#cardinal doodle dump

[cardinal-crossing]

Another doodle dump (other drawings are under the cut)! Mostly just general sketches or warm-up doodles also each group of doodles is explained (if they have context) Enjoy!

Depot Agent Riley! My OC as a Depot Agent.

My Polar Express AU meeting @peachy-doodles own Polar Express Au!

A doodle I did of @drag0n0fbutt3r's character Ghee, and their Poke Hybrid AU!

Doodles I did for @evtraininguniversity, their mouse character and their Borrower Emmet!

@waywardstation's Cetitian, Metro!

And finally, just general doodles, consisting of my character, the Subway bosses, an Astroneer doodle, and more!

[savzo]

My toxic trait is refusing to accept this little Birds death. I will live blissfully in Thanks to them. Also I want a tattoo of a cartoon bird. So enjoy my doodle dump

[lulu-draws-stuff]

Some doodles that idk what to do with

[muttdogz]

@orel-missing I hate you right now... Why the fuck did I listen to you... why did I draw those purple monstrosities... *cries*

At least I drew Cardinal Copia as a rat...

[cupfullofpapas]

(Yes I'm reusing this image too busy to doodle a new one :''( life has been super crazy as of late ) Second Vol in The Assistant series: In the arms of a Devil Rated: E F/M Cardinal Copia x F!Reader Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader

Also read it on my Ao3 here Previous Vol. : The Assistant Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 6: Scent Your patience was nearing its end as you stood by the window looking over the ministries garden watching your fellow siblings of sin some tending to the gardens, some sitting below the few trees that offered an abundance of shade, the weather had decided to act right for once and allowed everyone a day outside, you however, decided to stay indoors. 

As much as you tried to convince yourself that things were okie dokie they weren't, you missed Copia like hell and your chest ached from it, well it was either that or allergies or perhaps both. You've considered talking to Gemma,  the only Prime mover you knew of who had been with her Papa during his touring era.

Each time you went to talk to her you gave yourself excuses not to bother her those excuses now becoming ridiculous. 

With everyone outside enjoying the sunny day the Abbey was quiet so you chose to sit in the cafeteria once the walls of your dorm room started to get to you feeling as if they were closing in. Sitting down at one of the many tables with a muffin you had gotten from the kitchen, picking little pieces off of it like an overgrown crab. 

Sweet Satan, you felt weird, you never thought you could miss someone this much you didn't even miss Secondo this much when he was out of the office for a long period of time... pausing you frowned, with all that had happened that sounded pretty harsh, being lost in thought you plucked another piece of the muffin popping it into your mouth followed by another.

"Child what's got you down in the dumps?."

The sudden voice made you jump looking up to see Sister Twist looking down at you her hands on her hips concern written all over her face. "Satanas, Twist don't spook me like that."  The redhead only shrugged before sitting in the chair across from you the thing giving a slight whine. 

"I forgot how cheesy these things were, you'd think with how much Imperator bitches about the budget and cash there would be a stockpile for new cafeteria chairs at least, things look like they're from the fuckin sixties" Twist snickered however when she didn't hear you join in either laughing or ragging on Imperator she knew something was on your mind. 

"Hey."  Twist snapped her fingers a few times getting your attention.  "Talk to me, what's eating at you, and don't say nothing 'cause momma Twist knows."   You rolled your eyes before answering.  "Just with the tour and all and.."  You trailed off looking for the right words. "You miss your man". Your cheeks turned a light shade of red nodding adverting your eyes from the older sister of sin.

"You miss Copia and you feel weird for missing him so much because you've never missed or depended on someone else who wasn't blood-related that and you feel like your heart is being ripped out through your rib cage."  You opened your mouth to speak however Twist held up her hand silencing you. 

"And even though you still talk to him on the phone or text it feels like it's not enough and yadda yadda."  You stayed silent staring at her before uttering a little 'fuck you' which made the older sibling laugh.   "There's nothing wrong with feeling this way, it's natural to feel this way when you miss someone you love."  

Love, you did love him right?, you remembered the day you told Secondo that you loved him back when he declared his love for you the thought put an uneasy pit in your stomach which caused you to push the muffin aside, why were you even asking yourself this?, you just had teenage phone sex last night with the man. You felt a hand rest on your shoulder Twist wore a kind smile.  "You'll know the answer when he comes back, sweetie."  You smiled and rested your hand above hers the moment was short-lived as Lenti came running into the cafeteria. 

"Twist! Omega, Divine, Alpha, and Terzo are fucking in the music room again!."   "Oh for the love of sweet Satan, those fuckers are gonna get a boot up their ass."   "Careful they might like that." You chimed in as Twist pushed the chair in heading to the music room complaining the entire way, the last time those four got into it in the music room Pebble's drumset was a casualty and Sister Imperator was furious about having to buy a whole new set for the ghoul. The sound of something hitting the floor and the yelling of Imperator's voice pulled you from your thoughts. "You daft idiots!, Be careful with this equipment it's very important and very expensive!."  Getting up from your seat you wandered over to the door seeing that the ghouls were moving a bunch of medical equipment, was someone sick?

"Sister?." you asked stepping from the cafeteria, Imperator turned quickly to face you a smile coming to her face her demeanor changing quickly.  "Hello dear." "What's all this?." "It is for Papa Nihil when he gets back from tour with Cardi, don't you worry about it I have everything under control" She offered the fakest of smiles before following the ghouls walking away her red heels clicking and clacking on the floor. 

The 'short time apart' felt more like years apart the only good thing that happened in your opinion was that Sister Imperator had given you the option of going back to your old dorm room or staying in the current one alongside Copia given the fact that you two were an item, you of course chose to stay in the shared room one because you did not feel like packing everything up and two once Copia got back you were going to stick to him like glue. 

Your day off finally came, the day when you could just lay around your dorm room and not have to worry about anything other than flopping your face into Copia's pillow and breathing in the fleeting scent you hadn't even bothered to change out of your pajamas.

 Rolling over in bed you went face-first into the soft depths of your Cardinal's pillow breathing in-- it was then that you realized that his scent was gone from the fabric, you started to think, what could you do? you needed his scent you needed to feel as if he was there, the worry was starting to set in, and then it hit you.. but were you that desperate?

.....Yes, yes you were...

 Scooting closer to the edge of his side of the bed you opened the nightstand digging around in the drawer. Sometimes the lack of organization of his personal items got to you and made you want to shake him but on the other hand, it also gave you things to do. While you were on your search you looked at some of the things he had tucked away in there. 

A list of numbers, a few unopened juice boxes, several pens, pictures, loose change, and receipts however it wasn't just any receipts they were from the couple nights you and him half-assedly eloped there was even one from the gas station. A smile had worked its way to your face as you looked over each one recounting each item there was also a list there in his scratchy handwriting of things you liked and didn't like, your smile only grew wider as your fingers slid over the indented paper following the pen marks the Chinese menu you both had ordered from. 

You remembered when you accidentally launched a shrimp at the television screen that night, the memory earned a quiet laugh, putting the items back you were on the move again until your searching fingers finally found what you were looking for.

Closing the nightstand's drawer you sat up holding a bottle, it was Copia's cologne your thumb ran over the elegant lettering feeling the different textures on the label, after mentally telling yourself how crazy and weird you were several small sprays were sprayed onto his pillow and one on yourself.

The bottle was placed back inside the nightstand drawer, and the pillow now damp with the scent was turned over the damp side against the bed sheet once again you flopped face-first into it this time being hit with the strong scent of your man. You felt your whole body tingle and warm up as soon as you breathed in his scent your skin prickling with goosebumps, it made you giddy picturing Copia there with you tangled up in the blankets enjoying your time together. 

It was weird sometimes, how a simple scent could make a body heat up, your thighs squeezed together dulling the throb that started as soon as his scent filled your nostrils, your mind thinking about those hands of his and the way they felt when he slid them along your body and gripped your soft flesh the smooth of the leather.   Your hand has started to trace the patterns on your body picturing that they were his fingers, his palms, and you were a willing victim under his expert touches, your Cardinals name was whispered past your lips as your fingertips came to the swell of your pussy lips.

You could picture him there staring down at you, kissing you his fingers teasing you driving you wild, his tongue swirling with yours in the timeless dance of love. You were about to sink your fingers inside of yourself when there was a knock at the door making you halt your actions and look up. Rolling your eyes you stayed quiet maybe if you didn't make a sound whoever it was would just go away thinking that you weren't home, you thought it had worked but there the knocking was again, flopping your pillow over your face you groaned into it before getting up washing your hands and answering the door.  Unlocking the handle and deadbolt you opened the door being face to face with Sister Imperator once again at this point you almost swore this woman was stalking you. 

"Sister?."  You asked doing your best not to sound annoyed. "Evening, I have some-- unfortunate news for you."  -------------------------------------------- TAG LIST: Please message me if you would like to be added to the tag list! @thesoundresoundsecho @xpapaemeritus @copiasprincipessa @siouxbauhaus

[blufox234isadumbname]

i commited again

[theminiartblog]

Old Friends, New Friends, and New Furniture

Finally playing with a new character gifted to me, meet Jay Cardinal, she befriends Ararat and really said, “Binch, you live like this?” Time to drag the boys to the mall. Oh, and she’s also a bird or something now, that’s not her fault.

[duckys-stuffies]

Hello Ghost Community,-

[tondurtoka]

[pinkiepiebones]

Duck.

Back when Copia was Nihil's right hand man, he was also, sometimes, a babysitter.

Inspired by @leighways darling Terzo doodle and written with permission :3c

"So then I says to the guy, I says..." The man known by the world as Papa Emeritus the Third (and known by the clergy as "stronzino") stopped his train of thought mid-track and shot a hurt look at Cardinal Copia. "You've not been writing down a single thing I've dicked, have you?"

Cardinal Copia, an anxious man with impeccible sideburns, sighed. "No, your- it's 'dictated, by the way- Unholiness, I have not."

The Third looked dejected. "Why," he whined in a tone not at all befitting a man his age.

"Because you are drunk," Copia replied bluntly, "which is a marvel considering so much of the wine is in your suit." 

The Third looked down. "Ah." He looked at the bottle of wine he was clutched. "Yes, I don't know if you noticed, Cardeeeenal, but I am a little drunk." He raised the bottle for another swig; Copia closed the space between them and gripped the Third's arm tightly.

"Unholiness," Copia hissed through a clenched smile one might see in a customer service employee, "perhaps you should remove your suit before the stain sets, hmm? I'll draw you a bath." 

He did not finish the sentence with, "and I hope you drown," though part of him really wanted to say it.

The older man batted his long eyelashes. "Why, Copia, darling, if you wanted to get my clothes off, you just needed to ask." 

Copia let go of his boss's son and stormed off to the lavish bathroom attached to the Third's bedroom. 

"Bubbles!" the Third yelled after him.

He knelt at the head of the claw-footed tub and twisted knobs until the pipes rattled and hot, clear water ran out of the ornate faucet. He considered letting it run on full heat but decided potentially murdering Nihil's youngest wasn't the best career move. He used his teeth to pull off one clerical glove and tested the water's temperature. He grabbed a random bottle from the bathroom counter and dumped its contents into the tub. A sickly sweet aroma and light pink bubbles filled the room.

"Oh, that looks inviting" Papa Emeritus the Third purred from the doorway. He was stark naked save for one boot. Before Copia could ask a number of questions- where did you put your suit I need to take it down to laundry, why are you still wearing a boot, why would you get a tattoo of that- the Third had sauntered past him, picked up the glove he had taken off, put it on his own hand, and hopped into the tub.

Bubbles and water splashed onto the fancy tiles. Copia anxiously fiddled with his pectoral cross. "Your, mi- glove? The boot?" he sputtered.

Papa Emeritus the Third smiled and raised his leg out of the water, water sloshing out of the boot. "It's waterproof," he said happily.

He took a swig of his wine bottle. "And I shall keep your glove for now," he said, still grinning. "It will be my drinking glove."

Copia felt individual hairs on his head turning grey. A child, he thought. This old man is just a drunk child. He turned to leave when Papa 3 yelped.

"My duck!"

Copia stopped and turned.

"Unholiness?"

Papa pointed at the bathroom cabinet with his booted foot. "Duck. The purple guy. His name is Alfredo. He is my companion."

Copia considered telling the Papa to get it himself, or perhaps getting it for the Papa and then throwing it at him; instead, Copia gently picked up Alfredo and deposited him into the Papa's waiting wet hand.

Papa sang a little song to his ducky and plopped it into the bubbly water, then rested his booted foot over the edge of the tub and sighed.

Copia turned to leave again but was again stopped by a word from the drunk tub man.

"Hey."

Copia faced the smiling Third.

"Thank you, Cardeeenal. For babysitting me."

"Oh, um-"

"I know my father sent you up to check on me, and most would have just glanced in the doorway, but you stuck with me, even after-" he wordlessly shook the wine bottle at the Cardinal. "So, again, my thanks, and you are welcome to take the remainder of this wine with you, just-"

Papa Emeritus the Third scooped his duck out of the water.

"-can you dry Alfredo off first?"

[oscar-delancey]

Delancey HC Masterpost

This is a collection of my headcanons/fanfic and some of my friends headcanons/fics/fanart! (Currently @elmer-kasprzak, @newsies-square, and @azear03). Everything in here includes the Delanceys in some way!

I will update this as much as I can

───

Mine (alberts-hat)

“What are your thoughts on the Delancey brothers?” - A long post about my take on their backstory and their relationship with the newsies, mostly focused on 92sies

Living quarters, quirk/hobbies, and likes/dislikes of the brothers

Cooking and sleeping headcanons for Oscar

[Ao3] all the times davey didnt care and the time he finally did - David Jacobs comes from a well off family and a life of education. He doesn’t care for the newsboys on the corners, waving their papers and shouting headlines like their lives depend on it. Doesn’t care for the alleys he’s passed where those boys are in fights. Beating each other and spitting vulgar swears and slurs in each other’s faces. He doesn’t care!

Oli (elmer-kasprzak)

Happy, angry/violent, sad, and random headcanons for Morris Marie Delancey

[Ao3] hide and seek - Some thoughts on how the Delanceys ended up in their uncle's care

[Ao3] the refuge - Everyone had a childhood, good or bad. Here's some thoughts on how the Delancey's was on the farm

Seed (newsies-square)

[Fanart] Hanahaki with feathers - TW for blood, bruising, tears, and emetophobia

[Fanart] Oscar and Jack (feat. Non-92sies Jack)

[Fanart] Memories - Includes Oscar and Jack

[Fanart] Oscar and his cat Sylvester

[Fanart] Otto Delancey!!

[Ao3] Cardinals and Cowboys - Oscar Delancey. He's silent and hardworking, and fond of people watching. With the strike being settled a year ago, he's back to his normal routine. No fuss, no slacking, just work. But he's fond of that Jack Kelly. With his charm and adoring crowd of newsies, he's surely set up for a good future. Oscar can't help but watch that boy and his shenanigans. But with shenanigans brings trouble, and with Jack brings conflict. Oscar is forced into simply watching, but like Icarus, what if he got too close to the sun?

[Poetry] anyways delancey poetry??? delancey poetry bambam

Azear (azear03)

[Fanart] 92sies Oscar (redraw and original)

[Fanart] PJO!au Oscar and Davey

[Fanart] Newsies art dump - Includes Sarah, Elmer, Race, Davey, Swifty, Oscar, and Morris

[Fanart] OBC fanart - Includes Davey, Oscar, and Morris

[Fanart] Livesies doodles - Includes Davey and Oscar

[Fanart] Fae!Oscar human form

[cardinal-crossing]

Doodle Dump, most of these are aggies I forgot to post, so I will list all the characters featured and I’ll put the artwork under the cut (there’s quite a lot)

Characters: Submas Borrower Au: @evtraininguniversity Agee and Giant: @raisans-art Conductor Emmet (DBD Emmet): @legendslugia Cowboy Submas Au: @caramel-caracal Marshrill AU: @raisans-art (apologies for @ you twice) These are not in any particular order, my apologies.

[mctherofdragons]

Head Above Water | D.M.

He found you captivating, but not in the way Pansy Parkinson was. Pansy was pretty like the girls in the cinema, but you were captivating like the girls in the Jane Austen novels he secretly read by the fire at Malfoy Manor.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Muggleborn!Reader

Request:  A muggle born reader that's always bullied by Crabbe and Goyle, But Draco is always watching her, and he considers her like the purest girl in the universe, but he refuses to leave those feelings bloom thanks to the blood status and shit. One day Goyle brings her to the lake to tease her, and Crabbe pushes her to the water and she starts to drown? Draco is panicking and he comes to rescue, once he brings you there there's fluff and him confessing to her! I love your writing love!!

Trigger Warnings: drowning, near death experience, bullying, mouth-to-mouth

Author’s Note: This request had me all sorts of emotional. We love protective Draco. I didn’t edit this so I apologize for any typos. By the way, friends, requests are open. Please let me know if you’d like to be on my taglist. I have taglists for all Harry Potter universe writings and a Draco Malfoy specific taglist. _______________________________________

Draco mindlessly doodled in the margins of his textbook, barely listening to Slughorn drone on about solutions and ingredients. He wasn’t listening, as the blonde’s mind was almost always on you. He found you captivating, but in the way Pansy Parkinson was. Pansy was pretty like the girls in the cinema, but you were captivating like the girls in the Jane Austen novels he secretly read by the fire at Malfoy Manor. He was entranced by what he couldn’t have. The forbidden fruit, he thought to himself, peering at you across the classroom.

Blood lineage was something that had been ingrained into Draco’s psyche as far as back he could remember. His father would speak to him sternly, explaining how pureblood wizards were of higher esteem. Mudbloods, as Lucius had called them, were nothing more than grime. Draco had taken the only knowledge he’d ever known about blood purity and applied it to his daily actions. He took pride not only in being of ancestry, but of spitting insults on any muggle-born he came across. The only problem was he had never accounted for a girl like you. A girl whose laughter sounded like cardinals landing in trees and whose skin looked like artwork.

After class, he had found himself sitting out by the Black Lake, secretly writing poetry in one of his notebooks. It was the perfect day to be in the tepid fall sunshine, listening to the sound of fellow students chatter and bask in the last few weeks before the snow began to fall. If anyone had known just how soft Draco Malfoy was for you, his reputation would be irredeemable. But in this moment he didn’t much care. He relished in the feeling of the warm autumn breeze dance across his skin as he found ways to describe you, drawing in cursive letters with his quill: she is bewitching, divine, perfect, angelic, everything-I-ever-wanted. Draco heard a bit of a commotion and peaked up. He saw his two friends, Crabbe and Goyle, looming over you. You had been sitting right on the edge of the lake, a blanket spread beneath you. As you had worked away at reading your Defense Against the Dark Arts text, your two most despised bullies had happened upon you and decided to use you for their amusement. Goyle had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder, laughing loudly. “Let’s dump the mudblood in the water like the garbage she is,” Crabbe cheered. You kicked you legs, banging on Goyle’s back to get him to drop you.

“Putrid mudblood,” Goyle laughed despite your protests. All at once, he heaved you into the water. Maybe he was trying to kill you, but the reality was that Goyle likely had no idea just how deep and dangerous the lake truly was. The water was icy cold, sending shock waves of pins and needles all over your body. You were sinking faster than you legs could keep up with. Your surroundings were pitch black and regardless of your efforts, you couldn’t see anything besides the sun which felt a million miles away above you. Your mind raced with thoughts of the creatures you knew lurked beneath the surface. You tried with no avail to paddle upwards toward the light.

Panic had set in as the sweeping realization came over you that perhaps this was how you were going to die. Murdered at Hogwarts by a pureblood - which honestly was not far off from your muggle family’s greatest fear. You closed your eyes for a moment, beginning to lose more air and the inability to continue fighting. You had contently accepted your fate, until you felt an arm sweep around your waist. Your savior was pulling you quickly up toward safety.

You were unconscious by the time you had been laid on the grass. “Oh,”  whispered, pulling your mouth open and attaching his. In an effort to save you, Draco did the first thing he could think of - mouth to mouth resuscitation. He was breathing heavy as he attempted to refill your lungs with oxygen from his own. “Come on, beautiful girl,” he begged, taking a deep breath before leaning back down to attach his lips over yours again.

Finally, you began to sputter. You felt yourself be turned you onto your side and let any water you had inhaled come out of your mouth. You turned back over to look at whoever had pulled you from certain death, moving your wet hair from your face slightly. There before you sat a soaking wet Draco Malfoy. His platinum hair was matted down to his head. You gazed over him, taking in the sight of his white button up shirt, which was now opaque and sticking to his skin. Water rolled down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw and onto the ground. He teeth chattered and he shivered a bit as he looked back at you. The autumn air that had once felt pleasant now felt like an artic wind.

“M...Malfoy?,” you coughed, taking a deep gasp in. It was painful to speak.

The blonde cupped your face. His family ring felt glacial against your jaw bone.  

“I thought I’d lost you.”

You noted his choice of words. It wasn’t that he had thought you were dead, or that his friend would be in an awful lot of trouble. He thought he’d lost you. The words that came next were perhaps more jolting than the freezing water you’d just come out of.

“Oh, I’m so glad you are alright. You are exquisite, y/n. I love you, long have I loved you,” He said breathlessly. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. If you give me the chance, I’ll protect you forever. I’ve wanted for so long to tell you, and I’ve been a fool for waiting. To think I almost didn’t get my chance...I....”

You cut him off, reaching up to place a finger to his lips. You gazed into his blue eyes, searching for any inking that this was all a part of the grand and horrible stunt that had just been played. But there was no contempt in his irises, rather, just pure adoration of you and everything you were to him.

He leaned down, stopping for a moment to read your eyes, as if to ask for consent. You leaned up, letting his cold lips meet yours. Your body felt warm again as you pressed back into him, letting his tongue run over your bottom lip. Just then, you heard the voice of a professor, practically screeching.

“Get her to infirmary! Oh, dear Miss Y\L\N,” she tutted, watching Draco pick you up. You gazed up at him, enamored by being held in his arms.

“I’ll take her,” he said protectively. You felt safe for the first time since starting at Hogwarts six years ago. You felt chosen by someone you didn’t think would in a million lifetimes chose you.

And perhaps, you thought, this makes me feel like I’m dying in the most beautiful way possible.

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 4/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: fam this response is crazy it really is…thank u all so much for the love, kudos and comments, i’m so sorry if i’ve not managed to reply to urs yet but know that i’ve read them all and cherish every one and i will get round to replying and yelling some love and thanks at u soon!!! pls enjoy this chapter in which A'whora does not possess the flat’s shared brain cell at any point. that being said, i wish all the readers of this fic a very pleasant italicised ‘oh’ xo

last chapter: January-Tayce and A’whora still had unfinished business from a night out and a hungover morning in December.

this chapter: October- The gang make plans for their first year together, Tia gives everyone plans for the evening, and A'whora has a realisation that will change the dynamic of her friendship with Tayce forever.

***

“Bimini, what is it you’re actually doing?”

A’whora’s intrigued by the way her flatmate’s sitting on the sofa: legs crossed, notepad in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and looking deep in thought. They’ve not long since stretched over the smoke detector with a sock, having long since established nobody in the flat minds them smoking indoors as long as the windows are open. Lawrence is beside them on the other end of the sofa having been to all the lectures that’re required of her already today and has got a bright pink, blue and purple-flecked ball of yarn hanging from two knitting needles, with which she seems to be knitting some sort of cosy accessory. It’s a wholesome picture that’s playing out in front of A’whora, one that’s miles away from the raucous, drunk nights they’ve all shared in the first month of uni so far.

“Okay, here’s what it is,” Bimini starts, clicking their long nails together. “I am making us a freshers bucket list, and I want your input.”

“Ooh!” Lawrence perks up beside them, and A’whora, interest piqued, picks up the bowl of pasta, butter and cheese she’s spent all of five minutes making and crosses the room to sit beside her flatmates.

She knows it’s only been a month so far, but she really loves everyone she’s living with. For a start, there are four of them that take classes at the art college (the ‘art hoes’, as Tayce calls them), so they all get to walk to lectures together and hang about between classes and workshops with each other depending on how their days are going. Bimini is almost always in the flat, with not a lot of contact hours making up their journalism degree, so they’re a comforting presence for A’whora to come home to at whatever hour of the day, always asking how she is and always offering to make her coffee. Tia is sweet and funny (if ever-so-slightly grating to her at first) and they’ve bonded over being the only two flatmates seemingly able to keep the place clean and tidy. Lawrence is endearing and big-hearted, if A’whora spends half her life hoping that her next prank isn’t involving her in some way (Ellie is usually the butt of them). Ellie herself is one of A’whora’s closest flatmates; they’ll often stay up half the night finishing prototypes or assignments together, all while watching a film which they have spookily similar taste in- they’ve agreed on 101 and 102 Dalmatians, Hocus Pocus, and The Wizard of Oz so far.

And then there’s Tayce, who A’whora thinks is both the absolute carbon copy of herself and yet also so different, the yin to her yang. Tayce has been her closest friend in the flat since day one when she booted the door to her room down and dragged her out of her emotional stupor, and that’s really what’s set the tone for the rest of their friendship; Tayce, upbeat and motivating, constantly and infectiously helping A’whora feel the same way even when she doesn’t want to go out, or doesn’t feel like dragging herself out of her room for a chill flat night with the others, or even when she just feels like a heap of shit. She’s such a fun and positive person to be around, relentlessly optimistic and goofy, and she brings out that side of A’whora too. As opposed to during sixth form and high school, where she’d put up a front to make sure nobody fucked with her, A’whora finds that at uni she can be the person she truly is and let her guard down a little.

This includes being open about her sexuality for the first time ever. She’s out to her family (for the better or worse), but nobody else back home knows (not even her friends) and she wants to keep it that way for now. But at uni things are different- nobody knows her here, nobody has these preconceived ideas of who she is and who she has to be, so she’d taken the plunge and been open about everything. None of the others had cared of course, in fact they’d all been too excited about the fact there’s not a single straight person in their flat comprised of four lesbians (Tayce, Lawrence, Tia and A’whora), one bi (Ellie) and one pan (Bimini).

“What’ve you got so far?” A’whora asks Bimini, sitting down on the sofa opposite her two flatmates.

Bimini reads off their notepad. “Casino night, bottomless brunch…get the train down to Newcastle, have a big night out, stay out all night an’ get the first train home-”

“Christ, that’ll be a challenge for me, you know I get sleepy around midnight,” Lawrence chuckles.

Bimini shrugs. “We’ll just get you an IV drip of Ellie’s Monster, you’ll be alright.”

“What else’ve you got?”

“That’s it so far.”

A’whora spears a pasta spiral, tilts her head in thought as she eats it. “Get drunk in a lecture.”

“Aw, good one!” Lawrence cries enthusiastically. Bimini, for their part, frowns with disapproval.

“Wait, no! Not a good one. Not a good one at all. It’s alright for you art school bitches, you’ve got some lectures together and you can coordinate, where does that leave me n’ Tia?”

“I guess that leaves you…downing a bottle of five pound chardonnay on the back bench of a lecture hall like a tramp with a drinking problem,” Lawrence shrugs, A’whora yelping out a laugh as Bimini shoves Lawrence with their foot.

Just then, there’s movement in the hall and as A’whora turns around she’s greeted by the sight of a tired-looking Tayce and Ellie walking into the kitchen. They shrug off their coats and take off their shoes and dump their bags on the kitchen table with a huff before they walk over to the others. Tayce spreads herself out over the sofa that A’whora’s sitting on, thudding her feet onto her lap without asking permission, to which A’whora instantly pushes them off her and gets a glare and a smirk in return.

“Lawrie, are you knitting?” Ellie laughs, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“Yeah? And?”

Ellie snorts in amusement. “Just didn’t realise we were living with a wee granny.”

“Well actually, bawbag! I was in the middle of making you a scarf because I can’t stand to listen to you talking shite about how you’re cold every time we leave the flat, but I can leave it if you want,” Lawrence explains. A’whora thinks it’s funny how Ellie backtracks immediately; she can’t tell if she’s blushing or just out of breath from scaling their block’s stairs. Bimini gains control of the conversation, tilting their head in intrigue.

“How were your lectures, huns?”

“Shit, thanks for asking,” Tayce groans, thudding her head down dramatically against the sofa cushions. “I don’t know, I just can’t concentrate when I’m getting talked at for an hour at a time. I need to be doing stuff, you know?”

“Feel that,” Ellie joins in, deflated. A’whora can sympathise- she loves the practical elements of her course, but not so much the lectures. She’s glad she shares a lot of them with Ellie, and the two of them can dick about and text each other and doodle designs in their notebooks while keeping one ear on whoever’s speaking.

“Well if you want to be doing something, you can help us with this,” Bimini suggests, explaining the bucket list they’ve been making.

The girls get settled and the ideas start to flow, Lawrence putting her speakers on for background noise as they all come up with new and increasingly more chaotic exploits. Ellie suggests trying every cocktail in Levels which gets scribbled down into Bimini’s notepad, and Tayce suggests going to Levels sober, which doesn’t get afforded the same appreciation. A’whora comes up with crashing the catered halls for breakfast one day, which they all agree is a good idea but the chances of it actually happening are low considering the earliest riser in the flat is Tayce and even she doesn’t waken up til half nine on a weekend.

“What’re some clubs we’ve not been to yet?” Bimini asks, shrugging. “Could put those down, try an’ visit every one in the city?”

Lawrence snorts derisively. “You go to Underground if you want your phone stolen, Velvet if you want to be bullied by fifteen year olds in the toilets, and Crystal if you want to subject yourself to painful misogyny and probably some light sexual assault.”

“So none of those, then,” Bimini murmurs.

“Those are all really het as well, though,” Ellie wrinkles her nose up in distaste. Then her face lights up as she gets an idea. “Oh! Put down Pride in July.”

“Nice one,” Bimini nods as they scribble down Ellie’s suggestion, the others making little hums of approval.

The conversation goes on for quite some time. Halfway through it Tayce seems to decide she’s bored of lying down and instead moves to sit on the floor between A’whora’s legs, asking her to play with her hair. They’ll do this sometimes- it’s a routine they fall into, A’whora being able to style Tayce’s endlessly long, straight hair and Tayce finding the whole thing therapeutic. They have a lot of little routines like this: they’ll sit close together on the sofa during a flat movie night and take turns leaning on each others’ shoulders, spontaneously give each other hugs at random points throughout the day, trace patterns into each others’ palms when the other seems stressed.

It’s nice. A’whora’s never really had a friendship like this, soft and caring and kind. In school her group was the kind that made catty jokes about each other then buffered them with a “love you!” afterwards and took kissy-face group selfies only to bitch about each other on a private group chat mere hours later. If it was a wolfpack then it was rabid and cannibalistic, and it had seemed like a full-time job ensuring she was never the runt of it. What she’s got with all her flatmates now- especially Tayce- makes her feel like she can finally breathe.

“What about the Centurion Challenge?” Lawrence suggests with a small gasp, breaking A’whora’s reverie as she expertly twirls Tayce’s hair into a loose and chunky French plait.

“Jesus Christ, Lawrence,” Ellie mutters in amusement.

“What’s the Centurion Challenge?” Bimini asks, pulling a face.

Lawrence gives a blythe shrug as she elaborates. “A hundred shots in a hundred minutes.”

A’whora ruins Tayce’s braid in shock, her hair untwisting itself from the braid as if it’s outraged too. The cry she gives joins in harmony with that of Tayce’s and Bimini’s. “A hundred shots? You’d fucking die!”

“Not of vodka! Obviously not of vodka! I know we all have one communal brain cell between us but Christ, can one of yous not use it?!” Lawrence protests. “It’s a hundred shots of beer. Don’t shit yourselves.”

“Aw, well that’s alright then,” Bimini pipes up sarcastically. “What’s actually wrong with Scottish people? Is your breastmilk spiked with whiskey? What d’you get instead of Cow and Gate formula, just cocaine?"

“Actually, a hundred shots of beer sounds more doable to me,” Tayce shrugs, and A’whora can feel her relax against her lap.

“I’d need to change it, I can’t stand beer,” A’whora considers. Ellie cocks her head in consideration.

“Well what alcohol do you like?”

“Fucking none of it,” A’whora laughs. “Cocktails. Vodka cokes. Anything where there’s juice to cover it up.”

Tayce twists her head to look up at her, a little twinkle of mischief in her eye. “I think the challenge ceases to be a challenge when it’s reduced to one hundred watered down shots of Woo Woo, Rory.”

As the others blurt out a laugh A’whora glares down at Tayce, but she can’t help but break out into a giggle too when Tayce grabs her knee and gives it a playful wobble, letting her know she was only joking without even having to say a thing.

A’whora’s not sure what time it is when she hears the front door swing shut and Tia emerges from the hallway, her long hair all messed up from the seemingly ever-present wind outside and almost obscuring the bright smile plastered on her face. “Hey, huns!”

“Oi oi,” Tayce greets her from her position on the floor. “What’s got you so smiley?”

“Nooothing,” Tia smirks, dragging the word out playfully. “Just got an invite to the night out of a very cute girl in my MT society…and she said you guys can all come too. Pres at her flat and then out to The Avenue. Evening plans sorted?”

“Oh, love that!” Bimini gives an enthusiastic clap. “Go on then, who’s the girl? Whose night are we crashing?”

“Her name’s Veronica,” Tia smiles bashfully. “She’s so lovely. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind you coming! She’s got one of the big flats over at Gourock Court so it’s not like it’ll be packed.”

“You don’t exactly want to go to a party that’s not going to be packed,” Ellie screws up her nose. She looks unimpressed and her tone is flat. “And even if it is, I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a flat party with a ton of new people, Tia.”

A’whora’s face drops and she locks eyes with Lawrence simultaneously, who’s got an equally incredulous look on her face. “Els, are you unwell? You never turn down a night out.”

Ellie shrugs quietly, not giving much away on her face. Tia, obviously keen to move to the girl she’s crushing on, carries on persuading her. “C’mon, Eleanor, don’t be such a fucking…square! It’s the musical theatre society, we’re just a walking Pride festival who all happen to be able to hold a tune. There’s loads of fit lesbians?”

“Well if I wasn’t convinced before, I sure am now,” Tayce purrs, a little smile appearing on her lips and a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. A’whora feels her laugh come out weakly. She doesn’t know why, but an odd, uncomfortable feeling lodges itself in her gut. She can’t quite put her finger on what exactly it is or why it’s put itself there.

“And there’s gonna be so many musicals on the playlist!” Tia continues to insist, despite being met with Ellie’s sour face. “I know you’ll love it! They’d probably even play stuff from Shrek if you got them drunk enough.”

A’whora can’t help but scrunch up her nose in distaste. “Hey, I’m only coming if they play fucking…normal people music as well. I’m not gonna be sat in a room with twenty white kids trying to rap to Hamilton or whatever the fuck it is.”

Tia rolls her eyes, plants her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Calm down, A’whora, you’ll still get all the top 40 dance-pop shit you love so much.”

“To be honest, it sounds class. And The Avenue’s always good,” Bimini cuts in calmly. A’whora does have to agree with that. They’ve not been there in a while- the bar across the road from the city’s most popular LGBT club- and its selection of early 00s pop princess tracks combined with its deal of two vodka mixers and a shot for a fiver makes it a guaranteed good night out.

“Well it seems like we’re all down, even if this stroppy cow isn’t,” Tia smiles happily, sticking her tongue out at Ellie for good measure. Ellie finally heaves a world-weary sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically as she relents.

“Ugh, fine! Fine, but this Verruca or whatever the hell she’s called better be the hottest bitch on the planet for you to drag us all out with your MT weirdos, Tia Maria,” she grumps. Tia ignores her bad mood and lets out a cheer which the others join in with, and A’whora resolves to interrogate Ellie about her Bitter Betty attitude later on. Preferably when they’re both drunk. That always makes things easier.

In the melee of excitement, Tayce twists round from her position on the carpet, folds her arms and rests them on top of A’whora’s thighs. “Right. You need to come help me choose an outfit if we’re going out. I need to look fit.”

A’whora smiles with pride. “Ooh, personal stylist duties? I’m honoured.”

“Well I’m hardly gonna ask Tia, am I?” Tayce giggles quietly, and A’whora joins in like it’s a little secret they’re sharing. “Or Ellie. She’d just send me out in one of her bodysuit/skirt combos. I swear to God that girl is like Marge bloody Simpson. Open up her wardrobe and she’ll have twenty sets of the same outfit. Serial killer behaviour, that.”

At this point A’whora is laughing so much that it draws the attention of the others, who eye them with suspicious stares. “What the hell’s so funny?”

A’whora gives Tayce a mischievous look. “Tayce just called Ellie a serial killer.”

Tayce yelps in outrage at having been called out, and as Ellie narrows her eyes Tayce leaps up from the floor and tugs A’whora off of the sofa with her. “That’s taking it out of context, you absolute hound! Come on, help me pick something.”

Tayce’s fingers stay curled around A’whora’s hand all the way down the corridor and into her bedroom. It’s a feeling that A’whora likes because it makes her feel close to her friend, and Tayce taking her hand is like an affirmation and a reassurance all in one; that she likes her, that their friendship has reached the level where hand-holding has become acceptable, that A’whora is worthy of being liked, of being someone’s friend- their real, proper friend. The validation sets her heart off like a flare. It’s nice to feel wanted.

A’whora perches on the edge of Tayce’s bed as she scrapes the coat hangers in her wardrobe and throws outfits onto the bed like a tornado, each more gorgeous than the last and all ones Tayce would look stunning in. That’s something that always strikes A’whora about Tayce; just how beautiful she is, how absolutely blessed with the God-given good genes. The way she looks serene and ethereal without makeup, walking to lectures in the morning with the sun hitting her face and giving her skin a glow. The way she paints for a night out and knows how to accentuate everything about her face that’s already perfect, a feat that would seem like an exaggeration if A’whora hadn’t seen it for herself to confirm it’s true. She frequently finds herself having to hold back from giving compliments to Tayce because if she started she’d never stop.

“Okay, first thoughts are…” Tayce announces unnecessarily loudly, and A’whora laughs at the way she’s talking as if she’s a stylist on a morning TV show. “…I’m thinking something black.”

“Of course you are,” A’whora interrupts with a laugh. “Tayce wearing black. How predictable.”

Tayce gives her a shove on the shoulder that’s too hard and makes her fall back against the mattress. “Shut up! I’ll wear something other than black when Lawrence wears something other than purple, how’s about that?”

The pair of them giggle at the joke as Tayce rifles through the clothes she’s shortlisted, holding up a black leather jacket and a black bralet with an intricate lace hem. The combination makes A’whora’s eyes fly wide open in appreciation.

“This?” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her inquisitively. The fact she’s obviously seen her reaction makes A’whora feel a little self-conscious and she doesn’t particularly know why. “Because I’m wanting to wear either my wet-look leggings or my black vinyl skirt with the zip up the front, and I don’t know if that’s too much leather effect stuff?”

“It’s too much,” A’whora nods, physically unable to help her honesty. “Also I think you should wear the skirt because you’ve got good legs and you should get them out any chance you get. But also the bralet won’t go with it because it’ll make your proportions all wrong.”

Tayce smiles appreciatively as she throws the bralet back into her wardrobe as if A’whora’s given her a command and not a suggestion. “See, this is another reason why you’re the queen of outfit advice. Bimini wouldn’t give me this level of honesty, they’re too nice.”

A’whora feels a warmth spread in her chest at the compliment, but she doesn’t show it. Instead she snorts, nods in agreement. “Yeah, because you could come out dressed in a pair of child’s pyjamas and they’d still say they love it. They’d say it’s very Y2K or something.”

Tayce lets out a cackle before holding up the skirt and leather jacket, humming in thought. “Okay, so you’re saying ditch the jacket but keep the skirt.”

“Yes.”

“And ditch the bralet.”

“Yes.”

“So you want me to go out in a skirt and a pair of heels and nothing else,” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her, and as A’whora bursts out laughing and protests she has to fight off a blush at the thought of her best friend topless in heels. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt with a zip that could just be pulled down to leave her in-

The heat floods A’whora’s face like she’s been smacked and she shifts on the bed in an attempt at dissipating the feelings that’ve hit her like a tsunami. Inappropriate. Weird. Way too weird. Don’t do that again.

“What about the bright blue fur coat you’ve got? Because you could have an all black outfit with that as a bit of colour,” she suggests, shrugging lightly in an attempt to pretend that she hadn’t just been thinking about Tayce in the way she had.

Tayce’s face lights up and she points at A’whora with one hand and reaches into her wardrobe with the other. “Love that. Okay, top?”

“Are you addressing me? I’ve never topped for anyone,” A’whora attempts a joke. If Tayce can make jokes like that to her then she can do it right back.  

“That’s very clear, baby,” Tayce shoots in response without missing a beat. Before A’whora realises it, she’s flexing her toes. What the fuck is happening to her? She needs to steer this conversation back on track.

She thinks for a second. “You’re a size eight, right?”

“In theory. The amount of pot noodles I’ve been chucking down my neck since I moved in is very quickly rendering that a distant memory, I’ll tell ya,” Tayce says, as she leans against the door of her wardrobe and folds her arms.

“I’ve got a black lace bodysuit that would go with that. It’s a ten so it’ll fit. D’you want to try it?”

“Well despite the fact a skirt and a bodysuit was the very thing I just roasted Ellie for always wearing…that sounds lush. Thanks, Rory Roo,” Tayce agrees, the nickname-of-a-nickname setting off the click of a small pilot light in A’whora’s heart. She’s about to ask if she wants to come try it on just now when she hears both their names being yelled from the kitchen.

The pair of them head back through to find that Tia has changed the playlist on the speakers from the chilled-out, calm acoustic one that had been playing to her early 00’s tunes. Combined with Bimini half-singing, half-yelling along to Murder on the Dancefloor and the blast of the extractor fan as Ellie stirs something in a big metal pot at the hob, it’s a far cry from the calm, cosy scene that A’whora had witnessed in the kitchen some hours prior.

Ellie had been the one who had shouted on them, and she whips around from the cooker when she realises that Tayce and A’whora have come through. “I’m making dinner for me, Bims and Tia, you wanting some?”

“Depends what it is. Come on, talk it up, Ellie. Give us some options,” Tayce shrugs with feigned disinterest, and A’whora can’t help the bubble of laughter that bursts from her mouth as Ellie narrows her eyes at her.

“It’s spaghetti and meatballs, and your alternatives are fuck off or die,” she shoots back savagely, and the whoop of shock and laughter that goes up from the others soars above the music and the fan. Tayce laughs good-naturedly in spite of the barb.

“I’m joking, ‘course I’ll take some.”

A’whora wrinkles her nose. “You’re making meatballs for a meal that Bimini is gonna eat?”

“They’re not real ones, dipshit,” Bimini pipes up from over on the sofa. “It’s that Birdseye Green Cuisine shit, innit.”

“Birdseye Green Cuisine shit,” A’whora repeats disdainfully. “If you ever go on The Apprentice, Bim, Alan Sugar’s gonna shit himself at your selling abilities.”

Tayce snorts, tries and fails to cover it up. When her eyes rest on A’whora they share a little smile, and A’whora’s grows bigger when she thinks about the way they’re both so in sync all the time.

“They’re nice, I promise! Veronica’s talked them up loads, she told me she’s been trying to eat more veggie things,” Tia insists, with an entirely unnecessary namedrop of her crush. A’whora relents and says she’ll have a small bowl before jumping out of her skin as Ellie bangs the spoon against the pot somewhat aggressively with a face like thunder.

Before A’whora can ask Ellie about her bad mood, Tia speaks again as she scrolls her phone to change the song. “Honestly, Ellie, you’re a star for doing dinner. Thanks so much.”

“Aw, don’t be silly, doll! It’s nothing!” Ellie turns around from the hob and bats the compliment away, shooting Tia a dazzling smile in return. It’s funny the way her demeanour seems to instantly do a complete 180 at the praise, and it makes A’whora wonder what’s changed.

She’s distracted, though, by the way Lawrence enters in her dressing gown with her hair up in a towel, obviously having come straight from the shower. She pouts and whines in a very un-Lawrence way as she lingers at the doorframe between the hall and the kitchen.

“Guysss, does anyone have an ID they can give me for tonight?”

“What about your friend? Who was it…Rosé?” A’whora shrugs, and Lawrence fixes her with a wide-eyed stare of incredulity.

“Oh my God, A’whora! I never thought about asking the girl I’ve been borrowing ID from since the start of uni! Thanks for that!” she says sarcastically, Bimini giving a yelp of laughter and A’whora leaning off the countertops and swiping at Lawrence in retort. “She’s using it. She asked her girlfriend and her flatmates for me but they’ve all got plans. I felt like a fuckin’ daytime TV charity advert.”

“For just one pound a week, you could help an underaged child get blackout drunk on triple trebles,” A’whora puts on a dramatic, concerned voice, proud of the way it makes Tayce blurt out a laugh.

“It’s such fucking bullshit,” Lawrence huffs, leaning against the fridge and folding her arms. “I mean my eighteenth’s in five days and I’ve been drinking in parks since I was fourteen, how can I not just be let into a fuckin’ bar?”

“Grow up and order a fake one,” Ellie shakes her head with incredulity, smashing the wooden spoon against the pot again with a bang-bang-bang to get the excess pasta sauce off.

“Just you pipe down, hen, you shouldn’t even be at uni. In fact, have you even completed primary yet?”

The two girls stick their tongues out at each other, a mirror-image of petty bickering that makes A’whora laugh. Luckily Bimini steps in, shrugging as they open their purse.

“Here, babe. I’ve still got my course friend’s provisional from when she dropped it on Gordon Street when she was off her face. I ain’t given her it back yet an’ I’m sure she wouldn’t care if you borrowed it. She’s chill.”

Lawrence accepts enthusiastically, bouncing over to Bimini and thanking them gratefully. A’whora watches her face drop, though, when she takes a look at the photo.

“There’s no way this’ll work.”

Bimini tuts and shakes their head, the picture of casual composure. “It’s fine, babes, they never look properly anyway.”

Lawrence drops the hand that’s holding the license to her side and fixes her friend with an astounded glare. “Bimini. This girl is black.”

As the others screech with outrage and mirth, Bimini waves Lawrence’s concerns away blithely. “It’ll be dark! It’s fine! Asttina an’ you have both got similar…well…you’re both girls, an’ you’re about the same height. Give or take a few inches.”    

“Christ. I’m going to have to just forward roll past the bouncers, aren’t I? Then draw a fuckin’ club stamp on my arm in Sharpie.”

“Oh my God, stop moaning!” Ellie sighs from her position at the hob, bangs the spoon again for emphasis. “Look, I’ll ask Pippa from flat 2, alright? You both have brown hair, so…that’ll probably be enough.”

A’whora thinks it’s interesting the way Lawrence doesn’t shoot something back in her foghorn of a voice like she normally does. Instead she smiles warmly, dashes over to the kitchen where she hugs Ellie from behind, squeezing her tightly at the stomach and making her flinch in surprise.

“Thanks, Ellie-Bellie,” she sing-songs, swaying her aggressively from side to side until Ellie bats her away, flicking the spoon in a way that threatens to shower them both in marinara sauce.

“Right, that’s plenty. Don’t even do things I enjoy for that long.”

“When’s this gonna be ready, Els?” Bimini shouts through as Lawrence lets go. “ ‘Ave I got time to do my makeup before it?”

Ellie shrugs. “If you can do your makeup in ten minutes.”

A’whora kicks her leg out in Tayce’s direction and jerks her head towards the hall. “Do you want to try on that bodysuit before tea?”

Tayce nods enthusiastically in agreement, so they go back along the corridor with a shout to the others telling them they won’t be long. A’whora holds the door of her room open for Tayce and her heart sinks in embarrassment when she realises she forgot to make her bed this morning.

“Sorry about the mess,” she apologies, to which Tayce gives a cry of a laugh in response.

“A’whora, have you seen my room? You’re fine, kid, don’t worry.”

A’whora thinks that’s true- Tayce’s room is a state, but somehow it seems to suit her. Tayce’s room with the crowded bulletin board, desk covered in sweet wrappers and sketches, floor carpeted with clothes that need washed and outfits that didn’t make the cut. The cracked picture frame on her window-sill of the first selfie the six of them all got together on the first night of freshers and the huge cheese plant that sits next to her bedside table, Tayce’s pride and joy. They’re all little intricate shards that join up to form a perfect picture of her personality, and A’whora thinks it’s sort of perfect.

She looks out the bodysuit from its neatly Marie Kondo-d place in her wardrobe and hands it gently to Tayce. “Try it and see. It’s a small 10 anyway so it’ll probably be fine for you.”

Tayce accepts it gratefully and hooks a finger around both of the straps, letting the rest of the material fall out of its perfectly folded little parcel. She gives a little gasp of appreciation as she looks at it. “Oh yes, baby. I think this’ll do just fine.”

A’whora feels good- proud that she’s managed to find the perfect piece for Tayce’s outfit, to help her look as inevitably gorgeous as she knows she will. The smile on her face falters, though, when Tayce shoots her a wink and leans against the wall with her shoulder. “This is gonna get me someone I can pop off my acrylics for, I can tell. You’ve got the best taste, girl.”

“Are you actually going to try and get with someone tonight?” A’whora injects a laugh into her question that she’s banking on sounding genuine, otherwise it comes across as accusatory and that’s not what she means it to be. Or is it? She doesn’t know. “You know how messy nights at The Avenue always get. Last time we were there Lawrence got so drunk she told us she couldn’t see, remember?”

Tayce laughs her off with a shrug. “Well then I’ll just have to be careful with my drinks, won’t I?”

A’whora gives a false laugh, tries so hard to get it to meet her eyes. Why is she so pressed about this? She gets with girls on nights out too, she’s brought the occasional one night stand to the flat. Tayce is allowed to do the same.

So why does she feel ever so slightly gutted?

If her smile looks fake (which it is) then Tayce doesn’t notice, and she only shoots her a smile as she opens the bedroom door. “You’re an angel. I’ll pop this on then be back in five.”

A’whora takes the opportunity of Tayce having left to make her bed, and as she does so she feels lots of little thoughts dart around her mind like minnows, none of them staying in the same place for long enough to be able to be deciphered. She manages to catch a few before they flee away and she clings to them, turning them over in her head: why does she feel so bothered about the prospect of Tayce finding a girl at the party, talking to her and making a connection and laughing at her jokes? Why had it felt like a punch to the gut when Tayce was joking about doing so? Why does she have this part of her that feels like an idiot for setting Tayce up to look her best and knowing that it’s for the benefit of somebody else, somebody that doesn’t know her like she does?

And then her bedroom door opens and A’whora turns around and lays eyes on her best friend. Tayce in her high heels and bare legs and the skirt with the zip. Tayce with her baby blue fake fur coat and her straight, dark hair tumbling over its shoulders. Tayce in the bodysuit- A’whora’s bodysuit- with the lace and the mesh that clings to her chest like it was designed just for her. There’s something about the fact that she’s wearing something that belongs to A’whora that makes something inside her chest tingle, the fact it’s a little piece of her in Tayce’s jigsaw puzzle that seems to fit regardless of the difference.

“What d’you think?” Tayce smiles, all too aware of how drop-dead stunning she looks.

And then the realisation hits A’whora like a train.

Oh.

Fuck.

She’s screwed.

[flyingblackhawk]

Lists

Clintasha fic

1,359 words

-

The room isn’t exactly as he left it. Clint isn’t surprised, given that it’s been five years. Someone’s been through and picked everything up off the floor, neatened the shelves, even the long-forgotten clothes in the hamper have been laundered and put away. There’s only been one person at the facility for years now, so it’s not much of a stretch to guess that Natasha is the one who’s been in here. The thought twists his chest, and out of sheer instinct he shoves that emotion down, works it into a cold knot of anger. Then he stops. He doesn’t have to do that here. Not here, and not with her.

He showers, and gets into bed. After five years of sleeping rough most nights, it’s a pleasant feeling to be somewhere he knows he’s safe, and to be able to lie here without planning his next assassination. Without those processes, though, his mind drifts, and after an hour of tossing and turning Clint gives up on sleep and sits up in bed.

He flicks on the lamp, and reaches out to open the drawer in his nightstand. He has a vague recollection of a novel he was reading all those years ago. Maybe it’s still here. He grasps something book-shaped, and pulls it out of the drawer. It’s not a novel. It’s a notebook, and there’s a pen clipped to the cover. Clint blinks, trying to remember if this is his. He opens the cover.

The first page is a list of names, with his right at the top. Several are crossed out, some are circled. His own name is circled heavily and followed by three question marks. As he reads down the list, he realises that this is Natasha’s handwriting, and it’s a list of the dead. He turns the page, and the list goes on. It takes up the first eight pages of the notebook, front and back. She must have written this in the first days of the Snap, Clint realises. He imagines what it must have been like - writing out a list of all the important people in her life, and finding out one by one that they were gone. Each page of the list makes his heart sink further. He flips to the page after the list.

Canada??

Sighting at Montreal, report from Quebec border agent - matching description.

No fake passport reported.

Belarus Airport - CALL ALIAKSIEJ.

Kiev??

Where next?

He knows what this is too. She must have been charting his movements. There are no notes after Kiev, and he knows why. He dumped every fake document he had into a furnace, and walked across the Russian border at Nikanorovka. There would have been be no way to follow him after that, not even with the best technology the Avengers had access to. Clint turns another page.

Central comms room.

Move tables into storage & set up conferencing center against South wall.

Call Tony?

Reroute security feeds to CR.

That matches the changes Clint noted when he arrived earlier. He feels guilty reading this. It’s clearly Natasha’s notebook. So why was it in his nightstand?

Marigolds

Ox-eyes

Milkweed

Cardinal Flower (Laura’s favourite)

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Even if it’s just lists, it’s personal.

Ask Steve about moving everyone to the same building

Help Steve pack

Help Bruce pack

Call Rhodes?

Clint bites his lip.

I wish you were here.

Close off unoccupied block

Call Pepper

Baby shower present?

Conference call

Where the hell are you?

A couple of subsequent pages are filled with little shapes and doodles. Clint recognises them as the product of Natasha being on a phone call and not being able to say what she wants to say. Lots of the little drawings have been scribbled over so heavily that the pages underneath are indented.

5 7 mile run

SHIELD drills

Gym back room - pull up mats (could be a studio?)

He knows she only dances when she’s in turmoil. He knows that because he’s the only person on this planet she trusts to know everything about her. Reading these pages, and knowing she was doing all this on her own - it’s a lot to take in. He reads on.

Birthday present for Morgan

Plant out cardinals for Laura

Call Steve (Brooklyn cell)

Clint

2 years, Clint. Not one message.

Bring extra monitors up from Bruce’s lab

Order coffee beans

2020, then, he thinks. Three years ago. Even then, he was barely thinking of her. He hates himself for it.

This is the longest stretch I’ve had no visitors.

Steve called the city ‘home’ last time he called.

Rhodes has info on you- Korea, this time.

I miss you.

Clint blinks. For the first time in a long while, he has to swallow a lump in his throat.

The last time I could do this many push-ups, I was in the Red Room.

The cardinals are blooming. I checked up on the farm a few days ago. Everything’s fine.

You left clothes on the floor. I washed them for you. Your hoodie is mine now.

The next few pages are blank. Then-

18.6.21

Happy Birthday. You’d better come back before next year. I don’t think I could make fun of a man in his forties in good conscience.

I saw what you did in Riyadh. I probably would have done the same.

If you’re worried about what I’m going to think, don’t. I just want you to come back.

I’ve been the only one here for two years.

I miss you.

Clint blinks away tears. He knew he’d feel guilty if she caught up with him. He didn’t expect to feel so ashamed.

8.2.22

Security footage from a bank in Seoul. It’s only the back of your head, but it’s nice to know you’re alive. At least, you were alive four days ago.

He remembers Seoul. He wishes he didn’t, but he does.

29.7.22

I slept in your bed last night. Some nights I sleep in the lounge. It doesn’t matter. There’s no one here to worry about me. Steve still comes once every few months. He’s busy now. I call Pepper on her birthday, and on Morgan’s. Tony made me her godmother. How weird is that?

I realised today that I haven’t said anything out loud for three days. I only talk when the conferences are up and running, and we don’t have much to report these days. Rocket mostly emails. Carol tries, but she’s busy most of the time. I can’t ask anyone to come and live here. They’d be crazy to.

He wants to stop. This isn’t right.

17.10.22

Clint, I

Clint

If you knew how it felt to be alone in this giant empty compound, you’d be back here in a heartbeat.

He can’t change what he’s done. He wants to cry.

“Clint?”

He looks up. Natasha is standing in his doorway, frozen at the sight of the notebook in his hands. He sets it down on the nightstand, and gets out of bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, but her voice wavers for a moment. Clint crosses the distance between them like it was never there at all, and wraps her in his arms. She doesn’t hesitate, and hugs him back as tightly as she’s wanted to for five years. It’s not over yet, and they have so much left to do, but just for a moment, everything is alright again.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It doesn’t matter now,” she tells him, finally pulling away enough to breathe. “We can talk about this after we’ve done what we have to do. Just… get some sleep, okay? We’ve got work to do in the morning.”

She goes to his nightstand and takes the notebook, then she leaves him alone in his room. She’s right. Tomorrow they will attempt what no human has ever done before, and if they succeed, well- Clint doesn’t want to think about that just yet. Hope is not a feeling he’s felt in a long time. He settles down to sleep. Nothing can go wrong tomorrow, not as long as Natasha is by his side.

[nancypullen]

February

This month crept in quietly on frosty feet, no fanfare, no fuss, just the silent passing of time.  The groundhog saw his shadow, so that means another six weeks of Tennessee’s damp and gray excuse for winter.  This is why I get itchy to plant things and make our patch burst into color.  If not for the cardinal population that hangs around our bird feeder this place would look like an old black and white movie.  Thank goodness for bright red birdies. February does tend to bring boat load of happiness to our house. We celebrate two special birthdays this month.  Our dear Matthew, firstborn and always a delight will be thirty-six.  Ouch!  How is that possible when I’m pretty sure that I just turned forty? On the other hand, we’ll also be celebrating the third birthday of our wonderfully perfect grandgirl - so I guess the whole aging thing makes sense.  Our February will be spent celebrating two people that make our family happier, more fun, and chock full of love, so not even the drab weather can take the shine off of this month. That’s a good thing, because I’ve never been a fan of Valentine’s Day and that’s pretty much all February offers.  I mean, I guess if you’re a big groundhog fan or like to bake a cake for President’s Day then you may feel differently.   So how do I get through the gloomy Tennessee winter? Same way I get through every other season - I cook!  Monday was really chilly so I made a pot of chicken soup.  I always add way too many noodles. Go big or go home, right?  Chicken soup is such a comfort food and I like mine extra comforting.

I had ditalini in the cupboard so that’s what I used.  It’s a perfect soup pasta. We have salmon at least once a week and I make it the same way every. single. time.   It’s brushed with a little olive oil and then coated in a mixture of brown sugar, chili powder, paprika, salt, and pepper  It creates a wonderful sweet and spicy crust and it’s how the mister likes it.  I try to break up the monotony of that dish by cooking a variety of veggies - roasted broccoli with a sprinkle of parmesan, mashed cauliflower with butter and pepper, zucchini and onions, etc.  Tonight I had some fresh green beans and wanted to get them on the table quickly since the salmon doesn’t take long in the oven.  Here’s what I did. Put trimmed green beans (I had about a pound) in a large skillet and cover with water. Bring to a boil, lower the heat a bit, then simmer until the green beans start to soften , 6 or 7 minutes.  

Drain the water ( I dumped my beans in a colander in the sink and then put them back in the pan), then add 2 tablespoons of butter to the pan and stir for about 3 minutes until the butter melts all over everything. 

 At this point I added garlic, about three cloves worth, minced. and stirred it around for about 2 more minutes.

This is the time to sprinkle in a bit of salt, and if you have lemon pepper I think that would really take this to the next level.  I was out, but you can bet I’ll try it next time. These beans partnered perfectly with the salmon and I gave Mickey a scoop of brown rice.  I opted for just fish and veggies and it was plenty. Okay, not the prettiest plating I’ve ever done - but still a balanced meal that didn’t take long at all.

Birthdays and beans, that’s what’s happening at our house.  The fun never ends. I’ve also been back at my desk making kooky cards, I hadn’t really made any since before Christmas and it’s been fun to look through my pictures of dead folks and decide what they’d like to say. I’ve sent a few out, so once they arrive at their intended mailboxes I’ll post pics here.  Some are going to readers of this blog and I don’t want to spoil the jokes.  It’s all I’ve got folks, don’t judge me. So that pretty much sums up the first week of February here on the Pullen spread.  I’ve been cooking, reading, and making goofy cards.  I have also had long conversations with cats,  doodled some illustrations for a book that has been 3/4 finished for years and I still don’t know how it ends, considered cutting my hair really short, and I’ve started my first felted wool mouse.  He may end up looking like a mouse from the Island of Dr. Moreau, but everything is fixable, right?  So what if his ears aren’t the same size - there’s probably a delightful story to be told about a mouse with one big ear.  Maybe he was the only one that could hear an owl swooping down and saved the whole mouse village, or maybe if he leaned in with that one big ear he could hear everyone’s whispered secrets and use that information to solve all their problems.  Plenty of possibilities for that wonky-eared mouse, he could be a hero!   Maybe I should actually finish one book before starting another.  I’ve got ideas scattered all over the place, I need someone to keep me on track.  I’d claim pandemic brain but I’ve always been this way.  This blog post is a perfect example - it’s all over the place, and that seems like a good reason to stop right here.   I think I’ll go soak in the tub and dream up a story for my unfinished mouse. Maybe I should finish the mouse first.  Maybe I should just finish the blog post. The end. Stay safe, stay well.   XOXO,

Nancy