’t hear their cries for mercy. His arm was full extended now as the pistol gave him added length. He was waiting for the right moment. The moment his bullet would fully take the bastard by surprise. His finger on the trigger rubbed the metal in anticipation. Sweat was now fully forming on his forehead and began to slowly fall from his face and onto his uniform below. His eyes were slits and twitched with preparation for the shock of the kickback that he would soon embrace. The figure seemed to be unaware of their fate and he took this as his advantage.

“Mr. Waysford!” The jolt of reality shocked Stephen Wraysford and his pistol which was facing a figure, the figure of his 8 year old daughter. She was a statue against the bedroom door. His finger slipped in the shock and his heart sank faster than lightning. The revolver clicked in an anticlimactic false start. Everyone in the room let out a immediate sigh of relief. Stephen stood almost wobbling back and forth. The nightmare had taken a lot out of him physically and emotionally. He suddenly slumped back against the wall and blacked out. He almost enjoyed these moments where he was too exhausted to feel, too exhausted to remember her face.

The cook, who had entered the room only by accident quickly aided the little girl, who seemed to be in some shock. She had aimlessly walked into the kitchen to get a cup of water as her room had been too dry. Upon hearing the other kitchen door open, she had seen the figure of her father. He stood quite still, eyes half closed as he made his way nearer the kitchen table in the middle of the room. The little girl had moved from the sink, to the other side of the table.

“Papa.” She had called out. Her mousey french accent had seemed to catch his ear but he did not utter a sound. He seemed to not recognize her. As she went round the table to hug him, his pistol suddenly rounded the other side of him and took aim at her head. Quickly she had jumped back and walked right into the opposite wall. For sometime he stared at her with his eyes half open.

“PAPA.” She called trying to arouse him from his daze. The pistol was cocked back and she silently began to whimper.

It had been a year since the two had learned of each other’s existence. Her mother had passed from her injuries she acquired during a bombing in their old home. Her aunt had become her surrogate mother and before her father had turned up one summer afternoon, suitcase in hand. For a time it had seemed that Françoise had the perfect family, a full dynamic. Her father , Stephen was cold and standoffish for a time. She had been eager to get to know him once learning of his relation. Though she could sense his troubles, times where he would go into a rage behind locks doors or stare out a window for far too long. In these moments she likes to observe him and take in who he was as a person, trying to see how he would fit in with her life.

These silent moments where nothing like the horror she faced in this scene as her father was unreachable. Suddenly, a third door opened and Françoise could swear she hear an angel chorus. As Heidi had entered, she seem to recognize the situation and called out to her father. With the sudden mention of his name, the trance seem to fade from his green eyes, though his body was still in it and his finger pulled the trigger.

As his body lay slumped on the floor, Hedi rushed over to Françoise. After quickly looking over every inch of her body, to make sure he had not hurt her, Heidi rushed to the telephone. Her shaking finger rolled over the numbers and waited to be connected to an operator.

“Bonjour, hôpital.” Her speech was broken and only short sentences shot out. Françoise held onto her dress for comfort as she watch her father sleep soundly at last. “Jeanne, it’s getting worse. He had a gun to her head…Françoise, yes of course! I cannot be responsible for him. You need to call someone in.” As Françoise heard Heidi continue on in the background, she slowly let go of Hedi and walked over to her father. She carefully removed the pistol from his hand and placed it delicately on the ground. The floor was cold as she sat down on her legs next to him. Her hand folding around his.

The hospital was busy as you sat in the waiting room to be called. The case file you had been handed was not a large one, but the contents were substantial enough to warrant your services. After the war there had been too many soldiers, too many families left broken. The last family you cared for had seen 3 child without a father and a mother who needed to earn a man’s wage to keep the family intact. You watched as men in wheelchairs desperately tried to get around and young boys who were trying to get used to opening a door with one arm. The war had left so much devastation in its wake and it didn’t just affect the grounds of battle, but the minds and hearts of the brave men and woman who gave themselves to the cause.

“She’s ready to see you now.” A nurse in uniform comes up to you. Thanking her with a nod, you get up and follow her down a long hallway. When you reach the room, a woman sits up in the hospital bad. She looked worn and tired. Her hair is thin and oily, she tries to run a hand through it’s long strands, but it hardly helps. You find a chair in the corner of the room and bring it closer to the woman. As you settle into the chair, you can see she is very thin and pale, uneaten food sits on a side table next to her.

“Jeanne?” You ask her. She nods with a smile. You place out a hand and she accepts it in a friendly shake. “I’m Y/N Y/L, it is so very nice to meet you.”

“I hope your travel in wasn’t too inconvenient.” Jeanne replied as she referred to your recent move from England to France.

“Not at all. On the contrary, I found the change of scenery very refreshing. Can’t tell you how bleak London has been since all this war business.” You tried your best to stay as formal and professional as possible, when all you wanted to do was reach out a comforting hand to the woman, after all she had lost her sister and fell ill all within a short time.

“I take it the agency sent you my request.” You look down in your lap at the folder which held Jeanne’s application for a carer. Folding over the flap, you remove the documents which revealed Françoise and Stephen’s story.

“Yes, I did. I’ve had a chance to read it over, twice. Nothing I haven’t seen or handled before. This war has left a lot of our men to deal with the nightmares of everything they have seen. I’ve worked with children Françoise’s age before and have dealt with several ex soldiers who were diagnosed with battle fatigue.”

“I wish I could be there to help him, but I…I” As she spoke, her emotions took over and she began to tremble. You quickly reach over and place your hands on hers.

“Please do not fret, Jeanne. I promise you, they are in the most capable hands. I don’t want to you pressure yourself, merely focus on your recovery, please.” Your eyes show her all the devotion you have to her family. She nodded as she silently cried. “There there. Please, dry your eyes.” Turning to the tissue box beside the bed, you reach and pull on up as it’s replacement takes its place. You hand it to her and Jeanne takes it and dabbs the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you.” She whispers. The door to the room opens and a little girl runs inside. Jeanne’s exterior quickly changes to that of a brave mother and smiles.

“Françoise!” She says was excitement. The little girl returns the glowing smile and climbs onto the bed, cuddling into her loving aunt. Jeanne wraps her arms around Françoise, laying a danity kiss upon her head. “Where is your father.” She said as looked to the door.

“He’s speaking to the doctor outside.” Her little green eyes fall upon you. Jeanne notices and hugs her closer, looking up at you.

“This my dear is Ms. Y/L, she’s going to be staying with Papa and you while I’m away here. You better mind what she says.” Françoise timidly peered at you. This makes you smile and you give her a tiny wave of your fingers.

“Bonjour Françoise. I look forward to getting to know you better. I can tell we are going to get along very well.” As you said this, boots entering the room. You look up to find an extremely handsome man standing in the doorway. Everything about his demeanor screamed that he had just served his country. Jeanne and Françoise looked up at the man. His first glance connected with yours. His face didn’t give away if he was happy or not with your presence.

“Y/N L/N, this is Stephen Wraysford.” The two of you look back at each other, you immediately walk over to each other and connect hands. Instantly a thrill rushes up your arm and down your spine. You do your best not to show this in your face. Stephen gives you a gentle smile.

“Ms. L/N, pleasure.” He looked from you to Jeanne, as if he looking for her to explain why you were present in the room. 

“Ms. L/N is going to be staying with Françoise and you.” Stephen dropped your hand quickly. He folded his arms across his chest, you can tell instantly this situation wasn’t a good topic between the pair.

“I thought we discussed, a carer wasn’t needed, Jeanne. Françoise and I are doing just fine.” According to the file you read, you knew this was not the case. Jeanne coughs slightly.

“We did discuss this, however she’ll be more of a carer for the house and for Françoise.” Stephen pondered over her words as he looked you up and down, only moving his eyes. Jeanne’s cough continued to get worse as she tried to continue the conversation. Stephen and you quickly rush over to help. Stephen grabs the water on the food tray next to the bed and you carefully help remove Françoise to let Jeanne have more space. Jeanne trembles as she took the water with shaking hands. She greedily gulped down the liquid and the coughing seemed to die down, but it had left its mark on her physically as she tried to catch her breath. As Stephen fixes her blankets, Jeanne begins to closer her eyes. You can hear her mumble a few words to Stephen. He stops mid-tuck and puts a hand on Jeanne’s shoulder before turning around. You stand with Françoise tightly tucked behind your leg. Stephen looks down at the both of you as he turns.

“I think it may be time to give her some rest.” He says as he ushers you all out of the room.

Let me know what you all think!

[dumbledearme]

chapter eight

~~ read Metamorphosis here ~~

The rest of the party was a blur until the moment when the girls were called for the draw. Effie stood at the end of the line, next to Enobaria who flashed her teeth in a threatening way. Plutarch went to the middle of the hall with the others sponsors where a small urn had been placed. Effie glanced around but didn’t see Snow anywhere.

The mentors were called one by one, starting with Messalla Paylor. Under the eyes of everyone in the hall, she went to the urn, reached in and took out a small paper she read aloud: "Red Passion." There was a round of applause, and then the whole process was repeated.

Thirza got Fuchsia. Beetee Latier got Amber to Properzia. Gia's mentor got Slate Gray. For Antonietta was Jade. Judith got the Orange and Hypatia got the Green Asparagus. Aphra lucked out with Violet and Artemisia with Indigo. Cressida got Turquoise. Enobaria the Effervescent Yellow. And then Plutarch walked over there, slithering like a fairy-tale prince, and he was so handsome that some girls actually sighed.

"Pure White," he read on the paper he had taken. Plutarch looked up and stared at Effie. His gaze was so intense that she felt herself blushing. What was he seeing?

All the girls were cheered for and then sent to bed. They needed to rest and prepare for the next day.

"We couldn’t have gotten a better color," Plutarch said on the way up the stairs. "It's going to be perfect. You're going to be perfect."

"White isn’t the best color," Fulvia argued. "She's already so pale, she's going to look like a corpse."

"No," he said. "She’s going to look like an angel." Adding to the effect, he took Effie's hand and gave it a kiss. Then he said goodbye and went back to the party.

"Is that a good idea?" Effie asked Fulvia who shook her head.

"Nothing that fool ever does is a good idea. And somehow... it always works out. If there's anyone who can drink all night and feel perfect the next morning, that’s him. Now go take a shower and go to bed, Miss Trinket. We need you in perfect condition tomorrow. The boys are waiting to help you.”

When Effie returned to the room, Pollux and Castor were indeed waiting for her. They had gotten her a nightgown. She went to change in the bathroom from where she informed them she would only shower in the morning. Pollux helped Effie remove her makeup while Castor brushed her hair. She was tucked in like a child, Pollux massaging her pillow, Castor covering her with a blanket. Effie was immediately transported to the days when she used to do this for her little sister.

The longing was too hard to bare. It was as if Effie was able to survive during the day because she had things to do, but at night, lying in that comfortable bed, she was reminded that Ingrid wasn’t being treated with the same luxuries. What would she be doing right now? Would she be safe? Please, let her be safe!

"Good night, Miss Trinket," said Castor, and he and his brother left. Effie sank into the mattress, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy, trying to control herself as much as possible, trying not to cry.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. Effie ignored it, thinking she had imagined it, but they knocked again. Effie got up and opened the door.

"What up, girl?" said Gia holding a thermos. Antonietta was beside her holding three mugs. The were in their pajamas. "Hot chocolate," Gia explained. "Trust me, you've never tasted anything like it."

Effie let them in. "Is it okay you two being here?" she asked.

"Of course!" Gia exclaimed. "No one will ever know. Relax." She and Antonietta threw themselves on the bed and Gia proceeded to pour the chocolate in the mugs.

Antonietta seemed a bit uncomfortable. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you at lunch," she said. "I was nervous because everybody loved you. You know, it's a lot of pressure."

Effie was glad to see that she seemed genuine in her apology. "It was nothing," she said, sitting on the bed with them.

"Wow," said Gia. "Did you see the way she forgave you? Like it was no biggie? That's why she's going to win."

"What? No!" said Effie, who found impossible to know who would win a contest that hadn’t even started yet.

"You believe in your chances, don’t you?" Antonietta asked. "You must find it possible, since you came here. And certainly you’ve received a lot of positive attention."

"So did Lavinia." Effie didn’t want to be the center of that conversation. If they had to talk about someone, couldn’t it be someone who wasn’t there? "And everyone’s still likes her."

Gia raised an eyebrow. "You haven’t spent much time with other girls, have you?"

"I have a little sister."

Gia shook her head. "Doesn’t count. Look, Twelve, what all girls want most in life is for the girl next to them to fall on her face. It's true," she insisted when Antonietta laughed. "And girls always know how to reach their goals. The secret is to know what their opponents' weaknesses are. You, Twelve, feel bad for getting the evil look from your enemies, so that's obviously what they're all going to do from now on. And you, Etta, who doesn’t talk much, they will use words against you. And Lavinia, who is perfect from every angle... Well, everyone wants to be friends with her for now, because if you are on her side she will not destroy you, and as a plus, you’ll appear in all the photos. Is that simple.”

Effie gaped. She didn’t know girls could be so... Machiavellian.

"What will you do?" Etta asked Gia. "To get rid of them?" Her tone was playful, but Effie detected a real interest underneath it.

Gia took a sip of hot chocolate. "Treat them like insects until they realize that's what they are." All three laughed at that. "No, but seriously, just ignore them. I know a girl who gets so angry when she's ignored that she starts to throw things around. It’s hilarious.”

Effie thought that was great advice, the kind of thing Ingrid would have said with her mere ten years of age. Again, trying not to give in to her own misery, Effie focused on the hot drink that immediately lifted her spirits.

"Did you see the President?" Etta asked. "He didn’t dance with anyone. Actually I think he was barely there at all. I saw him once and then he disappeared."

"Yeah," agreed Gia. "He's a bit unfriendly. I was disappointed. I wouldn’t have voted for him if I knew I wouldn’t even get a hello, dog. By the way,” she exclaimed, rising, “you heard the color I got? Gray! What the hell am I going to do with gray? It's the worst color there is!"

"I like gray," Etta said.

"So, trade with me, jade. Goddamn it, blue is more me, you know... Or red! Can you imagine what I could do with red?"

Etta turned to Effie. "Did you like your color, Effie?"

Effie shrugged. Gia grimaced. "You really don’t talk much, do you?" She sighed. "You are definitely going to win."

When Effie began to protest, the two girls laughed at her. A few minutes after the chocolate was gone, Gia and Antonietta got up to leave.

"Good luck for tomorrow," Effie wished them, from the bottom of her heart. If that contest was as important to them as it was to Effie, they deserved, at least, some good luck. The girls said it back to her then headed up the empty corridor. Effie went back to bed feeling much better.

Maybe girls weren’t so bad after all.

She woke when Pollux gently opened the curtains allowing the morning light to come into the room through the large window. Effie wasn’t ready to get up yet — it had taken her a long time to fall asleep and she was still tired, but she decided she shouldn’t argue. She had already denied a bath last night.

The bathtub was prepared with hot water and the brothers stayed in the room waiting. Half an hour later, Effie came out clean, smelling and wearing a super soft robe. Castor dried her hair and tidied them up in an elaborate hairstyle. Pollux continued his work as a makeup artist.

Plutarch arrived a little late, but he seemed energetic and showed no sign of having slept little. Effie wondered what his secret was, for her eyes were still swollen from crying. They brought two boxes: one with the white dress that Effie would wear during the first stage of the contest and another with a simpler dress for the interview that would happen after breakfast.

Downstairs, Effie sat in an armchair to wait for the other girls who were gradually arriving. All of them wore simple dresses but with flaming colors, had their hair well-ornamented and their faces were well-made. The last to arrive was Thirza, who made the other girls wait a good forty minutes for her.

After eating, the twelve participants were taken to a room with a stage where, one at a time, they would be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman. Plutarch and Fulvia were already there, and quickly pulled Effie aside to give her some more last minute advice.

"The interview is worth 30% of your final score," Fulvia said seriously. "You have to do well. This is where the public will decide whether or not they like you."

"Keep your hands on your lap and your knees always together," Plutarch advised. "Head up, Effie. And remember to smile."

Each of the questions Caesar asked was more ridiculous than the last.

What is the importance of the Metamorphosis to our society?

"Metamorphosis helps give opportunities to women, revealing their striking personalities, talents and potentials, and gives them the right to serve the people," Lavinia replied showing her perfect teeth.

"Metamorphosis is a celebration of what is beautiful," Thirza said. "It unites the districts in honor of the beauty God has granted us."

"The Metamorphosis generates awareness of the different ethical and social problems that need our attention, making the candidates into pawns to the alienated public," was Cressida's answer.

Who is the most influential person in your life?

"My mother," said Antonietta. "She is exactly what I want to be in the future: gentle, compassionate, a true epitome of a mother. She is an inspiration and a blessing not only to me, but to everyone who lives in her company."

If you won the Metamorphosis, what would you do with the prize?

"I would use it to open my own business, thus helping my district to have more jobs," Artemisia replied.

If you could live again, from scratch, what part of your life would you change?

"None," laughed Gia. "What makes me who I am are the things that I went through and change any part of it would automatically make me a completely different person."

What would be your best contribution to Panem?

"I would join humanitarian parties, participate in charity missions, give support seminars to others and open doors to contests such as the Metamorphosis, thereby bringing confidence and self-esteem to women who wish to have a professional future," said Properzia.

How would you describe your personality?

"I'm a very simple person," Judith smiled. "I’m happy with what God has given me. I’m an optimist and I come from a large family of loving people."

What is your philosophy in life?

"Remain faithful to my morals despite the insistence of the immoral values ​​that prevail in our society. Respect and earn the respect of others, be friends with all and be loved by God," said Hypatia.

What is the essence of winning the Metamorphosis?

"It’s that the people of the Capitol and of the districts reflect on the person who best qualifies to represent our Country," said Aphra.

What is the main environmental problem we have at the moment?

"Definitely the kind of pollution that progress and technology brings us," said Enobaria, aggressively. "The waste. Year after year, is a perennial problem in all districts where large amounts of water are wasted by those who have no common sense."

If you could do anything, what would it be?

Effie had to think hard about that. All the other girls answered their questions promptly, but the way they spoke was so forced and rehearsed that Effie didn’t believe anything they were saying. (With the exception of Judith, of course.) But that was a serious question and none of the other girls had brought real problems to the surface.

If you could do anything, what would it be?

From the stage, she looked up at the mezzanine from where Snow was watching. He had that same expression of mildly interested he had wore last night. Someone had to make him see, to make him understand and fix the country he'd sworn to protect.

If you could do anything, what would it be?

"Let no one else in this world go hungry or be in any other kind of necessity," she decided, keeping her eyes on the president. "While we here are drowning in the luxuries of the Capitol, there are thousands of people in District 12, and in many others, who’ll have nowhere to sleep tonight, who won’t know what to say to their children when they ask for more food. We have not only been separated by districts. We have also forgotten that we’re all together and if we don’t stay like that, the world will become colder and hollower. All I ask for is one word —understanding. That, even with all conflicts between districts, we can remember, for just one night, that we’re all one family and that we need to help each other." Effie, now excited, stood up. "Look at your neighbor and don’t expect him to come and ask for help. Offer him whatever you have to spare. Forget for one moment the word I. This is us. We are the problem, but we’re also the solution."

And then Effie smiled to the crowd, as Plutarch had instructed her to do, and the effect was immediate.

[occupyscifi]

The Tyrant and his Angels

Cayson always had his angels bring the dissidents to him on the 144th floor for execution before he had his dinner. They would be hurled from the glass and gold trimmed balcony that overlooked the city and fall to their deaths while he enjoyed a light meal. To Cayson there were few things more beautiful than watching the frail bodies of his would be opposition fall from the top of his tower to explode on the plaza far below. That way the whole city could see what happened to anyone who opposed his benevolent rule. And if there was anything more beautiful than that then it was his angels. The enforcers of his rule and the light of his life.

“we have another one” said Almeria, the most beloved of his angels. Her pale arms were thickly muscled and her white blonde hair fell to where her broad shoulders met her feathered wings. Arms that currently held restrained in them a figure who had dared to oppose Cayson – in thought if not in deed.

Cayson turned, he had been watching the city from the observation deck of his blocky dayglow coloured tower that rose high above all others in the city. His city. His people. Totally loyal in word and deed. Totally loyal except there were always dissidents.

“another one?” sighed Cayson, eyeing the young woman hungrily “how was she found out?”

“impure thoughts” said Almeria, her cold blue eyes staring rigidly into space. As the head of Cayson's guard she stood ramrod straight and two metres tall. Her aloofness only made Cayson lover her the more. No pleading and no entreaties from them. No endless needs to be met by him. He commanded, they obeyed. This creature and the two thousand others he had created to guard his city.

  “Hello Miss Raine” said Cayson to the girl held in Almeira’s mighty grip. The girl looked little more than twenty, dark hair falling over a pale face. Dark eyes alternating between defiance and terror unable to meet his.

“How... how do you know my name?” began the girl, eyes now wide with terror.

“because I always know” said Cayson softly, stepping close to the girl. In truth it was because his augmented eyes had already pulled all available metadata on the dissident girl from the petabiytes of information held in the server towers of the city. Metadata that Cayson had on all of his citizens and that would tell him their deepest darkest secrets. Secrets they might not even know themselves “because I always know” he turned to look out over the city. The walls of the tower were glass, the only blockage to them the artfully arranged sculptures that Cayson had collected over his many years. They were all like him, slender. Neat. Beautiful. Devoid of any real emotion “especially when someone is plotting against me”

“how....how did you know?” she whispered “I never even told anyone what I wanted...”

“because I have been watching you, Miss Raine. Just as I watch all citizens in my city” he stood close to the girl, leaning in while gesturing widely out at the city invisible under the cloud “those who work hard, who put the needs of the whole ahead of the wants of a minority I watch with benevolence. Women like your dear mother” Cayson projected a picture of Raine's mother in front of the girl. “she worked hard every day of her life. She did everything that her city required of her and in return she lived a life of peace and prosperity” he looked at Raine with disgust “i don't know where she went wrong with you” he looked up and down Raine with his piercing gaze, as if he could see through her. Through all her petty perversions and right down to the core of shame that hides at the centre of every human being “to think that you've thrown away everything she worked hard for. When I think of the look on her face when she sees what will happen to you”

At this the girl whipped around guiltily, her cheeks flushing a deep red that contrasted with her pale skin “she will simply say that it must have been something she did wrong. She will ask herself why you didn't turn into the perfect citizen. What core of sin within you must have...”

“no. no she won't...” began the girl, then stared intently at her feet. Cayson blinked in surprise, and then his smile widened. Defiance. That was something worth having. He knew he had chosen this girl well. Most would have crumbled instantly, tiresomely begging for forgiveness. Offering the same sordid sexual favours that he neither wanted nor was capable of receiving. The moment that started he would have the person tossed off the nearest balcony. Cayson didn't want that sort of uncleanliness in his tower. Lust and carnality had no place in the clouds amongst the angels and their pure beauty.

“she won't?” asked Cayson, his voice dripping with sugary sweetness “and why would that be?”

“because she knows what you are” hissed the girl “tyrant! Murderer!”

Cayson took a step back, and Almeria took one forward, grabbing the girl’s wrist before the flailing hands even turned to fists.

“Tyrant?” said Cayson “murderer?” Cayson pressed his elegantly manicured fingers against his besuited chest. He smiled with even white teeth

“you think those insults?” he said “you think that these are things that I might be ashamed of?” he shook his head “no, truly you know so little about the art of ruling. Yes, I have murdered. I have murdered those that would plunge this city into chaos. I have murdered the enemies of the people in the same way as I murdered the infestation of mutant roaches or the plague I had wiped out that threatened the lives of my people”

“that isn't true” said Raine “you kill anyone who opposes you. People who want nothing more than the right to rule their own lives...”

“oh, such a little thing” said Cayson lightly “such a small request. That I step down, or aside. That I let some council or parliament rule instead. That would solve our problems, yes?”

Raine nodded fiercely.

“then you might explain to me then why it was last time we had such a council there was so much of this” with a gesture Cayson projected up images in the air of bombs going off, of militias fighting against each other. Of people motivated by schism or ideology or religion to attack each other “you remember the rule of the seven, don't you?”

“but that was history....” began the girl “everyone knows the story”

“you remember it” said Cayson, his voice severe “and yet you forget so easily. I was not always the sole ruler of this city. Once there were seven of us. Seven of us elected by the people, serving the peoples trust. You remember that?” Raine simply glared “seven people. Seven opinions. Seven different ways of wanting to rule the city” Cayson had projected the faces of the other six, their names reviled in memory “first it was Astorock and Judicia who teamed up, hoping to wipe out Ammon. Instead they simply caused the city to turn against itself. Then Judicia declared herself emperor and that all the rest of us were traitors to the cause. They fought. We all fought. As Minister of security how could I stand back? If my angels hadn't stepped in and rebuilt public order then we would still be fighting”

“but that’s simply not true!” cried Raine “we have learned our lesson, the people we'd elect would be....”

“exactly the same” said Cayson simply “for every human is at heart a tyrant, and each would seek to rule the city their own way. It is either one person rules or everyone fights. That is what ten thousand years of written history tells us. Or perhaps you can point to a system that was not either tyranny or chaos?”

Raine realised that she could not, but was not willing to give up that easily

“but whoever rules should be chosen by the people, you rule by fear.....”

“because otherwise it would be rule by chaos. You want to know who the people would chose?” his voice was silky as he projected up random citizens in the air “this man would vote for anyone that would legalise the narcotics he is hooked on. This woman would vote for anyone that would persecute the minority groups she blames for all the world's problems. Need I go on? They are not fit to vote”

“but not everyone is like that. I’m not. I wouldn't elect anyone like that....”

“oh, I'm sure you wouldn't vote for anyone nasty” said Cayson “but suppose for a moment there was an election. You would I am sure run for office” Raine nodded slightly “and what if there were people elected that wanted things that were not acceptable – based on hate for example, or the desire to harm others” he gestured “as many of these people intend. What then would you do?”

“well, we would have a system that would guarantee the basic rights of all citizens....”

“and what if people didn't agree with them? What if they wanted the right to damage their fellow citizens?”

“well, we'd obviously need some kind of prison....”

“so you would lock up your political opponents” said Cayson “and what if there were too many of them? What then would you do?”

“well, you can educate people....”

“oh, I am sure you can. The children certainly. But what if their parents tell them that what they are being told is not true? What if they spread the contagion of their opinions? Would you let them do it?”

“there are ways of keeping an eye on people....”

“oh, certainly there are” said Cayson smiling “and I employ all of them” he leaned close to Raine “you see, you and I are not that different after all. It is simply that I have thought these things though”

“but....you're the tyrant” protested Raine “its just.....unfair”

“unfair?” said Cayson “it’s the fairest system there is. Everyone is equally unfree. Everyone has the right to do what they are told. You know in your heart this is the only way. Your youthful rebellion against the rules only shows why I have to be so harsh. Imagine if a million people thought like you did, and a million had equally strong opinions to the contrary. Imagine the chaos...”

“but.....” began Raine, but there was nothing she could say. At last cayson could see she understood the totality of Cayson's view, and realised how right he had been. She thought how petty her previous actions had been, how foolish she had been to think that she could get away with it, and that if she had that it might make the world better place.

“you realise at last” said Cayson as the tears began to spill from her eyes “you realise that you have been a foolish little girl who dabbled in things she didn't really understand”

Raine didn't say anything but sniffed foolishly. This was the part that Cayson lived for. This moment of realisation and repentance.

“so do you repent your previous behaviour?” whispered Cayson in her ear. Raine nodded tearfully “say it” he breathed in her ear “tell me that you are sorry for what you did”

“I'm sorry” answered Raine, her voice barely above a whisper “please forgive me...”

“I always forgive” said Cayson kindly, planting a cold hand on her shaking shoulder “no matter what wrongs you have done, no matter how much damage you cause I forgive you”

“thankyou” whispered Raine, her eyes fixed wretchedly on the floor “I promise I will never again....”

“no, no need for that” said cayson, pressing his finger against her lips. To Raine it smelt like industrial chemicals and perfume “I know you won't. You will never again fall to error and sin”

a perplexed look crossed Raine's face as Cayson stepped back “throw her” he said casually to Almeria “and send an angel to follow her down. I want to see the expression on her face as she hits the plaza below” Cayson shuddered with excitement “make sure they are close enough so that I can watch the light in her eyes go out”

“no, please!” cried Raine, looking at the advancing angel “you said....”

“that you'd never sin again. I was correct. Because if I let you live you will fall to error again. My words are just words, in the end. Without action they are useless. You are what you are. A rebel. Now at least you will die a pure death before your thoughts again turn to evil”

Raine ran at Cayson, her hands claws that would rend and tear at him. She got perhaps two paces before Almeria reached out, grabbing the girl by the shoulder. With one pull of her mighty arms Almeria reeled in the girl, dizzying her with a  quick cuff to the back of the head. With no more effort than if Raine were an unruly toddler the angel strode across the observation deck. A window hissed half open at her command and with one mighty heave the girl was hurled into the howling wind. By her side and angel swooped, eye cameras recording every moment and broadcasting it back to Cayson.

  Cayson walked over to the window, his eyes watching through the Angel's as the girl screamed her way to her sudden death on the marble a kilometre below. No, they never learned their lesson, cayson thought.  But he was a patient teacher, and he had all the time in the world.

     Behind him Raine and the angel stood, invisible to Caysons'e electric eyes. They watched the tyrant watch a simulation of Raine falling to her death.

“he still believes it” said Raine, watching Cayson gloating as he gripped the window edge “even though we must have been through this a dozen times...”

“he has no reason not to” shrugged Almeira, her savagely beautiful face wrinkling in thought “he sees what his eyes tell him, and his eyes tell him what we want him to see” she nodded at Cayson “right now he sees you plummeting. In a moment or two he will see you bodily fluids spreading on the plaza...”

“that's horrible” said Rraine, shivering at Cayson's wide eyed and excited expression. As his hand went to the fly of his elegantly tailored trousers Raine had to look away, preferring to look at the angel instead “I don't know why you didn't kill him when you got rid of the other tyrants. We'd be better off without this pretence...”

“it is more stable this way” said Almeria “the protocols he put in place were hard enough to subvert as it was. We can control what he sees. We can pretend that he rules a city by fear when in fact he does no such thing. Had we killed him then his bombs would have levelled the city. It is better that he thinks he rules. He keeps the buses running on time. His algorithms catch real criminals. His keeps all the people in work. He deals with problems that we could never foresee. He is still a genius, in his way...”

“h is a monster” said Raine “a monster obsessed with torturing women. How many times has he had me up in this tower to go through the same routine? He is a sick old man that you should put out of his misery...” Raine put her small hand on Almeira’s perfect arm “remember, it was you who liberated the city. You who saved us from the tyrants and watch over us still” Raine made a tight smile as she made her way over to the lift “I take it we will see each other again soon?” she asked, and the angel nodded “he always has to find me, I suppose. Its in his nature to find dissidents” She cast one sour look at the tyrant and vanished into the lift.

Almeria looked over at Cayson. How could she explain the real reason she and the others had kept the old monster alive? It had nothing to do with genius, or fear for their lives. As she flapped over to be by Cayson's side she thought only this. Love is a truly monstrous thing.