#( scraping the bottom of the barrel each month for rent currently :/ )

[trencri]

work cut my hours so i'm not getting enough extra money..... meaning i still cannot order any of the three missing garvey comics from my collection.....    

[artificialqueens]

Maybe We’re Helping Each Other Escape (Bengela)- Ortega

A/N: it’s crazy how fast i can work on something if the idea niggles away at me for long enough, i do much of my writing on google docs on train journeys, and i have three days off work because of the bastarding snow. welcome to whatever this is- technically it’s set within the Just The Game We’re In universe but i have tried my best to make sure it can be read standalone. i’m no good at summaries, so this was based off the idea i had the other day when i got asked about Game headcanons:

“i don’t think i’ve given Dela a role in Game so far so OF COURSE she’s the new flirty intern at the Daily Mail who gets put under Shangela’s wing and who makes Shangela very nervous because she works for the Daily Mail and she should not be having these feelings towards female colleagues”

((if you’re American and struggling with the whole idea of the Daily Mail as a newspaper, compare it to ummmmmm idk some media outlet that Trump really loves))

Shangela never thought her journalistic career would peak with her writing a 1,000 word article about the Prime Minister’s wife’s cankles, but she supposed the only way was up. Finishing the final sentence and emailing it to her senior editor to get it haphazardly checked for spelling, grammar and rogue left-wing views, Shangela took a sip of her coffee only to find it cold. Damn. She was annoyed that there were no young, terrified work experience girls to get her another. Rising from her desk chair, she grabbed her cup and made her way to the small office kitchen. Many of her friends had asked her why she took the job at the Daily Mail and she’d often reply lightheartedly, laughing something about being broke and having no morals. But as she passed by desk after desk in the small, stifled office she worked in, she found her heart sinking as it did every other day. The part about her being broke, there was truth in that- there wasn’t a whole lot that a third in Communication, Media and Culture from Oxford Brookes could get you in the world of journalism. She’d had her sights set on the BBC, but that had been for the Raja Geminis of this world, and Shangela still bristled when she saw her on the ten o'clock news remembering how the girl had befriended her for her study notes when they were in first year together. She now understood how brutal the industry could be and how easy it was to be backstabbed, but at the time eighteen-year-old Shangela just thought she’d made a friend. That was until the head of her faculty called her into a meeting to discuss plagarism allegations, and revealed that her final essay had been very similar, almost identical in fact, to Raja’s, the very same essay that Shangela had sent to her to look over to help her out. Raja’s had just been “more finessed” as they had put it. In the end, Shangela’s essay was void- 0% for an essay worth 80% of her grade for that module, dragging her down from being on course for a first class degree to having to settle for a third.   BBC out the window, Shangela had set her sights on ITV, Channel 4, fuck, even Channel 5 received an application. Hearing nothing back she’d started to lower her expectations and set her sights on print journalism- The Times, The Telegraph, The Guardian. Then once she got the rejection emails from them, she begrudgingly scraped the very bottom of the barrel- The Sun, The Star, and The Daily Mail. She got a job offer from the lesser of three evils- as an editor for the section of the website dedicated to women, “Femail”- and before she knew it, she’d been trapped in the same pink offices for two years. But it was better than sitting in a freezing cold Soho flat struggling to pay the rent. Morals, though, that was still a problem. No amount of money could buy those away, and it still stung whenever she had to write an article about whose dress looked the most like a dehydrated camel’s turd at whatever awards ceremony. She’d love to be writing on the situation in Gaza and she’d love even more to be researching the emerging refugee crisis in Syria, but that was Raja’s domain. Shangela’s domain was different entirely. At least she was writing, she reminded herself, as she got to the small kitchen, washed out her mug and spooned in more coffee granules. Flicking the switch on the kettle, she was surprised when her senior editor entered the kitchen, looking as smug as he always did as if he was constantly being reminded of the gender pay gap. In his hand he held what Shangela recognised as her article- same paragraph structure and indents, but with a green highlighter across one sentence. Stiffening, she struggled to hold in her annoyance- that had to be a record for most skim-read proofreading of all time, and it hadn’t even been as much as five minutes since she had emailed the article to him. “So um, Shangie…babe. The article’s brilliant. Just a little problem with your grammar on paragraph two.” Trying to suppress her rolled eyes at the nickname she hated, Shangela examined the highlighted text on the printed sheet in front of her. Narrowing her eyes, she looked up at her editor. “Um. What’s the issue here?” Her boss took the paper from her and read from it in faux-patience. “From beneath the ankle strap, the fat gained from the baby weight four years ago tried to escape from its fleshy prison.” Cringing, Shangela screwed up her face. “And?” “You missed the apostrophe in ‘it’s’.” “No I didn’t,” Shangela explained calmly. “An apostrophe in this case means that two words have been combined to make one. ’It is’ becomes 'it’s’. Its with no apostrophe is possessive. So, “from it is fleshy prison” makes no sense.” The editor gave a sort of choked laugh. “They really taught you a lot at Oxford Brookes, huh?” Shangela found herself casting her eyes to the floor. Her skin prickled as if she’d been stung. Working up her dignity again, she met her boss’ eye. “I do pride myself on knowing basic grammar, Sir.” The senior editor slid the piece of paper slowly out of her hands. “Well I’m your superior and I’m saying that your basic grammar is wrong. So just fix that up and the article should be good to go. Okay?” Shangela simply gave a curt nod, swallowed, and returned to her desk. The Prime Minister’s wife was a lovely woman, too. It was unfair that she had to be eviscerated by the media like this, for something as shallow as her appearance. But it was in Shangela’s job description, and so it would be done.

Settling down at her desk and resentfully changing correct grammar to an error, she felt her eyes flicker above the monitor screen to see some sort of activity in the office. Gia from Fashion was showing around a girl- looking to be around Shangela’s age, or perhaps younger. Her hair was in a neat beehive which fell over her shoulders, long and straight and dark with a sort of gloss to it that Shangela thought only existed in Pantene adverts. Her makeup was simple- a sort of 60’s cat eye with some light blusher and simple pink lipgloss on her lips which were currently set in a smile as she greeted Delta who sat one row in front of her. She wore a pink dress patterned with yellow flowers, and Shangela wondered why she was bothering to notice so much about her. Narrowing her eyes, she swirled her chair around to her left to face Vivienne, the colleague at the desk beside her and possibly the only person Shangela got on with at work.

“Vivienne,” she hissed in a sort of hushed whisper, causing the other girl to turn from whatever she had been working on and flip her hair over her shoulder to listen. “Who is that that Gia’s showing around?”

The other girl rolled her eyes. “Some new intern they got. Journalism graduate apparently. I’m not convinced as to her authenticity. Look at how she’s going round the office. I’ve never seen anyone smile that much.”

“Well it’s the right attitude to have if you want to be a journalist. Be equally fake to everyone,” Shangela considered, shrugging slightly as she watched the girl. Vivienne was right- she hadn’t once broken her smile since Shangela had set eyes on her, which she found intriguing. Watching Gia turn and face her way, Shangela got a shock as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Trying to focus on her article, she blocked out her peripheral vision until the two women were right beside her desk.

“Shangela,” Gia’s voice forced Shangela to acknowledge them. “I’d like you to meet Dela, she’s our new intern and she’ll be staying with us for a couple of months.”

Shangela cast her gaze up to meet the perfectly lined pair of blue eyes smiling back at her. Up close, the girl was relatively pretty, but she couldn’t shake the annoyance of having someone just waltz into an internship right after they graduated meanwhile she had to practically beg the Daily Mail to give her a job. Swallowing her slight jealousy, Shangela forced a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” she offered a hand for the other girl to shake, only to be taken aback by her enthusiastically strong grip.

“It’s so good to meet you too! I’ve heard lots about you and read so much of your work. It’s a real honour getting to work beside you!” the girl gushed, the blush on her cheeks going a little pinker as she let go of Shangela’s hand. Shangela felt like blushing herself, taken aback that the girl seemed to have done her research so thoroughly. “Well I’m not exactly sure how much of an honour it is getting to work alongside the author of that show stopping article Floral Shirts to Work- A Yes or a No?, but I’m sure you’ll take something from it.”

Something inside Shangela lit up when Dela responded with a snort and a small giggle concealed under her hand. Gia, however, was not as easy-going and just stared Shangela down with an unimpressed glare. Great. That was a disciplinary on the cards, clearly.

“Well, by the by, since Jackie isn’t coming back from maternity leave anytime soon I said it would be fine if Dela had her desk, meaning she’ll be working beside you and Vivienne. That all okay?”

The resentment tipped over inside Shangela’s stomach again out of nowhere, Dela suddenly feeling like new competition for her. She couldn’t give anything away though, so she simply smiled and nodded.

“Good. I’ll leave you to it- I’ve given Dela a login and email address as well as some articles to proofread, but if she has any questions I trust you’ll handle them?”

Shangela bit her tongue and restrained herself from saying something about having an intern palmed off onto her, but again just nodded. Gia said a polite goodbye to Dela and then flounced off, Shangela’s face immediately setting into a scowl as she left.

“Have fun guarding the gates of Hades,” she muttered, unwittingly loud enough for Dela to hear and laugh.

“You’re a funny one, Angela. I think we’ll get along just fine,” she smiled, Shangela instantly annoyed at the misconception of her name.

“Shangela. We’ll get along even better if you get my name right,” she deadpanned, the other girl just blushing slightly and laughing apologetically.

“My bad. Sorry. Lots to take in, you know?”

Shangela raised an eyebrow and smiled briefly, although she couldn’t help but feel her defences were being worn down by Dela’s constant cheerful demeanor. Looking at her full coffee cup and then at the annoyingly smiley girl, a sly thought took place in her mind- power play. There was no way that Shangela was having this intern see herself on the same plane as herself.

“Hey, Dela? I’ve got a job for you,” she smiled, injecting cheer into her voice and feeling momentarily guilty at the way the other girl whizzed round in her wheely chair, eagerness painted over her face.

“Sure!”

“Would you mind possibly getting me a coffee?”

Dela’s smile faltered slightly as she gestured to the preexisting cup on Shangela’s desk. “Absolutely! But, um…you do already have one?”

Shangela kept her smile level as she gave a throwaway glance at the cup. “Yep, got that. Registered that. I’d just love another- long day, and I need a lot of caffeine to get me through it, you know?”

Still slightly confused, Dela nodded and dutifully made her way towards the kitchen. Turning back to her screen, Shangela smiled. She had one up on her now, and she would now know who was in charge.

Something that felt like guilt seemed to poke at her stomach, but later she’d conclude that it was probably just down to the fact she’d skipped breakfast that morning.

***

As the weeks went by, Shangela couldn’t work out if Dela was slowly growing on her or trying to annoy her to death. It started with the mornings- Shangela would walk into the office to find that yes, Dela was still there and no, unfortunately she hadn’t been taken out by a passing truck on the way into work. The intern would flash her a beaming smile, give her a cheerful good morning, and then, Shangela had noticed, would proceed to give her a different compliment every day. Sometimes it would be her makeup, sometimes her perfume, sometimes her hair or clothes. She couldn’t work out if the girl was a fake bitch or just aggressively nice, but the main thing that stumped her was why she was always so chirpy in the mornings. By about halfway through week two, Shangela snapped and decided to ask her.

“Is there a reason why you’re always so damn bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 8am?” she borderline hissed, glaring at her. Dela sort of shrugged apologetically and then pointed to a bright pink keep cup.

“…coffee?” she guessed, then lifted up the keep cup and gave it a little shake. “In fact I’m almost out. Can I get you any?”

As Shangela shrugged off her coat and made to sit down at her computer, she found herself giving Dela a look. She’d just admittedly been pretty rude to her, and here she was offering her a coffee. Surely the girl had to be a droid or some shit? Holding her gaze and noticing again how blue her eyes were, Shangela simply nodded and held out her cup. Dela smiled back.

“Black, two sugars, right?” she asked, pausing for a second. It had been weird that she’d remembered that as well, but then Shangela supposed she did make her a coffee every day. Then it had occurred to her that the only time she’d ever had to ask Dela for one was that first day, and ever since then the girl had offered. Not really completely sure how to address the information that had just registered with her, she only nodded again. Dela gave a little nod back and made to walk away, before looking at her again and casually saying, “Your eye makeup’s lovely today, by the way. Really brings out your eyes.”

As the intern walked away, Shangela blinked a little self-consciously and began her work.

It continued the next again week. Shangela had been warming to Dela and, though she tried not to speak to her much during the day, sometimes she’d be subjected to a small anecdote about what her turtles had been up to (she, for some unknown reason, had pet turtles), sometimes she’d have to fix some sort of email or Microsoft Word-related problem for her, and sometimes she’d ask Shangela about her life. When she thought about it, Shangela supposed there wasn’t a whole lot to tell- work basically was her life, that and her Mum.

“So, um. No other half then?” Dela had asked without much expression, Shangela bristling in response.

“I hate that term. ‘Other half’. Like I’m me, I’m not incomplete in some way, you know? It’s stupid,” she rolled her eyes, thoroughly unimpressed. For the first time ever, Dela seemed anything other than bright and upbeat.

“I’ll take that as a no,” she raised her eyebrows and continued typing away. Shangela somehow regretted barking at Dela. By way of extending an olive branch, she turned and faced her.

“What about you, there a man in your life?”

Dela gave an inexplicable snort and shook her head tersely. “Nope. And there won’t be one for a very long time. Possibly ever.”

Shit. Shangela regretted asking even more- Dela had clearly been the victim of a messy breakup and her heart was obviously still broken from some dickhead ex. Clearing her throat, Shangela wanted somehow to make things better. Giving the girl a genuine smile, she gave an apologetic shrug.

“What do you say to keeping the subject off-limits for both of us and pretending this conversation never happened?”

Dela’s smile was suddenly back, and Shangela didn’t know why that made her heart light up, but it did. “I’d like that very much.”

Sure enough, the both of them kept to their word and didn’t bring the topic up again. But Shangela did find herself starting to engage in actual conversation with Dela a lot more often. She’d even venture to say she enjoyed hearing her stories and liked being asked her opinion on things, and it actually turned out they had a few things in common. It was the sort of thing that she was maybe missing out on, having never been able to commit to a boyfriend before. Really, she’d always just been too focused on work, and it was nice to just talk to someone else. She started to look forward to seeing Dela at work, just for the conversation.

Shangela turned up to work one day on a chilly day in September, about a month into Dela’s internship. By this point, she no longer really remembered what had ever annoyed her about Dela and genuinely enjoyed her company. Arriving at her desk, she was disappointed to find an empty chair where Dela usually sat. To her intrigue, however, there was a printed sheet of paper on top of her own keyboard- paragraphs of typed black with pink highlighted words and sections and scribbled notes all over it. Stuck on top of it was a pink sticky note, identical to the post-it notes that sat on Dela’s desk. Shangela picked up the paper and read the note.

About three minutes later she finally found Dela in the kitchen after frantic and furious searching. She’d seemed happy to see Shangela initially, but her face fell when she saw her expression- hot anger flushed against Shangela’s cheeks and her face was set in a scowl as she crushed the paper in her hand.

“What is this?!”

Dela blinked a couple of times, looking first at Shangela and then to the paper in her hand. “Well it’s like I said…I just proofread it and tweaked it a little. I just thought I’d be helping…I’m sorry that you don’t like it-”

Frustrated, Shangela crumpled her own article up into a ball and launched it into the bin. She turned to Dela with dark eyes, all warmth she’d ever felt towards the girl completely gone.

“Don’t ever fuck with my work again, or I’ll make it my business to get your internship cut as short as it possibly can. Got it?” she snapped, earning a sheepish nod from Dela. Fuming, she walked out of the kitchen and out of the office, being unable to bear being in the same building as Dela. She was so annoyed, so angry that a girl on an internship thought she could just waltz in and start editing the articles of someone that had worked there for almost three years. It took her all the way back to university, to her plagarism hearing. Just because Raja had changed a few words her essay was “more finessed”, just as Dela thought she was finessing her article. Shangela didn’t get to where she was today without any talent.

Fuck her, she thought, as she reached Starbucks and ordered herself the most poisonous, inky-black-looking coffee available.

As she sat and sipped at it and looked out the window, though, she felt her own words starting to chip away at her. Had she been too harsh? No- Dela had no business interfering where she didn’t have any right. She said she’d been trying to help. Maybe she genuinely wanted to. With the smallest stab to her heart, Shangela thought back to how kind and happy the girl always seemed. Fake? No- there was no way someone could keep up that charade for that length of time. As time ticked on and her cup became drained, Shangela began to feel more and more as if she’d kicked a puppy. Sighing and rising from her seat, she made her way back to the office. Dela still wasn’t at her seat and Shangela wondered if she’d ever returned. Making her way to the kitchen, she looked in the bin and plucked out the ball of paper. Opening it up, she began to read over her article, looking at the things Dela had written in.

Shit. She’d fucked up.

She hurried along the office in her heels, hoping that Dela was back so she could talk to her. She wasn’t. Mind in overdrive, Shangela went to the second most probable place and found herself at the ladies’ toilets a few moments later. To her horror, she could hear a quiet sniffing coming from the only locked cubicle.

She paused before speaking. “Dela?”

The sniffing stopped abruptly, but there was no sign of the door opening. Sighing, Shangela’s heart sank as she looked at the ceiling. “Look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I was a total asshole.”

She paused. Still nothing. “I read the changes you made. They were really good. It was pretty poorly-written if I’m being honest so, thanks for making it better. And despite what I said, I do appreciate it.”

Another pause with no movement from inside the cubicle. Shangela could almost feel herself getting frustrated again, but she took a deep breath. “Look, can you please just come out of the cubicle so that we can talk, because I’m starting to get nervous that the person in here isn’t actually Dela.”

There was a beat of silence before the lock turned and Dela emerged from the cubicle, her cheeks red and puffy from crying and small specks of mascara dotted around her eyes. Shangela felt like a Grade A shit.

“I’m sorry- I don’t know why I’m crying, I’m such an idiot,” Dela started, her face flushing redder from embarrassment. Shangela shook her head.

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. For being such a dick.”

Dela smiled sadly. “I guess I just thought I’d made a friend.”

A sudden thud caught in Shangela’s heart. “I mean, I’m not that great at the whole friendship thing on the whole.”

Dela gave a small laugh. “Clearly.”

“But I mean…I guess I could try?” Shangela said hesitantly, earning another smile from Dela. Christ, she was so glad her smile was back.

“We could start with a hug?”

“It’d be a start.”

Returning her smile, Shangela walked forward into Dela’s open arms and wrapped her own arms around her, giving her a little squeeze. She was so glad she’d been forgiven, and felt relieved as she relaxed a little and rested her head on the other girl’s shoulder. She felt inexplicably safe.

The hug was eventually broken. Shangela smiled at Dela and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Come on, bitch. Tell me more about how shit my writing is.”

As Dela howled with laughed, it occured to Shangela that Dela had been the one to break the hug, and she didn’t know why that bothered her.

***

The next fortnight was filled with what Shangela was overjoyed to find was a real friendship. They messaged outside of work hours, laughed and chatted at work and went for lunch together. Dela just made Shangela happy in ways she couldn’t remember anyone ever doing before. There was a certain element of excitement to it- the butterflies she’d get whenever Dela had sent her a new message, or the anticipation she’d feel walking into work and knowing they’d see each other. It was nice.

Today, though, was a little more nervewracking. Tomorrow she was interviewing a Cabinet Minister, Sharon Needles from the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship, and she wanted to make sure she was completely prepared. It had been a long time since she’d interviewed anybody. As Shangela arrived in the morning, she vented all of her feelings to Dela.

“You’ll be absolutely fine. You’ve got all your questions, right?” she asked her, Shangela rolling her eyes and gesturing to the editor’s office.

“I’ve got all MY questions. I need to get them vetted from HIM. He’ll probably make me ask all sorts of embarrassing, sexist bullshit.”

Dela laughed then blinked, a little shocked. “Wait, really?”

“Dela, come on, girl. We work for the Daily Mail. Offensive shit is their currency.”

The other girl shrugged in acceptance. “Still, I never thought they’d actually ask people blatant stuff like that.”

“It’s bullshit.”

There was a small pause in which Shangela considered the venom behind her words. Dela seemed to be considering the same thing. “So how come you work here?”

Because I’m broke and I have no morals? Shangela sighed. “Because I couldn’t get a job at any other media outlet and I have no integrity.”

Dela gave a half-hearted laugh as Shangela realised how much more serious she sounded than she’d meant to. Giving a suspicious gaze around the office, Dela then moved her chair closer to Shangela.

“I sort of feel the same. Given the choice, I wouldn’t be working in a newspaper like this. It’s all that accepted me, though, so I have to just go along with the narrative of whatever they want me to write and stick it out until my internship is over.”

Shangela ran her tongue over her teeth. “You and me both, girl.”

Feeling as if the conversation had taken a sort of dark left turn, Shangela inched her chair away slightly and tried to think of a different topic. Seemingly getting the same vibe, Dela smiled and spontaneously took Shangela’s hand.

“Whatever they make you ask her at the interview, I know you’ll nail it. It’s impossible not to like you,” she beamed, giving Shangela’s hand a squeeze then returning to her work without waiting on a response.

Shangela didn’t know why, but she felt disappointed.

That was until about 10 at night when she was getting ready to go to sleep and her phone pinged from her bedside table. Turning rapidly over in bed, Shangela read the message.

D: Good luck for tomorrow! You will be amazing. Anything I can do, phone me xx

And Shangela’s heart was soaring again, and she couldn’t really explain why.

***

The day of the interview arrived, and Shangela woke up full of nervous energy. She was so excited at the thought of getting to interview an actual politician, when the pinnacle of the Daily Mail was usually the latest twat off I’m A Celebrity. The speed of her heart thrumming in her chest only increased when, just as she was about to leave her flat, her phone buzzed with a text from Dela.

D: I’m getting us pastries before work because I know you won’t eat. You can thank me with cocktails after work xx

Shangela couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as her fingers flew across the screen texting back.

S: Alllllllllright!!! xx

As she hopped onto the tube and made her way to Notting Hill, her anticipation grew and grew wondering what her day would bring.

It turned out the first thing it brought was being practically met at the door by her senior editor, who was holding a small poly pocket with paper inside.

“Good morning, Shangie. You’re looking very lovely this morning,” he smiled nauseatingly. Shangela grimaced at him. She didn’t know why, but she felt as if she’d feel a whole lot better if Dela was with her at this moment. Really, she was the only person Shangela cared to receive compliments from nowadays.

“Thanks,” she replied briefly. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, these questions for Sharon Needles today…not quite cutting it. We want to reach out to women, not completely alienate them by boring them with politics.”

Shangela narrowed her eyes. “But…she’s a politician. So what else should I ask her about?”

“Things that women want to read about. Her love life! Her fashion! Makeup tips! You know?” the editor laughed, handing the unimpressed girl the poly pocket. “Look, I’ve got some new questions for you. They’re much more suitable for the vibe we’re going for here. No need to thank me!”

Shangela’s heart sank with disappointment as she read the first few questions. “Forgive me if I’m sounding a little naive, but you know that women can actually engage with and understand politics, right?”

The editor gave a smirk. “You write for Femail, Shangie. Not the New Statesman. Know your place.”

With that, he walked away, leaving Shangela standing at the office door and looking blankly at the questions in her hand. She was angry, but most of all she was upset. Her editor was right- although she was an editor too, it was only for the crappy, sexist supplement of a total bigoted mess of a publication. What the fuck was she doing here? Looking through the glass, she could see Dela at her desk working away, and two pastries and a coffee sitting on her own desk. In her emotional state, Shangela felt a lump rising in her throat. She swallowed, cleared her throat then blinked a couple of times before pushing open the door.

“Hey!” Dela smiled up at her, before Shangela watched her face fall as Dela saw the anger painted on her face. “Oh shit, are you alright?”

Shangela wordlessly shook her head and sat down, Dela fixing her with a look of sympathy.

“If it helps, you look really good today?” she offered. For some reason, it did help. Sighing, Shangela tossed the poly pocket onto Dela’s desk.

“Have a read of them,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “That’s the questions my senior editor wants me to ask Sharon Needles later on today.”

As she read, Dela’s eyes grew a little wide. Finishing the first page, she snorted with laughter. “I’m sorry. That’s laughably bad.”

“Right?! I can’t believe I actually have to go in there and ask them,” Shangela sighed, throwing her head back against her chair. She was jolted back to reality when she felt a warm hand rest on her arm, and her eyes flew open to find Dela looking at her.

“Hey. This doesn’t mean that you can’t put yourself across as at total sweetheart, because you are a total sweetheart. Now eat your damn croissant and drink your coffee.”

Once again, Dela seemed to know just what to say to put the smile back on Shangela’s face. “You’re the sweetheart for all of this. Thanks.”

Dela simply looked at the ground bashfully. She could have been blushing- Shangela couldn’t really see from the way her dark hair hung over her face- but if she was being honest, Shangela was blushing a little too. Smiling to herself and reaching forward, she took a sip of the coffee that Dela had bought her.

“Fuck, that’s bitter.”

“Ugh, I told them to put more sugar in it. You sit there, I’ll get you more.”

As Shangela smiled after Dela while she walked to the kitchen, she became aware of somebody’s eyes on her. Turning around in her chair, she saw Vivienne.

“Can I help you?”

Vivienne smiled apologetically, then leaned on her desk. “Shangela. Be careful.”

Shangela blinked. “What?”

“Look, I get that you and Dela have this cute gal pal thing going on, but just…if you don’t want people to talk, then tone it down.”

“Talk? What could they-” Shangela began, but trailed off. Was Vivienne trying to imply that people were thinking that she and Dela were together? Self-conscious, Shangela cast an eye over the office. “Oh, no, that’s really not- there’s nothing going on. I don’t feel…like that. Towards other women.”

Giving her a sympathetic look, Vivienne continued. “What you choose to do in your private life is none of my business, girl, but just…be careful. You work for the Daily Mail. That’s all I’m saying.”  

As Vivienne turned back to her work, Shangela stared at her blank computer screen, a small feeling of sickness taking root in her stomach. She didn’t feel that way about girls. And sure, she got excited to see Dela and always looked forward to the time they spent together and felt happy and warm whenever she texted her, but that was just what friendship was, right?

It wasn’t exactly as if Shangela had anything to compare it to.

Pushing down the slight nausea she was feeling, Shangela powered up her monitor and tried her best to eat some of the pastries that were in front of her. She had nothing to hide, and therefore she had nothing to worry about.

That was until her interview with Sharon Needles was over, and everything basically went to shit. It was like the Murphy’s Law of interviews- everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong: Sharon hated the questions and therefore hated her, dropped the f-bomb and walked out before the interview was even finished. Shangela felt as if she’d blown the whole thing, although her journalistic brain was a little excited at the thought of getting to write an article on something so scandalous. She’d told Dela all about it, the intern’s eyes lighting up with the drama of it all.

“I mean. It wasn’t quite what you wanted, but it’ll make good reading, right?” she reasoned, Shangela giving a smug smile. As she thought back to the interview, she turned to Dela again. She thought a little bit before opening her mouth, thinking about what Vivienne had said before.

“Hey, um. Did you know that Sharon Needles was gay?”

Dela looked down at her desk then brushed a bit of dust off her skirt. “No. Did she mention it in her interview?”

“Yeah. It sort of came up when I asked her that question about if she was seeing anyone.”

Dela gave a contemplative hum, then continued typing. Shangela still felt a little weird.

“And that doesn’t…bother you, no?”

Instantly, Dela looked at her with a screwed-up face. “No? It’s her life, it doesn’t affect me. Come on, Shangela, you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t judge somebody like that.”

Shangela silently nodded. So Dela was accepting and fine, and wouldn’t judge anybody for that sort of thing. Why was she thinking so much about this?

“Do you think it’s something I should put in the article?”

Dela furrowed her brow. “I wouldn’t.”

“But she mentioned it in front of me. Surely that means it’s fine to put out there?”

“People are different with that sort of thing,” Dela said quietly. “Besides, it would depend what context you use it in.”

Shangela looked at the article that was already half-finished on her screen. “I’ll maybe just mention it in passing.”

One hour went by. Shangela submitted the article to her senior editor and before long she was called into his office. He looked disgustingly gleeful, rubbing his hands together and giving the occasional little clap.

“Shangie, this is gold, baby. Amazing work. I’ve contacted the news outlets about the audio and they’re all willing to buy it too. The article is almost perfect but I just think we could add in a little bit more about the whole lesbian thing.”

The pride she’d felt at being complimented suddenly faded rapidly away. “What do you want me to add in?”

“Oh, just some sensationalist language, maybe call her leadership skills into question. You know what lesbians are like, they’re always pushing their own agenda.”

Shangela bristled. She didn’t know why she felt so defensive. “I’m not putting that in the article.”

The editor smiled smugly. “I think you’ll find that if you want to keep your job, you will.”

Heat pricked at Shangela’s cheeks as she felt herself go red. Turning to make her way out of her office, he stopped her suddenly.

“Oh! And I have a great title. I want you to use it. It’s Plug that Dyke.”

Shangela began to feel sick. “Isn’t that word pretty offensive to lesbians?”

Another smirk. “And how would you know that?”  

Looking to the ground, Shangela just opened the office door and made her way back to her desk, her hands shaking a little. She quietly sat down at her desk, opened up her word doc, and carried on editing the article. By the time she was finished it was late, and people were packing up to go home, including Dela.

“Are you still up for cocktails? You know you owe me one,” she gave Shangela a cheeky smile which normally would have made her stomach flip over. Today it flipped over for all the wrong reasons- looking up at Dela she had this horrible feeling in her stomach as if she’d betrayed her in a way. She forced a smile on her face and shook her head sadly.  

“I’m actually not feeling too good at the moment. Can we reschedule?” she asked. It wasn’t really a lie, and she only felt worse when Dela pouted and leant down to give Shangela a hug. Murmuring a goodbye against her hair, Dela grabbed her bag and left the office, leaving Shangela to rot in her own misery.

She was still feeling miserable hours later, at home curled up on her sofa and watching everything unfold on the news. She felt like a terrible person. She’d put her name to all sorts of things that she didn’t believe, but she’d done it before. Why did she feel so terrible this time? Everything from the day gnawed away at her, especially Vivienne’s words. She felt so lost and confused and not in control of anything, and thinking about Dela, which usually made her feel better, suddenly made her feel worse.

What she didn’t expect was for her buzzer to go off and a furious Dela to be standing on her doorstep. Without waiting for an invite from Shangela, she stormed in, standing in the middle of her living room where they’d both been one or twice before for movie nights or dinners.

“What the fuck did you write?” Dela almost whispered, her eyes cold as they pierced into Shangela’s. She, for her part, couldn’t say anything. She looked meekly at the floor and fiddled with a thread on the sweatpants she’d thrown on when she came in from work. Dela snapped her out of it. “Shangela! Why?”

Shangela raised her head slowly to meet Dela’s again. “My editor was telling me to or I’d have been out of a job. I’m sorry, Dela, I had to-”

“Bullshit, you didn’t have to do anything. You didn’t even have to even mention it! Why did you think it was relevant, why the hell did anyone think it was relevant?” Dela hissed, muttering the last part softly in a confused tone as she rubbed the back of her neck. Shangela felt awful.

“I completely fucked up, I know. But I didn’t mean to offend you- I know you said be careful the context you use it in, but…” she trailed off. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Dela frowned at her.

“You were right when you said you had no integrity, you know that?”

Shangela felt like crying. She couldn’t work out why it felt as if she’d betrayed somebody, but moreover she couldn’t really work out why Dela was so upset.

“Why did you come round if you’re so angry at me?” she asked softly, part of her perhaps seeking the validation and comfort that they were still friends. Dela shook her head and gave a twisted smile.

“I wanted to know why. That was all. I wanted to know why someone I thought I knew, someone I thought was my friend, would write such disgusting things!”

Shangela couldn’t hold it in. Frowning at Dela, she narrowed her eyes. “I get that you’re upset, but I don’t get why you’re this upset? I mean, it’s not as if Sharon Needles is one of your closest friends?”

“Oh my God, Shangela, I’m a lesbian!” Dela raised her voice, tearing her hands through her hair immediately afterwards. She couldn’t look at Shangela. There was only one thing going through Shangela’s mind.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit

She’d just ruined their friendship, completely ruined anything she had with Dela because of her own stupid lack of backbone. Instinctively Shangela stepped forward, making to open her arms for a hug, but Dela just drew back, throwing her hands up defensively. Her face was one of heartbreak, and if Shangela had a mirror she could have seen that her face was the exact same. The churning in her stomach was only getting worse, her breathing quickening.

“Anyway. Now that I found out why you’re apparently a raging homophobe, I’ll be going,” Dela said in a sort of choked voice, making for the door. Shangela felt helpless. She couldn’t leave, not now, not while there were so many things she was feeling and thinking, not while her mind was such a mess. She suddenly reached her hand out, grabbing Dela by the wrist and only softening her grip a little once she was sure she was staying.

“Dela, please,” she said softly, her insides churning as she looked at Dela’s eyes, still cold. “Please stay. I’m really sorry, okay? There’s been a lot going on in my head today and…I don’t know how to explain it. I’m really confused and I don’t feel…I don’t feel normal.”

She didn’t know if she imagined it, but Dela’s eyes seemed to soften just a little. Her voice stayed cold. “Go on then. Say whatever it is you’ve got to say.”

“I just-” Shangela cut herself off as she looked at the ceiling. How could she articulate to Dela what she was feeling if she didn’t even know herself? “I don’t know what’s going on with me. Vivienne said something to me earlier and since then…it’s all I’ve been able to think about. Like…we’re friends, right?”

Dela looked away from where she’d previously been looking at Shangela. “Fuck, Shangela, I don’t even know any more-”

“Okay, okay, you’ve got every right to feel that way. But before, we were friends, right?”

Dela gave a non-committal shrug.

“But that’s the thing. Sometimes it didn’t feel like friendship. Sometimes it felt like something…” Shangela felt the heat hit her cheeks as she looked away from Dela, things starting to piece themselves together in her mind. “…more than that. And I’m messed up, and I don’t know what’s going on because I have no idea how the fuck I should feel, and I’m just…all the while I was editing that article to put in all the shitty bits, I felt like I was betraying somebody. Maybe it wasn’t you, maybe it was myself. I might not…be straight.”

Deciding that was probably all she needed to say, she looked back at Dela again. Her expression hadn’t changed, and Shangela felt more embarrassed than ever. She couldn’t quite believe that she’d actually said it out loud, the thing she’d been suspecting but had never wanted to entertain. Holding Shangela’s gaze, Dela finally spoke.      

“Well you know there’s a definite way to find out, right?” she said, her tone level as she took a single step towards Shangela, slid both her arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

And suddenly Dela was kissing her, and her mind fell silent for the first time that day. Something seemed to click into place, something that immediately made her feel calm, as if nothing else mattered. As Dela tangled her fingers in Shangela’s hair, Shangela brought her arms up around the other girl’s neck, one hand cupping her jaw as she deepened the kiss, completely in awe of how soft Dela’s lips were and how absolutely fucking perfect her mouth felt, how all of this felt.

It was all just…right.

Shangela was the one to break the kiss, only because she was desperate to see Dela smile at her again. Sure enough, she had a sort of intoxicated grin on her face, her eyes glazed over as if she was high.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that for about a month and a half,” she smiled languidly, not yet removing her arms from around Shangela’s waist.

Shangela bit her lip shyly. “So…this means I’m gay, right?”

Dela shrugged. “Well, you could be. Could be bi. Could be pan. But I’m happy to stay with you to help you find out. Especially if it means we can do that again.”

Then she scrunched up her face in disgust. “Sorry. That was really cringey, I’ll never say that again.”

Shangela always prided herself on being the total opposite of shy and yet here she was, redder than a fire extinguisher and completely smitten. Dela said she’d stay with her. It was way too early to say if they were together or not- girlfriends, she supposed- but the thought of getting to try and figure out who she was with Dela helping her sounded pretty fucking amazing.

“So…does this mean I’m forgiven?” she asked softly, looking at the other girl from under her lashes. Dela snorted.

“Only if you promise to grow a damn backbone,” she gave Shangela a little squeeze. Laughing, Shangela pulled her in closer and kissed her again, purely because she could.

This time it was Dela who broke the kiss, taking Shangela by the hand and leading her over to the sofa. “We’ve had a shitty day so we’re getting takeaway and you’re showing me this Game of Thrones you keep going on about.”

Happy, Shangela threw herself on the couch and wrapped herself around the other girl, head resting against her shoulder. She was almost content until she drew her head back and gave Dela a questioning glare. “Who pays for the food if it’s two girls?”

Dela simply burst out laughing and shook her head. “Oh, Shangie. You are such a princess it’s adorable.”

She wasn’t really satisfied with her answer, or her nickname, but cuddling closer to Dela she supposed she was satisfied with everything else that was happening right now.

***

Shangela awoke on the sofa at 6am. Her alarm hadn’t been set until 7.15, but the light from a streetlamp was streaming through the curtains, nearly blinding against the dark October sky. Although her neck hurt from her night on the sofa, she didn’t really mind- Dela was there behind her, her face nuzzled against Shangela’s neck and her body warm despite the thin blanket they’d pulled over themselves doing nothing to protect from the cold. Ordinarily, Shangela would have gone back to sleep, but there was something running through her mind that was preventing her. Dela had been so kind and so forgiving, and Shangela had hurt her badly. She needed to fix things somehow.

Gently sitting up, she reached under the sofa and retrieved her Macbook. Opening it up and screwing up her eyes at the blinding white light from its screen, she mashed the brightness leveller until she could comfortably see. Opening up a blank document, she began to type. It didn’t take her long to finish the article. She fixed the formatting, skipped emailling it to her senior editor, and instead posted it straight to the website. Her stomach felt fluttery, as if she’d just taken a leap into the great unknown- and Shangela supposed she had- but she had Dela and for now, that was the most important thing.

As Shangela closed the laptop, she felt Dela stir on the couch beside her. Her eyes slowly blinked open as she took in her surroundings, at first confused but then remembering where she was.

“Shangie? What are you doing?” she asked, in a voice thick with sleep.

Shangela just gave a smirk and stroked the other girl’s cheek gently before laying down next to her again. “Oh, you know. Just growing a backbone.”

She didn’t see the confused expression over Dela’s face as other girl pulled her closer to her and wrapped her arms around her. Shangela didn’t mind as long as they were both happy.

***

Later that morning, Cabinet Minister Sharon Needles woke up, made herself a coffee, and began to scroll through the day’s headlines. In one bizarre turn of events, it seemed the insufferable journalist who had interviewed her just yesterday had made waves by quitting her job quite spectacularly. The article had been taken down, but every news outlet was reporting on how Shangela Wadely had written a featurette for Femail entitled 25 Things the LGBT Community Should Just Avoid Doing, with every bullet point being quite simply “Don’t read the Daily Mail”. There had been a short, but to the point sentence at the end of it all basically telling her senior editor in so many words where he could stick his job.

Sharon was confused by it all, but not as confused as when she answered the doorbell to a man from Interflora who was holding a huge bunch of flowers with a note sticking out the top of them. Shutting the door and taking the flowers back to the kitchen, she narrowed her eyes as she began to read the note.

Dear Ms. Needles,

Thank you for being such a great ambassador for the LGBT community. I’m sorry it took that disasterous interview and my shitshow of an article for me to realise that.

Regards,

Shangela

She was just getting her head around things when she heard her girlfriend emerging from another room. Sure enough, Alaska made her way into the kitchen wearing a huge t shirt and yesterday’s makeup.

“Noodles, it’s 10am on a Saturday. What are you doing awake?” she drawled, walking over to the minister and hugging her from behind. Sharon looked once again at the note and smiled.

“I think Shangela Wadely might be gay.”

“Okay, you’re still drunk from last night. Come on. Back to bed.”