#the writing is probably borderline illegible on mobile

[amuelia]

watched the first season of star wars rebels a while ago and the tales of the empire trailer reminded me of it again so ive been rewatching :) heres some mildly unserious modern/human au doodles (hera, kanan, chopper, ezra, sabine, zeb, the grand inquisitor)

never watched anything beyond s1 so thats the setting this takes place in

[rkivepacks]

TITLE: can i call you that in this lifetime?  (umarekawari] Pairing: taekook/kookv/vkook (Kim Taehyung & Jeon Jeongguk) Rating: PG13 Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Reincarnation au,  Word Count: 6,630 Trigger Warning/s: Swearing, Major Character Death but Reincarnated, Mentions of drugs

Disclaimer: This work is solely from the idea of the author. Should there be similarities with the works of other respected artists are purely unintentional. This also do not reflect on the real lives of the artists portrayed in this work. Comments, suggestions and any other concerns are accepted in my inbox. Thank you! 

Summary: “Whatever, you just admitted your dog looks like literal shit but with fur.”“That dog was you, asshole.”— the au where they promised to meet each other in all lifetimes but then jeongguk was reincarnated as a fucking dog

mimoto.

Taehyung closed the journal where he writes his letter to Jeongguk, keeps them inside his bag, before putting his attention on his phone who has been ringing with the notifications coming in in succession. The world they lived in was not as blessed. You only have one love of your life given to you whom you will spend all your lifetimes with. Sometimes, you remember them, at some you don’t. In some, you won’t even get to remember them – their face, their voice, memories of being with them in their past life.

Lifetimes wherein they could remember each other, where they always seem to find each other, always have a special place in their hearts. Lifetimes wherein they did not see each other or recognize each other always seem to haunt them, reminding them they can’t be happy in all lifetimes.

Taehyung remembers that one life time where Taehyung always knew ever since he can remember that he has to find Jeongguk. Needs to. Knew that Jeongguk is out there somewhere, waiting for him, or looking for him, no matter the circumstance. The said circumstance composed of the two meeting when the Philadelphia Police Department got a hold of a different man named Taehyung Kim, one that is innocent and in fact does not have a possession of illegal drugs. It just happened that Jeongguk was the detective who worked on the notorious drug lord that goes with the same name of Taehyung Kim, but the team who conducted was tipped with the wrong information, and somehow the group was led to a Taehyung Kim who lived downtown two blocks down the police station, working for a production company.

Taehyung was in the process of sorting out his luggage for his work-related trip to Northern Europe tomorrow in the afternoon when a knock rings around his rather quiet apartment. He drops the pairs of socks he was sorting out in his bed and ruffles his hair, a habit he has long picked up.

“Taehyung Kim?” A man adorned in police uniform greets Taehyung on the other side of the door, accompanied by another one with the same outfit.

“Speaking. Is there something wrong?” He calms himself down. Taehyung has a habit of getting nervous around police and hearing sirens. He figures it was something he had developed from the past lifetimes.

“We need you to come to the precinct, sir. The chief and detective will further explain it for you.” The unnamed officer replies.

Taehyung has taken political classes in university. He knows his rights. He might have almost failed the class but he learned something. “Do you have an arrest warrant?” He eyes the folded paper tucked inside the palm of the other officer, who handed him what must be the arrest warrant.

Taehyung scans the paper for the important information that must be indicated in the arrest warrant for it to be valid. Taehyung deems it necessary to follow the officers to the police mobile that will escort him to the precinct.

“You already searched my apartment and myself for drugs and you did not see any. You did not have to bring me here.” He huffs as he was led to a room. Taehyung was sure this was a plot conducted by the police of the state to pin any people that they can. He has read the news before. He also thinks he watched too many movies.

“Please wait here until we get the chief and the defective down here. I also got Officer Bae to call your lawyer.” The officer inside the room with him informed him.

He hears faint foot steps outside the room, making him think that it was probably the chief and the said defective. Is this how life ends? He thinks. I haven’t seen Jeongguk yet.

“Is that the notorious Taehyung Kim?” A voice shot him out of his violent thoughts that includes him being killed.

“No I’m not.” He snaps, crossing his arms. “Although I get told I’m notorious for my looks so-“ He explains.

“Is Taehyung Kim there?” A voice cuts him out of his monologue.

“As I have said, not the one you’re trying to look for.” He rolls his eyes then searched for the man who called his name. His eyes land on the man stood in a black shirt and a black bomber jacket draped on top. In fact, the man is wearing all black, and all-

Jeongguk. His Jeongguk was standing in front of him, in the precinct. Inside the interrogation room.

“Right in front of you, Chief Lee, Detective Jeon.” One officer breaks silence.

“I will handle the interrogations.” Jeongguk turns to the chief, who then nodded and walked out of the room, together with the officer who was with Taehyung minutes ago.

Jeongguk waited for the tell-tale sound of the door locking. He knew they did not have much privacy, considering Chief Lee and Officer Yoo were staying on the other side of the room overhearing the whole interrogation, through the one-way mirror and the microphones installed in the room.

“You- you deal drugs?” Jeongguk asks, mouth agape and stuttering once they are out of ear-shot.

“What the fuck? No! I already told you! Listen- I have a flight to catch tomorrow you can’t detain me especially if I did not do anything.” He explains, his eyes have rolled too many times.

“How have you been?” Jeongguk asks once he was seated.

“I’m good, I guess, minus the fact that I was brought here on false accusations.” Taehyung rests his arms on the desk, and stares at Jeongguk. He remembers the last life time when the boy’s hair was a lighter shade of brown, but he supposes being borderline blonde would not be appropriate for a detective.

“You’re really not dealing drugs are you?” Jeongguk asks. He figures they were given the wrong information, buying the notorious group they have been trying to catch more time for all the illegal shit they have been doing.

“You know me, Jeongguk.” Taehyung’s reply hides much more than what its surface would imply. Jeongguk knows his Taehyung. Knows he haven’t even seen drugs up close. Minus the make shift ones they use in filming sets.

“Detective, there’s something you need to see.” A knock on a door signals the man who informed Jeongguk who gives Taehyung a knowing look and a pat on his arm before fleeting the room.

Taehyung sits back, head hanging back on the chair, and blows out the air. He curses the universe for plotting this lifetime for them. Seriously, can’t we meet at a supermarket or some simple shit? Taehyung grumbles.

He wishes for a retake on those lifetimes where he met Jeongguk at an early age living only two blocks away. That lifetime, Taehyung knew he needed to get a notebook or something that locks to protect his letters to Jeongguk from his sister who has naturally a kick for checking out things around the house that peaks her interest.

He also could not and would not forget the time they met at a very odd circumstance involving a table, heels and a very drunk Taehyung on his birthday, who was given a fucking stripper to grind on his lap. Who knew the stripper was a friend of a friend, one of the choreographers in the university dance team, clad in leather jacket and harness, looking like a walking bdsm.

Jeongguk never got to see the end of Taehyung throwing casual comments about that day or the suggestions that followed the main event, Jeongguk grinding on Taehyung wearing nothing but his pants and a choker, of a private show.

A door opening snatches Taehyung from the road he’s travelling that would get dirtier if he had not heard the door. Soon after Jeongguk returns to the room with the Chief. Jeongguk has a pissed expression on his features that Taehyung has always been familiar with. Jeongguk has a lot of patience in his body, even more so than Taehyung, so whatever has been biting his ass must have taken a toll on him.

“Taehyung. They have another Taehyung Kim in custody.” Jeongguk informs him.

“Taehyung Kim, born as William Blue Silvester, hiding under the pseudonym of the same name as yours, has been caught just in time before he leaves for a sanctuary he owns off the Mediterranean.” The Chief supplies information, dropping a folder containing probably the basic information of the said criminal in front of Taehyung. He looks at Jeongguk for more words but one look from the man says everything is well.

After another few minutes of apologies from the chief and Jeongguk himself, Taehyung, who was allowed to leave the establishment as he wished to do so, and Jeongguk was left to stand outside the room he was just in hours ago. The two watches Chief Lee and Officer Yoo turn a corner and left the two in privacy.

‘I’ve been waiting for you.” Jeongguk remarks.

“So you have not been looking for me?” Taehyung jokes, not meaning anything behind it. Jeongguk laughs, throwing his head back. Once he has composed himself he pulls Taehyung by his arm and wraps one around him, keeping him close. Taehyung relaxes under the calming breathing pattern he feels from Jeongguk, resting his chin on the other’s shoulder.

“Got my notebook?” Jeongguk asked above whisper, still hugging Taehyung close to him.

Taehyung hums, “Got a lot of catching up and reading to do, officer-“

“Detective.” Jeongguk corrects which Taehyung ignores as he pulled back.

“Also, pay for the pens I bought for it.” He tuts.

“You smell different in this lifetime.” He comments.

“Yeah. I learned I don’t have a sensitive nose nowadays so I took advantage. I can handle stronger scents.” Taehyung smiles, remembering the whole lifetime he spent with Jeongguk who can’t last a day without being too sensitive with dust and anything that his nose catches a whim of. They kept a whole 9-pack facial tissues around the house for the sake of his colds.

Jeongguk gently pulls him back to get a good look at Taehyung, who has been staring at him too closely. “Will I see you more often now?” Jeongguk asks, hopeful.

“I leave tomorrow for a work. I’ll come back after two weeks. We can meet then.” Taehyung replies.

“I see.” Jeongguk nodded, his features dimmed. “Give me your number.” He commands.

“Did you not have my whole profile and whole life filed in one of your cabinets?” Taehyung jokes.

“I don’t want to lose a job, so.” Jeongguk answers back, shrugging at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Jeongguk offers the latter a ride home. He learned that Taehyung is two years older than him in this lifetime, he still likes black bean noodles, and his new job that lets him travel approximately thirty times a year. Taehyung learns that Jeongguk’s family in his new life includes a father who was also a detective in his days, which inspired Jeongguk to follow his father’s footsteps, earning a degree and a well-deserved position in his current post.

“Okay, detective. Show me your new self when I get back.” Taehyung says, bobbing his head up and down absent-mindedly.

“That can be possible.” Jeongguk turns his whole upper body if the space in the front seat allows the two of them. “Tae.” He whispers, the older, looking expectantly at him. “Call me tomorrow before you leave.” He says, resting his arm on the other’s shoulders, arms almost wrapped around him. Before he can stop himself he plants a kiss on the older’s temple, too softly, Taehyung might not feel it (he did. His heart beat that picked up tells him so).

“You’ve been alive many times and you never learned how to ask nicely. Good bye, officer.” Taehyung calls out as he walks out of the car, not noticing Jeongguk was a beat faster than him and is walking behind him to his front door.

“Detective.” Jeongguk corrects.

“Same thing. You all detained me. I will have you know I memorized the bill of rights.” Taehyung replies from his door.

“Is that so? Quit your job, then, apply for the vacant position in our department.” Jeongguk chuckles.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I might pay more visit to your work when I get back.” He taps the code for his door, waiting for the beeping sound to signal that it’s unlocked. “Good night, officer.” He leans up slightly to plant a kiss on the corner of the younger’s mouth, not caring to wait for his response as he lets the door close behind him when he got inside.

“Detective.” Jeongguk corrects for the second or third time that night to no one in particular, facing the door that already signaled that it was locked again for the night.

That night Taehyung opens the journal he maintained that lifetime that he keeps for Jeongguk, a tradition. His first one was acquired when Jeongguk got him one that almost resembles a unicorn, with sequins designed to change between two colours when you run your fingers through them. The journal serves as the records to keep the other updated before they see each other again in each lifetime.

[unknown] 11:49 PM Call me tomorrow. - jeongguk

Officer Jeon 11:50 PM Please call me tomorrow.

Officer Jeon 11:51 PM Can I call you tomorrow?

Taehyung read the texts he received in succession, as he picked up from where he was disturbed from his activity and finished packing his luggage and other important things that needed to be in his hand carry for tomorrow. He made sure his bed is free from any other things he might forget before sitting down, already changed into pyjamas, and reads the text messages. He reads each of them, picturing the younger typing away on his phone, contemplating his words.

Taehyung 12:04 AM Hard bargain. I’ll try tho

Taehyung 12:05 AM Good night, Officer Jeon.

He rests his phone on under his pillow, with the part of the phone where the speaker should be out and would be strategically placed near his ear for his alarm for the next day. He does not get to read the other’s reply, and Jeongguk figures out the event for the night took a toll on him.

As promised, the two right after Taehyung got back from his work trip. The younger had been waiting outside his apartment, in his casual clothes. He was way past an hour earlier than Taehyung but the older did not need to know that.

Beat from his flight and his two-week long work overseas, the two decided to have their late lunch delivered and just stay in for the first hang out of the century (read: lifetime). The first thing that Jeongguk asks for his for his contact name in the older’s phone to be changed.

“What’s your passcode?” Jeongguk was in the middle of guessing the older’s password to change his contact name himself, but all the possible 4-pin code the older could have used failed to unlock his phone.

“You don’t know my passcode. You’re gonna have my phone-“ He almost snatches his phone from the younger’s grip when he saw what was displayed on his screen. “-disabled. See, fucking brat.” He huffs, snatching his phone anyway, although it’s useless now that his phone was disabled for five minutes. Jeongguk continues to laugh from his seat, watching the older unpack his clean clothes from his luggage.

“You got another person’s birthday as your passcode? You’ve changed, hyung.” He chides.

“Yeah, that’s why you wouldn’t know.” He bites back. Jeongguk also would not know that his password was 1978. His favorite meeting with the younger was in the gloomy day of January 9, 1978 when they met at a court room, intent on opposing the other, as their clients were having a feud over properties of a deceased relative. He knew he left the court room with a settled case and a new person in his mind. It was one of the lifetimes they have gone through together that was peaceful. They were happy. They left that life happy and content with each other.

“Ah, hyung, I want my journal now.” Jeongguk sits up from the bed where he was laying down beside Taehyung’s clean clothes.

“Award-winning authors don’t give free books that they worked hard for, Guk.” He teases, eyes not leaving his task.

“You would not know that, hyung, they do. Especially to their loved ones.” Jeongguk feigns, almost feeling like he was offended.

“And you’re saying is you are one of my loved ones.” Taehyung states, dreading the younger’s answer.

“Your only love, hyung.” Jeongguk says almost patronizing.

Mood: Giddy, Content, Betrayed (explanation attached below)

Dear Detective,

We met today. I do not appreciate being dragged out of my apartment in the middle of packing shit and detained just because your officers thought I would have the energy to trade drugs/ Also, who the fuck thinks Taehyung Kim was a good name to use as a drug lord? I have so much to ask you. I noticed the scar on your arm. You did not have that the last time I saw you.

I’m also wondering if it is against your work conduct if we use your cuffs for personal purposes? By the time you read this entry we probably have already used it. But it’s ok, not everyone is a good citizen.

fuck the police, your taehyung

“Fuck the police, hyung? Really?” Jeongguk reads, not wanting to believe what he just read. He only read some portions, that being the first page, one from the middle and the latest one, the one Taehyung wrote the night of chaos where they met in the interrogation room.

“You’re kink shaming me and I don’t like it.” Taehyung looks at him.

“Whatever hyung, I’m gonna read this when I get home. Who knows what kind of kink you developed when you were alone.” Jeongguk shifts so he can lay on his side, facing Taehyung.

“Says the one who has a kink for being called an officer. You probably fuck your one night stands with your costume still on.” Taehyung huffs.

“That whole sentence is just so wrong in many ways.” Jeongguk changes position again, almost ready to pound on Taehyung after his next offense. “First of all, I do not have an officer kink. Second, this is not a fucking costume. I don’t even have a police officer uniform. I’m a detective.” He huffs.

“But you did not deny fucking someone wearing a costume like one.” Taehyung replies after a beat of silence. Jeongguk stands from the bed, throwing Taehyung’s neatly folded clothes at him, Taehyung whining a ‘hey, fuck you’ at him.

faster than you could say the word bye.

Taehyung did not remember falling asleep to a vivid dream of the last time he and Jeongguk went to see the fireworks show near the amusement park in their past lifetime. He knows he suffered from motion sickness after Jeongguk dared him to go three times on the 360 degrees Vikings. In his defense, the younger promised him head if he did (he did). It seems like he only dreams of his past lifetimes with Jeongguk.

The two do not always win.

The universe has a unique way of telling them that the two of them are lucky enough that they get so each other in their next lifetimes. The universe tells them that humans get to be alone too. They were reminded that they have happiness not given off by the other. They have lives lived separately, sometimes because they were both strangers to each other. Sometimes the universe allows them to spend a lifetime with a person that is not Taehyung or Jeongguk.

Taehyung hates most of them.

The universe, according Taehyung and Jeongguk’s experiences, was a big stage, and they were the leads. The universe seems like it planned for the two to meet, and deems it necessary that that was enough.

One lifetime Taehyung remembered was the one where Taehyung was a nurse at the Asan Medical Center. He has not seen Jeongguk in this lifetime yet, and he hopes he sees him soon. He remembered the talk they had in one lifetime where Jeongguk told him how fun It would be to see the older work in a hospital. Taehyung was assigned to the Brain Trauma wing of the hospital. Taehyung works with Doctor Kim, who refers to as Seokjin when they are not dressed in operating gowns, and their uniforms and only a table full of kimchi, ramyeon and soju separates them and not an operating table, battling for the life of an individual wishing to live comfortable for an extended period of time.

He has been asked to do the rounds before Doctor Kim comes for his operation that evening and the hospital has been relatively quiet and peaceful at this time of the year, compared to last month of every year where more accidents happen and the hospital tends to be busy. He comes back to the nurse station just in time Doctor Kim was getting his coat on him and checking up on some files with the nurse stationed at the desk.

Taehyung believes he has already covered three rounds for other nurses in favor of assisting other Doctors. The hospital does not suffer from staff shortage, but Taehyung believes they need more hand or some nurses and other staff in the hospital should learn how to do their own job despite the circumstance.

“Taehyung, how is Ms. Moon doing?” Seokjin asks, going over the papers brought out for him.

“They should be fine and be good enough to not be cranky at everyone. They keep changing nurses to help them. Remind me to never let myself be called to the VIP ward.” He rants, scratching the back of his head involuntarily.

“Yeah, not the only one who complained. I’ll request for you to be assigned to this wing soon.” Seokjin laughs quietly.

The alarms from the emergency room and Taehyung’s beeper simultaneously alarmed him and Doctor Kim of a patient immediately in need of assistance coming in to the emergency room. The two runs without further ado, some nurses working for the trauma wing already getting a hold of the record of the said patient who Taehyung can see was bathed in his own blood and he wonders just how harsh the accident have been.

“His heart rate is not stable. The witnesses said he fell unconscious after his opponent landed a few harsh hits on his head.” One nurse informs, passing off the information gathered by the ambulance team who responded to the patient. Doctor Kim worked fast as he suggested for a fast x-ray and a CT scan for the patient.

“Get the operating room ready real fast I need to get to his brain immediately.” Doctor Kim chides, talking fast, trying to one up the fact that he might not be able to save the patient from the internal bleeding that is currently invading the young man. Taehyung quickly does as he was told, contacting the radiology and department to inform them of a patient in need of immediate assistance.

Taehyung could not clearly see the young man’s face, thanks to the harsh beating he took and a mouth guard recovered from him that Taehyung assumes that he is some sort of a professional fighter. Taehyung feels an uneasy fit in his stomach that he attempts to attribute to seeing another poor soul fight for his life unconsciously.

One nurse was gently but hurriedly, cleaning off the blood from the patient’s face, that almost dried as the time passed, as Doctor Kim gets a good look on the vitals of the patient. Right now he makes out a jet black color of hair matted with blood that ran down from a laceration.

Taehyung continues to aid Dr. Kim, informing him of the other specialists awaiting the patient and the operating room. Taehyung scrubs in to assist in the bloody and dragging operation of the patient. He assumes the uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach and the patient lying helplessly that everything will be okay in the end. Things will be alright.

Things could not surpass the word ‘alright’ or any word that gives someone the comfort and assurance of a positive outcome. Things after the operation did not go quite well for the patient. The whole process was a success to some extent. The patient is alive.

But the patient is brain dead.

Dr. Kim blames himself for not being fast enough to get to his brain. The doctor takes off the scrub adorning him as he made his way out of the operating room, about to inform the people waiting for the fate of the patient with a heavy heart. Taehyung pushes down the lump in his throat and the tears that was threatening to spill out of the corner of his eyes as he assists the recovery team with the patient.

He did another rounds for the midnight shift, forcing himself to take his mind off a certain private room that seems to have it out for him, calling him and urging him to just drop everything and go there. His rounds ended with a final stop at the station, greeted by another nurse working the night shift.

“Taehyung, you’re way past over your shift already.” Nurse Kang, a close friend who he worked with for a year now, grabs him out of his internal monologue, ever so gently with her gentle voice.

“I just have another patient I need to check. Pass me the records for the patient in room 507?” He gives a tight lip smile, receiving the records for the brain dead patient from the afternoon. He turns the corner and locates the private room, knocks and enters to see an unmoving patient from the center of the room, multiple wires holding on to keep him as stable as they can get him.

He stands on the right side of the hospital bed, watches the rise of the chest of the patient before checking his vitals. He makes sure to keep them in mind and a mental note to keep an eye on the patient. He checks on the bandages that were also wrapped on the poor man’s ribs, having his fractured from an aggressive attack from his opponent.

Taehyung releases a heavy sigh that would be deemed as out of stress or annoyance if this patient would just be awake at this moment and not be in the waiting room for dead people, technically, with his current state.

“Jungkookie, was it a good fight?” He whispers, as if speaking loud would suddenly wake the patient up and startle him. If only.

“Did you last for how many rounds?” He adds. “I’m working in a hospital now. Did you plan for me to work in a hospital just so I can help stitch your ass back and see your brain? Sounds just like you.” He looks down on the Jungkook’s limp hand from his side and holds it gently, without lifting it up. Just gently caressing the back of his hands.

“I’m not going to fool myself and think that you will move your fingers while I’m here and suddenly be awake. I’m sure you know your chance of being alive after your operation is 70/30. I’m happy you were sent to this hospital. I can’t stay too long here. I’ll be back for you in the morning.” He stands up, wiping the tears that made their way past his lids, tucking Jungkook better under the blankets, making sure all is well, as they can be.

The next morning greets Taehyung with a sun high in the sky and the darkness of the night in his heart. He cried. He cried, called Jimin for an emergency, who understood and rushed home from his work at the local boulangerie downtown that he owns with Yoongi. He cried, wrapped inside Jimin’s arms that cannot seem to guard him from the pain.

Because he can’t. Especially if the pain comes from the inside.

He doesn’t get better. But at some point he got stable enough to tell Jimin a part of the whole story, at least from this lifetime alone, but he briefly explains things from the last and the other ones. The ones where they met at a better circumstance and ones kind of similar to this one. He had Jimin call off work for him, and tell his Seokjin hyung to talk to him some time after today. Jimin does not understand the whole thing. But he tells Taehyung he knows. Just from the tears that escaped him, leaving him, trailing behind the man who caused them to fall.

That night he assures Jimin that he can be left alone, who put up a gentle argument with Yoongi siding with him. The two won, insisting that they at least wait for him to be asleep and deep into it enough to not be awake in the middle of the night, breaking down and alone.

He does wake up at some point near four in the morning, the journal he kept for Jungkook lay atop of the comforter covering his thighs, pen in hand.

Mood: [unknown] My Jungkook,

Can I call you that in this lifetime? It seems like I failed to do so. In the thirty-two hours that I have met you. Can I claim you? I would like to believe so. We promised we always have each other. Always for each other. Even if the universe won’t allow us. I’m yours.

I visited you in your room and told you that I’ll see you in the morning. I guess it’s too painful to hold on and wait for me. I understand. I have many questions for the two of us. Do you think if I became a doctor instead I would have saved you? In my defense, the last time you did not specify if you wanted me to be a doctor or a nurse. You should have been more specific. I could have been a security guard at some point.

I’m trying to convince myself that it’s okay. We can’t be happy in all lifetimes. I believe I’ll meet you in another life anyway. Like we always do.

See you soon, Taehyung

kensaku.

There have been times wherein the universe is on their side. But having sides does not provide luck for the two. Jeongguk and Taehyung remembered the lifetime wherein technically, they did not see each other. Jeongguk claims they did, though. Up to this day, Taehyung still gets livid every time he was reminded of all his efforts. Jeongguk calms him down saying;

“Hyung, it shows how much you miss me and love me, isn’t that great?” Which earns Jeongguk a smack to the back of his head, quite painful. Taehyung does not appreciate working up a sweat in that lifetime.

Taehyung slams the journal on the counter top in favor of fetching himself a glass of milk from the fridge, letting the journal smack against the thick wooded material and the pen to bounce off the top and roll to the side. He downs half of the milk before settling down on the table, opening the journal to where he bookmarked it with the pen, although it was no help since he decided to slam it and let the pen loose its place between the sheets.

Mood: Bored, Livid, Impatient, Alone.

Jeongguk,

where the fuck are you? I haven’t seen even an inch of your hair or a gross particle that came from the sole of your foot in this lifetime. It has been twenty-three years. Twenty-three years of waiting for you. My family in this lifetime were nice people. I remembered you and our promise to each other when I was ten years old. The next year, I said it was okay, it has only been ten years, you were probably just eight years old at that time. But now I assumed you were twenty-one, you can now walk and find me if you wish. Sometimes the thought that you got tired of looking for me in the lifetimes we can remember each other and waiting for me in the lifetimes we can’t.

I’ll wait for you in all lifetimes and love you in all of them, Taehyung

RE: Mood: Bored, Livid, Impatient, Alone.

I’m {THIS} close to putting up a sign just to find you. I think it will go like this:

Lost other half: JEON JEONGGUK Return to: KIM TAEHYUNG REWARD: negotiable

Jimin said he’d help me design the posters and he’d even use your favorite color for it. I told him about you already since you annoy me I might combust if I keep them all to myself. He even said he’d have Namjoon hyung beat you up when you finally show up. After introductions, of course. At least get on first name basis.

fucking tired of your shit, Taehyung

“Is that your fourth journal? That’s tragic, Taehyung” Yoongi extends his neck from where he’s on the sofa, to Taehyung’s place on the floor, in favor of using the table to write on, beside Yoongi’s disgusting feet propped up on it (Taehyung’s words).

“These journals only got eighty sheets per pad.” He bites back, slapping Yoongi’s toes away from the edge of the journal.

“That’s three hundred and counting notes for Jungkook. Calm the fuck down.” Yoongi explains, almost pouting.

“Shut up math daddy.” Taehyung grumbles and closes the journal, making sure to make it look like he’s done with writing and Yoongi’s bullshit.

“Taehyungie, I’ve come bearing gifts for your majesty, great king, ruler of Armageddon, Lord Farquaad, Daughter of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazon, The God K-“ Jimin opens the unlocked door to the house, with his infamous line that they have had arguments over before because,

“They came from different scripts. You cannot be Lord Farquaad and recite Wonder Woman at the same time, Jimin.” That day Jimin shrieked out a loud “I do what I fucking want.” That made the neighbor check up on them, with Jimin screaming bloody murder.

A Vietnamese take out, a round of beer cans later, the four people in the apartment, with Namjoon arriving hours later with crumpled shirt and a stain Taehyung did not want to know much about, Jimin was able to do a rough photoshop of a wanted poster for Taehyung’s soulmate minus a picture that would really help them identify the man.

Jimin rant on and on about how Taehyung is really being selfish with not giving a photo of the certain man they were looking for. “I’m just saying, honestly, the odds of sixty Jeon Jeongguk can show up at this door once we post this outside. None of them would be your soulmate because his bitch ass of other half claims that no photo is in his possession.” He explains, complete with gestures and booming voice.

“He would not appreciate having his face plastered all over the city like that. I know him.” He explains exasperatedly. “Plus, you wouldn’t get the photos we kept both in soft and printed ones and our polaroid print outs are nudes. Not exactly appropriate to be plastered around the state.” He adds, fishing off the last pieces of fish crackers from the paper bag. Yoongi makes a face that screams disgust and Namjoon gives a knowing look and Jimin throws the tablet pen, almost missing his forehead.

“I thought I was going to fucking die as an old man, Jeongguk, that alone was terrible. But none of it would top the fucking stress you gave me looking for you.” Taehyung grumbles. Hoseok watches from his seat the banter between the two. He was pretty sure they had it before, already.

The movie they were watching was still playing, but the volume was being turned down little by little until it was borderline on mute, save for the occasional bass that hits the walls. They were having an unplanned movie night, since Jeongguk just got back from a work teambuilding for the weekend and everyone in the group chat got the word that Taehyung and Jin were having a planned stay in.

Jin was currently in the kitchen with Hoseok, preparing for another round of bottles of soju for everyone and the cup noodles left in the apartment.

The argument, one they have had before, started when Jeongguk started poking on Taehyung and played the ‘remember’ card. The others have been informed on what goes on between the two, including the whole context which they were having an argument over at the moment. The argument escalated when Jeongguk became specific and took jabs at Taehyung. In his defense, his flirting mechanism with his boyfriend was quite different than what usual couples do.

No, he was borderline bringing up a past that annoys the fuck out of Taehyung. Jeongguk knows it gets him frustrated and admittedly embarrassed (although Taehyung would not admit that). Now the two were still pressed up against each other, bickering with the occasional smacks and light slaps for each other.

“It’s not my fault I was fucking reincarnated as a dog, hyung. And don’t think I have forgiven you for naming me Yeontan.” Jeongguk huffs.

“Yeontan is cute, mind you.”

“Do I look like someone who deserved to be named Yeontan?”

“As if Gureum was a good ass name, Jeongguk, really, good job!” And wow, Taehyung really has it out for Jeongguk’s dog back in 2003.

“Gureum suits my fucking dog.”

“I called you Yeontan because Yeontan was brown and you look like fucking shit.” Taehyung slaps him with a pillow before standing up to barge into the kitchen where Hoseok took refuge in, away from the couple and into Seokjin’s comfort.

“Whatever, you just admitted your dog looks like shit but with fur.” Jeongguk speaks, pouting, making his words almost a murmur to himself.

“That dog was you, asshole.” Taehyung shouts from the kitchen, having heard Jeongguk.

Jeongguk whips his head towards the kitchen, muting the movie once and for all to catch a glimpse of his boyfriend’s ranting to the people who escaped the chaotic living room in hopes of not hearing the infamous story for the tenth time.

That night, trapped between the walls of their bedroom, Jeongguk coaxes Taehyung, begging for forgiveness that Taehyung refuses to give just yet. He was basking in the love and affection Jeongguk was giving him just for the older to give him attention. He already used different tricks. He made promises and he also resorted to using other stories from the past.

“Hyung, hyung.” He taps the older, who refused to face him in his sleep, opting to sleep on his other side that Jeongguk knows be uncomfortable enough and Taehyung would wake up with a sore right side.

“I’m sleeping.” Taehyung’s reply was short.

“No you’re not. Listen, for what it’s worth, we still met.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeongguk.”

“The thing is you looked for me. I love you.” He kissed the older on the cheeks, since the older refused to turn. He thinks staying up all night and beg for forgiveness while the older is already in deep sleep would do him no good. Staying up won’t grant him immediate forgiveness.

Taehyung was being really ruthless, in Jeongguk’s opinion. It was when he was on the brink of falling asleep, his mind already hazy and body heavy, he hears his Taehyung speak.

“Fucking brat, I love you.” Taehyung huffs, before shifting to lay on his stomach, head turned towards Jeongguk.

[end] see other works here

[artificialqueens]

Just The Game We're In- Chapter 4- Ortega

A/N: a fun fact, I almost burst into fucking TEARS when I finally finished this chapter. I am SO SORRY for the wait of approximately 213 days (seriously folks…if your fav fic doesn’t get updated after like…2 weeks…just think…you could be reading this piece of shit) but HERE IT IS GUYS, chapter 4 of every mobile user’s waking fucking nightmare, Just The Game We’re In!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In case any new readers need a rundown, this fic is inspired by the best TV show on god’s green earth, The Thick Of It. This one goes out to every single one of you that has waited so so patiently for this update, I love the actual heart and souls of you. Also to the gals at AQ Brits who have kept me (in)sane writing this monster. This chapter holds two of the most favourite scenes I’ve ever written and is generally a bit of a wild ride, so I hope you all enjoy!!

Plot Summary: Willam is a senior political advisor to the government’s minister for social affairs and citizenship, Sharon Needles. Throw in a crush on co-worker Courtney, Sharon acting weird around Willam’s colleague Alaska, an incompetent press department headed by Actual Living Zombie Jinkx Monsoon, and Willam’s job couldn’t get much more stressful. No wonder spin doctor Bianca Del Rio is permanently at the end of her tether…

There was definitely something fishy going on in the department, and it wasn’t Jinkx’s disgusting home-made tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches.

Willam hadn’t really noticed it at first. She’d been too busy with her work if she was honest- December was looming ever-closer and the hurry to compile the existing crime stats in time for New Year was a busy race. But she’d first spotted it on Monday, when Alaska had been twenty minutes late for work and arrived at exactly the same time as Sharon, her face grubby with what was presumably makeup from the day before.

“Christ girl, did you get out the wrong side of bed this morning?” Willam had pressed her, yelling across the office as Alaska had sunk sheepishly into her chair. “And then hit a wall and dragged yourself through a river of pig shit and gorse bushes?”

Alaska had simply rolled her eyes, scrunching the bird’s nest of hair on her head a little self-consciously. “I don’t look that bad, drama queen. Just overslept, that’s all. Now can we all just get on with our damn work before we accidentally let in a million illegal immigrants or something?”

That had been that, and Willam hadn’t really thought any more about it. That was until the next evening, when Alaska seemed to leave work but reappeared again beside the lifts, dressed immaculately in a fancy red shift dress and gold heels with makeup to match. She’d quietly slipped away before Willam could even interrogate her.

The weirdest by far had been the morning after, when Alaska arrived at work in a dress that was almost identical, in fact completely identical, to one Sharon already owned.

“What, do we get to share Sharon’s clothes now? Is that our festive bonus this year?” Willam had laughed incredulously, narrowing her eyes at Alaska in confusion.

“What? It was a nice dress, I went and got the same one. It’s only from H&M, for crying out loud. Half the girls you see in any clapped-out Camden bar are probably going to be wearing it,” Alaska had snorted in response.  

It was all just odd. There was also the fact that Alaska was barely out of Sharon’s office prepping for the New Year’s trip to Brussels, where the minister, one of her advisors and one member of the comms team went over for an international summit on European social affairs. It was almost as if Willam barely knew what was going on with her friend anymore.

Courtney was being weird with her as well. She’d turned colder, almost like some weird professional ghost of her former self. She barely even smiled when Willam tried to joke with her, was strangely quiet, and never really ate lunch with her anymore. Willam wished she knew what was happening with her. It wasn’t as if her crush on Courtney had died down- in fact, being borderline ignored by her only made her heart hurt more, made her wonder if she’d done something horrendously wrong or offensive. Even as a friend it worried her, and she wished Courtney would open up to her as she had done all those weeks ago.

The combination of what was essentially her two best friends completely ditching her made Willam feel a little lonelier than normal, and so she’d begun spending her lunch breaks with the comms team. Katya was always happy to see her (even if she did tease Willam about Courtney mercilessly when nobody was listening), Trixie would often share her snacks with her, and Willam had found herself warming to Violet who was actually very sharp and witty, though she concealed it well under her stony, statuesque resting bitch face. Although she liked spending time with the civil servants, Willam couldn’t help but wish her friends would be back to normal again.  

It had started out as an ordinary Friday morning, if a little more boring now that Willam no longer had Alaska to bitch to or Courtney to flirt with, even if said flirting was under the guise of being platonic. In fact, the morning almost had an atmosphere of calm; that was until Jinkx answered the phone and proceeded to squawk the department down.

“What?! The seven o’clock?! Absolutely not. There’s no way! It’s not possible to collate that amount of data in time, let alone brief her on everything necessary.”

At this point everyone had stopped working entirely, all eyes fixed on Jinkx who was biting her lip impatiently and staring at Sharon’s door with uncertainty. “I’d need to discuss it with her. Can I get you to call me back? Right. Thank you.”

“Whose cat’s being strangled?” came a voice from the other end of the office. As if on cue, Sharon had appeared from her room. She seemed a little more tired today, and was clutching a Red Bull for dear life in her red-taloned hand.

Casting her eyes back down the office, Willam also noticed an identical Red Bull sitting on Alaska’s desk just beside her computer monitor.

Ignoring Sharon’s sarcasm, Jinkx gestured to the phone in irritation. “I have just come off the phone with Dan Donigan over at radio Five Live.”

“What, Milk?” Willam piped up, curiosity piqued. Milk, to give him his DJ name, was an interesting host. He was a lovely guy, chilled and easy-going, and on the surface seemed like a good interview. However one slip up and he would go in, firing off questions like one of those machines that shot out tennis balls one after the other, whacking you with them until you were a crumpled heap on the floor.

Barely acknowledging Willam’s interjection, Jinkx continued. “And he had the utter nerve to ask for an interview with you at seven o’clock this evening, a ‘showdown’ between you and the shadow minister covering the refugee crisis.”

“Wait, he wants me and Phi Phi?” Sharon asked, narrowing her eyes a little and suddenly more alert than she had been 60 seconds previously. Jinkx nodded in reply.

“I told him I’d have to ask you but if you want my opinion, there’s absolutely no way you should do it, Sharon. We have approximately-” she craned her neck to look at the clock. “- nine hours to prep you, which is not nearly enough time for you to collate all the facts and figures you’d need for a debate like that!”

“We had three hours to prepare for a Michaels interview and still pulled it off,” Alaska interjected, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Yes, Alaska, but this is different. Chad Michaels knew Sharon was in the right and simply wanted her as an illustration of tabloid sexism. This is Dan Donigan. And from what I’ve heard, he’s pretty buddy with Phi Phi.”

“Look, the refugee crisis is something I care a lot about and know a lot about. I have a lot of the facts already, it wouldn’t take me long to brush up on them and potentially even learn a couple more of the intricacies. It would take- what, a couple of hours to fully brief me about Five Live? I see no reason why I can’t do this, Jinkx,” Sharon said, her eyes more determined than ever.

Jinkx looked like a wearied mother whose child had just asked if they could have their entire class round for a sleepover the next day.

“What’s Bianca’s opinion?” Willam asked, leaning forward on her desk with her elbows. It made sense to her that they would ask Bianca, and if anyone was going to know if it was a good or bad idea it would be her.

“No idea. Call her and ask,” Jinkx shrugged, clearly happy to be palming off some extra work.

Despairing of Jinkx’s laziness for what must have been the thousandth time that year, Willam took out her work phone and dialled Bianca.

“Willam Belli. Good morning,” Bianca chirped down the phone jovially. She seemed to be in a good mood, a really good mood, which was fucking weird.

“Bianca, hi. Listen, we’ve had Milk on the phone, he wants Sharon and Phi Phi for a debate about the refugee crisis at 7pm. What do you think?”

“I say carpe that fucking diem. Get her on.”

Surprised, Willam gave her phone a double-take, as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “Sorry, this is for 7pm tonight, not tomorrow.”

“I know how the fuck time works! Get her on the damn show.”

Willam was nothing short of amazed. “Bianca, are you su- I mean, this is definitely a good idea then?”

“Listen. Sharon is a walking, talking database. She retains facts and figures like some horrifying human sponge. She’s a confident girl, Dan will love her. Just get her on and get her to make Phi Phi look like she’s drowned hundreds of refugee orphans personally with her own two hands.”

Rolling her eyes a little at Bianca’s harsh turn of phrase, Willam had heard all she needed. “Okay, well, thanks for your input.”

She hit ‘end call’ before Bianca had a chance to say any more, turning to face Sharon, Jinkx and Alaska who were all craning their necks, waiting to hear what the verdict was.

“Hell has frozen over and Bianca has actually approved something,” Willam shrugged, and was met with an excited beam from Sharon and a disgruntled sigh from Jinkx. “It’s going ahead. Jinkx, phone Milk back.”

Muttering in exasperation under her breath, Jinkx simply turned around in her swivel chair and dutifully began hitting a number of buttons on her phone. Waiting for some form of instruction from Sharon, Willam was surprised with she instead turned to Alaska, chattering happily but not quite audibly. At one point, Sharon seemed to excitedly grab one of Alaska’s hands, squeezing it once, twice and then letting go. Alaska didn’t appear the least bit fazed, as if this was almost a regular occurrence between them. In any event, if Sharon tried to involuntarily grab Willam’s hands mid-conversation, she was getting a slap.

With nobody left to talk to, Willam turned to Courtney’s desk to find her deep in concentration, her brow furrowed like a tiny ploughed field.

She’d been so deep in her work that she’d missed the entire exchange.

***

It was another lonely lunchtime for Willam. Well, she supposed she was being melodramatic. It was just that Alaska had been called into the office yet again about the trip to Brussels, and Courtney was sitting eating her lunch at her desk in front of her work. Willam had asked if she wanted to join her but all she’d received in reply was a shake of Courtney’s head and a small smile tinted a little with sadness. Willam could’ve asked her about it, finally confronted her about whatever was going on with her, but she’d never heard of a successful heart-to-heart that had taken place over crime stats so she’d just joined the comms team for lunch instead.

“Bow down, ladies! The minister’s political advisor has once again deigned us lowly civil servants worthy enough to be graced with her presence,” Katya announced dramatically as Willam took the chair next to her, earning her a barely-stifled laugh and an unimpressed roll of Willam’s eyes. The table shoved into one of the corners of the office was small but they’d managed to fit Violet, Trixie and Katya round it already, who were all currently munching their way through their lunch.

“Hey, just let me eat my disappointing Costa sandwich in peace, okay?”

“No, sorry. There’s nothing more disappointing than this,” Trixie interjected, giving Katya a death stare as she held up a sad-looking hot dog in a bun. “Who the fuck gives this to their girlfriend for their lunch? I swear this is a form of domestic abuse in some countries.”

“I’m sure there’s a child bride in the third world that’s weeping for you, Trixie,” Violet deadpanned, smirking a little at Katya’s hysterical laughter.

“All I’m saying is, why the fuck would the woman that supposedly loves me more than anything in the world give me this abomination in a ziplock bag?!”

“Because when you eat it, it makes me think of you sucking dick and it turns me on,” Katya batted her eyelashes, opening her legs to inhuman proportions under the table. As Trixie reached across the table to shove her, Violet flared her nostrils.

“That is gross, Katya.”

“You’re saying the undying love I have for my girlfriend and our obscure sexual practices is gross?! You are a homophobe, Violet Chachki.”

“Hey, I can’t be homophobic towards you if neither you nor I know what kind of sexuality you even are!” Violet laughed, her usually marble face breaking into the sunniest of smiles. Katya tilted her head to one side, suddenly deep in thought. She’d made it quite clear and had been quite open about the fact that she didn’t really believe in labelling herself, insisting in her own words that people were people, and if we were meant to have labels we’d be tins or jars.

“I think I’m that one that doesn’t give a fuck whether it’s a peen or vagine or whoever that peen or vagine belongs to, as long as they’re hot and can make me laugh.”

Trixie seemed to momentarily turn a little green. “If you ever refer to genitalia using those terms again, I’m breaking up with you.”

“What’s it called? Potsexual?”

Everyone at the table burst out into raucous laughter at Katya’s expense.

“Pansexual, you silly bitch!” Willam howled, clutching at her stomach which was now doubled up with laughter. Composing herself slightly and wiping the tears of laughter away from her eyes, she shook her head. “Y’all are fucking batshit crazy, no wonder I never eat lunch with you.” 

“Hey! It’s not my fault I’m not down with the tumblr lingo of the cool kids of today,” Katya shrugged, taking a bite of her own plain, dry hot dog. At that moment Adore appeared at the table, almost melting into the hard plastic chair.

“Christ, you look hellish. Did Laila have you up all night?” Trixie greeted her as Adore rubbed her eyes, clearly sleep deprived.

“Very funny, bitch,” she bit back, opening her pasta salad. “Sadly it wasn’t even fucking. Her neighbours have just had a new baby and the walls are paper thin so we got treated to Beethoven’s ninth symphony in Constant Screeching until, like, 5am.”

“To be fair, you’ve probably given them Mozart’s nocturne in Loud Moaning quite a few times,” Violet joked, earning her a kick under the table from Adore.

Willam looked at Adore curiously. She had no idea that her and Laila were still a thing, least of all that Adore was at the stage where she was staying over. Well, she concluded, it did the party no harm to have a journalist on their side and it was certainly more fruitful an endeavour than chasing a co-worker around for weeks on end whilst being ignored.  

“Anyway, why’s this bitch eating with us again?” Adore changed the subject, looking at Willam with a slightly confused air. “Where’s the two other blonde dye jobs?”

Willam glared at her a little, mildly offended. “Well Courtney’s still working on those bastarding crime stats and Alaska’s got yet another meeting with Sharon about Brussels.”

“Wait,” Violet scrunched up her face, the picture of confusion. “That’s not right. We’re not scheduled for meetings about Brussels until December, Sharon emailed me and Alaska last week.”

“She’s taking you to Brussels and not us?! How dare she! We’re the most professional and competent fuckers in this department,” Katya cried, appealing to her girlfriend for backup. Trixie simply smirked at her.

“Katya you literally spilt your entire cappuccino over your keyboard yesterday. The whole thing.”

“I did n-”

“The whole. Thing,” Trixie repeated, chucking a piece of bread at Katya from across the table.

“Can we just get back to this situation?” Willam cut in quietly, looking Violet directly in the eye. “So there’s no meetings about Brussels until next week?”

Violet shook her head, still as confused as before. Willam didn’t blame her- Alaska and Sharon had been meeting for the past two weeks about Brussels, or at least that was what Willam had been told. But now she didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what they’d been talking about or planning. She hadn’t been told anything, neither had Courtney, and that made her blood boil.

Setting her lunch down on the table, Willam marched towards Sharon’s office, the combination of determination and annoyance almost clouding her vision. If she was being cut out of the loop, it would be the last, mouldy cherry on top of this shitstorm of this week’s cake. What did she care that Sharon was in charge? She had no right to exclude her and no right to exclude Courtney either, Willam’s heart swelling at the thought of her crush. No wonder she’d been so distant all week. If Sharon was planning something with only one advisor, then Willam had half a mind to tell her where she could stick her job.

That was until she burst open the door and saw Sharon sat behind her desk, her head tipped back and her eyes half-lidded, the smallest moan escaping her lips. Looking at the foot of the desk, Willam suddenly understood why- the red bottoms of Alaska’s Louboutins poked out from the strip of the desk just above the floor, almost concealing her from view, but not quite.

She put two and two together and got one million.

Aware that she’d slightly flung the door open, and still half in shock, Willam began to back out. 

“I’ll, um. Okay. I’m…yeah,” she babbled quietly, the sudden noise in the room causing Sharon’s eyes to fly open and her hands to shoot immediately up from her lap as if Willam had her at gunpoint. Ignoring her protestations, Willam made her way briskly down the corridor and into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. 

She badly needed to clear her head. It made sense, of course it made sense. It explained away so much of what had been going on in Dosac in the past fortnight. She just couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been not to notice it. Courtney had been right all along, and Willam could’ve kicked herself for not listening to her. Furthermore, she could’ve kicked Alaska for her stupidity in the matter as well. What the fuck was she thinking about, getting into a relationship or casual fucking or whatever the hell this whole mess was with Sharon? With her boss?! How was she now meant to give impartial advice about serious departmental- scratch that, governmental matters? 

Making to splash some cold water on her face, Willam stopped when the bathroom door burst open to reveal Alaska. 

“Willam,” she began, seemingly not knowing how she would follow it up. Her face was flushed, a scarlet blush striking her cheeks as if she’d been slapped. 

“I, um. I don’t really know what to think,” Willam shrugged, looking her friend in the eye and wondering if she really recognised her all that much anymore. “You didn’t tell me anything, Lask. I mean, what am I meant to think? What even is this? What the fuck is going on?! I just…”

“We’re together,” Alaska cut in quietly. “Sharon and I. We’ve been seeing each other these past two weeks.”

There was a frosty pause in which Willam wanted to give all kinds of sarcastic remarks, but nothing could really hide how much she’d been hurt by the whole situation. “I just don’t understand…Alaska, she’s your boss.”

“Yeah, well…” Alaska sighed, running a hand through her hair and appearing frustrated at not being able to articulate herself properly. “It doesn’t feel like that, Will. It feels different. It doesn’t feel like a workplace relationship, it feels like we’re equals.”

“Well that’s just peachy. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve not been able to give a single piece of impartial advice since she’s arrived. You’ve sided with her on everything, Alaska. It’s been up to me and Courtney to be the fucking common sense in this department.”

As Willam finished, Alaska shrank back, leaning a little on the sink and casting her eyes to the white tiled floor. Annoyed at the pang of sudden sympathy she felt for her friend, Willam changed tack.

“Does Jinkx know?” she asked her, knowing that if she’d confided in anyone it would have been her.

“No,” Alaska sighed, appearing sincere as she looked Willam in the eye. “You’re the only one that knows.”

Rolling her eyes, Willam scuffed the floor with the heel of her shoe. So now she was being burdened with this, this massive mess that Alaska had managed to enter into, hell, that Sharon had entered into as well. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her secret to keep. Growing more annoyed by the minute, Willam found herself snapping at her friend.

“And so you want me to go to the trouble of covering this up for you and helping you both be happy as two pigs in shit together, wilfully ignoring the inevitable shitstorm this will cause if it gets to the press. I mean what are the papers going to make of this, Alaska?! They find out that Sharon’s been fucking one of her advisors so none of her policies have been properly analysed or vetted because the aides are too elbow-deep in their boss to care?! I mean why the fuck should I cover this for you, because as far as bad ideas go this sounds as if it could’ve been dreamed up by Darienne!”

“Because if this was you and Courtney, you would beg me to do the same!” Alaska barked back, covering her mouth slightly as if she’d just vomited all over the bathroom floor.

Willam felt her spine freeze up, as if she was suddenly in a horrible nightmare.

“How…How the fuck do you know about that? Did Katya tell you, is that it? Did Katya tell everyone? Holy fucking shit.”

Feeling the panic rise in her throat, Willam’s breathing hitched a little. This was an unmitigated disaster, people knew. Hell, Courtney probably knew, why else would she have been avoiding her? There was no way on God’s earth that Willam could show her face in the department again. Catching a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror, she noticed she’d gone completely white. 

Clearly feeling guilty, Alaska took Willam gently by the wrist. Her voice was softer as she addressed her friend.  "No. Nobody told me. I worked it out. I recognised that look you’ve been giving her for ages. It was the same one I’d been giving Sharon since the day she arrived, to be honest.”

Willam barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes, admittedly grateful that the news of her crush clearly wasn’t all around the office. Pausing a little in the silence, she cleared her throat.

“I won’t, um. I won’t tell anyone about you and Sharon, Lask. I was never going to, you’re my friend for Christ’s sake. I just want you to know what you’re doing,” Willam muttered, sweeping a long strand of hair out of her face. Alaska smiled slightly guiltily.

“Thank you. I do. And you’re right, maybe I could work on that whole impartiality thing. Honestly though, don’t worry. We won’t do anything that would put the integrity of the party at risk,” she said sincerely, squeezing Willam’s hand gently. Glad that things seemed to be calming down, Willam let out a breath she hadn’t really known she’d been holding. Alaska suddenly opened her mouth again, a cheeky glint in her eye. “You’re clearly worried about it getting out, but if you ever need someone to talk to about Courtney, well. I’m always here. You’re my friend, Willam and…well, no matter how involved I get with anyone, that won’t change.”

Relaxing a little, Willam allowed herself to laugh. “Thanks, girl. Has she, um. Has she mentioned anything to you?”

Alaska gave her a quizzical look. If she was being honest, Willam hadn’t really meant to ask Alaska anything, but the constant silence from Courtney was making her worried. Clearly deciding not to ask about it, Alaska shrugged.

“Not to me. In fact, she’s not really said much to me at all these past few days. She’s been a little quiet, don’t you think?”

Willam simply nodded in reply, secretly glad she wasn’t the only one that Courtney had been weird with.

“I guess I’ve been too caught up in the honeymoon phase of everything with me and Sharon that I haven’t really been making much time for my friends,” Alaska admitted, her face guilty as she looked to the floor. Realising that she’d probably suffered enough, Willam pulled her friend into a hug.

“It’s alright, girl, we’ve all done it. Well, not me, because I don’t actually have a heart.”

“Hey, you can’t make those jokes anymore, bitch!”

“Shut up, whore! Anyway. Court’s clearly going through something. Let’s just show her we’re there for her?“ Willam sighed, slightly at a loss as to what to do anymore since her life was beginning to be turned upside down at such a rapid pace, like some bizarre hourglass that someone kept flipping over and over.

“Agreed,” Alaska smiled. Her smile was so infectious and goofy that Willam couldn’t help but smile back, happy to have at least one of her friends back again.

“Hey, did you have lunch yet? Mine is still half-eaten at the table. Well, if Trixie hasn’t got to it yet,” Willam joked, earning a laugh from her friend.

“Go for it. And you can gush to me all about Court while we eat,” Alaska laughed as she threaded her arm through Willam’s. Rolling her eyes, Willam snorted a little, embarrassed but secretly pleased she had someone to open up to about things.

Of course, she would never let Alaska know that.

***

The building which held the Five Live studios was nice, from what Willam had seen of it so far. The entranceway was open and airy and certainly wasn’t as intimidating as it had seemed from the outside. The café also didn’t seem too much of a rip off, which was half the problem with a lot of the BBC buildings. Rubbing her eyes a little and being careful to avoid her mascara, Willam began pouring herself a latte from the coffee machine. It had been a long drive, and Willam had found herself wishing for the energetic presence of Katya as she sat squashed between Courtney and Sharon, who had both been completely silent for the duration of the journey with their heads in their notebooks. She wished Alaska had been there, but one of them had had to stay behind in the department in case anything horrific happened with communications while they were away, and considering what had happened earlier Alaska had volunteered herself, saving Willam from feeling like the third wheel on the office tryst tricycle.

It was good to have Alaska back as a friend. Even in the short space of time between their chat in the bathrooms to the drive to the Five Live studios, Willam felt it was as if nothing had ever happened. If anything, she seemed closer to Alaska; now that they both knew each other’s secrets they could open up to each other, and Willam felt far better for it. She actually felt happy for her friend, and hearing her talk about Sharon made her realise that what they had was definitely more than a flimsy office romance.

Taking her coffee to the counter to pay, Willam noticed Sharon already at the till. She realised that she hadn’t yet addressed the elephant in the room between them. Wondering if she should say something, she noticed that Sharon had only bought an apple and a bottle of water.

“You nervous?” she asked her, making Sharon jump a little bit beside her and subsequently answering Willam’s question without her even having to speak.

“A little,” Sharon smiled, seemingly grateful that Willam obviously didn’t hate her. “It’s just I’m expected to be an expert on this, you know? I feel like I need to deliver. I know it’s only a stupid radio debate but if I argue my point clearly enough we could maybe finally get something done about this in parliament.”

Willam nodded understandingly. “You’ll be fine, honestly. You’re good at shit like this.”

There was a small pause in which Willam wasn’t sure if it was the time to bring up the whole situation with Alaska. Sharon seemed to sense what Willam was thinking.

“Look, Willam, I’m really sorry for…well, earlier. It was severely unprofessional, I’m really not normally like that, I swear,” she babbled out, clearly trying her best to look Willam in the eye but too embarrassed to follow through with it. Laughing a little at the scarlet blush that was beginning to attack Sharon’s pale cheeks, Willam put her out of her misery.

“Sharon. It’s okay. Alaska talked to me about it. Sure, I don’t think it’s the most amazing idea in the world, but you two are clearly happy and as long as it’s not going to intervene in your work, then who am I to stop you?” she shrugged, turning around at the last second to pay for her coffee. When she turned back, Sharon was smiling at her, relieved.

“You’re a good friend, Willam,” she said sincerely, which stopped Willam in her tracks a little. She didn’t really think of Sharon as one of her friends, but thinking about it she supposed that there was probably no harm in letting someone else in. She simply smiled in return as Sharon continued. “I didn’t plan on getting so hung up on Alaska but that very first day when I arrived at Dosac and met her I just instantly felt connected to her, you know? I think she felt that way too.”

“She did. She’s told me,” Willam smirked, watching as Sharon broke out into a huge smile.

“Wow. I guess I try not to talk about those sorts of feelings so much round her in case it scares her off,” Sharon shrugged, her face still bashful.

“Believe me, I don’t think you’re in danger of doing that in a hurry.”

Just then, the little click-clack of heels behind them announced the arrival of Courtney, her footsteps almost as quiet as her recent demeanour.

“Shall we get going?” she asked, putting on what looked to be a brave face. “Phi Phi and her team should already be there. There’s still a couple of minutes to go but it’s best to be punctual, don’t you think?”

“You’re the boss,” Willam smiled cheerfully in an attempt to counteract Courtney’s downbeat air. “Well, technically Sharon is but, you know.”

Courtney only offered a polite smile in return. With Willam more confused than ever, the three made their way over to the lifts.

Six floors up sat the Five Live studios, a labyrinth of corridors and tiny offices with sofas and armchairs perched outside them. Three right-turns away from the lift, they were greeted by the three stony faces of Phi Phi, Detox and Roxxxy, a tall girl with long, straight blonde hair in a ponytail and huge hoop earrings, and a relaxed-looking man with a chiselled jaw and styled brown hair. If Willam hadn’t known who he was, she’d have mistaken him for a male model.

“Sharon, hi! Lovely to meet you. I’m Dan, although please do call me Milk,” he smiled, leaning forward and shaking Sharon’s hand warmly. Sharon seemed a little taken aback by such a friendly gesture from a journalist, but then Milk wasn’t really all that conventional anyway. Today he was wearing loose, cuffed black joggers and a baggy hoodie; so not exactly a picture of professionalism, but over the years Willam had learnt never to judge a book by its cover. Turning to include the opposition, Milk carried on.

“Okay, so you’ve probably heard the breaking news that Scotland are going to be aiming to take 20,000 refugees within the next five years, so we’re going to be covering that and springboarding the debate from there. The news is going to be after you.”

A quick glance to Phi Phi showed that the breaking news obviously hadn’t been broken to her yet. She was shooting a side-glance at Detox that could’ve melted a steel beam. Detox had the same level of discomfort on her face as someone halfway through a colonoscopy.

“This is Ganja, she’s our producer,” Milk waved a hand to the girl beside him, who smiled briefly and snuck a look at her clipboard.

“Your advisors will be allowed in the control room, although they will have to keep the noise down so I can put through texts to Milk. And this is all going out live, so no swearing from either of you two,” she glared coldly at Sharon and Phi Phi as if she’d just been informed that both of them had Tourette’s. “You’re all in this green room here.”

She gestured to the glass-panelled room beside the corridor, in which sat two coffee tables, three little sofas, and a coffee machine. Suddenly, Willam noticed that Sharon was stifling a laugh.

“I take it you spend a lot of time in the green room? You know, what with…your name,” she finally joked, clearly impressed with her own wit. All she got in return was a sour look and a click of Ganja’s long talons.

“My name is actually of Persian origin,” she sniffed, prompting an awkward silence. Milk was the one to finally break it.

“Okay, we’re going to go start the show and then Ganja will come and get you when it’s time. Please take a seat,” he smiled, walking off down the corridor with the producer.

Still cringing at Sharon’s joke, Willam led the way into the green room and relaxed onto the sofa. To her surprise, Courtney sat beside her. It would have been a normal occurrence every other day, but today Willam was surprised that Courtney wanted to be near her at all. As Sharon sat down, Willam became vaguely aware of Phi Phi ranting away to a sheepish-looking Detox.

“…why I, the damn shadow minister for social affairs and citizenship, apparently doesn’t know shit about what’s going on in relation to that? I mean we’re meant to be the ones that are one step ahead all the damn time!”

“Bitch was probably too busy ordering dresses for Alyssa’s to look at the BBC News 24 notifications blowing her phone up,” Roxxxy chipped in snarkily, shooting Detox a poisonous glare.

Interesting, Willam thought. All was clearly not well in political advisor paradise for the government or its opposition. 

“Oh, you think you’re immune to this?!” Phi Phi suddenly turned on her incredulously. Realising she’d perhaps been a little too loud she shot Sharon a sudden faux-relaxed smile, then resumed her hissing. “I mean, why didn’t you know? Why doesn’t anybody know anything? Jesus, twenty-fucking-thousand refugees? How am I going to explain that one to the cabinet? I mean, why was that allowed to happen?”

“Probably because Morgan McMichaels and the rest of her government don’t have a fucking compassion deficiency,” Willam muttered under her breath to no-one in particular. To her surprise and delight, she heard Courtney let out a soft giggle beside her. The remark had gone unnoticed by Phi Phi, who was still foaming at the mouth.

“When I see Morgan at Alyssa’s damn ball next week, she’s getting a piece of my mind. I mean, this decision has just come completely out of nowhere!”

“I guess it is their problem, though, Phi Phi. I mean, it is their government, they’ve got to worry about it, not us,” Roxxxy shrugged, attempting to calm the energy in the room down and failing.

“That’s all very fucking well and good until the public start asking me why I didn’t challenge it, or if things will be the same in the other three quarters of this damn, so-called United Kingdom. I mean, hell, the only reason Morgan’s doing this is so she can look good to the rest of the world and get some traction going on these dreams of another fucking independence referendum, which was bad enough the first time round!” Phi Phi’s voice raised to a dramatic crescendo as she reached the end of her sentence and slapped her lever arch file across her knees for emphasis. The room fell silent once more as Willam caught Sharon’s eye and they shared a knowing smile. Phi Phi was flustered, and that was good news for them.

A couple more minutes of frosty silence passed where neither Phi Phi or Sharon would look at each other.

“This is a joke. Are we just going to ignore each other until the debate starts?” Sharon whispered to Willam.

“I think that’s her plan. Anyway, it might be for the best. Release all the pent-up aggression in the studio like some kinda political Mike Tyson.”

“Well, as long as she doesn’t bite my literal ear off then I’m fine,” Sharon joked, shuddering a little. Just then, the silence in the room was broken by Roxxxy’s phone, the classic and yet generic iPhone ringtone deafening in the glass room.

“It’s Betty,” she whispered to Phi Phi. Phi Phi looked momentarily as if someone had swiftly removed every organ from her body in one go. Willam perked up. If the opposition’s spin doctor was trying to contact them, something important was obviously going on. She tucked her hair behind her ears in order to try and hear better.

“Hi Betty!” Roxxxy sing-songed down the phone in an effort to appear cheerful. Her face immediately faltered as something was being yelled down the line to her. Looking to Phi Phi, she leaned closer and Willam could only make out certain things she was whispering.

“…complete U-turn …in concurrence with the British people…welcome people in…”

Phi Phi was not as subtle. Narrowing her eyes at the phone then back to Roxxxy, she murmured a reply. “Roxxxy. I’ve been invited here for a debate. If I U-turn, there won’t be any debate. Plus I will be the only shadow minister in this whole party pulling this stance and I am not going to be spending the rest of my days in Westminster feeling like the girl who has to go and eat lunch in the toilets on her own, so no, tell her the answer’s no.”

Just then, Ganja appeared from the corridor, beckoning them all through. Sharon immediately leapt up, with Willam and Courtney following behind her. Roxxxy was still on the phone.

“Hi Betty, yeah, Phi Phi is kind of reluctant to do that so we’re just going to stick with the line we’ve been given.”

As Willam passed by her, she could hear the muffled yell of a woman at the end of her tether on the phone.

“Well this is the line I’m giving you! You tell her that-”

No more could be heard of Betty’s shouting as Willam made her way into the control room, with a quick “good luck” thrown Sharon’s way as she stepped into the studio behind a rattled-looking Phi Phi. Through the soundproof pane of glass she could see Milk chatting away into the microphone, Sharon sat at the huge wheely chair to his left and Phi Phi opposite them both. Willam could see Roxxxy’s face through the tiny pane of glass at the studio door, frantically trying to get Phi Phi to come back presumably so that she could communicate whatever Betty had been yelling to her. Suddenly, Detox stormed into the control room, irritation all over her face.

“Everything okay on your end, Detox?” Willam smiled pleasantly, revelling in the death glare that was sent her way in return.

“Fine, thank you Willam. All Phi is concerned about is making your boss look like the laughing stock she is,” Detox snapped back smugly. Willam could only laugh in reply.

“If I were you, I’d be a bit more worried about your boss actually knowing shit that goes on in this country instead of looking like an A-level government and politics student that just entered an exam room and forgot to revise. But y’know. You do you,” she shrugged nonchalantly, her smile becoming even bigger when she realised that Detox had absolutely no comeback. Casting a quick glance to Courtney, she was surprised to find her already smiling her way. Willam gave a timid smile back.

Timid. That was a word Willam never thought she’d be using to describe herself, but then so often being around Courtney fucked up her own self-expectations. Her kind, gentle nature always seemed to throw Willam off a bit, softening her personality. Although did she really need that if she wanted to get anywhere in the world of politics? This job was her life, it always had been. Perhaps that was only the case because she’d never had any alternative.

Willam scrunched her face up, chasing those particular thoughts away. This was neither the time nor the place.  

Roxxxy suddenly came scrambling through the control room door, earning a steely glare from Ganja as she pulled on an enormous pair of headphones. Detox cast her colleague a questioning gaze.

“Betty’s gone nuts. She wants Phi Phi to completely agree with Sharon on everything. The latest polls came in and apparently the majority were in favour of more refugees. Betty doesn’t want the party being hated more than they already are, so she wants Phi Phi to be in concurrence with the public.”

“Who the fuck did they poll, exclusively university campuses? What’s Phi doing?”

“Ignoring her. Which got me an earful of tinnitus from Betty, but Phi Phi’s put her foot down. The lady’s not for turning,” Roxxxy rolled her eyes, doing a sort of double-take as she saw Detox pull out her phone. Her face turned sour. “So you’re texting Guy all of this, then? Fucking couple goals.”

Willam was intrigued. There it was again, this reference to things not being perhaps all they should be between the two advisors. Roxxxy and Detox had always been close, the Tweedlebitch and Tweedlecunt of Phi Phi’s party, and this closeness had only increased when Alaska crossed the floor. Willam was left wondering what had happened.

Detox was fixing Roxxxy with a stare that suggested she was loath to bring this particular topic up in front of the opposite party. “Don’t start. We’ve discussed this.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying-”

“No, you’re not ‘just saying’. You’re being passive-aggressive and it’s getting on my tits,” Detox snapped at her. Roxxxy’s nostrils flared.

“Well maybe I’m just being aggressive!” she barked loudly, forcing Ganja to rip off her headphones and spin her chair round to face them both.

“Look,” she hissed, turning to address Roxxxy. “If you and that fucking inflatable dinghy don’t shut up right now, I’m removing you from this room. All of you.”

Annoyed that she’d been dropped in it, Willam glared at the two members of the opposition, but was distracted by Courtney pulling on her shirt sleeve.

“It’s starting,” she muttered, not once turning her gaze from the studio where Milk had begun introducing the topic.

“…and in the wake of Morgan McMichaels announcing that Scotland is to take twenty thousand new refugees over the next five years, we’re asking; should the rest of the UK be following in her footsteps? Discussing this with me today is Sharon Needles, Minister for Social Affairs and Citizenship-”

“Hi Milk, good to be here,” Sharon smiled easily, seemingly quite comfortable with the situation.

“-and the Right Honourable Phi Phi O’Hara MP, Shadow Minister,” he continued, gesturing to Phi Phi. Phi Phi sort of spluttered a hello.

“She doesn’t look entirely…comfortable, does she?” Courtney whispered, making Willam jump a bit. “Phi Phi, I mean.”

“She doesn’t. But that’s good news for us,” Willam replied, earning another smile from Courtney which had her wondering what had changed.  Milk was still talking.

“…and of course, you can get involved in the debate as well on Twitter, at Radio Five Live or using the hashtag ‘gotmilk’.”

“Fuck’s sake. This is today’s journalistic standard. Hashtag ‘gotmilk’,” Willam snorted, earning herself a glare from Detox and Roxxxy.

“So, Phi Phi O’Hara,” Milk was continuing, smiling lazily at the shadow minister. “What do you think? Should we be welcoming more refugees to the UK?”

A beat of silence. “Um, well, it’s a very good question, and one that does not necessarily have a yes or no answer, but a list of pros and cons. It is one of these situations where both the pros and the cons must be lined up together, and, um, from there it should be examined which the longer list is, the pros or the, um, cons. Now, of course there are many pros, however in the UK-”

“Fucking hell, Phi Phi, answer the question,” Detox muttered under her breath, as Roxxxy shook her head disparagingly.

Phi Phi seemed to have finally reached the end of her point, whatever the hell it was, as Sharon had begun speaking.

“Well, I think I’d have to answer that same question in much fewer words than Phi Phi did over there, and say yes, I think this country should be welcoming many more refugees, and I think Morgan McMichaels has done a brilliant thing today in announcing these plans for Scotland. I think they’re definitely going to see much of an economic benefit, much more diversity, a much more enriched culture, and certainly a more tolerant society.”

“Sharon, you mentioned the economic benefit- could you expand a little on that?” Milk questioned.

“Certainly. Well, I think it’s easy to forget that the refugees that are seeking to move over here aren’t all unskilled, many of them will have been in work or education before their country got completely ripped to shreds. In this case, this provides a vast pool of skilled workers who can set up businesses, contribute to established businesses, and generally help the economy.”

Phi Phi’s face looked as if Sharon may as well have taken a shit on the desk in front of her. Milk seemed to pick up on this.

“Phi Phi O’Hara- do you agree?”

“No, I don’t agree, Milk, and to be honest I don’t think Sharon really knows what she’s talking about. You think-” Phi Phi turned to Sharon. “-that more jobs are going to be created by these people coming over here, when we’re currently on our way out of a recession and unemployment is at its highest in years, thanks to your party. If these refugees are as skilled as you say- which they’re not, by the way, they’re only really coming over here for the benefit system- it’s going to mean that our own citizens are out of work, struggling to provide for families, and potentially even becoming homeless.”

Sharon sat and listened to Phi Phi’s tirade, finally smiling and stretching out in her chair as if she was in her family home and not a radio studio. “First of all, you weren’t even aware of the fact that Scotland was going to welcome these refugees until you arrived at this studio half an hour ago, so don’t talk to me about knowing what I’m talking about when I have been campaigning for the safety of refugees since I was at university. Second of all-”

Willam actually punched the air. Sharon was killing it, and Phi Phi was coming across just plain jittery. She turned to Courtney excitedly but found her concentrating on what Sharon was saying in the studio. Too hyped to listen properly, Willam peered over Ganja’s shoulder at the Five Live twitter feed.

Sharon is bae!!!! Love her!!!!! #gotmilk

lmao phi phi who #gotmilk

#gotmilk who is this lefty loony theyv got on this week? REFUGEES OUT THIS IS ARE COUNTRY #EDL #KNIGHTSTEMPLAR #PAULGOLDINGFORPM

#gotmilk interesting points from both sides but phi phi is winning for me atm

#gotmilk U TELL EM MOM @SharonNeedlesMP

A mixed bag, but Willam would take what the party could get. She became aware that Sharon was still talking.

“…and finally, honestly? If refugees are as unskilled as you say but at the same time can still steal your job? You probably weren’t really that good at it in the first place.”

Willam almost yelped when she felt an excited grab at her wrist. Looking sharply to her left she saw Courtney beaming with pride at Sharon, who was now lazing back in her chair like a satisfied cat. Seemingly realising where she was, or what she’d done, or exactly whose wrist she was grabbing, Courtney suddenly dropped her hand back to her side, looking up at Willam meekly.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her cheeks flushing a little pink before returning her gaze back to the ground.

Deciding this might be the only possible available moment of the day where she would be able to build a bridge with Courtney, Willam turned slightly to face her. “Hey, Court? Once this is over, do you think we could maybe talk about-”

She was cut short by a vibration from her pocket and a life-ruining generic iPhone ringtone ringing out into the studio. Ganja spun around in her chair with such a force that it almost spun through the glass into the studio.

“OUT. NOW. NO PHONES!”

Sighing in irritation, Willam stormed outside, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Bianca.

“Hello?”

“I had no idea the BBC were hosting a barbecue, are you having fun?”

Taking the phone away from her ear and double-checking the caller ID, Willam returned to the call in confusion. “What?!”

“Well it’s just all I’m hearing on the radio is Phi Phi O’Hara being absolutely roasted.”

Rolling her eyes a little, Willam held in an irritated hiss. “And you phoned to tell me this why exactly?”

“Hey! Stick that attitude far up your ass, you moaning bitch!” Bianca immediately snapped back, all joviality gone from her voice. Willam winced a little. “I wasn’t phoning you for the express purpose of making jokes, does it look like this government is being policed by Frankie Boyle to you?!”

Willam wanted to reply that sometimes it did with the amount that Bianca swore, but she thought better of it. “So why did you phone me then?”

“As great as Sharon’s doing, she’s coming across like a smug Poxbridge twat who’s just won her first debate and is about to piss her pants. Get her to tone it down a bit, will you?”

Willam shrugged, not completely disagreeing with Bianca. Sharon’s style of debate hadn’t really changed since uni and her years at the stock exchange really showed. She concluded that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to get Sharon to reign in the smugness.

“Right. I’ll try and communicate that to her, Bianca, but you see it’s a bit difficult when there’s a massive fuck-off pane of soundproof glass between me and my boss. “

“Drop that attitude or I’ll dropkick you into the Thames! Get it done!” Bianca yelled down the phone, her voice gone immediately after, indicating that she had hung up.

Willam internally bemoaned Bianca’s erratic mood swings as she headed back into the control room, Ganja giving her a sour look as she returned to her place beside Courtney. Phi Phi was currently rabbiting on about how immigration spelt the end for Britain, whilst Sharon was sitting back in her chair, feet up on the studio desk.

Milk looked displeased.

“Bianca’s right,” Willam thought aloud, then jumped a little as she felt Courtney’s eyes on her. “She just phoned me there. Wants Sharon to tone it down, and we’re supposed to get that message through to her.”

“Right. Well. That shouldn’t be too hard,” Courtney frowned, only slightly frosty. “Does Sharon know sign language?”

“She barely knows fucking English,” Willam muttered, sighing in exasperation as Sharon began to refute Phi Phi’s point with the same lazy smugness she’d displayed throughout the whole interview. “We could signal something to her?”

Courtney’s brow furrowed before she turned to the clear glass of the studio and started miming pushing her hands down rapidly. Willam watched her in severe disbelief, fleetingly wondering why she harboured such strong feelings for someone who was clearly such a massive blithering idiot. It seemed to be catching Sharon’s attention though, so dutifully Willam began miming the same action.

Sharon began to trail off, looking at them both incredulously. In fact all three people in the studio were giving them awestruck looks. Wishing and willing Sharon to understand what the fuck they both meant, Willam kept pushing her hands down in the hope that she’d get the message.

“Um…as I was saying, we have to remember that Britain is a country that is built on diversity and multiculturalism, and I do have to wonder what would happen to that if we suddenly stopped allowing- or deporting, as Phi Phi is arguing- immigrants and refugees,” Sharon continued, in a voice about three octaves lower than her normal tone. Willam physically slapped her palm to her forehead.

“Why the hell would she think we were talking about her fucking pitch?!” Willam ranted, as Courtney attempted to change tact by mouthing furiously to the clear glass. Out the corner of her eye, Willam could see Detox and Roxxxy sniggering in the corner. Bristling with rage, she decided that at that current moment she had bigger fish to fry.  Turning back to Courtney, she noticed that she was mouthing “TONE IT DOWN” furiously, ignoring the judgemental glares of Roxxxy and Detox. As Phi Phi rebutted Sharon’s point, Sharon was just staring at Courtney completely dumbfounded.

“It’s not working,” Willam sighed, as Courtney ran her hands through her hair in frustration. She looked good when she did that.

God, Willam wished more than anything that they were on good terms.

Shaking all unprofessional thoughts out of her head, Willam was suddenly hit with a brainwave.

“Do you have lipstick with you?” she turned to address Courtney. Appearing a little affronted by Willam’s blunt turn of phrase, Courtney raised her eyebrows and scrambled into her bag.

“Sure. Here.”

Grabbing it from Courtney’s hand, Willam fleetingly noticed it was MAC. Well, she hoped Courtney wasn’t particularly attached to this colour.

Without even hesitating, Willam wrenched the cap off and scrawled backwards on the glass the very three words Courtney had been mouthing through the pane just seconds ago. “TONE IT DOWN” now sat very boldly written in reverse, almost like a shriek against the clear glass.

And then a lot of things happened very quickly.

Sharon muttered “what the fuck?” very quietly to herself under her breath. There was a split second before Willam realised that the reason she’d heard her mutter it was because Sharon’s microphone had been switched on. Milk, partly in shock, stammered a choked apology, and then a hastily-tacked on link to the pre-recorded news. Ganja swore loudly, ripped off her headphones and stormed out of the room, presumably to find out from The Powers That Be how much the BBC was going to get fined this time, or maybe to find out how many complaints they’d received already. Courtney, who was frozen still, her mouth hanging open in shock, began to get a phone call. Willam didn’t even have to look to see who it was from. Becoming un-frozen and seemingly snapping back into a workplace android, Courtney looked at her phone, gave Willam a look that could curdle milk, then rushed out the room.

“Hi, Bianca- yes I know…”

In all the chaos, Willam had quite forgotten Detox and Roxxxy were in the room. They were both looking at her with punchable, smug smiles.

“Nice one, Willam,” Roxxxy smirked, leaning back against the wall calmly.

Willam didn’t even have a retort because, to give her her dues, Roxxxy was absolutely right.

***

“Oh, girl, I’ve got to give you credit. I haven’t laughed that much since…well. Probably quite recently. But it was an absolutely biblical shitshow.”

Willam rolled her eyes as she sat in the green room, Katya gabbing down the phone to her at a tremendous pace. “Yeah, well. We’ve got the last laugh because you guys have to field all the phone calls that must be flooding the department right now.”

“Are you kidding? This shit’s easy. No comment, no comment, no comment. Why do you think my smoke break’s been 15 minutes long? There’s nothing to do.”

“Well you could be listening to the damn thing.”

“Well what are you doing on the phone to me?” Katya reasoned, Willam hearing her taking a drag of a cigarette faintly down the line. She sighed. To be honest, she was just planning on hiding out in the green room until the whole thing was over. She’d been responsible for one of the biggest political fuck-ups someone could make, and she didn’t really feel she was in a position to give any political advice for some length of time. She didn’t know how Courtney was doing in there on her own. She didn’t really think to check on her. She didn’t want to make things worse. Christ, she was a fucking idiot.

Sitting in the green room had been interesting, though. During a break for sports news, she’d seen Detox and Roxxxy rush down the corridor in some sort of fury, and a kind of hushed argument had ensued. Roxxxy had been on the way to raising her voice in a furious crescendo, but had suddenly been cut off by something. Willam reflected on the situation. Maybe Detox and Roxxxy were fucking. Maybe this was what Courtney had meant those few weeks ago, about being more perceptive.

A sudden thought struck Willam. There was a correlation between that moment and when Courtney had started being weird with her. Why was that? What had happened then that had offended her so much? Before she could even think about it in any greater depth, she was jolted out of her daydream.

“Willam? Are you still there?”

Shaking her head, Willam tried to focus. “Yeah, sorry Katya. I was kind of in my own world.”

“Well, I guess I should let you go do your job. Love you lots. Try not to set the entire studios on fire as a grand finale.”

“That would be how this day would end,” Willam quipped as a sign-off, as she hit end call and tucked her phone back into the pouch in her bag. She supposed she should keep listening to the debate. From how it sounded, they were in the process of taking some phone calls and texts from the public. Always a great idea, thought Willam sarcastically. The pubic could always be trusted to have really great and sound opinions.

Phi Phi seemed to be answering someone’s phone call, her jitteriness now clearly back. The person who’d asked the question hadn’t seemed too happy, by what Willam had heard in the background of her phone call with Katya. Still, Phi Phi seemed to have done her best to answer whatever the question was, and now they were taking a phone call from,

“George in Tottenham Hale, let’s hear from you. I think you have a question for Sharon, is that right?” Milk’s voice came through the small speakers. What followed was a deep Ugandan voice, slightly tinged by what was clearly a couple of years in London.

“Yes, my question is for Sharon. It is a bit surprising to me to hear you are supportive of refugees and immigrants.”

Willam began to feel a sense of dread creeping over her. What the hell was coming next? She reached into her bag for her phone again, getting the horrible feeling that she might be needing it within the next few minutes. George continued on.

“I come to this country two years ago, I get a job with a cleaning company. We do big contracts and things, for big companies. And the government hired us to do the offices at Richmond Terrace, and the new offices of Sharon’s department.”

Suddenly, a harsh vibration from Willam’s phone made her heart beat of out her chest. A text from Bianca.

B: THERE IS A GLACIER OF SHIT ABOUT TO SINK US. I’M COMING IN. BE PREPARED.

If Willam was filled with horror before, then this only made her heart drop out of her stomach. As George carried on, Willam had to fight the urge to spew her insides out onto the green room’s floor.

“So we are working for the government, Sharon’s government, and she is here talking about the economic benefits of immigration, but they are paying us the very minimum wage, for five hours of work on the nightshift every day. So why does her government support this? It is cheap labour, and she is paying the company that supports our exploitation. She is exploiting us.”

A beat of silence was somewhat deafening on the speakers of the green room.

“Sharon Needles, how do you respond to that?” Milk spoke, obviously trying to inject some noise into the silence.

“Well. Um, that’s obviously a very serious accusation, and one which we will be working hard to-”

Willam never got to hear what Sharon would be working hard to do, as suddenly from the other end of the corridor came a dull yet frantic rumbling of high heels against a carpeted floor. Courtney was a blur past the glass of the green room until she came hurtling through its door, facing Willam with more urgency than she’d shown in a long time.

“We need to sort this out. This is a shitshow,” she gasped, hair all over her face. “You did hear that, yeah?”

“Yeah, Court, but the whole reason I’m here is because I fucked up,” Willam looked to the floor, a little embarrassed. “I don’t want to make things worse. It’s not my day, and you’re totally able to fix this. Alaska’s on the other end of the phone, just…I don’t know. Call her.”

Willam was shocked when Courtney took three little steps forward, fury written all over her face. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to slap her. She didn’t. Instead, she laid into her.

“Now, look! You’re Willam, god damn it! You can’t just give up because it’s ‘not your day’, that’s not how this shit works!” she yelled, pointing a single manicured finger in her face. Seemingly calming down a little, she ran a hand through her blonde waves of hair. “Now Bianca’s going to be here in…fifteen minutes now. And she’s going to expect us to have some sort of plan for mopping up this hurricane of piss, and how else are you going to redeem yourself in her eyes than to be the ringleader of the whole thing? The party needs you. I need you.”

Courtney’s words shocked Willam into locking eyes with her. Seeming to realise what she’d said, a pink flush tinted Courtney’s cheeks and she opened her mouth to backtrack. “That’s not- you know what I mean. We’re a team. And you can’t…you can’t just give up because of one fuck-up. The Willam I know wouldn’t do that.”

There was a silence in which Willam tried to figure out how to respond. She was a little irritated with Courtney herself; the fact that she was insisting they were a team only now when it was convenient to her and the situation, all the amazing things Courtney was saying about her probably just being a front to get her to do something about this fuckery. There was also that little bump in Courtney’s telling-off, “I need you”. It would be easy just to question her about that, and shit, Courtney was actually really up in her face, really close to her face, and there was still some sort of tension in the air, and she still hadn’t broken her gaze and God, it actually hurt how much she couldn’t be mad at her for long. Blinking twice, Willam sighed deeply and rubbed a hand down her face, disregarding all her perfectly-applied makeup. Her mind began working at a hundred miles an hour.

“Right, make sure that Jinkx and her minions know the line. Of course, we don’t actually know what the line is because Bianca’s not here, but just tell them that we’re looking into it, stress Sharon’s commitment to fair employment for refugees and immigrants, and that this doesn’t affect her standing or the validity of her opinions. Should we make a donation to someplace?”

“Hmm, maybe not. If the press got hold of it, they could say it was just a reactionary measure. And the press are quite likely to get hold of it, given that we’re probably going to be under scrutiny for about a fortnight at least,” Courtney offered, biting her lip nervously.

“Good point,” Willam nodded, her heart swelling a little at how well they were working together already as Courtney began typing a message, presumably to Jinkx. Maybe Courtney had forgiven her for whatever she’d done already. Tearing a hand through her hair, Willam had to remind herself to focus on the matter at hand. “Okay, no donations. In the meantime, let’s maybe try to get some information about this guy, see if there’s anything we can use against him, anything that makes his stance void.”

Courtney stopped typing suddenly, looking up at Willam with concern in her eyes. “Willam that’s…that’s smearing.”

“Yeah, and?”

“That’s kind of Bianca’s domain. We don’t really do that unless it’s under her jurisdiction. Do you have any idea the shit you could get into if it got out that you instigated something like this?” Courtney mumbled, panic tinging her voice as her thumbs hovered over her phone screen. Pausing for a second to think it through, Willam could faintly hear Phi Phi’s smug voice laying into Sharon about what a hypocrite she was. That made her decision for her.

“We’re doing it. If it gets out, I’ll take the hit,” Willam said simply. Courtney looked momentarily as if she’d just been shot through the stomach, but dutifully she continued to type.

“Okay, so we’re going with smear campaign and promote Sharon. Am I sending this?” she sucked in a breath of air through her teeth. Willam gave a curt nod and with that, Courtney’s thumb hit a single button on her phone.

“God, it’s sent. Okay. Now what do we do?” she asked, fear written across her face. “Should one of us go back to the control room and keep listening to see if anything develops?”

“Right. You do that. I’ll let you know when Bianca gets here. Hopefully she’ll have a way to help,” Willam reasoned. Courtney smiled hesitantly, making to turn and leave for the studio. Seeing the worry on her face, Willam reached out and gently touched her arm. The softness of the action surprised both of them, and Willam drew her hand back quickly.

“Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine,” she finally said, managing to muster a confident smile from somewhere. To her shock, Courtney fixed her with the most genuine smile she’d seen from her in weeks.

“I know it will. You’re involved,” she replied, looking quickly to the floor and rushing out of the green room, leaving Willam at peak confusion.

The ten minutes before Bianca arrived consisted of firstly of just initial googling. There wasn’t much that Willam had to go on, other than “George from Tottenham Hale”, but with the right keywords she managed to find a second name, which she immediately forwarded to Jinkx. She wasn’t sure how they were all doing back at the department. She was a little afraid to ask.

When Bianca arrived, she knew about it. Along the corridor, Willam heard the thumping of a pair of very distinctive heels, and she could tell immediately that she was there. Standing up quickly and preparing for a roasting, Willam tensed up as Bianca entered the green room, dressed in a tailored blue suit and giving her a look that could’ve frozen lava.

“Where’s Australian Idol?” Bianca quipped dryly, setting down her Mulberry bag on the small glass coffee table and looking Willam dead in the eye.

“She’s in the studio keeping tabs on things. We’re currently trying to-”

“Nope! Not interested. Don’t want to hear from you. Go get her.”

Holding in a massive sigh, Willam trotted along to the studio. She had known Bianca was going to be mad at her, but she could only prepare so much for her disappointment. The main thing was, Willam reminded herself, that Bianca was here now, and if anyone could get this mess back in order then it was her.

Willam didn’t even have to say anything to Courtney as she stuck her head through the door of the control room. She immediately came running out, and they both walked in silence down the corridor to meet Bianca. When they got to the green room she was sat quite menacingly on the sofa, and had taken her suit jacket off and flung it over its headrest. She meant business.

“Right, any bright ideas from either of you about how to fix this fucking abomination? Because I’d love to hear them. I’m sure whatever it is it won’t be as good as Willam’s greatest hit from earlier, take a simple task and fuck it up to the point where Sharon makes one of the biggest media blunders a politician could make!” she barked, as Courtney and Willam stood in front of her like two disgraced schoolchildren.

Courtney began their defence. “Well, we thought that the line should be that this doesn’t undermine Sharon at all, she’s looking into it, and that delivering fair employment opportunities for immigrants and refugees is still one of her unwavering top priorities.”

Bianca seemed to relax only slightly. “That’s not bad. Good work, Courtney.”

“Actually it was mainly Willam’s idea,” Courtney said quietly, Willam raising her head to meet Bianca’s eyes. Bianca’s cold stare didn’t seem to have that icy edge anymore, but she supposed that hoping for praise was pushing things a bit far.

“Okay. Anything else?”

“We’ve…said to comms that they’re to look for information on the man that phoned in- anything that we could use against him, anything that we could put about, things like that,” Courtney said a little hesitantly. Bianca’s glare darkened.

“That’s fucking smearing! You both know that! That falls under my purview, I do the smearing, you guys get the information for me to make it happen. Do you have any idea the fucking river of shit you are going to have to stay afloat in if it gets out to the press that you are trying to run a smear campaign against this fucking individual? That’s not going to look so good for this party, will it?!”

Willam winced. “It was entirely my idea, Bianca. Courtney did point it out but we didn’t have much time to act and we had to do something.”

“Well here’s something to do for next time. Use your fucking brain cells,” Bianca hissed, standing up from the sofa and giving Willam a look that could wilt flowers. “Have we put anything out about this man yet?”

“No, that’s for certain. Last I spoke to Jinkx they hadn’t found anything on him yet. Willam found his second name, but that’s all we have,” Courtney confirmed, her stance like that of an army soldier as she addressed Bianca. Willam suddenly felt a vibration from her phone. Glancing at it, a text had popped up on her screen.

“Alaska’s just told me she has the name of his cleaning company. Maybe our tactic should be to smear them? Expose them for their poor wages?” Willam suggested, in the vague hope that Bianca would agree. Instead, she frowned and shook her head rapidly.

“Nobody is smearing anyone or anything until I give the green light, tell Alaska that for starters. Jesus, right. See if they can get more information about the company. Find out its boss, see if he’s hiding a lovechild in a fucking cupboard anywhere. Until then, we do nothing,” Bianca sighed deeply, seemingly much more relaxed now she was in control of the situation again. Willam did as she was told and began messaging Alaska.

In the few minutes that followed, there was a flurry of activity in the studios. Roxxxy, Detox and Phi Phi sprinted down the corridor, with a yell from Phi Phi which Willam could make out as “Why is Betty coming in?!”. Before she could even react to that information, Sharon appeared in the green room looking visibly shaken.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know anything about this. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on,” she babbled, looking frantically from Willam, then Courtney, and finally Bianca.          

“Might want to tone down the swearing. Didn’t seem to work out too well earlier,” Bianca replied dryly, severely unimpressed.

Courtney turned to Sharon and put her hands on her shoulders reassuringly, “It’s okay, we’re on it. In the meantime, try and keep pushing that new policy of yours; the housing one for refugees.”

“But-”

“I know it’s only in its preliminary stages,” Courtney shook her head. “But it’s the best we’ve got at the moment, and you need to redeem yourself. Just keep banging on about it until we can get something to cool this situation down.”  

“We’ve got five minutes til we need to be back in. I need to- I need to speak to Alaska,” Sharon stammered, worry thickly coating every word she spoke. Bianca and Courtney shared an odd look.

“Why Alaska?” Bianca asked swiftly, her eyes questioning. Sharon’s face suddenly drained of all its colour. Willam suddenly felt like she had to step in.

“Alaska’s the only advisor left at the department right now. She’s going to give us a perspective that we maybe haven’t thought about.”

Silently, Willam handed Sharon her phone, Sharon’s hands shaking as she took it from her. As Sharon left the room, she shot Willam a look of gratitude. Bianca gave her a side glance as she disappeared down the corridor.

“Okay, you two, keep digging. I’m going to make a few phone calls,” she said decisively, rising from her position on the sofa and leaving the room. Willam rolled her eyes a little. As long as Sharon was speaking to Alaska, she couldn’t really do anything. She began thinking about the three members of the opposition.

“Did I hear right earlier? Did they say that Betty was coming in?” Willam asked Courtney softly. Courtney furrowed her brow in thought.

“That’s weird. They must know something we don’t. Something must be brewing for them too,” she said slowly, realisation dawning on her. “They must be worried that we’re digging into this. They’re involved in some way!”

Willam’s heart leapt as Courtney began bouncing on her own seat excitedly. “We just need to uncover whatever it is they’re worrying about.”

About a minute later, the three girls from the opposing party jogged past the clear glass of the green room again. Sharon raced back into the room behind them and chucked Willam her phone back.

“Thanks girl. I’ve got about a minute to get back. You’ve got a text from Katya, by the way,” she said quickly, out of breath as she quickly ran back to the studio. A little confused, and more than a little disorientated at the pace at which things were moving, Willam opened up the text wordlessly. She could see from the outset that something was attached to it.

K: OMFG!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A screenshot of a text conversation. When Willam hit her thumb against the screen, the image became clearer- a conversation between Katya and Trannika, except only Trannika had sent anything.

“Holy fuck girl!!! Your man on the radio- I thought I recognised his voice and then it clicked! He cleans for us as well! George comes in on the Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and does the shadow offices. Bob & co are shitting themselves!! Betty is on her way in to Five Live to firefight in case anything goes down!! I’m going to need a strong fuckin whisky tonight I’ll tell u that for nothing xo”

“Shit!” Willam exclaimed involuntarily, prompting Courtney to crane her neck and read the text over Willam’s shoulder. “That’s it. We’ve got them. That’s why they were all running around the studio like chickens with their dicks cut off. Go tell Bianca!”

Courtney gave a little squeal, almost tripping over herself as she sped out of the green room to find Bianca. Willam was experiencing a sort of adrenaline rush. It was stressful at times, but this was what she loved the absolute most about this job; there was no better feeling than knowing you had the upper hand over the other party.

Bianca suddenly came storming in with Courtney, her face hard as marble, not quite seeming as overjoyed with the finding as Willam had been. Wordlessly, she held out an open palm in front of Willam.

“Let’s see.”

Obediently, Willam handed her her phone, still open on the screenshot of Trannika’s text. She watched as Bianca’s huge owl eyes darted across the screen, then as she almost threw the phone back into Willam’s possession. As she turned on her heel, she barked a “follow me” to no-one in particular. After sharing a quick glance, Courtney and Willam followed after her as she charged full speed ahead towards the control room. Bursting through its door, she instantly rounded on Detox. Willam had often heard the phrase “looked as if she’d shat herself” used facetiously, but only now could she with complete certainty say that this was the embodiment of Detox’s expression. Clearly she hadn’t encountered Bianca since she leaked information about Sharon’s DWI to Phi Phi, and by the looks of it she was frantically attempting to make peace with the fact that her death was imminent. She opened her mouth in an attempt to say or do something, but Bianca simply uttered one word.

“Phone,” she said calmly, holding out her open hand almost as a prompt. As Detox’s expression took on one of bemusement, Bianca simply followed her one word up with another, firmer and with an edge. “Now.”

Detox began scrambling to get her phone from her bag. As Roxxxy watched the exchange with nothing less than pure fear in her eyes, Ganja turned around in her chair, annoyance painted all over her face.

“Excuse me, what in the hell do you think you’re-”

“You turn the fuck back around in that chair and just concentrate on doing your job or I will loop my fingers round those fucking metal hula hoops stapled into your ears and do a Miss Trunchbull hammer throw on your imitation ghetto ass!” Bianca snapped without missing a single beat. Silently, as if she hadn’t quite yet processed the extent of Bianca’s wrath, the shocked producer swivelled back around. Near ripping the phone out of Detox’s hand, Bianca turned and left the control room, leading Willam and Courtney to the corridor outside.

“Watch my moves,” Bianca said, near out of breath, presumably as a result of her heart hammering in her chest the same way Willam’s was currently doing now. “What’s the number for texts to the studio?”

“08442,” Courtney reeled off without missing a beat. Catching Willam’s questioning look, she gave her a quick, amused smile. “I’ve been listening to this godforsaken debate for nigh on two hours now. That number’s practically engraved into my ear canal.”

Willam watched curiously as Bianca started typing, thumbs going like mad against Detox’s phone screen. Soon enough, she had a text waiting to be sent.

“Phi Phi is a hypocrite! The opposition also employs the same cleaning company as Sharon’s government and has them working more days! Know your facts before you start tearing others down! Julie in Brighton.”

Before Willam could comment on Bianca’s chosen pseudonym, Bianca had sent the text in, then gone to sent items and deleted it from history. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Bianca finally smiled at the two advisors, some semblance of relaxed even though her frown lines were now engraved into her heavy foundation as a result of all the stressing she’d been doing for the past half hour or so. Willam shot a relieved smile at Courtney, who sent one back her way and consequently made her heart melt. Heart still hammering in her chest, Willam was about to compliment Bianca on her quick actions when a sudden voice from one end of the corridor made her jump.

“By ‘it’ do you mean stirring up a shitstorm for my party in the press which I’m now going to need to clean up?” It was a tall woman, some of her height coming from her impossibly tall electric blue heels. Her outfit didn’t exactly scream ‘politics’- black leggings with an electric blue fitted shirt and a crazy, floral patterned blazer- but then neither did her hair, which was white blonde with bright pink coursing through every other strand. Her makeup was wild and erratic, blue and black like her outfit, with a shocking pink lip pierced with a ring right through its centre. If Willam hadn’t known who she was, she would never have guessed that this was Bianca’s opposite number- “Acid” Betty Ruhren, so-called because she had a reputation for corroding anyone who happened to get on the wrong side of her via the media. Everyone except Bianca, that is, who she seemed to hold a kind of respect for. They were in the same game, and Betty seemed to recognise this, so Bianca had never ended up in the press. Now, however, she didn’t seem to look particularly happy. Decidedly acidic, Willam thought.

“Elizabeth, how wonderful of you to join us. Should I pile us all in to the control room? Your advisors are in there now, I feel it would really add to the party atmosphere,” Bianca smiled acridly. She looked as if she was making to add something, but Betty cut right in.

“Don’t give me that shit. You’re here to cause trouble.”

Bianca glared at her. “You’re here to save your own ass, and I know exactly what you’re trying to cover up.”

Betty’s eyes shot from Bianca’s face to the phone in her hand, the cogs clearly turning in her brain. There was a beat of silence, in which Willam could hear Milk’s voice from the studio.

“…and has them working more days, know your facts before you start tearing others down. Phi Phi O’Hara, quite a serious accusation there from Julie in Brighton-”

Bianca gave a small smile of satisfaction as Betty’s face darkened.

“Julie from Brighton. Is that what you’re going by these days?”

“I don’t know. It’s a whole lot better than having the same nickname as a main ingredient of bile,” Bianca shrugged, whipping her head round quickly as the door to the control room swung open and Detox and Roxxxy flew out.

“Betty, we didn’t think it would get out as fast as it did,” Roxxxy began, her eyes wide with panic as she addressed the spin doctor. Bianca nonchalantly handed Detox her phone back. Guiltily and silently, Detox slid it back into her bag, at once knowing full well what had happened. Completely oblivious to the exchange, Betty addressed Roxxxy calmly.

“It’s under control. Just go back in and make sure Phi doesn’t choke on her own tongue or some shit like that. I’ve got business out here to attend to,” she said forebodingly. Roxxxy cast a side glance at Willam before slinking back into the control room, Detox following behind her like a disgraced puppy. The door swung shut behind the two advisors. At once business-like again, Betty took one large step towards Bianca.

“You know what would go down horribly on your end? If I go to the press about the prostitutes that lovely John from the Ministry of Justice has been renting out like fucking Blockbuster DVDs every Saturday night. Somehow I think that would kick up a bit of a fuss, don’t you?”

“A man taking his sister out for dinner on a weekly basis- yes, his sister!- is actually a lovely wholesome tale that I’m sure the press would consider a non-story. What wouldn’t be considered a non-story is your not-so-lovely Anthony from your education department getting a bit too enthusiastic slapping his wife about, fucking gave her a black eye?”

Betty bristled as Courtney’s expression grew horrified. “That was a domestic accident, Bianca, and you know it.”

“Domestic accident, oh what, because he’s got hands the size of fucking flatpack wardrobes?” Bianca shot back incredulously.

“Yes, a domestic accident. What about Jade Jolie’s domestic accident, the one she got from sleeping around a little too much over at Richmond Terrace? Three potential Dads, but none of them her actual fucking husband, I reckon that would be a bit of a PR disaster for your party!”

“It wouldn’t be a PR disaster because- that is a fucking crock of shit!” Bianca laughed, rolling her eyes. Willam was in awe. It was as if the two spin doctors had quite forgotten she and Courtney were both there, and now here they were, caught in the crossfire of some form of smear war. Bianca was still going. “However, I have a photo, that I can get blown up to canvas size, of your shadow defence minister coming out of the toilets at Nobu with his nose covered in cocaine! What’s your defence to that going to be, eh? ‘Oh well you know Nigel, he’s just a really keen baker!’”

“I have tweets I can take down to Snappy Snaps and get blown up to fucking charity cheque size, from the account of your foreign secretary, except he doesn’t really seem to like foreign people all that much judging by the incredibly unironic use of the n word like punctuation in every 140 characters!”

“Your party’s been getting a lot of positive coverage by the Guardian recently, does that have anything to do with the new editor, you know, the one with the huge hair and the eyeliner? I’ve heard stories of you skulking around Camden recently, Betty, and I never really thought that was your scene? Or am I wrong?”

“DON’T FUCKING-” Betty raised her voice very suddenly as she momentarily forgot where she was, clearly having had a nerve hit. Darting her eyes from Courtney to Willam, she gave Bianca a sheepish glance, who in turn was looking at her as if she’d just won a third world war. Betty took one very laborious breath.

“Look,” she began, her voice much quieter. “How about this. We both issue a statement, saying that neither of our girls were in full possession of the facts. But both parties are in the process of employing a new company, and we’re going to be focusing on our stance towards a fairer working wage in the coming weeks.”

Respect seemingly regained, Bianca seemed to become less tense. “You carry on like that and I might not find you so grossly fucking reprehensible.”

Sniffing and then giving a little nod, Betty let go a breath she had been holding. As the atmosphere quietened, Willam became aware of Milk’s theme song playing, signalling the end of the programme. The studio door opened and out emerged a wearied-looking Dan Donigan, a Phi Phi with a face like thunder, and a Sharon that looked as if she’d been put through a wash and dry cycle. Ignoring Bianca, Willam and Courtney, she simply turned and walked towards the lifts.

The only thing she said into the echoing of the corridor was simply, “I need a fucking bath, my vibrator, and fifty tramadol.”

Same, was Willam’s only thought, as Roxxxy and Detox skulked out of the control room and off down towards the exit. They seemed to be holding hands, and Willam thought briefly about her theory from earlier.

“Well, all’s well that ends well,” Bianca raised her eyebrows sarcastically, making to head towards the green room. “Good work today, Courtney. Willam- step your shit up.”

Willam wanted to kick herself as Bianca walked off towards the exit. Turning on her heel, she slowly made her way towards the bathroom and couldn’t help but wonder if the sinks would be big enough to drown herself in after this utter turd of a day.  

***

As Willam slung her bag over her right shoulder and winced slightly under its weight, she turned to leave and jumped a little when she saw a silent Courtney in the doorway of the green room. She looked a little embarrassed and slightly nervous about the fact she was there. The gentle hum of the omnipresent radio in the background and the quiet tick of the clock were the only ones to speak.

“Hey,” Courtney began nervously, smiling slightly as she took one small step forward. “That was really great, what you did today.”

“What we did,” Willam corrected her, not really sure what tone to take so deciding to keep things neutral. For a moment Courtney was silent, tucking a little strand of hair behind her ear awkwardly and exposing a hint of a pink blush.

Finally she let out a big sigh and began talking. “Look Willam, I’m really sorry for how I’ve been acting recently. I’ve been a massive dick for not really much good reason and it’s not okay.”

The first reaction Willam had was one of total, complete, all-encompassing relief. Courtney wasn’t mad at her anymore, or was never mad at her to begin with. She still wanted to be friends, maybe even something more. Well, Willam couldn’t really get her hopes up all that high, but she was still slightly euphoric that Courtney was finally okay with her again and right now anything seemed possible. Noticing how Courtney was still shyly waiting for her response, Willam broke into a smile.

“C’mere, you stupid bitch,” she snorted, opening her arms in a hug whilst deciding she couldn’t break free from the platonic realm just yet. With relief washing over Courtney’s face, she stumble-ran into Willam’s arms, hugging her tightly in a way that made Willam’s heart swell. All at once she knew the old Courtney was back.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured again into Willam’s hair, and Willam privately thanked God for this little moment of reconciliation.

“Come on, you know I don’t hold grudges. Well, not against my friends.”

“You have every right to, though.”

“Well, I’m not going to. So stop worrying,” Willam muttered back, acutely aware that Courtney hadn’t yet shifted from Willam’s arms, seemingly not going anywhere anytime soon. “Are you alright though? Anything you want to talk about?”

Suddenly Courtney became unstuck and pulled away from the hug, pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands self-consciously. “Yeah…no, I’m fine. Just was struggling with something for a couple weeks. You know, a kind of inner battle?”

As Courtney laughed awkwardly, Willam indulged her with a nod, still not entirely sure what she was referring to. She was happy, though, that whatever Courtney had been struggling with was clearly over. She decided to change topic altogether.

“So, Alyssa’s next week. You still going?”

Courtney smiled. “Yeah, ‘course. If only to stop Sharon getting completely wrecked and vomiting on the shoes of the PM’s wife, or something equally Sharon-esque.”

“I think it’ll be fun. Running around after her and cleaning up her mess like she’s a toddler. How else would you want to spend a Saturday night?”

Willam delighted in the way Courtney’s face scrunched up as she laughed, concluding that it was probably the thing she’d missed most of all about her. Glancing at the clock, she realised that it was past nine.

“Listen, it’s getting late. Do you want to share a cab back? I think Sharon was so done with today she’s probably just taken the car and fucked off,” she laughed a little, holding back a quip about Alaska after remembering yet again that that wasn’t public knowledge just yet. It would be eventually, of course. Nothing could stay secret forever. Looking back at Courtney and her face all lit up in a smile, she reconsidered. Maybe some things could. As Courtney simply nodded twice in affirmation, Willam walked forward and, deciding to fuck platonic intent to one side, threaded an arm through Courtney’s. She didn’t pull away, and as the two made their way to the exit of these godforsaken studios, Willam realised she was leaving work without a heavy heart for the first time in over a fortnight.

[klkettle]

On writing and nerding: my Nookery

Being a Londoner I’ve got about 5 inches of ‘space’ to use as my writing nook. This is more often than not the corner of my living room.

I’ll be honest this is a massive uptick from 10 years of writing in hotel rooms. Officially the second decent thing hotels are useful for, after jumping on the beds.

Finding the right place and space to work has always been difficult for me. I have been a mobile worker most of my adult life, and where transience wasn’t on the cards home was more open-plan sleep and entertainment space than “shed”, like I had once imagined.

Writing in the presence of housemates and close friends has led to a tendency to ‘nest’.

[To be read in David Attenborough voice]

“Here we find the rare Kettle-bird, a nesting writer capable of burying herself in blankets, pillows, hats and hoodies so that all that is visible is a pair of intense eyes, rapidly typing hands and a glowing keyboard. Best to avoid if it looks like it might cry or kill you.”

It also means I’m forever taking things up and down from walls. And you wouldn’t believe the places I’ve found post-it notes! Like most modern writers I have an 'electronic office’ which consists of various cloud based apps like pinterestand g-docs. But I’m building a little 'portable’ office that allows me to physicalise the most important parts and that makes use of my addiction to gadgets, multipurpose tooling and App-linking with digital media for access on the move.

So here follows a few blogs on Nookery essentials for writers needing to build a guerrilla writing space, which can be deconstructed and reconstructed at a moment’s notice.

This is an evolution of Fort-Building of my youth, but for the discerning, space-saving, writer. (Turning it up to 11 for the nerdy ones)

1) Multi-purpose room divider / human-avoider

Blocking out children, demanding friends, television and that ever-so-pesky daylight that makes us shrink back into our coffins is sometimes necessary to allow the imagination to fly. Great for people who like to ‘write in the dark, edit in the light’.

Where possible I think multipurpose is best, and I found a great Etsy supplier that makes custom boards with chalk boards/cork boards included. Chalk boards are great for planning etc. Cork for making sure those pictures and notes and post-its stay in view and don’t get lost down the back of the sofa.

To accompany this I also recommend :

Chalkboard pens in many colours because lump chalk is made of evil

Hook Gear Thumb tacks which enable dangling other stuff on top of the pins - genius (also useful for throwing out of the window a loud people disrupting my creativity)

2) Who needs walls anyway?

Being a writer is a symptom of an addition to stationary. FACT. Even with an electronic office I’ve probably consumed an entire rainforest in my lifetime with all the printing, doodling and sticking I’ve done. Combining Whiteboard Paper with Dropbox and Evernote as a tool that transposes notes from Scrawl (OCR = optical character recognition) to electronic notes [I’ll write a separate blog on how to set this up and update a link here] allows me to scribble freely on my walls like a child with ADHD after three boxes of Nerds and a bottle of Sunny D, which means I can follow up when I come down from the sugar high.

3) Electronic Scribblings

In 2015 if it ain’t digital it won’t do. But dammit I spent literally ages when I was a teen making sure I had the most expressive handwriting for my romantic soul - to the point it was borderline illegible - but it’s mine gaddamit and the computer will recognise it eventually.

So imagine my shiny glee when I discovered LiveScribe.

I use aLiveScribe 3 - It’s particularly good for writing workshops as well as sitting in coffee shops. My only issue is that I hate biro and prefer fineliner or ink - but I sacrifice a smooth writing experience for portable productivity. (See it in action with a review here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Asj0qOY1dkI)

Other options include the Sky penwhich uploads straight to Evernote. NeoandEquilalso do smart pens. But LiveScribe is top for me especially given their new project withMoleskin(Which should be rebranded WriterCrack IJS).

When in doubt, also, there’s my trusty Lamy. It doesn’t do electronic, but it does fuel my soul. 

4) Teasmaid / Regular Writer-Fuel Dispenser

Beverages, particularly Tea, are essential for writing; and making a cup of tea ‘in character’ is a great way to get into writing mode. So there are definite advantages to getting up and making a pot, also to make sure gangrene doesn’t set in during a particular epic writing sesh. Therefore I would like to thank the Universe for inventing a teasmade!

1) Sit down to write: Put on timer for Teasmade / Coffeemade(My preference is aSage kettle.)

2) *Bing*: Break + Tea. 

3) Result: Profit!

If only I could get an App to provide freshly made warm biscuits to dunk too. 

Sort of a combined Pomodoro technique with a cuppa ready for you at the end. What’s not to love?

* To Nerd it to 11 you can combine tea/coffeemades with aWeMo plug, IFTTTCode and your Do! Appto hit a button on your phone and get tea. (I’ll post the code here at a later date)

5) Folding desk of Awesome

When I was a kid my dad made me an open sided wooden box to use as a portable desk so that even if I was sitting 3 ft away from the television (common) I was at a good angle for my back and could get my homework done. It was my favorite Christmas present ever.

[ Let’s take a moment to recognise how awesome my parents were again - and how I totally didn’t appreciate it at the time.]

Writing stories and drawing while curled cross-legged on the floor like a super-productive yogi is now my most comfortable operating position. So over the years I have never liked permanent desks.

Here are my recommended portable and fold-able desks available for purchase for those of your without woodworking skills or handy parents.

Wall mounted desks take up little room and if you’re savvy can be disguised by the room divider!  

For those of you not renting a cupboard in London (where nailing anything to the wall is a big no-no unless you want to lose the deposit you sold a kidney to round up in the first place) I’d suggest something that has the air of a Mattel Transformer, but for nerds. I give you my personal favourite folding desk.

If you have a black AMEX maybe you can commission this beauty. (Ultimate Advance Spend Plan: Louis VuittonBespoke Desk Case) 

6) Lighting the scene

I like to adapt my lighting to the scene I’m writing. For example I set a warm light for a scene that is full of love or sunlight, or cold light for something indoors or utilitarian. 

Phillips’ Hue system is pretty damn ingenious and allows for adjusting the multiple lights to illuminate a space with every colour in the spectrum - including flickering candle light if you combine with the hue party app. They also have several products that don’t require wires. Which makes for excellent nooking. The Apps are user-friendly to even the most technophobic user, and for those who need a physical button you can add these switches to the system with minimum effort. 

The portable table lampis my favorite for mood setting and is easily set up in a nook.

Talking about flickering candle light, if you’re writing a scene where this is required I can’t recommend electronic candles enough. All the light, none of the waxy mess.

7) Silence

In a busy space it can be hard to find the right level of white noise to cancel out the world and sink into the one in your imagination. Personally I work best with music on that takes me into my story (the playlists are endless, thank you Spotify), or some form of nature sounds (rains and storms are the best for me, particularly if i want to shut out tube/bus distractions). Chris Jones’ (Esquire Writer) has a great list. 

But for those of you who need true silence then short of throwing everyone out of the house or sticking sheets in your ears I would recommend various Noise-Cancelling device orheadphones. 

* By the way I know I haven’t covered seating. Apart from the fact that I want to create a space that is seating independent, I’m saving my dream chairto celebrate something special ;) 

Okay so that’s it. Quite an involved blog i’ll admit, but hopefully useful-slash-interesting.

Thanks for the help from my circle of writery types to provide inspiration. I hope you’ve found this useful. I created apinterest board with links to the above, and might at some point create a YouTube tour of the Nook to cover the points in this blog. Welcome comments. What do you have in your nook? How to you use technology to enable your writing physically and digitally? Have you used the tools above, and what did you think?