#ship: malufemi

[incandescent-creativity]

me when I post something sad: u cant be mad its the plot, we need angst for the payoff

me when you post something sad: stop that *pulls out spray bottle*

Did you know that both Olu and Mal feel undeserving of the love they receive from one another?

Mal knows she is a fallen angel, she feels worthless as a result of it, and she knows Olu can do far better than her if ever they changed their mind, even a little bit.

And Olu regards Mal as this beautiful, stunning person, and can’t believe they are lucky enough to be loved by her, and feels like they did nothing to attract Mal to them. And they didn’t! They were just being themselves! So they’re always in this state of “What did I do to deserve you?”

[incandescent-creativity]

8 please! For all WIPs! Incorrect quotes are such fun

I have a whole tag for them lol I love incorrect quotes

8. Create an incorrect quote meme for one of your OCs.

Maluka: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you. Name it. Name anything.

Olufemi: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule.

Maluka: …name another thing.

[incandescent-creativity]

7 Sentences from:

Lies in a Holy Tongue

Rules: Post 7 seven sentences of your wip. 

Tagged by @writing-with-melon

When my open mouth licks and brushes against the soft spot between neck and shoulder, Olu lets out an, “Oh, God,” that’s barely more than a panting breath.

Planting a soft kiss to the same spot, I murmur, “Blasphemy.”

I feel their head raise in the movement of their neck. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing, angel,” I reply, smiling against their skin. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How dare you,” they say, their voice affected in a way I’ve never heard before. They want to be upset, but they are still dealing with my body against theirs, my leg in between theirs, and all of my considerable skill.

[incandescent-creativity]

Dance The Night Away

from @flashfictionfridayofficial

Olu and I land hard, both of us out of breath.

“Safe?” they ask.

“Safe,” I confirm.

“Who was it?”

“You didn’t see the blasts of light?” I say with a humorless laugh. “That was your side, not mine.”

They collapse against the stone wall of our little cave. I’m too wired to join them, so I start pacing the length of the cave.

“You’re going to tire yourself out,” Olu warns, sounding plenty tired on their own.

“Says the one who had to learn how to have limits,” I remind them, but with affection.

“Do you remember those times?” Olu asks me suddenly. “The early times, I mean.”

“Of course I do.”

“And our day on the pier?” Olu prompts.

I don’t know what purpose this trip down memory lane serves, but I can’t exactly deny them.

“Our first date,” Olu continues.

“It was not,” I disagree amiably.

Despite their fatigue, Olu has the strength to glare at me.

“I have a perfect memory.”

“And yet you still manage to be wrong.”

Olufemi’s glare is magnificent. I’m glad they’re functional enough to be upset at me. It means we have a chance to get out of this.

“Our first date was that time you found me in the bar,” I explain.

“And we danced,” Olu agrees, fond.

I hold out a hand. “Care for a dance, angel?”

Their expression falters, but in sorrow. I feel the same way—the sheer tragedy of our circumstances when compared with how we met is impactful.

When they stand up and take my hand, I am able to hide the heartbreak on my face in Olufemi’s chest as we sway from side to side in each other’s arms.

[incandescent-creativity]

Malufemi Confession Scene

the angel and the demon are officially together!

~ MALUKA’S POV ~

“Kiss me.”

I recoil. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Olu repeats, as if it’s the most simple and expected thing in the world.

I don’t know what to say. I can’t say anything. How many times has this damned angel kept me up at night? How many times have I wished, have I wanted, only to remind myself that giving in will literally destroy their life as they know it? 

One of their hands rests on the side of my face. “Please?”

I shut my eyes, and shake my head. God, I’m in too deep. “I can’t do this.”

I can’t. That’s it. I cannot kiss them while they don’t know what I am, while they don’t know how different I am. 

“Why not?” Olu’s voice is soft, gentle, pleading. If I open my eyes, I know their expression will be heartbreakingly similar. I keep them squeezed shut.

“Just trust me, I can’t. You don’t know what it will do to you. There’s so much you don’t know.”

Their hand pulls away, and I open my eyes to track it. It curls up into a loose fist that rests on their chest. It’s a sad, thoughtful pose that I want nothing more than to solve by taking that hand up into my own.

“What don’t I know, Mal?” they ask quietly. “What don’t I know about you? You are kind, perceptive, fun, and confident. You care more deeply than anybody I know, despite not wanting anybody to know that you do.”

“Stop,” I whisper. Don’t make this harder than it already is, damn it.

“You are breathtakingly intelligent,” they continue.

This makes me laugh a couple of times, despite how close to tears I am. “I am not.”

“You are,” Olu insists. “You’ve thought and talked your way out of more situations than I probably know about. You know people, Mal, and that’s an intelligence I will never master. Plus, you can recite any Bible verse on command.”

That isn’t as impressive as they think. Most demons can—we study the shit out of that thing, in case it holds a key or a cure or something. 

Olu must take my silence for some sort of argument. “I mean, if I asked for a verse on judgment, I bet you could deliver.”

They smile encouragingly at me, and I can’t deny that smile. “Second Peters, chapter two, verse four,” I give in. “For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to hell, putting them in chains of darkness to be held for judgment.”

Probably not what they meant, but it’s the only way I can think to warn them.

“Hell isn’t a place,” Olufemi disagrees, a hint of playfulness to their voice.

That’s what they think. Hell is standing right here, a foot away from them, with enthusiastic and consistent consent to kiss them, and still not doing it because I’m so fucking in love with them. That’s hell.

“Besides,” they continue, “I was talking about the judgment of others.”

I sigh, looking down. “I know. Like, John 7:24. ‘Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.’ Right?”

“Yes,” Olu says primly, as if I’ve proven their point. “Exactly.”

“But how do you know what judgment is right?” I ask desperately. “You can’t quantify that.”

“My judgment is right,” Olufemi says, their voice iron and absolutely confident. “I am enough to judge what I want,” they continue, “and you are what I want, Mal.”

A tear finally slips down my face, and I brush it away with an angry, “God, damn it.”

“Blasphemy,” Olu reminds me, their voice so full of love I want to puke.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter!” I yell. “Christ Himself can manifest in front of me if it bothers Him so much, and you know what? I still wouldn’t listen to Him, because I’m already a demon, so what else can He do to me? Huh?”

I’ve blown it, and so I cover my face with my hands and try not to sob.

~ NEW CHAPTER: OLUFEMI’S POV ~

“—I’m already a demon, so what else can He do to me? Huh?”

I see a brief moment of horrified realization, and then Mal covers her face and begins to break down.

I step forward and let her forehead dig into the center of my sternum. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close, and I would use my wings to do the same if I felt like it wouldn’t be a terrible reminder of our differences.

“You know,” I say quietly, one hand resting on the back of her head, “that’s a very good point that I hadn’t considered before now. I suppose you may take a name in vain whenever you so please.”

After a brief pause, Mal’s head rises.

I take a step back out of respect; she has stayed away from me thus far. Plus, it helps me get a better look at her outright incredulous expression.

“I confess to you,” she says slowly, “that I am a demon… And you are focusing on the logic of my argument on blasphemy?”

I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from twitching up in a smile. “To be fair to you, it’s a good argument.”

“Are you on crack?” Mal explodes. “What is wrong with you?” they follow up quickly. “Who gives a flying fuck what I think about blasphemy, or clean language, or any of it!”

She swipes at her face again, though she doesn’t try to hide away from my gaze again. Instead, she is glaring directly into my eyes as she rants.

“You should be horrified!” she tells me. “You should be getting ready to defend yourself, you should be trying to kill me, you should be angry and betrayed and confused and upset! Why—why aren’t you upset?” 

Her voice breaks from the combined strain of yelling and of emotion, and I am compelled to answer.

I step forward and take both her hands in mine. I see the minute movement of her body where she wants to flee by stepping back when I go forward, but my arms are long and my touch is firm. 

Holding them tightly, I maintain eye contact and say, “Maluka, I am not upset because I have known.” Her eyebrows pull together. “I have known since the day we were together on the roof of that club, and I was healing your hands. These hands, that I hold now, that were bleeding all over me and my clothes.”

She glances away from me, not getting the point. “I’m… sorry I ruined your outfit?”

I laugh again, still quietly delighted by her. “Mal, angels don’t bleed.”

Her breath catches, and her eyes go wide into mine. Since I am still gripping her hands in mine, I can feel her knees go weak. Knowing she is unsteady, I help us sit down and wait for her to process.

“You… Are you talking about the day I fell on a bottle of rum?” she asks.

“I think I pushed you onto it,” I correct her, sheepish. “But yes, that day.”

After a brief pause, she leans back and explodes (in a less angry way), “Are you kidding me? That was so long ago!” Rocking forward, she is still staring into my eyes. “Olufemi! Seriously! You’ve known for this—the whole time, and you didn’t think to just… let me know?”

The relief is evident in her voice, which is lighter than it has been for our whole conversation. She is not condemning me in the slightest; instead, Mal is rejoicing.

I join her. “I thought it something that you should tell me in your own time, I don’t know.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” she instructs me, taking one of my hands and pressing it to her forehead as if needing support to collapse. “Do you hear me?” she asks, sitting back up again.

“I hear you,” I say, relatively solemnly. “As soon as I figure out your other grand secrets, I’ll tell you what they are right away.”

This makes her laugh, and she slides a hand down her face. “You better.”

We sit on the floor in silence, both of us simply breathing and decompressing in the light of our new understanding of each other. But I have not forgotten where we started, and when the time feels right—before the air between us curdles into awkwardness—I ask again.

“Maluka. Will you kiss me?”

She smiles, and I know her answer before she starts moving. When she does, it is first to scoot forward, and then to hook a leg on either side of my crossed ones. Her hands land on either side of my face, as mine so often do to hers, and then my demon pulls me in for a kiss.

Interested in more?

Check out the wip page or maybe the worldbuilding masterpost or maybe even the Comic Sans Presentation!

[incandescent-creativity]

“Why can’t you just learn to let the fuck go.”

I grab for Maluka's hand, her arm, her shoulder, anything to stop her from walking away from me.

I miss, but she feels the movement. She turns, and I am relieved. Watching her turn her back on me was more painful than anything she has just said.

I'm still processing her words, honestly. Part ways? For safety? She is a demon, and I am an angel who willingly and openly consorts with her. The two of us do not exactly lead lives of safety anymore, if we ever did.

When I see her irritated expression, though, my relief disappears.

"Just let me go," she demands, her hand cutting through the air between us.

"That has never been an option," I say quietly.

Which is the truth. Before I knew she was a demon, she was beautiful, and interesting, and I wanted to get to know her more. After, there was no way I could let her go without jeopardizing our position.

But this is not the right thing to say. Mal's face shifts towards anger, nearly rage.

"Why can't you just learn to let the fuck go, Olufemi?" she shouts at me.

I recoil, tears springing to my eyes instantly.

Mal sees it. "God, don't be pathetic," she says harshly. "We're doing the right thing, so just move on."

"I can't do that," I snap, her aggression getting to me. "I'm not callous like you, I can't just drink my feelings away."

Her eyes widen slightly, which is how I know I have said something I regret. But then those same eyes, locked onto mine, narrow. Mal summons her dark, feathered wings, and leaps into the sky away from me.

I don't follow.

[incandescent-creativity]

Olufemi, post kiss, never been kissed before: oh, EVERYTHING has changed

Maluka, post kiss, been kissed so much before: oh, not much has changed

[incandescent-creativity]

Hey, Elizabeth! I'm feeling especially chatty today, in one of my famous "chatty Kathy" moods so I'm sending random asks out to my faves and a few new followers... SO! Random question time. What is the scene you're the most excited to get to in your WIPs and what is the scene or line you wrote THIS MONTH that you feel you will return to whenever you need inspiration in the future? ~hannah

I THINK YOU SENT THIS IN MARCH and I just? never saw it? SO I’ll give you some LiaHT info since that’s what I was working on up until recently.

I’m excited to get to a scene where Mal and Olu go to a date at a gym! It’s going to be full of longing looks and excellent descriptions of Olufemi’s musculature. And they’ll get to be normal for once, which will also be good.

As for the excerpt that will inspire me later, have some Tender Bandaging Moments (from Mal’s POV):

I move slowly to sit on their side. Half of me wants to say something, the other half of me wants to run out of the room screaming. What I end up doing is reaching over and snapping open the medkit. One bandage isn’t going to do much, but it does let me slide to the ground and cup the back of their thigh tenderly. Nor can I resist pressing a kiss to the Band-Aid after I place it.

Olu’s hand rubs into my hair, ruffling it in one instant and smoothing it in the next. They line a finger along the side of my jaw and use the rest of their hand under my chin to tilt my head up. I follow their hand obediently, until they have me placed back in my chair.

They don’t speak a word. I can’t think of anything I want to hear. 

The only thing they actually do is drag the kit a bit closer to them, and retrieve their own bandages. I move slowly, leaning forward at their beckon. Olu holds their hand under my chin for but a moment, before they withdraw it and open up the bandage.

Their hands are shaking when they get back to my face, but the way they press it to my cheek is sure and caring. They smooth it over and over, their thumb gently passing over my wound. At one point, they get confident, and I have to hiss and pull back.

[incandescent-creativity]

Me, putting the phrase “an actual angel” into Maluka’s narration in Book One, to communicate disbelief over having to rub elbows with a powerful creature as a demon, SPECIFICALLY so I can have her softly murmur “You’re an actual angel” in an adoring tone of voice in Book Three?

It’s more likely than you think.

[incandescent-creativity]

Both Maluka and Olufemi think “If I try to be like them, I can be better” about the other and I think that’s beautiful

[incandescent-creativity]

from @flashfictionfridayofficial - ALL I NEED

CW brief suicide mention

Olu looks at me, something strange behind their eyes.

“There is another way, of course.”

I have no idea how they’ve solved our problem so quickly. “We are boxed in by our respective superiors, who know what we’ve done and are planning to kill us literally tomorrow,” I summarize, “and you magically have a solution?”

“I do,” they confirm.

“One that doesn’t involve killing ourselves right here and now, together,” I add.

I’m mostly joking, but my angel’s face settles into a glare. “Of course we aren’t doing that.”

“Well, then, whatever it is, I’m all for it,” I decide.

“I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I tell them. “I’ll have you, and that will be fine. You’re all I need.”

I’m ready to hear what this plan is, but Olu steps forward and cradles my face in their hands. For a split second, I wonder what they’re going to say, but then they lean down and crush our lips together in a kiss.

It’s unexpected, and forceful, and it makes my head swim pleasantly. For a moment, I let myself forget that we’re being chased by some of the most famous archdemons and archangels of all history. When Olu breaks the sudden kiss, I can barely breathe.

“What was that?” I ask.

They haven’t moved back as much as I thought they would; our foreheads are still touching.

“Thank you,” they say quietly.

I’m still a little dazed, so I can’t quite connect the dots. “For what?”

“For being so... wonderful,” is the word they finally choose. “Especially to me.”

I smile into a single laugh, and put my hand on the connecting point between their jaw and neck.

“Of course, angel.”

“Do you think we’ll change when we become human?” Olu murmurs, worry quieting their voice.

I pull back completely, any daziness gone. “Wait, what?”

[incandescent-creativity]

Two lovers so unexpected they might just shake up the entire universe along the way 💫

(link)

thanks to @perringwrites who showed me!

[incandescent-creativity]

Pre-Games: Olu and Mal

I. the big day

Mal shifts at the back of the crowd and picks at the pants she’s wearing.

“Don’t fidget,” Olu reprimands quietly.

“Easy for you to say,” Mal snaps under her breath. “You like wearing pants.”

“So do you sometimes. Why did you choose the suit when you’d rather the skirt?”

Mal scoffs. “It was hardly a choice. Barely more than tatters now.”

“My condolences.”

The reel ends, and the Capitol representative’s heels click as he moves back to the microphone. He’s saying something, but Maluka’s mind is still turning over. With such long hours in such different parts of the district, she hasn’t seen Olu in months. Now, today, in such close quarters, Olu stands at her side.

They’re just as tall as Mal remembers, which would be comforting if not for the fact that it just means their hand is close for the taking.

It wouldn’t be that weird, would it? Reaping days are exceptional, in the sense that they are exceptions to everyday life. Maybe Mal can’t see them every day while she’s busy with administrative work, and maybe she can’t hold their hand when Olu’s hands are raw from the rough scythes, but maybe today—

“And now, our first name.”

Crushing stray thoughts like dead leaves beneath her heel, Mal holds her breath with the rest of District 9.

II. the reaping

Olufemi prays.

They don’t know who’s listening. They’ve never known. It’s never mattered. Someone is, and that’s what matters.

With their eyes never straying from the glass bowl full of names, Olu prays.

Please, keep us safe. I know that two must be taken, but you have kept us from the jaws of death for so long. To your purpose, I’m sure of it. Let us serve that purpose still.

After all, the families that refuse to take tesserae subsist on the grain bars Olu sets aside for them. A monthly reprimand when the yield is lower than projected, for “unknown reasons,” is a small price to pay to ensure that District 9’s citizens do not starve.

It is a good purpose, and one that Olu intends to continue doing for as long as possible.

“And now, our first name.”

The man covered in green sequins and peacock feathers plunges his arm into the bowl, up to the elbow, and retrieves a scrap of paper.

Please. Your will be done.

“Maluka Samale, please come to the stage.”

The crowd begins to part, and the cameras begin to turn, but the only reason the name sinks in is a quick, brief squeeze of the hand. It is this moment of contact that triggers the realization: Mal—their Mal—is on her way to the stage.

Olu cannot breathe. Everything freezes up at once. Is this punishment? A prayer recognized for its selfishness, and thus realized through the taking away of their only companion in life?

By the time they think to volunteer, and ensure Mal’s safety, she is on the stage.

I’m too late.

Tears threaten to dampen round cheeks, but there is still one tribute to call. Then the visitation hours will start, and one last moment can be had between them.

A seed of resolve hardens in their heart. I will not let Mal away from me again.

The Capitol peacock already has his second slip of paper.

“Nora Collins, please come to the stage.”

Despair replaces resolve. The Collinses were the first family to approach Olu begging for an alternative to tesserae. Any other granarist would turn them in for attempted theft, they said, but Olu had a kind heart, they could tell. Would it be possible to spare some of their next harvest?

Nora, the Collins daughter, had grown up hale and strong as a direct result of the system they had devised together. She matured from a dead eyed child into an adolescent with the quickest weaving fingers around, and Olu watched it happen.

I cannot let her go to the Games.

Before the girl can take even her first step towards the stage, Olufemi fills lungs that call out over entire fields with the last free air they may ever know.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

All eyes turn to them, and they feel the weight of the crowd once again. An intimate knowledge of procedure and an increasing anxiety to escape the mass of people drives them forward.

“An unexpected twist here in 9!” the Capitol man narrates. “Here comes our lovely volunteer now—and just look at those shoulders! I think we have a contender here, folks, I daresay we do.”

He offers a hand to help Olu onstage, and they accept. Holding it delicately, he guides them both over to the microphone at center stage.

“What’s your name, tribute?”

“I am... Olufemi Abdalla.”

Turning away from them smartly, the Capitol man gestures for Mal to take his other hand. He lifts the two hands he has up in the air, though Olu’s slips out due to their height, and makes one final announcement:

“The tributes from District 9: Olufemi and Maluka!”

III. the visit

If I could have leapt off that stage and tackled Olu to the ground when Nora’s name was called, I would have.

As things went, all I could do was watch. They never even hesitated—as soon as her name was read, their voice spoke up. Credit where credit is due; they sounded strong. All confidence, no weakness. I’m not surprised the Capitol dude called them a contender.

That initial impression won’t last very long, though. There are no cameras in the visitation room, so nobody seems them hug the Collinses and put on a watery smile for Nora, but I don’t think Olu has it in them to be anything other than what they are: a good person.

Settling against a wall opposite their little gathering, I try not to be bitter. Unfortunately, I knew it. I knew that dumb heart of theirs was going to get them in trouble eventually, I knew it from the day I discovered their haphazard attempt to smuggle grain foodstuffs from their quota to the needy.

Their stupid “production” never would have gotten off the ground if it wasn’t for my insider access to the records, fudging the numbers to make sure they weren’t missing as much as they actually were. Olu would be stuck with the hard labor of the fields—there’s no chance of promotion with those numbers—but they also wouldn’t hang.

And now we’re tangled in another mess.

Maybe they could have managed it on their own if it were just the Collins family, but Olu never figured out how to say no to the other folks that approached them. People took to calling them Angel as a codename: “Go and see the angel if you’re in need of food.” “The angel will help you.”

If they’re an angel, what does that make me? Hiding in the background, covering tracks, lying on every paper I fill out every day?

A shadow falls over me, and I look up to see Olufemi approaching.

I drop my arms out of their somewhat aggressive position across my chest. “What?”

They freeze, a minute tic I’ve seen before that means I’ve completely misinterpreted the situation.

Hesitantly, they answer, “I... they just left.”

“So?”

“So, wouldn’t you like to trade spots to afford you a bit of privacy, as you did for me?”

I smile and shake my head, but I can’t force myself to put any warmth into it. “Nobody’s coming to see me off, Olu. My people are long dead, and I’ve pissed off everybody at work at least once before.”

They shift their weight back, now awkward with the weight of what I said. “Ah.”

“Yeah, I know. At least it simplifies things, right?”

“Of course,” they say delicately.

Letting myself slip down to sit on the floor, I sigh. “God, I wish I had a drink.”

Olu folds their long legs and drops to the floor, as well. Perfect posture, as always.

“I’m sure they’ll have alcohol on the train.”

“They better.”

IV. the train ride

Unfortunately, my prediction regarding the train’s alcoholic stores is an accurate one.

Mal proceeds to get “properly plastered” over dinner. I’ll admit that the wine is incredible, the finest I’ve ever tasted, but I sip at it only to complement the meal. She downs cups of it like its sole purpose is to intoxicate her.

As a result, I am the one to take her to her quarters. I suppose the Avoxes could, or perhaps the Peacekeepers, but I can’t convince myself to find either of those appropriate. The Avoxes have enough cleaning to do in the dining car, and the only danger Mal presents in her current state is to herself.

The doors slide open smoothly, to reveal a room decorated in dark tones. The bed has a dark grey duvet and its posts are made of dark wood, and the rug is a plush navy blue color. Even the lamps and lights along the wall are muted.

“Finally, a place that isn’t so fuckin’ bright,” Mal mutters as I guide her towards the bed.

“I didn’t think the rest of the train was too bright,” I say by way of making conversation.

“It was,” she says, with all the confidence of a child. “This is nice, though. Like you.”

I’m unsure whether she means that I am nice, or I am dark, but I suppose she is right either way. Regardless of meaning, it seems an appropriate moment to withdraw my hands from her arms. After a brief pause to ensure she doesn’t immediately fall over, I start setting aside extra pillows and pulling back blankets.

“You takin’ me to bed, angel?”

I huff out a laugh at the codename turned nickname. “In a sense.”

“Awesome,” she mutters. “You’re sexy as fuck.”

I could handle the first comment, but this second one prompts heat to my face. “Sorry?”

“Ah, don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re finally actin’ on it.”

I’m running out of pillows to keep busy with. “On what?”

“On our undeniable chemistry,” she answers, using a tone that implies I should have known this already.

“I mean, fuck,” Mal continues, “I’ve been trying to hold your hand for, like... years. Figures I’d have to get reaped for it to happen.”

This last sentence is muttered, and the sorrow that overwhelms me over our circumstances closes my throat. All I can do is step back and gesture an open arm to the ready bed.

Mal dutifully crawls in, brushing a hand against the skin of my arm in thanks as she goes. Perhaps it is just her recent words echoing in the room, but the touch does incite nerves in my stomach and chest. Hasn’t it always, though? Or is that her point?

“Olu,” Mal mumbles, one arm up in the air. “Stop thinking.”

This command, at least, is familiar ground. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to sleep with me,” she promises. “I’m clearly not all... here.” A yawn interrupts her speech.

“Clearly,” I say gently.

“But I wasn’t kidding about sleeping with you. I mean—”

She buries her head into the dent of the pillow for a second, and a frustrated noise is muffled by it.

“I do want you to sleep with me, but like, sleep next to me. I don’t... want to wake up alone like I have every day, for years. This place already sucks. I don’t need that on top of it all, you know?”

It appears that Maluka has forgotten that I also live and wake up alone, but all that means is I understand the loneliness she is speaking from. And as such, I can hardly deny her.

Adjusting the blanket she is under one last time, I circle over to the other side of the bed and crawl in beside her.

next

[incandescent-creativity]

You know that tiktok audio that’s like “omg did you call me baby / maybe.. is that okay?”

Olufemi and Maluka. Just sayin.

[incandescent-creativity]

from @flashfictionfridayofficial

“What’s so great about your angel, anyway?” the female Legion taunts.

I uncross my arms, standing as tall as I can and ignoring the various chains restraining me. “Excuse me?”

“They haven’t graduated,” the male Legion lists, “so they’re not even a proper Guardian. Even if they were, it doesn’t appear as if they’re smart enough to keep their loved ones safe, let alone their assignment.”

I don’t want to think about what demons may have been dispatched to her, or what they might have done to our Nora. All I can do is pray that Olu is, in fact, doing their job.

“Not that your information hasn’t been valuable,” the woman says. “I’m quite looking forward to meeting this angel.”

I somehow manage to laugh. The male doesn’t react, but the non-binary raises and eyebrow and their leader—she unleashes a powerful glare.

“Oh, you shouldn’t be,” I say through the last of my chuckles. “My angel, as you call them, is the best of their kind. They are made of stardust and power, of light and love, of fire and faith. I believe in them wholeheartedly, and demons don’t believe in anything, so that should shake you to your bones. If it doesn’t, you’re a fool.”

My challenge hangs silently in the air between us for a moment.

“Cute,” the male finally comments, unimpressed.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” the female snaps fiercely.

“You’re right,” I agree. “The fact that I know that even an angel who hasn’t graduated is more powerful than three archdemons, and choose to back them accordingly, means nothing.”

My smile lasts until the third member of their party speaks up.

“Maybe we need more than one archdemon, then.”

[incandescent-creativity]

Pre-Games: Mal and Olu

Previous

V. the chariots

I twist the golden ribbons tied at my waist, tight enough to dig into the flesh of my hands. The scars from years of field work have faded thanks to whatever cream the stylists gave me, and I’m still not used to the soft skin.

“Don’t,” Mal reprimands, having noticed my nerves. “There’s no need.”

“I know, I know. I’ll mess it up.” The stylists have been very clear about leaving their work untouched.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says with a smile. How can she smile during at a time like this? “You look great. Angelic, even,” she adds with a cocked, knowing grin.

“You really think so?”

I look down at the outfit with new eyes. At first, I thought the tight yellow leather pants were gaudy, but they do balance out the creamy white shirt with gold trimming and stitching rather well. The twin stalks of grain sticking up from the headband they gave me is a little garish, but overall, I suppose the outfit isn’t bad.

Maluka’s dress, on the other hand, is stunning. It features a steep V that ends below her sternum, and the whole thing is caked with glittery diamonds that stand out against the navy blue fabric. They are scattered as the stars are in the sky. Even her earrings are crescent moons.

I don’t know why they’ve dressed us as this; something about the sun helping our fields grow, and the moon that helps the tides we use to water them.

Whatever the reason, Maluka is stunning. The confident smile she gives me when she says, “Of course I do,” is even more so.

“I suppose I’ll need to be angelic if we’re to win the hearts of the people,” I say with a sigh.

Mal climbs up into the chariot and offers me a hand. I very pointedly look up into her face and not at her chest.

“Don’t worry,” she says with a wink. “Who could ever resist us?”

For a moment, I believe her. For a second, I believe in us. We’re in for the fight of our lives, but we have been fighting our own battles for years. I have been asking why us, but perhaps a better question is:

Why not us?

I wrap her hand in mine, and she pulls me up into the chariot. I stand behind the horse draped in golds and browns, while Mal takes her place behind the one in blue and silver.

“Maluka,” I say quietly as the wheels start to move.

“Yes, angel?”

My heart flips. “They have to see us as a team, right?”

“I mean, we are a team.”

“But they don’t know that.”

I see her head turn to look up at me, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. We’re about to be in front of the Capitol, and there’s no time.

“Don’t resist,” I tell her.

“What are you talking about?”

Then we’re in the lights. The noise of the crowd envelops us, and my anxiety swells along with the volume. In such a mess, I had forgotten the effect crowds have on me. The weight of all these eyes on me—

No, not on me.

The Capitol’s eyes are on us. Maluka is here with me, standing right at my side.

She even willingly takes my hand when I slide mine down her arm. I give it one squeeze of warning before I make my move.

In one swift smooth motion, I turn Maluka towards me and hook my leg behind hers. I don’t pull her back far enough to fall, or hit her head on the chariot. I simply bend her back to cradle her in my arms and bend my head over hers to touch our foreheads together.

The crowd’s reaction is a swelling roar, but all I hear is Maluka’s sharp intake of breath.

“Holy shit, you’re strong,” she whispers.

Her observation is just candid enough to make me smile, so when I stand us back up it is with a wide grin on my face. It doesn’t even falter when Mal wraps one of her arms around my waist and pulls herself close to my side.

We stand that way until the chariots reach their destination.

VI. training

I can’t sleep the day before training.

Not because of any nerves or anything. That’s Olu’s area of expertise. Instead, my mind is stuck replaying their utter confidence in sweeping my leg to press our bodies close together. They were strong, and smooth, and their smile was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s a move they’ve pulled before. But what circumstance would have ever called for something like that?

I can’t come up with one, and my mind alternates between trying to come up with an answer and being distracted by the memory of our chariot.

When there’s a knock on my door, it’s a physical pain to drag myself up out of bed. But I do it.

It’s only when I actually get to the training room that I realize I hadn’t thought about what I’d say to my teammate when I saw them. Not that it would have mattered; I’m quite sure any words I would have prepared would have died on my tongue.

If Olufemi was a vision yesterday on the chariot, they are even more so today. It makes no sense, I know. Why would I be more attracted to them when they’re wearing a form fitting tank top that fully displays the muscles of their arms and shoulders than when they’ve been dressed to the nines by stylists?

Then they slice the throat of a training dummy open without a single change in expression, and I have to stop my jaw from dropping.

Who knew a scythe was that deadly?

I duck away before Olu can catch me ogling, and start looking around for something to distract myself with. Preferably something on the opposite side of the room from... all of that.

The opposite side of the room turns out to be survival skills. Which isn’t glamorous, but neither was my work at home. And it makes sense; if Olu is going to be our muscle, I can handle the brainy parts of survival.

So I start learning all the different ways to construct and light a fire, and how to disguise shelters, and which foods can be found in what biomes. I do this for two days, and for two days I keep a close eye on Olu.

They’re chattier than I expected them to be. I want to tell them to stop giving pointers to our competition, when those pointers could potentially help them kill us later, but I’m also very pointedly keeping my distance.

Well, I’m keeping my distance until a pair of assholes walks up to them.

I’m pretty sure it’s the Careers from District 1: Phosphene and Mahogany. I’ve never heard such pretentious names in my life, and they look like they’ve got the personalities to match.

“Well, if it isn’t our local farmer,” the female starts. She’s gotta be Phosphene—only someone with that name would have long, straightened silver-blonde hair like that.

“Hate to break it to ya, champ, but we’re gonna be a bit harder to cut down than some plants,” the male boasts.

Olu doesn’t respond, apparently opting for the “stoic silence” approach. Personally, I prefer the opposite.

“You know,” I say, walking up as casually as I can, “there’s actually quite a few species of plant that possess more strength than human bone. That’s why we made boats out of wood instead of femurs.

“Although,” I say, as if the possibility had just occurred to me, “maybe we can test that theory in the arena. Would you like to donate to the cause?”

The poor brute has no idea how to respond to my sweet smile, but the girl just rolls her eyes and turns away with a toss of platinum hair.

I wiggle my fingers in a wave that neither of them see, but that’s fine. Better to not get in a fight until I have to.

“I was handling it,” Olu says quietly.

I jump. I hadn’t even noticed them sidling closer to me to pick out a new blade to practice with.

“Yeah, I know. I just handled it first,” I respond as coolly as I can.

“Great,” they say, just as cool. “Do you want one?”

“Want one?” I repeat. “A—a dagger?”

Olu shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

I almost say, “You’re being weird,” but they’re already moving towards the targets. All I can do is look around to make sure District 1 is gone, and head to the spears.

VII. judgment

I settle onto the couch next to Maluka, who hands me a glass of some sort of bubbling, fizzing drink.

I don’t know what it is, so I simply hold it in my hand. The screen is already on, and we’re a couple of districts away from our scores. Mal still hasn’t told me what she did for her demonstration, so I haven’t been forthcoming with mine, either.

In fact, we don’t say a word to each other until our announcer brings up District 9.

“Here we go,” she says.

“Up first: Maluka Samale, with a score of... 6.”

“Damn,” she mutters, and drains the rest of her glass. That alone convinces me it’s alcoholic, and I set my own glass down gingerly.

“Hardly impressive,” I agree.

“But also slightly above average,” she counters. “I guess they weren’t impressed with my answers.”

“Your what?”

Mal waves a hand. “Oh, I just sat down and offered them the opportunity to discover my gift for strategy.”

“Is that what you call pissing off all your coworkers at least once?” I joke.

She snorts. “You know it.”

“And now, Olufemi Abdalla... who earned an 8.”

“Daaaamn,” Mal says again, only this time she’s impressed. “What did you do?”

I can only shrug. “The same thing I’ve been doing. Only I decapitated it this time instead of cutting it.”

“Holy shit,” she says, and I think it’s a compliment. “Did you do it on purpose?”

“I wasn’t trying to... avoid it,” I say.

An embellished number 10 flashes onto screen, and the two of us relax back into the couch.

“I guess they’re more impressed by brute strength than cleverness,” Mal says.

I turn my torso to look at her entirely, raising one of my eyebrows. “Am I mistaken, or is that resentment in your tone?”

“Absolutely not,” she says, deadpan. “Why would I resent you?”

I can’t name the emotion that clutches at my chest. Whatever it is, it’s cold.

“Look,” I say carefully, “if I overstepped with that move on the chariot, you should have told me sooner. You know I would have apologized.”

“What?” Maluka sounds genuinely puzzled. “No, that was... a very good move. Believe me, I’m not mad about that.”

“Well, what are you mad about?” I ask, panicked frustration creeping into my voice. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.

“Nothing!” she insists. “I just... Why were you avoiding me during training?”

Now it’s my turn for confusion. “What do you mean? You’re the one that stayed on the other side of the room.”

There is frustration on her side, too, evident in a rasping noise in the back of her throat. “Okay, so, we’re both avoidant. Do you want to team up for the interview, then?”

At least I can answer this one definitively. “Yes.”

“Great!” Mal says brightly. “How do we do that?”

VIII. the interview

By the time we’re being dressed up, we still haven’t come up with our answer.

I almost regret asking the question, to be honest. Every answer we’ve come up with has been wrong, or we feel like we could do better, or like someone else will be doing it, too.

The worst part of the whole situation is that I have a really great idea.

The only problems are: I’m not sure how to bring it up, how to phrase the question, what I’ll do if they say yes, what I’ll do if they say no, and if that’s really our best option. Oh, and I also don’t know what would happen after.

So for now, I try to focus on what’s going on right now. Namely, being dressed.

They’ve reversed our color schemes today. There was much debate about Olu’s warm undertones being ill-suited to a traditional black and white tuxedo, but I don’t know what the hell they were talking about. Olufemi is, as usual, stunning.

The blue comes in through their bowtie, and the square of fabric in their chest pocket, and the makeup on their lips and eyelids. Their eyes even get silver glitter to match the buttons and thread of the suit.

My own monkey suit is a bright yellow ballgown that reaches the floor. When I move and twirl, you can see the shiny patterns of grain sewn onto it. Getting it on was actually a surprisingly brief process; the rest of my time so far has been spent doing shit with my hair.

I hardly recognize myself when they place me in front of the mirror. The final product means half my hair is piled up into a bun, while the rest of it falls free.

Smoothing it over despite the perfection of their work, I comment, “I didn’t even know I had this much hair.”

“I think they were a bit frustrated with my lack of hair, too,” Olu confides, even though their tight, fuzzy curls are a whole different thing from my undercut.

“Yeah, but you have so much else to work with,” I point out. “I mean, how many times did they praise your long legs?”

“At least four,” they respond. “It was excessive, wasn’t it?”

“Excessive is their middle name,” I agree.

After a beat of silence, they inquire, “So, have you come up with our brilliant strategy yet?”

I sigh. “Well, I have one idea to help us stand out. But I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“What’s that?”

Their voice is full of perfectly innocent curiosity. For some reason, it fills me with guilt.

“Never mind. Stupid idea.”

Olufemi doesn’t appreciate being dismissed. Their face drops into an unamused, flat expression. “Tell me.”

Yikes. “Okay. Okay. Sorry. I just thought we could... have our first kiss on camera?”

Their expression doesn’t change too much. Instead, their eyes slide away from mine to stare at the wall in contemplation. When they move to meet mine again, I can see that they’ve reached some sort of conclusion. I just don’t know what conclusion that is.

“You’re right,” they announce. “It’s a stupid idea.”

I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even know if I could say anything, my stomach has dropped so hard.

Taking a step closer to me, Olufemi says, “We should have our second kiss on camera.”

“Our—second?” I ask. “We haven’t even had our first. You want to spend the whole interview time making out? Because I’m not sure—”

One of their hands brushes past my jawline, against my ear to cradle the back of my skull, and I promptly shut up. It’s the same position they used to ensure I didn’t hit my head on the chariot.

And just like on the chariot, I’m caught staring into the depths of their dark brown eyes.

Leaning down to gently touch their forehead to mine yet again, Olu asks, “What do you say, Maluka? May I kiss you here before I do it again on camera?”

“Oh, god, please,” I whisper.

When their full lips press against mine, I can feel a smile fading from them.

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