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that-sw-writer · 4 years

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Empress for the Evening III

PART ONE, TWO

MASTERLIST

Note: Long time coming but here it is, I can’t tell if I love it or hate it... But this is the final part.

Summary: A whirlwind cycle passes, and now as the wife of Kylo Ren you have to make your most nerve-wracking gala appearance yet.

You’re a threat to many others who envy your position, and the rumours flying around about your relationship don’t help your stress as you prepare for the gala.

Chaos is bound to ensue.

Word count: 5517

"Please, be seated." You addressed your court as you made your way to your throne at the head of the table.

Your advisors sit as instructed to do so. Only two rotations ago you had been aboard the Finalizer, and the Supreme Leader had offered you his hand in marriage. Until now only you and Kylo knew about the engagement, he had been very considerate of your political situation and insisted that he would not mention anything to the First Order until you had told your own advisors.

Not even your closest confidants knew - and keeping such big news secret from them had been painfully difficult.

"Your Majesty, since your appearance at the gala we've received a number of messages from allied planets."

"I dread to think..." You waved your hand, motioning for them to proceed and inform you about what you were going to assume was nothing short of hate mail.

"I hate to approach the situation again, but some of them have withdrawn their proposals of marriage and suggested new suitors who they believe will be, um- more to your standard." Your chief advisor spoke, and the whole court looked rather nervous. They were used to you harshly shutting down any talks of marriage.

You knew they were simply delivering the messages, and it didn't surprise you that your associates from the gala were now suggesting different suitors - you would have been foolish to think that they would let it go just because you insulted them. Your planet's economy was booming, and the opportunity of a young, unmarried queen was priceless.

"You can decline all proposals." You began, taking a deep breath before finally letting out the secret that had been eating away at you, "I have already accepted one."

Mutters rose up from your court, and you allowed them to make their comments of surprise before raising your hand to silence them. They all rightfully had plenty of questions, so you answered them all before they could ask them.

"At the Gala Supreme Leader Ren asked for my hand in marriage, and I accepted." You tried to ignore the smile that threatened to break out on your face as you recalled the heated moment he had asked you to marry him.

"The Supreme Leader?" Jafan, the chief advisor, questioned in sheer disbelief. He was a trustworthy, honest man. He had spent years serving under your father and he had been nothing but a close ally to you since you had taken the throne.

"Yes. I know it seems unbelievable, and truly I'm still trying to wrap my own head around it, but I accepted nevertheless - it's what I want." You wanted to make it abundantly clear that you had chosen this, it wasn't for political gain, that was just an added bonus.

Your entire court seemed content with this response, and they all waited for Jafan to speak again on their behalf.

"Congratulations your Majesty, we can begin preparations for your wedding as soon as you wish." He smiled at you, and you returned it.

"I'll contact Supreme Leader Ren shortly and we can choose a date." You confirmed.

From there the meeting largely consisted of minor issues, as they always did. Morale amongst the workers in the steel factories was higher than ever, and production rates were still soaring - that was something you were determined to not let slip once you became Empress as well as Queen.

When you dismissed everyone after the meeting Jafan rushed after you, "my Queen!" He called, and you stopped to allow him to catch up to you.

"What can I do for you Jafan?" You politely asked him as he came to walk by your side.

"About the marriage, your Majesty. I wanted to extend my personal congratulations again, but I just-" He cut himself off, clearly unsure of how to word what he wanted to say without coming across as insubordinate.

"You have concerns, I understand." You softly told him. It was clearly going to be a big adjustment, and Jafan was simply doing his job by bringing the issues to your attention, you appreciated that.

"A marriage to the Supreme Leader will come hand in hand with plenty of benefits for us, but equally my concern lies with you needing to take on so many new responsibilities if you are to rule the First Order alongside him." Jafan was right to have these concerns, they were ones that had already crossed your mind.

"I thought about this. I won't abandon my planet or its people by any means, but I will be spending more time off-world, and in my stead I was going to ask you to chair meetings and be the acting head of state. I can easily stay in contact with you and I still intend to be here regularly." You confirmed. It was something you had given a lot of thought to. Jafan was someone you trusted, and he had more than proved himself through his years of experience and sound guidance he had offered you in your time as Queen.

"Queen Y/N, you honour me. Thank you." He stopped to bow before you, and you nodded in appreciation.

"I know you won't let me down Jafan." You smiled at him, and at this bid him farewell. You were itching to tell you handmaidens about the news, they hadn't stopped pestering you about what had happened at the Gala, and they knew you were keeping something from them - now you could finally tell them.

When you entered your chambers the three ladies were all sat on your bed awaiting your arrival, and they burst out into smiles when they saw you, rising to greet you properly.

"How was the meeting your Majesty?" Flora asked.

"Don't get up ladies, honestly." You waved your hand in dismissal, and they all sat back down the the bed with you joining them. "The meeting was eventful. I actually have something I've been dying to tell you all!"

They all looked at you, curious, but equally excited. They knew some good news had been coming, and finally you were able to share it.

"Supreme Leader Ren asked for my hand in marriage, and I accepted!" You excitedly told them all, finally allowing yourself to finally relax revel in the joy of the news rather than worry about the details.

The three women did nothing short of squealing like school-girls, but you were thrilled that they were happy for you.

"You two will be perfect together!" Kira exclaimed, having allowed the other women to offer their congratulations, they had known how fond you had been of him.

Kira wasn't wrong either, weeks passed and Kylo had made regular visits to your planet. He was invested in the wedding plans but left a lot of it up you, he had no finesse for organising these sorts of events, and you seemed to be in your element.

The big day flew by. The ceremony and following reception had been held planet-side, and you had been sure to keep it a rather quiet affair; despite the whole galaxy probably knowing of your marriage you were still inclined to keep nosy the representatives from other planets away from you.

From there you fell into a routine where you would spend four rotations aboard the Finalizer with your husband and the remaining three back home. It was a lot to juggle sometimes, but you wouldn't have changed it for the world.

The cycle passed in a flash, and in that time you and Kylo had grown ever closer. You knew of his past life as Ben Solo, you knew all of his fears and aspirations, and it all just made you love him more.

Meanwhile watching you rule so successfully not only as a Queen, but also as an Empress made Kylo fall for you more than he ever imagined possible. You had a mutual respect for one another, and you had easily cemented your place in the First Order.

However you seemed to never be far from scrutiny. For every day stolen away with your husband where he would whisk you off for a night spent away on a different planet, there seemed to be a new rumour circulating about your relationship.

It didn't bother you, you actually never involved yourself in such trivial matters. But it did unnerve you slightly to think about how many people working alongside you had heard these rumours, and namely how many people actually believed them.

Not only that but you didn't always feel safe around these people, you threatened their pride as Empress. You didn't doubt that Kylo would fiercely protect you through anything, but all it would take is for him to turn his back at the wrong second. It seemed to be an irrational fear, but you had turned down everyone in exchange for the most powerful man in the galaxy, and to outsiders it looked like a shady political move when really it was much more simple than that. Perhaps you were overthinking it, but you didn't trust any of the people you had previously associated yourself with to try something to remove you from the picture.

These thoughts were at the back of your mind as you prepared for the annual First Order Gala. Your handmaidens aboard the Finalzer could never compare to your closest confidants back on your home planet - they weren't nearly as chatty, but you couldn't deny that they still did an impeccable job of making you look like an Empress.

Your dress this year was one to fit your new title - there was no blending into the crowd anymore. The dress itself was black and strapless, leaving your shoulders bare. It was tailored to your waist and hit the floor, and it was embellished with luxurious stones boasting the smallest hints of red on the bodice and around your chest, the embellishments becoming more sparse further down the garment. However, the clear standout piece of this outfit was the flowing cape attached to the top of the dress just below your shoulders. It flowed to the ground and had a short train - the cape was equally embellished with stones which boasted eye catching red colours when they hit the light.

Your hair was set in loose curls, and styled to be pushed away from your face - it was held back by a lavish crown which was embedded into your hair, it was subtle but effectively asserted your position. The dark colours matched your dress, and your makeup was also darker than you would usually wear. But that was to be expected, you were the Empress of the First Order now, and they had a certain dark aesthetic you had to adopt at these functions.

"Thank you ladies." You stood before the mirror, giving your handmaidens a cordial nod. They muttered their pleasantries before you dismissed them - perhaps you would never have a good relationship with them, they were afraid to speak freely in case they put a foot out of line, a fear your ladies back home were free of.

Now alone in the large quarters you shared with Kylo you smoothed down your skirt and inhaled a deep breath - this cycle you truly had nothing to look forward to. Previously you had been excited at the prospect of seeing the Supreme Leader again, but now you were married to him, you could see him whenever you wanted.

As you thought of your husband, you were led to wonder where he was. Sure you could turn up to your own gala fashionably late, but you were pushing it for time now and you hadn't seen Kylo since your handmaidens had first arrived to begin getting you ready.

He sauntered through the doors right on cue, and you turned to face him with a grin on your face as you took in his appearance. He was wearing the same tunic he wore every year, and most days you now knew, but tonight is was accessorised by a black cape. It was not dissimilar to the one you wore, but rather than being covered in lavish stones and crystals his was adorned by a red lining - you looked subtly coordinated.

"You look incredible." He quietly exhaled as he approached you, his arms wrapping around your waist, "I can't wait to take it off you later." He then said as a raspy whisper in your ear, causing heat to briefly flood your body at the thought.

"At least I have something to look forward to." You smirked, pressing a short kiss to his lips.

"Mhm, I agree." Kylo reluctantly pulled away from you and traded his arms around your waist for linking his arm with yours.

He lead you out of your quarters. Both of you still hated these events, and now that you were married to the Supreme Leader you didn't have the exhilaration of wondering if Kylo Ren would talk to you, or kiss you - you didn't need a gala for any of that anymore.

Many of the rumours flying around concerned your personal lives, and they were just designed to make you feel uneasy in your position - but it wasn't that easy. People made many assumptions about your relationship with Kylo, but they didn't know who he really was. All they saw was his hard exterior and aptitude for violence, not the caring man he was behind closed doors who you had come to love.

When you approached the entrance you had entered the gala from every other year you wished you could have done the same that evening. It was so much easier to just slip in the back and have nobody notice you, you weren't ready to have all eyes and judgement on you.

"You'll be fine." Kylo quietly reassured you as you arrived at the blast doors he walked through every year. He had naturally taken to reading your emotions in situations - he didn't even do it on purpose most of the time.

"The last two cycles I've insulted your guests, this year they're our guests which doesn't bode well for me if I'm rude to them again." You nervously laughed. You couldn't stand being belittled by sleazy politicians, which is why you had lashed out so easily at them, but you feared you needed to be on your best behaviour now.

"They're our guests, but you're my Empress. If anyone disrespects you I could have them killed." Kylo spoke almost as if he were challenging someone to test his words, and you didn't doubt that he meant what he had said.

"Please all be upstanding for Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, and Empress Y/N Y/L/N." You heard the voice echo from inside, and just as you inhaled a deep breath the blast doors flew open, applause ringing out through the room.

Kylo led you down the staircase. Both of your expressions made you look as though you were above the whole event, and in truth you were - you'd rather have been in bed with your husband.

"Later." He quietly whispered to you with a smirk, and your cheeks flushed. You tended to accidentally project your thoughts to him - you had no idea how to stop doing it honestly.

You reached the bottom of the staircase, and didn't know where to begin. Usually you would have been busy pretending to interested in whatever gossip other guests were indulging in

Following Kylo's lead, you spent a long time going round from group to group to exchange pleasantries with your guests and thank them for their loyalty to the First Order. You constantly had a polite smile on your face as you gave your thanks for their compliments regarding your appearance and congratulations on your marriage. All in all things weren't going as badly as you had anticipated.

Eventually you spotted Jafan in the crowd, socialising amongst other representatives. You were impressed at how natural he looked in his role, but he was so experienced in politics and leadership that you weren't surprised, he had done you proud as acting head of state.

"I'm just going to see Jafan." You told Kylo who nodded at you and released your arm from his. He didn't generally show much affection in public, and you couldn't blame him, he had a tough and unbreakable exterior he needed to portray and he didn't want to seem as though you were a weakness to him.

"I'll come and find you." He replied, and you politely excused yourself from the group you and your husband had been addressing and quickly turned tail to walk towards Jafan.

"Your Majesty!" He exclaimed, a wide grin on his face as he bowed to you, and you smiled back at him. Whilst the First Order insisted everybody address you as Empress, your chief advisor was the exception to this rule - he had known you since you were a young Princess.

"It's good to see you Jafan, you look well." You nodded and he expressed his gratitude for your compliment.

"If I might be so bold I have never seen you look more beautiful, my Queen." He returned the compliment and you thanked him.

"How are you finding the experience? You seem to be better at it than I ever was." You joked, and he responded with a short chuckle.

"It's just good business your Majesty, I could think of many places I would rather be." He shook his head, and you appreciated that more than he could know. These events were the highlight of some people's cycles, but they weren't for everyone.

Before you could respond a shadow was cast over you both by the approaching Chancellor of Vardos, whose name you now knew was Darro Bernand - after your previous debacle with him and his entourage you had made a conscious effort to do some research on the man.

"Jafan, how refreshing to see you here!" Darro exclaimed, eagerly shaking his hand before eventually turning to you, "And Queen Y/N, always a pleasure."

Not only had he addressed you second and made a backhanded comment suggesting that he would rather have seen Jafan representing your planet than its own Queen, but he purposely used your wrong title. With other people you would have brushed it off as a simple mistake, but not Darro, he was an exceptionally bitter individual.

"That's Empress, Chancellor Bernand." You put on your cordial smile, speaking in as soft a tone as you could muster, "And on behalf of myself and my husband I'd like to thank you for your attendance and continued loyalty to the First Order." You went through the motions, you were determined to not allow yourself to become aggressive towards belligerence, you were better than that now.

"My apologies, of course Empress." He gave a clearly fake smile, "Congratulations on the marriage, you certainly have come a long way." There was a nasty undertone to his words, and you weren't surprised.

"If you'll excuse me Chancellor." You nodded, wanting to reunite with Kylo before you kick Darro between the legs. "I'll see you later Jafan, if you need anything let me know." You genuinely smiled at him before turning to walk away.

"Actually Empress," Darro called, rushing to walk alongside you, "I had actually hoped to apologise to you."

You stopped at this and turned to face him, confusion plastered across your face as you waited for him to speak.

"My behaviour towards you last gala was inappropriate , and I want you to accept my humble apology for being so abrasive." He seemed strangely genuine, but you didn't believe it for a second. Nevertheless you responded accordingly.

"I appreciate and accept your apology Chancellor, please enjoy yourself this evening." You attempted to continue walking away, but he placed his hand on your arm to keep your attention on him.

"Thank you for your forgiveness, I wish you a happy life with Supreme Leader Ren. I'm sure it hasn't been an easy adjustment for you." There was a sub-message in those words, and you wanted to ignore it and move on, but you had to know.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You questioned him.

"I just imagine having to split yourself between your home and this ship isn't where you pictured yourself back when you were a princess. I suppose you did what was best for your planet's political position, but I hope you didn't compromise on your happiness."

You were seething, and it was taking everything in your power not to have his tongue ripped from his mouth, "Not that it's any of your business but if I was going to marry for political gain I would have chosen a suitor from another planet long ago, I married my husband because he makes me happy and for no other reason." You had no duty to tell him any of this, but you were fed up of these rumours circulating.

"You don't have to lie Empress, everybody knows that the Supreme Leader is an aggressive man - and with no pregnancy? We could only assume that you were delaying the inevitable." His voice was no longer masking the venom behind his words, he was just a spiteful man.

"Speak to me like that again and I'll-" As you spoke you were raising your hand to strike it across the Chancellor's insufferable face but before you reached it there was a deafening explosion towards the far end of the room, causing you to instinctively stumble back a few steps.

"Y/N!" You heard a voice calling you in the distance, "Y/N where are you?" It was Kylo, he was shoving his way through the crowds to find you.

You turned around to get his attention, but stopped in your tracks when you felt the barrel of a blaster being jabbed into your back and the voice of the Chancellor whispering in your ear, "Don't say a word or I'll pull the trigger right now. We're leaving." His voice made your skin crawl, but you moved with him since it was that or die on the spot.

Somehow you assumed you were going to die either way, but if you delayed the inevitable you had a better chance of survival, that was at least what you told yourself in that moment when panic was flooding your veins.

Whilst everyone else in the room was still revelling in the shock of the explosion Darro pushed you towards the exit in a hurry. The explosion hadn't been huge, and it conveniently didn't seemed to have injured anyone - it was clearly a setup, perhaps you had been right to not feel safe around all these people who clearly loathed you.

"Why are you doing this?" You hissed, "I'm the Empress of the First Order, we'll have you killed for this."

"No, what you are is a just a girl meddling in matters she doesn't understand. You think we don't see through your naive princess routine? You married the most dangerous man in the galaxy to prove a point, and to make sure your pathetic little planet stays protected. Nobody in their right mind would marry a man like Kylo Ren for any other reason." He spat these words to you in a hushed tone and you were shoved out into the corridor.

To your dismay the Stormtroopers who should have been patrolling the corridors were missing. "So now what, you kill me? What good will that do any of you?" You scoffed, assuming that the Chancellor was not working alone - presumably he had allied himself with his associates from the previous cycle's gala.

"With you gone your planet's economy will be in open season, giving the rest of us a chance to win favour with the First Order for once and we won't have to jump into bed with Kylo Ren to do so." He snapped, and you were convinced he was ushering you to the hanger to make an escape. It was clever really, killing you aboard the Finalizer was a surefire way to get caught.

"That's just as well, because you're not really his type." You scoffed. If you were going to die then you certainly won't going to give the Chancellor or any of his associates the satisfaction of seeing you crumble - you just had to find a way to escape before he got you to the hanger.

You knew that Kylo would be searching for you, the biggest downfall of this scheme was that they overlooked your relationship with Kylo. They thought you were pushed into it, that he didn't care for you - their plan relied on the basis that Kylo wouldn't be concerning himself with your disappearance.

As that crossed your mind you remembered that you constantly subconsciously projected your thoughts to your husband, if you could somehow communicate to him that you were on your way to the hanger then he could beat the Chancellor there.

The hanger. You thought as you imagined it in your mind, painting as real of a picture as you could. Perhaps this was hopeless but it was the best idea you had.

When you rounded the corner you were met with another blaster being jabbed in your face, and you scowled at the woman holding it - the irony is you didn't even recognise her. There were people involved in this plot whom you had never interacted with. You knew becoming Empress would paint a target on your back but this was truly extraordinary.

"Your chariot awaits, Empress." The woman snidely remarked, before flanking you alongside Darro as you finished the last leg of your journey to the hanger.

"Now as far as anyone will ever know, you unfortunately died in an explosion at the gala - a tragic plot by the Resistance." The Chancellor let out a cunning laugh in your ear.

"So you used the gala as cover... This must have taken more planning than I'm worth." You scoffed.

"Oh you have no idea just how much you're worth dear Empress." He leaned forward and whispered directly into your ear, making your toes curl.

"You're disgusting." You spat back at him, but were just met with a harsh jab from the blaster by your spine, causing you to stumble forward a few steps as you entered the hanger.

Please my love, find me. You willed it a final time, praying to the Maker that Kylo could hear you wherever he was.

The blast doors flew open and you were pushed inside, immediately spotting a ship waiting to depart with two pilots visible through the cockpit viewpoint - you wondered how many people were involved in this scheme.

"So you kill me, claim my planet's economy and win the First Order's favour? You think it'll be that easy?" You thought the longer you could keep him talking, the more time you would buy yourself.

"You have no idea how long we have spent planning this. Nobody will be suspicious of your death, and with no heir? We will have no trouble-" Darro's snide words were interrupted by a sight which made your face light up.

"Step away from my wife." Kylo spoke in a slow growl as he approached from the side entrance to the hanger with a handful of Stormtroopers, facing you and your two would-be-murderers head on. His face was contoured by rage, and it was a look you recognised well, usually you would watch him slash at walls with his Lightsaber. But something told you he was about to take his anger out at the people pointing blasters at you, and you weren't complaining.

The only immediate problem was that his Lightsaber was sitting back in your quarters, but he had compromised by swiping a blaster on his way into the room. Relief was washing over your body despite the fact that you were still in immediate danger, you trusted him unconditionally.

"Stay back!" Darro exclaimed, suddenly behaving like a trapped animal. One of his hands wrapped around your neck whilst the other thrust the blaster into your temple.

Kylo took this vicious movement as an opportunity to fire a blaster bolt at the women who had been accompanying you, it struck her shoulder and as she moved to grasp the wound she was tackled to the ground by a Stormtrooper and quickly restrained.

"I won't tell you again." Kylo warned, taking cautious steps towards you with his blaster raised. He was struggling to get a good aim as Darrio was using your body to shield his own entirely.

"I'll shoot her, don't think I won't!" Darro's grip on your neck was tightening, and it was becoming uncomfortable. It was obvious that he never anticipated this plan to go wrong, and this was one eventually he hadn't prepared for.

Kylo's eyes met your own, "do you trust me?" He asked, as if ignoring everyone else in the room in that moment.

"Always." You quietly exhaled, knowing what he was planning on doing.

You took a deep breath and braced yourself for the impact that was to come. Kylo threw a hand forward and sent a blast through the Force which sent you and Darro flying off your feet.

The impact was largely cushioned by your captor's body, but Kylo's move had successfully released Darro's grip on you and before he could recover you were scrambling to your feet whilst the Stormtroopers rushed over to restrain him and confiscate his weapon.

With wisps of your hair now falling into your face you pulled yourself to your feet and turned to your husband, out of breath from the entire ordeal. Kylo's eyes met yours and he wasted no time in rushing towards you to pull you into his arms, squeezing your body so tightly he could have crushed you.

"I'm sorry, I should never have left you." He buried his face in your hair, and your arms snaked under his arms to link behind his back.

"Don't do that." You softly told him, "you have nothing to apologise for, this wasn't your fault." Your words were slightly muffled by your face being pressed so tightly to his chest.

Eventually he released you and held you at arms length, "I'm never going to let you get hurt again." He determined, and you knew there was no point in fighting him over it.

"Supreme Leader, what shall we do with them?" A Stromtrooper asked, having rounded up those who were also aboard the ship which had been destined for your escape.

"Take them all to the bridge, I'll handle them personally." His voice deepened, darkness having flooded his eyes at the thought of how he would punish those who dared to kill his wife.

Darro in particular had lost all sense of decency and innocence. As he was dragged away he yelled, "this isn't over! You think he can protect you forever? One day he'll grow bored of you and that will be your downfall!" His digs were contradictory to the evidence he had seen that night. If his analysis of yours and Kylo's relationship had been correct then no doubt he would have succeeded in kidnapping and subsequently killing you - but you had proven him wrong.

Just by looking at Kylo's face you could tell he was on the verge of killing them all right there and then, so you reached up and gently placed a hand on his face to have him face you again.

"We will have our revenge." You assured him, "But for now I'd just like my bed." You admitted, the events of the evening having caught up with you.

"Do you not need the Med Bay? I could get a medical droid of come to our quarters and food-" Kylo was gushing, but you placed a finger to his lips.

"Kylo, my love, I'm fine. I wouldn't be here without you - they underestimated our relationship and if they hadn't perhaps things would not have gone so fortunately. But you saved me, and now they will suffer the consequences." You reassured him that you were okay, and he went silent for a moment.

"I love you." He finally said. He didn't know what else to say, he was so blown away by how you had handled such a traumatic experience with such grace that somehow he found himself loving you even more - which he hadn't thought would be possible.

"I love you too." You told him, leaning in to softly kiss his lips for a few moments. When you pulled away you opened you mouth to speak, but shut it, prompting Kylo to speak instead.

"What? You were going to say something." He raised an eyebrow, arms securing themselves around your waist. At this stage he didn't care who saw the two of you showing such affection in public.

"It's just-" You tried to think of the polite way to say it, but you soon realised that in some scenarios being direct was the best option, "We're never having one of these fucking galas again." You concluded, earning a short laugh from your adorning husband.

"You won't hear me complaining." He mumbled, already capturing your lips in another kiss.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x y/n #kylo x reader #kylo x you #kylo x y/n

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imomomi · 4 years

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Warnings: Some violence towards the end.

Word Count: 1,535

“Kita-san,” you called, dismissing the rest of your advisors. Two lone servants remained in the room, both women. He nodded towards them, a small smile building at the shock one of the women displayed. Servants, he found, often worked the hardest and were given little praise for it. Honest work would only keep someone honest if it was rewarded. He settles the box on the table, ignoring your curious glance for the moment.

“I apologize for interrupting you,” he started. You shook away his concerns, reshuffling the papers you held in your hands. He caught sight of the few on top, bearing the emperor’s seal and wondered just how deeply your relationship with the man went. What could motivate their emperor to save a single life?

“It’s nothing to concern yourself over, Kita-san. I’m happy to be rid of them,” you said. Your smile felt more genuine than it had yesterday. “My brother told me that you refused our accommodations.”

“You don’t need to waste such luxuries on us,” he said. Your smile faltered slightly, and you looked away from him. Had he said the wrong thing?

“When I was younger, Nobuko would sleep in my room. He hated being alone after our parents died…if it’s anything like that, I understand the desire to stay with the people you’re familiar with.”

“You’re close with your brother?” he asked. He had inferred as much yesterday, but hearing you speak now, he realized that you were capable of great affection. The same fondness that you carried for the people you ruled over was echoed in your family. It reminded him so much of his grandmother, that he had to force his gaze away to temper the uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

“Nobuko is my best and only friend. He might resent being stuck here with me, but I’m glad he is.”

“How long has it been since you left the compound?”

“The day before the attack, I went to the markets. I wasn’t gravely injured, only some bruises, but I preferred the situation kept private.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes,” you answered and shifted your gaze to look at him directly. “I don’t want to die…but I also want peace at whatever price it comes.”

“Even if it’s your own life?”

“Kyoto will be safe. Nobuko is smart and kind where I’m not…sometimes, I think that the world would be a little better had he been made Clan Head.”

He didn’t answer you. Regret was something Kita had trouble understanding. If you tried your hardest, with all the skills and determination you had, then what was there left to regret? He often found that people allowed their doubts to weigh down their abilities.

“What’s it like in Hyōgo?”

“Our estate overlooks Hyōgo’s rice fields. In the morning the sun shines over the grass and trees, hitting the dew so that everything looks as if it were riddled with diamonds…I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he admitted. There was a hint of envy in your gaze, but it passes quickly. Your eyes narrowed in his direction.

“Are you married, Kita-san?” you asked. The unexpected question has him choking and a laugh burst from your mouth, so loudly it startled one of the servants. You stopped almost immediately and cleared your throat. His neck feels tight and itchy, the way it always does when he’s caught in an uncomfortable position. These are the types of situations that Suna thrived in. A mix of laziness and cunning lending him the right words and gestures to play the game of seduction. He didn’t think it was your intention to seduce him. The suitors that came to your halls had more than Kita ever would, but you seemed curious, as if he were a puzzle to solve. It troubled him. If you wanted to dig, their mission would be jeopardized.

“No,” he answered curtly, “I have no need for a wife.”

“I envy men for having the ease to choose between what they need and want. If I am lucky enough to be reborn, I think I should like to be a man.” Your words were softly spoken, barely louder than a whisper, but filled with a yearning that Kita could not comprehend. You had everything and still wanted more.

“Your servants,” he muttered, glancing again at the two women. The forgotten box rustled before them.

“Leave,” you ordered sharply. The women moved quickly, bowing low as they left the room. Kita circled the table, coming to a stop by your shoulder. He knew it was inappropriate, but his name had never been spoken in those types of rumors.

“We found this messenger crow late at night,” said Kita. He pulled the top from the box housing the crow. Kita turned and noticed that you had not moved since the crow was unveiled. A thousand thoughts crossed his mind at once. Did you know? Was it a spy or a message from another prefecture? Why had the emperor moved his hand to protect one woman? How far would this rebellion go? What kind of ruler were you?

As a child, he’d often prayed to the gods for peace. They were words he repeated because he’d heard his grandmother say them. His belief mattered little, but he liked the steadiness that came with visiting a temple. Did you pray for the same? Or had a rebellion risen to overthrow a tyrant? The files he received told him that you were kind, benevolent, and gentle. Words told him nothing of your actual temperament.

“That bird has been coming for months,” you said, turning to him with sharp eyes.

“Then you have housed a spy for months,” he answered. He stood, the silk of his kimono flowing like water around him.

“A crow could come from anywhere.”

“It could,” he agreed. You followed as he paced back and forth. It was rare that they worked with their client directly and the echo of your footsteps behind him felt like a cage. He needed room to move without you watching, but trust was not something he had.

Kita stopped.

“Whatever you wish to know, I will tell you. But, do not ask who sent me or why,” he said.

“Why are you walking through my home as if you have lived here all your life?”

“I had a map. I know every room in this compound, as do my men,” he answered. His voice rang with sincerity, no hint of a lie lingered in his face. You hesitated, unsure of what to do or say when met with the truth.

“Are you here to harm me?” you asked.

“No,” he paused, weighing his words and added, “not unless you give me reason to.”

“I don’t trust you,” you admitted, sighing heavily, “I want your men gone. I want this whole thing to end, but I cannot change the fact that you’re here. Refusing your help when you offer it freely would be foolish.” You turned and looked at him directly. It was hard to be intimidating when you were forced to wear heavy silks and stood shorter than most men, but years of fending off political attacks had given you a clarity that few had. In the end, what happened would happen. The only thing you could control was your own actions.

“If you betray me or my clan, I will hunt you to Jigoku and back,” you warned. The threat hung heavy in the air. Kita bowed his head, acknowledging its severity.

“You have my word that we are here to help,” he said. “There is a woman we wish to speak to. A servant in your household.”

“A suspected traitor,” you mused.

“Yes. If it’s true…”

“The penalty for treason is death.”

“You would kill her?”

“I assume that’s your job. Take what information you can and deal with her quietly.”

“She should be sent to Hyogo as a prisoner. A death would be suspicious.”

“I don’t give people out as gifts, Kita-san,” you said. Your lips pursed tightly and he felt your offense hanging in the air between them. He hadn’t meant to imply anything, but before he could apologize, you moved forward, colder than before and more aggressively. Your hand caressed the rounded belly of the crow, a finger stroking its head softly. In a move so swift, he would have missed it had he blinked, your fingers twisted around the bird’s neck and pulled tightly. The crunch of bones filled the air.

“That is what we do to traitors in Kyoto,” you said, blankly. “Do with the girl what you wish, but if she betrayed me or my family, I want her dead.”

You walked away, black feathers following your path as you shook away the last remnants of the crow from your person. Kita watched them fall, his stomach twisting with both fear and respect. People who could stomach death that easily were far and few between. Another part of you had been unveiled and slid into his mind the way a key unlocked a door, reminding him that there were things about himself that he didn’t know. The memory of your fingers, twisting and pulling, go through him like wine.

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#kita shinsuke #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #kita shinsuke x reader #kita x reader #kita imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x y/n #kita x y/n #kita x you

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pikapeppa · 4 years

Text

Professor Solas AU: Technically

Chapter 6 of Inadvisable (professor Solas x Lavellan AU) is up on AO3!

~4400 words. Read on AO3 instead.

********************

- NARE -

This is fine, Nare thought. You’re going to be fine. Just play it cool and everything will be fine.

Despite her pep talk to herself, Nare was jittery with nerves as she approached the history building. With every step that brought her closer to Professor Solas, her anxiety and her eagerness seemed to surge in tandem. By the time she was making her way along the east wing toward the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab, her heart was beating so fast that it felt like a hummingbird in her chest.

She still couldn’t quite believe her own behaviour last night at the mixer. Never in her life had she been so bold as she was last night, walking right up to Professor Solas and hitting on him like she had. Maybe she’d been drunker than she thought to flirt with him in such an obvious way.

No, she couldn’t make that excuse. She’d only had two drinks before approaching him — only enough to burn off her nerves without even making her tipsy. But enough to burn away her usual reserve, it seemed.

Enough for her to flirt with him so boldly that she’d forgotten to even introduce herself. By the time she’d realized her gaffe, she hadn’t wanted to spoil their flirtation with the cold reality of their impending professional ties.

He didn’t know that she’d been basically sober, though. If their supervisor meeting got awkward, she could always use alcohol as an excuse for her bad behaviour. Hopefully that shameful but believable excuse would let them resume a normal professional student-advisor relationship, which was all that Nare should be hoping for with Professor Solas anyway.

It was just such a torturous shame that he was so fucking attractive. And their flirtatious conversation last night had only served to worsen her terrible crush. Now that she’d actually had a conversation in person with him, it wasn’t just his looks or his beautiful melted-butter voice that turned her on. There was something about his manner that pulled at something reckless and restless in her blood — some hidden side of herself that she’d never felt comfortable showing to the men she’d been with in the past. Solas segued seamlessly from mild-mannered politeness to playfully flirtatious, and the shifting of his manner almost felt like a mirror of sorts: like Nare was seeing a side of him that was rarely shown, not unlike the boldness that he was seeming to draw out of her.

And Creators, at the end of their conversation, right before Tamaris had texted her? The way Solas had leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a low and intimate murmur?

You know precisely what I mean. The heavy implication in his words, carried in the smoothness of that intimate voice… Nare shivered as she remembered it. She hadn’t stopped thinking about it last night as she and the girls made their way home. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about precisely what he meant as she got ready for bed. As she lay in the cozy darkness of her bedroom, she couldn’t stop replaying the meaning of those words in her mind.

Of course she knew what he meant: he meant the breathtaking electricity between them — an electric connection that felt uncanny and unexpected, considering that they’d only just met.

And he also meant the fact that that electricity was strongly discouraged by the institution they both belonged to.

No, not just discouraged in their case: explicitly forbidden considering that he was her supervisor, whether he knew he was or not. But somehow, to Nare’s mild shame, the fact that this was forbidden only served to make her even more restless at the thought of his playful smile and his looming height – restless enough that she couldn’t sleep as she conjured the memory of his voice in her ear.

Restless enough that she’d been forced to relieve her own tension by slipping her fingers between her legs while she lay in bed thinking about that gorgeous melodic voice.

She gave her head a brisk little shake. Shut up, she scolded herself. She was almost at the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab now; she needed to get her mind out of the gutter and back to normal non-horny things.

She cautiously pushed open the door to the lab. Tamlen was in the kitchenette scrolling around on his phone, and he looked up with a smile as she came inside. “Hey, Nare.”

“Morning,” she said. “Is Professor Solas here?”

“Yep, he’s in his office,” Tamlen said. He came out of the kitchenette and pointed to a short hallway that led to the west. “It’s just to the left there, at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks,” Nare said. She tried to ignore her jangling nerves as she made her way to Solas’s office, but with every step closer to the polished oak door at the end of the hall, her heart seemed to thud more loudly in her ears.

She stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. You’re fine, she told herself. It’s going to be fine. Just act normal. She smoothed a hand over her tidy ponytail, then knocked on the door.

A moment later, the door opened. “Hello,” Professor Solas said. “You must–” He broke off abruptly, and his face slackened into a look of complete unguarded surprise.

His eyes darted up to the hallway, then back to her face. “What are you – how–?”

“I’m Nare,” she blurted gracelessly.

His eyes went even wider. And for some stupid, inconvenient reason, this made her want to laugh.

She smiled goofily at him, and he continued to gape at her for a second longer before straightening his posture. He took a deep breath and arranged his face into a pleasant expression, and Nare had to admire how quickly he regained his composure.

He stood back and gestured politely. “Come in, please,” he said.

She sidled into his office and looked around curiously. The spacious office was decorated in an understated and sophisticated style, with a few bold touches: the north wall of the office was painted a dark and somehow soothing shade of red that highlighted two large and elegantly displayed paintings, both of which Nare instantly recognized as Solas’s own work. Beneath the paintings was a comfortable-looking brown leather couch, and the wall behind the desk was a simple cream colour with two more of Solas’s paintings on either side of the window. The remaining wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and two more heavily-laden bookshelves framed the door. The desk itself was polished mahogany carved in a modern style, and the surface of the desk was covered with an array of papers, open journals, and books, topped off by the computer on the left-hand side. The overhead light was off and the window blinds were half-drawn, leaving the room primarily lit by the warm diffuse light of a banker’s lamp on the desk and another lamp on the side-table by the couch.

Professor Solas closed the door quietly and joined her in the middle of the room. His expression was completely calm, but his eyes were somehow piercing as they scanned her face.

“You are Nare,” he said finally.

Damn it, the sound of her name in his voice… She tried to ignore the shiver of heat in her belly. “Yes,” she said. “I’m your new Master’s student.”

He studied her in silence for a moment. “Did you know who I was when you approached me last night?” he asked.

“I… yes, I knew,” she admitted.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said.

His tone was calm and not accusatory, but Nare’s belly jolted all the same. “I…” She let out a little laugh. “You probably won’t believe me, but I honestly forgot to introduce myself.”

“You forgot,” he repeated. His tone was slightly flat now, and her heart sank a bit. Shit, he was getting mad, and she honestly couldn’t blame him.

“I really did,” she said. “By the time I remembered that I’d forgotten, I–”

He cut her off. “So you did remember eventually.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You ought to have told me when you remembered,” he said.

“I know,” she said sheepishly.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t want to,” she blurted, then immediately wanted to kick herself for being so stupidly honest. He was just — his manner, the authority in his posture and his tone, it was making her so fucking flustered.

A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Why not?

She swallowed hard. His voice and face were so neutral now, and she almost wished he would get outwardly angry instead of this heart-pounding semblance of neutrality. She toyed with the idea of telling him she’d been drunk, but there was something about the quality of his gaze on her face that stopped her.

He was still scanning her face in that piercing way, as though he was looking for something, and for some reason, Nare didn’t want to tell him a lie.

Even worse, there was something about his smooth neutrality that was goading that reckless little voice in her head, making her want to crack through his impassivity and bring out the warm and spirited man she’d met last night.

Against her better judgment, she boldly lifted her chin and repeated back a version of his own words from last night – the words that had been teasing and torturing her since she had left his side. “I think you know precisely why, professor,” she said.

His eyebrows jumped up, and for a long and loaded moment, they just stared at each other. Her heart was pounding and her blood felt like it was vibrating through her veins, but as she gazed into Solas’s intense steel-and-sky-coloured eyes, she honestly couldn’t tell if it was anxiety she was feeling, or a completely different and inappropriate sort of feeling altogether.

He stepped away from her and slowly rubbed his chin, and Nare released her breath as he approached his desk and leaned back against it. He folded his arms and gave her a frank look. “This is an unexpected complication, Nare.”

Creators, was she going to get a shiver down her spine every time he said her name? She took another deep breath to calm the buzzing in her blood. “It doesn’t need to be,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Explain.”

She shrugged and gave him a hopeful little smile. “We could just go ahead and have our meeting as planned.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “To be clear: you wish to proceed as though nothing happened last night?”

Not really, she thought. In truth, if Nare had her choice, Solas would be sitting on that nice leather couch against the north wall, and she would be straddling his lap.

She swiftly discarded that terrible thought. “Technically speaking, nothing did happen,” she said.

“You are correct,” Solas said. “Technically.”

There was a wry twist to his voice now, and Nare smiled helplessly at the hint of warmth in his tone. “Technically is what matters, isn’t it?” she said.

“One could argue that that is the case, yes,” he said slowly.

“Well, that’s the case I would like to argue,” Nare said eagerly. She took a small step closer to him. “I wasn’t trying to trick you last night, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not trying to… to trap you into getting in trouble or anything like that. Last night was…” So fun and sexy, she thought wistfully. But she couldn’t say that, not when he was clearly feeling so cautious.

She chose her next words carefully. “We had a great conversation yesterday at a social event. I hope we can have a great conversation now in a professional setting. I applied to be your Master’s student because I admire your work – not just your art, but your historical analyses as well. I’m hoping you can help me become the kind of artist I always wanted to be. That’s really what I’m hoping for, I promise.”

Solas studied her in silence for another minute — the longest minute of Nare’s life. Then, finally, he nodded. “All right. I am glad to hear that.”

Nare exhaled softly, relieved to have convinced him of her sincerity. Then Solas gestured politely to one of the two chairs that faced his desk. “Please, have a seat. I was remiss not to offer you a seat sooner.”

“Thank you,” she said. She took a seat, and Solas made his way behind his desk to face her. Instead of sitting down, however, he clasped his hands behind his back and started to slowly pace behind his desk.

“Now, our first meeting is usually intended to get a sense of what you are hoping to achieve by the end of your two years here,” he said. “As you know, your final thesis will consist of an exhibition that will encapsulate your artistic vision and the uniqueness of your work.” He paused in his pacing and rested his fingers lightly on the surface of the desk. “You would not be here if I was not already certain of the fine quality of your work, and the potential for it to grow even further.”

She smiled at his praise and tried to act as though she wasn’t distracted by his subtly dominant posture. He nodded, then straightened and resumed his slow pacing. “Based on your ideas, I will recommend some readings that may help you refine your plans. I will give you personal assignments – studies that focus on different skills, also intended to refine your final body of work. We can begin by meeting once a week to discuss your progress and your work, but these meetings can be more or less frequent based on your needs.”

She nodded. “That sounds great.”

“Good,” he said. He finally sat in his chair and folded his hands on the desk. “Now, I am well versed in your educational background and your portfolio, and I know of your brief history working in early childhood education before you transitioned to art. But I would like to hear, in your own words, what you think you might like to express with your final thesis.”

She let out a little laugh and self-consciously ran her hand over her hair. “Honestly, I’ve spent months thinking about it, but I’m still not entirely sure.”

“That is not a problem,” Solas assured her. “One goal of this program is to help you find your unique voice and to express your message to your satisfaction.”

“Okay,” she said tentatively. “Well, I… I love painting people, as you know. Portraiture is my special interest. But a lot of my Bachelor’s degree was focused on the… the technical aspects of portraiture, if that makes sense. Colour theory, the use of light and shadow, depicting the anatomy accurately — you know, proportions, making sure their nose really looks like their nose and not just a generic nose, things like that. But I just…” She hesitated as she tried to find the words to explain her thoughts.

“I feel like there’s so much potential for portraiture to really catch who a person is, not just what they look like,” she finally said. “Or… or to catch the essence of a moment. The thing that makes a moment unique, not just… It could be so much more than faces. I guess that’s… that’s what I’m trying to say.” She trailed off lamely.

“That is an excellent place to start,” Solas said softly.

She lifted her eyes to his face. “Is it? It doesn’t sound… I don’t know. Vague?”

“Not at all,” he said. “It is every artist’s hope to evoke a reaction from their audience. There are a multitude of ways to do that. Capturing the emotion you wish for your audience to feel is an excellent way to achieve that goal.”

She exhaled and nodded, reassured by his words. “Okay.”

He sat back in his chair. “You mentioned technical aspects and that your undergraduate degree was heavily focused on refining these. Are there any particular techniques that you do wish to brush up on? No pun intended.”

She smiled at his subtle jest, then dropped his gaze; the tiny playful smile on his luscious lips was making her heart beat way too hard. “Um… um, I… if I’m not doing digital painting, I most commonly use watercolours or gouache,” she said. “But I was hoping to get more comfortable with oils, since I really feel like it conveys a different mood.”

“I agree,” he said. “That is certainly something we can work on together.”

Nare nodded, unsurprised that he was comfortable with oil painting even though it wasn’t his primary painting technique. He was famous for his fresco work more than anything else, but his oil paintings were beautiful in their own right as well.

She gave him a curious look. “Do you miss doing frescoes?”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“You told me that you’ve only done that one fresco at the fine arts museum since you came to Orlais,” she said.

His eyes widened slightly. “I… did I say that last night?”

“No,” she said. “When we spoke on the phone a few months ago.”

He blinked, then ran his hand over his smooth scalp. “Ah. Of course. I — yes, you’re correct. That fresco is the only one I have had the chance to create since I left Arlathan.”

She eyed him sympathetically. She couldn’t imagine going for so long without doing a watercolour piece. “Do you miss it?”

He nodded, and his gaze was oddly penetrating as he replied. “I do. It’s my belief that frescoes or other styles of murals are able to tell stories in a way that no other modality of painting can achieve.”

“That’s definitely true of your frescoes,” Nare agreed. “I love the symbolism and the stories in your work.”

His eyebrows rose once more. “That’s… extremely kind of you to say.” He was looking at her in a peculiar way, and Nare once again got the sensation that he was searching her face for something.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” he said. “I simply…” He broke off with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I see now that I should have realized far sooner who you were. We spoke on the phone, after all.”

Nare smiled. “I don’t blame you for not remembering my voice. You did most of the talking.”

A tiny snort of mirth escaped him. “I suppose I did. Forgive me. I do have a tendency to talk at length.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I like listening to you talk.”

He gave her a sharp look, and her heart skipped a nervous beat. She honestly hadn’t meant to say that.

She silently berated herself for being so transparent in her feelings. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“No,” he said suddenly. “There is no need to be sorry.” He rubbed his mouth, and Nare waited tensely for him to speak again. When he finally lowered his hand, his expression was apologetic and a little bit sad in a way that made her heart twist.

“I… Nare, I am the one who should apologize,” he said. “I am the supervisor in this situation. Technically speaking, regardless of who spoke to whom first last night, you are free of any wrongdoing.”

She smiled, hoping to wipe the faint melancholy from his face. “Technically speaking,” she said playfully.

Just as she’d hoped, he gave her a little smile. “Yes, technically speaking.”

She pushed her luck and tilted her head coyly. “What about realistically?”

He scoffed. “Realistically…” He trailed off and rubbed his mouth once more, and Nare waited with growing curiosity — and impatience — for him to speak again.

He finally met her eye once more, and his blue-grey gaze was intense enough to stop the breath in her lungs. “Realistically speaking,” he said quietly, “it has been a very long time since… since my attention has been so captivated by anything other than my work.”

Her heart seized with excitement. She stared at his serious face in silence, tongue-tied by the boldness of his words and the rising tide of heat that felt like it was emanating from her belly and up toward her cheeks.

He suddenly stood up. “In any case, I believe this is sufficient for us to proceed with your thesis,” he said briskly. He made his way around the desk and approached one of the bookshelves near the door. “In terms of suggested readings, I will lend you–”

“Can I have your number?” she blurted.

He froze, then turned slowly to look at her. “Excuse me?”

Oh fuck, she should stop talking. She shouldn’t keep pushing him. But his confession about his attention being captivated, and the passion she could see under that polite and mild-mannered mask… She wanted to see that side of him again.

All of a sudden, Nare wanted to see that side of him so badly that she could hardly stand it.

She stood up and took a small step toward him. “I think we should exchange numbers for supervisory reasons,” she said. “In case there are emergencies and we need to reschedule or cancel our meetings.”

“We can email each other for reasons such as that,” he said cautiously.

“What about last-minute changes? Or texting or calling if we’re running late?” she reasoned. “Email isn’t immediate enough to replace that.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Are you planning to frequently run late?”

There was a hint of humour in his tone, and it brought a smile to her lips. “I’m not planning to, but things happen,” she replied.

He huffed softly, then let out a long sigh, and Nare bit her tongue to stop herself from saying anything more. If she pushed him any harder than this, she would sound desperate, and he would almost certainly refuse.

“All right,” he said, to her vast surprise and delight. Then he gave her a warning look. “For supervisory reasons only.”

She nodded — not too eagerly, she hoped — and Solas sidled over to his desk and picked up his phone. “What is your phone number?”

Nare forced herself not to smile like an idiot as she listed out her number to him. He typed on his phone for a moment, and a second later, Nare’s phone chimed in her bag.

She fished the phone out and looked at the screen.

-519-555-7657 13:27- This is Solas.

A rush of exhilaration filled her chest, and this time she couldn’t hide her smile as she saved his number to her contacts. She put her phone away and beamed at him. “You were saying something about a book you wanted to recommend.”

“A… a recommended book, yes,” he said vaguely. He stepped away from her and returned to the shelf, then plucked a book from the shelf and held it out to her. “This is a compilation of works by a Tal-Vashoth artist. Their take on art and emotionality is particularly unique. I think you will find it illuminating.”

Nare took the book, and Solas folded his hands behind his back. “I will send some articles to you by email as well. We can meet again when you have finished reading the articles.”

She nodded. “That sounds great.”

Solas nodded as well and reached for the doorknob. “Good. It was nice to…” He trailed off and met her eyes, and Nare knew why he’d stopped himself: he was about to say it was nice to meet her.

But they had already met before. And no matter how encouraging this first supervisory meeting had been, it couldn’t compare to their electric, tempting, wonderful meeting from last night.

She smiled at him, feeling totally giddy with excitement and nerves. “It was nice to meet you again?” she suggested.

He let out a little laugh — one of those soft chuckles that pulled deliciously at something low in her belly. “Yes, precisely,” he said.

She beamed at him, then bashfully dropped his gaze and sidled toward the still-closed door. “All right, well… I’ll see you this afternoon,” she said, and she opened his office door.

“Pardon me?” he said.

She paused and looked at him. “At your seminar course. Your art theory and critique seminar?”

“Ah,” he said blankly. “Yes, of… of course. You are enrolled in that seminar, of course.”

She nodded and gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Er, yes. Three o’clock,” he reminded her.

“Okay,” she said, and she stepped into the hallway. “Thank you, professor.”

He held up a hand. “Please, call me Solas. If there are to be introductions.”

His tone was dry with humour. His words were a clear and pointed reference her failure to introduce herself last night, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “All right. Solas,” she said warmly. “I’ll see you later.” She gave him a little wave and left.

Once the door was closed behind her, she let out a tiny sigh of relief. Frankly, she was thrilled that she and Solas were able to establish a good professional rapport during the meeting. For a while there when they were talking about art, she’d even briefly stopped thinking about how torturously attractive he was.

But now that their professional meeting was done, she was back to thinking again about how gorgeous Solas was. Her wayward brain was right back to thinking about his polite manner and his bold words, his slow and dominant pacing behind his desk, and precisely what he meant last night…

A heated ripple of want traced its way down her throat toward her belly, and she bit her lips to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. She’d managed to smooth things out with Solas, but if the deliciously playful manner of their parting was any indication, this wasn’t going to be the last time they discussed the heated — and forbidden — connection that was already growing between them.

A door toward at the end of the east hall opened, and Nare looked up. Athera stepped into the hall, and her face lit up.

“Nare!” she chirped, and she made her way down the hall toward Nare. “Hi! How was it? How was your meeting with Solas?”

Nare thought about his humour-laced voice and his sexy prowling pacing, and the nurturing way he spoke about her thesis — that nurturing and confident manner that made Nare feel certain that he would help her become the finest artist that she could be.

That nurturing, confident, sexy manner that made Nare feel more certain than ever that she wanted to sleep with him.

Nare grinned at her friend. “It was really, really promising.”

#solas #solas fic #professor solas #professor solas au #solavellan #inadvisable #pikapeppa writes

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Different People (Different Arguments), 1/14 (Branjie/Jankie) - Ortega

a/n: once upon a time there was an author named Ortega who wrote war and fucking peace of a the thick of it au called Just the Game We’re In. she finished it and was proud of it and everything was fine. then suddenly, it turned out one of the main characters was…well, we’ll park that. so Ortega then decided to rewrite it with different girls, a few different details, and a different title. and it’s called Different People (Different Arguments)! and chapter one is here now for u all to enjoy (i hope).

(ps. no i’ve not forgotten about strictly au)

fic summary: Brooke Lynn is a political advisor for a government department where she has to contend with an incompetent Minister, maintaining her stone-cold bitch image, working alongside a press team of slackers, and the Prime Minister’s ever-so-slightly terrifying enforcer breathing down her neck 24/7. So when a familiar face from her past arrives as her new boss, she’s not exactly thrilled to add another problem to her ever-growing pile.

And then she admits she’s got a crush on her coworker.

In this chapter: A standard working day is turned on its head when Brooke has to play a role in engineering Cabinet Minister Darienne Lake’s resignation.

***

High heels. The definitive sound of Brooke’s job. Day in, day out the click-clack, click-clack sound would echo through the offices, closely followed by the constantly ringing phones and the tap-tap-tap of keyboards. Often there was also shouting, the volume of which was never helped by the design of the building which allowed every whisper to be amplified by around a million decibels and broadcast into the lobby.

Brooke hated the new building. She’d hated the idea of moving into it, insisting it would reflect badly on their party and cost them in the polls.

“What kind of message is it going to send out?” she’d rolled her eyes, tearing her hands through her hair. “If we’re trying to tell the public we’re still in touch with them and understand their fears of another recession it doesn’t exactly help moving into what looks like Aquaman’s secret fucking lair.”

She had been ignored, of course, as the decision had already been made. Brooke often wondered what the point of being a political advisor was if nobody ever actually listened to your advice, especially since the person you were supposed to be giving advice to seemed to be blundering about the world of politics like a headless chicken. Darienne Lake had been head of the Department for Social Affairs and Citizenship (Dosac for short) for quite some time now. Too long, Brooke thought. It was harrowing working for a woman who was clearly in the wrong profession, watching her get slammed by the media almost daily as a result of the latest crackpot policy she’d dreamed up. Brooke could’ve left the department a long time ago, should’ve left a long time ago. But she didn’t.

Politics was all about climbing the ladder and making connections. It was a game of chess, and over the years Brooke had seen many people make the wrong move both in and out of the public eye and subsequently watched them get disposed of. She’d seen people cross to the other side, watched both her own party and the opposition divide and conquer. It was all extremely black and white. The party line was a tightrope you had to walk. If you stepped out of line, you fell off the tightrope. If you weren’t up to date on what the line was, the tightrope got cut.

Brooke could appreciate it wouldn’t sound hugely appealing to someone who didn’t live, breathe, eat, sleep and shit politics. However, this was her world. It had been her world since she’d started watching the news when she was six years old and heard her family talk about the politicians on the screen, and her need to be within the political realm only intensified when she left school and went to uni to study politics and economics, her drive and determination ensuring she graduated with a first class degree. Something that never got old to Brooke were people’s reactions when they discovered she wasn’t some dyed blonde lobotomy job who’d slept her way up the ladder. She wanted to keep giving people that shock day after day, and if that meant staying and advising an under-qualified, over-privileged cabinet Minister, then she could grit her teeth and bear it.

The echoey click-clack of Brooke’s heels provided a soundtrack as she briskly made her way across the black tiles of the department building’s lobby and pressed one red acrylic nail to the button of the lift, the doors sliding open almost instantly. As she stepped inside, quickly checking her reflection in the mirror, there was the frenzied sound of heels on tiles and a panicked yelling.

“Hold the lift!”

Smiling to herself, Brooke held the doors open as a small, pint-sized blonde ball of energy hurtled through them. Catching her breath and smoothing down her white shift dress, she shot her friend a quick smile.

“Morning, girl!”

“Hey, Jan. Great timing,” Brooke smirked as her friend fixed her windswept hair in the mirror.

If you’d ever asked Brooke if she could’ve seen herself becoming best friends with a previous member of the opposition she would have laughed in your face, but Jan was an exception. She had crossed the floor three months ago, finding a job as one of Darienne’s junior policy advisors after she became disillusioned with the ruthless ideals of the opposition. From what Brooke had heard, the offices of Nicky Doll’s party had been a little cliquey and Jan had wanted to spread her wings. Understandably, Brooke had been suspicious of her at first but Jan had been persistently kind and sweet to her to the point where Brooke basically blinked and they were friends as well as colleagues.

“What’s on the Minister’s agenda today then?” Brooke laughed humourlessly, leaning against the lift’s cool metal wall. “Are we demanding the extension of all buses by 30 centimetres? Bringing back the ha’penny? Outlawing kids?”

Jan threw her head back and laughed. “No, although all very possible Darienne ideas. We’ve to sort the public transport data before 5pm. That’s the only real pressing thing we have to do today.”

Brooke felt uneasy. The prospect of 24 hours that didn’t seem like being strapped to a bullet train speeding through fire seemed too good to be true. Something was always going wrong at Dosac and the fact that the only important thing they had to do with their day was to type some figures into an excel spreadsheet was suspicious.

“How was your weekend anyway?” Jan asked, smiling kindly.

Brooke thought back to the previous two days which were spent holed up in her studio flat eating instant noodles and working her way through expenses forms which the Minister should have been doing herself.

“Oh, you know…just a quiet one,” she gave Jan a small smile, which she returned.

The elevator doors opened and Brooke and Jan made their way to their desks. They were stopped in their tracks by a tiny, olive-skinned woman with flowing dark locks of hair babbling away at them at about a mile a minute. Smirking, Brooke shared an affectionate glance with Jan.

“And good morning to you too, human megaphone,” Brooke smiled, lazily throwing her jacket over her desk as the girl rolled her eyes.

“Brooke Lynn! This is serious shit. It would help if you made it into fuckin’ work on time,” she snapped back, pacing back and forth in her heels with worry.

“Relax, Vanessa. We were only a minute off, Darienne’s not going to be in for another fifteen,” Jan smiled lazily, kicking her heels off as she lounged in the wheely chair behind her desk. “Anyway, what’s the panic? It’s a chill day.”

There was one second of almost-silence as the clicks of computer mouses and the whirr of monitors were the only sounds in the room. Then, Vanessa’s eyes widened in horror. Brooke’s stomach dropped as she met Jan’s eyes- she’d known the prospect of a quiet day had been a veritable pipe dream.

“A chill…shit, you guys didn’t get the briefing that Nina sent out? Oh Christ, what am I doin’ even asking that.”

“Are my ears burning?” came a sleepy voice from down the hall. A figure emerged bundled up in countless scarves and woollen cardigans, her blonde frizzy curls only just visible through the layers of clothing. Her manicured fingernails were curled around a Starbucks cup, which she was clinging to for dear life.

“Morning, Nina! Great timing!” Vanessa greeted her sarcastically.

“Ignore her, girl. She hasn’t had her morning shot of Sambuca yet,” Jan drawled, smiling at the human game of pass the parcel who was currently detangling herself from her mummification of knitted clothing. Nina was Dosac’s press secretary who was kind and easy-going but also did the bare minimum, as her determination started and ended at getting home to her wife Monét and the latest episode of EastEnders every day. The girls all both loved her and were vexed by her in equal measures as it was often near to impossible to get any information from her or through her. But Brooke had to admit she did make a good cup of tea.

“Nina. Is there a reason why these bitches haven’t been briefed on Darienne’s interview with Raja Gemini today?” asked Vanessa.

Brooke threw her head back and groaned. Oh, fuck. This was bad news. Raja was one of the fiercest bitches in the media, a BBC journalist who was almost impossible to influence with spin. Fixing Nina with a stony glare, she was irritated even more when she simply shrugged.

“Vanessa, that email was sent to me at four minutes past five yesterday evening and you know fine well that the moment it hits five o’clock my out of office is on and my work phone is off,” Nina raised her eyebrows, curling her Bluetooth headset round her ear as she logged into her computer.

“Christ. So the Minister has a Gemini interview and we’ve got no idea what it’s meant to be covering,” Brooke massaged her temples slowly.

“Well, I’ll tell you what it’s about. She’s runnin’ with the mobile phone policy,” Vanessa sighed, nodding fiercely as both Brooke and Jan cried out in disbelief.

“Absolutely not. I thought we’d convinced her that it was a non-starter?!” Jan exclaimed, her tone nothing short of outraged.

“Apparently she’s feelin’ the pressure of the opposition as a result of Nicky pushing to cut down on Co2 emissions, so she wants to bring out a policy that goes hand in hand with that so the government can look good.”

“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense! God, Nicky could sneeze and she’d be ‘feeling the pressure’. Sometimes it’s like this department’s being run by a startled cat,” Jan sighed, pushing her blow-dried waves of hair away from her face with her hand.

“Yeah, I always think watching her decision-making process is like watching an enormous baby trying to do calculus,” Brooke piped up, humour masking the genuine, real fear that this disastrous policy was about to go live. Its basic premise was to fine people who used their phones while they walked, to avoid collisions between pedestrians on the streets and therefore reduce waiting times at Accident and Emergency as there were less injuries. It was absolutely insane, but then this was a typical Darienne Lake policy. Vanessa had once told Brooke that she often genuinely wondered if someone was sneaking cocaine into Darienne’s pasta salads.

Obviously suffering from a rare pang of guilt, Vanessa sighed as she leant against Jan’s desk. “I don’t know. I think sometimes this party’s way too harsh on her. And the press.”

“Can you blame them?!” Brooke snorted derisively. “It sucks, but if you’re a woman in politics and you go out in dresses that look like someone put stick-on diamantes onto a burlap sack mid-seizure, of course Hello magazine are going to have a field day.”

“Come on, Brooke Lynn, you gotta admit that she’s a very nice woman,” Vanessa shook her head, laughing only slightly.

“Being a very nice woman doesn’t make you a good politician, though,” Jan chipped in with a grimace.

“So you’re going to follow her when she eventually goes then, Vanessa?” Nina piped up from behind her monitor, her eyebrows raised high into her blonde curls. Vanessa bit her lip.

“…well. I still want some form of career, let’s not take it too far.”

The three girls laughed as Vanessa blushed pink. Vanessa’s loyalty to Darienne didn’t stretch all that far. When Darienne had entered the job last year it had also meant she had arrived as Darienne’s senior advisor. It had quickly become clear to Brooke that Vanessa had got to where she was by telling people what they wanted to hear, smiling and nodding at every turn as Darienne drove the department into one dead end after another. Brooke admired Vanessa’s craftiness; her method of going along with whatever Darienne wanted meant that whenever the time came to blame someone Darienne never looked her way. Of course, Vanessa secretly hated basically every idea that Darienne had and quickly grew to trust Brooke (and eventually Jan when she joined the party) as somebody she could share her true feelings with. Over her time as part of Dosac the three girls had become great friends, forming a sort of secret alliance of common sense against Darienne’s crazy politics. She didn’t look in any way like a traditional government advisor, but Brooke still thought she was amazing.

At her job, that is.

“Face it, V,” Jan smiled sleepily, giving a stretch as Brooke shook herself out of her daydream. “Everyone’s running from Darienne like…ugh, I’m crap at one-liners at this time of the morning. Brooke, help me out?”

“Like she runs from Weight Watchers? Like obesity runs in her family? Like McDonald’s employees run whenever she steps foot in the building? Come on, Jan, that one was easy.”

“Guys, c’mon! That’s both way harsh an’ fatphobic as shit. Check yourself,” Vanessa chastised her friends, shaking her head. Jan pulled a guilty face and made a helpless gesture.

“All I’m saying is that Darienne Lake is sinking like the Titanic, if the Titanic was on fire and made entirely of burning shit, and we’re going to be playing the violins if we don’t start distancing ourselves from her as soon as we can,” she yawned.

“Does shit float or sink?” pondered Brooke as she chewed a pen.

“That’s not really the point here,” Jan rolled her eyes.

“Look, I don’ give a shit about burlap sacks, or burnin’ shit, or spitroasting or whatever the fuck you guys are talking ‘bout, I just think she’s gonna notice if we start lookin’ like we’re about to jump ship!” Vanessa cried, flustered.

Jan and Brooke shared a concerned look.

“I didn’t say anything about spitroasting. Do you even know what spitroasting is?” Brooke laughed uproariously. Jan and Nina giggled as Vanessa shot Brooke a displeased glare.

“No. It don’t sound very classy,” she sniffed, scrolling through her phone nonchalantly. As the laughter died down, Nina sighed from her desk.

“Even if she does notice, it won’t be an issue. I heard Bianca’s sorting her departure.”

The three girls gave Nina equally shocked glances, their jaws slack at this bomb of information coming from someone who was usually so little help.

“You…heard something? You have working ears? You have a working set of five senses?” Brooke teased her, gobsmacked but also a little excited at the prospect of getting someone competent in to run the department.

“Hey, I am actually of some use sometimes! Akeria over at Richmond Terrace told me at our last meeting.”

All at once, Brooke deflated in her seat. “Right, so what you really mean is…a senior press officer for the opposition told you that Bianca was planning to get rid of Darienne, knowing she’d eventually find out and making sure she’d become rattled so that Nicky would be able to capitalize on the fact that she’d be acting more like a bat on Ritalin than normal.”

Seeing Nina’s peeved expression, Jan piped up. “I’m sure there’s some element of truth in it, Brooke. I mean, Akeria’s not exactly party loyal, she’s just a civil servant.”

Brooke gave a little exhale. Jan was kind to the point of frustrating sometimes. “Well, if what Nina is saying is a fact-”

“Excuse me, I’m not Beedle the fucking Bard!” Nina cut in, resembling a meerkat as her head popped over the top of her monitor.

“- then maybe we should start distancing ourselves,” Brooke finished, shooting Nina an irked look, annoyed at having been interrupted. She noticed that Vanessa was giving her a confused sort of glance.

“How? How do we create distance when we’re advising the bitch?” she stammered, clearly becoming nervous at the prospect of a minor coup. Brooke laughed. These were the situations where Vanessa’s inexperience showed and, although it was sometimes tedious having to hold her hand through such conditions, it was also ever so slightly endearing.

“Don’t panic, ‘Ness, it’ll be fine. Bianca will have it taken care of,” she smiled, trying her best to reassure her friend.

Casting her eye to the clock, Jan narrowed her eyes. “V, you should probably head downstairs and meet the Minister. Her car’s going to be pulling up in, like, a minute.”

Cursing, Vanessa trotted towards the lifts as fast as her high heels could carry her. Brooke watched as she left, then exhaled loudly as she switched her computer on. Trying her best to relax, she cast her eye over the office. Apart from one glass-fronted room at the far end which belonged to Darienne, the majority of it was open plan. It was mostly filled with identical IKEA desks which were all the same shade of creamy grey and topped with piles and piles of work. Vanessa’s desk was messy with post-it notes plastered all round the screen of her monitor, encroaching on top of the piles of folders and ringbinders like some kind of horrific, neon disease. Brooke’s own was a sort of middle ground- most things were ordered but the nature of the job meant that sometimes a chaos of papers, files and briefing notes would sometimes hurricane itself across her desk. A stark contrast to the other two, Jan’s desk was like a beacon of order and tidiness in the hectic office. Everything had its place, her folders were all stored neatly and were colour-coded, and a packet of disinfectant wipes sat just beside the screen of her monitor. Their desks represented the three of them quite well.

Over to her left beside the lifts sat the cluster of desks which housed the communications team. Nina sat at its helm, situated near the desks of the advisors. To the right of Nina’s desk sat the two senior press officers, Scarlet and Yvie, and to Nina’s left were the two junior press officers, Jaida (who Brooke often thought to be far more competent than Nina and often prayed the two would somehow find themselves in some form of Freaky Friday body swap) and Adore, whose chair was empty. Brooke rolled her eyes hard- Adore had started as a civil service intern and Darienne had ended up keeping her on permanently. It had been another one of her diabolical decisions as Adore was ever so slightly scatterbrained, preferred scrolling her socials to tackling any of the pile of incomplete work the size of Kilimanjaro on her desk, and devoted around 90% of her day to making cups of tea. As a person she was great fun and brought a certain element of life to the office when everyone was down, but as someone Brooke had to work with she was a challenge. There had been many times where Brooke had fleetingly thought of pushing over the pile of folders on her desk one day and killing her, doing the department a great service.

Before Brooke could even open her emails, Darienne was marching through the department with Vanessa following behind her holding two large, red briefcases.

“Morning, morning!” she sing-songed as she made her way into her office. “Meeting in ten, yes ladies?”

Brooke shrugged half-heartedly in response, scrolling through her emails with disinterest. As she watched Darienne swing her office door shut she let out a huge, bored sigh.

There was suddenly a flurry of activity as the sound of approaching footsteps thundered along the corridor. Soon enough, a small girl with wide eyes, cheeks flushed pink and blonde hair with black roots appeared and flung herself down into the empty desk beside Jaida. Getting herself comfy, she kicked her heeled boots off and fired up her computer. Adore had arrived.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, ain’t anyone able to get to work on time?!” Vanessa hissed, exasperated and trying desperately to mask the fact that Adore had only just arrived at the office. Sipping on the coffee that was no doubt in her porcelain keep cup, Adore shot her a slack-jawed smile as the other press officers looked up from their work.

“Hey, I was working, thank you very much! I was doing important party business before I got here.”

“What kind of important party business?” asked Yvie, her interest piqued at the thought of Adore voluntarily doing any work.

“Laila McQueen,” Adore beamed, taking another big, loud sip. Jan laughed as Brooke rolled her eyes so hard they threatened to fall out her sockets. “Hey, it just means we have The Independent on our side for the next couple of days!”

“Good work, girl. You’re like a broadsheet Julia Roberts. I didn’t know Bianca had started pimping people out,” Scarlet shot Adore a sarcastic grin and received a tight-lipped smile and one middle finger in response which made her snort a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, very good, Adore, real impressive. That’s your one minute of glory up. You think you could go and get us some tea? And maybe some pastries, Darienne’ll probably be hungry,” Vanessa ordered, Adore pouting and lazily rising from her desk.

“Probably? It’s not like there’s an element of doubt to it,” Brooke snorted a laugh. “Get her a cinnamon roll the size of a fucking Swiss cheese, that should do her fine.”

Five minutes later, Brooke found herself sipping a subpar cup of tea in Darienne’s office, craving the sweet embrace of death as she listened to her witter on about how Raja Gemini wasn’t that intimidating, and that contrary to popular belief she was able to hold her own against the big journalists. Jan was attempting to talk her down from the ledge of misplaced confidence she had seemed to have clambered up to, Vanessa was doing her best impersonation of a nodding dog, and Nina was sleepily casting her eyes between Darienne and Jan as they spoke, her notebook blank.

“Do you have a strong opening line?” Jan asked the Minister nervously, prodding at her lip with nerves. Darienne smiled smugly, leaning back and relaxing in her chair.

“Once we implement these fines, the waiting times at A&E will be shorter than the waiting times at McDonalds. Ambulances will practically start operating drive thrus!” she reeled off, grinning proudly at the line she’d clearly spent hours thinking up. Stifling laughter, Brooke watched the reactions of the other girls. Nina’s pen hovered above her notebook hesitantly as if she couldn’t quite believe she had to write the drivel down, and Vanessa and Jan were staring at each other, wide-eyed with incredulity.

“Jesus. I’ve seen stronger newborn children,” Brooke sighed as she leant forward and sat her cup of tea on Darienne’s desk, too disgusted to attempt to drink any more. “That cup of tea was stronger than that opening line.”

“Hey! I spent all night thinking that up,” Darienne cried, offended. Jan furrowed her brow.

“Honestly Darienne, it does kind of sound like you pulled it out of your ass.”

“Speaking of assholes, Bianca’s in the building,” Nina spoke up, checking her phone. The mood in the room suddenly plummeted.

Everyone was afraid of Bianca. The only separating factor was just how afraid they were of Bianca. She was the prime Minister’s enforcer and spin doctor, the lady who made it clear to everyone in government that they had to know the line and toe the line, often spinning the party out of crises like a terrifying dreidel. She had no time for time wasters, bluffers, blue-sky thinkers, or people who weren’t one hundred percent capable of doing their job, and often unleashed hell on those that weren’t. Brooke was a big girl, she could handle herself, but there was still something about the authority that Bianca radiated and how intimidating she was that made her just that little bit nervous. She knew she had an easy-going side, but Brooke hadn’t seen it often.

“She looking for us?” Vanessa asked nervously.

“No, I’m sure she’s walking around the department trying to get her steps in for the day. What do you think?!” Nina hissed back, glaring momentarily at Vanessa then back to her phone. “Any second now…”

“Good morning, Bianca,” Jan greeted as a woman strode confidently into the office on six-inch Louboutins. Despite the fact her caramel waves of hair had a slight haze of frizz from the drizzle outside she was otherwise perfectly put-together, wearing a matching black suit jacket and pencil skirt combo. Her makeup was bright like the patterns on a poisonous frog and her lips were painted with bright red lipstick. Or perhaps that was just the blood of another poor cabinet Minister.

“Yes, good morning, and I’m hoping it’s going to be a good fucking morning, because this one-” she trained a single black fake nail on Darienne’s face “-is fully prepped for her Gemini interview at 12, correct?”

“Don’t worry Bianca. I was up all night,” Darienne gave her a saccharine sweet smile, which Bianca turned her nose up at.

“So you’re fully aware she thinks it’s an utterly fucking horrible idea?” Bianca tilted her head very slightly.

“She’s not the only one,” Jan muttered, just loud enough for Brooke to hear.

Darienne looked somewhat put out, her face falling. Sighing, Brooke looked to the ceiling. Vanessa was right- the Minister was a nice lady, but how in the hell could she think that policy was anything less than an utter car crash?! Brooke began to allow herself to daydream, which admittedly was always a risk in Bianca’s presence, but already this day was like a huge, massive wave towering over them all before a tsunami and she needed to disconnect. She was aware of Bianca’s voice tearing into Darienne in the background.

“What if she asks you how many police hours this will take up? What are you going to say then?”

“I would simply point her to the amount of money that this policy would generate, which would well make up for the drain on resources-”

“Jesus H Fuck, who did your media training? Myra Hindley? Don’t use the word ‘drain’! Don’t use any words with any negative connotations whatsoever! I don’t want a single word out of place in this interview; otherwise Gemini is going to start analysing it like Gillian McKeith analyses people’s shit.”

Darienne appeared to think things over for a moment. “So can I…I mean…can I use the word no?”

Brooke only just stopped herself from physically slapping her hand to her forehead. Bianca looked incredulously at the faces of the four other girls, each as long-suffering as the last.

“Have I suddenly imagined a storybook character into life? Did a child make a wish on a shooting star last night, is that why fucking Moon-Face is sitting at a desk in front of me? Are the other Faraway Tree friends about to walk in through the door and start running the country?”

Darienne cast her eyes to the floor, the message well and truly received.

“You mentioned the amount of money that this would generate. Is this going to be the saving grace of this policy? Is this going to be the diamond ring within the shit of the dog who accidentally ate it?”

“You’re very faecally focussed today, Bianca,” Jan piped up with a frown as Brooke stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, well. It’s hard not to be when you’re within a 5 mile radius of this department,” she scoffed.

“Well within the first month, we’re looking to generate around…um, Vanessa?” Darienne cast her eyes to the senior advisor, whose gaze shifted to Bianca nervously.

“Unbelievable. She can’t even retain her own fucking figures. Come on then, Britain’s number fifteen Rihanna impersonator, give me some good fucking news.”

“Uh, we think…well, Darienne thinks…that within the first month of enforcement we could generate around £25,000 in £50 fines.”

Bianca’s face grew very gradually cold, Vanessa freezing to the spot as if she’d just been stared at by Medusa. Even Brooke shivered.

“You mean to tell me,” she began, her voice extremely measured and shaking only slightly. “That out of a population of 64 million people, who normally stumble around the streets with their heads in their phone screens like puppets with their strings cut, we’d be able to fine…500 a month?”

“Well, we deliberately predicted under target so that the actual figure would come as a pleasant surprise!” Darienne smiled back, completely nonplussed at Bianca’s rage.

“If I could interject, I don’t seem to remember there being any ‘we’ about it,” Nina spoke up dryly, before lowering her head back down into her notebook.

“I really love the logic of this department. Maybe you should all become teachers! 50 add 50 equals 25, and when you find out that the real answer is actually 100, well that’s just a fucking pleasant surprise, isn’t it?! The crime stats from the last quarter revealed that there had been 73 murders committed, except- what a nice surprise! There were actually 78, because we forgot to count your five fucking bodies after I ripped them to fucking shreds!”

Brooke had no idea why Darienne was so calm. It was like her brain had been replaced by a huge goldfish bowl. Vanessa, however, looked a little shell-shocked, and Brooke couldn’t help the pang her heart gave as her protective instincts took over.

Only for a moment, though.

“We’ve got time to accumulate some more accurate figures. They wouldn’t be bang on, but definitely a lot more impressive than £25,000, and they’d probably placate Gemini,” Brooke shrugged, sitting up a little straighter in her seat as she addressed Bianca. Casting her frown Brooke’s way, Bianca seemed to calm down very slightly.

“Finally someone in this room that isn’t a massive, walking, talking sac of amniotic fluid. Get it done, okay? I’ll see you all after the interview.”

As Bianca left the room, the other girls all visibly relaxed. Vanessa began rubbing at her shoulder, clearly tense after being momentarily in the firing line. Flustered, Darienne finally spoke.

“Right well, Brooke, if you could sort that out within the hour,” she smiled, as if she was in control in any way. “Jan and Nina, if you could stay with me so that we can smooth out the finer details of this interview, and Vanessa if you could get started on the transport data please.”

“Uh, that ain’t gonna be possible, Minister, ‘cause I got a lot of stuff left over from yesterday an’ I still need to send that email over to Nick at the treasury, an’ uh…” Vanessa suddenly blurted out, clearly still slightly rattled from Bianca’s visit. Brooke screwed her face up. What the fuck was she doing? Darienne looked equally perplexed as Vanessa stammered a correction. “I mean…no, yeah, of course. I’ll get it done as soon as I can.”

As Darienne dismissed them and Brooke and Vanessa marched out of the office, Brooke immediately grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her into the toilets.

“Brooke Lynn! What the hell?!” Vanessa protested, her eyes fiery.

“What the hell was that in the office there?!”

Vanessa knit her brows together. “You told us to start distancing ourselves from her! I was tryin’ my fuckin’ best!”

“Yeah, distancing yourself, not starting a revolution! Am I talking to someone who works in politics or a seventeen year old who just got a D in their Modern Studies A-level?!” Brooke sighed, exasperated. She regretted it immediately when she saw Vanessa’s shoulders slump forward as she did her best impression of a kicked puppy.

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa muttered, shaking her head slightly. “I just…Bianca kinda panicked me.”

Without thinking, Brooke rested her hand on Vanessa’s arm in an attempt to comfort her. “Look…I know it’s hard for you. I get that you entered politics as Darienne’s aide and that if she goes, the road ahead is going to be kind of…non-existent. Well, not non-existent, just extremely winding and bumpy and parts of it might not have been built yet. But you’re party loyal, right?”

Vanessa nodded silently. “I’m not a fuckin’ hack. I came into this job so I could help change things for people, except sometimes I just feel like we’re not doing much good.”

“Yeah, well. That’s because the PM is too balls-deep in his secretary to run the country for more than five minutes, but anyway. The point is that you’ll be okay, we’ll all be okay! You, me, Jan. The dream team,” Brooke beamed at her, her heart soaring as Vanessa’s face lit up. “Just keep following whatever Darienne does, but keep your ears open. Any sign of a possible new option, glue yourself to them. Do your best leech impression.”

Vanessa’s face contorted as she took Brooke’s last comment literally, and both of them shared a laugh.

“But don’t panic. Like Jan said, Bianca’s going to sort it. You saw her in there, she’s at the end of her tether with that giant egg we’ve got running the department. We’ll be fine.”

As Vanessa giggled, Brooke found herself blushing very slightly. Stepping forward that little bit more, she wrapped her arms around Vanessa in a gentle hug. She smelt of a very sweet, sugary perfume, and momentarily Brooke found it hard to let go, her heart thudding in her ribcage.

“Thanks, Brooke. You’re a sweetheart,” Vanessa smiled bashfully as she pulled away, sweeping her hair behind her ears. Brooke cast her eyes to the floor, embarrassed by the compliment.

“Come on. We’ve got work to do. You should start doctoring those transport stats for fun.”

Pushing open the door, Vanessa laughed and raised her eyebrows. “I got a C in my Modern Studies A-level anyway, so I don’t appreciate the accusation, ma’am.”

As the two girls made their way back to their desks, Brooke tried to clear her head. The conversation had dredged up a lot of feelings she’d been trying to repress. She didn’t have a crush on Vanessa. She wasn’t attracted to her like that at all. She was just protective of her, and she couldn’t help it if she was cute when she was flustered, or nervous, or happy, or irritated, or doing anything. That was just a fact. It didn’t mean she liked her as anything more than a friend.

Besides, the position of token workplace lesbian couple had already been filled by Scarlet and Yvie.

***

Brooke sighed, her disapproval hidden in the darkness of the news studio along with cameras, a teleprompter, and Vanessa. Why in the name of God was this interview live? It was barbaric to screen a brutal murder on lunchtime TV. Christ, there could be kids watching. Casting her eyes to the ceiling, she knew that Nina could have helped the situation. She could’ve pushed for it to be pre-recorded. But in her head she was already hearing the excuse about Raven at the BBC being “such a nice girl”, and that “she complimented my outfit once at Alyssa’s book launch”, so perhaps there was never any chance of it being anything but live.

As the Minister stammered and stuttered her way through her lines, Brooke wondered how Raja was able to keep such a stony, cold expression. She was essentially watching the complete breakdown of Darienne’s political credibility in front of her, that was surely worth some pity. Contemplating the situation, Brooke supposed that having pity wasn’t really going to do a journalist any favours. Raja had been out at Gaza, for fuck’s sake. She was hardly going to be sympathetic to this human pannacotta sat in front of her, Darienne’s voice wobbling and wavering over every line she spoke as Raja’s eyes bore into her.

Brooke looked briefly to Vanessa, who was just looking at Darienne sadly. Brooke had to feel sorry for her. Vanessa had placed her trust in the Minister to introduce her to the world of politics, a world she clearly wanted to be a part of for all the right reasons, and yet this was the thanks she got. Sitting having to watch her boss pedal horrific policy after horrific policy and watching as her and her colleagues got constantly ignored.

She deserved better.

Momentarily Brooke thought about making a joke, but reasoned that it would probably go down as well as a lead balloon. Instead, she texted Jan, safe from the debris of Darienne’s collapsing career at the office where she, Bianca and the communications team were all watching.

B: Jesus. I’ve seen ISIS condemned for less than this.

There was a pause as Jan texted back. Brooke tuned back into the interview.

“…shorter than the, um, waiting times at McDonalds. Ambulances will practically start operating drive thrus!”

Brooke audibly groaned. Darienne had obviously inflated her life belt, pulling out her precious line as a last-ditch attempt to save the interview. Raja was less impressed.

“That sounds like an extremely serious comparison, Minister, you’re saying that this policy will simply rush patients through A&E as if they were…a burger? How thorough will doctors and nurses be?”

And there Darienne was again, back to flailing around the interview as if she was drowning.

J: I’ve never seen a human being reduced to actual liquid before. Hope you have a tub to transport her back to the office.

B: How’s Bianca holding up?

A pause.

J: I’ve seen mothers look less disgusted at their own afterbirth.

B: I really hope you haven’t.

***

The first thing Brooke, Darienne and Vanessa were greeted with on their arrival back at the office was Nina, a frown on her face.

“Well I’m glad that interview went so well. We’ve been fending off calls from several papers asking if this policy is, quote, the government’s dying whalesong, and The Sun are planning to run with the headline ‘Would you like dies with that’, in reference to the suggestion that the NHS is about to go down the drain.”

Brooke shook her head in contempt. “Imagine going to university for three years, getting a first in journalism, and then being paid to come up with that crap.”

“Absolutely. I think we should run with the line that these accusations are nonsensical,” Darienne bristled, annoyed that her pride and joy of a policy wasn’t making the impact it was supposed to. Brooke snapped her head round to face the Minister.

“I mean, I don’t think we can cover our backs that easily. You did that interview sounding as if you’d just survived a house fire, I mean why did you include that drive-thru line?!”

“It was an emergency! It was a last ditch attempt, I had to do something!” Darienne barked back, her face set in a frown.

Vanessa butted in. “An emergency line? A line to be used in an emergency? What the hell were the instructions? In case of emergency, break glass by throwin’ yourself through the top floor window of Broadcasting House?!”

The shouting match was stopped abruptly as Jan’s calm drawl trailed through the office. “Brooke, I just got a text from Bianca. She said she wants to see you in her office in five minutes, and if you’re late she’s going to make you stand in the Dosac lobby on a hot day and watch your face fry off.”

A horrified pause. “Her words, not mine.”

Exhaling noisily, Brooke grabbed her bag from where she’d just thrown it down on her desk. She tried to ignore Darienne’s smug smile as she made her way to the lift and a meeting with the most feared woman in politics.

***

Being able to see the inner workings of 10 Downing Street was like the part in The Wizard Of Oz when the curtain gets pulled back to reveal the Wizard as a sham. On the outside, it was the most perfect professional façade, a backdrop for thousands of press announcements, resignations and appointments. On the inside it resembled a prison riot at best, a hive of people running around trying to fix something, or spin something, or frantically complete some piece of unfinished work. It was slightly quieter today, Brooke had noticed, as she sat on a hard, wooden chair outside Bianca’s office.

She’d been there dead on time but Bianca was running ten minutes late so far. Lesser, more idiotic humans would call her out on it, but Brooke had a functioning brain and a desire to stay alive until at least the end of the day. She blew a strand of hair out of her face and curled her lip. She hadn’t a clue why Bianca had called her for a meeting and chose to pass up on the opportunity to berate Darienne about that car crash of an interview. If Bianca was looking for someone to blame, it couldn’t be Brooke. She had been under the impression that Bianca found her tolerable, but you could never really tell what her opinions on anything were. The woman’s poker face was so good she could’ve gone professional in Vegas.

The varnished, wooden door of Bianca’s office suddenly swung open, Bianca standing poised in front of Brooke like a bird of prey.

“You’re late,” she sniffed, as she held the door open for Brooke to come in. Mumbling an apology, Brooke slumped down into the leather-bound chair opposite Bianca’s desk and simply waited for whatever was about to come, looking casually around the room. It was a setting she knew all too well- the marble, white fireplace, the eerie green lamp giving off an abnormal white light on her desk. The nondescript paintings of some long-dead war heroes, the bookcases filled with files and files and files. The entire room screamed power and intimidation.

“Do you want a coffee, Brooke?” Bianca began casually as she sat down opposite her. Perplexed, Brooke shook her head.

“I’m okay…I’d kind of just like to find out why I’m here. I mean, aren’t you supposed to be after Darienne?”

Snorting a laugh, Bianca rose from her chair and moved to perch on the edge of her desk. She was slightly above Brooke’s level, but her tone and general aura were quite relaxed, bordering on informal.

“You were friends with Jaqueline Cox at university, correct?”

Ouch. The memories ripped through Brooke’s mind like a migraine. Jackie Cox, the know-it-all in every seminar. Jackie Cox, the try-hard in every presentation. Jackie Cox, with the smug smile and the glossy dark hair and the perfect matching stationary. She knew Jackie, and Brooke knew enough to know she wasn’t a fan.

“Friends is pushing it. She was on the same course as me and was about as irritating as thrush, and that’s all I really had to do with her,” she sniffed in her own non-committal way. Bianca flared her nostrils and made a face, indicating to Brooke that she’d given a wrong answer.

“Okay, maybe my phrasing was a little off. In case you haven’t noticed, you haven’t stumbled into some friendship bracelet craft class, this is Downing Street. So I’ll rephrase the question. Is she any good?”

Brooke felt momentarily like she was trapped in a lion enclosure. “Is she any good at…?”

“At juggling silicone breast implants and walking a tightrope over a lake of tepid piss. Is she any good at politics?!”

“God, I mean…I guess she’d be a good politician,” Brooke admitted begrudgingly. “She’s principled, she’s got strong morals and a backbone. She’s eloquent enough and nowhere near as big a car crash as that sheep’s placenta we’ve got as a Minister.”

Bianca smiled fleetingly, then stood and walked back to her chair, appeased.

“Perfect,” she said, her eyes boring into Brooke’s as she sat down. Looking momentarily behind her, Brooke shifted in her seat.

“So…why are you asking about Jackie?” she asked slowly, drawing each word out just that little bit too long to be necessary in her hesitation. Bianca smiled slowly in return.

“It came to my attention this afternoon that maybe there needs to be some…changes made around here. My party is being made to look like a laughing stock, and I don’t like it,” she growled, her eyes growing dark. “Darienne’s been palming off her expenses forms onto you, correct?”

Brooke nodded silently.

“Maybe it would be in your best interests…and the party’s best interests…to doctor them slightly. Then if they end up in the hands of the media…so be it. She’s left with no credibility, there’s no coming back from that. She’ll have to resign. Then really all that’s left to do is get a replacement in. Smooth as a bottle of Moët,” Bianca shrugged, leaning back in her chair calmly. Blinking twice, Brooke suddenly became apprehensive.

“Bianca, I can’t…I can’t just fake her expenses claims.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a note from your Mum? Have you got a cold and you can’t take part in this part of your actual job? You’re surprising me, Brooke,” Bianca sighed, clearly disappointed. “I honestly thought you had something different in you. A spine, a brain. Some form of drive, determination to succeed. You love this party, yes? You came into politics to make a difference, right?”

Brooke flinched slightly. Bianca was hitting her where it hurt, and she knew it was going to get a rise out of her. “Of course. I want us to succeed. I want us to change things.”

Bianca smiled, glad to have received a sufficient reaction.

“Then sometimes things have to be done by any means necessary,” she said gravely, running her tongue along her teeth. “If Jackie accepts the offer, she’ll be the new head of Dosac by tomorrow afternoon.”

Something about the whole appointment of Jackie Cox didn’t sit right with Brooke. She was just an annoying, opinionated, mouthy university girl, and there were ten a penny of those in London. Why her? Why not someone slightly more tolerable?

“Why does it have to be Jackie, why can’t it be someone else?” she voiced what she was thinking, annoyed. Bianca laughed, clearly amused.

“Okay, Miss Political Advisor. Advise me, since I’ve clearly not weighed up all the options.”

Stuck for a moment, Brooke’s brain began racing round at a hundred miles an hour. “Kelly Mantle. The back bencher from Education, she’s good.”

“No. She looks too much like a resident of Whoville to be put in the spotlight. Can you imagine when she inevitably fucks up, what the headlines will be? Who dunnit? Whose fault is it this time? Who, who, who, all over the front pages like owls with tourettes.”

Brooke sighed, then perked up with another idea. “What about Bianca Castro from Health?”

“Who, Jiggly?” Bianca asked, nonplussed.

“…Bianca Castro. She has a good track record, the public would love her-”

“Yeah, Jiggly.”

“Bianca, her name isn’t Jiggly.”

“The media damn well think it is after they got hold of those photos of her at the all-you-can-eat world buffet. Not exactly astounding publicity for a junior health Minister. She’s going nowhere.”

Brooke barely held in a grunt of frustration. “Ongina, that MP for-”

“Her name literally sounds like vagina. PR disaster. Next.”

“Jade Jolie.”

“She couldn’t run a bath, never mind a department.”

“Lashawn, then?!”

Bianca threw her head back and hooted a laugh. “You’re joking, right? Can you imagine her even trying to pronounce some of the names on the immigration database? She stays firmly on the back bench.”

Brooke pouted a little, frustration seeping out of every pore. Seeing her obvious displeasure, Bianca’s tone became placating, the woman’s softer side making a rare appearance.

“Look. Right now, we need strong leaders in this party. Jackie is about as strong as we’re going to get from what I’ve heard, and we need her to steer us out of this ditch that Darienne’s gradually lowered us into. You don’t need to worry about a thing, apart from those expenses forms. I’ll take care of it,” she smiled, reassuring Brooke as she stood and made to leave. Before she reached the door, a thought suddenly struck her like iced lightning, freezing her to the spot.

“Bianca…” Brooke began hesitantly. “Do you think Jackie will come with her own people? I mean, I’m not hugely up to date with her movements, so I don’t know how prepared she’ll be, and I’m fine, I can look after myself, you know? But like, Vanessa…and Jan, of course. Will she…will they get to keep their jobs?”

Bianca’s eyes were instantly on her, searching and wondering about the hidden agenda behind Brooke’s question. “I’ve worked with you for a while, Brooke Lynn. I must say, I’ve never seen you get attached to anyone in this game.”

“Well, you know,” Brooke shrugged, maintaining a cool exterior. “We work well together. We’re a good team. And she’s a valuable member of the department, that’s all.”

“Vanessa or Jan?” Bianca questioned.

“They both are! I just…I just want to make sure they’ll both be fine.”

Bianca moved to the doorway, gently showing her out. “Just doctor those expenses. Try not to pop a blood vein while doing so.”

Sighing, Brooke shook Bianca’s hand and click-clacked her way down the marble hallway towards the famous black door. Not too far along the corridor, she heard Bianca call after her.

“Brooke Lynn!”

She turned around sharply.

“Loyalty gets remembered in this party. Especially by me.”

***

Brooke hit send on her email to Bianca at 5.30pm on the dot. Darienne had claimed for Ubers from here to Downing Street, business lunches at nearby curry houses, and, just for laughs, a helicopter. Brooke had felt a little guilty fabricating it all, but it was impossible not to. If she had a complete lack of morals she’d be working for Nicky’s party, not Darienne’s. However, as Bianca had said, it was for the good of the party that she had to go.

She was still unsure about Jackie though. If everything went smoothly, by this time tomorrow she’d be sitting in Darienne’s office barking orders at her. It would be like every university group project all over again. Brooke had never actively disliked Jackie, she’d just found her grating. She was slightly unique, though. True, there were many girls of her type on her course, argumentative and challenging, but there were few that held their composure so well throughout a debate, maintaining class and superiority the entire time. Maybe that’s why she’d rubbed Brooke the wrong way so violently. Anyway, there had been a good eight years separating her time at uni and her time within the realm of politics. Perhaps Jackie was different now.

Shutting down her computer, she swivelled her chair round to face the other girls. She’d communicated to everyone through hushed whispers that Bianca’s plan was being put into effect immediately, creating an excited buzz around the office for the last few hours of the day. Regrettably she’d noticed that Vanessa had become more subdued because of it, the girl clearly wondering where this left her career. Brooke wanted nothing more than to see her happy again. She just hadn’t had time to attempt to cheer her up in between the expenses and finishing the transport data.

It looked as if Adore had already left, her chair empty and her bag gone with her half-empty coffee cup on her desk. Nina had long since vanished, her desk clear and any evidence of her ever having been there completely gone. Jaida was clearly in for the long shift, still working steadily through her excel spreadsheet with an energy drink by her keyboard. Jan was pulling on her coat, fixing her hair rapidly, and Scarlet and Yvie looked ready to leave too. Vanessa suddenly appeared in front of her.

“Hey,” she smiled gently. “We’re goin’ for a drink, think we could all do with one after today. You coming?”

Brooke fleetingly thought of a night with the girls, of just having a laugh and being slightly less stressed than normal. The thought of a glass of wine was tempting, but then the immediate thought of work the next day and how chaotic it would be made her decision for her.

“Sorry, ‘Ness. I’m going to head back. Next time though, yeah?” Brooke gave a tight smile, sighing a little when Vanessa’s face grew slightly more disappointed than before. As she nodded understandingly and turned to leave, Brooke suddenly grabbed her hand without really knowing why. Checking the office to see if anyone was looking at them, Vanessa then gazed at Brooke, confused.

“Talk to me. You’re still worried about tomorrow, aren’t you?” Brooke murmured quietly, trying not to draw attention to them. Jan was chatting happily with Scarlet and Yvie was hugging Jaida goodbye, so they were safe for now.

Vanessa’s face was worried. “I just don’t like the uncertainty. I wouldn’t be as worried if it didn’t mean I could get split up from you and Jan. We’re so good together. I don’t wanna lose that.”

Brooke’s heart swelled a little in her chest. “Listen. Don’t make it common knowledge, but I might have had a hand in Bianca’s plan. She kind of hinted that I’d be repaid in some way. We’ll all stay, don’t worry. I trust her.”

Brooke almost breathed a sigh of relief as Vanessa’s shocked face grew into a bright, happy smile. “Fuck, Brooke Lynn, you serious?!”

“Yeah. I got one wish. I sold my soul to the devil. Sue me,” Brooke snorted sarcastically, making Vanessa laugh.

“Wait, what’d you have to do for her?” Vanessa whispered, her eyes excited.

“I had to sleep with her. It was horrendous. She eats pussy like I eat noodles. Slurp slurp slurp.”

Vanessa’s nose wrinkled up as she laughed uproariously, drawing the attention of the other girls to them to Brooke’s dismay. Vanessa looked beautiful when she laughed. Then again, she looked beautiful all the time. That was just a fact, of course.

“Hey, Brooke! You coming out with us or what? Silk and Akeria are joining, ” Yvie yelled over, smiling as she wrapped her arm around Scarlet’s slim waist. Brooke tried her best not to screw her face up- she had a hard time being polite to anyone from the opposition, even if they were only civil service comms officers.

“Nah, she’s being boring,” Vanessa teased, sticking her tongue out.

“Aw, come on, Brooke! You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, ‘specially tequila ones,” Scarlet piped up, giggling and throwing her other arm around Yvie. Brooke smiled at the affectionate couple.

“Yeah, well, like Vanessa said, I’m being boring tonight. You and Yvie take care of those two liver transplants waiting to happen, okay? I can’t quite believe I’m saying it but you need to be the responsible ones.”

As Scarlet laughed, Yvie and Jan said their goodbyes to Brooke. Vanessa was still hovering at her desk, a small smile on her face as she bent down and hugged Brooke without warning.

“You’re the best member of this whole department, an’ the best damn work friend I could want,” she whispered, her words lighting up Brooke’s heart. Pulling back, she gave a quick glance to the girls who were waiting on the lift to arrive. “I owe you one, bitch. Have a good night. Eat dinner and sleep well, ‘kay?”

Brooke gazed fondly at Vanessa, her tiny frame retreating into the lift. Vanessa cared about her. She cared about everyone. It was part of the reasons why Brooke liked her so much.

In the most platonic way possible, obviously.

***

Arriving at work the next day, it was clear that Bianca’s plan had worked. Thanks to a few emails to the big papers, Darienne’s false expenses claims were plastered over all the front pages, giving a pretty damning verdict.

“She’s good at leaking, isn’t she? Bianca, I mean,” Nina pondered casually from her desk, causing Brooke to look up from The Times.

“She’s brilliant. She’s like an 85 year old woman that never did pelvic floor exercises,” Scarlet muttered, ignoring the ringing phone.

“Nothing in The Independent about it though, I’ll give you that, Adore. Laila McQueen must’ve been one satisfied customer,” Jan laughed, holding up the front page which was jarringly dissonant with the other headlines, instead focussing on something to do with the polar icecaps melting.

“I’m good! I keep telling you all and you never listen,” Adore winked cheekily, as the phone continued to ring.

“Ain’t someone gonna answer that?!” Vanessa snapped, frustrated. Jaida reached for the receiver hesitantly, looking at Nina to gauge her reaction. Fixing her eagle eyes on her in disapproval, Jaida drew her hand back as if the phone was a hot stove.

“I’ve told them all we’re in a no comment situation,” Nina turned to Vanessa, shrugging. “There’s nothing else we need to say. If those bastards don’t get the meaning of that then quite frankly they shouldn’t be in journalism.”

Brooke stayed quiet throughout the whole exchange. She was worried, fretting about what Darienne would say when she arrived. She knew full well she was going to get the blame, hell, she was to blame. As much as Brooke could pretend to be completely ruthless, the guilt was beginning to seep in. At this point everyone in the department knew it was Brooke who had a hand in fixing the expenses forms and although everyone was being perfectly normal and friendly towards her, she was concerned about what they really thought and what they’d say when she left the room.

She hadn’t even seen Jan come and stand next to her.

“You’re awful quiet today, sweetie,” she drawled, leaning against a set of shelves that contained about twenty thousand government files. “Everything alright?”

Brooke nodded silently, brushing her fringe out of her face. That didn’t appear to satisfy Jan.

“Look, nobody thinks any less of you for what you did. It’s politics, it’s not kid’s TV. Sacrifices have to be made, people have to be disposed of. You did the department a favour, to be honest,” she continued, as if she could read Brooke’s mind. Brooke couldn’t help but smile. Jan had a certain telepathic quality, and often she could begin cheering you up before you even knew what reasons you had to be sad. She was a total ray of sunshine, and her happy-go-lucky personality was welcome in the department today.

“Thanks, girl,” Brooke sighed, stretching out in her chair and giving Jan a tight smile. “That means a lot. You’re a blessing to this department. I mean, God knows the mood in here today’s about as flat as…well. Maybe it’s my turn to not be good at one-liners today.”

Jan laughed softly, leaning back a little more against the files. “I try my best. But hey, I should thank you! Once Darienne goes, I might see about standing as an MP in the next by-election.”

Brooke raised her eyebrows a little. She had no idea that Jan had even had ambitions outside of performing at every available karaoke bar London had to offer. “Really?!”

“Yeah, I’ve kind of been thinking about it for a while.”

Brooke was secretly excited about the prospect of working with just Vanessa. Purely because things would be easier to organise between just two people, and things would just run more smoothly. It wasn’t because she had a crush on her or anything, that would be a ridiculous accusation. Brooke was a professional. There was no scope for things like that in this game.

“Well, I’m sure you’d be amazing. The public would love you,” she smiled at her friend sincerely. Flattered, Jan relaxed completely against the shelves, a giant file careering from the top shelf onto the ground.

“I’ll get it,” Brooke reassured Jan, whose face was apologetic.

“Right, I’m goin’ to fetch Darienne,” Vanessa announced, making her way to the lifts a little nervously. “Smiles an’ happiness when she arrives please, people, try not to make the office feel too much like a wake.”

Yvie tipped her head back over the back of her chair, looking at Vanessa upside-down. “Are we not supposed to be mourning the bitch’s career?”

With a long-suffering shake of her head, Vanessa disappeared into the lift.

Five minutes later, Brooke was picking up the dropped file from behind the shelf when two sets of footsteps thundered through the office and a voice cut through the click-clack, tapping keyboards and ringing phones.

“MEETING ROOM, NOW!”

Slowly, Brooke crept towards Darienne’s office, following a running Nina and Jan. Darienne was standing behind the desk, her face a thunderstorm. As soon as Brooke skulked in she narrowed her eyes.

“Can someone, maybe Brooke Lynn, tell me why my face is all over the papers like a disgraced fucking gym teacher?!” she barked, her voice reverberating off the glass door of her office.

“Okay, there must have been some form of mix-up with the forms because yours was completely clean when I submitted it,” Brooke immediately fired back. She’d had a bit of time to come up with her defence and, even though it was completely feeble, it was better than silence.

“That’s got to be the most shit excuse I’ve ever heard. How does something like that happen?!” Darienne yelled back. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes shifted to the doorframe of the office, where Bianca had arrived.

“Hey, big spender,” she greeted the Minister, the joke sitting out of place with the purpose of her arrival.

“Bianca, I didn’t claim for those things. I don’t know what’s going on, I gave my forms to Brooke to do, we need to tell the press that these claims are fake!” Darienne gibbered, panicking like Bianca was holding her hostage.

“Yeah, what are we running with, Bianca? We’ve been in a no comment situation all morning,” Jan asked.

“The phone’s been ringing off the hook. I’ve been ignoring it but we’ve got to give them something soon enough,” Nina shrugged, nodding in agreement. Bianca let out a harsh exhale, rubbing her neck tersely.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, could you all just get off my back for a hot second?! You’re like a pack of fucking fleas. Are you not supposed to be a team of advisors? Are you not supposed to be head of communications?!” Bianca cried, shooting Nina an icy glare. Completely unfazed, Nina clicked her pen.

“Yes, but I’m completely unable to do anything if I don’t know what we’re communicating!”

Bianca rolled her huge eyes up to the heavens, seemingly trying to cool her boiling blood. As Brooke scanned her eyes over the rest of the room, she caught Vanessa looking straight at her, her eyes a little fearful. Brooke shot her the most reassuring smile she could manage and almost gave an audible sigh of relief when Vanessa seemed to relax.

“So, you want to go out to the media and tell them that, hey! It’s not so bad, because the truth is that I’m too lazy to fill out my own fucking expenses forms, so I just gave them to one of my aides to fill out! I’m not actually keeping that close an eye on how much I’m claiming back! Do you realise how that’s going to look?” Bianca scowled, Darienne sighing and slumping into her chair.

“So what do we do?!” she asked, her voice somewhere between a whine and a plea. Brooke began to feel a bit less guilty as she rolled her eyes. She wished Darienne had a bit more backbone, a bit more of a spine. It would endear her to her a lot more. That sort of big-eyed deer act was only cute when Vanessa did it.

There was a momentary silence in which Nina clicked her pen repeatedly, looking from Darienne to Bianca, then back to Darienne.

“You have two options,” Bianca finally said, her voice much quieter than before. Turning to the other girls, she addressed them gravely. “Could you ladies give us a moment.”

Not a question, a demand. One by one, Brooke, Vanessa, Jan and Nina all filed out and wordlessly closed the door. After a heartbeat of silence, Nina sprinted over to the comms team.

“Is it happening?!” Scarlet asked, wide-eyes and open mouthed, like a child at Christmas.

“It’s happening now! It’s happening now. Two bullets in the back of the head, bang, bang!” Nina replied excitedly, her voice ringing through the offices as she mimed a brutal murder.

“Nina!” Vanessa hissed, motioning to the glass-fronted office where Bianca and Darienne were standing motionless, looking at Nina impassively. Horrified, she abruptly sat down in her seat.

“I can’t believe it’s actually going on right now. Fuck. She’s gonna hate me, ain’t she?” Vanessa worried, biting her nails. Jan slapped her hand away from her mouth.

“Stop that!” she reprimanded, Vanessa looking to the floor sheepishly. “She won’t hate you, and if she does, well, that’s politics. She’s a grown adult, she can handle it. She knew the profession she was entering into was ruthless.”

“Nobody could hate you,” Brooke added, brushing Vanessa’s cheek with her finger very slightly. “You’re like a fucking carebear. It’s impossible.”

A pink blush crept over Vanessa’s face. “You two are too sweet to me, get outta here. Hey, have we heard about a replacement?”

Brooke sighed. “I don’t know if she’s accepted it or not yet, but Bianca told me Jackie Cox is in the running.”

Jan and Vanessa’s faces both screwed up. “Who the hell is that?”

“I went to Uni with her. I didn’t even know she was in the game until Bianca told me she’d scouted her out. I still think Jiggly would be better.”

“You mean Bianca Castro?” Jan raised one eyebrow.

“Fuck, yes. Now she’s got me doing it,” Brooke sighed, further confusing the two girls.

Suddenly, there was a creak from the office door. Darienne emerged, her posture perfect and her head held high as she walked towards the three girls. Her eyes were cold, so much so that Brooke found herself shivering a little.

“Right, well. Thank you, ladies, for your unwavering support. I wish you all very long and successful careers,” she said cooly, then her face darkened. “And I hope you all get heart failure.”

“Aw Darienne, c’mon!” Vanessa pleaded as the ex-Minister marched towards the lift, a storm cloud of rage. As Darienne stepped into the lift, Yvie began whistling Another One Bites The Dust under her breath and Scarlet started laughing so hard Brooke momentarily thought she was suffocating.

Brooke started laughing too. She had to, she couldn’t help it. This pathetic, et tu, Brute? act was wearing. Jan was right, these were the rules of the damn game. People in the department had come and gone as if Dosac was a massive revolving door and Darienne had never shed a tear for them. Brooke hated the hypocrisy that was so freely batted about in politics. Mourning a departure with a simple “it’s a shame, but they had to go” and then acting like the damn Godfather when your own time came. There was no dignity in it, no class.

“Ding dong, the useless fucking bitch is dead,” Bianca deadpanned, Vanessa relaxing and giggling a little at the slightly less high-intensity Bianca.

“What happens now, then?” Brooke asked her. “Did Jackie take the job?”

“Like a trout on a hook. Barely even had to sell it to the kid. Right, here’s the line!” Bianca suddenly yelled, loud enough that Darienne could probably hear it from the ground floor. “Darienne will be giving a statement outside Number 10 in fifteen minutes. After that, all I want to hear is praise. Praise, praise, praise, Psalm one hundred and fucking one. At 12pm, you guys will have a new Minister. Nina, it’s your job to break her in. Break her fucking spine if necessary.”

Nina nodded apprehensively, unsure of how serious Bianca was.

“I’ll see you all again at half 12. Oh, and Destiny’s Child?” Bianca said, turning suddenly to address Brooke, Vanessa and Jan as she hit the button of the lift. “It won’t be necessary to clear your desks if you don’t plan on leaving.”

As Bianca left Vanessa turned excitedly to Brooke and Jan, grinning madly as she gave them a huge hug, happy at being allowed to stay.

Brooke decided she’d probably have quite literally stabbed Darienne in the back in order to have that smile flashed at her again.

***

“Ladies, I’d like to introduce your new Minister for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship…Jackie Cox!”

Everyone started clapping, but in equal measures scrutinising the tall girl in front of them, standing beside Nina nervously and waving hello. She hadn’t changed all that much since Brooke had last seen her. Her hair was still long, swept back into a neat pearl headband so that her dark waves fell down her back instead of over her shoulders. Her makeup was simple as it always had been: a few swipes of mascara, a dark brown eye pencil to bring out her equally dark eyes, a dusky rose shade on her lips. She was in a matching red suit jacket and tailored skirt, and had red heels on to match. Brooke’s feet were beginning to get sore in her own heels, tired from standing in line with Vanessa and Jan waiting to welcome Jackie. She didn’t have to wait much longer though as Jackie was already shaking Vanessa’s hand, smiling and gushing about how she was so honoured to take up the position and how she was so looking forward to working with her. Brooke stared at her, a little irritated with the dramatics. Jackie then moved on to Jan who was standing in the middle of the line. Brooke watched as they both looked at each other, Jan sort of open-mouthed and Jackie seemingly finding it hard to formulate words.

“You must be Janette. It’s so good to meet you,” she finally said as she shyly held out her hand. Jan took it, shaking it gently.

“It’s good to meet you too. And, uh, Jan’s fine. My friends call me Jan. Not that you’re my friend, of course, you’re my boss. But uh. You can still call me that,” Jan mumbled, her voice quiet and a little nervous and her eyes not once tearing away from Jackie’s.

“Right! Sure. I, um. I hope you’re staying on?” Jackie asked, her voice a little hopeful as she gave Jan a smile, her teeth white and dazzling.

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to start working with you! It’ll be, uh. Jan-tastic!” Jan raised her eyebrows a little as she made her joke, Jackie giving a polite laugh of her own. Brooke’s brow furrowed in confusion, the corners of her mouth turning down slightly. What the fuck was this?

“Well, I’m really excited to get started. It was so good meeting you, Jan,” Jackie smiled, giving Jan one last look as she finally tore her eyes away and faced Brooke. Her face immediately changed, taking on an awkward sort of expression as it was clear she had no idea what to say to Brooke. “Brooke Lynn! Hi! What a nice surprise! Gosh, it’s been a while!”

“Yeah, like, eight years. You look good,” Brooke replied curtly, not really instantly warming to Jackie despite her efforts.

“It’ll be nice working together. Just like at uni! I didn’t really believe it when Bianca said you were here!”

“Yeah, well. I’m just climbing the ladder. Where have you been these past few years, anyway?”

“Just the stock exchange. It was always the economic side of our degree I was more interested in, but when Bianca phoned me I thought this was a pretty unmissable opportunity!” Jackie beamed at an unimpressed Brooke. Receiving no reply, she stepped back a little awkwardly. “Anyway, it’s nice that you’re here. I’d better start my briefing, so I’ll speak with you later?”

Brooke nodded wordlessly as Jackie click-clacked away. Say ‘nice’ again, bitch, I dare you.

Vanessa tilted her head as she watched Jackie retreat, her glossy hair swaying.

“Well, I like her. I think she’s gonna be good,” she concluded, clasping her hands together. Brooke narrowed her eyes at Jan, whose gaze was still fixed on Jackie.

“Jan-tastic? What the hell was that?”

Jan gave her a funny look. “What?! You know I love a pun.”

“Not just that. What about your MP thing? You’re seriously going to pass that opportunity up?”

Jan leant back against the glass door of Darienne’s old office, gazing dreamily at nothing in particular. “Um…yeah. Yeah, I think I’ll stay on. I’m still young, I’ve got time for the whole MP endeavour in a few years’ time. No, I think I’ll stick around here for a bit longer. Things might get interesting.”

Still confused at Jan’s sudden change of heart, Brooke shook her head and shrugged. In her opinion Jan was out of her mind, but if that was her decision then that was that. As Vanessa and Jan chatted excitedly Brooke made her way back to her desk, her head kind of in a daze. A lot was happening and she didn’t really know what the next few months were going to be like. An economist in a political position wasn’t new, but she was still reserved about welcoming Jackie with open arms. Still, whatever would happen she was glad that she had Vanessa and Jan to stumble through it all with.

God, she was glad Vanessa was staying.

Looking over to the Comms team she saw that Yvie’s computer was displaying the BBC website, where a live stream of Darienne’s resignation speech was playing. Yvie was sat in her chair, Jaida crouching at her right and Scarlet at her left, Adore peering over Scarlet’s shoulder as Darienne set down her sheets of paper and walked away from the lectern set up outside Downing Street. Yvie threw her hands in the air as if she was praising God.

“The old Minister is dead,” she cried dramatically. “Long live the Minister!”

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golden-deer-dear · 5 years

Text

The Weight of a Name, Claude x Byleth AU Fic

Summary: One decision can change the course of nations. When King Mahtab brought home a baby from Fódlan, he gave his own son someone to stand at his side. Byleth grows up side by side with Claude, surviving the hardship of Almyra together. For each, they are the other's only friend.

Notes: Because again, I have no self control, have the first part of my NaNo story I'm working on. This is technically the second part of the series. I will be doing a prologue for it as well dealing more in depth with Claude's parents. I don't know guys. I know this is a weird story. Let me know what you think, and if it's worth continuing.

Read on AO3.

The Weight of a Name 1162

Byleth stared out at the glittering capital city of Almyra, looking much too stern for a child of two years old. There was a flurry of activity when normally the city’s inhabitants would just be waking. And the bells, they were ringing nonstop, from the royal tower in the palace to the people marching in the street. Bells of music and peels of laughter filled the air.

It all made no sense. She had never seen people act like this even on festival days.

The small girl jumped down from the window and calmly walked toward her caretaker. She knew the servants found her strange, even at two that was something she understood. There was something about the way she carried herself, something that made her seem mature beyond her years, that unnerved other people. It was why Byleth preferred only to interact with Nader and Naima.

“Naima,” Byleth spoke in her high pitched voice, her fingers moving to form the signs Naima needed to communicate. “What is going on?”

The prince was born this morning, Naima signed back to her. She was the only person who seemed to understand and accept Byleth’s strangeness. Byleth was well aware that Naima was not her mother, but she was the closest thing the little girl had to one. The bells are a celebration of his birth.

Byleth thought that over for a moment, her face blank as she processed what Naima had told her. “That does not make sense,” Byleth finally responded. “Babies are born every day, and no one ever makes this much fuss.”

Naima smiled at her, amused by her comment. But not royal babies, Byleth. The prince is important. It means the king has an heir.

“But why is an heir important?”

Because it means a chance at stability. Seeing Byleth’s confusion at the new word, Naima broke off to explain, When the current king either dies or gives up his throne, the prince will have the opportunity to prove himself worthy to take his place. If he is successful, the throne will go to him. If he is not, there will be fighting between the nobles as they each try to take the throne for themselves.

“All the nobles do is fight between themselves,” Byleth pointed out.

True. Naima stood, setting aside the embroidery she was focused on before Byleth had distracted her. Come, I think Nader will be fine with us taking a break on such a momentous day. Let us go see what celebrations are going on in the city.

Byleth slid her small hand into Naima’s larger one, allowing her caretaker to lead her from the estate and into the bustling crowds.

Byleth supposed the new prince was good for something after all. At least she would not be forced to read any political theories today.

The king returned to the capitol a week later to the joyful cheers of his populace. Some were calling it a prosperous sign that the prince was born on the morning of the king’s latest victory. But others, many of them discontented nobles who hated that King Mahtab had essentially married an enemy, were already fast at work spreading rumors of illegitimacy and weakness.

Not that Byleth was aware of any of that. Such things were not the concern of a child of only two years old.

No, what concerned her about the king’s return was the subsequent return of her other caretaker. Nader rushed into Naima’s rooms and swept up the young girl just as he did every time he returned home.

“Look at how big you’ve gotten!” Nader laughed, sitting Byleth on one of his shoulders.

“I have not gotten bigger. It’s only been a month,” Byleth pointed out.

Nader paused and shook his head. “But I see you’re just as serious. Have you kept up with your training?”

“Yes.” For an instant there seemed to be a hint of joy in Byleth’s usually monotone voice.

She gave Kasra’s boy a black eye, Naima signed.

Nader’s face lit up all over again as he watched his sister’s fingers form words, bursting out in another belly laugh as she finished. “Did you now? He’s what, six years old and twice your size? How’d you manage that?”

“I hit him,” Byleth answered succinctly.

Nader shook his head again. “That is usually how one wins a fight.”

Byleth knew she confused the big man, but besides Naima, he was the only one who made an effort to understand her. And he was the one teaching her to fight, so Byleth rather enjoyed when the loud man was around.

Are we expected at the palace? Naima asked, changing the subject.

“Tomorrow, not tonight. The king wants tonight to spend with his queen and newborn son. There will be a feast tomorrow we’ll be expected to make an appearance at.”

And Byleth?

Nader thought for a moment, tilting his head to look at the child on his shoulder. “I don’t see why she can’t come. I think it’ll do her good to meet the new prince.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed, the closest she ever came to expressing her displeasure. They narrowed further when she caught Naima’s next comment.

Good, that gives me time to get her something to wear.

Byleth clung tightly to Nader even as he pulled her off his shoulder. “Come now, Byleth, it won’t be so bad.”

Byleth gave him a deadpanned look, silently telling him she did not believe a word of that.

Byleth was not impressed with the new prince. He was a baby, just like every other baby. She did not see what was so special about the wrinkled little thing. The queen beamed down at her child, her attention only leaving him whenever her husband came back to her side.

Queen Odette had greeted her warmly enough when Nader led her forward, and even seemed amused as Byleth studied the baby. “Is the prince not to your liking, Byleth?” the queen asked in a teasing tone.

Byleth looked up to her, and then back down to the baby. “He’s so squishy,” was the answer she decided on.

King Mahtab and Nader both threw their heads back and laughed. Other courtiers joined in, but these were not false laughter. The people surrounding them were the king’s closest friends and advisors, those Mahtab trusted above all others. They were those who laughed with the king, and not to win his favor.

Of course, Byleth only barely grasped that concept. She realized that the royal couple seemed more relaxed than any other time she had seen them, and Byleth found the entire experience strange. Besides, she was distracted when the baby opened his eyes. They were a brilliant shade of green, one Byleth had never seen before.

She leaned over the baby, trying to get a better look. The prince blinked up at her for a moment before cooing happily, and he began to squirm in his mother’s arms.

Odette smiled down at her son, and traced a finger over the bridge of his nose. “It seems like Claude likes you.”

“You’re really calling him Claude?” she heard Nader whisper to the king.

“I can’t convince her otherwise,” Mahtab answered, fondness in his voice as if he was sharing a joke with his friend.

After that, the queen allowed Byleth to sit next to her, but was pretty much forgotten about after that. The adults talked over her, trading jokes and jabs about topics Byleth had no idea how to place. She absentmindedly swung her legs back and forth, ignoring the occasional whisper about what a strange child she was.

After a few hours, Odette handed over the prince to one of her handmaidens. There was a flash of hatred in the woman’s eyes that seemed to go unnoticed by the adults in the room. But Byleth knew that look. It was the one the noble children gave her because she was an orphan from Fódlan.

Byleth slid off the chair and followed the woman. No one noticed her, not even the woman as she placed Claude in his crib. She unfolded a fresh blanket, and looked over her shoulder. But Byleth, hiding behind the crib, was the only one paying her any mind. The handmaid pulled a vial from her skirts, her actions hidden from the royal couple by her own body. Byleth watched as she popped off the cork on the vial and spread the powdered contents on the blanket.

The woman picked up the blanket by sliding her hands under it, careful not to touch the top. Warning bells went off in Byleth’s head as the woman turned to the prince. That look in her eyes, it wasn’t one someone who was supposed to care for another should have. She looked so angry.

Byleth did not really think about what she was doing. Before the woman could drop the blanket onto the newborn baby, Byleth pulled her leg back and kicked the woman’s shin as hard as she could.

The woman cursed loudly, the rest of the room fell silent, and dropped the blanket. She cursed again and clasped her hands together, eyes blazing as she turned to Byleth.

“Byleth,” Nader’s voice cut through the silence, “why would you do that?”

She felt his presence behind her, acting as a bulwark between her and the hostility many of the courtiers were directing her way. “She put something on the blanket,” Byleth said. It was as if she sucked all the air out of the room. Every adult went rigidly still.

“It was simply powder to help his skin from drying out,” the woman protested. She moved her hands behind her back, obviously wringing them together. Her face was twisting as she tried to hide her pain, but she was failing miserably.

Nader stepped around Byleth and grabbed the woman, ignoring her cry of pain as he dragged her hand forward. Already the flesh was turning red and starting to crack. It looked incredibly painful.

Mahtab stepped around his wife, carefully picking up the blanket with gloved hands. His face was blank as he turned toward her, but he radiated hatred hot enough that Byleth shrank behind Nader to hide herself.

“Why?” was the one word question Mahtab asked, the weight of the woman’s life hanging by that word.

The woman’s face twisted as she gave in to her hatred and pain, and she spat at the king’s feet. “You should be ashamed,” she hissed. “You dare taint the throne with a Fódlan whore, and now you give us a filthy half breed for an heir! We will never accept such a creature as that-” she jerked her head toward the crib where the baby was still sleeping, “-on the throne.”

Mahtab took a deep breath, studying the blanket he held. The entire room held its breath when he finally opened his mouth. “My son will be the greatest king to ever sit upon Almyra’s throne. But of course, you won’t be around to see that.” He moved forward, the woman’s eyes widening in fear as he raised the blanket, and wrapped the poisoned fabric around her face.

Byleth clung to Nader’s leg as the woman screamed. It did not last long. The contact poison tore through her skin, causing her to convulse in the king’s grasp. The sounds she made as her throat and face were destroyed were terrifying. Mahtab did not flinch. He held her there until the woman stopped moving, until those distorted screams died away. Only then did he let the body fall to the floor.

His eyes were softer when he turned to Byleth. Mahtab leaned down, a tight smile on his lips as he addressed her. “You saved my son, Byleth. I owe you a debt, little one. Thank you.”

Byleth shook her head, leaning into Nader’s comforting touch as she continued to try and hide herself behind him. She did not like being the center of attention. Mahtab nodded once more before he straightened, barking orders at guards and servants. Byleth was quickly forgotten by everyone besides her caretakers.

Nader picked her up, holding her close as the room erupted into a flurry of activity. “You did good, Byleth,” he whispered to her. “I’m proud of you.”

Naima was quick to reach her brother’s side, taking the small girl from him. “I’ll need to help Mahtab with his investigation. Can you take Byleth home?”

Naima nodded, holding onto Byleth tighter than she usually did. Naima was scared, and Byleth was not sure why. Surely the danger was passed now that the woman was dead.

Byleth gave one last look over Naima’s shoulder to the tiny prince, meeting his bright green eyes before he began to bawl.

He was certainly noisy for such a small thing. How did those tiny lungs make cries that loud?

“Naima?” Byleth said and signed as her caretaker began to tuck her in for the night.

Yes, Byleth? Naima signed back when Byleth offered no other words.

“How did the king know my name?” Byleth asked. It had bothered her ever since Mahtab addressed her. “He was not beside the queen when I introduced myself to her.”

Naima hesitated, something flashing across her face that Byleth was too young to understand. Nader is the king’s best friend, Naima signed, her fingers fumbling over the words as she attempted to sign too fast. As his ward, it is only natural that you would come up in conversation from time to time. Now, it is time for bed.

Byleth let Naima tuck the blankets in around her, and closed her eyes. Seemingly satisfied, Naima blew out the candles, her skirts swishing around her as she walked out of the room. Byleth waited until the sound of Naima’s footsteps faded away before throwing the covers off and slipping out of bed. She pulled a chair to her window, climbing on it to stare out at the palace.

It was a logical explanation, but for the first time in her short life, Byleth felt like she had been lied to. It did not sit easy with her. There was something about the king that made Byleth feel connected to him. When he had talked to her it was too familiar. It was almost the same way Nader talked to her.

Byleth did not like it, but she had no idea what to do about it. So instead she settled for staring up at the stars, watching the constellations wheel overhead until she drifted off to sleep. She was vaguely aware of Nader picking her up and tucking her back into bed, whispering goodnight before she drifted out of consciousness.

#fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #claudeth #claude x byleth #claudeleth #my fic #fanfic #alternate universe #childhood friends #the weight of a name

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sickandtideeeee · 5 years

Text

By Bast - Chapter 12 (Erik x Reader)

A/N: the nice side effect of graduating is that I’m bored and can crank out a chapter in a day and a half apparently when before it took me like literal months to craft a few pages

Anyway, please talk to me i love interaction. Otherwise I’m just screaming into the abyss lmao

“How do you not have a dress picked out?!” Asha nearly shrieked, running her hands through your wardrobe.

You shot her a dirty look as if to ask ‘Really?’ She scrunched up her face in retort.

“Just two weeks ago the whole country taught King T’Challa was dead, so is it really shocking that maybe it slipped my mind that his birthday feast would still happen?”

“I mean you live in the inner palace. You would have had to have known!” She insisted, shooting a glance at Amina, who leaned against the wall of your bedroom, picking her fingernails. Amina continued to look disinterested, denying Asha the support she was looking for.

“I have a lot on my mind.” A truth.

“More important than the King?”

Amina’s sharp look at you screamed ‘Don’t answer that.’ You artfully dodged the question, by turning your attention to one of the many dresses your friend had laid on the bed for you.

“What do you think about this one?” The dress you smoothed across your front now was a flowing maxi dress in purple, red and orange-toned ankara print. The sweetheart neckline left your arms and shoulders bare, but they would be covered by draping a soft matching scarf. Suitable enough for a priestess.

“That’s the first one I grabbed.” Asha said, a little suspicious but delighted once you tried it on completely and twirled around once. Amina’s eyes lit up and you beamed back at her. You did feel pretty. All that was left would be to tame your coils. You decided on a goddess halo braid for the soiree. You had a few hours until the dinner party would begin.

For someone as poised as T’Challa, he had a knack for extravagance when he felt like it. Opulence was only one of the words that described the theme of the venue that night. Stepping into the birthday feast hall felt like trespassing the grounds of heaven itself. Warm lights shone from above, illuminating gold and marble fixtures as well as floral arrangements of lilies and orchids that were the size of a middle school child.

Rows and rows of lavishly decorated tables filled a room the size of a football field, piled high with cured meats, spiced stews, seasoned starchy side dishes, and enough fruit and desserts to land someone in an instant diabetic coma. Accoutrements were as loud and jovial as the people themselves, with your own floor-length dress paling in comparison to many of the tribe princesses’ dresses. Nakia herself sported a shimmering forest-green mermaid dress with golden highlights and a plunging neckline that warranted a second look from most, if not all, men in attendance. She stayed close to T’Challa who wore a classic brown tunic but of a material fine enough that you could almost smell the royalty from a distance. They sat at the table of honor, flanked by Queen Ramonda whose regal smile was almost oppressive in its sincerity, and Shuri who appeared frankly nauseated by the amount of boo loving she’d have to watch close up.

Idly stuffing your face with meat pies, you sat at the first table from theirs on the right side, pretending to be fascinated by one of the stone centerpieces. Live drum music played as a vibrant backdrop to the evening.

You had just fulfilled your one and only duty in leading the ceremonial prayer for longevity and blessing before everyone could partake in the meal. Now, it was best to keep a low profile. After T’Challa called you out personally just yesterday, you did not want to invite any unwanted conversation or attention. You found yourself scanning the sea of guests for N’Jadaka as if it were not obvious why he wasn’t present. Even more unsettling was the fact that during T’Challa’s speech, he was reduced to one of the many “challenges” that he had gone through in the past year.

Once all guests had been served their fill of food and fun, Nakia led an exquisite performance of a war dance. Thereafter, the rest of the guests were invited to dance. At this time, T’Challa was now surrounded by a circle of his elder advisors, who praised him on another year of age and a successful reign so far. Since you had declined joining the dance floor, you couldn’t help but quietly listen in while you attacked a scoop of imported cardamom ice cream.

“When do you plan to execute the traitor?”

Your spoon clattered as it dropped, but the sound was quickly drowned out by the crowd. The cold dessert slid down your throat unimpeded, causing you to choke softly.

So Erik wasn’t just talking…

You could see T’Challa answering, his expression betraying discomfort, but you had trouble reading his lips from your vantage point. Only bits and pieces of conversation came through as you tried to tune out the rest of the event.

“The longer he sits in that cell, the more likely you will have a change of heart.”

“Of course he cannot be changed, why would you even suggest something of the sort?”

“He has disgraced the royal family, has he not?”

“There is already intel leaving the palace suggesting that you have kept him prisoner because you are afraid to kill him.”

“Who cares if he is part of the royal family? He lost.”

The elders now began to talk over each other, rendering the rest of the conversation unintelligible.

It did not help that a stranger now blocked your view, introducing himself as head counsel to the merchant elder. You politely introduced yourself, smiling weakly. The young man, not getting the hint, began to chat you up. Trying to keep focus on T’Challa and his advisors, you circumvented questions like who did you come with, how were you liking the party, and were you interested in dancing?

In the meantime, the elders eventually dispersed, leaving T’Challa seated back at his head table alone with a grave look on his face. T’Challa’s expressions were as difficult to read as usual. How you wanted to question him on whatever decision he had just made, but on what pretext could you do it safelyl? As it was, you had already crossed a line with him.

No longer could you find any happiness in all this noise. It was past time for you to retreat in your quarter. The young man who had invited himself into the seat next to you finally realized that you had stopped listening.

“Are you mad? Do you not hear me talking?”

“I’m very sorry but I think I must leave now.” You replied, rising abruptly to your feet. You attempted to leave, but either your quick movement or your new male friend’s spite had resulted in the fabric of your long dress getting caught out. A large rippp sounded in the air, quickly smothered by music and voices, right before you tripped and toppled to the ground.

The man behind you made an audible ‘tch’ sound as you hit the floor hard on your face. Gathering the rest of your dress in your arms, you ignored the throbbing pain in your cheek. Yup, you had definitely enough of this party.

Before you could rise and give this stranger the tongue-lashing of his life, T’Challa was already by your side to help you up by the arm.

“Disappear.” You heard him say to your slighted suitor. “Are you alright?” T’Challa’s voice lost its edge as he turned his attention to you.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, embarrassed. Touching the pain on your cheek made you wince, it was sure to swell. You pulled your arm away harsher than you intended, and made your way out of the feast hall. To your dismay, the king followed suit.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” T’Challa said, louder now that you were out of the public view. In one of the corridors, you gave him a confused look. You could tell he was not just asking about your face.

“Yes…?” You insisted. Knowing he would not leave you alone until he heard a more satisfying answer, you added: “I was just a bit clumsier than usual.” You smiled widely, albeit a bit insincerely.

“I hope your party is to your liking! I know you had a hard year so it must be nice to relax and enjoy for once, is it not?” Maybe you were laying it on a little bit too thick. T’Challa raised an eyebrow and then let out an exasperated sigh.

“When will this stop?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You said.

He sighed again loudly, then waved you away. “The good thing is that this will be over soon.” This last part was flippant. “Thank you for attending. I will see you around later.”

This will be over soon.

Is that how casually he was going to talk about ending a life?

“Kunkani.”

This time you were stopping him in his tracks. He turned his head to give you a curious look, taken aback by the sudden steel in your voice.

“What have you decided?” You queried.

He knew what you were talking about, and this angered him. It was his birthday, for goodness’ sake.

“I don’t need to discuss that with you.” He dismissed.

“What. Have. You. Decided?” You repeated again slowly. Your shoulders squared, and your chin lifted. You were trying so hard to portray strength. It would be almost laughable to someone like him, if not so infuriating.

This time T’Challa was visibly upset. He walked to you until he was mere inches away, and you could feel yourself wanting to shrink but decided to stand your ground.

Stand mighty. Hold your king accountable.

“You’re serious?” He stared down at you, his eyes darkening.

Yes, you are serious.

“I have to know. As someone who is tasked to guide you spiritually in the future. As the daughter of Zuri.”

He gave a laugh that was somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“When did you become so bold?” He asked, patting your head lightly. “From a girl so timid she could be bullied by a child half her age to challenging your king?”

When you’d been presented to the former King, Queen and son you had been about eleven years old, with no recollection of your life before then. T’Challa had looked at you curiously from afar in that time, and he continued to look at you that way even now. You were an amnesiac that his father had asked him to be gentle with. You later became his sister’s quiet peer mentor and companion. You were the high priest’s daughter. You were a girl whose brown skin reddened at his very smile, every time without fail. You were calm and serene. You were ever present but also blended in every room. You were somehow clumsy and elegant at once.

You never were this confrontational, this demanding. This was new.

T’Challa lowered his hand when your gaze remained fixed and unchanged. The patronizing gesture would not pacify you.

“Are you going to kill him?”

“My council has decided that he can’t be allowed to stay in prison.”

“So you will release him?”

No answer.

“You will exile him?”

No answer.

“You cannot kill him.” You warned. This interdiction apparently struck a nerve.

“I can do anything I want.” T’Challa quipped. “You seem to have trouble acknowledging who I am these days.”

“I know you can do anything you want to as the king of this nation. However, you are also tasked by Bast to be fair.” The muffled sound of distant music seemed to grow as loud as the distance between you at this moment. You had acknowledged this distance your whole life, a distance that T’Challa had rarely seemed to respect. However, today, for the first time it felt impassable, even for T’Challa.

“You are losing sight of your position in the palace. Perhaps I’ve been too kind to you.” T’Challa finally said, smoothing some imaginary wrinkles on his shirt. It was almost as if he were trying to smooth out his own behavior.

“Why would you save him if you planned to execute him anyway?”

T’Challa gave you an incredulous look. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“I’m going to leave now and we will pretend we never had this conversation.”

“There you are! What conversation?”

Nakia had suddenly arrived, her smile radiant but with eyes that betrayed concern. She linked an arm with T’Challa and nudged him slightly.

“I was wondering where you were,” she murmured, looking between him and then you. You bowed to her in greeting.

“I was just leaving,” you said, in a low voice. “Happy birthday, King T’Challa,” you said once more with a curtsy, before you parted ways. You could feel the stares burn holes in your backside as you walked away.

Tagging: @syndrlla97 @iwantsomethingeternal @1killmonger @chasingsunlight @hoopshoney @destinio1 @wakanda-inspired @thadelightfulone @lalasparkles @pessimisfit @youreadthatright @stark-red19 @ruruly20 @bossyboyd03 @autumn242 @heybriheyyy @thelovelyliterary @muse-of-mbaku @bidibidibombaclaat @supersizemeplz @romanceoftheeveryday@chaneajoyyy@lildashofmelanin

#erik x reader #erik killmonger x reader #killmonger x reader #black panther #black panther fanfiction #black panther imagine #by bast

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thorne93 · 6 years

Text

Anything for Love (Part 4)

Prompt: Imagine finding Loki in his non-Odin form before Thor returned just before Ragnarok, and helping to protect Asgard when Hela returns.

Word Count: 1962

Warnings: language, fighting, angst

Notes: The events in this take place before, during, and after Ragnarok - so if you haven’t seen it or want to save yourself from spoilers… Beta’d by my fabulous @carryonmyswansong

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving just outside the palace, where Bruce and Valkyrie dropped them off, Thor and Loki took a look at what was once home, was now half engulfed in flames, destruction, and death.

“My gods, what has she done?” Thor quietly asked himself as his eyes scanned the carnage.

“Hopefully nothing that can’t be undone,” Loki mused back before the two of them looked at each other.

“We will find her brother,” Thor promised with a pat to his back.

“I want to find her alive,” he stated. Loki knew you were a passionate loyalist. He knew you would try to protect Asgard at all costs. He only hoped that maybe this once, you would be like him, and run, save yourself. He hoped your courage would waiver, so that you may find safe refuge away from her. As poorly as it was to think that, it was true. He’d rather have you cowardly and alive, that brave and dead.

Thor and Loki ran inside the palace, stunned to see what they had laid eyes on. Where Hela had you pinned, your face bloody, her body bruised and burned, parts of her outfit charred away at the hand of your doing. One hand was on your throat, her other hand pushing down on a black rod she’d manifested, fury in her eyes as she seemed to will you to death with just her gaze.

With a bit of a grunting yell, you ignited her spear, making it turn to ash as you pushed her off of you.

“Get off me,” you said through clenched teeth as you rolled over and stood up, your breathing labored.

Hela and you had been fighting for hours now, and doing quite well, you might add. She seemed hellbent on killing you, completely consumed by the burning curiosity as to why she couldn’t kill you. Why were her weapons no match for you?

Thor told Loki he would find Odin’s staff to try and hold her off, if Loki tried to get you out of there. As soon as Thor left, Loki called to you, alerting both you and Hela’ of his presence.

Hela’s sharp glare turned to her brother as your body responded to Loki’s voice. First, the sound hit you, surprising you. Second, you turned to locate where it came from, and Loki stood, in his fine leathers, the sight of him making a warm, languid feeling wash over you, despite being in the middle of an intense battle with one of the most powerful beings in the cosmos.

“Oh, you’re back? Couldn’t stay away?” Hela mocked just before you saw her face morph a fraction. You knew what she was about to do, your mind running on overdrive as Loki stood there, defenseless. “Maybe this’ll help,” she said.

Just as she even flinched a muscle, you darted over to cover Loki, standing in front of him, catching the spear midair that was supposed to strike through your gullet. Holding the weapon up, you incinerated it before glaring at her.

Threatening your home was one thing. Killing good soldiers was a tragedy, attacking the citizens whas damnable, rage inducing. But actually going after Loki? Your love… that was a grave mistake on her part.

Mustering all the energy you could, you reeled back for an attack, using every ounce of your blood, sweat, and power, pouring it all into one giant blow. The enormous blast of fire and energy shot Hela back, sending her tumbling backwards, until she slammed into the foot of the throne, a loud groan coming from her.

While the two of you had a moment, you spun to face Loki.

“Are you alright? Where were you? I was so worried and --”

“We were sort of stranded on a terrible planet, but I’m here now. I was so worried about you,” he admitted as his eyes searched yours. He seemed as if he were about to ask you something, but you heard a commotion behind you so you spun, defensively protecting Loki.

But you saw her target was now Thor. He had his father’s staff and was planning to use it greatly.

“Go!” he said. “Get the other’s to safety,” Thor commanded.

You and Loki looked at each other and sprinted, running full speed towards the rainbow bridge, where you saw the army of undead soldiers, and the undead dog. A large green person seemed to be fighting the dog, while another young lady was fighting the soldiers, teamed up with Heimdall and a large rock creature.

You and Loki nodded at each other as Loki pulled out his daggers, rushing forward into the fight and you took a deep breath, ready to try and fight with what energy you had left. The fight raged on for a moment, it seemed to be a losing battle, until the God of Lightning use his impressive skills on a large portion of the enemy.

During the fight, Loki couldn’t take his eyes off you as you moved. His mind raced with a million questions. How did you have fire power? Why did you not tell him? How were you so powerful? Why was he so impressed, yet so worried about you? He watched on in concern and pride as you fought impressively through the throng of zombies.

The lot of you all fought side by side, finally clearing away the dead soldiers and the dog. All of you worn and weary, you banded together on the bridge, knowing Hela would come for you.

“Hit her with a lightning blast,” Loki suggested.

“I just hit her with the biggest lightning blast in the history of lightning. It did nothing,” Thor remarked.

The lady mentioned holdin her off, but Thor said the fight needed to end here and now. The lady asked, “So what do we do?”

“How were you able to hold her off?” Loki questioned as he turned to you. “When we showed up, you were incinerating her weapons. How did you manage that?”

“I probably should've told you, I’m the Goddess of the Eternal Flame. That bowl that sits in Odin’s relic room?” you said, keeping your eyes on the approaching Hela. “It’s only a fraction of what flows in my veins.”

“And you failed to tell me this why?” Loki demanded.

“Didn't seem important. I was sworn as a young girl to protect the throne. I was trained by Odin’s elite skill fighter to keep the crown safe at all costs. You didn’t need to know that political advising was merely a hobby,” you nonchalantly answered.

“So my picking you as advisor wasn’t luck?”

You shook your head and smiled. “No, I would’ve been right there with you. Protecting you no matter what,” you vowed.

“Can you defeat her?” Thor asked.

“Not easily. I was barely able to hold her off until you two got here. I may have the eternal flame but…”

“But it’s nothing like Ragnarok,” Thor suddenly stated, realization coming to him. “Loki, this was never about stopping Ragnarok, this was about causing Ragnarok. Surtur, the crown, his vault. It’s the only way,” he informed.

“Bold move, brother, even for me,” Loki said with labored breathing. He started to trot off, but you turned and followed him.

“Loki, wait,” you called, grabbing his arm.

“What are you doing? I have to go put the crown on the flame,” he stated, peering down at you in confusion.

“Let me do it,” you requested.

Shock trickled through his face and voice. “What? Why?”

“It should be me. It’s too dangerous,” you started, looking up at him. “Loki…” You looked down, biting your lip, knowing this could very well be the last time you spoke to him. “The world needs you,” you finally said, lifting your face to his, tears threatening in your eyes. “Thor needs you. No one needs me.”

He gazed down at you, unsure what to say.

“I love you,” you calmly said, hoping those would be your last words. You gazed at him a moment longer before nodding, about to walk off to the spare space ship. You turned and started down the bridge before Loki grabbed your wrist and yanked you back into his arms. His hands gripped the sides of your face as he planted a loving kiss on you, one of passion and goodbye.

Loki wanted to keep you, all to himself, to grab you and run away. To take you and whisk you off. He wanted to never be denied happiness again. He was tired of things he loved getting taken away. He was tired of giving up things he wanted, things he deserved. And now he was being asked to do it all over again. He just lost his father, although they had their differences, both knew deep down they loved each other, and now he was about to lose you too.

Loki felt like he would never let go. Hell, he never wanted to let go. He wanted to have you by his side forever, and not as an advisor. But Thor, his people, Asgard, all of them were counting on you right now, in this moment, and for the first time, he wouldn’t let his selfish needs come before anyone else.

He let you go, in more ways than one, as his eyes scorched into yours. “I love you,” he breathed, surprising you.

“You…” was all you could say. You never thought you would hear those words uttered by him, and now that he’d said it, you knew why - you were going to your death. It would be the last chance he got to say something to you.

Nodding, biting back tears, you let go of his hand for the last time. The sight of you leaving him took his breath away, just as you’d done the first time he laid eyes on you. A strangled sob stuck in his throat as he watched your form get farther away from him. He never thought a vision could hurt so damned much. As much as you wanted to look back one last time, you knew you couldn’t...knew you shouldn’t. So you raced to the vault as quickly as you could, trying to ignore the hole in your heart, the boulder in your stomach, and the lump in your throat.

Just as you grabbed Surtur’s crown, you tried desperately to not think about what you’d be missing out on in death, but it was rather hard. Your resolve cracked and you allowed yourself a moment of bliss, just a moment. Just one second, to recall all the wonderful times with Loki. Picnics disguised as meetings. Rendezvous veiled as consultations. He complimented your mind often, worshiped your body when he could, and devoted what time he could to making it known you were loved, even if he couldn’t say it aloud.

Without much of your control, your mind wandered from the past to the phantom future - a future for you that would never be.

Your mind saw it fit to show you images of things that would never pass: A wedding for you and your beloved -- Loki in dapper ceremonial attire as he waited for you in a stunning white lace gown. Family time and bonding with Loki and Thor, getting them back on the right footing, working with them to ensure their relationship worked out to be healthy. Watching Loki grow into a role of leadership, of a king. Watching you and Loki create a family, beautiful children at your feet. Every new memory, every kiss, every touch, every hug, every laugh, every tear - would be erased with what you’re about to do.

Taking a deep breath, you placed the crown on the fire, and said, “With the eternal flame, you are...reborn.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#anything for love #loki x reader #loki fic #loki x reader fic #loki #loki odinson

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ursapharoh05 · 6 years

Text

Redemption (Erik Killmonger)

This is the fourth and final part of my Dadmonger series. It took me a long time to figure out what I wanted to do with this and where I wanted it to go. I hope you like it, I could use some inspiration so hit me up with asks or anything, I’m even down with doing sleepover saturdays now that schools out. Tell me what you think. Thanks for sticking with me

A trial, years and years of therapy, ancestry, and teaching and it all came down to was a single day and a panel of elders judging her fathers deeds. She’d been summoned some week before as N’Jadaka’s last request. Her uncle, a title the hesitant and bashful king had used to introduce himself, had tracked and her down to present back to his cousin and now she was in Wakanda.

She’d been told the stories when she had arrived, servant girls were quick to exchange tales of America for stories of the Tyrant prince that ruled for two days and now was being integrated into their society. She’d engaged in teenage giggling and gossiping, ate the snacks that they had brought and waved from her door as they’d left. It had been a foreign but enjoyable interaction to learn more about what she had missed. She still wasn’t sure why she was there.

Upon her arrival she’d ran all over the palace,soaked in as much beauty and art, and architecture as possible. She walked until she was hopelessly lost and out of breath and her beat up sneakers made her feet throb. She knew her assigned Dora had kept up with her easily and eyed her oddly but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She found a garden, kicked off her shoes and socks and had slept on the grass long passed the sunset and nearly passed her first dinner with the royal family. She’d flinched when it was the King to wake her up and had to scrub tears from her eyes when she realized this was real.

But now, it had been a week and she had grown weary of the grandeur of this utopia. She was a marvel to this place as much as this place was a marvel to her. Being an oddity loses its charms rather quickly.

She was prepared for the cautionary tales of her father, it was expected, failure breeds learning experience. She was not prepared for the complete contempt for her father and of her, the way their whispers twisted to snap out at her, a failure,ruined American half breed, proof of the worlds failures, just another bastard heir that the King had collected, they didn’t call her by her name or even her birthright Wakandan title. They forgot to ask if she spoke their language, she kept it to herself, after all she’d been called worse than ‘the plague of the Jaguar’.

The morning the King came for her, she knew it was for something other than his usual invitation to join him for some aspect of his daily routine. Which is a shame because she does like being with him.

One of her favorite things since her arrival in Wakanda was the kings friendship, though she made him work for it. The King’s eyes were just that shade lighter than her fathers, more golden, less worldly, good for expressing emotions other than rage and hurt. She sees his lips move, knows this is important, that he’s trying to bond with her for whatever reason and stands to follow him out when he bids her to.

The King keeps his stride even and he summons an easy smile “If you would like, after your meeting you could accompany me to the Jabari tribe, or we could practice your Xhosa and go to the market” She shrugs. The King instead stops them walking and places a hand on her shoulder “You will not be there any longer than you wish, little cub. Your father asked for you during his healing process, and throughout much of his rehabilitation. I am sorry we could not come for you except as a last request before his trial”

The beast inside of her tears apart her stomach with nerves, growling out hurt and fear. Her hands shake as she shoves them into her pockets “You sure you got the right guy? Daddy isn’t one to ask, he just...”

“Takes” The King fills in with a sad smile as she tries to shrug “I have learned much from my cousin in his time here, it is why I work so hard to right the wrongs befallen the lost—“

She chuckles then, “Forgive me, your majesty. Our losses in America are different to the losses of Wakanda. I lost a past, I wander along the unknown of a heritage I wasn’t raised in, and I’m not invited back to. You” she glances at him before looking to the large vibranium door “ are suffering through knowing you let your brothers and sisters be dragged away to hell in the name of your own preservation, your future is at a loss because you are unsure where you belong in a world that does not treat you how you deserve, but as a tool.”

She’s overstepped, she can tell by the way the Kings inviting smile wanes slightly, she’s ruined another moment because she can’t tell a challenge from a simple reassurance. She wants to apologize, honesty without tact is just cruelty and she has no use for cruelty anymore.

She’s too late though as the hand on her shoulder squeezes softly and he motions to the guards on either side of the large Vibranium door. She is pulled into a tight hug by the King as he murmurs “I will wait for you here, I will give you your heritage back, and you can guide us in this dangerous world, eh?” She can’t remember a time someones held her after she’s thrown something so blatantly into their face, she clutches onto him before entering the room.

It...is not a prison cell as she had imagined, no bars or dirt floors. It looks very much like a well lived in apartment, homey American style highlighted with Wakandan decor. The mantle is covered in pictures, daddy and the King, daddy with the princess, daddy and...a woman. She feels like she’s entered into a strangers home, and her childhood apartment all at the same time.

Soaking in the photographs she turns at the sound of a deep clearing throat, takes in the man in deep blue royal attire grinning with the golden fangs. She doesn’t move “Should I call you Daddy, Erik, or Prince N’Jadaka?”

“Daddy, sounds good to me, c’mere lil girl, let me see you” he moves forward, takes her hand and spins her around before she can protest “Surprised you didn’t let them dress you up right, look attchu, slummin’ it”

She huffs a laugh looking at her worn jeans, and filthy high tops, her accompanying Dora isn’t so amused “I’m workin’ with what I got, not everybody workin’ as the newest royal advisor.” She hugs him tight “You look...” alive, unrepentant, happy without me “So good.”

Erik moves away from her after a firm slap on the back “Eh, you know how I do. Take a seat, tell me what you’ve done with your time” she does, although it’s less personal than her talks with the king and sounds rehearsed even to her own ears. She tells him about all he’s missed, about his other children, about her school, about how she’s applied her lessons.

She shows him the bracelet of scars on her wrist and watches his face turn from polite interest to stone as she explains “The big one was for you, this ones for mama, and cousin Emmit and Trevon. These are for some of the—the other kids you got. There’s four in all, three boys and another girl, I got letters back in my bag from them, pictures too if ya wanna—“

He reaches out and rubs a finger over each mark almost reverently “Oh, girly. Whatchu done.”

She shrinks for a moment before standing her ground “They aren’t dead if that’s whatchu think. These are people I care about, not people I hurt. It’s good”

Erik pulls away, ignoring her defensive tone “I want you to see sumthin’ “ he moves to lead then to a door off to the side. she follows him around the lavish apartment as he walks them to a room, gives two loud knocks summoning the woman from the photos. The woman’s hair is wrapped, exhausted bags under her eyes. She’s beautiful, strong, and holding a sleeping infant.

Her smile is bright as the sun as she meets Erik’s eyes “Shhhhh, silly man, I just now get your child to sleep and here you are stomping about. Have you finished your meeting?”

He leans in and kisses her softly, like she’s his whole world before pulling her and the infant tight into his arms. He looks down at his first daughter, motioning her closer to look at the sleeping baby. He whispers in adoration “You wanna see the future Lil girl? A black baby raised right. Gonna know of the hardships of the American Nigga and the power and pride of Wakandan royalty. This lil shits gonna change the whole world.”

The woman frowns “N’Jadaka, you mustn’t speak like that, you’ll scare the poor girl away. My husband is a visionary, we are looking first for a nanny, not a revolutionary. We can give you a place to live with us, and an allowance. You’ll be taking care of our child while I and Prince N’Jadaka are working with the King to help America. Will you accept?”

She recoils from the sight of such a perfect family “But, But what about the trial I thought—“ her voice breaks as her eyes stay on the sleeping bundle, the curly hair, and the little fists.

“Nah, more like a ‘welcome to society’ party, I jus’ needed a way to get you here.” All the air in the room seems to be avoiding her lungs, she wasn’t brought here as anything more than a glorified babysitter and it’s very clear that he meant it that way “I was tellin’ my better half, that our kid needs some perspective. Who’s better to have perspective than someone who’s lived it, besides, Ain’t nobody I trust more.” She wonders if the grin is meant to be reassuring and prideful. It’s not.

She finds her head shaking back and forth, and a laugh bubbling out of her mouth “I—I think I hate you” she gasps for breath around giggles “I really hate you, I’m glad the others never met you. I’m glad I saw this, I’m done with this weak shit.” She turns to the woman with a predators grin“You better run and take the kid with you. If you need anything, ever, find me.” She turns to leave, the beast still restrained.

Erik catches her arm and frowns “Where you goin’ lil girl? This is the place to be, Imma change the world from this spot right here. You mine,and I want you here.”

She growls, looking for a fight, praying for one. Shaking her head and ripping her arm free she starts to back him up “Nah, you different. You changed for them, you ain’t my daddy, not anymore.” She sniffs and lets her defenses go up, she strides back for the exit “Congrats on the kid, Prince N’Jadaka. Wakanda fits you.” She takes a deep breath ”Let’s go, Dora, I’m ready.”

Her Dora is waiting at the door for her, spear in hand as N’Jadaka follows closely behind “Im doing this for you, this is gonna change things, it’s bigger than just a few centers and programs—“ he reaches for her again as she crosses the threshold.

She stops just outside as the two crossed spears stop him short from leaving the room, the beasts roar soaks her words as she bears her teeth in a wicked grin, fingernails digging into her palms like claws “what did you think was gonna happen to us? Huh?! You think if you can’t bring Wakanda to us, you gonna bring us to Wakanda, bitch, where?! I’m goin’ home, and I’m gonna work and claw and fight my way until I got the power to cause the change you couldn’t and then I’m going to shove it down your throat and up my enemies asses! Like you taught me! I’ll burn before I let you or anyone else dictate where I belong! I’d kill you for leaving us to die there, for leaving us to our chains. But it looks like you sitting pretty in chains gold right here.”

She doesn’t stay in Wakanda for the trial that night. She ignores the pleas of the King to stay, and the constant messengers from the Prince. Instead she goes home, gets some sleep, and gets to work on the plans for her new world.

#erik stevens #erik killmonger #black panther killmonger #black panther #dadmonger #wakanda

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foreverpanther · 7 years

Text

Message Delivered

For @anon on tumblr

Prompt: in which one of the pair thinks the other is dead and is reunited with them, prompting a love confession.

Words: 1,417

Everett’s past few days consisted of pacing around his room, dismissing the food brought to him, and ordering not to be disturbed by anyone who didn’t have news on T'Challa’s whereabouts.

T’Challa had gone on an unauthorized solo mission four days prior. It consisted of infiltrating a large drug cartel somewhere in South America. He took his private jet which Shuri was able to track the location of easily, but at some point his location disappeared. She informed the concerned powers that her technology could not have malfunctioned or been manipulated in any kind. If T’Challa wished to not be tracked, it wouldn’t be possible. The only way for the signal to be lost would be if the jet had crashed. It didn’t take much deliberation for the council to send the Dora Milaje along with M'Baku’s men to T’Challa’s last transmitted location. On the second day of their leaving, a message received from Okoye. Just as everyone feared, T'Challa’s jet was found submerged in a small man-made lake deep in the Amazon forest.

Everett’s prominent role in overseeing the investigation halted at the news. It had been three days since and no word from Okoye and her team. Everett found himself unable to comprehend why T’Challa would go on such a reckless mission. Even more so, he couldn’t bare the thought of not having told T’Challa how much he meant to him. T’Challa was the best man Everett ever knew. And he knew a lot of great men. Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner. T’Challa had the admiration of the entire world and didn’t deserve to die alone and away form his home, his people.

An announcement over his room’s intercom broke Everett from his state of pity.

“Maysa Ibori requests access to your quarters.”

“Yes, please let her in.”

Maysa was a mature woman and political correspondent to the river tribe, not a messenger. The tribe leaders decided unanimously to keep the news tight lipped, not wanting to cause a nationwide panic; and since Wakanda was now one of the highest profiled nations in the world and T’Challa was their king: worldwide panic.

The older woman stepped into the room. Everett admired her hold on the situation. She remained calm and compassionate, advising wisely to the others that though things looked bleak, they needed to stay hopeful together.

“Have you heard back from Okoye?”

Everett asked, desperate for any news but the worst.

“A message got delivered minutes ago. They found T’Challa several miles outside the wreckage. They are three hours away from Wakanda.”

Everett could feel his hair lighten a few more shades.

“Oh god please tell me he’s alive.”

“The message did not say. Slight interference with the transmission. Mr. Ross, the message was just delivered, but on further inspection from Miss Shuri, it was discovered to be sent hours ago.”

“What?”

“They are approaching the border as we speak.”

Maysa quickly escorted Everett into the council room, where the others gathered to the window as if awaiting a fireworks display. Everett found Shuri beside her mother, the two clutching each others palms. A young voice from behind called out explaining that weather and foreign tampering caused messages to be delayed or not sent at all, and that the closer Okoye’s team got to Wakanda, the easier their messages were processed. The young woman began to recite these messages aloud.

“‘We are immediately met with onslaught from foreign agents. We continue on in the shadows.’ The next message we received about T’Challa’s jet in the lake. ‘T’Challa is in critical health and unstable. We have the necessary supplies but need to return quickly.’”

Everett’s gut sank at the sound of the young girls wavering voice. He could feel his eyes begin to water.

“‘An attack was waged on our attempt to leave the forest. Several injuries, no deaths. T’Challa remains unconscious.’”

“When was that sent?”

An advisor aaked, her voice laced with resigned fear.

“Yesterday afternoon.”

‘“I see them! The clouds 10 o’clock!”

Shuri called out , her arm pointing out the glass. The room filled with cries of relief and cheers.

Okoye’s jet In the distance emerged from the white clouds. The next few hours were a blur. Everett remembered seeing the jet dock and T’Challa be escorted into the bed bay along with Shuri and his mother. Okoye’s team explained what happened upon their arrival, but Everett found himself uninterested in the grizzly details.

He wasn’t permitted to see T’Challa, and that was all he cared about most.

The tension in his shoulders somewhat eased knowing that T’Challa was recovering safely at home. He couldn’t process what might have happened to T’Challa out there, and he didn’t want to think about it. The days’ fatigue of stress, no food and no sleep caught up to him. Just hours after T'Challa’s arrival.

As everyone discussed how to break the news to the public, Everett found his vision blurring and body slumping. He didn’t even feel his head hit the marble ground or hear the cries of horror as blood puddled over the cool white stone.

When his eyes fluttered open he was met with a white light nowhere nearly as blinding as the fluorescents of every other hospital he’d been in. He recognized the feel of the blue fabric gown over his body and newfound consciousness brought a dull ache to the side of his head. Everett’s face contorted in pain as he sat up.

“You are clumsy.”

Everett turned swiftly to his right, his head swimming at the sudden motion. T’Challa laid across from him in his own hospital bed. He looked pale with bandages across his wrist, abdomen and shoulder. Relief eased through Everett’s body.

“I’m not the one who crashed a billion dollar plane.”

Everett chuckled at his own remark, sending another wave of confusion through himself.

They paused to take in each other’s presence.

“You snore in your sleep.”

T’Challa spoke softly. Everett couldn’t see him from his peripheral lest he wanted another throbbing headache, but he knew T’Challa was smirking devilishly to himself.

“I do not.”

Everett defended himself.

“Yes you do.”

Everett exhaled, amused.

“You watch me when I’m unconscious?”

He turned to T’Challa with a huge smile.

“Maybe.”

T'Challa whispered, a bright smile filling his face.

“That’s a scandal for the decade. Attention world: the king of Wakanda likes to undress me while I sleep.”

“Only with my eyes. Only with my eyes.”

T’Challa replied, his laugh filing the room.

A silence filled the room after that, as if they were both waiting for the other to speak up. Everett finally did.

“You don’t have to tell me why you went on your own or what happened. I don’t care. You’re here, you’re safe. That all that matters to me.”

“I was foolish to think I could go about alone.”

“Everyone has to find out sooner or later they’re not invincible. No matter how much vibranium you have. You’re still human.”

“You’re the wisest man I know Everett. That is not what I mean.”

Everett paused, waiting for T’Challa to speak up.

“What are you saying T’Challa?”

“That lying out there amidst the hot mud of that forest surrounded by trees and my own blood…I knew that beyond leaving my beloved mother and sister, my beloved nation in my seeming death. I was leaving you behind as well.”

Everett’s muscles couldn’t decide when to end his smile. T’Challa forced himself up, swinging his legs carefully over the side of his bed. He stretched his arm out and took Everett’s wrist into his.

“I was so scared you have no idea…”

Everett trailed off, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and along the side of his nose. He cried into his free palm, and T’Challa didn’t force him to show his face as he slipped his father’s ring from his finger onto Everett’s. When the ring pressed against Everett’s knuckle Everett propelled himself forward off his bed and into T’Challa’s arms. T’Challa embraced him tightly, his eyes squeezing shut.

“It’s okay. I’m here now. It’s okay.”

T’Challa ignored the medical signs around him of his raised heartbeat and the red stain spreading across his abdomen, soaking the front of Everett’s gown too as they clutched each other. T’Challa heard the medical team rush into the room and the last thing he saw before his vision turned to white was Everett’s newly ringed hand pushing him down on the bed. It was a sight to get used to.

#black panther #t'challa #everett ross #everpanther #everpanther gallery ao3

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clove-teasdale · 7 years

Text

holmes & watson at the ball

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A/N: challenge #4! I asked for two more days cause I had a lot of things this week (IM OFFICIALLY 18 YALL. FIRST FIC FINISHED AS A TECHNICAL ADULT(?)) Anyhow. Here is the fic. I was still pretty busy today so this might suck but thERE IS PROGRESS SO. have fun reading and forgive any weird writing or typos. Ft. detective crooks ™, one of my guard ocs cause I always bring one up lol & nate. Thanks @brooks-schreave @nathaniel-schreave @eloiseduval for the rps that couldn’t all be included so this wasn’t a monster fic. around 3,2k words

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

“Your drink, Lady,” Rogers said, offering me a glass with a half bow as a joke. I snorted, but accepted it, taking a sip of the mysterious orange-tinged drink and tasting the alcohol.

“Well, Officer Rogers,” I stated dramatically, ready to tease him. “I doubt your commanding officer will approve of you giving alcohol to a Selected.”

He gave me a fake glare. “You said to surprise you. I just complied with a cocktail. Besides, it’s not like you’re not old enough.” His amused grin disappeared when I raised both eyebrows, silently asking, ‘am I though?’ He took the drink from my hand and set it on the silver platter of a passing servant. “Never mind.”

I laughed and stole his drink instead. His was just cider, which is what I would’ve asked for if it weren’t for my curiosity of what he would bring otherwise. “I see you like to keep it clean.”

He nodded, gladly taking my comment as a compliment and glancing at the ballroom. “I’m technically still on duty.”

“Fair point.”

I watched the beautifully decored ballroom too, in the midst of couples, spotting Eloise now done with Officer Barnes and dancing with Brooks. The prince looked different in his suit. A good different as he laughed at something our shared friend had told him. The brat kinda had a nice laugh… but anyway, that left my options to be, hanging around Rogers, chatting it up with another Selected or finding someone else to dance with.

I knew at some point of the night I would end up dancing with Brooks since we’d agreed to do so when our lead arrived, but that wouldn’t happen at the moment. Eventually, I was certain Rogers would be asked by another young Lady to dance with him. With no doubt, his good looks would help him. That meant I needed to figure out what I’d do next. My goal of making at least one friend so far had been accomplished with Eloise, but I had yet to establish any meaningful conversations with anyone else.

I was planning on it. Really, I was. But I was always too busy with research on the journal–or actually, any excuse I could come up with. After the success of Marshall’s birthday party, I considered her to be a good prospect though. For a moment, I thought I could try talking with her tonight. Even someone else for the sake of trying.

Many of the girls seemed to be getting a bit too excited about the variety of beverages available, however, and I did not do well with drunk people. While searching for sober familiar faces, I found the one prince we were all supposed to be there for. Finally free to talk.

“Go ahead,” Rogers teased when he noticed where my glance was.

I rolled my eyes, but handed him the glass back, telling him to shut up and walking over to Nate. Tapping his shoulder, I said, “Hello there,” and he turned around.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Quite free to dance at the moment.”

“Well so am I, would you care to dance?” He held out his hand for me to take.

“My, how unexpected of you Nate. It would be a pleasure.”

“Hello, dear Nathaniel.”

Brooks. A mischievous smile on his face and a confused Eloise on his hand as he approached me and Nate mid-dance. Stealing my hand from Nate’s, he changed my place with Eloise and told them to have fun. With no further explanation, he dragged me away.

“Hi.”

That wasn’t how I’d expected him to ask me to dance. Not now. Once I’d offered Eloise and Nate a polite smile, I gave him a deadpan look. “Was there no better moment for this?”

“Nope. See that guy?” He gestured towards a group of men that were clearly advisers. His hand was on my waist and my own on his shoulder as we easily slipped into our waltz. “That’s William Holt, father of the advisor John Holt, and one of the names mentioned in the journal.”

I spared them a glance as casually as possible. W.H. “Our mystery initials from the notes?”

“Yes, dear, our mystery initials.” I did my best not to roll eyes at the grin accompanying his joking ‘dear’ and let him continue. “I spoke a bit to some advisors, and I think he’s here on business. There’s been some talk of someone stealing books from the restricted section of the library.”

I raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “My, my… is that so? No wonder I never saw that journal while I was there. I had no access.”

A smirk of his own spread across his face as he whispered, “Neither did I. But tell me, why are they so fascinated that book is gone?”

“Guess we’re on the right track.”

“I have a plan. I’ve noticed key advisors have been flocking around him deep in some random conversation. If we stay close, we may find something.”

“Lead the way…Highness.”

Dancing us towards the men, I could see the same excitement coming off him as I’d seen the day before when I told him about the ink. It was kinda cute to see that childlike enthusiasm. “Be very quiet and listen.”

Once we were at the required distance to do so, I acted as if nothing was more important than our dancing, in reality, eavesdrop alongside Brooks on what the group was saying. They were too immersed in conversation to care about us or the other couples nearby. Nobody was supposed to be interested in their conversation anyway.

William Holt was older than my father but still managed to look decent. His son, John, did not share his silver hair yet but had the same cheekbones and bushy eyebrows.

“I figured this would happen. It’s a bit soon though,” William complained to the others. None appeared too concerned except John, however.

“Aren’t you worried who has it?”

William took a drink. “My bet is Levi.”

I exchanged looks with Brooks at the mention of a name.

“After all these years? He’s ancient by now.”

“He was always a resourceful one.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Last I checked, Harrison still lives downtown. He throws some annual New Year’s Eve party. We’ll check him out after that. We wouldn’t want to draw suspicion.” William finished his drink after that as his son and the rest of the advisers nodded in agreement.

I mouthed, ‘journal?’ to Brooks and he danced us away to talk.

“We’ve gotta find that Levi guy.”

“Can we be sure he’s our guy?” I wondered. “I mean, he’s definitely related to the whole ordeal, but he might not be the writer of the annotations.”

“Regardless, it’s a lead. He may know who wrote them.”

His hand played with the fabric on the back of my dress as he spoke. I did my best to ignore it, unsure he was even aware he was doing it. Why I didn’t feel the need to mention it was also beyond me.

“Fair enough. We should check this guy out…But later.”

“You’re right,” he nodded, “We have to stay at the ball for a while longer. I’ll get in trouble if I leave.”

“Such a tragedy,” I said with an eye roll, but my sight drifted soon after to the advisers talking around the room. Dad hadn’t come and I pursed my lips, mumbling, “Strange…” at the realization. He hadn’t called me since his last visit, but I assumed he’d be here. He never missed events.

Before I could debate any possibilities in my head, Brooks spun me around. That earned him a laugh as he said, “Riveting.”

“What is?”

“This whole thing. I feel like I’m a part of the Scooby Gang.”

“A two-person gang?” I asked, amused.

As our investigation hit a pause, I found myself truthfully focused on dancing again, taking more deliberate strides as I watched my feet and smiled. All thanks to one name. I couldn’t help but feel excited. One step closer to the truth. “There’s always Holmes and Watson, you know? I’ll let you be my John.”

“John, really?” Brooks almost scoffed. “Dream on.”

“He’s very important too, don’t belittle the guy.”

“He’s the sidekick, Clove. I’m obviously the main attraction here.”

I let out a single laugh but noticed the small smile he gave me. “Don’t flatter yourself that much, Brooks. And stop insulting John! He had the heart of the team… well, depending on the adaptation.”

“If you prefer him so much, you can be him. I insist.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled smugly. “Need I remind you who of us managed to decipher that horrid writing and translate it?”

“Need I remind you of,” he twirled me again, “who started this in the first place?”

I feigned offense with a gasp, not missing a beat on my steps though. “I was doing my own research before you came along in case you weren’t aware.”

“But I definitely sped things up for you, didn’t I? Admit it. You needed me.”

“I had already admitted that… in my head, at least. From day one, that’s why I agreed to work with you. You needed my help as much as I needed yours. We wouldn’t have gotten far without each other.” I cleared my throat, noticing how my last sentence sounded and clarified, “Each other’s help, I mean.”

As I watched the way his lips parted to reveal a small smile, his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. “I really do appreciate your help. I hope you know that.”

Unable to drift my gaze away, I smiled too, pleasantly surprised by the sincere tone of his voice–the honesty, lacking any hint of sarcasm this once. “Well, now I know…I’m glad to be included.” It was strange to feel shy at the admission, but I only averted my eyes for a second and then looked back up. “It seems my help on other matters served its purpose too.”

“What do you mean?”

“No stepping on feet so far…and I haven’t been spun into oblivion either,” I teased and he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t jinx me.”

I chuckled. “Just keep it up.”

The song slowed down even more as he pulled me closer, like when we’d whispered to each other during dancing practice. The difference was that this time, his hand also covered the back of mine and pulled it to rest against his chest. I wasn’t sure if I imagined his heartbeat or not.

“Only for you.” His voice was dramatic as if it were one of his many jokes. Nonetheless, it somehow felt like there was some truth behind the words.

Blinking up at him, I was unable to reply for a few seconds at the change of positions. My head kept making mental notes that seemed rather unnecessary, such as the warmth of his hand seeping into mine. The way my heart almost fluttered at the proximity of our faces. The smell of hazelnut on him. My lack of concern for how close we were to each other. It felt very different from yesterday’s practice.

I rolled eyes at his joking tone, but when meeting his gaze again, a lump formed in my throat. I hoped my freckles would hide my slight blush as I said, “Lucky me.”

A small laugh. “As a gentleman, I feel like I should compliment you.”

I chuckled softly too. “But as Brooks, you must mock me, I’m sure.”

“No.” He paused. “A gentleman would feel required to tell you how lovely you look, but Brooks… I would mean it.”

My heartbeat was definitely skyrocketing now and I wasn’t sure why or how to make it stop. He’s just being nice. I stared down at my dress, smiling. Hopefully, not too awkwardly. That was actually… really sweet of him to say.

“Is that so? Well, you look quite handsome yourself.” I kept the tone light and decided not to make a big deal out of it. “Not too bad…”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘dashing’.”

“How very humble of you.”

A while later, the song came to an end and he released my hand slowly. I kinda missed the feeling of it wrapped around mine. “Meet me at the door when I signal you. We can research the address of that guy. We don’t have a lot of time until New Year’s Eve.”

An hour or so later, when I’d danced with Barnes, some politicians and chatted up with Eloise about that new trinket around her neck upon her return to the ballroom, I saw Brooks near the exit, brushing a thumb over his nose. I returned the signal and made sure no one was watching before walking over.

Brooks pulled me out into the hallway. “Sorry if I cut your evening short.”

“We have to figure this out anyway. It’s the best lead we’ve got.”

He nodded and led the way to another part of the palace forbidden for the Selected. Once there, he gestured for me to be silent and got a key from his pocket. I kept a lookout as he opened the door cautiously. I had to reprimand myself for suddenly agreeing on his Scooby gang comparison.

He let me walk in first and closed the door softly behind him. I decided to ask where he’d gotten that key at another moment and followed him as he swiftly made his way to the single computer in the room. Technology had been making a comeback amongst some crowds in the past years but was still pretty rare.

Despite that, Brooks didn’t seem to have a problem browsing the computer. “This is where they keep the online files of addresses, birthdates, castes, stuff like that. All we have to do is look at past advisors and search for a Harrison Levi.”

My finger traced the top of the old equipment as I took a glance at the other file cabinets and bookshelves in the room. “In how much trouble would we be if we were caught here?”

“Lots and lots.” He glanced up from his typing quickly and asked, “Why?”

I focused on the different folders he was opening on the screen. “Aren’t you concerned?”

“I’ve spent my entire life being nervous about things. I’m past the point of nerves now.” The relentless sound of clicking echoed in the room as he continued. “Here’s the page. We just need to let it load now, which could take…” he squinted at the screen, “a while.”

“Just because I’ve avoided being caught before doesn’t stop me from being nervous, sadly. Especially because this is so much worse than just being out after curfew. I don’t entirely mind the adrenaline, simply want to know how much I’m risking here.”

He replied nothing at first and began humming instead. I couldn’t stop the memory of our duet from crossing my mind.

And all I’ve seen since eighteen hours ago is blue eyes and freckles and your smile… Spinning around in his swivel chair, he faced me, a hint of uncertainty in his features. “I really am sorry to have pulled you away from the Ball.”

I tried to wave away his insecurity. “It’s fine. I had already danced enough and made my presence.” Moving the edges of my skirt, I made the fabric dance around my legs and added with a shrug, “And I got to wear a pretty dress so…”

“You’re not upset I pulled you away from Nate? I know it’s hard to get time with him.”

“He’s a busy guy, but what we got was good. He has a lot of other girls to worry about more than me.” I thought about our conversation during the ball again. I did feel good around Nate, but not like there was something yet. I even brought up the word ‘friend’ without a care in the world. “I‘m pretty sure what we have will always be a friendship and that’s okay.”

Brooks lifted both eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, that’s what it feels like… I like him, but not in that way, you know? Some others already seem to have feelings for him and as much as I care for him it’s not… romantic. I came here knowing love had a very slim chance of striking, so I’m not that disappointed I guess,” I spared him a glance, “Why so surprised?”

He repressed a smile and turned back to the computer. “I’ve always shown an interest in your love life, haven’t I? I’m nosy like that.”

I clicked my tongue and narrowed my eyes at him. Smiling was unavoidable though. “You’re still horrible.” Leaning forward to take a closer look at the screen, I asked if there was a match yet. The computer seemed to continue running over a million old archives, however.

From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him spare me a glance, like my proximity made him nervous, but the screen finally loaded and stole my attention away. The profile picture of a man in his early thirties had popped up along other windows behind it. The photo was not recent, of course. It had to be from the days this man worked as part of the royal cabinet. Ginger hair and lively green eyes had once gazed upon a camera for that picture.

“It’s a match, holy shoot, it’s a match!”

Leaning even closer to the screen and reaching for the mouse over Brooks, I held back the euphoria bubbling in my stomach, clicking on the other windows to see more information. His files confirmed his years working with the royal family as an adviser. His early resignation did not go unnoticed, but a few clicks later I found what I was searching for.

In a handful of documents, one of them contained his signature. My eyes widen as I read aloud, “Harrison Levi… It’s the same handwriting.” A grin slowly took over my face, “the strokes and loops, the way he strings the letters together.” I turned to Brooks with a wide smile. “It’s him. He wrote the annotations.”

He didn’t move for an instant as if he’d been watching me from the moment I opened my mouth with some sort of fascination. The second passed by fast and he stood up. “Do you know what this means? Clove, we have his address. We can find this guy!”

Running a hand through my hair, I looked back at Brooks, beaming with excitement. “We found him…He’s alive and we know where he lives.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “We even have a party to crash!”

He ran a hand through his hair as well, full of disbelief, in the frenzy of our eureka moment, picking me up, hands on my waist as he swung me around in a thrill. All I could do was chuckle with the same happiness and anticipation. A sense of butterflies in my stomach I finally understood.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for what happened right after, however.

#challenges #//fics #//crooks #brooks tag #nate tag #eloise tag #barnes and rogers tag #//conspiracy #ending hmmmm

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