#and I have a one shot written where he desperately tries to win a staff for Jade's mage kid via drinking contest and it just goes wrong

[justashamwithwastedpotential]

OCCE - Jade Overview

Masterlist

Meet Jade!

A master thief, Nightingale, assassin, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Arch-Mage of the College, Harbinger of the Companions, Dragonborn/Alduin's Bane, and Thane of every hold in Skyrim. Also a lovely mother of six children, married to a werewolf, and has a vampire lord as a best friend.

Jade has gone through her fair share of adventures, most of them begrudgingly, but it has earned her a fancy amount of titles.

And riches.

So many riches.

She originally got her start as a member of the thieves guild in a town called Riften, but after botching a job and killing a witness to her crime, she sought out shelter with the infamous assassins of the Dark Brotherhood.

But the Mistress of the Sanctuary, Astrid, had her doubts about one of the newest additions to the crew, a jester named Cicero who had taken a dislike to Astrid and the other members' blatant disregard for the Brotherhood's traditions. Astrid sent Jade to spy on Cicero by hiding in the coffin he tended to that held the ancient bones of the Dark Brotherhoods unholy matron, the Night Mother.

It was while she was hiding that the Night Mother reached out to her marking Jade as the new Listener for the Dark Brotherhood. Aka she now gets to be the only person in the world who hears the voice of a long dead woman in her head telling her who to murder. A glamorous position I assure you.

Jade denied her role at first, and took every measure she could to evade it. She traveled across Skyrim gaining favors in every hold, gained housing in every major city, settled down and focused on raising her children. But the Night Mother's voice echoed in her head all the same until she gave up pretending that her life of being the altruistic hero was something she wanted and she returned to serving the Brotherhood.

Her kids however, still continued to grow older eventually heading off in different directions to pursue their own dreams. And while Jade traveled to the mage's college to drop off one of her daughters she got roped into a series of events that eventually lead to her becoming Arch-Mage of the college despite knowing a grand total of like, four spells at the time. No one protested or questioned this development (much to Jade's annoyance).

Similarly to the mages college, through misguided intentions, coin, and a bit of blackmail she also ended up the leader of one of the most "honorable" groups of fighters in Skyrim. Unlike the mages, everyone questioned this, but still no one protested out of respect for the previous Harbinger's wishes.

It was here however that she met a man named Farkas who was often assigned as her companion on these missions. At first, she considered him a hindrance, but eventually came to appreciate the giant meat shield- I mean skilled fighter that he was. She'd grown used to his presence, and he'd come to respect her, even more so after she became Harbinger.

They continued to travel together and eventually most of Jade's kids had begun taking a liking to him, and one by one they all started to band together to try to convince Jade to marry him, some less subtly than others (the oldest did not approve, but he was out voted by his siblings).

They were unsuccessful in their attempts, but the idea of courtship did start to stick, and after Jade had gone on to save the world from the dragon uprising (as a main character does) Farkas officially proposed to her.

For sake of the stardew bit we're starting here in the timeline: with the two hunting down some cultists who crashed their wedding ceremony.

Which means Farkas has just been left stranded somewhere without his wife. Whoops.

He'll probably be okay.

Life in the Valley (Coming Soon)

[ithebookhoarder]

Chapter 11:  A New Equilibrium.  (The Gangster’s Daughter)

Masterlist:

Also available on AO3:

Warnings: Original Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Explicit Language, Gangsters, Period Typical Attitudes, Parent Tommy Shelby, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent.

----------

Life adopted an unusual but steady rhythm the following weeks after the mens return home both in and out of Watery Lane. 

Business was booming again, with the Shelbys at the helm. Men, all eager to enjoy the spoils of life back home in the city, eagerly filled the shop day after day, money in hand and bets ready to be placed. 

There was something celebratory about it all. About seeing the hope in mens eyes as they’d handed over their bets. About hoping their luck had changed, even in most cases it hadn’t. Still, every win was significant as the staff handed over the winnings with a happy grin and handshake. 

The staff in the shop felt similarly. Many hadn’t seen one another since the start of the war, having been assigned to various regiments. For those men, to be reunited again was something they’d been dreaming of. There were cheers and hugs as they’d arrived their first day back, laying eyes on the lucky souls who’d returned. 

Not everyone had been so lucky, as the vacant desks reminded them. Of course, there were plans to find people to replace their positions but it was obvious it would be no small feat. There may have been hundreds of men desperate for work, but none of them would be those brave souls who had perished in France, all in the name of king and country. 

Still, everyone did their best not to dwell, as was the way of life in Birmingham. 

The Shelbys, in particular, had had a lot to catch up on. Four years worth of stories and news was quite a lot, even with the letters they’d been writing back and forth. 

For example, Evie told them all about her schooling, and the fact she’d managed to secure a prefect badge for the final year. She couldn’t help but beam as she saw the pride swell in her father’s face - even if John and Arthur laughed themselves sick at the thought. 

“A Shelby prefect? Ha! Now I have heard it all.”

She paid them no mind, finding it a little funny herself. At least she gave them something to laugh about, considering the bleak stories they’d shared. Granted, they made a valiant effort to try to liven them up, with the odd joke or two but even that couldn’t mask the death and horror of war, written all over their faces. Finally, something the Shelby smile couldn’t hide. 

It was the same look Evie saw in John’s eyes when she went with him to visit Martha’s grave. They’d chosen to bury her in the cemetery just outside of the city, knowing she would have liked the fresh air, and rolling green fields around them, full of flowers. Evie had been to visit many times during the war, using it as a chance to escape when the house and the people in it had become too much. 

She’d often sit and speak to Martha, telling her about what John had written in his latest letter, or even bringing her newborn child to see her. Evie knew Martha would have liked that, to see for herself that they were alright. She also knew Martha was probably happy to see John here as well, to know he was back in the city and safe. 

So, she pointed him to the grave and left him to talk privately, knowing he probably had a lot to say. Four years was a long time after all. 

There were other small changes too, since John, Arthur and Tommy had returned. The fact people tipped their caps at Evie when they saw her in the street - police included - was enough to make her falter. She’d hadn’t noticed it these past years, or if she had it had never been repeated enough to spark her attention. 

It was as if the whole city knew the Shelby men were back. As if, the whole city was watching. Waiting. 

Waiting for what?

It was an odd feeling. One Evie was quick to bury. No matter what Polly may have said had she known, there was too much to be happy about to let something as trivial as a premonition ruin it. 

What good was superstition anyway? It was all rubbish. 

Wasn’t it?

——

Evie should have learned a long time ago not to dismiss the idea of the supernatural, or that her aunt had a scary habit of being right. 

She should have listened to her aunt’s warnings of premonitions. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have been so startled when she awoke one night. 

It had been weeks now, since her father and uncles had returned to Small Heath. 

Evie bolted upright, panting as she tried to work out what had woken her. Normally, she was a deep sleeper. It took saucepans or someone jumping on her to wake her from a good night’s sleep. However, tonight, something had yanked her from unconsciousness. 

Then she heard it again: the muffled screams from down the hall. 

Evie felt her blood run cold. Never before had she heard a sound so full of pain and fear. It rattled her enough that she gasped, feeling a tremor run down her spine. 

It wasn’t a ghost or some demon in the night. This wasn’t one of her books, after all. The sound was painstakingly real and loud, echoing through the wall behind her. Wait. That was her father’s wall? Did that mean-?

Evie was already out of bed. 

She didn’t even think as she bolted for the door and towards her father’s room. Her trembling hand reached for the doorknob and threw it open, preparing herself to see some horrific scene or someone attacking him. 

But that wasn’t what she saw. 

Evie gasped at the sight. 

“Dad?” 

She assumed it was her father, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. All she could see was a pale figure thrashing about on the bed before her, illuminated by the thin strips of moonlight pouring in through the window. 

Tangled up in his sheets, a thin sheen of sweat plastering his body, Tommy Shelby almost looked possessed. Sobs and half formed shouts escaped him as his limbs thrashed about, reaching for something Evie couldn’t see. Some invisible demon.

It terrified her. 

What did she do? Her instinct was to rush to his side, to try and gently shake him awake. 

“Dad?” she encouraged, trying and failing to release him from the mental torment he was trapped in. How had he done it, all those times before, when she’d been small and similarly afflicted?

Evie couldn’t remember. Her panic was too strong as it rang in her ears, muting out anything that wasn’t her father. 

“Dad! Wake up! It’s ok,” she pleaded. “You’re home. You’re safe. Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open. A sudden cry escaped his lips, sending her staggering backwards in a panicked daze. 

“Dad. Stop. It’s me,” Evie began. 

However, her words clearly had no impact on him. He was a man in a trance, still gripped by whatever terror was still inside him as he flung out a hand onto the bedside cabinet and bolted upright. 

His eyes whirled to her. 

She then noticed what was in his hand… The gun was pointing directly at her. 

She screamed.

 It fired. 

Her legs gave way as she dropped to the floor, covering her head as she felt herself go numb. The sound was deafening, the shot ringing in her ears as she stifled a sob of panic. 

Plaster showered down on her head from the bullet hole above her. 

The sound apparently woke her father from his terror induced haze as she heard the gun clatter to the ground. She felt it as he hurried to her side, cursing and trying to get a look at her trembling body. “Where are you hit?” 

He repeated it again and again as he tried to get her to respond. It took a minute before Evie could even look at him, let alone move her tongue. “I’m fine… you didn’t hit me,” she stammered, pushing his hands off of her. 

“Thank God,” he croaked, his tone suddenly sharp. “What the hell were you thinking?”

What had she been thinking? Better yet, what had he been thinking? Or feeling? 

“You tried to shoot me?” Evie gasped. The moment finally seemed to reveal itself to her in painstaking detail. She didn’t know what to say. All she could do was repeat the statement over and over again. “You tried to shoot me. With a gun. A real gun.”

“I didn’t know it was you. I wouldn’t have fired if I’d known,” her father pleaded, his voice trembling as relief and remorse flooded through him. “Listen to me, Evie. Never come in here again if you hear me like that. Understood?”

Evie nodded dumbly. “But… I thought… I thought you were in trouble.”

By then, she heard footsteps and knew they were no longer alone. The gunshot would have been enough to wake the whole house. If any were brave enough to investigate it was different. 

“Tommy?” That was Arthur’s voice, bellowing from the doorway. He looked almost comical in his pyjamas, gun in his hand, ready to fight. He would have been more menacing if his hair wasn’t poking up in all directions. “You alright?”

“Fine, Arthur. Go back to sleep.”

“I heard shots.” That was Ada, accompanied by a frantic looking Finn. 

“It was a mistake. An accident, but it’s all good now, eh?” 

Was it? Was it all good? Evie knew no one better at saving face than her father. She’d learned that a long time ago even if she had yet to perfect the art. 

Somehow, he managed to settle everyone and send them back to the rooms in the time it took Evie to calm her breathing. She had only just regained control of her limbs when he re-appeared, slowly easing her up off of the cold floor. 

This wasn’t right. She was supposed to be the one comforting him? Not the other way around.

Yet, despite shaking still and panting as if he’d been running a marathon, Tommy began to escort her over toward his bed. 

“Evie. Look at me,” he soothed, brushing his hand through her hair and gripping her chin so that she couldn’t hide from him. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened but it was like I was floating, looking down at my body. I didn’t even feel the gun in my hand. You know I’d never hurt you, eh? Never.”

“I know,” Evie whispered. A small nod was the best she could offer as proof. 

“It won’t happen again, alright? You have to stay out if I have another nightmare like that. I… I can’t control myself or my actions.”

“But-”

“Promise me,” he begged.

She’d never heard him so scared before in her life. His grip was tight on her, but not painful as he held her, held until she gave her word. 

It was clearly all she could do to calm him. 

“Y-Yes,” Evie gulped. “I promise.”

Thankfully, she saw the relief her answer gave to him. It was as if a literal weight had rolled off of his shoulders. 

Finally, he finally seemed calmer. Able to let go of her and resume something of normalcy. It was why he switched back to his paternal nature, reaching past her to light the the lamp beside them a moment later. He then leant back, pulling the covers aside so that they could both clamber into the bed.  

Evie wanted to laugh. The last time they’d done this, she’d been much smaller. 

“Are you sure?” 

Tommy nodded. “Would I offer it otherwise? We could both use some sleep and maybe with each other to protect us we’ll have no more interruptions.”

Evie hoped so. 

“Alright then,” she shrugged, nestling her way under the covers and curling up beside him. If only the others could have seen it. Tommy Shelby. Sleeping with his daughter curled in his arms. It was enough to make even the hardest of men melt. “Just don’t hog the covers.”

“It’s my bed, thank you very much miss. Should I read you a story?”

“Don’t push it,” Evie sniggered, even if a small part of her was tempted to say yes. She was curious which one he’d have chosen. 

However, as it turned out, it would have been pointless even if she had asked him. She’d only been in bed a moment before her eyes drooped closed. Apparently, coming off of such an adrenaline high was exhausting. 

So it was, Evie fell asleep that night, nestled in her father’s arms. Even asleep, her grip was deathly tight as she clung to him, as if trying to prove he was safe beside her.

She only hoped when she opened her eyes in the morning, it remained true. 

This was one dream she didn’t want to wake from. 

——

Tommy was gone when she woke. 

The empty space in the bed beside her told Evie that fact immediately as soon as she’d opened her eyes. However, her heart stopped racing as she noticed that along with her father, his boots were also gone - the boots her father normally wore when heading down to the muddy stable yards. His cap and coat was also missing. 

He must have risen early and decided to go for a ride. It was the usual Shelby tonic for most troubles, after all. No war could change that. If anything, he’d probably missed the horses and the chance to ride them for fun, not as part of a cavalry charge or supply chain.

Evie calmed down immediately. 

If Tommy had ever needed a ride, it was probably that morning. Evie wouldn’t forget the look of horror she’d seen on his face the night before. The ghosts that appeared to be weighing on his soul as he’d pulled that trigger and sent them plummeting into chaos. 

It would take a while for all of them to adjust. Evie was under no illusions of that and last night had made it all too clear. 

She sighed. She peeled back the covers, padding over toward the window and pulling the curtains back to let in the sunlight. 

Everything looked pale and starker in the sunlight than it had during the night. Then again, she’d never been in her father’s room enough to notice. It was his space. His sanctuary. One, she had always been eager to respect. He’d done the same. It was only right and fair. 

Well, until last night. 

It felt uncomfortable to be there without him. It had been one thing to intrude last night when she’d thought he needed her. But now… now she felt like she was somewhere she didn’t belong. Like she was about to be caught and scolded. 

Her uneasiness only grew as she turned back towards the door; the bullet hole directly in her eye-line. 

There was no way to avoid it. 

The hole in the wall was obvious. It was hard to miss, with the ripped wallpaper and plaster powder marking it for all to see. 

Evie couldn’t bear to look. Then again, at least it could be filled and mended, hidden away beneath plaster and paint. If only all such scars could be fixed as easily. 

With a soft sigh, she hurried out of the room and back to her own to dress, ready to face the day as best as possible. 

——

“Morning.”

“Morning, Pol,” Evie mumbled, skipping her way down into the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised to see her aunt there, pottering about as if she owned the place. She was there most mornings, choosing to come early before the shop opened. Then again, she only lived a few doors away. It wasn’t as if she had far to travel. 

“Breakfast’s on the table if you want it.”

Evie smiled gratefully, perching in a chair and beginning to fill her plate with toast and jam. It was her go-to in the mornings, and after last night, she didn’t know if she could stomach a fry up. 

��By now, Evie knew someone would have filled Polly in on what had happened last night. Even then, Evie wouldn’t put it past the woman for her to have found out through some supernatural means. She had an uncanny habit of doing that, always knowing what Evie was going to say before she even said it. 

This morning was no exception as Polly made her way towards the now cooling pot of tea on the side and began to pour herself a cup. “I heard it was an exciting night last night.”

Evie chose not to say anything. She didn’t know where to begin and honestly, she was too tired to start what was sure to be a long conversation. All she wanted was to get to school and pretend like the night had never happened. 

“You could say that.”

“I could. I could also say that, from what Ada told me, it sounds like your father gave you quite the fright.”

“I don’t know if nearly being shot by your father counts as simply ‘quite a fright’,” Evie grumbled, aggressively biting the edge off of her toast. “I didn’t… It’s not his fault, I know. It was stupid of me to think he could go off to war and come back the same person but I did. Alright? I did and now I don’t know what to do, Pol.”

Her aunt sighed. She gently perched herself next to Evie as she listened to her confession. She then pushed forward a bowl of porridge as an offering and made sure Evie ate some before talking. 

“You’re not stupid, Evelyn Shelby. You’re a lot of things and stupid isn’t one of them, alright?” she began calmly. “Secondly, I think you were being hopeful before, when you thought about your father coming home. You were just a child, Evie. What did you expect? There was nothing wrong with hope. God knows we needed as much of it as we could get with everything happening over in that Hell Hole. Your father did an admirable job hiding any details from you in his letters, but I’ve heard people talk. I know the horrors he must have seen.”

Horrors that now continued to plague him, or so Evie suspected. Why else did he sleep with a gun so close by? 

“You both did what you needed to survive, Evie. Now that everything’s changed, the war’s over and we’re trying to pick up the pieces of our lives,” Polly continued firmly, making it clear she didn’t want to hear her niece berating herself again any time soon. “There is no right or wrong way to feel. There isn’t a guide book on how we’re supposed to behave and act. It’s down to us to listen to one another. To protect each other and support our family."

She made it sound so easy. Evie didn’t even know where to start with such a request. Wasn’t it her need to make sure her father was ok that had got her into that mess last night? How was she supposed to support a man who wouldn’t even tell her the first thing about what he’d been through or how he felt?

Then again, it wasn’t exactly as if she was going to win an award anytime soon for her emotional honesty. She’d inherited that much from him. 

Evie sighed. She bit her lip as she tried to control the urge to cry. “Will we ever get back to how we used to be, before all this?”

“I could read your leaves but even then it isn’t a guaranteed thing,” Polly exhaled, letting loose a plume of smoke from her lips. “There are somethings even the spirits can’t help with or answer. This is one of those things… There’s a darkness in men, Evie. They each have their own demons to fight, just as we women do too.”

“Demons?”

Was that was she was calling the nightmares plaguing her father and uncles? It wasn’t fair. Hadn’t they all done enough fighting for a lifetime. They didn’t deserve to come home and have to continue fighting for their sanity as a result of a stupid war they hadn’t even started in the first place. To have their choices on the battle field haunting them. To have their sins linger…

“Does - does that mean,” Evie stammered, “being a soldier, he must have killed. They all must have. Dad almost did last night… Is he a good man?” 

It was the first time she’d ever uttered those words aloud, the first time she’d been brave enough to truly want an answer. Even after all she’d seen since she’d entered Watery Lane. 

“War changes men. I don’t think there is a set definition of ‘good’ but I know he loves you. He loves you so much he was willing to go off to war and be shot at for you,” Polly sighed, squeezing the girl’s shoulder comfortingly. “That’s all I care about and all you need to know right now. Your father needs to handle all of this, his own way. Give him time.”

“I gave him four years, Pol,” Evie sighed. “How much more time am I supposed to give?”

Nevertheless, she knew better than to argue any further, so merely looked back down at her porridge and ate silently. It was only as she went to place the dish in the sink that she finally saw the man in question. 

Her father was always a composed man, no matter how rushed he was. This morning was no exception. Despite the fact he was already running late, and hadn’t even done up his waistcoat yet, Tommy Shelby strolled about with utter composure. 

“Morning all,” he greeted, reaching for the teapot and a cup. His chipper tone was completely at odds with his exhausted appearance. The bags alone under his eyes alone made him look almost ill, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

“It lives,” Pol remarked, even if living was a bit optimistic for the state he was in. “Some of us have been up for hours, you know. John and Arthur are outside waiting to open. It was payday yesterday and half the town are banging on the doors.”

“What are you keeping the good people waiting for then?”

Polly rolled her eyes, murmuring something under her breath about Shelby men and curses as she stubbed out her cigarette and marched out of the room. It was time to unleash the masses and like a tidal wave, they would come, money in hand, bets ready to be placed. 

Hence why Evie was more than eager to make her escape. The last thing she needed was to be trampled to death in a stampede of factory workers and drunkards. So she hastily grabbed her bag and coat off the hook by the door, slipping both on as she made her way past her father and toward the rear exit. 

“See you later,” she gasped.  

However, she hadn’t even made it to the door before she heard her name called. She paused, looking back over her shoulder. 

“Yes?”

“I want you home straight after school tonight,” Tommy began, his tone oddly calm. “Alright?”

Evie paused. “But I was going to go by the yard-”

“Well, change of plans,” Tommy interrupted, smiling as he tried to soothe the sting in his words. “Look, these streets have changed since the men came back. I don’t feel comfortable with you wandering out there on your own.”

“But I wouldn’t be alone, I’d be with Uncle Charley-”

“It’s not up for debate, Evie.” His tone was starting to grate on her nerves, as was his distance. It was like when she’d first joined them all over again, barely seeing him except when he needed something or wanted to check she was still breathing. “I mean it,” he repeated, watching her for her acceptance. “For the time being I want you to come home straight after school. If you want to go by the yard then one of us can take you, but I don’t want you out there alone.”

Maybe it was last night that had rattled him. Evie couldn’t be sure, but if coming home meant he would relax for even a moment then it was the least she could do. “Fine,” she conceded, rolling her eyes and stealing a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” he echoed, a smile cracking his otherwise cool expression. “Now go and show them other kids what Shelby brains are capable of, ey?"

“On it.”

——-

Ever since that night she’d avoided his room or even discussing anything related to their nighttime conflict. Of course, she still heard the odd moan, thud or cry. Only the odd night or so passed without a sound coming from her father’s room, but Evie wasn’t blind. She knew nothing had improved, even if he had found a temporary relief.

Evie, however, had found no such relief. 

She was starting to go stir crazy in this house. It was now so loud, so crowded. Even though she wouldn’t have changed having them home for the world, she could have done without the noise and interruptions her father and uncles brought with them. Especially when she had work of her own to do that didn’t involve horses, betting or being a Blinder. 

She’d resorted to studying at Polly’s sometimes after school. She’d also resorted to utilising the Garrison during the quieter periods, when she knew almost no patrons would be inside. Harry never minded, in fact he was rather supportive, letting her and Lara (when her brothers drove her mad) utilise the private room for her study sessions. 

At least they both understood the struggle of a busy, testosterone fuelled house. They also understood the necessity of having female allies to get through it all.

Like now, Evie had strategically placed herself in the parlour where Polly just happened to be sprawled out by the fire, a book in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She felt somewhat bad, utilising Polly as a human shield like this, but considering it was that or failing her maths test, Evie would take her chances. 

“All done, Pol!” 

Her aunt was quick to appear over her shoulder, glancing over at the girl’s work for herself. It was only after she’d given her nod of approval that Evie closed the book and put it back in her satchel by the door. 

“Lord only knows where you get yer brains from because it certainly isn’t your father.”

“What can I say?” Evie grinned, trying not to let the praise make her too giddy. It wasn’t often anyone ever received it in this house, let alone from someone so important - or at least in Evie’s eyes. Her Aunt was one of the people she most admired in the world, and one day she’d have the confidence to say it to her face. “I’m a natural. Must be the Shelby luck.” 

“It’s something alright,” Polly smirked, lighting the cigarette she’d had perched between her lips. “At this rate you’ll sail right out of Birmingham and to the stars one day. There’ll be no stopping a smart woman like you, not in today’s world.”

Evie secretly hoped she was right, even if she felt guilty at the thought of sailing beyond the smoky horizons of Birmingham one day. “If we can now have a woman in Parliament then who knows what’s waiting for me out there?”

“Amen to that - but don’t let the others hear you saying it.” Polly smirked again before shaking her head as her name was bellowed from somewhere else in the house. “Now go on. Get out of here, I don’t need anymore Shelbys under my feet.”

Evie didn’t need to be told twice. 

She was quick to gather her things and run them back upstairs, to her room. As usual, she placed them back by her bed, spreading the rest on her makeshift desk by the window. She loved that spot. It always managed to catch any sunshine the city offered, as well as offering a decent view of the houses nearby. 

It was a great spot to think in. To write. To dream of a world beyond the smoky streets of Birmingham such as the one Polly had just described. As she argued, there was nothing wrong with her dreams and she knew it. It was more the guilt at thinking of needing anything other than what Evie had here that kept her quiet. 

She knew her family would never see her desire for more as anything other than insulting. Or nonsense. So, she was content to keep such dreams to herself, mere scribbles in a journal. Mere stories she wrote by candlelight and stored in her desk, under lock and key. 

Maybe one day she’d do more with them. Publishing them had always been a possibility, as had living them to the best of her abilities. 

Why couldn’t she have daring adventures?

She was a women. Yes. She was young. Yes. But why should that stop her from doing anything?

Evie chuckled at the thought, hurrying back out onto the landing. She couldn’t see her family sharing her opinions, other than maybe Polly and Ada. She knew giving them her copy of Mary Wollenstonecraft had been a dangerous idea. 

Speaking of dangerous, Evie couldn’t help but pause as she reached her father’s doorway, staring inside. She hadn’t dared step over the threshold since the other night and the ordeal she’d experienced inside. It wasn’t one either of them had been willing to repeat. Even now, she knew she should have turned away and kept walking. 

However, curiosity had always been a weakness of hers. 

Her eyes flickered toward the nightstand. 

It was as if a siren’s call echoed from it, coaxing her in, coaxing her closer. 

Before she knew it, she had strolled over, opening the drawer and staring inside. Just as she’d suspected, her father had left the gun tucked away, wrapped in a cloth and out of sight. He would never agree to throw it out entirely but at least they’d found a compromise. The bullets loose in the drawer were all the proof she needed that the previous threat had been eliminated. If he now woke up and tried to fire, the worst he’d be capable of was giving someone a fright. 

The wall, and the family’s sanity, were most grateful not to be at risk anymore. Despite that realisation though, Evie felt a sudden urge ran through her to hold the gun. 

She knew better than to touch it, even if a part longed to. To examine the item that had almost ended her life. To know what it felt like to hold one, to know what damage she could inflict upon an other if she so chose. 

She shook her head. 

She’d stayed long enough as it was. 

Yet, as she went to close the draw, something caught her attention. Something she hadn’t expected to see. 

A pipe? 

Since when had her father moved from cigarettes to a pipe? 

Evie paused, checking the coast was clear before she picked up said pipe and held it up to the light. Almost immediately her face dropped. She didn’t have to be an idiot to know what was inside wasn’t tobacco. In fact, it was a smell she knew uncomfortably well from the streets of her old home in London. 

Opium. 

It had almost been a pandemic in London. She’d heard enough talk of dens that had opened and of the roaring trade being run through the docks of the stuff. Her neighbours had always been ones for gossip and there had been more than enough of it to go around regarding the filthy stuff that appeared to be flooding the streets. 

She’d heard what it did to those consumed by its enticing grip. She heard of their decay, physically and mentally - if they escaped being caught taking it and sentenced to prison. 

She’d even witnessed it first hand. The amount of times she’d seen addicts, penniless and lining the streets as they begged for money to fund their habit, was heart breaking. But such was London. It was a place for both the elite and the tormented souls that comprised the lowest rungs of society. 

Evie’s blood ran cold to think of such a substance in her house. To think of someone she loved taking it. 

Anger flooded through her, followed by disappointment. 

She didn’t know what to say or think. Instead, she chose the safest option for now, which was putting the pipe back inside the drawer and closing it shut. Out of sight, out of mind, or so she told herself, hurrying out of the room. 

Confused was an understatement for how she felt right then. Did she say anything, even though that would prove she’d gone into his room? 

Did she not mention what she’d seen and simply hope her father would confide in her? 

Or, maybe he’d simply stop taking it?

It was official. Being a Shelby was too complicated. When had this become their life? Where had the care free, simpler version of their family gone? The family who had spent summers cloud watching, and made each other laugh so hard they peed. They were never perfect, but no family was. 

But nightmares and opium? It was a world away from what Evie was used to.

She didn’t care what Polly had said. Giving it time wasn’t something she believed she could do. Not when it made her heart race and her palms sweat. First, she had been shot at and now her father was an opium addict…

She had to get out of the house - preferably before she lost her sanity. 

——

She wasn’t the first Shelby to escape the house by covert means. 

Evie had discovered that fact for herself some time ago, after catching her Aunt Ada doing just that one night. 

Ada had often been off by herself, enjoying the higher sides of life in the city - or so she said after being caught by Evie one night, shimmying in the bathroom window. Apparently her window had jammed shut, leaving her caught off guard. 

Of course, Evie hadn’t said anything to anyone, finding the whole thing rather hilarious as Ada tried to gracefully sneak in, her fancy dress and mud stained heels doing their best to give her away.

In exchange for mutual silence, they’d agreed a plan. From then on, Ada had been all too willing, assisting Evie in selecting something appropriate to wear. She’d also been the one to give her the first pair of proper heels she’d worn too. 

“Here,” she’d smiled, offering a slightly worn navy pair of t-strap shoes. “They’re your size but I haven’t worn them in ages. They deserve to see some fun again.”

And, boy - had they seen some fun since then. It was that same fun Evie longed for then, staring out the window and sighing. Another night of house arrest was akin to torture, especially if there wouldn’t be anyone home with her anyway. Polly would be at her home, Arthur and the men would be down the Garrison, and she suspected Ada was going to be out herself. That only left her, and her father, if he didn’t have some last minute business to attend to. That, or if John and Arthur tag teamed him.

It was Saturday night. Was it truly so bad for her just to want to have some normality in her life, some excitement? Most people she knew would be out on the town… and now, so would she. 

Her plan made, it had almost been too simple to get away with it. After all, Lara had been begging her for a night out on the town for weeks now. She’d called her friends when it had been quiet, and agreed the details as per their usual routine.  

All she had to do now was sit back and wait - a task she didn’t realise would be quite so challenging. Not when every moment that passed made her all the more tense and itch with a need to escape the house and the chaos within it. 

For example, the meeting that had been happening across the house was making Evie’s mood steadily worse. Even sat with Finn by the fire in the parlour, it was hard to miss a word being said. 

They had been discussing business for the last hour, debating races coming up, issues with the office and staff, as well as a few skirmishes here and there. Apparently the Shelbys weren’t the only ones interested in expanding their business and takings now that the war was over. 

“We’ll need their support if we want to keep that side of the territory,” her father explained, watching a very irate John and Arthur rile themselves up at the prospect of a fight. “We need to offer an alliance to the mill workers. They know what’s going on in that part of the city, as well as the fact they sit dangerously close to the Lees.”

“We can’t let those bastards snatch their support,” Arthur roared. “We need man power. Tom’s right. We need to send over an offer of peace.”

“I can do it.”

“You, Tom?” Arthur blinked. “It’s dangerous territory over by the Mill. Let one of the other lads deliver the message. It ain’t worth the trouble.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, eh?”

“Tom-”

Tommy shook his head, chuckling as he patted his older brother’s shoulder. “Come on, Arthur. I can take care of myself. Besides, there’s three Shelby brothers. Mum had her heir and John can be the spare if anything happens to me. What’s one less Shelby?"

The laughter from the group was instantaneous. Except for Evie. In fact, she could feel her blood boil as she turned and stormed from the doorway. Any guilt that had been lingering in her gut about her nocturnal plan had evaporated at the comment. 

How dare he? How dare he prance about like some king of the castle? He’d swanned off for four years, leaving everyone and everything behind as if they had been a pair of old socks. 

He could risk his life in the trenches? 

He could disrespect the miracle of his survival, something so many had been deprived, by risking his life again now? 

He could take opium whilst ordering her about? Lecturing her about self preservation?

The hypocrisy was nauseating. 

Evie swallowed, her fists clenching as she ignored the urge to say something stupid and start a fight she knew she would never win. There was stubbornness and then there was Shelby stubbornness. Instead, she stormed down the hallway, heading towards the parlour. 

It was official. If Tommy Shelby could do whatever the hell he wanted, then so could she. 

[jimtheviking]

So now that it's been a while since the ST ended, I'm gonna talk about why, of all three movies, the only one that worked for me was TLJ, and why The Mandalorian, Rogue One, Rebels, and Clone Wars are the best bit of New EU out there.

Okay so, first off, the basic thesis of this is that, when Star Wars works, has always been a story about one thing, and one thing only: Hope. And when it hasn't worked, it's been about how Cool and Badass and Edgy and Dark things can be in the Galaxy Far, Far Away.

So, let's start with the beginning, shall we?

The Force Awakens is a bad remake of A New Hope. And I don't say that just because JJ Abrams can't write or direct for shit (he can't, btw, but I'll get into that later.) I say that because, well, it's true. It's almost a shot-for-shot remake of ANH, except that unlike ANH, there is no sense of hope in the entire movie. Rey, Finn, and Poe are thrown into a Terrible Situation and they never once have any display of fear or doubt. They're confident and plucky and ready to win the day. At every point, even their lowest, they're plucky and scrappy and fighty and are never allowed to feel anything. And that means they can't hope for better things, they can't fight for a better world, because to their characters the better world is already there. It's the world they're in, because they can get what they want through Pluck and Scrappiness and Fighting Spirit, and never have to worry that it won't be enough.

Don't get me wrong, TFA is, of the two JJ films, better by a mile. Mostly because it has a coherent plotline. But it's still not good. Even when Han is killed, there is no chance to mourn him. There is no "I just can't believe he's gone" moment. There's a duel and a celebration. Leia feels his death and that could have been interesting to explore, but nothing gets done with Rey or Finn. Rey attaches to Han as a father figure, but it was Finn whose character was hamstrung most by Han's death. Finn should have been mentored in the ways of Roguish War Heroing by Han, just as Luke would mentor Rey in Jedi-ing, and Leia mentored Poe in Leader-ing. That is how the new Trio was shaping up to relate to the Original Trio, and should have gone that way. But no, JJ had to kill Han off for absolutely no purpose.

And there was no purpose to Han's death. I will get to that in a minute.

When Obi-Wan died, he died knowing he was buying the Trio time and that his sacrifice would help the Rebellion destroy the Death Star and ultimately prevent future Alderaans from ever happening again (and it did!) Obi-Wan dies in A New Hope because he knows that, like Leia said, he was her only hope. The only hope for the Rebellion. For the Galaxy. And, right after Scarif, he was the only hope she had. But now? On the Death Star? Surrounded by Storm Troopers, facing down his old padawan, his brother, his best friend? Now there is A New Hope (see what they did there?) and it's in Luke and Han and Leia and he doesn't die in vain. He sacrifices himself and that lets hope live on.

When Han died, it was, thematically, the exact opposite of Obi-Wan's death. Because Han wasn't expecting to die. Han's whole walking to meet Ben thing was him expressing hope - hope that his son would return to him, that there was good left in him - and then he was killed. Hope gets you killed in this movie, and it doesn't help anyone do anything. It doesn't save uncounted billions. It doesn't stop an evil Empire from terrorising the Galaxy. It doesn't inspire other people. It just gets you a lightsaber to the belly and kicked into an abyss. Han's death served no purpose except to show that Ben was evil. As if massacring untold hundreds of civilians to find the location of Luke wasn't indication enough. We knew Ben was evil. It was the entire point of the character. Killing Han was just to reinforce that hope is foolish.

Luke, as well, was terribly served in TFA. Luke Skywalker, who triumphed over evil despite hovering so close to the edge of it time and again, who does the right thing all the time, who every chance he gets tries to help and save people? That Luke Skywalker? He just fucked off to who knows where. Gone. Entirely. No explanation. Luke, who constantly failed in his Jedi training, but never gave up hope that he could become a Jedi, like his father before him. Luke, who knew he wasn't ready to confront Vader on Bespin but hoped he could get there soon enough to save his friends. Luke, who knew that there was no way he would be leaving Jabba's palace without a fight but still had hope that the Hutt could be negotiated with. He just...gives up. No explanation or reason given. Just...goes.

And that is the most wildly, painfully out of character moment in the entire ST for me. Because Luke was always Hope in the OT, and in the Filoni shows, and having him become Hopeless and leave? An absolute affront to the character.

But I digress.

I won't get into what TLJ did right (almost everything re: Luke, Rey, Leia, and Poe, and that throne room fight especially) and wrong (the handling of Finn, Space Monaco) but suffice it to say that TLJ at least understood that Hope was what made Star Wars good. Because Luke's sacrifice at the end of it was done just like Obi-Wan's. Luke did what he did, knowing he would die, but also knowing that it would buy time for Leia to escape. So long as Rey could get to her in time. He had Hope in Rey, and he had Hope in his own actions, and that Hope was rewarded. Luke dies, and dies a hero, dies giving Hope to the Resistance, dies a meaningful death for a hero to die.

And then we get to TRoS.

Oh god TRoS.

So, you know how I said JJ can't write or direct for shit? Here's a great example. Because we had Rey, a Jedi now like Luke had been, and ready to discover what being a Jedi means to her, and how she fits in the wider, larger Galaxy as a nobody, as a regular person who somehow became Greater than she started. As someone who isn't from a line of Force Users or other Super Special People becoming a hero and finding her place. Rey, who began her story on a desert planet, hoping desperately to be a part of some bigger dynasty, not having any confidence in herself being Rey from Nowhere, finds out she IS Rey from Nowhere, Daughter of Nobody, but becomes a Jedi, a Protector of the Galaxy, an important person in her own right, the Saviour of the Resistance. And then we find out she's the granddaughter of one of the most powerful Force users ever. And she makes herself a part of the Super Special Force User Dynasty. Completely destroying any character growth from the previous movie, because it's no longer Rey succeeding on her own, it's Rey being a Dynastic Heir.

Rey begins on a desert planet, digging things out of the sand, and ends on a desert planet, burying things in the sand. Rey begins not knowing who she really is and desperately wanting to, and ends up finding out, rejecting it, and claiming some other random legacy. Rey is no longer Rey from Jakku, she's Rey Palpatine and she wants to be Rey Skywalker so she just...claims it. There was a chance for Rey to be a beacon of Hope for other people who aren't from Force user lineages. But no, she's the child of a clone of the Emperor and decides she's a Skywalker because of an unexplained phenomenon that linked her to Ben. So without the Super Special Lineage, what hope does anyone have of changing the world for the better? None.

And, back to character deaths, Leia and Ben dying were two of the most hopeless scenes in all Star Wars. Entirely without hope. Utterly.

Why?

Well, let's start with Leia. Apparently, in the novelizations, she'd been forcing herself to stay alive to run the Resistance because no-one else could (despite like, a massive increase in operations staff, and, you know, Poe having been Leia's protogée in her Leadership Crash Course) and had been hearing Luke tell her it's okay to just let go and become one with the Force (what??) And so when she does decide to do that, it's when she transfers her life-force to Ben, to redeem him (maybe? At that point Ben hadn't had his weird Harrison Ford dressed up in Han Solo's costume hallucination, and it's not really clear why she's doing this in the film) and thus have him the Galaxy. Okay, that could work, but then Ben dies. And then dies again. Twice. (Though, really, only once, because apparently he got caught on a rock and broke his ribs and twisted his ankle when he fell in the pit, but you only learn that in the novelization. But I digress.)

So Leia's sacrifice to redeem her son is ultimately futile, because Rey managed to kill Palps on her own anyway, with the help of all the Jedi in the Force, and Ben was mostly dead. Then Rey dies from the exertion of it all, and that would be a shitty enough ending, bleak and hopeless - the only way good triumphs is by destroying itself - but then Ben comes back! And saves Rey using the healing powers Obi-Wan Kenobi used on Luke in A New Hope and Rey used earlier in the movie! Leia's sacrifice was meaningful! It redeemed Ben, who saved someone's life!

And then he dies.

Which makes Leia's death pointless again. Because she used the last of her life force to make her son Good, and then he just...dies.

And Ben's death is Hopeless in and of itself too. I'm not a Reylo fan - that dynamic just does not do it for me, generally, though there are some few well-written execptions - but how do you begin to say "The Power of Love can triumph over everything, even death!" and then kill off the person who did that? Like...that just says that Love and Sacrifice for others is pointless. That Hope is pointless. Because with Ben dying, Leia's sacrifice means nothing, and his own death means nothing because Dying Saving Someone You Love is just Suicide with Extra Steps if there's no Hope of Survival to it. The tragedy happens when a character dies hoping they can still make it back to the person they love. Ben, on the other hand, just...dies. The movie tells us that he's not worth surviving this, but Rey is. And so what, exactly, was the point of either Leia's sacrifice or Hope for her son?

Now let's get to the Filoni shows.

Clone Wars was a tragedy. Clone Wars, from the very beginning, was going to end badly for everyone involved. And it did. But even up to the end, they held out Hope that it wouldn't. And even after it happened, the survivors still Hoped that they could bring a return to Good. Obi-Wan sees literally everyone he loves die in front of him. Whether it's Satine or his fellow Jedi or Anakin, they all die. And yet he continues to Hope that the Light Side will prevail. Ahsoka loses everything and leaves the Order, but she still has Hope that she can make the Galaxy a better place. Rex loses his entire family, but Hopes that there are others out there who, like him, were able to avoid Order 66.

Rebels shows us that Ahsoka and Rex's Hope wasn't misplaced. That there was still a chance for them to do Good and for the Galaxy to resist the Empire. For Rex to find other Clones. For Ahsoka to find a purpose again. The crew of the Ghost hoped that what they would do would bring about a positive change. Kanan sacrificed himself knowing that Ezra, Hera, and Sabine would be able to help the Rebellion. Like Obi-Wan, he knew that he was not the only Hope - that Ezra and Ahsoka and Obi-Wan would continue on the path of the Jedi, even if the latter wouldn't join the Rebels, and that Hera's leadership ability and Sabine's connection to Clan Wren would help the Rebellion in coming battles. He died hoping that there was a greater good being served with his sacrifice, and it wasn't that he wanted to die - him looking back to Hera was all the proof that was needed - but that the survival of Hope was important.

Rogue One is pretty self-explanatory. Rebellions are built on hope. What did they send us? Hope. Always, every time, when it comes to it, Hope for the better is what people sacrifice themselves for. They don't do it because they don't feel like their lives are worth it. They do it because if they didn't, then Hope would die instead. And Hope is what makes life possible.

The Mandalorian keeps up this trend, too. Din was doing his thing, collecting bounties and not caring about anyone or anything but The Way until he meets the Child. And at that point, he feels something, a greater purpose, and when he's given his task by the Armourer, he accepts it. At first, he wants to complete a Quest, but as time goes on, he bonds with the Child and, once he realizes that, everything from that point forward is Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, a faceless and ruthless hunter, hoping that he can make this child's life better in some measurable way. When Din finds a settlement that's in trouble, he could just get what he comes for, but he knows that the people are suffering and you can't ignore that he has the Hope that the Galaxy will, one day, be a better place, and he can make it a bit better by doing what he does. So he does it. And keeps doing it. Because the people are hoping for salvation and, even if he's not what they want, he can at least fake it well enough that they don't realize it.

So yeah.

Hope is what good Star Wars media is about. It's what it's always been about. And when it's ignored, we get TFA and TRoS.

[nazyalenskyism]

Can’t Fall in Love Tonight (3/3)

Description: Chapter 3 of a modern Zoyalai political AU. Nikolai is running for office and Zoya is has been his right-hand woman since University. Feelings are finally realized and Zoyalai banter.

A/N: This is chapter 3 (the final chapter) of Can’t Fall in Love Tonight! I hope you enjoy and the rest of the fic is under the cut! My ask is open if you ever want to send prompts or questions! 

Ao3: Can’t Fall in Love Tonight

        “Could we— I just need a moment,” Nikolai said quietly, he felt strange, a little lightheaded, anxious and maybe panicked. Zoya looked at him, picking up on his frown, and in that moment he saw that she understood. She shot out of her seat, heading for the front of the room, commanding everyone’s attention with the authority of a general.

        “Right,” she snapped, clapping her hands together, “everyone clear out.” She was met with a sea of disbelieving faces, they’d all expected that the worst of the night was over and that they could simply sit and watch the results. “Did I not make myself clear?” she enunciated slowly, “everyone get back to work. We haven’t won yet, there’s no use in sitting around with your mouths open like a group of guppies when there’s still important work to be done. You can watch the results roll in from your stations, why do you think every wall in this office has a tv screen? Now get back to it!”

        Nikolai felt a rush of gratitude for Zoya as everyone started to trail out of the room, looking tired, but buzzing with anticipation for the results. He wished he could have as much faith as them, but he was worried. In the midst of all his negativity, something rather rare for him, he felt nervous too. Every time he looked at Zoya, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Something had shifted between the two of them these past few weeks, it felt like something had been lying dormant for so long and had chosen now to make itself known. Every moment between them felt charged,

        When the room had cleared out, Zoya made her way to the door as well, about to turn the knob when he spoke, “...Zoya.” She knew he would not ask, it wasn’t in his nature, but she also knew that he wanted her to stay. And so she would. She poured two mugs of coffee and sat beside him, fighting to ignore the jolt she felt when he took the mug from her, fingers barely brushing hers. They sat in silence as the tv displayed new results every few minutes, Nikolai’s fingers clenching and unclenching around his drink. She couldn’t ask him if he was okay, he would resent that she asked, believing that she saw him as being weak, but she also knew he couldn’t sit like this for the next hour. She furrowed her brow, unsure about what she could do.

        Nikolai felt his heart beating in his throat, his tie was too tight, his jacket was too hot, his mind was racing too fast. The decaf coffee Zoya had handed him had done nothing but give him another thing to worry about, was it actually decaf? The way his heart was pounding, it didn’t feel like it. He was usually composed, calm, in charge of a situation or on his way to getting everything under control, but in this moment, he was anything but. He knew that losing was not the end of the world, that he had a good chance, but more than his personal defeat, he was worried for what it meant to his friends, and the people he promised to help. If his opponent won, the Darkling would be pulling the strings, using Demidov as a puppet to do his bidding, and almost all of his policies were the opposite of what Nikolai believed in, what he fought for. Not only that but he could see the disappointment on his friends’ faces, they loathed the Darkling, and this had been a way for them to finally beat him in a meaningful way. And none of that would happen if he lost. He knew he could do what was needed, he just hoped other people voted like they knew it too.

        There was another aspect about losing that worried him, what would happen after. He needed to win this position so that he would have the adequate experience for the next, and if he lost he would have to run again in four years. Even if he went back to practicing law, he knew his team wouldn’t be working alongside him. Genya was talented and highly sought-after, she and David would have no issue finding work, same with the twins. And then there was Zoya, whose whole job was to manage political campaigns, and she had made amendments to her title so that she could be Nikolai’s chief of staff, something she would never consider doing for anyone else. He was beyond lucky to have her by his side, but if he lost, he knew she had been getting calls from senators, international dignitaries, hoping that she would join their campaigns. If he couldn’t pull this off, he might not see her again, not for a few years at least, and at this point in their lives, in two years Zoya might be married and living in London while running some big campaign on the other side of the world.

        Looking at her, her eyebrows furrowed, head resting on her hand, he decided her absence would haunt him the most. He’d come to spend the last few years relying on her in his work, in his daily life, as the voice in the back of his head. He didn’t want to know what it would mean to achieve the things he wanted so desperately without her next to him to celebrate with. Maybe it was the tired, scared part of him that acted next, tired of being alone, shutting out feelings he knew he possessed, however deep he tried to hide them.

        Setting his coffee down, he reached out tentatively, before realizing that hesitant behavior wouldn’t be appreciated, instead moving confidently, seizing her hand in his own. She gave him a look that not even he could read, maybe some worry, and surprise. He made to pull back, but she squeezed his fingers tightly, sliding just a little bit closer to him, enough that he could smell the wildflower perfume she wore on special occasions drift over. For once he didn’t want to speak, worried it would break the fragility of the moment, so they sat in silence, hand in hand until the projected results rolled in nearly an hour later.

        Zoya let out a shriek, jumping out of her seat, her hands flying up to her face in shock. “Nikolai,” Zoya said, her blue eyes brilliant with excitement, “Nikolai, you did it.” Her hands slid up to cup his face, her palms on his cheeks, “Nikolai, you won!”

        Nikolai brought his own hands up resting them on top of hers, “Zoya, we did it. We did it.” She was beaming at him, he’d never seen her more elated, and he found himself grinning too, her smile was contagious.

        “We did it, we bested him, we showed them all, we did it,” Zoya repeated, her head spinning. She had to repeat it or else she was afraid it wouldn’t be true. She let out a dazed laugh, letting her hands slide down from Nikolai’s face to his shirt, clenching the material. She let her forehead fall to his chest, letting her head catch up with everything that had just happened. They’d won, against all odds, they’d won. She felt his arms wrap around her, and they stayed like that, embracing for a blissful moment before Zoya remembered herself. ‘One. Two. Three.’ she counted before she started to untangle herself from him. He must have been counting as well, as he pulled away at the same time.

        “Right, well.”

        “Zoya I—”

        “Nikolai! You did it!” Genya hollered bursting into the room, her red hair a banner streaking behind her as she launched herself at him. He stumbled back as the rest of his friends streamed into the room, David quietly closing the door behind them. The next little while was filled with them embracing, celebrating, and Nikolai promising that they could all get drunk after he gave his victory speech. Zoya slipped out of the room as they all celebrated, dropping off small thank-you gifts they’d spent the night before putting together for all the staff because none of them could sleep. She got surprised looks from some of them, and attempts for hugs from others, and she nearly laughed. Despite what everyone thought, she was not heartless, and she did want to thank them for their competency, even if they chose not to utilize it at times. When she finished, she grabbed Nikolai’s speech from her office and made her way back to her friends. He almost always wrote his speeches on his own, asking them to review them, but three nights ago he’d pulled her aside and asked her to write one from scratch for him. Well, technically two, a victory and a concession speech. Everyone broke apart as Zoya came back in, heading to the ballroom where Nikolai would be making his victory speech. They trailed far behind the rest of them, as Nikolai read through what she’d written for him.

        “ ‘While my good looks may have helped a bit, I know my team was instrumental to my success, even if they didn’t approve of my runway dreams and of me modelling on the August cover of Vogue.’ I like this,” he chuckled, absentmindedly running his thumb over his lip. “And this part here, ‘as I like to say, we hope or we falter,’ very true Nazyalensky.”

        Zoya flashed him a quick nod, trying to distract herself from his stupid mouth. She found herself doing it more and more often since that night in his apartment, distracting herself from the way the light caught off his golden hair, the way he smiled when he saw a friend no matter how tired he was, the way his fingers brushed his lips when he found something amusing. Everything he did was infuriating beyond belief and sent burning waves of irritation through her— or at least she claimed it was irritation. She was glad that the election was over, at least the next few weeks wouldn’t be as stressful, and she could stop her mind from crumbling to the pressure and doing something as stupid as she had almost done that night. She chose to ignore what had just happened while they were waiting for the results, alone in that room together. She would have done it for any of her clients— no she wouldn’t have. She would have done the same for her friends— although maybe without the hand-holding. ‘Yes’ she said to herself. She would have done the same for the others, there was nothing special about that moment. She tried to convince herself that she was right, but she knew otherwise. Damn him.

        Nikolai paused outside the backstage door, his mind racing. He was still jittery from his win, even more so now that he was about to face a crowd of supporters and several news cameras. David was giving the speech that would introduce Nikolai to the stage, as Nikolai turned to face Zoya, “ After this,” he gestured to the stage door, “before we go to the victory party, can I read my concession speech? I want to know what it said.”

        Zoya hesitated, her nerves buzzing. What she had done had been a classic Nikolai move, which meant that he might not be a fan, it wasn’t what he expected of her. But he wanted an answer and so he’d get one. “I didn’t write one,” she said sharply, looking up at him through her lashes. “I didn’t think you’d need one.”

        Nikolai felt a rush of gratitude at her words. Ever-practical, the realist between them, Zoya, believed in him to this extent? Yes. She believed in him more than anyone else ever had, more than his flightly mother and inane father ever had. She’d stuck by him through the ridiculousness of this election, the madness of the last seven years. He let his head reel at that fact while he let his heart make the first move, grabbing her face in his hands, pausing for a split second and pressing a swift kiss to her mouth. She froze against him, and he began to pull away right as her hands grasped his arms pulling him back to her. Her hands slid upwards, tangling in his neatly styled hair, and he grinned, normally she’d be the one killing him for having a hair out of place.

        “This is a terrible idea,” Zoya gasped, pulling back slightly.

        “Really? I consider this one of my best yet,” he laughed as she hit his chest, drawing her close again. One of the biggest moments in his life was scheduled to happen in minutes and he couldn’t find it in himself to be anxious about it, not when he’d been waiting years for this.

        She pulled him close this time, throwing her hesitations out the window, pressing her fingers to his cheek. Her other hand moved to help him shrug off his suit jacket, letting out a breathless laugh against his lips as it refused to come off.

        “Seems I’m a bit stuck,” he whispered, eyes sparkling as he rested his forehead against hers.

        “Seems you are. Try—” she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps quickly approaching. Nikolai flung himself in front of the stage door, barricading it with his body as Zoya began straightening out his clothes, pulling the jacket up, straightening his tie and trying to flatten the strands of hair she’d mussed only moments before. ‘Now I remember why this was such a bad idea,’ she thought, fixing her own appearance with one hand, Nikolai intertwining the other with his as Genya knocked on the door.

        “Nikolai you’re on in a minute!”

        “Thank you, Genya dear,” he shot Zoya a wink, pressing a quick kiss to her fingers before pulling her through the door behind him. ‘Shameless,’ she thought, pulling her hand from his before they ran into their friends, ‘that man is completely shameless.’

        “Good night, and thank you.” Nikolai called, letting the cheers of the crowd wash over him. He had accomplished many things in his life, each more grand than the last, but this win felt different. Maybe it was the fact that he’d finally managed to figure out if Zoya shared his feelings, or the fact that in an hour he would be getting drunk at their victory party before heading to a surprise karaoke party being thrown for him which he’d already found out about from a sleep-talking David. He knew he must be grinning like an idiot as he and his team headed back to his limo, waiting for Demidov's congratulatory call. Tolya popped open a bottle of champagne as Demidov graciously accepted defeat and talked Nikolai’s ear off for twenty minutes about how he was going to go be C.E.O. of his father's company specializing in something or the other, and how he’d love to get lunch with Nikolai and talk about contributing to his future campaigns. His arm was draped over the back of Zoya’s seat, something he always did, but a gesture that felt electric tonight. He wanted nothing more than to go back to what they had started earlier, but he was sure that Zoya wasn’t ready for anyone to know quite yet. And so they passed the rest of the ride listening to David’s enthusiasm about how many votes Nikolai got, his eyes meeting on hers time and time again. As Genya chimed in, Nikolai moved, subtle enough that no one else noticed when he daringly slipped his hand down around Zoya’s shoulders. She relaxed ever so slightly, looking up at him with an arched brow before leaning into him in the slightest of ways. Nikolai suppressed a grin, tonight was something out of his most wild dreams.

        As they approached the skyscraper where the party was, Zoya’s phone rang out shrilly, the tone for unknown callers playing. She frowned, the only people who had her personal number were either sitting in this car, or at her aunt’s house, and she had them all saved in her phone. Reaching into her clutch, she pulled it out, there was no caller ID. Nikolai raised a brow at her taking a sip from his glass, all of the others in the car watching curiously alongside him. Normally she wouldn’t bother to pick it up, but she’d never gotten a spam call on this number, and she wouldn’t mind berating someone tonight, that and the tiniest worry that something had happened to her aunt or cousin and for some reason they were using a different number.

        “Who is this?” she said, by way of greeting.

        “Zoya, such a pleasure to hear your voice.” she froze.

        “No.” She pulled away from the phone, moving to end the call when he spoke again, loud enough that she couldn’t hide who it was from the rest of them.

        “Now, now Zoya, I just wanted to congratulate you on your win, you always were my most capable student, although Safin did serve her purposes too, until she decided to betray me.”

        “Shut up,” Zoya hissed, feeling rage coursing through her veins. How dare he say Genya’s name, how dare he call her, tonight of all nights. How had he gotten this number? Everyone who had it hated him more than the next.

        “You did a good job, Zoya. I’m excited to see what you do next. I’ll have a front row seat, naturally.” He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, if she tried to speak right now, she would scream instead. When he realized she wouldn’t he continued, “Jarl Brum has asked me to be his new chief of staff, and since his office works closely with Sobachka’s— your golden boy’s district, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of one another.” She heard Genya gasp, Tolya growl, Tamar reach for her holster, and from the corner of her eye she saw that Nikolai was watching her, a worried crease between his brows. “Listen you bastard,” she began, ready to eviscerate him. She thought tonight’s victory would be enough, but here he was again, taunting them again. She would not let him have the upper hand. “If you so much as think about any of us again, I swear to the Saints that I will rip your t—” Zoya stopped as Nikolai’s hand touched her arm gently shaking his head once, a simple warning. She knew he was right, they were in the business of politics, and he already had enough reasons to make their lives miserable. She wouldn’t let him see how angry she was. She would wait, quietly, until the moment he least expected it, and then she would end his career. ‘I will drag him down like he deserves. He won’t be able to hurt them again.’ she vowed.

        “Lose this number. Don’t cry too much over the big bonus check you would’ve gotten if you had half the brains I do and had won. Goodnight Alexis.” Zoya spat, hanging up before he spoke again. She tossed her phone onto the floor carelessly, she had no use for it anymore, not when that snake had her number. Tamar let out a whoop as Tolya and Genya began clapping.

        “I can’t wait to see you kick his ass in person!” Genya sang, slipping out of the car not waiting for the rest to follow, and Zoya heard her voice continue, moving away from them. When it was just her and Nikolai left, she began to stand, halting as his hand slipped to her knee. She didn’t want to hear him ask if she was okay, she loathed to think that any of them had to see that part of her. Instead, he surprised her.

        “I didn't get to thank you yet.”

        She snorted, “thank me for what? Almost threatening to murder a man on the phone?”

        He made a face, “no, for helping me win.”

        “ You would’ve definitely lost without my help.”         “Undoubtedly.”

        After a brief silence, they both spoke at once, “what now?”

        He let out a strained laugh, looking weary as he asked, “do you want to do this Nazyalensky?”

        “Do you?”

        “Yes,” he breathed, cupping her face with a hand, “yes.”

        She swallowed, turning her face into his palm, she had pretended she hadn’t wanted this for so long that she was afraid to question herself now. Did she want this? She did, but she was also scared. Scared to ruin what they had, scared it wouldn’t work out, scared he would be just another person who left her behind. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the night, or the glimmer in his eyes, but she didn’t care. She wanted this, that much she was sure of.

        She nodded once, smiling at the dorky look on his face, sliding her hand into his coat pocket and typing furiously into his phone.

        “What are you doing?”

        “Telling Genya we left something at the office. That buys us 30 minutes before we have to actually go up.”

        “Clever, Nazyalensky.” he chuckled, tapping a finger against the divider, asking his driver to circle around the city for 30 minutes. He smiled as she tapped her glass against his in a cheers, falling back against his outstretched arm, letting him pull her closer against his side. When she tilted her head up, she tasted sweet like champagne, though she was anything but, and Nikolai knew he could definitely get used to this.

[ankhlesbian]

FE Femslash Week 2018: Day 7

Prompt: None

Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates

Ship: Mitama/Soleil

Title: Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue

AO3 Link: Here

Mitama agrees to go on a date with Soleil under one condition: She must first bring her an original poem that meets her standards.

“Mitama! I want to court you!” Soleil declares, pointing dramatically at said teen. Mitama looks up from her writing and stares blankly back at her.

“Pray tell, what would this entail?” Soleil flashes a grin, gesturing emphatically with her hands as she replies.

“I’d bring you flowers and gifts! Homemade pastries, fresh roses, stuffed animals, the whole five yards. I’ll stand wistfully outside your window, reciting heartfelt poetry to make you swoon.” Mitama taps her quill against her lips thoughtfully.

“Poetry, you say? I shall accept your offer, under one condition.” Soleil bursts out into happy cheering before she can finish speaking. Mitama clears her throat. Soleil snaps her mouth closed and mimes locking it shut, throwing the invisible key away behind her shoulder.

“To me you must bring / An original poem / To earn a first date.” She bounces on her toes, saluting eagerly.

“You won’t know what hit you!” She promises, dashing out of Mitama’s room so she can get started. She’s halfway back to her own room when she realizes a major problem with that request. The last time she tried to read a poem to a girl, she had been laughed away and had promptly burnt the cursed thing to ashes. She’s going to need assistance, or Mitama’s going to never want to see her ever again.

“Ophelia!” She wails, knocking on the mage’s door furiously. There’s no response, so she presses her ear against the door to listen for any sign of life. It’s possible Ophelia’s out, but she can always just wait here.

The door swings inwards and Soleil stumbles forward. Ophelia raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her.

“I take it you want something from me?”

It’s kind of embarrassing to be figured out so quickly. Soleil clutches at her chest, eyes filling with sorrow.

“You wound me, dear Ophelia! I can visit my bestest friend whenever I want with no ulterior motives whatsoever.” Ophelia crosses her arms.

“I am always willing to provide my assistance to the less gifted, but I cannot help if you do not tell me what it is you seek.” Soleil sighs.

“Mitama said she’ll date me-”

“Congratulations! You’re pining was becoming insufferable.” Ophelia interrupts, eyes sparkling with mirth. Soleil scowls and elbows her.

“But I need to impress her with a poem first. You like books and scrolls and stuff, yeah? So you can help me write one!” Ophelia purses her lips.

“It is true that my Chosen status blesses me with an unprecedented way with words….” Soleil clasps her hands together and gives Ophelia her best puppy dog-eyes.

“Oh, alright. Stop it with the pathetic look, and let’s get writing!” Soleil hugs her tightly.

Within a few hours, they manage to come up with a draft of a poem. Soleil knew that Mitama liked to write haikus, and Ophelia assured her that they could easily write something that fit that format.

It isn’t even dinner time when they finish. Soleil stares uneasily at the piece of parchment in her hand.

“Do you really think this will work?” Ophelia pats her on the shoulder reassuringly.

“If not, we can just write another one.” Soleil takes a deep breath.

“Alright. I’m off, then.” She leaves before Ophelia can attempt to cast a good luck charm on her. The past few times she did all turned out disastrous.

She finds Mitama lounging near a practice field, her staff resting idly in her lap.

“You completed a poem so quickly?”

“You come up with them on the spot all the time. I may not be as good at them as you, but I’ve got charm and determination to make up for it!”

Mitama gestures for her to begin. Soleil unwraps the scrap of paper that she’d nervously crumbled while searching for Mitama and smooths it out. She can’t bring herself to look Mitama in the eye while reading it, which is really for the better since she doesn’t have the thing memorized.

“It’s a haiku,” she explains before clearing her throat. “Maiden born under heaven’s stars / Healing innocents of ravaged lands from afar-” Mitama whacks her on the head with her staff. The paper flutters to the ground as Soleil clutches the lump on her head pathetically.

“That was not a haiku. And it wasn’t even written by you.” Soleil deflates.

“How’d you know?”

“Vocabulary / Unique to only a few / Among them not you.”

“I consulted Ophelia,” she admits. “I figured she’d be better at writing poems than me. I’m rubbish with artsy stuff like that.”

Mitama stands up, waving her staff as a second thought, healing the bruise she caused.

“Do not overthink this. However, it wasn’t the worst first try I’ve ever seen. Effort expended / A reward to encourage / Future endeavors.”

Soleil cocks her head in confusion. Mitama places her staff under Soleil’s chin and tilts it upwards, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

“After one that meets my standards, we can get tea. I’m off to bed now. Slumber beckons me forth.” Soleil gapes at her as she leaves. Mitama really does like her back! That just means she needs to step things up in the poem department. She needs to pull out the big-boy tomes. Consult people close to Mitama, and then do something of her own.

This time, she’s going to hunt down Shigure.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Shigure covers a laugh with his hand when she tells him about Mitama’s challenge.

“You’re her brother,” she continues, undaunted. “Surely you know what she’d like.” He takes a moment to think.

“You could try singing to her. She always tells me that singing is its own form of poetry, and it would show creativity.” Soleil considers it. She’s far from the world’s greatest singer, but maybe Mitama will appreciate her willingness to embarrass herself.

“Do you have a song I could use? I’ll pay you back somehow, I swear.” Shigure smiles softly.

“I know just the thing. And don’t worry.” His smile grows wider, scarily wider. “As long as you make her happy, you don’t need to do a thing.” The aura he’s giving off promises terrible things in her future if she doesn’t. She salutes, too frightened to speak. He turns away to rummage through his desk.

“Here. I sung this to her all the time before bed when we were children.” Soleil takes it and examines it closely. Theoretically, she knows how to read sheet music. She can make this work.

The next morning, Soleil heads to Mitama’s room bright and early. It’s easy to get up early when you didn’t sleep. She’d spent all night practicing, and needs to perform before she forgets it all. She rounds the final corner only to trip, her face smashing right into the stone ground. Her hands come away from her nose streaked with red, which she immediately tries to rub off on her pants.

“I am awakened / Fortuitous accident / Good morning to you.”

The thing she tripped over was Mitama, who mumbled out her haiku while still curled up on the ground. Soleil turns to face her. This is her chance.

“I hope you’re ready for this. Listen up!” She doesn’t have paper to stare at this time, so she focuses on the wall behind where Mitama’s sprawled. She’s sure her voice is out of tune, she knows she can’t keep up the rhythm of the song, but she gives it her best shot. When she finishes, her voice is dry and raspy from the effort.

“How was that one? Mitama?” She looks back at her and…. She’s asleep. “Mitama!” The only response is a snore. Soleil sweatdrops. Well, that was a bust. She wipes the remaining blood from her nose and pokes at it, glad it’s not broken, then sits in silence, just watching Mitama. It dawns on her that this is probably a little creepy.

She gets to her feet, ready to go crash herself, but something stops her. Mitama’s still in the clothes she saw her in yesterday, meaning she’s probably been here since before dinner. Even though Mitama can sleep anywhere, the floor can’t be comfortable.

Soleil crouches down and hooks one arm under Mitama’s knees, the other around her shoulders, and lifts. She staggers the last few steps to Mitama’s room, but the bridal-carry doesn’t leave her hands free for door-opening. Instead, she kicks the thankfully unlocked door open. There’s some clutter on the floor, including, bizarrely, a couple of swords.

She makers her way to Mitama’s bed and sets her down gently. She pulls up the sheets to Mitama’s chin and combs her hair out of her face before withdrawing. She’s already turned away when a hand grasps at her shirt. Mitama’s looking at her blearily through one eye.

“I give you my thanks / A lullaby so peaceful / Made sleep’s grip too strong.” Soleil feels her lips turn upwards. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about her singing. She takes Mitama’s hand in hers, and she knows exactly what move to make to charm the pants off Mitama right now. She kisses the back of Mitama’s hand before returning it to the bed, and then leans over her to kiss her forehead.

“Next time I’ll have one that keeps you wide awake,” she promises before taking her leave. She’s ready to crash too, but she’ll do that in her own bed.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

She spends the next few days trying to think of a poem that Mitama’ll like, that expresses how she feels about it. She doesn’t know if there’s any words out there that can capture that, but she has to try something.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. She loves her dad, she really does, but he’s not the best at wooing ladies. But, he did manage to win over her mom, so he must have some wisdom to impart.

He nods sagely as she explains.

“You need to do this yourself.” She goes to interrupt, and he holds up a hand to stop her. “You’re my darling daughter. I’d listen to you even if you were talking about the most boring topic on the earth. It’s the same principle. She just wants to hear something from your heart, even if it isn’t a top quality poem.” It makes perfect sense.

“You’re the best!” She latches onto him for a hug. He returns it fondly.

“Anytime, sweetheart. Now go make Daddy proud!” He flashes her a grin and a thumbs up.

She doesn’t bother with paper this time, and heads straight for Mitama’s room.

She knocks on the door boldly, standing at her full (unimpressive) height.

Mitama opens it and smiles. Her hair is sticking everywhere, like she was just napping. The sight makes Soleil’s heart weak.

“My hair is pink / Your hair is blue / I’m crap at poems / But I like you / Let’s go on a date / It’ll be great! / We can drink tea / Just you and me.” She goes silent. Mitama lights up, eyes sparkling, and claps.

“Absolutely delightful! A poem so heartfelt / I cannot help but agree / We should be girlfriends.” Soleil grabs her hands and squeezes them tightly.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she confesses. Mitama swings their hands between them.

“I will admit to mostly wanting to see you splutter.” Soleil fakes a scowl.

“Rude!”

“You’re awfully cute when you blush.” Soleil goes red.

“Ah, yes. Just like that. Now, what were you saying about tea?”

Soleil knows the perfect place, in a town not too far from their base’s current exit portal.

“They’ve got an open floor for poetry and fiction reading tonight.”

“Then let us make haste.”

Soleil turns to lead the way, tugging Mitama’s hands along with her. It’s going to be the best first date ever.