#like yesterday when i threw up. i played it off like that was a blunder on my body. but i know what i did.

[transgender-catboy]

I love my friends

[rihon-scribe-some-writer-guy]

Uncle Owen’s Cabin

Chapter 1A

Linus finished shining his combat boots for the last time; unaware of what the Force had fated for him. The young private threw the polished stained rag in the garbage and washed his hands in the nearby sink before grabbing his list of the things he should carry with his backpack. He needlessly checked his bag to ensure he was mission ready to find that all his equipment was as he left it yesterday. He then doubled checked it to draw out another four minutes before he began to sneak his way through the barracks of slumbering soldiers of the New Republic. His habit of waking up early trained him to step silently in his combat boots. Yet his heart sank when he stepped on the holotape player at the foot of Arden’s bunk and turned it on. The picture showed a Sando aqua monster closing in on a boatful of humans and twi’leks in swimwear set to suspenseful cinematic music. Luckily, the only stir in the room was Arden halting mid snore and muttering, “Don’t do it, Gungan,” before snoring once more Holding-both his breath and his urge to smash the holotape player, he reached down to tap the power button with as little touch as possible before continuing out slightly flustered.

Linus briskly marched through the lower quarters of the cruiser to the lift. As he rode the large lift, he relaxed his stance to recollect himself. With the lift all to himself, he pulls out a large locket to open. He gazes at a picture of a couple with two young men at each of their side. The three men share the Amber-brown hue in their hair, yet the two young men’s eyes matches to the pair or gray-stained green eyes belonging to the woman. As the music box within the locket plays faintly, Linus is pulled into his memories from five years ago: The sounds of sirens wailing to match those of every single soul within a city distraught, the strain on the wrist from being pulled to run faster by the seasoned man from the locket photo, the sensation of being forced into a bulk of blundering beings boarding the gigantic cruiser with a desperation thick enough to drown you in the crowd, the sight of looking out of the window to the blue pearl of your home planet behind, believing something to be left behind, only for the sight to fade to white as a green beam impacts it.

“Hey, Chiman! Are you sleeping walking?”

The firm voice brought Linus back from his thoughts as the lift had reached the platform two minutes ago. He snapped the locket shut in his palm, cutting the music box off.

“No Mr. Aurigae,” Linus claims before straightening his posture and saluting with his occupied hand. “I mean- Negative, Sargent Aurigae, sir!”

“Alright alright. Calm down there Linus,” Aurigae chuckled to no avail as Linus refused to release his salute, even with the dangling locket smacking his own nose repeatedly like an abusive pendulum. “Seriously Linus, at ease.”

Linus dropped his poorly executed salute and muttered, “I’m sorry sir.”

The dark skin Sargent met his subordinate at the side and placed a hand on the opposite shoulder. With gentle concern, he press his palm against his shoulder blade to guide him off the soon to drop lift. “You know I don’t write off soldiers who aren’t on the clock, right?”

Only a small smile crept onto Linus’ face as he looked down. “I know, sir.”

“So tell me, why is one of the newest Terraforce officers mission ready two hours early for his scheduled shift?”

“I’m not fully mission ready, sir. I haven’t got my coffee yet.”

“You don’t drink coffee.”

“I had to start when I trans- I mean… to adjust to the new hours.”

“Are Donnel’s troupes giving you trouble again, son?”

“No Mr. Aurigae.”

“Because I can write them up if they are.”

Linus agitation compelled him to step out of his superior’s arm and met him face-to-face. “Everything’s fine, Mr. Aurigae. Everything is fine now.”

Linus looked away, unsure if he convinced Sgt. Aurigae that his claim was true. His saving grace stampeded in front on them as a group of children ran to the window of the ship. Pressing their hands and a few faces against the thick glass, they gazed out at the desert covered planet with mixed chanting expressions of ‘there it is’ ‘where did all the water go’ ‘it’s so dirty’ ‘abawk gwintresh naghoul’ and ‘the planet is too poor to afford water’. Linus was about to scolded the group, yet his exclamation was cut off from his Sgt. laughing at the live show of kids say the darnest things and the intercom playing trumpet fanfare and a narrator announcing the following:

“Five years ago, The Tantive IV made this same run to deliver plans to the troops of the rebellion. However, the Tantive IV was ambushed by an Imperial battle cruiser. As brave and noble soldiers fought off the evil storm troopers, General Leia Organa cunningly transfer the data to a R2 droid and sent it off to an escape pod where it was found by the greatest hero of the rebellion…”

The narrator would continue to attempt to hold the attention of the children as the violins softly accompanied it. Yet Linus and Sargent Aurigae began a new conversation away from the site seers.

“Permission to speak freely, Sgt?”

“Permission granted. Speak your mind.”

“This whole guest line escapade seems completely out of line. The White Phoenix is a war ship not cruise line.”

“The White Phoenix is more than either of those things, Private. The White Phoenix serves the New Republic by giving the people hope for a brighter tomorrow. If the White Phoenix was simply a war ship, it could have been retire months ago.”

“But there are still imperial troops out there.”

“True, but they have scattered amongst the galaxy. We can’t narrow our focus to just fighting the Emperor-less Empire. If we want to truly defeat the empire, we need to start showing the citizens of this galaxy that the Republic will offer its service to the people.”

This time the silence was only countered by humming of the life support vents. Linus Let his head hang down again, hating that Aurigae always seemed to have a valid point against his.

“Don’t worry son. The New Republic will still need troops like the three of you.”

“The three of-“

Linus couldn’t finish his sentence before being put into a hugging grapple by two men who had caught him off guard like many times before. Cheers from the two men covered Linus’ declaration of officer on deck. It wouldn’t mattered as Aurigae only offered a head shake with more chuckles.

“Come Linus. You should have figured out by now that Keith is practically one of us. Unless… you been an Imperial spy all this time,” claimed the sneak hugger with bleached punk hair as he ruffled Linus’ amber brown hair.

“Hey Tanji not too rough now. Linus is still under Donnel Ordearna’s troupe,” stated his fellow officer whose dark short neatly cut hair contrasted Tanji’s hairstyle.

“What? What do you- Ohhhhhh,” Tanji realized as he halted his antics. “Hey, your shift isn’t until two hours. Are Ordearna’s men still giving you shit for waking the whole barracks?”

“No Tanji.”

“Because if they tie you up in your bedsheets again and drag you through the cafeteria food line-“

“Tanji! Not so loud!” Pleaded Linus in a whisper.

“-And make you walk back to the barracks in your underwear-“ continued Tanji, completely unaware of social eloquence and volume control.

“Jayden, can you please make him stop?!?!?” Linus begged as he turned to the other officer.

“Tanji! What did we say about threatening Ordearna’s men?”

After a pause and a sigh, Tanji defeatedly answered “Not to do it in front of Keith.”

Patting Tanji on the back, Jayden murmured, “Yeah… that was definitely a rhetorical question, bud.”

Tanji’s spirit couldn’t be dampened from his lack of social cue awareness as he continued to catch up with Linus.

“Man you should just transfer over back under Keith over here.” Tanji suggested as he nodded his head to the side in the direction of Sargent Aurigae. If we get into a fire fight, I might not be able to hold them off without you taking care of my ammo.”

“Tanji is still bitter that we have to share a canon turret now and he can’t avoid reload duty,” explained Jayden.

“Look, if Linus wants a turn at the cannon, he can get one.”

“Wait, are you serious? You would give one of your cannon shifts over to Linus?”

“Hell no! I’d give him one of your shifts,” cackled Tanji.

“And here I thought Tanji was letting his caring side slip out,” sighed Jayden.

“Saddest part is that you would have went along with it, Jayden,” leered Keith.

“Look, you guys are great, but I’m not giving up the chance to get to go on ground mission. I mean, four years of service, and the closes I ever got to combat was in orbit on Bespin,” explained Linus.

“Aw yeah! We kicked the shit out of that Imperial cruiser,” boasted Tanji.

“And now, the best you could hope for is if the White Phoenix steers into a uncharted asteroid field,” Jayden sympathized.

“Well… we would of kick the shit out of those asteroids,” murmured Tanji.

“Alright you two. Let’s go ahead and get back on patrol. If we get final rounds done, I’ll let you off early,” offered Aurigae.

After getting his hair ruffled once more from Tanji and receiving a pat on the back from Jayden, his former troupe members perambulated towards the engine room. Linus was left with the path that he chosen months ago; a path away from his three friends for the possibility of an adventure full of action. Linus determination drove him, and his was by that focus where he noticed something unusual in the ship port docks.

A range of assorted ships sat parked with their lights off except for one frigate. The frigate shining lights contrasted with the red and black paint job on the ship’s incredibly sleek body. As Linus stared at the ship, he noted that a shadow loom in the navigation control room. Witnessing the odd occurrence, he made his way onto the frigate.

Stepping into the loading bay of the frigate, Linus remained silent to attempt to hear if anyone was onboard. As he crept his way to navigation, he heard the sounds of buttons being pressed on the holo-deck. Peering from the cover of the entrance, the sight of a blonde hair woman typing on a main terminal. Linus began to calm down believing that the situation wasn’t a threat, yet he noted that the formal outfit worn by the woman wasn’t an alliance officer’s uniform. Linus mindlessly knocked on the wall, startling the woman to jump out of the chair.

“Sorry! Sorry,” exclaimed Linus as he raised his hands to show his empty palms. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to check to make sure everything was okay.”

“Yeah- Everything’s fine,” she exhaled as she attempted to catch her breath from being startled.

“Is the ship preparing to depart to Tatoonie?”

“Oh god no! I don’t think anyone would head to Tatoonie if they can avoid it. No, we just have the ship powered up to access the holonet through the ships communication system.”

“Wait! Accessing the holonet? Why? What for?”

“I’m just downloading some documents for research purposes. If you need me to, Officer-“

“Linus,” interjected Linus, unaware that the woman wasn’t prying for his name. “Linus Chiman.”

“Okay… if you need to, Linus Lebbothul, I can show you the authorization file.”

“Uhhhhh…” Linus hesitated as he wasn’t sure if he had the clearance to view the document. “No need to do that. I was just wondering why you weren’t using the holonet from the Phoenix.”

The woman turn her focus to the terminal as she attempted to explain, “Well, with the cruiser having to… maintain communication and outsource… to the tourists, we’re using the Cardinal’s.”

“We?”

“Uh… yeah. I have one of your engineers assisting me from the comms control room. Here let me page him for you.”

“No no! That’s not necessary!” Linus tried to get the words out in time, yet the woman had already hit the comms button.

The woman held a silence as if to ponder how to proceed before announcing “Hey Ted… Officer Chiman is on board.”

Linus grew uneasy for the seconds that lingered; fretting the engineer recognize his name. Through the holographic monitor, a male voice responded, “Oh…. Wait… Officer Chiman… that name sounds familiar…”

“No! No it doesn’t! It shouldn’t! I’m new,” lied Linus, desperately trying to avoid another person bring up the chili sauce walk of shame.

“Uhhhh, okay. Hey um… Teach, does he need to see the permit file?”

“That’s not necessary Ted, but maybe you can better explain what we need.”

“Right… sure thing… Teach. So… how’s your understanding of data movement and processing systems?”

Linus replied, “I… what?”

“Got it, little to none. Basically, the processing power of the Phoenix is being divided by essential alliance needs along with suiting the accommodations of the audience of the Yavin IV tour. Currently, the outsourcing of the holonet is pressing the limits of the bandwidth to the point where additional access could cause connection issues. Since the Cardinal has a composition that differs in every regards to the Phoenix with new installations, it can provide a clear connection to the holonet without interfering with communication provided by the Phoenix due to being set to a different frequency and register under a different HP address.”

A long pause hanged in the air before Linus inquired, “Uhhh, okay… that sounds… why do hit points need an address?”

A pause lingered in the conversation before the voice for the holo-screen queried, “Teach, you know that I don’t always read the social cues correctly. Is he joking?”

“That depends. Would you be able to explain it before the download completes?”

“Well, the download only needs five minutes annnd twenty six seconds. And holonet protocol is an intermediate term to-“

The woman muted the intercom to turn to Linus and said, “Do you really want to get a crash course in techno babble?”

Linus stuttered, “I’ll- uh- I’ll leave you two to it.”

He would have turned to leave that moment if the arriving officers. An officer who wore metallic gloves and a pilot head set rushed to the controls. The second officer called out in a voice that could grasp a filled theatre, “You should have the dock release code sent to your hud, Knifewing. We have a gunner crew coming in soon. When they are set, we’ll set course for the rescue mission.”

Teach repeated with confusion, “Rescue Mission?”

“Yes. This is a top level rescue mission, Brighthead. Set a course for atmospheric entry at these coordinates.”

Linus piped up, “Tatoonie? Who are we rescuing on Tatoonie?”

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

Chapter 1B

Luke Skywalker witnessed the twin sunrise of Tatoonie for the first time in many years. While he fled the planet five years ago, the most vivid memory he had of the sunrise was when he eight years old: the day when Uncle Owen would teach him how to drive the land speeder. Luke thought the speeder was so cool ever since he was three, and the promise of learning to drive it drove him to wake up early to help his Uncle with the chores throughout his childhood. On that day, he remembered how as the second sun was still coming from the horizon, that the two sun clashed in amber red as they competed to light the path through the moisture farm. Now that he return, the amber lights gave dawn to the moisture farm and lighted the path to a land speeder approaching him in descending speed.

As the land-speeder came to a parking stop, the Toydarian driver used it’s wings to exit the speeder without making use of the door. As he flew, he greeted Luke, “Hey! If it isn’t Owen’s best farmhand. Look at you, all-grown.”

“I’m sorry,” responsed Luke. “Have we met?”

“We have, we have. You were only a child thought; shorter than me, ya were. The name’s Quidpupu; you can call me Quid though. That’s what Owen use to call me. You see, my father got his old man into the moisture business.”

“I see. And you’re looking to buy back the land?”

“Hey, the Begnagg Family honors the business of the Lars. When we heard that Tuskin raiders burn them alive, we were distraught. Imagine the joy that we heard when the Little Lars survived.”

“Well, my last name is Skywalker.”

“Hey, a name is a name. The farm is just sitting there, and you are the surviving member of the Lars Family. If you’re looking to fix up the farm, Quid here can get you-“

“No. That won’t be necessary. I don’t have any intentions on keeping the farm.”

“Well, Quid here will do your family right, Slyrunner-“

“Skywalker,” Luke corrected.

“We’ll let you get the family valuables packed,” continued Quid, “and give you a fair quote on the price. You can trust Quid, kid. Quid is all about business. Land, sport speeders, ya name it.”

“Wait, like that sport speeder?”

“Oh sure, she’s on the market. The TI-84 model: with all the bells and whistles. If ya want, Quid can work out a trade for ya, this beauty for the land. Pretty sweet deal, ya?”

All of the sudden, Luke had a tinge feeling of his teenage years. “I definitely can’t say no to that offer.”

“Hey, that’s what Quid likes to hear! Hey, Quid’s even gonna help you clean the place; get you out of here before the scorching midday.”

The Toydarian led the way into the familiar face entrance noting, “Yeah. You can tell this is Lars’ Farm. Still has that old paint job on the roof. Owen never got around to repainting it.”

“Something always seemed to come up,” responded Luke as his view went from the pattern ceiling to the empty room. “Well, I don’t think that we’ll be here for long.”

“Yeah. Damn Jawa will take everything that they can. But Owen was a wise guy; I’m sure he had a place where he would stash stuff away.”

The two continued to look throughout the complex of the moisture farm, yet Luke couldn’t find a single belonging of his. He wanted to fight the feeling of of sadness as he knew Master Yoda would have whack him with his cane and reminded him that “materials and possessions, a Jedi cares not for.” He tried to remind himself that he wanted to leave his aunt and uncle for years. Yet returning to the farm made him realize that he never truly processed the eviction that the empire forced upon him. Luke was stripped of all former possessions from his childhood. Yet he wasn’t without inheritance.

Quid shouted rooms away, “Hey kid! Quid found something for ya.”

Luke began to stride over to the Toydarian, yet slowed his pace when he realized where Quid was shouting from. It was Uncle Owen’s Cabin. Luke had never seen the inside of this room before, as he was told at a young age by his aunt that the cabin was off limits, then was spanked by his uncle when he attempted to bypass the door. Now he came to the room with the door completely open.

Luke questioned, “Hey, how did you get in here?”

“What da ya mean? I go through the doorway.”

“But Uncle Owen always kept this room locked.”

“Well Quid gots an idea. Ya uncle might have stuff something important in here just before the attack.” Quid motioned to a medium size cylinder vault with visible chips and burn marks near the opening. “Looks like no one has been able to get in.”

Luke took a look a the vault and replied, “Well, it looks like no one could bypass the code.”

“Hey! Lucky you! Ya uncle kept something safe for ya.”

“Sure. A little too safe I’m afraid. I don’t know the combo. Whatever is in there is locked for good.”

“What? Come on kid; don’t be like that. You gotta at least guess. Come on. The Lars, they raise ya. Ya would have the closest guess to what the code could be. What about ya uncle’s birthday, huh?”

“There’s no way it would be Uncle Owen’s birthday,” Luke chuckled. “If it was Aunt Beru, then maybe. There were years where Beru would surprise Uncle Owen with a Bluemilk Cake, and he would be caught off guard because he didn’t realized that it was his birthday.”

“Huh. Well, what da ya supposed would be a date that ya Uncle wouldn’t forget?”

Luke ponder over the Toydarian’s inquiry for nearly a minute before reaching to the digital combination and entering a series of numbers. The vault door creaked ajar after the unyielding lock released.

“Hey! Look at ya! Ya firgured it out! Come on! Tell Quid: did Owen set the lock to his anniversary with Beru?”

“No. He set it to the date of my grandmother’s passing,” Luke muttered as he was still stuck in memory. “There were years where he would forget his own birthday, but he always remember to visit her burial sight every evening on the same year.”

“Oh ya. Quid was wondering why that rock was there. I guess ya uncle really loved him mom.”

“It was his step-“ Luke started, remembering when Aunt Beru explained Shmi to him after Owen ran off to chase Tusken Raiders further into the desert. Then he remembered how Beru explained that Shmi doted over Owen and was more of a mother than the woman who birth him. Reflecting on that he still needed to think through his wide stretching family tree, he just continued, “Yeah. Yeah, he loved his mother very much.”

“Uh huh,” responded Quid as he heaved the vault door open. “Woah-ho-ho.”

A assortment of finely cut jewels circled a holorecorder. Quid began picking up the jewels and holding them to his eye. “Say what ya want about the Lars, but they is some smart guys; keeping some universal currency on hand.”

Luke reach for the holorecorder to inspected it; finding it to be locked via password. “I’m not sure if I’ll be as fortunate to figure out what’s on this holorecorder.”

“Eh probably not important. Come on, let get this treasure out of here and finish the deal.”

Luke gathered what little Quid would allow him to carry and they made their way back out of the complex and towards the sport land speeder.

“Well Kid, it looks like it’s about time to close this deal.”

“Uh okay. What do you need from me? A signature?”

As Luke finished his questioned, a chiseled voice ordered, “Draw your saber, Jedi.” Luke turned around to see a heavily armored man with a blaster pistol at his side. The visor style reminded Luke of Boba Fett. Luke waive his hands and calmly stated, “You don’t feel like fighting.”

The armored man raised his pistol and send a blast a foot away from Luke face. He replied, “That’s where your wrong Jedi. A true Warrior is always ready to fight. Draw your saber in three, two, one.”

On his countdown, the assailant sent out blast after blast to Luke. Luke however drew his green light saber and began deflecting each shot. Luke circled away from the land-speeder to avoid any shot heading towards Quid cowering in it.

The Toydarian popped his head out to shout, “Hey, stop messing around and take out the punk.”

After deflecting a blast, Luke reached out through the force to pull the blaster pistol away from the assailant. “There’s no need for that.”

“Awww. That’s cute,” mocked a deep voice from behind Luke.

Luke spun around to a have his guard ready only to find himself guarding against a radio box. It did no avail to protect him from the dart that sank into his back. Luke buckled his knees as he fell from the energy fading in his body. As Luke strained to keep his eyes from letting him fade to unconsciousness, the deep voice only jeered, “You thought Quid was talking to you.”

[artificialqueens]

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold the lift!”

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

“Morning, girl!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At her job, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jan and Brooke shared a concerned look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She looking for us?” Vanessa asked nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only for a moment, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

She deserved better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

B: How’s Bianca holding up?

A pause.

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

B: I really hope you haven’t.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brooke nodded silently.

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

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

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

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

Bianca smiled, glad to have received a sufficient reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who, Jiggly?” Bianca asked, nonplussed.

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

“Yeah, Jiggly.”

“Bianca, her name isn’t Jiggly.”

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

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

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

“Jade Jolie.”

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

“Lashawn, then?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vanessa or Jan?” Bianca questioned.

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

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

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

“Brooke Lynn!”

She turned around sharply.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the most platonic way possible, obviously.

***    

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“MEETING ROOM, NOW!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nina nodded apprehensively, unsure of how serious Bianca was.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jan-tastic? What the hell was that?”

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

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

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

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

God, she was glad Vanessa was staying.

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

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

[rpdrficexchange]

Stuck (craquaria - mollyroll)

Summary: It wasn’t exactly love at first sight. It took a faulty elevator and a lengthy chat to realize how good they could be together.

A/N: Happy holidays everyone!! 

This was written for @tohkkis with lots of love, hope you like it <3 <3

I had so so much fun with the plot bunny

Thanks to missy and my lovely sis lena for the beta read!!

ao3 link - moodboard 

2303 words

&&& feel free to poke me at @aqmollyroll <3

Brianna had always had a soft spot for the Christmas season, even if she didn’t celebrate it. She was 5 when her mum first told her the meaning behind the phrase imprinted on her wrist in loopy, delicate writing.

Everyone is born with an inscription on their left wrist, a message that will vanish when their soulmate says the words to them. Their second half; their perfect match.

When Brianna was younger, her friends used to tease her for having an unusual mark. It was normal to have romantic phrases, but Brianna felt very proud of her words.

Have I told you how much I despise Christmas shopping?

It was a blessing to know roughly when it would happen. A hopeless romantic, every single year she waited anxiously for December, and was disappointed when January came along and the words remained unchanged on her skin.

This year was no exception. She had volunteered to cover the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day shifts at the coffee shop so her two other coworkers could have time off with their families. She didn’t mind, being the sole barista and cashier was exhausting, but helping her friends made her warm and fuzzy inside.

So when she dragged herself all the way home on the 24th, nearing midnight, she wanted nothing more than to eat her mother’s cooking and then slide into bed until the next day. In a single motion, she entered the elevator and pressed the button for the tenth floor. The doors were closing when out of the corner of her eye she spotted a figure entering the lobby, carrying a veritable tower of presents.

“Hold the elevator!” The girl was stumbling; the boxes in her hands obscured her vision and she was having a lot of trouble keeping them balanced.

Brianna didn’t think twice, she ran over, determined to help in whatever way she could. She took a couple of boxes off the top of the tower, enough so the other girl could see where she was walking, and helped her inside the elevator.

Once the doors closed, she turned to ask the other girl what floor she needed to go.

“Ten is good, thanks”

Brianna knew her. Her name was Aquaria, if memory served her well. She fidgeted where she stood, feeling inadequate in her stained pink unicorn sweater when Aquaria looked as though she had been ripped off the pages of Vogue. Both of them had grown up in the same building, the same floor, two doors down from each other, but they had never really interacted. Brianna probably knew her mums better than she knew Aquaria, and that was saying a lot.

The elevator had started moving by the time she sneaked a glance at Aquaria and found her looking at herself in the mirror. To tell the truth, she had never really liked the younger girl. She had always thought Aquaria was distant, self-centered, and haughty. When she left their small town some years back (“She’s going to be a model!” her taller, sweeter mum had once told her upon a chance meeting in the hallway) it only reaffirmed Brianna’s preconceptions about her. She thought she was too good for-

There was a hitch as the elevator climbed, then a shrill metallic sound. Suddenly, it shuddered and ground to a shaking halt. The lights turned off.

“What the fuck?!” Thumps echoed in the darkness as what Brianna guessed were boxes fell to the floor. Aquaria launched herself at the control panel, frantically looking for the alarm button.

“Uh… it won’t work…” Brianna bent to set the gifts she was carrying neatly on the carpet, then sat down. “The elevator maintenance crew was supposed to come this week but-”

Aquaria banged on the door, then groaned when, predictably, nothing happened. “You have got to be kidding me! Tonight, of all nights!?”

Brianna shrugged, then realized there was no point in the gesture. “I mean, we probably won’t be here for long.”

She heard the rustle of fabric, then a dull thud as Aquaria presumably slid down onto the carpet. Her eyes were still getting used to the dark when a flash of light dazzled her. Aquaria had turned on her phone. She fidgeted with it for a few seconds, then threw it into a pile of boxes in frustration.

“Could you call my mum? Your mum? Someone? Anyone?” Illuminated by the faint glow of her phone, Aquaria looked like she was going to cry.

Brianna knew her phone had run out of battery hours ago, but she hoped for a Christmas miracle. She pulled it out of her bag and, as expected, it was dead.

“I knew I should have bought a SIM card at the airport, fuck my life.” Aquaria half heartedly thumped her head against the floor length mirror behind her.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure we’ll be out in no time.” Brianna couldn’t find it in her heart to complain about being tired when the other girl seemed so distraught.

“I guess… urgh… it’s just been a long day.” Aquaria turned on her phone’s flashlight so they would at least have a light source.

“Same… long, long day.”

For years Aquaria had seemed like a stone statue, unapproachable and perfectly poised. Seeing her trying so hard to keep herself in check was weird, to say the least. She was human, after all. Brianna felt bad for having assumed so many things about her, it was unlike herself to think the worst of others but for some reason she had done so anyway when it came to Aquaria.

They spent a few moments in uncomfortable silence when Aquaria began talking unprompted.

“I took a red eye flight from Paris yesterday… I was hoping to surprise Mum and Mum for Christmas but… the flight was delayed and… I barely had time to buy some presents and…”

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you anyway."

Aquaria rubbed her eyes, smudging her perfect makeup. "You’re probably right… sorry about that… Mum always says I run my mouth whenever I’m stressing too much about stuff…”

Brianna smiled what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “You’re really close with them, that’s sweet.”

“Not really, I only see them once a year.” Aquaria crossed her legs. “Don’t get me wrong, I miss them. I’m just so swamped by work I can barely have time off.”

“They probably like you better because they don’t see you as often.” Brianna’s eyes opened wide when she noticed what she had said.

Rather than take offence, Aquaria laughed. “I guess you’re right.”

“I mean,” still somewhat flustered, Brianna tried to correct her blunder, “if they’re anything like mine… my mum’s been pestering me for years to move out and get my own place already!”

Aquaria’s smile was really pretty. Prettier than she thought possible for someone with a resting bitch face.

“I remember seeing you around, I think. You’re from 1006 aren’t you?”

“That would be me.”

“Nice to meet you properly, then. I’m Aquaria from 1008.” She held out her hand and Brianna took it.

Fearing she would come off as creepy, she bit back an ‘I know’. Instead, she went for something simpler. “I’m Brianna."

—–

“So.. what’s your deal?”

They had spent several minutes in silence. Aquaria had been looking through her pictures, or something, Brianna honestly hadn’t been paying attention. She had gotten bored of inspecting her fingernails and had closed her eyes for what seemed like just a second.

“Excuse me?”

Aquaria shrugged. “Job, hobbies and whatnot. Small talk to pass the time. You can start… if you want to, I mean… I don’t know.”

“Uh, sure.” Brianna quickly rubbed sleep out of her eyes and shifted where she sat. “I work at a coffee shop three blocks down… nothing too interesting, really. I’m pretty sure you have better stories than me.”

Aquaria scoffed. “I might be a model or whatever, but that doesn’t mean my life is interesting. Mostly just routine, boring.”

“What brands have you worked with, lately?”

She seemed bored, like she had been asked that question a million times before. “Moschino-”

Brianna’s eyes were wide open. “Moschino?!”

“Yeah, we did a photoshoot for-”

Brianna gave a slight shove to Aquaria’s shoulder. “And that’s not a big deal?!”

Aquaria looked at a loss for words, she simply shrugged and changed the topic. More than haughty, she seemed clueless. Like she didn’t have a filter, and she didn’t realize the effect her words could have on others. It didn’t come out of maliciousness, rather ignorance. And that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Uh, what do you usually do for Christmas?”

“Jewish. We don’t do Christmas.” Brianna shrugged. “I usually take on solo shifts though, to help out my coworkers.”

The phone fell out of Aquaria’s hands and they were plunged into darkness. She quickly recovered, fumbled with it, and turned the flashlight back on.

“Uh… is something the matter?”

“Y-Yeah… yeah it’s all good.” Her face was carefully blank, but her voice sounded panicked. “I-It’s really nice of you… to help out… your coworkers…”

There was something clearly not right there, but Brianna didn’t press it.

Conversation rose and fell between them. They talked about the holidays, traditions, family, fond memories… Sometimes things got too deep and personal, but Brianna found she didn’t particularly mind. It felt natural, talking to Aquaria, even when she barely knew her, she felt oddly comfortable around her.

There was something else about her, something that had changed in the short time they spent been together. It was something about the way she smiled like she knew something Brianna didn’t, how she played with her hair and looked at Brianna below her lashes. How she made Brianna’s mouth feel dry, and how her mere presence sucked all the air out of the room.

When she asked about past relationships, which would normally be considered a taboo subject for mere acquaintances, Brianna told her all about them, anyway.

“So you haven’t met your soulmate yet?” Aquaria all but purred, pointing with her head at Brianna’s exposed wrist.

“Uh, no.” She fixed the cuff of her sweatshirt over the inscription. It was far too dark for Aquaria to read the small print, but covering it felt appropriate.

“How do you want them to be?”

“I mean, I like the thought of having a fated soulmate.” Brianna was thankful for the low light that hopefully concealed her blush. Aquaria was flirting and it wasn’t fair.

“But if you could choose their traits, what would you wish for?”

“Well…uh…” She was far too distracted by the other girl slowly inching forward, “Openness? Uh… warmth?”

“Have you ever considered leaving this town?” Her fingers danced over her left sweater sleeve.

“Yeah but… why are you asking me all these things?”

“No reason!” suddenly flustered, Aquaria recoiled back to her own end of the elevator.

If she continued whatever it was she was doing, Brianna wasn’t going to survive this. And it would be entirely her own fault for maybe hoping that something might happen between them. She hadn’t exactly waited for her soulmate, having had a couple partners in the past, but it always felt wrong to hook up with anyone in December, when her soulmate was so close but so far away.

Thankfully, nothing further happened after that. They sort of drifted into a companionable silence, and eventually Brianna noticed Aquaria leaning against the mirror on the wall with her eyes closed, head slumped to a side, breathing relaxed.

She should probably get some shut eye herself. It had been a very long and confusing day.

—–

Neither woman knew exactly how long they’d been stuck by the time the lights finally turned on.

Brianna opened her eyes, blearily, to see Aquaria pull down on her own sleeves.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” She smiled at Brianna as she nonchalantly stretched out her long limbs.

“What time is it?” Brianna was still feeling too sleepy to react further

Aquaria checked her phone. “Dead. I’d guess around 4am.”

The elevator started moving again, jerkily at first, then smoothly until they finally stopped at the tenth floor.

Aquaria had clearly spent some time awake already, she had stacked the presents lying on the floor into neat piles and seemed to be trying to figure out how to carry them out all at once.

As she lifted a couple boxes into her arms, she turned to Brianna.

“Have I told you how much I despise Christmas shopping?”

Brianna was stunned silent. Suddenly jerked fully awake, her mind had drawn a complete blank.

Aquaria didn’t notice, the doors opened and two blondes jumped straight in and hugged her, smothering her, fussing over her, and making her drop what she held in the process.

Brianna’s arms moved as if they had a mind of their own. She pulled on her left sleeve and-

It was gone. No trace of the inscription remained. The words she had grown to love had vanished in seconds.

When she finally came to, her neighbours were ushering her soulmate down the hallway, into their home and she would never see her again and-

“Aquaria?!” Brianna all but ran out of the elevator and tripped over something. She would have fallen flat on her face if someone hadn’t stepped in to hold her by the arm. (She hadn’t even seen the maintenance workers, looking amusedly at the scene in front of them. Or their tools, scattered about.)

“Yeah?”

“Would you-” she lowered her voice, suddenly self-conscious about yelling in the dead of night where everyone could hear her. “Would you like to hang out sometime?”

That was a stupid thing to say, Aquaria was gorgeous and popular, she had surely been asked out in better and cooler ways and-

She smiled.

“I’d love to!”

[firebirdsdaughter]

Okay…

@briansastro10​

… I think we have a bit of a language barrier here, or something, and I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. If you don’t mind bearing w/ me, I get confused easily, but I do have things I want to say:

1) Horobi had no choice but to follow the Ark. He was hacked, aka mind controlled and brainwashed. He wasn’t ‘choosing’ to do any of that stuff, he was merely being used as a tool.

2) I don’t recall Horobi ever finding out Aruto was even at Daybreak, let alone lost family in it.

3) The thing I was criticising was the show’s decision to include a flashback of Soreo’s death in that sequence, bc it implies that the show and therefore the audience consider/should consider Horobi responsible for Soreo’s death, when not too long ago, they had Aruto shouting at Gai that he was the true cause of the Ark, and, again, the above brainwashing. Horobi was literally not in control of his own actions anymore than a MaGear at that point, it’s not right to let Jin, Naki, and even Raiden off the hook for the stuff they did under the Ark/Gai’s command and then blame Horobi for what he did. Jin was distributing ZetsumeRisers, Raiden was a spy, and Naki was manipulating everything and giving out RaidRisers, all by an external command, bc of manipulation (in the case of Jin and Naki) or hacking (in Raiden’s case). It’s really not right to recognise Yua’s, a full matured human adult who exhibited reasoning and at least reasonable emotional control and knowledge of morality, situation, to excuse her as having been manipulated and mistreated into doing the things she did, whilst blaming Horobi. Including Soreo’s death in that flashback implies that it should be considered equitable w/ Izu’s death, which it was not. Horobi did not kill Soreo, or even cause his death. For one thing, the explosion was caused by people trying to kill the Ark (another Soreo?) and, again, Horobi was brainwashed and not in control of his actions.

4) I will also repeat this as many times as necessary: Horobi was conditioned and used by the Ark. Again, to bring up Yua; she very nearly killed Izu in cold blood on Gai’s orders while Izu was panicked and confused and trying to run away. The only reason that did not happen was that Gai said the wrong thing and Fuwa snapped out of it in time. Here, Izu was completely calm, had plenty of time to dodge, clearly saw the threat, and did nothing. I bring this up bc both Horobi and Yua were in abusive, manipulative situations where they were controlled by someone else—the difference being, Yua was, again, a fully fledged human adult w/ a developed sense of right and wrong, enough that she knew what she was doing was wrong, but her situation had convinced her she had no choice. She was unwell and not in a good place. But she knew. Horobi literally couldn’t. On top of that, he was exposed solely to the Ark’s selective data (courtesy, Amatsu Gai), for years. Like he said in the AIMS basement, his understanding was that the Ark would always rise as long as human malice existed—and he didn’t turn on the Ark bc he suddenly realised humans were ‘good,’ but bc the Ark turned on HumaGear (and tried to make him kill Jin), and he realised what he wanted was peace and safety for HumaGear. But even after breaking free of the Ark, the conditioning and that belief still lasts. To him, seeking human destruction was merely the logical conclusion in order to ensure the safety of HumaGear. Humans teach HumaGear evil and give rise to the Ark, which is a danger to HumaGear, and caused him to do things that hurt HumaGear, the way his mind has been conditioned to work, the logical conclusion is to cut the knot and remove the ‘source,’ humans. It’s not a personal grudge, it’s being logical. That’s his thought process—and, honestly, he’s got a point, the Ark was created by humans, and they’ve never owned up to it, the guy responsible is walking around free, and a number of HumaGear died and suffered for it. It’s unclear when exactly the emotions start catching up to him—he was def managing to hold on to the logic, I like to think by focusing on the fact that he thought this would be best for Jin (he knew Jin was important to him, even if he didn’t know why, and he took the time to take care of him before going out). He’s very calm when talking to Izu and shows no aggression toward her, it’s not until Fuwa and Yua show up guns drawn that he reacts violently—bc he perceives a threat, sees their aggression, which counteracts Izu’s claims about the goodness of humans. All he sees is humans looking to destroy. But despite that, he still goes and asks Fuwa about proving the Ark will not rise again, and that’s another important thing; Horobi is looking for an absolute. He is looking for an absolute assurance that the Ark will not come back, that human cruelty will never be a danger again, and that’s not possible. Fuwa’s response, although it can be translated as a believable blunder on Fuwa’s part, does nothing but make the situation worse, bc he violently rejects Horobi’s question and says he’s there to destroy him and then prepares to shoot him. To Horobi, who got tortured the last time he asked a question, that’s enough. And right on the heels of that, Izu comes in and starts pressuring him about emotions. He’s stated to have been literally terrified of these sensations taking over him, and the Ark trained him react to that kind of thing w/ violence—bc he can’t attack the feelings inside himself, he system concludes Izu must be the source and fires on her… Only that doesn’t work, the sensations actually get worse. His increasing aggressiveness in insisting he doesn’t have a heart after that is basically a little kid getting more and more insistent that they didn’t steal a cookie when they did. He was conditioned to think removing Izu would remove the feelings, but instead that made it worse, harder to control, that frightens him even more, bc he doesn’t know what’s happening, he doesn’t know what those feelings are. He falls back on old answers to Jin’s questions bc he doesn’t know the answer (but we can’t let the son know that, father’s always have to have an answer). Meanwhile, he doesn’t understand why Aruto’s the Ark. Like, he def expected humans to resist, why wouldn’t they, I don’t think he’d’ve been surprised by Aruto being mad, Aruto’s been mad at him before for people he knew less. I think it was Aruto going as far as using the Ark’s power (also, I think the Ark still terrified him) that threw him for a loop and pissed him off (something he might’ve understood? But it had def never controlled him like that before). Additionally, I don’t think he could have conceived to seek revenge on his own—when Jin died, he was clearly overwhelmed and very dazed. It took Azu showing up and telling him how he felt for him to react. A friend put it really well, so I’ll paraphrase: Azu’s role for Aruto was ‘you are absolutely right to want revenge on Horobi!’ while her role for Horobi was ‘hey, hey, you want revenge on Aruto, right?’ Aruto jumped at the chance while Horobi didn’t know what to do, and ended up following the first lead he had—which was literally how the Ark kept him so easy to manipulate. I still don’t see the Aruto side of it (well… it’s complicated), but if you go back and look, I think you can def see how the Ark was conditioning Horobi as a patsy for this from the start.

4) Bc I refuse to ever let this go unsaid when discussing it, Horobi was not the only person responsible for the Izu situation. If I were to list the people I hold responsible, in order, it’d be: Amatsu, for creating the Ark in the first place. The Ark/Azu, clearly the AI w/ the most know-how, who very deliberately manipulated the whole situation, was well aware of what Horobi’s mental state would be like, and manipulated both Jin and Izu into being stupid. Fuwa and Yua for escalating things, esp bc Fuwa’s character development was allegedly about learning not to rush in swinging and literally the next episode Yua is giving a speech to Williamson about how they shouldn’t respond to the HumaGear’s ‘new hearts’ w/ aggression, like she didn’t do that exact thing, like, yesterday, wtf. Aruto, for hanging around outside instead of doing what one might expect from someone who wanted to resolve stuff peacefully and going to the root of the situation, and for not keeping an eye on Izu (I have other opinions about his behaviour there, but those are for another time), and for apparently not even bothering to try and give Izu a backup. And, finally, Horobi and Izu. Yes, I hold Horobi the least ‘responsible’ and I hold Izu responsible. Bc, and I do not mean this as an insult to any of the characters, it’s like taking a dog that was abused and used in dog fights and leaving it alone w/ a domesticated dog it doesn’t know. More than likely, if the domesticated dog starts trying to play like it’s used to playing the abused dog is going to react aggressively, possibly even bite. Neither Horobi nor Izu had the emotional maturity to handle that situation. He had been conditioned to fear and reject emotion, had been kept away from it, and therefore had no control over it, nor knew what it was—to him, it felt like some unidentifiable ‘sensation’ wrenching control away from him, clouding his mind; additionally, he’d just had his one attempt to reach out and understand violently shut down, and he’d been conditioned for years to respond to uncertainty and confusion by destroying the source—when Izu was prodding at him about feelings and ‘hearts,’ she pushed his already fragile state into full panic that he lacked the emotional maturity to handle, and he reacted the only way he knew how. W/ Izu, if she had just told Aruto, or anyone, anything about where she was going, tried to coordinate rather than just running off like that, if she hadn’t rushed him and repeatedly pressured and prodded him, if she had dodged, then things would have gone differently—but, ultimately, her data was just as biased as Horobi was, and she had absolutely no way to understand or work through what was going on for him. Horobi didn’t seek out Izu and kill her in cold blood, she approached him, and made a conscious choice not to dodge. If we want to get really deep, I also blame Korenosuke bc Izu not having a backup is stupid, it protected literally nothing, if they had actually tried to back her up and there was a reason why they couldn’t, I’d be less judgemental, but wtf the Zero-One equipment got hijacked up the wazoo and it’s very uncomfortable that Izu was just cool w/ that bc it ‘benefited humans’ and it made Aruto look kinda hypocritical… But that’s more the writers. But, to try and sum this up… I do give Horobi some responsibility, bc he yeah, he did pull the trigger, but the fact was, he didn’t understand what he was doing (also likely didn’t know Izu had no backup, it probably never occurred to him humans would do that), or why. Essentially, he was still being used as a weapon by the Ark, who manipulated the whole thing bu showing Izu that vision, making her rush in and not tell anyone, then the humans abandon their reasoning for an day and go in all aggressive, Horobi sees this as a threat, but even then still tries to reach out only to get shot down (literally), and then Izu comes in and stresses him out further and he cracks. And she chooses to stand there and take the hit. Gai knowingly shutdown multitudes of HumaGear w/ the intention of them never coming back online, Yua nearly killed Izu before, actively hunting her down, Fuwa, I love him dearly, but Fuwa was down to smash every single robot he saw no matter what they said. These were human adults w/ knowledge of morality and emotional maturity and control (okay, Fuwa’s a little debatable…). All of them, esp Gai, are walking around just fine. Like. Gai. Gai. Aruto goes Ark on Horobi for this but is letting Gai walk???? I don’t even like Aruto, and that’s ooc! But to try and sum up my sum up: Horobi was the gun Azu shot Izu w/. It was a gambit. She deliberately manipulated them all into a situation where this would happen. Yes, Horobi pulled the trigger, but if this were court, a plea of insanity could be made/he’d be being sent to a psychiatric ward rather than regular prison.

5) Horobi blaming himself is one thing. It was very clearly depicted before that he had no sense of free will for himself, he only knew the Ark’s will. It is absolutely natural that after being so deep under the Ark’s control for so long, he’d have immense trouble differentiating between his own, new will, and the Ark’s. He might not be able to tell what he wanted or what the Ark wanted. He genuinely does not know how to make that distinction. He also has literally only just kind of gotten a grasp on consequences and cause and effect. I’d love to think he’ll be allowed to figure out he was manipulated by the Ark and that things like that weren’t things he wanted to do, but I dunno if the show will give me that. What I’m criticising is the apparent intent of saying that the audience should blame him for those things. What I want is confirmation that Aruto knows that the situation was manipulated, that Horobi wasn’t ‘in control’ when that happened. I wanted Aruto to respond to Horobi blaming himself for Izu and Jin’s deaths w/ ‘it’s more complicated than that.’ Horobi blaming himself is understandable, bc he’s barely figured out cause and effect, regret, anger, that shooting things is not an appropriate way to handle a situation. He’s only just gotten a few emotions. Nuance is going to be lost on him for a bit. He’s been trapped seeing only in black and white for so long, he’s going to need help seeing grey. Horobi blaming himself makes sense. I’m just criticising that the humans, who should know that it wasn’t as simple as that, didn’t let him know tha t he didn’t need to shoulder all the blame. Bc he was just a single part of a whole chain of events, not the sole cause. And I’m criticising that the show seemed to be implying that he also had a responsibility for Soreo’s death, which was a completely different situation that he def was not responsible for.

This is likely way more than you were expecting, and I do talk a lot, I know. I just wanted to try and establish my reasoning here. I hope I wasn’t too incomprehensible, I have trouble articulating my thoughts outside of fictional writing. I think I’ve just been keeping a lot of this in.

I should say that if you are bothered by my stance on this, I would recommend blocking me or my Zero-One tags, bc I am stubborn as all hell and will not budge, and will occasionally be very vocal. Horobi is very important to me, and I have no sympathy for victim blaming, esp not when it involves literal perpetrators getting away scot free (*cough cough* Amatsu Gai *cough cough*).

[lolainblue]

Phoenix -- Chapter 19

   Annoying Friend (who I found out was actually named Angela) kept her word and returned for the show that evening. With her help, I was able to make plans to meet up with Viola again the next week when we played in Milan. It turned out I really liked this girl. We had been able to chat more with Angela around, and as I suspected, she was cool and funny, a little sarcastic but mostly fairly chill and upbeat. But every time I started to relax and just go with it, I would catch a glimpse of Jane and a wave of guilt I couldn't quite sort out washed over me. I shouldn't have felt guilty, it wasn't as if Jane and I were in any way together now, and she had all but outright given me her blessing with Viola. So why did I feel like shit when I thought of her seeing us together?

   Viola spent the night again, without Angela, and she stuck around until it was time to leave. I kissed her a long goodbye as we stood in front of the idling tour bus, my emotions a confused muck. More than anything I wanted to ask Jane about what she had said yesterday over lunch, it played over and over in my head, except for the moments where Viola was looking at me with those big brown eyes of hers. She hadn't asked any more questions about Jane, it didn't take a genius to work out that there was a bad breakup there. All in all, it was shaping up to be an awkward mess.   Jared kept Jane on a tight leash the next few days, never letting her out of his sight for more than a few minutes, and never without someone else there to keep an eye on her. I began to suspect he realized I would want to talk to her and was doing his best to keep us apart. I was a little irritated, but I probably would have done the same thing in his place.    Jane mostly avoided speaking directly to me. We all shared a few meals together but other than that she hide out in Jared's bunk or Jared's room. I had woken from my own bunk several times on the road to catch her playing video games with Tomo, only to have her immediately excuse herself and retreat to the other end of the bus.    It wasn't until four days later, when we were backstage for the Zurich show and Jared was off putting out some fire that could have easily been dealt with by someone else, that Jane and I found ourselves alone. She was perched on top of a giant black equipment case, swinging her feet in time with the music being piped out into the venue. It was bleeding in so softly back there I hadn't even noticed it until I saw the rhythm of her legs. She was dressed in ripped jeans and a Mars t-shirt, and even though her hair was blown out straight and once again looking like something out of a shampoo commercial, it floored me to see her looking like that.    I had learned, in that time before, that with Jane, you could easily read her mood by how she was dressed. For her, the expensive clothes and ladles of makeup were a sort of battle armor, something she put on as protection while she ventured places further from her comfort zone. Jeans and t-shirt Jane was unguarded Jane, but also confident Jane. When she dressed like that she was comfortable in her element. Jared's conquests usually showed dressed to the nines, wielding their physical beauty like a bludgeon, ready to smash anyone that got between them and Jared. When they did dress casually it was usually a studied, trying-too-hard kind of casual, jeans and a 'messy' bun with an hours worth of contouring, a wrinkled t-shirt that they just happened to pick up off the floor, but it was Jared's t-shirt and Jared's floor. They were as pissy and territorial as cats. Jane was none of that. She was just back there, listening to music, texting someone on her phone, just being relaxed and confident in her position and 100% Jane.    She had always dressed to the nines when she went to shows with me.    “Hey, Janey,” I greeted her.    Jane looked up from her phone and quickly scanned the room as if searching for a missing bodyguard. It hadn't been Jared that was keeping her so closely watched over and chaperoned. It had been Jane. I hated that she seemed to be afraid to be alone with me, but I really had no one but myself to blame.    “Hi, Shannon,” she said hesitantly, placing her phone down beside her.   “Chatting with Roger?” I asked, hoping a little chit chat might put her at ease.    Jane smiled. “No. His girlfriend, actually.”    “He has a girlfriend?”    “Mm-hmm,” Jane nodded but didn't elaborate. She stared at her toes but didn't pick her phone back up. I tried again.    “You look good. Happy. Jared says you've been teaching?”    Jane nodded again. “Yeah, English to schoolchildren in Tanzania. It was a wonderful experience. I hope I'll get to do it again soon but I've been really busy.”    “Wow, that's uhm...” I trailed off as I realized I didn't really know what to talk to her about. She'd always been just a little outside my reach, but a lot of things seemed to have changed with her. Jared had mentioned a thing or two but there were still so many gaps.    “Shannon,” Jane began. Her tone was rife with exasperation and I feared she was going to cut the conversation off so I swallowed and went for broke.    “Why did you say what you did to Viola?”    Jane's feet finally stopped swinging and she looked at me. Her expression was flat and when she spoke her voice was too. “I said it because it was true. When you love someone you're wonderful.”    “That's not what I meant. The part about wishing I could have loved you. I did, Janey. I loved you so much. I still...”    “No, you didn't, Shannon. Maybe you like to tell yourself that you did, but it's not true.”   “Don't say that. How could you even fucking think that? “  “You made a conscious decision over and over again that you had to know would break my heart. That's now how you treat someone you love.”    I didn't want to hear that point so I just blundered on with a different one. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I never meant for any of it to go like that. I just...”    Jane made a growling noise.  “Do you really want to do this now, Shannon, before you go on stage?”    “Well, I would do it another time but you've made damn sure not to be alone long enough to let me.”   Jane hopped down off her perch and stood toe to toe in front of me, her green eyes peering up at mine. i dare you to kiss me i dare you to kiss me i dare you to kiss me i dare you to kiss me. I  had to swallow hard to shut out the voice of Jane past that echoed in my head. This Jane wasn't smiling.    “Fine," she spat, a little bit of her temper bleeding out and I braced myself. "Look me in the eyes and tell me why.”    “What?"    “Why, Shannon? If you loved me so much, then why did you do it?”     It wasn't like I didn't have an answer for her, but the aggressive way she was asking threw me. “I... “    “Don't you fucking dare say you don't know. You've had four years to reflect. You know. By now, you know why you did what you did.”    She was right of course. “I didn't know then. And I'm not trying to make an excuse now. I know this was all me, was all my fault.”    “But?”   “You loved someone else.” My voice was barely a squeak, mortification catching it in my throat.    Jane rolled her eyes. “I told you, I wasn't in love with Angus. It was more convenience than anything.”    I dropped my eyes because I knew how my next sentence was likely to be received, although I was curious if time had changed anything. “I didn't mean Angus.”    “Oh.” Jane's voice was oddly dispassionate and looked back up to see her face had gone slack.    “Yeah. Don't say you didn't, because I still can't even mention him without you looking like I was about to kick you.”    “It's a complicated situation, Shannon, for a lot of reasons, all of which I told you. I don't see why that makes a difference though. It's not like he was around to compete with. I don't understand.”    “I had girlfriends too after you left, you know." I knew this was going to be hard to make her understand, I was shit at explaining myself, but I had to try. "Some of them just overnight guests, some even less, some of them stuck around for a while. But I thought you were out there, just around the next corner. I thought you would pop back up any minute. I thought you were out there looking for me too.  So I never took any of it seriously. I never thought it counted.”    “Shannon...” Jane's voice was softer, the anger from a moment ago dissipated. “Everything counts. Every day. All of it.”    “I know that now.”     Jane wound a finger into her hair, twisting one strawberry curl while she seemed to manage her emotions. “So did you somehow think if you fucked around on me that wouldn't count either?”     Dammit. “No.Of course not. Not that was doing a lot of thinking back then, but I was just mad, even if I couldn't figure out why. At first, I just something was off, something I could put my finger on. Then I told myself you didn't really love me like I loved you, not if you hadn't waited.  I told myself a lot of stupid bullshit. But I was really just mad that I had thrown away years when I should have been living them like you did.”     Jane nodded and fidgeted with her hair some more. The pauses between her responses were killing me. “So you did do it to get even with me?”   “On some level, I guess. But like I said, I didn't even know I was angry until later. I tend to do that, in case you haven't noticed. React badly and do stupid shit and then figure out why down the road.”    “Is that why you sent that letter to Jared?”   “That one, I knew I was pissed. You got between me and him.”   “Well fuck, Shannon, you broke my heart and got between me and Roger and I didn't run behind your back exacting petty revenge schemes.”    Suddenly I realized I had no idea what had happened in Jane's life after that moment she left me standing in a hotel parking lot in Irvine. The mountain climbing and teaching were the least of it. “I got between you and Roger?”

   “I blamed him a little too. He kind of figured out what was going on before I did but he didn't warn me, just left me there alone with you and flew home. You burned my life to the ground that summer, Shannon.”    Jane turned to the side and lifted the edge of her t-shirt. There was a tattoo there, one she hadn't had when she was with me. It started just above her waist, a little pile of burnt ashes with sparks that floated upward, converging into a brilliant orange, gold, and red firebird. It was vibrant and brilliantly done, and probably hurt like hell, sitting on her rib cage like that. Mine had hurt and I wasn't half as thin as she was. Reflexively I reached forward to touch it but she quickly dropped her shirt again.    “It's a Phoenix. I broke down and let myself lie in the ashes for far too long, but I eventually got back up, put everything back together and rose above it.”    “I didn't mean to break you.”    “Well, I sort of  had a hand in it too.” Before I could ask her more about that she continued. “The party then?”    “That one... I didn't even realize I was still pissed, to be honest. I thought I had kind of gotten over things. It wasn't until we were all in that room together, and Jared was trying to “handle” things the way he always does while you just stood there, frozen, waiting to see what was going to happen, that I just... something just snapped. I think it's Jared I was actually mad at but it all came out at you.”   Jane considered that for a moment then took back her seat on top of the equipment case. “I was going to apologize. That night, when I saw you again, I followed you back to that room to apologize.”  “Apologize for what?” I was damn sure it wasn't for sleeping with Jared.    “I mean, I've been working a lot on owning my own bullshit," Jane explained. "To be honest, I was out of control long before I crashed back into you at the bookstore.”  “Jane, you don't need to apologize for anything.”    “I was an emotional train wreck back then. The partying, the bad decisions, running around with you while I was still technically engaged to someone else, dragging you into trouble...”    “I can find trouble on my own just fine. I'm a professional at it.”   “I bought you drugs!” she protested.     I had to stifle a laugh at Jane's horror over tainting my last vestiges of non-existent virtue. “Also something I could easily accomplish myself. Lead me not into temptation, I can find my own way...”  “Very funny. It's no wonder you got mixed signals I guess.”   “You were in pain.”    Jane's eyes instantly dampened. “What? I mean, how could you have known that? I didn't' know that, not then...”    “I of all people should have known better." I hopped up and took a seat next to her, carefully resting my palm on the black plastic behind her.  "You were trying so hard, grabbing onto anything you could to steady yourself... I know what that kind of pain looks like, even if you didn't. I should have known better. I should have been there for you instead of being a self-indulgent dickhead.”    “Shannon...”    “No. It was me. You may not have been in a good place but I'm the one that destroyed everything. I wish I could take it back.”    “For what it's worth, you taught me a lot. The way you treated me that first time, back in Los Angeles, made me realize that I didn't want some safe, lukewarm love. That being loved back passionately was important. That being wanted was important. Being alone was better than not truly being wanted. I also learned that you can love someone and it still might not be enough. We weren't at a place in our lives then to be with each other, not then. It didn't matter that we were in love.”    “I don't know, Jane. Maybe we have that one wrong.”    “No," she said firmly. "I got the lessons wrong the first time, or I forgot them. Because I had to learn them all over again. I mistook being wanted for being in love. I was looking for the wrong things. Angus wanted me, but I didn't love him. I loved you but you didn't want me.”     Not that again. “Jane, that is so far from the fucking truth.”    “Is it? You had a choice between me and having a good time playing the rock star, and you chose to play the rock star.”    “No. that's not the choice I made.”    “But it is. You can blame it on misplaced anger or emotional immaturity but it was a choice and you made yours.”     I could feel my breath faltering as I began to realize how badly I miscalculated. “I'd have chosen differently if I'd understood.”    “You can't undo it, Shannon. There are no take backs. This is life. Sometimes you get second chances but there are no real do-overs.”    “And no second chances here, huh?”    “No.” Jane turned away for a second and swiped at her cheek. “You can love someone, heart and soul, and it still might not be enough. Maybe I guess you get to learn that one now. Twice is enough for me.”    I didn't say anything to that one.  What could I say? I thought she had misunderstood but I was the one without a clue.    Jane's phone chimed and she picked it up and read the screen. “You know, you really should give Viola a chance. She apparently has had a crush on you for years. Saw one of your music videos. I only know her so well, her sister Bernadette and I used to party together when that was my thing, but Viola wasn't really old enough to hang out with us most places. I've been talking to her a bunch the last few days though. She's got a good head on her shoulders, smart, and really kind. She has plans beyond modeling. She's actually kind of amazing. You should give her a chance and get to know her. I mean, yeah, she's a little young but if that doesn't bother either of you it's none of my damn business.”    Too young to hang out with them? “Wait, how old is she?”    Jane thought about it and then gave me a sad smile. “She's the same age I was when I met you. Just turned 21.”   “Ouch.”    “Don't let it put you off. I mean you should find someone that you have something in common with, someone on your level. Age is just...”    “Someone on my level?" I bristled. "Are you trying to say that I'm immature?”   “You're putting words in mouth," Jane huffed.  I just meant she seems more likely to want the kind of relationship that you do, and...”    “You do get that Jared is my little brother right? You're dating my baby brother?”    “How is this about Jared?” Jane's voice started to rise and I should have backed off but my mouth had slipped over into sarcasm mode.    “Well, you know, now that you're too mature to be giving me second chances and all.”   “I didn't say that. That's not at all...”    “Look, I get it, okay? Nothing says “I'm over you” quite like fixing your ex up with someone else.”    “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dig the knife in deeper. I like Viola. I thought you did too. I was just trying to help.” The air was silent and thick, the faint murmur of music gone and a dull droning in its place. The opening act must have been getting ready to take the stage. “For what it's worth, I'm not angry anymore. I'm not even hurt, I don't think. Not anymore. I'm just done.”    Well, I guess that settled that. “Did he even give you the birthday present I bought you?”   “The bracelet? Yes. It was a very pretty bracelet, Shannon.” Jane said far too diplomatically.    “Do you ever wear it?”   “No.”  Jared appeared in the doorway and looked ready to rush to Jane's aide but she hopped back onto the floor again and held up a finger for him to wait. “I don't ride Ferris wheels anymore either.”    “Why not? Too mature now?”    Jane gave me a withering look that told me all I needed to know about how over me she was. “Because they're haunted. All of them. I'm always yours on Ferris wheels. And I'll never be yours again.”    She bounded off into Jared's arms without a glance back and I found that I was the one swiping at my eyes now. I had wanted a second chance, some glimpse of a way back into her heart. What I got was closure. Not what I had come for, but something that I needed all the same. Closure, wrapped up in a wakeup call.    I took out my phone and texted Viola.         @thepromiseofanend @msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @llfd1977     @fyeahproudglambert @little-poptart @snewsome756 @guccilowell @monicasanoli @lady-grinning-soul-k @pandaliciouz  @lostinletoland @moody-by-nature

[junhuiste]

[ wonwoo - table for one ]

⌦ fluff, valentine’s day au bc i’m a slut for corporate america milking us dry for a heteronormative holiday, sweater + wholesome + soft feelings for wonwoo, cynical st8ments from reader about being a single pringle 

⌦ lover birds are overrated

⌦ words: 2131

Heaving what was intended to be a sigh of waves of relief, had come out to be a somewhat tornado of mild shame, as you bid a measly attempt at holding your head high, jaunting through the massive doors of the restaurant.

Struck by an endless playlist of the same songs that belted out “you are my only one”, pairs of lovers scattered throughout, and the never ending, pricking sight of dozens upon dozens of hands tucked into one another for comfort or for show that were just enough to throw you over the brink and cause disgusting discomfort in your stomach, nothing but a faltering mumble fell out, “Y/N, and party of one.”

Instead of thrusting pity upon yourself after catching sight of the waiter’s parabolic smile flatten out to what resembled a woeful wince, you chuckled to yourself and reassured the waiter that it was truly okay that no one bothered to ask you out even though you kinda looked “hella cute” yesterday but that’s okay because not everyone can win at love!

Singles empowerment, you thought to bolster your slowly sinking mood. What had you in such a melancholy mood, you internally slapped yourself for, because goddammit this was supposed to be a “treat yourself” night but alas, you wallowed only to drown in self-pity. Okay, so maybe a hot date could’ve made the night better, but Christ, you were about to have a plate of steaming hot food instead, which was indeed ten times better than having to make eye contact in order to revive a conversation towards a partner across the table.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart!” chirped an overly bubbly woman to her husband, who both had just entered the restaurant. 

Sigh.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” you mocked her to yourself, an ugly, ugly green snake of envy slithered closer to your brain.

It wasn’t that you were an extremely resentful person, just so filled to the brim with an abysmal hate for every single goddamn person on earth, actually you were completely the opposite, but as you were on every February 14th, nothing could milk you dry of cynical statements and the putrid odor of annoyance. Of course, corporations would take advantage of this day, proposing billion dollar campaigns to dump buckets and buckets of pink and red everywhere but your heart.

As your turn to be called neared, any coveted thoughts induced by this godforsaken holiday started to leave you. You had better plans in mind than being sent over the edge for some overrated mind blowing orgasms, like the ones your roommate said she’d be receiving tonight, blegh, but instead losing your mind over a damn good drink and one hell of a good hot meal for yourself and you only. 

The thought of that big ass plate being delivered to you surely did turn your frown upside down, because sharing, like orgasms, was overrated.

If there were one person, though, an intruding, spontaneous thought pervaded its way upon your train, that you’d want to take you out, what was the best answer out of A.) the cute boy that always scrunched his nose in the most adorable manner when he laughed B.) Jeon Wonwoo, C.) someone that could hold a powerful gaze and was shy and delightful (did you mention cute in an option yet?), or D.) the boy who just walked through the restaurant door with the gently yet menacing look and whipped his head around when a somewhat younger-ish looking version of him called “Wonwoo, come on.”

Wait–

The younger boy, who you assumed was Wonwoo’s younger brother, walked to the waiter to leave his name and party number, as the older stayed behind, hands in pockets, seemingly miserable and not wanting to be whacked by the knuckle of the Valentine’s day atmosphere.

Curiosity sprung upon you, wondering why Wonwoo took his brother to this restaurant, but you concluded that yes, he was just as quiet and sweet as that tiny Hershey’s Kiss your roommate threw at you like he seemed in your biochemistry class. He treated his younger sibling out to a nice dinner, and hat you really appreciated, though having only assumed, because he embraced the family part of love, and did not fall into capitalism’s dirty tricks of romance and didn’t bring a date, which sort of caused a stir within you, which really shouldn’t have because you weren’t a jealous person, but only for tonight–“Y/N, party of one!”

The part where corporations spent billions of dollars on splashing every nook and cranny with pink and red? Yeah, your cheeks were included, as you were seized up in utter humiliation in front of the rest of the customers patiently waiting, though all they wanted was good food and a good orgasm for later, but nonetheless, the world now knew how fucking lonely you were.

Before taking even one step, you spun your head out of worriedness to see if Wonwoo had heard that you were Single McFucking Pringle, and much to your dismay, what normally would’ve caused orange-winged monarchs to quiver around in your stomach instead provoked bees (as much as you wanted to save them) that left tiny little pricks of pure embarrassment.

You met a warm pair of dark brown eyes that held a certain tranquility, but you quickly turned back around to cover your flustered self.

“Come with me,” the waiter cordially lead you to a table and you could’ve tripped on air in response to the lack of dignity you had in this moment, but by the grace of the universe, which you barely trusted at this point, managed to get to the table without toppling over your sad self.

As soon as you were seated, eyes scoured the environment to search for those same pair of brown eyes that had met yours for a short second in time before you descended into disgrace. They were nowhere to be found for now, as Wonwoo and his brother were still in the waited seating area of the restaurant.

Maybe a tall glass of a little something special could’ve helped you get over your blunder and loneliness, which brought you here in the first place, but sure, a glass of water, I’m driving home tonight, no ice please worked just as fine.

Pouting a taut pair of pillows, you breathed in a pathetic pocket of air and sipped as the sight of the waiter leading only Wonwoo’s brother to a table. Perhaps Wonwoo had gone to wash his hands free of sin, but what sin did this boy commit, who you deemed a shy angel in your eyes, or maybe he’d gone and only dropped his brother off as a you owe me bro solid in exchange for a punch on the shoulder.

Maybe Wonwoo had a date of his own tonight, but the bare thought of that sent tiny bubbles into your straw, because you were getting caught up in the mere thought of this certain Jeon Wonwoo, who you’d just noticed was clad in an attire opposite his brother, who wore a button up rolled up to his elbows and slacks--a navy blue sweater paired with jeans and sneakers.

Who you’d just noticed…

Push, push these thoughts out! Goddammit this was your treat yourself night on the night of singles over doubles, celebrating you for some capitalistic reason, where that big plate would show up to your table anytime soon, but a faux smile from the waiter who wrongfully deceived you in the greatest act of treachery brought two plates to the table next to you.

Well shit, at least you’d get a look at Wonwoo again, who was seated with a ghost across the table, fiddling with his thumbs, to which you found extremely endearing because Jeon Wonwoo was an incredibly wholesome boy that you just really wanted to laugh at, with his nose scrunch, at your excruciatingly corny jokes.

Wonwoo’s eyes behind his specs found yours once again, as you continued to stare off into the realm of nothing while reevaluating your current life choices, but immediately deterred to this hands, thus you found yourself in sheer chagrin for the nth time tonight.

It’d be a few minutes before your food would arrive, so you left your trench coat on the back of the chair and trod to the restroom.

An eagle soaring over the vast region, eyeing its prey, your frenzied overlook at the restaurant was maybe more for the fact that your food was just being delivered to your table, or that Wonwoo kid.

Your heel felt entirely uncomfy but it was nothing that a minor tug on your shoe could fix, and while running a hand over your head trying to regain stability, you wobbled slightly but stood up straight after. Oddly enough, your mind was fixated on those two aforementioned things, ahem, someone, hence your dumbass to sort of stumble but not fall to the point of oh my fucking god you idiot into a dark-fabric covered shoulder.

Right before smoothing out you outfit, “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention, Y/N,” rang in your ears for quite some time.

“No, no, don’t worry about it, um...Wonwoo! It’s my fault, I was just too excited that my food came,” you tried to play it cool and brush it off your shoulder, but all there was was dust, mixed with your confusion and distress.

Wonwoo’s hand reached up to tousle his side swept, charcoal colored hair and he chuckled, emitting an unmitigated radiance you’d only ever found to shine for him.

The stiff tension wasn’t fraught, somehow you found it to be quite natural, and the genial tone between both you and Wonwoo was very evident. He took a small breath in, “Um, no offense, really...I  don’t want this to sound rude, so please don’t take this the wrong way because I don’t intend for this to come off the way it sounds but,” Wonwoo shifted his glasses a little.

It was Valentine’s Day, and it felt like being punched in the guts February 13th when someone cackled in your face at the thought of them taking you out, so you didn’t really know what to regard as rude anymore. For all you cared, Wonwoo could sock you in the face for being a stumbling idiot and you would fall to your knees and thank him.

A pause invaded the scene once more, and you clung onto Wonwoo’s words, wanting to know in what possible way he could be rude to you.

“Why are you sitting alone? I’m not judging by all means, but it’s the most barf-inducing yet “romantic” day of the year, and you managed to brace this face of not caring about this ludicrous holiday.”

You didn’t know what to expect with Wonwoo, no one ever did, as he was in a corner one day, to clapping his hands in laughter the next. If this was his definition of rude, anything you’ve ever done would be sinister.

Wonwoo was nothing but wholesome. And you reveled at the mere thought, well, you had the embodiment of precious in the flesh at your sight.

“Wonwoo, don’t apologize for that,” you said, “and evidently I don’t have a valentine, so I decided to treat myself out to dinner tonight. I mean, who cares about lover birds when you could be a lonely bird?”

A simper played out on lips, and thankfully it didn’t convey pity.

The thought came up in you, similar to what Wonwoo had just asked you and deemed “rude”.

“Wait, but Wonwoo, now I have a right to ask why you’re here by yourself?”

He almost looked like he was caught off guard, but shook his head assertively, “My younger brother has a date tonight and asked if I’d drop him off, then uh, I got hungry so I just had to stay and eat–”

It wasn’t a date after all, and you hated that you went out on a limb. But shit, your food had been sitting there for a good 2 minutes whilst you were getting caught up in your mutual loneliness with Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo gaped his mouth a tad bit open to recollect his thoughts, but you were almost impatient because you had a fine ass boy in front of you, wanting to tell you everything, yet you felt like you were interrupting him with your gestures, and you had a plate back at the table.

“And then I saw you here, which compelled me to stay more than their Valentine’s Day dinner discount,” had left his mouth, come again?

There were no feelings of complex emotion coursing raw through your veins, you were simply dumbfounded and delighted.

“Y/N, can I join you at your table?”

bruh so my school’s broadcast/news televisor/tv did a segment on being by urself on valentine’s day yesterday so i rushed to the fucking library to write it asap and usually it takes me a week to plan out the plot but i wrote the plot for this in half a lunch period and wrote it last night and today

imma cry it usually takes me months to write a fic and i have one sitting in my drafts that i started in september and it ain’t even halfway done but i managed to whip this one up JUST FOR THE SAKE OF PUBLISHING ON VALENTINE’S DAY BYE

[skgway]

1823 Aug., Tues. 19

5 50/60

12

Having swallowed a draught of water, and taken 3 small biscuits to eat as I walked along, set off to H–x [Halifax], hoping (our clock being 1/4 too soon) to be in time for the Manchester mail, to meet M– [Mariana] on whatever part of the road she might be –

On getting to the white lion, found the mail gone, about 1/2 hour ago – Took my great coat and small green bag to the upper George meaning to go by the 9 o’clock coach. Fancy M– [Mariana] might not leave home till today, and that I should spend the evening with her at Manchester –

Sent George back, and went myself to the post-office – A dozen lines on 1/2 sheet from M– [Mariana] dated yesterday “a quarter to three Manchester” Bridgewater arms – Miss Pattison accompanied them to M– [Manchester] (to consult Mr. Simmons the surgeon in George St), and if she could have no place in the coach at 5 p.m. yesterday would return at 6 this morning, when M– [Mariana] would proceed to Rochdale – Then, said I, they should be at H–x [Halifax] at 11 –

Went back to the upper George, but finding the coach most likely to be full, set off to walk – I had just got out of the town, when I turned back, took my coat and green bag to Furnish the Sadler’s (thinking them not quite safe indirected and in the traveler’s room at a 2nd rate Inn), and, at 7 50/60, set off again to walk till I met the carriage –

Turned down Pyenest lane; but, having got 1/2 way down it, the possibility of thus missing them, made me retrace my steps to the high road – Thought the coach might perhaps overtake me about Ripponden Turnpike, and I might get a lift, if I felt inclined – A mile on this side of Ripponden, a few drizzling drops of rain made me push on, meaning to wait at the turnpike – However, tho’ this threatening continued, it did not become worse; and having houses (shelter) at short distances all along, I continued walking forward, till I came to the 8th mile stone, and the turnpike 8 miles from H–x [Halifax] and the same distance from Rochdale and 4 from Littlebrough –

From here to Littlebro’ only one house (and that 2 miles off), the Inn at the top of Blackstone edge, looking down on Littlebro’ and Rochdale – The drizzling went off; the prospect cleared, and I walked forward, enjoying the clear mountain air – Between the 9th and 10th mile stone passed the division stone between the counties of York and Lancaster – A dreary, mountain, moor-scene – the river, but a small stream, murmuring on my left, the lake-line reservoir of the Rochdale canal on my right; a dreary prospect – A countryman observed in passing “It’s but a wildish place this” –

The Inn soon came in view – Perhaps it is 200 yards from the 10th mile stone (10th mile stone from H–x [Halifax]) – I had just determined to go in, and order a little boiled milk, – Was turning in towards the door, – when I spied the carriage winding up the hill – It was a nameless thrill that banished every thought but of M– [Mariana] and every feeling but of fearful hope – 

It was just 11 5/60 as I reached the carriage, having walked about 10 1/2 miles in 3 10/60 hour i.e. at the rate of a mile in 18 minutes to the very top of Blackstone edge – Unconscious of any sensation but of pleasure at the sight of M– [Mariana], who with Lou had been dozing one in each corner of the carriage, the astonishment-staring eyes of the man and maid behind, and of the post-boys walking by their horses, were lost to me; and in too hastily taking each step of the carriage and stretching over the pile of dressing boxes etc. that should have stopt such eager ingress, I unluckily seemed to M– [Mariana] to have taken 3 steps at once –

I had still more unluckily exclaimed while the petrified people were bungling about the steps, that I had walked all the way from Shibden – What with exclamation and with stride, the shock so completely wrapt round Mary’s heart, it left us avenue to any other feeling than joy that her friend Miss Pattison was not there – She would have been astonished and π [Mariana] horror struck. 

‘Why did I say I had walked from Shibden?’ Never saw John’s eyes so round with astonishment. The postboys too. And how fast I talked. Thought to have met me at Halifax, ‘why did I come so far? Why walk? Why not come in the gig?’ –

I did talk fast. My words flew from me as tho – I did talk fast – My words flew from me as tho’ disdaining to touch on utterance – I expected them an hour earlier – Must either walk forwards, or stop at an ale-house or a cottage when the suspense and anxiety would have been insupportable, the gig horse was taking diuretics – But the poisoned arrow had struck my heart and Mary's words of meeting welcome had fallen like some huge iceberg on my breast –

In vain, the assurance of my talking slower when agitation had gone by – In vain, the endeavor to excuse myself, to say I was neither really become ungentle in my manners nor at all changed since she had seen me last – In vain, the gentle reproach that she was unused to me and had forgotten me, and that this sort of reception was at the best unwelcome. 

I had only just ceased to remember what she said to me when we met last year at Chester and that when we met nearly four years ago at Manchester. The agitation of my inmost soul was met not with any female weaknesses of sympathy, but with the stronger mien of shocked astonishment at the awkwardness of the cut and curl of my hair.

π [Mariana] began to excuse herself. Told Lou the fright I was at the time. Alluded to and would prove it was all her affection for me that made her so alive to my appearance. Said she was taken by surprise. In fact, she saw she had gone too far. ‘I shall take five minutes,’ said I, ‘to get right again. Let me lean back and sleep a little.’ 

I felt these unutterable things roused again. We sparred a little. I pretended to laugh it off, say I was a little put out of temper. She offered to give me five minutes to recover in. I leaned back again. I scarce know what my feelings were, they were in tumult the five minutes ended. 

‘Shame,’ said I, ‘to myself to be so overcome.’ I talked as well as I could yet it was evident, as π [Mariana] said, that I was not right. She said something to me about Scarbro. ‘We will talk of it another time. Write to me about it. I meant to have gone with you as far as Bradford but now perhaps……. now,’ said she, ‘you are going to vex me. Hold your tongue.’

How little she knows me. I uttered not for a minute or two then turned to indifferent subjects. Miss Pickford, Miss Pattison, Mrs. Milne, the Astleys, their friend Miss Warneford, place Wiltshire, granddaughter to the late Viscount Ashbrook, aged thirty twenty thousand pounds will just suit me etc. etc. 

π [Mariana] began to look low. My heart relented, paid her two or three affectionate compliments. Lou owned I had had a trial of temper. I laughed and said I was getting over it and by the time we had reached King Cross I felt myself more easily under my own controul. I began to reason with myself that if I left her at Halifax she might reflect on what had passed and be unhappy. I should certainly ponder all these things in my heart. And these, thrown on the many others, might too much free my reason from the guard of love –

Sat in the carriage while we changed horses at the Union cross – Came in with 4, and must go out with 4, at least as far as 6 miles out of the 8 to Bradford – Bad cattle – The near leader came down on his knees, and very nearly threw his rider who took him off, sadly cut, about a mile from Bradford where we stopt at the Sun, and remained in the carriage while they put us on a pair of fresh horses –

I had before said something about going forward to York – but M– [Mariana] thought it would look too much as if she could not go without me – Her mother already fancied I had more influence with her than I ought to have, witness the nonsense when I was last in Petergate with M– [Mariana].

2 or 3 miles from Bradford met the new mail – Quite full – Could not take me back – Determined to sleep in Micklegate – We were now all quite right and merry – Alas! I had not forgotten – The heart has a memory of its own – But I had ceased to appear to remember, save in occasional joking allusions to “the 3 steps” – I soon found my mind had been stronger than my body – I began to feel my head-ache accompanied by strong bilious symptoms; and, before we drove down up Kirskstall abbey, I had lost all power of expressing what I intended – Yet joked it off, laughing at the blunders I made –

Just beginning to speak better, when we alighted at the white horse Leeds, about 3 p.m. – Slank away into a lodging room. 1/4 hour retying my neck handkerchief etc. after the heating I had had in walking – Could not change my things – In driving so quickly past the White Lion, I had left my green bag etc. at Furniss’s –

It did not appear that M– [Mariana] had thought of looking for me, but on entering the room, “Bless me,” said she, “where have you been – I could not tell where you were” – In fact, I had felt very unwell, but of course, said nothing of this, and merely asked for a little dry toast and boiled milk (having had no breakfast) while M– [Mariana] and Lou had sandwiches and soda water – Ate 2 or 3 small bits of toast, and drank 1 1/2 basin of milk –

Off from Leeds in about 3/4 hour – 4 or 5 miles off began to feel very sick – M– [Mariana] blamed the milk – It was not that – I laughed, and said, it was the shock of the 3 steps – “Ridentem dicere verum quid vetat?” The truth was told with impunity – I do not think M– [Mariana] noticed it – A 3 fold relief to my stomach made me feel considerably better when we reached Tadcaster –

Here to prevent the bustle of dining in Petergate, M– [Mariana] ordered beef-steaks, a roast chicken and vegetables etc. – All very nicely done in about 1/2 hour – I ate a little bit of beef-steak and 2 large pickled cucumbers to coax it down – There being an organ and piano and plenty of music Lou played till and accompanied me in 3 or 4 songs till a minute or 2 before dinner when M– [Mariana] and I went upstairs –

Told her I had fancied her annoyed at my not having gone to N[ew]C[astle]. She said she was a little mortified – I said I had hesitated about telling her the real reason, that I was not well enough – But determined she had better feel mortified than hurt, and therefore did not tell her – She thought I had done right – Surprised to find me so unwell –

Yet I told her all about it at Chester. She knew I had more discharge than she had, and of my consulting doctor Simpson. It was she advised my being bled and blistered, tho she never once remembered to, forgot to, inquire whether I had followed her advice or whether it answered or not. She said she was sorry, but the expression of her sorrow on this occasion was tame indeed compared with the expression of her surprise on our meeting this morning. 

I proposed sleeping in Petergate. She thought I had better not, she was afraid of doing me harm. I promised to put this out of the question – Talked the matter over with Lou – In fact, I had talked very openly before Lou all the day, and said I certainly liked her the best of her family next to M– [Mariana]. Lou will come to Shibden any time – M– [Mariana] had told her, it would be a nice thing for us both –

Determined to get out at the Duffins’, and desired Lou to give my love and say, I would sleep in Petergate, and be with them in an hour – The postboy stopt at the nunnery – However, I alighted ran to the D– [Duffin]’s and was ushered in at 8 55/60 – Mr. Mrs. and Miss D– [Duffin] and Miss Marsh seated round the table – Very kind reception – Mr. D– [Duffin] said I must sleep there – He had a bed ready for admiral Ballard who would not come so late –

Dr. Belcombe taken dangerously ill on Thursday night – Inflammation in his bowels – Given up on Friday, and not pronounced out of danger till Sunday – In the course of Friday and Saturday they had taken six lbs. of blood from him – He ought not to see M– [Mariana] and Lou, ought to be kept perfectly quiet – Said they would expect me after the message sent, and I must at all events go and inquire; but, if they did not wish me to stay, I would return – 

Took James with me, and got to the B– [Belcombe]’s at 9 3/4 – Dr. B– [Belcombe] considerably better – Had seen M– [Mariana] and Lou, and saw me too – Considering what he had gone thro’, his looks were better than I expected – They all seemed sanguine of his being quite out of danger, and M– [Mariana] and Lou were much more composed than I had anticipated –

Lou should have had the alarming letter on Monday morning just before they set off; but, tho’ they sent or went themselves to the P[ost] O[ffice] the letter was overlooked – How fortunate! They would have traveled all night, and M– [Mariana] been knocked up with harass and anxiety – Found I could stay all night very well. ‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs. Milne, ‘stay.’ She seemed the most cordial about it, tho they all behaved very kindly. π [Mariana] never uttered. This perhaps was best –

M– [Mariana] wrote a few lines to Mr. C[harles] L[awton] and she and colonel and Mrs. Milne sat in the drawing room till after I was gone up to bed, Mrs. B– [Belcombe], and Eli, and Lou, and I, having sat talking on indifferent subjects in Mrs. B– [Belcombe]’s sitting room – Went upstairs to look at the little Whites, ætatis 5 and 6, Mrs. B– [Belcombe]’s great nieces, just arrived from Madras – Mrs. B– [Belcombe] ennuyée for want of something to do, and fond of “teaching the young idea how to shoot”, has taken these children to educate as she did their aunts Mary and Louisa Ricketts 10 or a dozen years ago – 

Dr. B– [Belcombe] was sitting up in Mrs. B– [Belcombe]’s sitting room when I saw him, but retired almost immediately (about 10) – Mrs. M– [Milne] Lent me night things – Talked to me a few minutes in her lodging room, looking sweetly pretty –  “Charlotte and Marienne Dalton such amazing friends,” her (Mrs. M– [Milne]’s) “nose quite put out” – “It was Charlotte and Marienne, and Bell (Isabella) and Bell” –

Went up to bed at 11 1/2 – M– [Mariana] and I talked a little of Dr. B– [Belcombe] etc. etc., and got into bed just after the minster clock had struck 12. Very fine day (vide line 12 from the top of page 98) – E [two dots, treating venereal complaint] O [two dots, signifying middling discharge] –

[writinredhead]

AU prompt: Star Trek :P of course I'm gonna go for Star Trek! and sniperpilot (or whatever you can make work in Trekkieverse)

Bodhi didn’t even need the alarm clock, programmed to set off at 0600h. His blanket was pulled away at least half an hour before and the blinds went up, letting bright morning light flood through his quarters at Starfleet Academy.

Still too sleep dazed to curse properly, he rubbed his eyes and muttered, “Computer, what time is it?”

“Late enough.”

The voice that answered instead wasn’t the computer though.  

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t his quarters. More like shared quarters. Shared with his roommate and best friend.

Bodhi blinked awake and took in Cassian standing right before his bed. Apparently he’d just woke up and promptly decided Bodhi had to suffer the same fate. He was dressed in, well, not much, that’s for sure.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Bodhi blinked again. “Uh-oh, red boxers,” he pointed out. “That’s not a lucky color, you should better take those off.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “That is a) an incredibly bad come-on and b) it’s red shirts, no one’s going to care about my underwear.”

Bodhi decided that conversations like that being normal was entirely Jyn’s fault.

Early in their academy days, Jyn had invited - read forced - Bodhi to come along and celebrate their passing of the entrance exam. Not be exposed to her enthusiasm all by himself, Bodhi in turn had invited his new roommate along. It hadn’t hurt that he was damn attractive. Which, sadly, was what Bodhi’s subconscious had thought as well and after a bit too much to drink made a few rather blundering attempts at flirting with him. Thankfully Cassian had just dismissed it as Bodhi’s awkward humor. The only problem was that now, a full two years later, Cassian still thought it was just Bodhi’s humor. A little inconvenient if you were in love with your roommate. So what else was there to do than keep up the pretence?

Bodhi yawned and sat up. He grinned. “I care about your underwear.”

“Sure.” Cassian gave a deep sigh, too exasperated to be real, but he stretched out a hand. Bodhi took it and Cassian pulled him to his feet.

Standing up and stretching, Bodhi groaned, his shoulders and back ached all over. That was Jyn’s fault too. Maybe it hadn’t been such a clever idea to accept her challenge to a rematch. Parisses squares was killer, especially if one hadn’t played in a while. He wondered how Cassian managed to be so chipper after yesterday’s game. Chipper in Cassian’s case equalling grumpy.

“Today’s the day, huh?”

“Yeah,” Cassian said, “and that’s why I’d like to be ready early. Then we can go through some possible scenarios again, so go shower already.” To underline his words he gave Bodhi a little shove toward the bathroom.

Before letting the door slide shut, Bodhi peaked around the corner again. “We still have time, join me?”

Cassian fished Bodhi’s uniform off a chair and threw it at the door.

“Go shower. Now.”

“Fine.”

*

They were standing in the hallway of the second floor of Starfleet’s educational department and Bodhi was starting to feel a bit jittery, shifting from one foot to the other.

“This is really it. The infamous Kobayashi Maru test.” He looked at the PADD with a short explanation as to what would be awaiting them in a few moments.

The civilian freighter Kobayashi Maru has struck a gravitic mine in the Klingon Neutral Zone. It is losing power, hull integrity and life support. Sensor readings are indeterminate and there is no way to verify the distress signal. A Klingon battle cruiser is approaching, there are no other Federation vessels nearby. React.

Down below it listed Bodhi’s name as ship’s captain officer, Cassian’s as second in command. Bodhi guessed now wasn’t the time to make a number one joke.

He looked at Cassian, who’d also just finished reading. “To be honest, I expected you to be the captain.”

“That’s on purpose.” Cassian’s jaw was clenched. So even he wasn’t as calm as he tried to appear. “The test was designed to see how we cope when faced with unexpected and seemingly unsolvable situations. It’s a psychological assessment.”

“You sound like a Vulcan,” Bodhi pointed out, though there wasn’t any real humor behind it. A bit quieter he added, “They say only one cadet ever beat the simulation.”

Smiling a little, Cassian asked, “You nervous? This morning it looked like I couldn’t get you out of bed.”

It was a facade. Over the years Bodhi had learned to read his face and Cassian was just as nervous as him. Still, he still appreciated the thought.

“Maybe? A bit?” he admitted. “This morning I was trying not to think about panicking, but right now panicking sounds quite tempting.”

Cassian said nothing for a moment. Then - Wait, what?! Had ever stoic Cassian Andor actually just bitten his lip? It sure as hell had looked like it. He’d bitten his perfect, soft bottom lip. But that couldn’t be. Because he’d never. It must have been Bodhi’s nerves trying to finish him entirely.

“I-” Cassian looked like he wanted to say something, but broke off when the doors of a nearby turbolift slid open and a man with a general’s insignia stepped out - Their instructor for the test.

The instructor lifted his head once he spotted them and called out, “Cadet Rook! Cadet Andor!”

They both turned around simultaneously, giving a quick salute. “Yes, sir!”

“You’re up next. Holodeck three.” Then the instructor went down the corridor, expecting them to follow.

Bodhi took a deep breath and sighed. “Alright. Here we go.”

What could possibly go wrong. A lot, to be honest, but the time for worrying was over. Now was time for confidence. He braced himself and started walking toward their assigned holodeck.

“Wait.”

Cassian suddenly reached out and grabbed Bodhi’s arm, holding him back. Before Bodhi could ask what was wrong, Cassian’s lips were on his and Bodhi quickly decided to scrap the question and just enjoy this delightful exam nerves-induced hallucination. 

When Cassian pulled back, there was a sheepish smile on his face and he rubbed his neck. “For good luck,” he said.

Bodhi smiled. Now it was his turn to bite his lip. He leaned over and kissed him back.  

“Same to you.”

[jonathanbelloblog]

A Walk Among the Stars: Visiting the Hollywood Royalty of Yesteryear

Yesterday I crossed the street to visit Marilyn Monroe. The platinum-haired beauty wasn’t much of a car enthusiast—the only automobile she’s said to have ever owned was a 1956 Ford T-bird she received as a Christmas gift—but she did appear in the 1950 John Huston movie The Asphalt Jungle, the title of which I appropriated for the monthly column I’ve been writing for roughly 15 years now. So she’s in my “club.” Playboy founder Hugh Hefner lies immediately to Marilyn’s left, having long ago purchased the marble crypt so he could be assured of sleeping forever next to the star whose photograph became his magazine’s first-ever centerfold.

Hugh was a car enthusiast; he especially loved German metal. Among his wheels: a 1969 Mercedes-Benz 600 Pullman limo, a 1959 300SL roadster, and a 1972 BMW 3.0CS. Some folks even say the name of Hefner’s groundbreaking monthly was inspired by the then-newly defunct Playboy Automobile Company. (Playboy co-founder Eldon Sellers’ mother worked for the car company’s sales office in Chicago.)

Pierce Brothers Westwood Village Memorial Park is tiny at just 2.5 acres and, if you didn’t know where to look, all but impossible to find. Its entrance is hidden away behind a few nondescript office towers on Los Angeles’ busy Wilshire Boulevard. But I walk there often. It’s nearby, quiet, and peaceful. Filled with flowers and handsome trees. And on a per-square-foot basis, it hosts more celebrities than the lunchtime dining room at Spago.

When I walk past the graves of Monroe, Hefner, and the many other storied names at Westwood Memorial, I can’t help but pause and try to imagine the lives they led—working under the lights, the parties, the beautiful homes, the interactions with fans and critics, stardom’s delirious highs and crushing lows. But of course I also wonder: What did this person drive? And did their cars outlive them? Are their wheels in museums or still prowling the streets today?

Near the Monroe and Hefner crypts rests crooner and actor Dean Martin. (He died on Christmas Day in 1995.) The Sinatra pal and Rat Packer owned a slew of sweet rides, including a ’76 Stutz Blackhawk and a car I once profiled in Motor Trend Classic, the avant-garde 1962 Italian-American Ghia L6.4—one of just 26 ever built. (Sinatra had one, too.) Edgy as it may have been (the L6.4 was based on the striking 1957 Chrysler Dart concept car), the Ghia wasn’t cool enough out of the box for “The King of Cool,” so Martin had famed Hollywood car customizer George Barris (of original Batmobile fame) tweak his with an extra helping of suave. A little research suggests the car was last sold in 2012 with an asking price of $199,500. The Ghia was said to be in immaculate, unrestored condition—with only 46,000 miles on the odometer. I’ll have to whisper that to Dino on my next visit.

Actress Natalie Wood is buried under a tree amid the central lawn, having mysteriously drowned off SoCal’s Catalina Island in 1981. She was just 43 years old. Two-plus decades before her death, at age 19 and already a huge star, Wood purchased a brand-new 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL roadster—and promptly had the car painted bright pink. A subsequent owner, not surprisingly, had it repainted back to its original Silver Blue—but the red leather interior and highly desirable Rudge wheels remain as Wood enjoyed them. The car—restored to concours condition—sold at auction in 2014 for $1.84 million, well above estimate. Whenever I stop here, Wood’s grave always seems to be adorned with flowers, but the day of my December visit, someone had also placed a small Christmas tree. It had tipped over in the wind, so I set it back up straight and tucked it in, remembering how gorgeous Wood looked when I first saw her in 1955’s Rebel Without a Cause. And how alive.

What did this person drive? And did their cars outlive them? Are their wheels in museums or still prowling the streets today?

His crypt not far from Monroe’s, actor Robert Stack, like Wood and Hefner, was also the proud owner of a Mercedes 300SL roadster. Although probably best known to contemporary audiences as the blundering Captain Rex Kramer in 1980’s Airplane! or as the host of Unsolved Mysteries, in 1960 Stack was the rising young star of ABC’s hit drama The Untouchables, where he played famed Chicago law-enforcement agent and Prohibition enforcer Eliot Ness. It’s said that every day Stack would drive down Sunset Boulevard on his way to the studio and, passing an auto showroom, stare at a bright green ’57 SL on display. Finally, his wife, Rosemarie, threw up her hands and said, in effect, “Just buy the darn thing!” Yet Stack didn’t do so, telling a MotorTrend writer in 1998, “I’d never pay that much money for a car for myself.”

Natalie Wood had her 300SL roadster painted pink.

As fate would have it, though, Stack didn’t have to spend a dime. Unbeknownst to him, Untouchables producer (and I Love Lucy star) Desi Arnaz bought the car for Stack, a gift for his having won the Best Actor Emmy for 1960. Stack owned the SL right up until his death in 2003. A decade later, the car—now painted dark red but otherwise almost completely original—sold at auction for $808,500. Sorry, Mr. Ness, but that good news merits a cold martini.

Actor Jack Lemmon, who died in 2001 at the age of 76, has the best headstone in Westwood Memorial. It reads simply: “Jack Lemmon”—then, below, “In.” Yet the two-time Oscar winner was the complete opposite of a car guy. In a 2014 interview with The Hollywood Reporter, Lemmon’s son, Chris, confessed: “[My dad] was the worst friggin’ driver. He wrecked a magnificent sports car for pretty much every film he ever did. For How to Murder Your Wife, he wrecked an Aston Martin. During Tribute, he wrecked a vintage MG that he bought from Bill Bixby [late star of the 1977–82 hit CBS series The Incredible Hulk].” Lemmon’s grave lies in a prime spot, at the end of a line of four that includes actor Carroll “Archie Bunker” O’Connor, legendary writer-director and Lemmon favorite Billy “Some Like It Hot” Wilder, and actor Peter “Columbo” Falk. It’s a 12-foot walk of fame.

For me, Westwood Memorial isn’t a sad place; it’s a celebration of lives lived uniquely—and full-up. It’s also, at times, a reminder of the utter absurdity and unpredictability of existence. (The child star of the 1982 horror hit Poltergeist, Heather “They’re heeerrrre!” O’Rourke, rests in a crypt near the entrance; she was only 12 when she died of septic shock in 1988.) Thankfully, near Lemmon lies comedian and actor Rodney Dangerfield; inscribed under his name on the headstone: “THERE GOES THE NEIGHBORHOOD.” Mr. “I don’t get no respect” died in 2004, just shy of his 83rd birthday. Whether Dangerfield gave one whit about cars, I don’t know, but every time I come to Westwood Memorial, I’m uplifted by memories of the comic’s hilarious stand-up routines, many of which revolved around his wife and her lousy driving. One of my faves: “My wife took her driver’s test . . . oh, she was happy. She got 18 out of 20! Yeah, two guys jumped out of the way!”

The post A Walk Among the Stars: Visiting the Hollywood Royalty of Yesteryear appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[jesusvasser]

A Walk Among the Stars: Visiting the Hollywood Royalty of Yesteryear

Yesterday I crossed the street to visit Marilyn Monroe. The platinum-haired beauty wasn’t much of a car enthusiast—the only automobile she’s said to have ever owned was a 1956 Ford T-bird she received as a Christmas gift—but she did appear in the 1950 John Huston movie The Asphalt Jungle, the title of which I appropriated for the monthly column I’ve been writing for roughly 15 years now. So she’s in my “club.” Playboy founder Hugh Hefner lies immediately to Marilyn’s left, having long ago purchased the marble crypt so he could be assured of sleeping forever next to the star whose photograph became his magazine’s first-ever centerfold.

Hugh was a car enthusiast; he especially loved German metal. Among his wheels: a 1969 Mercedes-Benz 600 Pullman limo, a 1959 300SL roadster, and a 1972 BMW 3.0CS. Some folks even say the name of Hefner’s groundbreaking monthly was inspired by the then-newly defunct Playboy Automobile Company. (Playboy co-founder Eldon Sellers’ mother worked for the car company’s sales office in Chicago.)

Pierce Brothers Westwood Village Memorial Park is tiny at just 2.5 acres and, if you didn’t know where to look, all but impossible to find. Its entrance is hidden away behind a few nondescript office towers on Los Angeles’ busy Wilshire Boulevard. But I walk there often. It’s nearby, quiet, and peaceful. Filled with flowers and handsome trees. And on a per-square-foot basis, it hosts more celebrities than the lunchtime dining room at Spago.

When I walk past the graves of Monroe, Hefner, and the many other storied names at Westwood Memorial, I can’t help but pause and try to imagine the lives they led—working under the lights, the parties, the beautiful homes, the interactions with fans and critics, stardom’s delirious highs and crushing lows. But of course I also wonder: What did this person drive? And did their cars outlive them? Are their wheels in museums or still prowling the streets today?

Near the Monroe and Hefner crypts rests crooner and actor Dean Martin. (He died on Christmas Day in 1995.) The Sinatra pal and Rat Packer owned a slew of sweet rides, including a ’76 Stutz Blackhawk and a car I once profiled in Motor Trend Classic, the avant-garde 1962 Italian-American Ghia L6.4—one of just 26 ever built. (Sinatra had one, too.) Edgy as it may have been (the L6.4 was based on the striking 1957 Chrysler Dart concept car), the Ghia wasn’t cool enough out of the box for “The King of Cool,” so Martin had famed Hollywood car customizer George Barris (of original Batmobile fame) tweak his with an extra helping of suave. A little research suggests the car was last sold in 2012 with an asking price of $199,500. The Ghia was said to be in immaculate, unrestored condition—with only 46,000 miles on the odometer. I’ll have to whisper that to Dino on my next visit.

Actress Natalie Wood is buried under a tree amid the central lawn, having mysteriously drowned off SoCal’s Catalina Island in 1981. She was just 43 years old. Two-plus decades before her death, at age 19 and already a huge star, Wood purchased a brand-new 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL roadster—and promptly had the car painted bright pink. A subsequent owner, not surprisingly, had it repainted back to its original Silver Blue—but the red leather interior and highly desirable Rudge wheels remain as Wood enjoyed them. The car—restored to concours condition—sold at auction in 2014 for $1.84 million, well above estimate. Whenever I stop here, Wood’s grave always seems to be adorned with flowers, but the day of my December visit, someone had also placed a small Christmas tree. It had tipped over in the wind, so I set it back up straight and tucked it in, remembering how gorgeous Wood looked when I first saw her in 1955’s Rebel Without a Cause. And how alive.

What did this person drive? And did their cars outlive them? Are their wheels in museums or still prowling the streets today?

His crypt not far from Monroe’s, actor Robert Stack, like Wood and Hefner, was also the proud owner of a Mercedes 300SL roadster. Although probably best known to contemporary audiences as the blundering Captain Rex Kramer in 1980’s Airplane! or as the host of Unsolved Mysteries, in 1960 Stack was the rising young star of ABC’s hit drama The Untouchables, where he played famed Chicago law-enforcement agent and Prohibition enforcer Eliot Ness. It’s said that every day Stack would drive down Sunset Boulevard on his way to the studio and, passing an auto showroom, stare at a bright green ’57 SL on display. Finally, his wife, Rosemarie, threw up her hands and said, in effect, “Just buy the darn thing!” Yet Stack didn’t do so, telling a MotorTrend writer in 1998, “I’d never pay that much money for a car for myself.”

Natalie Wood had her 300SL roadster painted pink.

As fate would have it, though, Stack didn’t have to spend a dime. Unbeknownst to him, Untouchables producer (and I Love Lucy star) Desi Arnaz bought the car for Stack, a gift for his having won the Best Actor Emmy for 1960. Stack owned the SL right up until his death in 2003. A decade later, the car—now painted dark red but otherwise almost completely original—sold at auction for $808,500. Sorry, Mr. Ness, but that good news merits a cold martini.

Actor Jack Lemmon, who died in 2001 at the age of 76, has the best headstone in Westwood Memorial. It reads simply: “Jack Lemmon”—then, below, “In.” Yet the two-time Oscar winner was the complete opposite of a car guy. In a 2014 interview with The Hollywood Reporter, Lemmon’s son, Chris, confessed: “[My dad] was the worst friggin’ driver. He wrecked a magnificent sports car for pretty much every film he ever did. For How to Murder Your Wife, he wrecked an Aston Martin. During Tribute, he wrecked a vintage MG that he bought from Bill Bixby [late star of the 1977–82 hit CBS series The Incredible Hulk].” Lemmon’s grave lies in a prime spot, at the end of a line of four that includes actor Carroll “Archie Bunker” O’Connor, legendary writer-director and Lemmon favorite Billy “Some Like It Hot” Wilder, and actor Peter “Columbo” Falk. It’s a 12-foot walk of fame.

For me, Westwood Memorial isn’t a sad place; it’s a celebration of lives lived uniquely—and full-up. It’s also, at times, a reminder of the utter absurdity and unpredictability of existence. (The child star of the 1982 horror hit Poltergeist, Heather “They’re heeerrrre!” O’Rourke, rests in a crypt near the entrance; she was only 12 when she died of septic shock in 1988.) Thankfully, near Lemmon lies comedian and actor Rodney Dangerfield; inscribed under his name on the headstone: “THERE GOES THE NEIGHBORHOOD.” Mr. “I don’t get no respect” died in 2004, just shy of his 83rd birthday. Whether Dangerfield gave one whit about cars, I don’t know, but every time I come to Westwood Memorial, I’m uplifted by memories of the comic’s hilarious stand-up routines, many of which revolved around his wife and her lousy driving. One of my faves: “My wife took her driver’s test . . . oh, she was happy. She got 18 out of 20! Yeah, two guys jumped out of the way!”

The post A Walk Among the Stars: Visiting the Hollywood Royalty of Yesteryear appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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A Walk Among the Stars: Visiting the Hollywood Royalty of Yesteryear

Yesterday I crossed the street to visit Marilyn Monroe. The platinum-haired beauty wasn’t much of a car enthusiast—the only automobile she’s said to have ever owned was a 1956 Ford T-bird she received as a Christmas gift—but she did appear in the 1950 John Huston movie The Asphalt Jungle, the title of which I appropriated for the monthly column I’ve been writing for roughly 15 years now. So she’s in my “club.” Playboy founder Hugh Hefner lies immediately to Marilyn’s left, having long ago purchased the marble crypt so he could be assured of sleeping forever next to the star whose photograph became his magazine’s first-ever centerfold.

Hugh was a car enthusiast; he especially loved German metal. Among his wheels: a 1969 Mercedes-Benz 600 Pullman limo, a 1959 300SL roadster, and a 1972 BMW 3.0CS. Some folks even say the name of Hefner’s groundbreaking monthly was inspired by the then-newly defunct Playboy Automobile Company. (Playboy co-founder Eldon Sellers’ mother worked for the car company’s sales office in Chicago.)

Pierce Brothers Westwood Village Memorial Park is tiny at just 2.5 acres and, if you didn’t know where to look, all but impossible to find. Its entrance is hidden away behind a few nondescript office towers on Los Angeles’ busy Wilshire Boulevard. But I walk there often. It’s nearby, quiet, and peaceful. Filled with flowers and handsome trees. And on a per-square-foot basis, it hosts more celebrities than the lunchtime dining room at Spago.

When I walk past the graves of Monroe, Hefner, and the many other storied names at Westwood Memorial, I can’t help but pause and try to imagine the lives they led—working under the lights, the parties, the beautiful homes, the interactions with fans and critics, stardom’s delirious highs and crushing lows. But of course I also wonder: What did this person drive? And did their cars outlive them? Are their wheels in museums or still prowling the streets today?

Near the Monroe and Hefner crypts rests crooner and actor Dean Martin. (He died on Christmas Day in 1995.) The Sinatra pal and Rat Packer owned a slew of sweet rides, including a ’76 Stutz Blackhawk and a car I once profiled in Motor Trend Classic, the avant-garde 1962 Italian-American Ghia L6.4—one of just 26 ever built. (Sinatra had one, too.) Edgy as it may have been (the L6.4 was based on the striking 1957 Chrysler Dart concept car), the Ghia wasn’t cool enough out of the box for “The King of Cool,” so Martin had famed Hollywood car customizer George Barris (of original Batmobile fame) tweak his with an extra helping of suave. A little research suggests the car was last sold in 2012 with an asking price of $199,500. The Ghia was said to be in immaculate, unrestored condition—with only 46,000 miles on the odometer. I’ll have to whisper that to Dino on my next visit.

Actress Natalie Wood is buried under a tree amid the central lawn, having mysteriously drowned off SoCal’s Catalina Island in 1981. She was just 43 years old. Two-plus decades before her death, at age 19 and already a huge star, Wood purchased a brand-new 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL roadster—and promptly had the car painted bright pink. A subsequent owner, not surprisingly, had it repainted back to its original Silver Blue—but the red leather interior and highly desirable Rudge wheels remain as Wood enjoyed them. The car—restored to concours condition—sold at auction in 2014 for $1.84 million, well above estimate. Whenever I stop here, Wood’s grave always seems to be adorned with flowers, but the day of my December visit, someone had also placed a small Christmas tree. It had tipped over in the wind, so I set it back up straight and tucked it in, remembering how gorgeous Wood looked when I first saw her in 1955’s Rebel Without a Cause. And how alive.

What did this person drive? And did their cars outlive them? Are their wheels in museums or still prowling the streets today?

His crypt not far from Monroe’s, actor Robert Stack, like Wood and Hefner, was also the proud owner of a Mercedes 300SL roadster. Although probably best known to contemporary audiences as the blundering Captain Rex Kramer in 1980’s Airplane! or as the host of Unsolved Mysteries, in 1960 Stack was the rising young star of ABC’s hit drama The Untouchables, where he played famed Chicago law-enforcement agent and Prohibition enforcer Eliot Ness. It’s said that every day Stack would drive down Sunset Boulevard on his way to the studio and, passing an auto showroom, stare at a bright green ’57 SL on display. Finally, his wife, Rosemarie, threw up her hands and said, in effect, “Just buy the darn thing!” Yet Stack didn’t do so, telling a MotorTrend writer in 1998, “I’d never pay that much money for a car for myself.”

Natalie Wood had her 300SL roadster painted pink.

As fate would have it, though, Stack didn’t have to spend a dime. Unbeknownst to him, Untouchables producer (and I Love Lucy star) Desi Arnaz bought the car for Stack, a gift for his having won the Best Actor Emmy for 1960. Stack owned the SL right up until his death in 2003. A decade later, the car—now painted dark red but otherwise almost completely original—sold at auction for $808,500. Sorry, Mr. Ness, but that good news merits a cold martini.

Actor Jack Lemmon, who died in 2001 at the age of 76, has the best headstone in Westwood Memorial. It reads simply: “Jack Lemmon”—then, below, “In.” Yet the two-time Oscar winner was the complete opposite of a car guy. In a 2014 interview with The Hollywood Reporter, Lemmon’s son, Chris, confessed: “[My dad] was the worst friggin’ driver. He wrecked a magnificent sports car for pretty much every film he ever did. For How to Murder Your Wife, he wrecked an Aston Martin. During Tribute, he wrecked a vintage MG that he bought from Bill Bixby [late star of the 1977–82 hit CBS series The Incredible Hulk].” Lemmon’s grave lies in a prime spot, at the end of a line of four that includes actor Carroll “Archie Bunker” O’Connor, legendary writer-director and Lemmon favorite Billy “Some Like It Hot” Wilder, and actor Peter “Columbo” Falk. It’s a 12-foot walk of fame.

For me, Westwood Memorial isn’t a sad place; it’s a celebration of lives lived uniquely—and full-up. It’s also, at times, a reminder of the utter absurdity and unpredictability of existence. (The child star of the 1982 horror hit Poltergeist, Heather “They’re heeerrrre!” O’Rourke, rests in a crypt near the entrance; she was only 12 when she died of septic shock in 1988.) Thankfully, near Lemmon lies comedian and actor Rodney Dangerfield; inscribed under his name on the headstone: “THERE GOES THE NEIGHBORHOOD.” Mr. “I don’t get no respect” died in 2004, just shy of his 83rd birthday. Whether Dangerfield gave one whit about cars, I don’t know, but every time I come to Westwood Memorial, I’m uplifted by memories of the comic’s hilarious stand-up routines, many of which revolved around his wife and her lousy driving. One of my faves: “My wife took her driver’s test . . . oh, she was happy. She got 18 out of 20! Yeah, two guys jumped out of the way!”

The post A Walk Among the Stars: Visiting the Hollywood Royalty of Yesteryear appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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Bartman, pilloried at every turn and advised by the police not to go into work, goes into hiding. To this day he has not spoken about the incident that carries his name.It was his misfortune to have added a further slice of ill luck to a club burdened by a cake full of the stuff. Eric Neel summed up the despair felt by the fans. "We're just like Icarus today, cheap nike nfl jerseys baby, nothing but a close-but-no-cigar mess of wax and bones. The Cubs didn't lose, the Cubs are losing itself. We define the concept so that winning has meaning. We are the yardstick, the baseline. You get me?"

As ever the anonymous reactions on the internet are ugly and chilling examples of mob rule. "Death to Steve Bartman" message boards are set up. There are pictures of Bartman in Saddam Hussein's bunker and mug shots of Bartman as the lead suspect in the Washington DC sniper shootings. He is vilified.

Jay Mariotti, a sports columnist for the Chicago Sun-Times, nfl cheap jerseys writes: "A fan in that situation should try his best to get out of the way, even if he isn't of the mind to see Alou approaching, as Bartman claims. Still, he's also a human being who was reacting in a tense, unusual moment. And the resulting verbal abuse and trash-hurling, followed by the Neanderthal threats and creepy reaction on the internet, hasn't reflected well on Chicago's sports culture. As it is, everyone thinks the prototypical local fans are those mopes from the Superfans skits on Saturday Night Live."

Meanwhile, the ball, which, perhaps inevitably, was ambulance-chased by a Chicago lawyer, is sold at an auction in December 2003 and purchased by Grant DePorter for $113,824.16 (£70,091) on behalf of Harry Caray's Restaurant Group. On 26 February 2004 it is publicly detonated by the special effects expert Michael Lantieri, cheap nfl jerseys free shipping with the remains of the ball being used by the restaurant in a pasta sauce.Boringly, health and safety considerations come in to play, preventing any part of the ball adding some much needed chew to the bolognese. Instead, the steam of the ball is captured, distilled, and added to the final concoction. A style of cooking we haven't seen enough of during this year's Masterchef: The Professionals.

On the small screen, an episode of Law and Order features a character called "the foul ball guy" who is murdered in a bar. "It was gratuitous," is the verdict of Bartman's lawyer, Frank Murtha.And now Alex Gibney, cheap soccer jersey who directed Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, is making a documentary about the poor man. "It's not the search for Bartman," he has said. "It is about how does one become a scapegoat?" Which may not completely reassure the fan who reached out too far.

The New York Yankees beat the Minnesota Twins 4-1 yesterday to complete a three-game sweep of their division series and set up an American League Championship Series against the Los Angeles Angels. The Angels rallied to beat the Red Sox 7-6 in Boston to complete a sweep of their own.

New York's Alex Rodriguez, who tied Friday's game with a home run in the bottom of the ninth, tied the score at 1-1 in the seventh with a long homer off Minnesota starter Carl Pavano.Two batters later, Jorge Posada cleared the wall in left with another solo shot. custom baseball jerseys cheap The visiting Yankees added two more runs in the ninth to set up the meeting with the Angels, the winner earning a spot in the World Series."We want to win a World Series," Yankees starter Andy Pettitte said. New York's last Fall Classic win came in 2000. "We took a step here to move on. We're going to have a nasty series. It's going to be a war between us and the Angels."

New York's seventh-inning surge broke up a pitchers' duel between Pavano and Yankees left-hander Pettitte. Pettitte, who tied John Smoltz for most the post-season wins with 15, gave up three hits in 6 1/3 innings, walking one and striking out seven as New York improved to 10-0 against the Twins this season.Pavano, sports jerseys cheap a former Yankees pitcher, went seven innings and struck out nine without issuing a walk. A base-running blunder ruined a Twins rally in the eighth after Nick Punto had led off with a double off Yankees reliever Phil Hughes.

Denard Span followed with a high bouncer up the middle and Punto charged around third base with an eye toward making a dash to home, but shortstop Derek Jeter did not try to throw out Span at first base and instead threw to catcher Posada at home plate.

It was the last Twins game to be played at the Metrodome, and as the Yankees celebrated in the middle of the diamond, ground staff began digging up home plate to move it across the street to their new park.

Minnesota's manager, Ron Gardenhire, saluted the Yankees. "That's a great baseball team over there," he said. "You have to tip your hat to them, the best record in baseball. They just keep running great hitters up there."They deserve all the accolades. Great bullpen, broncos jersey cheap bench, the whole deal. I hate it when we play against them because they kill us, but I enjoy watching Jeter and A-Rod and those guys play." Minnesota Twins all but put the Chicago White Sox out of the play-off picture with a 8-6 win, which also keeps the Twins within reach of the Detroit Tigers in the American League Central. Nick Punto had three RBIs and scored two runs for the Twins and Brian Duensing improved to 5-0 as a starter. Jermaine Dye hit two homers as the White Sox went down to a fourth straight defeat.

Detroit clinched its three-game set in Cleveland as the Tigers beat the Indians 11-3. A two-homer, four-RBI night from Carlos Guillen sealed it for Detroit, who had a four-run first inning off Justin Masterson. cheap nba basketball jerseys Miguel Cabrera added a two-run home run in the fourth.The New York Yankees celebrated their play-off spot by rounding out a series win with a 3-2 victory over the Los Angeles Angels. The Bombers got key two-out hits from Robinson Cano and Melky Cabrera as the Angels were held to two runs by AJ Burnett.