#I hope it's not as blurry as this preview is giving me ...

[red-thorns]

Many a magic item obtained... New spelunking supplies for Ataxia. :)

[cinnaminsvga]

Kilig Preview | Taehyung

kilig (n.): the butterflies you get that are caused by an exciting or romantic experience

→ summary:

Enter Kim Taehyung: Campus heart-throb slash theatre prodigy, always dressed immaculately in his cute little beret. Looking for a script that will “challenge” his abilities.

Enter you: Fumbling (and starving) writer with a romcom manuscript begging to be written, except she’s never had experience with dating. Looking for a (fake) boyfriend to help her get inspired.

{or alternatively: “Hey, are you looking for me? Because I’ve certainly been looking for you.”}

→ genre: theatre club!au, fake dating, fluff, humor, slight angst → warnings: everyone is a little overdramatic (the woes of being a fine arts major i suppose), namjoon and his situationship are mentioned (rip my guy), taehyung can be your angle or yuor devil, oc is a late bloomer when it comes to relationships but dear lord she's TRYING, handholding as a form of CBT, this isn't quite a slow burn but maybe a hasty simmer → words: anticipated 10-15K → a/n: HAPPY BANGTAN REUNION DAY!! so this wip is old as hell (as in bangtan hadn't even started their military service type old) but i got a sudden surge of writing juice because umm MY BABIES ARE BACK TOGETHER!! a momentous occasion must be paired with another equally momentous occasion (i.e., me gaining the energy to write.) the full thing will be posted soon... i hope... BYE!!

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

A week passes by, and you almost forget about your pathetic cry for help. You had tried to continue writing your “romance” story for your creative writing project, but you are halfway through giving up on the genre and reverting to your tried and true method of writing angsty fictional prose instead. That is, until Namjoon frantically runs up to your home in a hurry, banging on your door like that one time when he desperately needed to use your toilet.

You crack your door open to peer up at him suspiciously, his bright and eager smile doing nothing to quell the sudden urge to run and hide under your bed. A smiling and quiet Namjoon is never a good Namjoon; an omen, if anything.

“What do you want?” You growl, eyes narrowed when he ungracefully wedges himself past you and into your cramped dormitory. After you lock your door behind him, you turn to see him standing in the middle of your room with his hand outstretched towards you, offering his phone to you wordlessly.

“You’re weirding me out,” you breathed tiredly, taking his phone and squinting at the screen. It has a blurry picture of the campus board near the mess hall, littered with announcements for university events, tutoring services, and dubious Halloween parties. At the center of the photo is a specific advertisement that looks out of place, but whoever had taken the photo (i.e., Namjoon) clearly didn’t care about photography quality, as the words are hardly decipherable.

“Dude, I can’t read this. It’s an open call for… a script?” You guess, only able to make out the heading of the advertisement. You chuck the phone back at Namjoon, who unsurprisingly isn’t agile enough to catch it.

“Yeah! My boyfriend—” Namjoon stops suddenly, clearing his throat. “Erm, I mean… My friend told me about it. He said he knows a guy who knows a girl who knows a professor who knows a dog—”

“Get on with it already!” You snap, already losing your non-existent patience.

“—well, okay, I was getting there,” Namjoon huffs, squatting down to pick up his fallen phone. He shows you the photo again, as if the worthless smudge of color on his screen would do anything to answer your questions. “My point is that an anonymous theater student just put out an open call for manuscript submissions for any film, TV pilot, or play. Apparently, they want something challenging to help them practice or something.”

“And how does this have something to do with me…?” You scowl, rubbing your temples in annoyance. Namjoon knows you’re already swamped with enough writing projects as it is, so why on earth would you randomly donate one of your drafts to some weirdo theater student?

“Well, you asked to get set up with someone, remember? This is literally the perfect opportunity!” Namjoon claps his hands, his grin oozing with misplaced self-satisfaction. 

…

What the fuck?

When you remain quietly dumbfounded for what feels like ten entire minutes, Namjoon clears his throat to explain. “Oh, c’mon! They asked for some challenging acting practice. Nothing is more mind-numbingly difficult than being your significant other, for sure!”

You feel a blood vessel pop; you hope it’s a vital one. “Once again, I have to ask… How lowly do you think of me?” You growl, your cheeks growing hot from anger, frustration, and murderous intent. 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Namjoon soothes, patting your head condescendingly before he flops down on your unmade bed. He even has the audacity to start picking at your half-eaten bag of chips, contaminating your sheets with his stray crumbs and the germs from his outside clothes. “Just think about it. It’s a win-win situation, don’t you think? He gets an acting practice partner, and you get a dating practice partner. How can this ever go wrong?”

He says it so matter-of-factly that it almost convinces you to turn off your brain and go along with the idea. If you’re being honest, your desperation for human connection is almost concerning, so you have no idea why you’re acting so opposed to the idea. Maybe you do have some shred of dignity, after all.

“I dunno, Namjoon… Isn’t this kind of incel behavior?” You sigh, dropping your face into your hands in defeat.

Namjoon munches on your chips thoughtfully for a moment. “I mean, yeah, a little bit,” he starts, but he scrambles to clarify his words when your face immediately turns deathly pale. “But! Hey, this anonymous drama kid is probably even worse than you. They’re probably some awkward nerd who plays D&D and MTG on the weekends.”

“Namjoon, we’re both nerds who play D&D and MTG on the weekends,” you mumble, but your rebuttal is ignored in favor of another large mouthful of chips. 

“I’m just saying… It’s worth a shot. At least consider submitting your suggestion? You never know what could happen,” he shrugs. He then crumples the finished bag of junk food into a tight ball, shooting it into your trash can. It misses.

He stands up from your bed in all his lanky glory, dusting off his crumbs onto your carpet before shooting you a lopsided, dimpled grin. “Well, I better be going. I’ll text you the email address for the acting suggestion submission thing. My job here is done.”

You glare at him as he salutes you mockingly, as if he’d just bestowed you with God’s greatest gift (his mind). “What the fuck? Why are you acting as though I’m going to agree to do this?” You call out after him, but your query goes unanswered as he turns to leave and abruptly slams your door in your face. 

As you stew in defiant rage in your crumb-infested dorm room, you swear to delete his text message with the contact details of the anonymous theater kid at your earliest convenience. No way in hell would you give Namjoon the satisfaction of knowing he had “helped” you. You can remain single for the rest of your life, fake boyfriend or not. You would not stoop.

[tofupixel]

do you have any tips or tricks for aseprite? I’m fairly newish to it and am still trying to learn the basics of pixels art. Specifically, do you have anything for blending pixels together or giving the illusion of blending, as well as any tips for dithering? I adore your pixel art and it’s given me the motivation to try at it again after dropping it off years ago. You’re incredibly skilled!

thank you!!!

for blending, instead of using a blur tool we do something called manual Anti-Aliasing, here is a video on the topic. i mostly use either 1 colour AA or 2-colour AA

No AA // 1 colour AA 2 colour AA // 3 Colour AA U can do even more colours in the AA btw!! theres no limit but it does get more blurry and soft so beware

I would typically do something like the bottom left, using 2 colours, but they all look different in context. i would advise you to use the preview window and see how it looks at the small 1x view, AA can really change the silhouette of something

BTW ANTI ALIASING IS ALL PREFERENCE !! PLS DOT THINK I AM AN EXPERT I JUST LIKE DOING IT THE WAY I DO IT, PLS EXPERIMENT !!!

for actual colour blending i typically take the eyedropper tool to select my base colour and make the transparency of it 50%.

then i will draw over the colour i want to blend with then colourpick the middle colour i do that all the time and change the hue just a tiny bit

anti alias or add more colours where you would typically blur or blend in painting and leave everything else more sharp, be mindful of your hard and soft edges

hope that helps !! u shoudl check out more of mortmorts videos his stuff really helped me when i was starting out! he has one for dithering i believe (im not really a dithering artist myself so maybe he can be more helpful)

other tips for aseprite - my friend made this video of lesser known tricks

[accirax]

Project: Eden's Garden Chapter 1 Trailer Analysis

Oh my god it's actually time.

As I'm sure you've heard by now, Team Eden's Garden has finally announced the release date for the fangan's true first chapter: December 20th. And, they did so in a flashy new trailer, which is nearly three minutes long! Naturally, there's a lot of content baked in to those three minutes, so I'm here to take a look at what was flashing by in those rapid-fire montages, as well as make predictions regarding what will happen at the first Class Trial. This will be fun!

And here's hoping I don't run out of images 🤞

The trailer begins with the "mascot" (in this case, Tozu) saying that it's been far too long since we last conversed. Classic.

Next, we see a preview of some locations, both new and old. CAM04: Dorm Hallway and CAM24: Tree of Ignorance were already explorable areas within the Prologue, and CAM08: Damon's Dorm was visible in the Ch1 demo released last year(?). The new locations include CAM32: Hallway A1, CAM35: Pharmacy A1, and CAM39: Pharmacy A5.

(By the way, I'm going to assume that both the numbering of the cameras and the time displayed in the lower right have no particular meaning, because I can't find any connections between them. At first I thought it was weird that Damon's dorm was Camera #8 despite him being 9th in alphabetical last name order, but given that the hallway is Camera #4, I don't think there's a correlation).

While all of the images are intentionally blurry, I'll do the best I can to describe what we can see. The most obvious point of interest is the door at the back of the hallway, under which "CAUTION" is written in big red letters. It also seems that there might be blood dripping down the door, which, if true, would match with the other blood splatter on the floor near the bottom right of the screen. It definitely gives the impression that something happened here before, and that that something was bad. There's also a grate on the wall that's splattered with red, but given that blood is pink in the DR universe, I'm assuming that's rust.

The pharmacies are very interesting to me. First of all, there are two of them. What kind of establishment needs two separate pharmacies? I guess you might if the pharmacies are as different as the two pictured. One looks more like an old-fashioned office or science classroom (it kind of reminds me of v3's Ultimate Detective Lab, honestly), and the other like a scientific research facility. A pharmacy is defined as "a store where medicinal drugs are dispensed and sold," so perhaps Pharmacy A1 is for selling and Pharmacy A5 is for creating?

The "A" in these tags could stand for "area," but they more likely stand for "alpha." At the end of the Chapter 1 demo (watch Weeby Newz's video on it if you want the same level of info I have), the students are about to go through the lowercase "alpha" door in the Tree Room to explore a new area. These three areas are almost certainly behind that door-- perhaps with the checkered pharmacy being room #1, and the blue pharmacy being room #5?

It's also possible that the entire area is considered "the pharmacy," and is dedicated to the production of medicine. But, whether that's the case or not, I have to ask, "why?" Out of all the things they could have put into this falsified Eden's Garden Academy, why make two rooms dedicated to creating drugs? Why potentially make up to five rooms dedicated to creating drugs? With very little information regarding the overarching plot of Eden's Garden, it's hard to determine why. The only connection I can make offhand is that this may have been the origin site of the drugs used to knock everyone out on the train.

I do find it very interesting, though, that this is not just a location in the school, but the very first one we're discovering. Normally, I'd think that places like these, which aren't that conducive to students hanging out (like a pool or recreation center) would be reserved for future chapters. It may imply that drugs and/or poisons are a necessary component of the Chapter 1 murder. We'll see!

Our first of the rapid-fire CGs! This one shows Kai pointing at something within a fancy pink room. There's a canopy bed dressed with pink cloth, some floral-looking wallpaper, and two small paintings of what also appear to be plants on the wall.

Given the appearance of Damon's room earlier in the trailer, I find it likely that this is not a new location in the alpha corridor, but instead, someone's room. There are many pink colored characters in P:EG-- Diana, Toshiko, and Kai himself-- as well as Cassidy, whose character color is close to pink, and Ingrid, who has pinkish hair. Of the main three options, I'm guessing that this is probably Kai's room.

People have been quick to diagnose this as a potential BDA image. If that's true, I acknowledge that this being Kai's room would be a wild choice, because it would mean that someone other than Kai was found dead in Kai's room. It would be a THH parallel, though! I just think that it's likely to be his because, well, he's in there, and all of the references to flowers seems fitting for his butterfly motif. However, Toshiko's kimono does have flower patterns on it, and flowers also match up with the ~romance~ of the Ultimate Matchmaker. If this is Kai providing a BDA in Toshiko's room, though... maybe Toshiko isn't dodging those first victim allegations.

If it's not a BDA, though, what is Kai pointing at? Imagine if it's just a spider or something, lol. He does look pretty worried, so perhaps this could be the arrival of something like DRDT's custom weapons? If a weapon suddenly appeared in my room a the killing game, I'd be kind of worried. It could also be a mysterious note, as (spoilers) we're about to see a few of in this trailer.

One cute(?) thing to mention is that, if this is Kai's room, it likely means that Kai was willing to invite Damon into his room to check whatever this is out. That could mean that they're friends! It's not cute if this is actually a BDA. It's also not cute if Kai is becoming Damon's friend just so that it hurts more when he dies in Chapter 1 :(

Woah, it's a note! (/j)

This and the image directly before it in the trailer seem to be of the same thing: a piece of paper that says "to Damon Maitsu" on it. Or, it's possible that the first one just says "Damon Maitsu" and this one says "to Mr. Maitsu"-- they look a little different, although the handwriting seems identical. I don't think there's any paper conspiracy for me to crack here.

To my memory, the prologue included some flashback CGs, so I would imagine that's what's happening here, unless Damon actually kept his Eden's Garden acceptance letter on his person (possible). It could also be a new letter that Damon receives during the course of the killing game if, as I posited, Kai was pointing out a letter he received in his room.

And furthermore, more note content? Why is this hypothetical piece of paper more visible in the trailer than Toshiko?! (/j)

Or, maybe it isn't. This note seems to read, "Meet in [???] at 8:10 p.m. tonight [???] Damon Maitsu." Due to the spacing of the words-- namely, that it doesn't seem like there's much more to this message beyond what we can see-- this paper appears to be pretty small. Combined with the color, I predict that this note is, in fact, sticky. And therefore, not the same as the piece of paper (which also has a different ink color) as the other note.

Further extrapolating from the spacing, the note looks like it's signed "-- Damon Maitsu". Otherwise, there would need to be a word before Damon, the end of which has no letters tall enough to appear next to the D. (It's LGI's "Ms. Naegi" crisis all over again... /ref) If so, that means that we might have an example of Damon's handwriting on our hands! Or the handwriting of someone who was trying to impersonate Damon :/

I wish we had a better lead on where this note was telling folks to meet up, but it's way too vague.

Then, yet another piece of paper! It's definitely different than the yellow one, and probably different from the signed one as well, due to being typed and not handwritten. Then again, sometimes typed letters have a handwritten signature at the bottom, so it's not impossible.

This text's formatting reminds me of how scripts are normally written: both the font and the center alignment are used in standard scriptwriting formats. I actually at first thought that everything after "beneath a" might have been spoken by a character whose name starts with L, but that would mean that their dialogue starts with a lowercase letter. Plus, names on scripts are usually written more like this (imagine it's centered):

LINDSAY beneath a [shoulder] If only [head]

in the sense that the character speaking's name is in all caps. There appears to be a lowercase i after the capital L, so it's probably not a name.

Still, that begs the question of why the top line is so much shorter than the one beneath it. In a normal passage, all of the lines would have relatively even margins other than possibly the last one. Could the wonky spacing be indicative of a poem, or something else written in verse? Due to the script/poem idea, I'm inclined to believe this belongs to the ever-dramatic Tozu, but I could be wrong.

Next is another CG, depicting Damon, Cassidy, and a sneaky Jean in the background. Based on the shape of Damon's ahoge, we can tell he's a little annoyed or flustered by whatever Cassidy is pointing at.

The wallpaper pattern we see in the background is that of the Dining Hall. Do NOT ask me how I remembered this offhand, because I don't know.

Furthermore, based on the wall being to the characters' left, it's likely that they're standing on the left side of the room. (It's possible in reality that it could be anywhere else in the room in front of the wallpaper only, but based on cinematography rules I won't bother explaining this is probably the case.) So, what is Cassidy pointing at? It could be the fireplace, the painting of the jackal, or the vent. Or, obviously, something new that appears in the Dining Hall in Chapter 1.

Based on my theories that the vent will be involved in the Chapter 1 murder, I'm inclined to believe that it might be what Cassidy's pointing out. If that's true, it means that she (and Jean) (and Damon) is dodging the Chapter 1 victim allegations! However, given that the characters are looking upwards, unless they're on the floor, it's probably not actually the vent. Maybe it's something on the fireplace mantle?

Also, based on straight vibes and nothing else, I don't think this is a serious CG. It might just be that it reminds me of v3's casino CG, but I kinda feel like Cassidy is just trying to teach Damon a game while Jean watches, or something. Projector on the Dining Hall walls? "It's more likely than you think," I lie.

The next six images consist of three spooky screenshots of what seem to be some sort of database which say "Ultimate" (and a picture of Damon), and three zoom-ins on what I believe to be paintings found around the school.

The only one I found of particular note was this one, which sort of looks like two people getting married? Both figures seem to have light skin, and the one in the white dress might have some shoulder-length red hair. Cassidy marriage arc??? I can't imagine what context this photo/painting/CG would appear in, but it might be important.

After that a few illustrations depicting the killing game's rules flash by. I won't be uploading all of them because 1) you can probably guess at most already if you're familiar with DR/fangans, and 2) I think these might have been shown in the demo anyways. To sum up, I think the rules can be attributed as such:

Tozu is in charge (and/or participation in the killing game is mandatory)

No destroying school property, with a focus on cameras and NG bracelets

You can't kill/injure Tozu or Mara*

Students can become the blackened by killing

Once a dead body is found, it's time for a Class Trial

... The same thing again? Oh, maybe #5 was about how to trigger a BDA, then.

Um...

Okay, actually, I don't know what this one is. Is this saying that you can't rip paper, or you'll get executed? As in, papers that Tozu gives you? Dude, maybe my "Tozu gives the students mysterious letters" theory actually had some merit to it!

If not that, could this be something about breaching contracts? The Prologue did mention "registration materials" that Damon presumably signed. Those could have been a cover-up for a real waiver the students accidentally accepted. Or, maybe this is the big reveal that all of the characters are actors in a scripted performance. In Chapter 1? Yeah, probably not.

*Technically, only Tozu (who stands between Mara and the student) has an X over him, which could imply that it's only illegal to harm Tozu. However, it's likely that, when the rule is revealed in the e-Handbook, the graphic will cycle between Xs on Mara and Tozu, or something else to that effect. It would be interesting if the rules don't protect Mara, though. I'd imagine the in-universe explanation would be "see what happens if you even TRY to hurt Mara," but that would absolutely feel like a rule intended by the writers to be broken in the future.

I'm sure someone could do a super in-depth analysis of the religious implications of this painting, but that person is not me. All I will say is, "these are the animals of Mara and Tozu." Oh, and, based on the next image, this painting is located in Pharmacy 1.

New locations! Like I alluded to above, the first image is definitely of Pharmacy 1, and I think the second is too.

The third is a bit harder to decipher. We've got a glowing photocopier with an Eden's Garden Academy logo on it, a tiled floor, many green cabinets, a medical kit, and lots of vines. I wonder if this might be a third pharmacy that functions more like a doctor's office...? I don't know what the photocopier is there for in that case, though. I'm assuming that the location behind Jett in the fourth image is in the same room due to the similar green cabinets, and the fact that you can see a similar first aid kit on the wall behind him. If that's the case, there's also a sink in this room. That's not helping me either.

After that, we have a shot of Jean with a proposition in the Dining Hall, some general purposes art which I think we've seen before, and a slick 3D animation with Damon catching a fallen apple. What do they have in common? I don't have much to say about any of them.

Free Time time! Or, at least, I'm assuming that Ulysses' part is part of his first FTE, given that it was packaged in with all this other stuff. With this, we can conclude that Ulysses, Wenona, and Wolfgang will all be available for at least one FTE in Chapter 1. I am very curious about that in general-- with this first chapter release, will we immediately be able to view all of everyone's FTEs? Or will they cap everyone off at, like, two for now? Unfortunately, there's no way for me to answer that now.

The other three images are more intriguing. The first definitely shows Damon's gift inventory, with the Black Forest Cake being highlighted. The interesting bit is all of the chibi pixels to the side, with positive and negative arrows by some of their heads. At first, I thought that P:EG might be going for something like SDRA2's ambitious FTE system, where characters have positive or negative opinions on you based on actions you take and gifts you give. However, on further thought, I bet that this is an in-game way of telling you who will like which gifts. As far as I can tell, many people either look up which gifts to give which characters or save-scum until they get something right, so taking guessing out of the equation is probably a good thing. Plus, now we know that Diana, Jett, Toshiko, Mark, Wolfgang, Cassidy, Desmond, Eloise, and Kai like cake; Grace, Ingrid, and Wenona don't; and Damon, Jean, Ulysses, and Eva are neutral. It's an extra good system if it gives us insight into Damon as well!

The second is surely P:EG's equivalent of the Monomono Machine, with Damon receiving a zen garden from the funky hourglass contraption. The interesting part to me is that the currency is named Marabucks instead of Tozubucks. Yay for inclusivity? Also, I think it's fun that the percentage reads "1,13%" instead of the standard American "1.13%". (And P:EG seems to be, on the whole, an American-coded game, given that the majority of the characters speak in American-accented English and the cast's live appearance was in Texas.) Gives you a little behind the scenes peek at who was coding this section of the game :)

The last thing... uh, what? It seems to be a Pong-like minigame, probably used to earn bonus Marabucks. You bounce the "orbs" through the "pachinko" to... I guess score points against Mara and Tozu? And, probably if you do well enough, you get varying levels of money. Perhaps I spoke too soon, and the Marabuck is simply the lesser Tozubuck.

Up next comes some dramatic zoom-ins through those spiffy remodeled locations. I appreciate them jazzing up the "outdoor" area specifically; the lack of polygons in the doorway arch always bugged me. Even if they kept those similarly unbeveled shapes in the archways to the side... (/lh)

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

WE GOT SCENES FROM THE CLASS TRIAL?!?!?!

To clear the elephant in the room, as everyone has been reporting, Toshiko is the only student who can't be seen in the Class Trial at all. Does that mean she's dead? Uh, probably not. As part of a mystery-writing team, I would have to imagine that whoever crafted this trailer would be smart enough to know that their mystery-loving fans would comb through whatever they're given for answers (hi 👋). And, if there's one to be found, they'd find it. Therefore, I'm more inclined to believe that Toshiko's absence is an intentional red herring. Then again, this is very possibly the P:EG team's first time writing a fangan, so if they didn't think about things like that, it would be understandable.

So, who is dying if everyone else is present? To me, there's a big gulf between how easy it would be to fake someone's participation in the Class Trial. Subbing out a death portrait for a regular sprite is easy, recording a fake line of dialogue is a bit more effort, and creating original artwork is really not worth the effort. Thus, we can divide the characters into tiers.

ORIGINAL ART (basically guaranteed safe) Damon, Wenona VOICE ACTING (very likely to be safe) Diana, Grace, Wolfgang, Jean, Eva SPRITE VISIBLE (possibly most endangered) Mark, Desmond, Kai, Ingrid, Ulysses, Eloise, Cassidy, Jett TOTALLY ABSENT (reverse psychology safety???) Toshiko

Damon's unique minigame sprite and Wenona's Rebuttal Showdown art appearing over his face should also squash the rumors that Damon will be replaced before the first Class Trial at least, lol.

Within those tiers, I also want to highlight two outliers: Wolfgang and Eva. Because, of course it's those two.

Although Wolfgang is in the voice acting tier, in reality, I'd say he should be moved upward into the "basically guaranteed safe" tier. This is because his line is shown in Nonstop Debate format as opposed to the regular dialogue format. Although his lines don't have the animated word art thing going on, I still imagine that it would be easier to create a fake line in the regular dialogue boxes than in the minigame. Also, notice that I said lineS. Wolfgang also has two lines, and unless the team is really yanking our chains, I can't see why they would create two fake lines when one would surely suffice.

Meanwhile, while Eva is in the voice acting tier, she's bordering on the "possibly most endangered" tier. It may just be my "Eva could die first" bias speaking, but her line is a whole lot shorter and less specific than Diana's, Grace's, or Jean's. In fact, if you remove the comma, "obviously the case" could easily be one of her stock dialogue lines that plays over unvoiced portions of the Daily Life. If the team were to create a fake piece of dialogue for the Class Trial, sneakily repurposing a line that already exists for other purposes would be the most efficient way to do so.

Expanding on that, what is "obviously, the case" supposed to mean here? I'll once again draw attention to that comma. Grammatically, it's not that some truth is "obviously the case," but that the case is the thing that's obvious. In what context is Eva saying that, though?

Jett: Uhhh, sorry, what are we supposed to be focusing on again...? Eva: Obviously, the case.

Or, could a physical case, like a briefcase, be relevant to the murder?

Grace: But what could the killer have used to fucking store a disguise?! Eva: Obviously, the case.

The only thing I'm remembering offhand that could be a physical case is the medical kit, but obviously there are plenty of locations and props for this Chapter we haven't seen yet. At any rate, Eva's dialogue raised a flag for me. So, I'll be scrutinizing any cases we may see or any pre-Trial words Eva speaks when the Chapter comes out.

Also, Diana and Grace might be a bit safer than Jean and Eva because what Grace is saying seems to be a response to Diana. They both mention peace, and Desmond is striking the same pose in both of their shots. I doubt that the P:EG team would either record Diana expressing the same sentiment that someone else actually expresses, or come up with a fictitious response from Grace that doesn't actually exist. If you want to get really nitty-gritty about it, consider that tier as ranking Wolfgang as the most safe, then Grace, Diana, Jean, and then Eva :)

Under the dual assumptions that Toshiko is a red herring while Eva's dialogue is genuine (such that both of them are safe), though, who's the most likely victim from our "sprite visible" tier?

Well, the only victim option left from my Chapter 1 Killer/Victim theory is Kai. Fan-favorite first victim choice Cassidy is also on the table. Otherwise, I could see Ulysses, given that (if he's not the mastermind) he gives BIG victim energy with his notetaking becoming a central aspect of solving his Trial. I'd expect they'd save a gimmick like that for a later Trial, where it could better be used to shake up the status quo, but I could see it as a good intro case too. I could also see someone taking Desmond out if they were afraid of his weapon-wielding capabilities, although that's... kinda backwards thinking. Desmond's capability to kill is scary if you're trying to kill him, but it doesn't offer much in the Class Trial.

Still kinda convinced it's gonna be Eva, but I'm aware enough to recognize that's probably just the stubbornness of wanting to believe that my old theory was true.

Speaking of old theories coming true, can we rewind for a moment?

Jean: ...but, I'd rather be suspected than be the reason this trial comes to a standstill.

Hey. WHAT.

For anyone who hasn't read/forgot about the Chapter 1 victim/killer theory I just linked, in that post, I argued my case for why Jean would be our unexpected Chapter 1 killer. Needless to say, when I saw this, I screamed.

What does this MEAN?!?! Full disclosure, I was pretty convinced that the Jean!killer theory would either be, like, 100% on the money, or laughably incorrect to the level of accidentally misinterpreting Jean's entire personality or there not even being a hint of suspicion thrown on his name throughout the entire case. To see Jean acknowledging others' suspicion of him in the TRAILER has me reeling.

Assuming that this line isn't fake (which also guarantees that Jean isn't the first victim), this means that there will be a point in the Trial at which Jean will be suspected as the blackened. The line itself could easily be something that a sympathetic and honest spotless would say, or something that a blackened could say pretending to be just that, so we don't get any hints there. What reason would Jean have to be suspected if he isn't the killer? Why and how would anyone choose to frame him? But also, would the P:EG team really want to have their players go into the first Trial already primed to believe that Jean could be the blackened based on the trailer? I feel like this line was included as a cruel (/lh) trick on me specifically, but my theory wasn't nearly infamous enough to warrant that kind of attention.

It's absolutely going to be eyes on Jean for me when the first Chapter comes out. I'm so curious to see the context surrounding this quote. Did I actually call it early? Or will the "evidence" that I stacked up actually prove to make Jean a believable bait, but not the real blackened? (wouldn't be the first time :P /j)

Moving on, there's a very dramatic scene of Tozu looking over the Trial grounds, while Damon looks back. I double checked, and everyone is visible (in silhouette form) in this shot, which makes sense as it was likely created solely for this spoiler-free promotional material. In my mind, the only clues we can pick up here are that Damon is further cementing himself as the true protagonist of this story. He also blocks out Wolfgang as he looks at Tozu...? Could have symbolic significance, but could also just be a result of the pair being opposite each other in the Class Trial seating.

After that is another fast-paced montage. The first screen is the same shot of the Pharmacy table. I don't know why they put repeat info in here, but as far as I can tell, all of the props and textures and whatnot are the same. If my assessment that the murder would utilize the Dining Hall vent is wrong, I wonder if this could be a hint that Pharmacy A especially will have significant meaning-- possibly, as the site of the first BDA. That being said, they also repeat the same image of the photocopier ivy room as the third image in this montage. So, if that's the case, it means both locations will have to be highly relevant.

I feel like this image out of context looks really NSFW. I promise, that was not my intention...

Anyways, this is from the Prologue BDA.

It's Cara's doll legs, as is made extra apparent by that same cylindrical thing in the back. I'm not sure if this was put here because the Prologue case will continue to be really relevant to Chapter 1, or just because they wanted a BDA-looking thing for the Trailer yet didn't want to put in a spoiler one. Based on the different size/shape of Cara's thighs (now I feel NSFW /j), there is a slight possibility that what's shown in the Chapter 1 trailer is (an image of) the real Cara's body as opposed to the doll. However, we know that some sprites and backgrounds have been redone during the hiatus, and that could extend to Cara's art as well.

This knife is also from the Prologue BDA.

You think you're so clever, P:EG team, don't you...? (/lh)

Can you believe the students are going to investigate area alpha in Chapter 1? Or maybe this is Damon telling me I'm wrong about that, haha.

Hey, they rigged a 3D Tozu model! It's looking good. I'm sure they're glad that Tozu's mask meant that they don't have to make a whole mouth rig for the guy, lol. My guess is that this model will be used for Tozu's "punishment time" animation, the equivalent of Monokuma hitting his button with the mallet.

The last thing of note in this trailer (other than the release date) is the Chapter's splash art! The full version was posted to Twitter, which I'll be showing for clarity's sake.

“Strange that one minor event, one small action, can alter the path of everything.”

... You gotta start dodging these allegations better, Cassidy.

Chapter promo art predictions are always a tricky game when it comes to predicting who will die. On the creator's end, I'm sure you don't want to draw additional attention to your first deaths by spotlighting them in the artwork. But, if you want to highlight some of the most important characters of the chapter, that'll often include the victim and/or killer if the Daily Life is well-crafted. Plus, especially for early deaths like these, if you don't put them in the chapter art early, you'll never have to chance.

But, forget all that. Who's actually shown in the poster? Obviously, Damon, Jett, and Cassidy are, but I believe that Wenona's jacket and hair are shown to the left of Damon? If you squint, you can also make out what might be Ingrid's arm on his right. That would be consistent with where he's seated in the Class Trial. Yeah, and then that weird blob behind Wenona is actually Jean and Eva!

See what I mean? Well, if we have 7 characters on the poster, maybe it's not so suspicious for any of them after all :D

And, really, it's 8 characters. I imagine others have made this connection already (even if I haven't personally seen it), but... that's a chameleon wrapping its way around Damon. AKA, Diana's animal motif. That means that Diana is more or less on this poster as well!

As the literal framing device of the Class Trial, the chameleon makes this poster reek of Diana being the Chapter 1 killer. However, even that feels too obvious, at least to my highly-scrutinous eyes. Then again, if this was just supposed to communicate that Diana will be important, why not just put her on the poster...? I really don't know what to make of it.

And... yeah, December 20th! I'm super excited!!! While we're certainly not in a drought of in new and exciting fangans nowadays (read Danganronpa: One Shot here!), productions of this scale-- especially playable ones-- are few and far between, so I really hope that this first Chapter lives up to the hype. I'm pretty sure I'll have more to say about this fangan in a few weeks, so I'll see y'all then for Project: Eden's Garden's true beginning!

...

(Honestly, after all this time in the DRDT fandom, it's just crazy to me that we're going to learn about the victim and killer at basically the same time... (/lh))

[hwanchaesong]

Ephemeral (Second Chances) Preview

pairing: Jungwon X F!Reader

synopsis: You sat and listened to the silence, the time ticked and you watched him walk down the aisle full of strangers. What scared you though, was the fact that everyone was blurry except for his dimples that you used to kiss.

word count: tba

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, warnings tba

a/n: this is a teaser for the upcoming Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels series that i've been working on. i hope y'all look forward to it. please don't hesitate to tell me if you wanted to be added to the taglist. tysm 🩷

"Red roses are good. Also, please add some white lillies and pink carnations into the roster, she'll love it." you rambled to the florist, but she merely gave you an understanding nod and proceeded to work with your request.

A yawn was heard from the corner of the shop and you suppressed the urge to punch the suspect of the offending sound, you chose the peaceful option of ignoring the person, continuing to mind your own business not until someone broke the silence that you've been enjoying.

"What's taking so long?" he asked, boredom lacing his tone, and that's when you whipped around to give him a warning look.

"Jungwon, picking the perfect flowers takes some time. If you want to go home, then go. No one's stopping you." you sassily replied, gracing him a tight lipped smile on the process.

It irked you even more when he rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath that you're sure is a snide remark towards you.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead and pondering of some ways to de-stress later. Surely, planning a proposal with your ex-boyfriend is something that you, a sane person, wouldn't do during your free time but here you are.

What was your brother even thinking, sending you with this jerk (which is conveniently his best friend), to help and prepare for the upcoming surprise for his girlfriend. Of course you'd love to do whatever you can for your dear sibling, but this is ruthless.. and plain torture.

Just before you go deeper within your thoughts, a handsome man holding a bouquet of your chosen flowers emerged from the back room. He beamed at you, his eyes crinkling adorably and his dimples poked through his cheeks.

"Hello there!" he greeted you with joy, polite but bright and it made you naturally smile as well. Like they say, happiness is a virus that can easily infect anyone.

"Yes, hello uhm.." you trailed off, looking at his name tag, "Soobin?"

"That's me." he giggled and dear lord, were you about to burst at his charming facade, "I'm the floral designer here and I wanna ask if you're okay with this presentation?" he raised an eyebrow, showing you the beautifully arranged bunch of flowers, wrapped in an abaca and tied with a pink ribbon.

"Oh, it's gorgeous! You're great at this." you exclaimed, making the tall man blush, getting shy at your compliment.

"Ah, not really. The flowers are doing most of the work here, which I'm guessing are your favorites?" he scratched the back of his head, gazing at you with a soft smile.

Jungwon on the other hand frowned, like, what the fuck is this exchange of flirting he's seeing?

Not. Fucking. Tolerable.

He stood up from where he was seated, slamming his hand on the counter, effectively startling the two people who were conversing which gave him immense satisfaction.

"That's good enough. We'll take that." he feigned a charming smile, allowing the dent on his cheeks to show as well.

That Soobin guy can go to hell, his height and deep voice (that were a stark contrast to his own traits) do not matter, he's not the only one with dimples here.

You were shocked, surprised, disturbed, all adjectives out there are not enough to describe the bombshell that Jungwon dropped, but you weren't gonna stand there and let him be rude. Right as you were about to tell him off and apologize to Soobin, he managed to leave an impact again.

This time, it's fatal for your poor, weak heart.

"And those aren't her favorites. It's a combination of lilac, purple peonies and white tulips, actually."

You craned your neck to look at him, realizing the small proximity you two are in. He's mere inches away from you. Too close that you're able to see his sharp side profile and inhale the scent that you've tried to desperately forget during the sleepless nights where all you've wanted was to be held by him.

You have forgotten about Soobin by now, the vow that you took, the walls that you've built, everything. The only thing that you care about as of the moment is that Jungwon remembers.

Jungwon still knows the flowers that you wanted for your own wedding.

taglist

@lilyuwon @ramenoil

[x-nine-x-epic]

Rest, My Beloved

A/n: Hello everyone~ Thx u so much for the support on my last oneshot between these two, it means so much to me that ppl actually enjoy what I write abt with two characters I absolutely love to see together! I hope you guys enjoy this little scene of mine as well and enjoy whatever I post next!

Fandom: My AU, Epic the Musical

Preview: Odysseus is working himself to death before Poseidon comes in and forces his lover to relax.

(Fluff, wholesome and cuteness ahead)

GIF by gaiagalatea

“Gods… I thought this land dispute between Georgios and Dimitrios was settled two months ago!?” Odysseus groaned, examining a scroll sprawled out in front of him. The king of Ithaca was in his office late one night, going over recent complaints by the loyal subjects under his rule. After just finishing a meeting with the neighboring kingdoms and diplomats a few hours prior, Odysseus was understandably exhausted from the long week of kingly duties he had endured.

Poseidon had gone off with the other gods for a meeting, which involved discussing Achlys’s possible next move regarding other deities around the world. Leaving his mortal lover all by himself for a while. At first, Odysseus was sort of excited. With Poseidon getting strangely clingy and overly protective more than usual, Odysseus was glad he was receiving a break from it all. Though once the lonely nights in bed felt empty and cold because the god wasn’t there to cuddle or when the god’s normal check-ins with temple kisses and compliments weren’t constantly there caught up to him, Odysseus began to dread the separation a lot more than he thought he would.

Not to mention the fact that Odysseus had developed eye bags from the restless nights he spent reviewing scrolls and receiving intel from the guards about possible attacks. Once the news of a jealous rival having plans of assassination inflicted on to target Odysseus was discovered, the fear of being alone and it happening at night helped make the king’s uneasiness about sleeping without Poseidon by his side even worse.

His son, Telemachus, tried to help in any way he could. Offering to help sign some of the bookfells to give his father a break, go to the temples to help with rituals among the people, even asking if he could take control over the docks that way the king of Ithaca didn’t have to go down and order the men around early in the morning so he could try to rest. Still with all that, Odysseus turned down his son’s helpful gestures, not wanting him to get dragged into the mess that was already there. Still, the prince eventually convinced his father to allow him to join the recent meetings as an extra set of ears to listen and a mouth to provide answers. Giving Odysseus a tiny break in the council.

It helped a smudge, though the king of Ithaca still chose to overwork himself so he had an excuse not to go to bed. Fearing the worst that could happen, even if he just blinked too long, lounging in his chambers.

“Just have to get through these last couple scrolls and then you’re done for the day… You can do this.” Odysseus muttered to himself, yawning halfway through his words as Hypno’s realm tried to consume him. His head dropped forward ever so slightly as the seconds passed, making his vision blurry as his grayish-blue eyes were bloodshot from sleep deprivation, only causing the king to feel drowsy but even more determined to push through his work. However, just as the mortal dipped his kalamos into some ink, a pair of warm and divine arms wrapped around his core.

  A soft purring filled his ears, as the smell of sea salt filled his nostrils. “What are you doing, Ody?” A deep, guttural voice asked.

The king of Ithaca let out a tiny gasp, not expecting the sudden but passionate embrace. “Sidon… I thought your campaign with the Norse gods lasted for two weeks.” Odysseus replied, slowly relaxing in the Sea God’s touch.

“Tyr caught a godly disease, something that affects the Norse gods heavily. Nobody wanted to take the chance for it to spread, so we ended it early to let Tyr rest and hopefully return,” Poseidon answered with a soft tone, his voice still full of power but also calm. “But you still didn’t answer my question, love.”

“They’re just some issues the subjects have and want me to solve,” Odysseus answered.

“And how many of those did you have when I was away?”

“...A few.”

Poseidon let out a humorless laugh, his shark-like tail patting the ground and his gills flared with irritation. “Huh. A few my ass. You’re practically punishing yourself by not giving your body one of the basic mortal needs that require you to live, my dearest.” The Sea God stated, resting his head on Odysseus’s shoulder and eyeing down the scroll. The god’s electric blue eyes were dulled slightly from tiredness, as they darted and began to study his lover’s face. He wasn’t in his massive fifteen-foot form, but more like slightly exceeding the height for a regular Greek civilian to have. Most likely around six feet four inches. Still, his haunting and good-looking godly features the king of Ithaca fell for, were present in this form as well.

Odysseus flinched slightly as Poseidon’s hand came up his body and cupped the left side of his face, before immediately melting into the loving hand movement. “I’m fine,” he uttered out to no one in particular, staring off into the distance like he was lost in thought.

“You’re exhausted is what you are.” Poseidon huffed, quickly picking his mortal up into his arms to carry him away.

“Hey! What-! Poseidon! I still have work to do.” Odysseus grunted and squirmed, trying to break free of the god’s hold.

The Sea God only shook his head, quickly growing into his massive godly form to ensure Odysseus couldn’t escape his clutches. “I’m sure your son will take care of it, as well as your servants and best mates. For now, though,” Poseidon paused to press a kiss to Odysseus’s lips. “We’re heading back to our bed. For what we’ve done these past days, we deserve it.”

The king of Ithaca sighed, knowing he had no choice but to allow his boyfriend to carry him away to get some proper self-care. “Fine… only because I’ve missed your cuddles.”

“Whatever you say, Ody.” Poseidon laughed, carrying Odysseus down the royal halls without a care in the world for who might’ve seen them.

Odysseus kept his face buried in the god’s chest, breathing in his unique scent of ocean breeze and faint hints of freshly grown Beach Peas. His tense and weary muscles began to soothe and loosen, his mind clear of any fears and dreads after what felt like forever.

Poseidon did the same, sniffing his mate’s hair and purring softly once the familiar smell of home welcomed him. He kicked open their bedroom door, stepping inside at a steady pace before closing said door with his tail. The god’s movements were slow and calculated, making sure he didn’t hurt the fragile yet perfect life in his grasp.

As they crawled to bed, the two curled into each other. Happily remembering the way they held one another in their sleep, pressing their foreheads together before letting their eyelids close and softly whispering to each other not to disturb their journey into slumber.

Poseidon kissed Odysseus’s lips one last time before murmuring. “Rest, my beloved. I’ll help you with your duties tomorrow morning.”

His mortal nodded, kissing back and letting a small smile appear on his lips, finally letting his body get the much-needed rest it craved. Whispering something incoherent back but around the lines like: “Goodnight, Sidon. Love you.”

The Sea God chuckled happily, starting to join his lover in sleep with his own unintelligible words of endearment back to him. That night, the two of them fell asleep with matching and bright smiles on their faces, knowing that they had each other in the world who would make sure they were safe and healthy no matter what.

-Thx u for reading, I hope y’all have a wonderful day and I’ll keep writing! :3-

-Sry if the pacing is rushed or some stuff might be off, made this super late at night and I’m kinda sleep deprived like my man Ody is lol-

[simpcityy]

My Little Spawn "Preview" (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Here is a little preview of the works, I hope you like it and please like, reblog, let others know. Thank you.

Everything was dark and blurry in his eyes. All he remembers was stalking in the shadows looking for his next prey and suddenly he was kidnapped. He felt mixed emotions, fear but importantly joy, he was finally away from Cazador. It would be like he suddenly disappeared in thin air and Cazador will need him no more. Until he was stuck with another burden, You. “Would you keep quiet, dammit!?” He whispered rather loudly. You stopped shifting around the tall grass and peaked out of it. “I’m sorry” You whispered before going back to hiding. He looked over seeing two people walking by, “Perfect” He mutters and gets ready to put on his performance.  

  After almost getting incinerated, you and Astarion have found a group and camp for the remainder of the period till the little wiggly worm is out of your mind but of course, you wouldn’t comprehend, for you were so young. 

“Who’s the little adorable bugger?” Gale smiles letting you try to read the books he has found so far. “For the record this annoying little sp-human is not mine, they just seem to be attached to me.” Astarion watches you trying to pronounce the big words only to butcher them. “But it’s getting rather late and I hate to deal with a cranky annoying child tomorrow.” He picked you up keeping his arms outstretched and walked to his tent. Once everyone was out of earshot, he squats at your height. “Listen here, you must not tell anyone what we are understood?” His red eyes look down at your innocent (E/C) ones. “But why not?” You sat on top of the pillow looking up at Astarion seeing him take a deep breath in. Of course, Astarion knows he has to make it simple. “Because we are playing a game” He grins “ We are all hiding our identity. You and I are a team and the rest are a team. Whoever is the first one to discover their real identity, is the sore loser.” He gives a smile sitting down next to you. You pouted, your cheeks puffed up “We will win, okay! I won’t tell.” You lean back before yawning “ If they ask what do I say?” You cute little doe eyes look at him tiredly. “Hmm…we are just normal elves got it?” He looks away in deep thought, “it’s for the best for now” He mutters before leaning back “ You know for a being the youngest Spawn he created…you still need rest like a human, you are such an odd little spawn” He gently plays with the ends of your hair “ Why did he even turn you?” He whispers as you slowly slip into sleep. “What use does he even have for you?” He kept asking himself all the questions ever since you were part of the “Family” 

You were the youngest spawn Cazador has ever gotten. You were only 5 soon turning 6. Astarion was first shocked to see Cazador holding you in his arms when he came back from bringing a pretty prey for his master. He never dared question, he kept all his unanswered questions to himself. Astarion felt anger towards you both. Why was Cazador more tender with you, not treating you like he does to his other spawns. Why did you get the special treatment? He was mostly angry towards Cazador as always, why did he turn you, you didn’t even reach your half way milestone of your life. You were going to stay that age and size forever.  He has been treated like shit for 200 years but you, you would never experience the things a child should be, the things teenerages and young adults go through. Once again Cazador has robbed you of your life just how Astarion was robbed of his.

[elibean]

ep 12 predictions

-unused op from the behind the scenes video that features cxs bleeding out makes an appearence

-shiguang hug (this isn't a prediction. this is a base need)

-lg lore drop (both a prediction and a need)

-lg crying! (i don't think this will honestly happen but hey why not)

-they bring back the s1 ed (cmon this would be so frickin cool. give some huge wham line about lg being from the future or something while the s1 ed plays aaa)

-balloons? from the behind the scenes video there was that blurry shot of the welcome home balloons. i have a feeling they scrapped the idea entirely, but i'll put it here just in case; they really do end up using that background, either as it seems (so, a real welcome home party for LG) OR it gets used in an angsty way (this was what it was SUPPOSED to be like...)

-death scare from lg or cxs (figure i should cover my bases...). ok so from the preview we KNOW cxs is getting shot. this seems like a safe bet...

-we know cxs gets shot. i'm gonna be REALLY hopeful and hope we get a tropey "cradling the love of your life in your arms while he bleeds out" trope with lg. i don't think they'll give this to us; given the scream in the preview and the way everything is going to shit atm, i don't think they'll have time to grieve like this. but by god do i want it

-i'm not gonna try to guess the contents of the inevitable terrible awful no good cliffhanger they'll leave us with, but i do think it's gonna be something related to lg.

-however, it is very likely it's connected to hat guy, since hey, he NEEDS to show up this episode. maybe best of both worlds; cliffhanger is connected to lg and hat guy?

-s3 is immediately confirmed following the airing; we know that we have a s3 but no date, so that would be nice

-official movie announcement (unlikely, they were just talking about how they've entered preliminary talks)

-can we learn what the hell was up with lg's "flashback" of cxs dying in ep 1? please? for me? i'll be good i swear

[djeterg19]

I want to be excited about the sex after reconciliation thing but for all we know they're gonna cut or shorten the scenes leading up to it and we won't get the full weight of their feelings or relationship. my dream would be that top confronts mew and tells him he's done, mew has a heart to heart with his moms who help him see reason, he calls top over (please let him initiate it) and then they finally talk it all out. and then after that there better not be anymore surprises or cheap drama but I don't have much faith right now since they basically told us topmew are considered an afterthought and all bc they catered to the dumb ass fans. I really really hope they prove me wrong but idk anymore.

I mean if they are listening to fan feedback...I doubt they will cut scenes this week. There was quite a bit of backlash at the preview scene being cut that Jojo tried several times to get people to calm down and responding with the blurry pic and telling people asking to wait and soon when asking when Mew would smile again or when a good TopMew episode would be. And I usually have a rule to not bug a creator like that but if that's what it takes for them to understand that we want TopMew and ForceBook scenes kept...and I just saw that GMMTV is basing things more off of engagement than how well a show does so it looks like who screams the loudest will win is the new world order. But honestly who knows...it's disappointing and frustrating to know that we aren't getting the story they envisioned due to fans not understanding the characters.

Going back and rewatching the preview definitely made me more confident that Top will draw a line in the sand with Mew. His tone is a lot harsher than it's been since the breakup. If not...well we'll see if they make it work. For me, they've dragged it out long enough and if TopMew reconciles next episode there better not be another breakup since they already did that essentially with Boeing. And yes I need them to TALK to each other. Ideally Mew has a heart to heart with his moms and he decides to truly give Top another chance and they actually hash things out. And then I only want fluffy happy times in episode 12. We've suffered enough. This is me right now:

[juneberrie]

you always have been

thinking thoughts. *ೃ༄ this is very self indulgent im not sorry <3 btw the formatting is terrible 😭 also this is 1.5k words im so proud of myself its literally the longest fic i've ever written

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

fandom: outerbanks

warnings: swearing, mentions of being drunk, reader kind of pushes jj away, insecure!reader, stressed out!reader, mentions of jj's trash dad, fear of abandonment, sort of a smau? science hw (yes thats a warning science hw sucks), love confession, hurt/comfort <3

jj's instagram is a mess. it alternates between pictures of random objects, pictures of himself, and pictures of our friends.

lately, all of his pictures have been pictures of him and the pogues at keggers and on the boat. without me.

the most recent one is a blurry shot of him and kie at the boneyard. his hair is dripping wet and kie is holding up a red solo cup, beer sloshing over the side. the caption reads, "my brst girl 😋 ilysn kier.carrera" its so misspelled its obvious hes drunk, even without looking at the picture.

—————

↳ comments

-> jb.wifirouter ong your so drunk. ↳ heywpope its "youre" not "your" 💀 and you're durnk too ↳ sarahcamer0n lmaooo durnk

-> kier.carrera lol ilyt jj 💀 ↳ kier.carrera wsit wring emoji ❤️

—————

i groan and shut my phone off. kie knows i like jj. she's heard me rant about him since eighth grade. its fine, though. i need to focus on school. i get up and silence my phone, putting it into a drawer at my desk before going back to the papers sprawled on my bed.

science isn't my best subject, but i need this extra credit to bring my grade up. and, no pressure at all, this stupid extra credit is due by monday, at its literally sunday night. at least its pretty easy. all i have to do is write an essay about newton's laws and how they function in the "real" world. i sigh and open my textbook to the page on the first law, inertia.

as im scribbling down the beginnings of the paragraph about f=ma, my pencil breaks. well, how fucking dandy. i get up and head to my desk to grab a sharpener, and i pass the mirror next to my door.

i cringe away, then force myself to look back. the girl staring back at me is... not kie. not sarah. she's wearing a big oversized t-shirt she stole from jj and some shorts. her nail polish is chipped and her hair is practically crying for escape from the worn scrunchie.

i tear my gaze away and grab the sharpener. the clock on my desk reads 11:11 pm. i remember something kie said about making wishes at 11:11, so i think, why not give it a try? i squeeze my eyes shut and hope my wish gets to whatever magical star angel being is listening.

after i finish my essay, its 12:23 am. i grab my phone from the drawer and see a flurry of texts and instagram notifications assaulting my lock screen.

i ignore the texts — six from kie and eight from jj — and click open instagram.

my homepage is filled with pictures of the pogues at the kegger they're at. i can't help the pettiness that surges up inside me and i click on jj's most recent story, a video of him, kie, pope, john b, and sarah screaming the lyrics to bohemian rhapsody around a campfire.

—————

you replied to their story

yourinstagram looks like you're having fun :)

—————

i feel slightly terrible, but whatever. every single kegger they've been to this past week, i haven't been invited.

a text notification comes down onto my screen. it's from kie. the preview reads "im soo sorru"

what the hell? i immediately click on the text and i almost start crying.

—————

kie kie ml ♡

bro so dnt be mad but like i accidentally told jj that u liked him

im sorry

answer me please idont want yu to be mad

i dd;t mean to i swaer

y/n?? are you mad??

y/n pleeaas answre

im soo sorru

bro wtf.

ik im sorry but we were playing truuth or dsre and plpe asked if i had acrush on anybody and i sadi no i didn't but ik you did and the n jj asked who and im sorry :)

:(*** SORRY

whatever. go enjoy your kegger.

—————

what the everloving fuck. i specifically told her not to tell anyone, especially jj, and she goes and tells everyone and their mother. i've gotten a flurry of texts from pope, john b, sarah, and other pogues i suppose are at the kegger, all asking me if it's true i like jj. and, speak of the devil, jj himself has been texting me nonstop for the past thirty minutes.

—————

golden retriever lookin' mf 😋

haha kie jus told me the funnist shut

wait is she for real

wait n/n yuo like me

like fr fr?

brp answer me pls

y/nnnnnn

are you asleepo r somethinh 💀

y/n if you dpn't answer rn rn im going ovet to yiur house

—————

shit. jj can't come over right now. i look like a mess, and now im fucking crying. my gaze drifts back over to the mirror; my eyes are red and puffy and tears are streaming down my face and dripping down onto my (jj's) shirt.

—————

golden retriever lookin' mf 😋

jj please dont come over just stay at the kegger and have fun

nooo y/n im already on my wsy so its fine

—————

shit shit shit.

i throw my phone across the room and scream into my bedsheets. the pogues already didn't like me anymore; they had been going out and having fun without for weeks now, and now kie tells jj i like him? my life is fucking falling apart.

a knock at my window wakes me up from whatever sad haze i was trapped in for the last twenty minutes. jj's peering in and he smiles when he meets my gaze. i shake my head and turn away from him.

no bother letting him in, he'll probably just tell me that he doesn't like me back and to never talk to him again.

another knock, persistent, sounds from the window. i sigh and turn back.

i open the window but leave the screen up, so jj can hear me but he can't get in. "go away, j."

"nooo. wait, why are you cryiinggg?" he asks, the booze slurring his words.

"nothing. no reason. go away, please, jj," i say, my voice cracking.

his face softens and he seems to sober up a bit. "n/n, please tell me what's wrong. i hate seeing you sad," he whispers. fuck. i can't, i can't with the fucking blue eyes and the soft looks and the whispers. i open the rest of the window, and jj climbs in.

i crawl under the covers of my bed and face away from jj. i feel the bed dip next to me and he lays a warm hand on my back. its so casual, so domestic, that i want to laugh.

"sunshine, what's wrong? is this about what kie said?" he asks, gently rubbing my back.

the dam breaks. tears start flowing out of my eyes and i started shaking.

"it is about what kie said. i like you, jj, i really like you. no, i- i love you! i love you so much. i've loved you since i first saw you in mrs. williams' science class in eight grade and you laughed when she said that iron was discovered by the hittites. and i know you'll never love me back because— well— look at me! im not like kie, im not like sarah. i'm just... me! and i've been trying to pretend like you guys going to keggers everyday without me isn't a big deal because, hey, i'm swamped with school, even though its fucking intercession. and i knew if i told you, you'd hate me and you'd never talk to me again," i sob into my pillow.

jj is silent for a few seconds, still rubbing my back.

"i love you too, sunshine. i've loved you for the entirety of the time i've known you. and, you're right. you're not kie or sarah, but you're you. that's what i love about you. you are unapologetically yourself. and i'm sorry for not inviting you to the keggers. i just, i knew you were swamped and i know you don't really like parties 'nd drinking and shit. and i just want you to know that im so proud of you, honey, and— jesus, y/n. you're the only one for me. you always have been. you're the person who's been there whenever luke did something shitty to me, you've helped me with my homework, and gosh, dare i say it, you've helped me be a better person."

he chuckles. i feel him press a kiss to the back of my neck and gently bring me towards him so i'm basically in his lap. he wraps his arms around me and lays his head in the crook of my neck. we stay together in a comfortable silence for a few moments.

i sniffle. "i'm sorry, j."

"you're not the one who should be apologizing, sunshine. i love you, so much. i'm sorry if i made you feel like i'd never talk to you again or like you weren't enough; you are enough. you always have been."

[herodiart]

Hi! Can you try to make something spicy with Freyr? Is there a model of Freyr yet? Idk. But I would like to see Freyr.

If you can't... Maybe something spicy with Heimdall? It will be fun right? (I tried 3D modelling it's the worst I know you're in pain but stay with me General! STAY WITH US! I KNOW THE PAIN IT HURTS A LOT!)

My respects ❤️🥺✨

Hi, unfortunately no one ported Freyr, if he was avaible it would be all I do 😂. Thank you. ❤️ My 3D modelling was horrible at the start, (you can still see some of that on my blog, lol), and it took some time to get used to it, so don't give up. But also DAZ 3D came easy to me, after teaching myself Source Filmmaker. I would recommend trying DAZ first… it also looks better rendered.

Speaking of being the worst, this particular render did not go as planned and Heimdall kept turning out ugly. So I embraced it. I hope ugly is a kind of spice. He has that rat vibe to him.

(I hope this is not as blurry on the final post as on the preview, because the og pic doesn't look like that. If yes, please click on it.)

Also please consider giving more specific requests, the "spicy" ones always get me overthinking 😂. "Spicy? Alone? With someone? How much skin should show-" I can throw in Kratos, Thor, Freya, Sif, Odin, Thrúd, Magni (or Modi if someone actually asks for that) or some random male/female body for more... spice.😂❤️

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: So, this is NOT the Angel fic I previewed the other day. That one (and the EZ fic) is STILL COMING, I PROMISE! This just jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave. And I wrote it with a speed I am heretofore unfamiliar with (heretofore? Did I use that right?) I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit. So, apologies in advance for that. 

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile). 

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. Also, the reader here speaks a bit of Spanish. I’m half Mexican, so I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.)

Word Count: 15.3K (HAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK all for a TWO AND A HALF MINUTE SONG, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????) of ANGST! (SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO ANGSTY) lyrical nonsense and the remnants of sticky, cotton-candy sadness … fluff that makes you feel empty. 

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, oral (male receiving), fingering and other nastiness -- so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry.)

Summary: You and Angel may as well be strangers now. But why? After all, you loved him once. And he loved you, right? Based on the song “Loved you Once” by Clara Mae. Listen here. 

--

We don't need to be best friends, we don't need to hang again. But tell me why we have to be strangers because I loved you once?

What were you doing here? You haven’t been back to the clubhouse in months. Not since -- well, you know. You hadn’t talked to him since then, either. But that wasn’t your own doing. 

No, Angel had erected a veritable wall of silence, and you respected him enough not to breach it. 

That was what relationships were all about, anyway, right? Mutual respect of the other’s needs? So when Angel had told you in no uncertain terms that your relationship was over, you were … upset. Understandably. You wanted to sit with him, talk about where this sudden insistence that you depart his life had come from, but he was resolute. With the absolute air of authority that comes with either a great deal of thought, or borne of virtually sudden external influence, with nothing in between. He clearly didn’t want to sit and talk about it. 

And so you didn’t. 

Ever mindful of his wellbeing, and when he was and was not receptive to communication. 

"It ain't working," he had said. You had settled for merely imagining the faraway look in his large, oilslick eyes, since he was much more interested in staring at his boots and the grooves in his floor, his forearms laid over spread thighs, unmoving and resolute from his spot at the end of the bed. Refusing to meet your eyes. 

From your seat next to him, you made to brush the arm closest to you with your fingers. When you touched, he gave no indication that you were even there. That he even felt you. Which you knew was bullshit. He always felt you. 

"Angel, what --" you hated the way your voice cracked as you tried to ask him what the hell was going on. You hated how you had sounded so small and quavering to your own ears. That wasn't who you were. You were clear, outspoken. It was always one of the things Angel said he loved about you. Loved.

You didn't know this, of course, but Angel hated it, too. How you’d sounded in that moment. Hated that his words had taken the fire out of yours, your voice unfamiliar in its timidity. 

"It ain't working," he repeated. "I can see it. Not my fault you can't." 

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

Not that you would expect an apology, or anything as cliché as a "let's be friends," from a steadfast man like Angel. Predictable in his volatility. 

You should have pushed back. Demanded an answer. You hated that you didn’t, the shock and sudden sadness morphing you into a silent, crystalline girl you didn’t recognize. Your eyes welled with tears, turning your head away from where Angel sat -- at least you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Even if you knew he knew the tears had spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks were of his own doing. 

You had arrived back at his place a day after your tense "conversation" to discover that your items you had come to reclaim were tossed into a box and left outside of the door. 

You had knocked once, in the hope that if Angel was home, he’d at least come to the door to shout through it, or, heaven forbid, would open it so you could look him in the eyes just once more while he shattered you. Your knock was met with silence, though you could have sworn you felt Angel on the other side of the door. 

In the months since then, you had cried (obviously), you had questioned (it was sudden, it wasn't just you; your friends were surprised, too), but most importantly, you had persevered. 

You had taken a bunch of new clients and inked some pieces you were incredibly proud of. You had gone out with your friends a few times, always with a wary eye on the door of the local dive, ya know… you never knew who would walk in.

Santo Padre is a small town, after all. And the cracks in your soul were nowhere close to healed. No molten gold to spill in and repair the fissures of your heart, rendering metamorphosis of something broken to something flawed, but beautiful. You sat, alone, still just… flawed. You had never felt less beautiful. Even after all this time. 

And your friend Aneesa, ever the supporter, would stop at nothing if it meant hyping you up enough to leave your cave of blankets, sheet masks, and comfort movies. Your only rule? All nights out with Aneesa were strictly girls’ nights. She was gracious and understanding of this rule, of course. She and Gilly had been together a touch longer than you and Angel. 

And if Angel had ever asked Gilly to ask Aneesa about you? Well… you never heard about it.

Not that Angel would do any of that. Shit like that was so middle-school. 

So, here you were. Back at the clubhouse after months of self-imposed exile for the sake of self-preservation. 

Coco had texted you -- the first you’d directly heard from anyone within Angel’s circle, inviting you to a patch party for some nameless, faceless newbie. The invitation had a string attached to it, of course -- the tattoo artist’s chair in the corner of the clubhouse needed a resident for any partygoers jonesing for new ink. Certainly, the new patch would need something decidedly “Mayan” to show off his new status. 

You had hesitantly agreed -- Aneesa would be in attendance of course, and offered herself as a human-sized buffer to separate you from people you were otherwise hoping to avoid. 

--

Now, perched near the tattoo chair, you busied yourself with setting out your portfolio of completed pieces, sketches and most-requested designs. You wiped down the chair a few more times than strictly necessary, but you wanted to be ready for anyone who might plop themselves down for a new piece of art. 

The main room of the clubhouse was sweltering -- a familiar blend of desert heat, cigarette smoke, citronella, and the smell of citrusy, foamy beer. The dim lighting and thundering bass giving everything a slightly blurry edge in your party-periphery. You glanced across the room at where Aneesa and Gilly sat together on a corner couch, thighs pressed together. Aneesa tossed her head back in a full-bodied laugh at something Gilly had whispered into her ear, swatting his arm -- Gilly’s reciprocal smile demonstrating his pleasure at having garnered such a reaction from his girl. 

A wave of cheers and noise accompanied the thwack of the clubhouse door swinging open -- more Mayans pouring in, jostling one another's shoulders, slapping each other on the arms, and good-naturedly cajoling. 

There was Coco, mid-pull of the cigarette between his lips, quicksilver eyes flashing around the room, taking stock of who was where. EZ followed, million-watt smile on full display as he gently guided a pretty girl with long, inky hair through the bottleneck at the entryway. 

If EZ was ambling his way in, then, surely, not far behind ...

With an arm around a tall, broad guy you hadn’t seen before, was Angel. Midway through a joke with the guy you assumed was the new patch, you took the opportunity to study the man you had once considered the moonlit orbit of your entire world. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, but he looked good… His arms still replete with thick, corded muscle. His hair was a tad longer on top than you remembered, slicked back and belied with cleanly-cropped sides. His smile as warm and blinding as the cruel light at the end of your better dreams, only for you to awake each day alone. 

As you continued your silent study, you were surprised to see -- still adorning his left arm … the tattoo you had given him on the day you had first met. You had thought he would have blacked it out by now … a cover-up on top of a cover-up. 

But there it was --- the soft, leafy greens creeping down his forearm on sharp vines, abutted with bursting blooms -- small, ornate gladiolus buds and a sprig of purpling rosemary. Such a flowery piece on the arm of someone like Angel might have been laughable. But if anyone dared, he would simply stare, stone-faced, with burning eyes and a set jaw, ready to ask just what they thought was so fucking funny. 

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

You had moved to Santo Padre from Oakland. Hardly an axis-tilting move, but significant enough to you. 

Your friend Oliver had offered you a seat at his tattoo shop. And you? You were positively itching to get out of the city. A few too many bad nights with a few people you could no longer in good conscience consider friends. 

So, here you sat, resident of one of two chairs in this corner parlour off the so-called “main” drag in sweltering, dusty Santo Padre. 

Your books were pretty clear … Not that you attributed much logic to the ebb and flow in any conceivable pattern of the tide that was tattoo shop patrons, but January seemed an agonizingly slow month. You filled the idle time with keeping the shop neat, disinfecting and re-disinfecting every surface, and organizing Oliver’s books. 

And if you weren’t dreaming up new sketches and designs for the more adventurous prospective client, you were jotting idle lines of lyrical poetry in the margins of your sketchbook. 

If the month dragged on like this, you were sure you could publish an entire book of moody, mid-winter prose that would make Charles Bukowski want to drown himself in stiff Cabernet. 

The dinging of the bell above the parlour door yanked you from your doodling stupor. You looked up to see who had come in, your gaze met with a towering, golden-skinned man donned in a leather vest, his boots squeaking on the shop’s linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk. He leaned over it and rapped his silver-ringed hand against the top with the ease and comfort of someone who had been in many times before. If the ink trailing his arms was any indication, he may as well be a regular, though you hadn’t seen him in before. There was no way you could forget that jawline, and those shoulders. 

“Yo,” he called in greeting, eyes flashing to where you stood, walking to meet him at the counter. You swore you saw his gaze dart over your form, giving you the old up-down. An easy smile graced his full lips as he made himself comfortable leaning against the counter.  

“Oliver here?” 

You shook your head, the action serving to answer his question and --hopefully-- clear your head of the foggy spell this man was casting over you with his presence alone.

“Nah, sorry. He’s guest-chairing at his buddy’s shop in L.A. Did you have an appointment?” 

“I look like the kind of guy with a datebook?” He chuckled at his own joke. “No appointment, corazón.” 

“Walk-in? Always a risky strategy,” you lilted. 

“What can I say? I’m a risk-taker,” he replied with the practiced ease of breezy flirtation. 

You smiled softly, grabbing Oliver’s calendar from the desk, flipping to the following week. “He’ll be back in next week, if you want to wait?” 

“That’s no good for me, babe, I’ll be out of town.”

“Ah.” You huffed a bit through your nose “Bike rally?” You asked, gesturing at his worn leather kutte, cringing internally a little at the teasing edge your voice had taken on. Were you always this bad of a flirt? 

The man looked at you shrewdly for a beat -- seemingly trying to discern just how much fun you were making of him before taking mercy on you and peeling back the slight layer of awkwardness the conversation had taken.  He scrubbed the back of his neck before confirming,

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he rumbled a chuckle. “Why? You wanna go?” He raised a full brow at you in a mild challenge. 

Your eyes widened at his seemingly-serious invitation. You took in the quirk of his lips, causing the slightest crinkle at the corner of his warm eyes -- the look of a man borne of good humor and who smiled often. It was endearing, and if you were honest, made you melt a little. Even if you now realized he was teasing you. 

“Sorry, guapo,” you cracked a smile of your own, gesturing at the empty shop. “As you can see, I’m a very busy girl. Highest of demand.” 

“Claro,” he replied. “So, I better get in while the getting’s good, huh? Your chair open now?” 

“Uhm,” you chewed your lower lip, now slightly nervous at the prospect of spending more time with this man. “¿Quieres esperar para Olí? I won’t be offended. You haven’t even seen any of my pieces.” 

A beat of silence passed between you both, the man seemingly weighing his options. 

"I mean," You broke the silence and leaned forward, lightly tapping a fingernail against his bicep. “What if my art style doesn’t suit the king of the bikers?” 

"Something tells me you'll suit me just fine." His smirk was full-bore now. He didn't miss a beat, did he?

You were silent, probably for a few moments too long. Was he actually flirting with you? You blinked. He probably flirts with everyone ... get over yourself, you internally chided.

"Angel," the man said, recovering the moment and holding out a large, ringed hand for you to shake. You gave him your name, shaking his hand firmly. 

You nodded your head over your shoulder, toward your chair. 

"Well, come on back, Angel, you can tell me about what we're doing today."

Angel followed you back to your station, and you could swear you felt his dark eyes on your form as you walked, the thought that this man was looking at you with any kind of discerning attention made your cheeks warm a little. He folded his long body into the chair you gestured toward, and you took the rolling seat next to him. He proffered his left arm to you, tracing down a spot on his forearm.

"Just wanna cover this up," he paused, letting you observe the offending ink. "It's about time." 

"'Clara Forever,' huh?" You took in the faded, loopy lettering down his forearm. "Who's Clara?" Your tone was gently teasing by nature, but he seemed to clam up a bit at the question, regarding your sharp tongue with sharper eyes.

"Well, it wasn't forever," he finally bit out, shoulders now a little more tense than before.

"Aw, cariño," you sighed in good-natured taunting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the number one rule of tattoo? 'Forever' is a certain jinx. And a name is almost never a good idea… unless it's your dog's."

You made a sweeping hand gesture over the rest of his person, your eyes noticeably cataloguing the ink adorning most of the real estate on his arms and what little you could see of the top of his chest. 

"How did anyone let you get this far without telling you the rules?"

He relaxed at the humor in your soft voice, comfortable now that he had confirmation that you were teasing him rather than seriously ridiculing. His posture relaxed once more, he waggled his eyebrows at you, also teasing,

"Le sorprendería saber que nunca fui uno para seguir las reglas?” He asked. Would it surprise you to learn that I was never one for rules? 

"¿Tú?" Your eyes widened in mock surprise. “Para nada.” Not at all.  

"Hey," he swatted your arm gently. "Cuidaté, niña. Insulting your customers? I can see why your chair is empty." He chuckled at his own little jab as you busied yourself gathering your supplies.

You turned and reached for him, holding his arm in one hand and running your now-gloved thumb over "Clara Forever." 

"So?" You queried, "What are we doing with this? How do you want to cover it?" 

Angel shrugged, the leather adorning his shoulders creaking ever-so-slightly with the movement. 

"Figured I would just black it out. I've been putting it off long enough. To hell with her anyway, yaknow?"

"Hmm…" you considered his proposal. "I could do that, if that's what you really want. Easy enough. But…" you trailed.

He shifted in the chair, arching an eyebrow at you.

"But?" He pressed.

Now it was your turn to shrug. You released his arm from your grip and gestured to the booklet containing photos of your most prized work. 

"Why waste the opportunity to give yourself something you really want?" You handed him the book. "Besides… from the looks of things, you have limited real estate left on this arm. May as well fill it with something… more you?” You made to hand him the scrapbook. “You can see what else I've done. See if anything sparks an idea." 

Angel regarded you for a moment. Leaning forward in the chair and slightly more into your space, eyes never leaving yours. He took the edge of the book, deliberately brushing his fingers over yours as he did so, making you hold your breath a little. If Angel noticed, he had the decency not to say anything. 

“Why not?”

You exhaled softly as he leaned away again, flipping his way through your book. 

As he scrutinized the photographic renderings of your pieces, you took the chance to really take him in. His strong jaw and full lips were objectively pleasant, abutted by deliberately-shaped facial hair. He had a prominent brow, something that would surely give away his feelings, even if he decided not to verbalize them. There was no hiding a frown or a smile on that face.  You fiddled with your fingers as he flipped through the pages. 

“This is some seriously top-notch shit, querida,” he voiced his approval, followed by a warm smile. He flipped his way through your minimalist renderings, floral pieces, lines of script, and one particularly involved piece with a burgundy phoenix and lifelike flames...

“Yeah?” You couldn’t hide the pleasure in your voice that he might think of you in a positive light. “Which one do you like?” 

He flipped the book to you, gesturing at a geometric planetary canvas piece you had etched down a prior client’s thigh. 

“Did you think of that one?” 

“The client had their ideas, I just execute, I guess… That was a fun one.” You shrugged, glancing at your shoes scuffing at the linoleum, suddenly feeling very shy under his scrutiny.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he leaned forward once more, his fingers gently brushing along your chin to bring your eyeline to his. “Don’t downplay your talent. You’re a badass. Own that shit.” He gave you a soft wink, releasing your chin from his grip.

Um, wow.

Was it always this hot in the back of the shop? Or were you just spontaneously combusting? Did that seriously just happen?

All you could do was nod. 

“Aight,” he crossed his legs at the ankles, making himself comfortable in the chair. “I’ve decided.” 

“Yeah?” You breathed, “What’ll it be?” 

As if he was doing nothing more complicated than ordering fries, Angel pointed at your book. “Dealer’s choice.” 

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t believe he was just going to trust you to cover up his ex’s name etched into his arm. “¡Oye! Did you hear nothing I said earlier about walk-ins being risky? Nothing about the rules?”

Angel scoffed. “About as well as you heard that I don’t give a shit about rules, babe,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You like rules, huh?” 

Oh. The rumbling tone his voice had taken on with his last question did not go unnoticed by you. If there was any heat to spare in this shithole desert-town, it was now one hundred percent flooding through your body. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had that effect on you… (although, let’s be real, he probably, definitely, already knew).

“Fine, Angelito,” the mocking tone had returned to your voice. “But unlike Clara, this one’s gonna be forever. If I find out you cover up my art, I’m gonna blacklist you at every shop in Southern California.” You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Can you live with that?”

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the moniker. “Vince?” 

“Yeah,” he seemed so assured in his own cleverness. “Like Van Gogh?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Van Gogh!?” You feigned offense, hand-over-heart, lashes batting. “Not even Frida? Come oooon, Angelito.” 

He chuckled. Shifting in the chair and offering his arm to you so you could get him ready. 

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

“Everyone’s a critic,” you sigh, shifting your focus and taking stock of the space on Angel’s arm and what you had learned of him so far.

Someone who was seemingly confident and breezy, whose rough exterior belied something softer that was just out of reach. Someone who clearly cherished things and people he adored, if the tribute you were now covering was anything to go by. And, by the same token, more than a little impulsive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, apparently literally. 

You gathered your inks and began to work, your playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the silence. 

It’s not like you had any reason to know it, but Angel considered you as you were working, admiring your focus and the intensity with which you afforded your art. Was he a little nervous about the fact that you were free-handing a design for him off the top of your head? Maybe... But what was life without a little risk? And he certainly wouldn’t mind a little risk with you. You were, it was obvious to him, very pretty. It was more than a little off-putting how easily you traded quips with him, seemingly unaffected by his presence and everything that came with it. If it wasn’t for the little hitches in your breath when he gently flirted with you, he wouldn’t have anything to go off of in terms of your interest. Something that was both respectable and maddening to him. 

He reached his other arm over to the side-table, grabbing your sketchbook and idly flipping through the etchings. 

Not only was the book filled with little designs, splashes of watercolor mixing with pen and charcoal, but he noticed the cramped words in the margins, perusing at his leisure and ignoring the itching buzz of the needle on the skin of his other arm.

“So, not only a Vince, but a Frost,” he broke the silence. 

You paused your work, wiping your brow with the back of your hand and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

He tapped his finger along the lines of prose in your book. “A poet,” he said. 

“Ah,” you said. “Uhm, more like a bad poet,” you chuckled, embarrassed. You made to begin again, when Angel gently gripped the wrist of your free hand. 

“The fuck did I just say?” He lightly tugged, forcing you to look into his maddeningly honey-dark eyes. “Don’t brush off your shit. Would Frida do that?” 

You regarded his eyes for a moment longer, darting your gaze to his pouty lips, resolutely set in their mission of imparting some of his confidence onto you. 

“Point taken, Angel,” you pulled your hand from his grip, which he released, trailing his fingertips over your hand as he did so. “I’m the greatest poet who ever lived, you’ve convinced me. Fuck William Shakespeare.” 

“Yeah,” Angel boisterously agreed, pleased to be bolstering you but surprising you with the little barking shout, “Fuck that dude!” 

You chuckled, shaking your head and silently returning to your work, the silence filled once more with the pleasant buzzing as you drew away. 

When you were finished, you released Angel’s arm, allowing him to inspect the clean lines of the greenery that you had drawn out of his former-love tribute. What were once loopy, cursive letters were now vines creeping steadily along his forearm, soft, yellow and red gladiolus buds emerging from where Clara’s name had once sat, neatly finished with the clean lines of the purpling sprig of rosemary along the edge of the piece. 

Angel was speechless, leaving you to marinate in your nerves. 

“It’s …” he started, “... flowery,” he supplied, lamely. 

“No shit it’s flowers,” you shot back, feeling a little defensive now, but wanting to make a quick recovery. “And they’re for you, Angel.” 

He seemed puzzled. 

“Gotta say, Vince, this is the first time a chick’s gotten me flowers,” he chuckled, “Guess they won’t die?” 

“They won’t,” you assured. “They really are for you, you know? Look at you, the rest of your ink. What it covered. You’re clearly a man formed by your experiences. It only seemed right, si? Gladiolus? They’re for remembrance. Rosemary? Symbolizes thoughtfulness and memory.” 

You continued as you began wipe the piece clean before wrapping it in new saran-wrap, “Your memories and choices make you who you are, sure. But you never know… something good could bloom from them, through the cracks."

His silence at the end of your little soliloquy was deafening. He hated it, you were sure of it. Fuck. Why did you have to get so fucking clever with him? You should’ve just done some black ink in something tribal, something masculine. What the fuck was wrong with you??

You dared to sneak a glance at his face, only to find that he was already staring at you, lips softly upturned in the hinting bloom of a smile, tarpit eyes twinkling with a good-natured mirth he would come to reserve just for you. 

“Fuck Shakespeare. That was damn beautiful, Frida.” 

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

You stripped off your gloves, and made to turn your way to the counter, gathering the aftercare sheet and balm for Angel to take with him. 

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

“Oh! Can I take a picture?” You held up your phone, shaking it lightly. “For the ‘gram?” 

“Sure thing,” Angel dutifully held his arm under the lamp you had used to work, letting the fresh ink and colors pop against the golden dunn of his skin. 

You took a few photos, deciding to scroll through your camera roll later on and post your favorite. You made quick work of wrapping his arm in a sheet of clean plastic wrap before relinquishing your hold on his arm, turning to walk back to the counter. 

“Uhm,” you trailed … the telltale squeak of Angel’s boots on the linoleum indicating he was following you back to the front of the shop. You assembled everything into a bag for Angel to take with him, grabbing one of your cards from the front card-holder, and quickly jotting your number on the back next to your where the instagram handle for your art page was neatly printed, hoping he didn’t notice your sneaky little move. 

Angel resumed his comfortable lean against the counter, turning and tilting his forearm, scrutinizing your work. 

“It’s gonna be a clean one-fifty, Angel.”

He looked slightly surprised at the figure, a light frown dusting his features. 

“You sure about that? For the size, and the color, and time and everything? It’s been, like, hours.”

You shrugged. 

“We’ll call it the friends-and-family rate.” 

He gave you a long look, very clearly looking you up and down now, a prolonged edition of the greeting he had graced you with when he had entered your shop mere hours before. 

“And is that what we are now, querida? Friends?” 

How was it even possible for his voice to reach such a low register when he said these things to you?

While your insides flip-flopped at the flirtation, you hoped your face was the impassive mask you were trying to school it into. You subtly brushed your slightly-sweating palms against the frayed hem of your shorts before bringing an elbow up to the counter, resting your chin in your palm, lightly batting your lashes at him before responding...

“Sure,” you replied. There! Easy, breezy, cool-as-you-please. How does it feel, Angel?

“One day with you and friends already?” He rapped his ringed hand gently against the counter. “Can’t wait to see where we’re at tomorrow.” 

He swiped the bag off of the counter, tossing a few crisp bills onto the countertop and a wink over his shoulder before exiting the shop. 

You counted the bills on the counter, watching as Angel left the building.

Holy shit.

Three hundred bucks. He had tipped you 100 percent of what you charged him.

Cheeky.

Maybe Santo Padre wasn’t so bad, after all… 

---

Now, staring at him from across the room made you feel like you were drowning in the sickly-sweet cotton candy of sugared dreams, now lost to time. The saccharine balm melted to acrid wax, leaving you with only the tinge of bitterness. 

You were jostled out of your reverie by the sudden appearance of EZ’s blocky frame, ambling toward you with the same girl from before on his arm. 

He greeted you with a slow wave and a soft smile. 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, clearly unsure of how much friendlier and closer he should approach you. 

You took mercy on Angel’s sweet, (big) little brother, opening your arms slightly for a hug. EZ took to the gesture like an over-excited golden retriever, scooping you up and spinning you once, before putting you back where he found you, slightly dizzier than you were before. 

He offered your name to the girl by his side, who looked pleasantly amused at the spectacle before her, her amusement melting to recognition at the name EZ had imparted to her. 

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

You tried not to let that realization sour your encounter, easing a practiced smile onto your features and offering your hand to the girl to shake. 

“Oh!” EZ chuckled. “This is Gaby -- er, Gabriela.” 

“Encantada,” you eased, gently shaking her hand before having a realization of your own. “Gaby, as in Leti’s friend?” 

She nodded, a warm smile illuminating her already sunshiney features. You could see why EZ obviously liked her. She had the practiced social grace of a debutante, but the friendly aura of someone you had known for your entire life. 

“I hope you’re keeping Ezekiel out of trouble,” you teased gently. 

“Only as well as I can,” she replied. EZ rubbed the back of his neck as you two gossiped about him like he wasn’t standing right there. 

“Listen, hermanita,” EZ began, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottle clutched in his hand as the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, “About Angel --” 

That was a hard no. 

“Coco!” You called as you spotted the lithe man prowling through the crowd after obtaining a drink from the bar, effectively shutting EZ up. 

Coco sidled over, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nodding in greeting to EZ and Gaby. 

“Wassup, chiquita? Over here with all the cool kids?” 

“You know damn well I was never cool enough for the cool kids,” you knocked your shoulder into Coco’s good-naturedly. 

“Dunno about that, pequeña,” Coco took a drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled. “I’ve got some pretty cool body armour thanks to you.” 

“All in a day's work,” you mock-saluted. You were doing great. Keep it light, keep it friendly. You may be able to make it out of this unscathed, after all. 

Gaby and EZ were speaking softly to one another just to your side, as you and Coco continued your conversation. 

“So, who’s the new guy?” You asked, nodding over to where Angel and the still-unnamed newbie were tossing back shots. You tried to ignore that each one had girls placed on each of their laps. Well, mostly you were trying to ignore one girl placed on one lap; tried to ignore as ringed fingers trailed up and down her thigh hypnotically as he howled in laughter at something the new guy had said. 

The longer you stared at the way he was touching her, the more You thought you could feel it on your own skin. And you knew all too well how that touch felt. Memories, make you, right? 

You blinked harshly, turning your face back to Coco’s, only to find his hawkish eyes trained on you as he continued to smoke. Now you were certain he had seen everything you had, and more. And you cursed yourself for slipping. Because nothing slipped past Coco. 

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

“Andres. He’s aight. You may not remember him from before, when he was just a prospect.” 

“Guess not,” you agreed, shrugging amiably, suddenly very interested in toying with the hem of your flowy little summertime skirt. 

“Mierda,” you heard Coco hiss, glancing up to see none other than the new guy -- Andres -- walk over, his arm around the waist of the girl from his lap, accompanied by none other than Angel Reyes, furnished with his own lap-turned-arm candy. She was giggling in his ear, popping her gum and bumping her hips against Angel’s as she walked by his side. 

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

The easy smile you’d had when conversing with Coco now felt positively screwed into place, settling unnaturally, a stranger's face made up of your own features. 

Andres smirked at you in greeting, eyes trailing over you -- the most unwelcome iteration of that gesture in this context to-date. 

“I hear you’re the girl to see about some ink.” 

You bit back the snarky response that rose to your tongue. You see anyone else here, tonto?

“Sure am,” you replied, cool as you pleeeeaseeee. Maybe a little too cool. The ice in your voice was obvious to everyone except the strangers before you. 

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

“Great,” the new meat brushed the girl off from his side, plopping unceremoniously into your chair. “You did that right?” He pointed behind you to where Angel was standing, gesturing at his arm and your miniscule mural of memorial greenery. 

“Cierto.” You nodded, sparing Angel’s arm the barest of glances.

“Aight, well, none of that girly shit, alright, sweetheart? Angel may have had the good grace not to say anything, but flowers ain’t really my style, yeah?” 

What the fuck.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Coco visibly tense next to you, obviously displeased at the uncalled-for critique of your work. Of a piece he himself had often admired. He would never admit it, but he thought the story behind it was even better. It’s like you had walked out of some shitty romcom Leti watched with her tittering friends and into Angel’s dreams, sinking yourself beneath Angel's skin like a dream he would recount to all of his friends. Coco knew the most about you by nature of Angel's second-hand stories when you were together. Although Coco thought, once he had met you, Angel's stories didn't do you justice. How wonderful and talented you were. How warm and welcoming.

Angel watched the exchange silently, clearly none too keen to defend the piece you had designed for him. That had come to mean so much to you. 

That stung.

You winced, almost imperceptibly. But you were certain Coco saw it, not much escaping his sniper’s eyes. EZ, with his owlish perception and photographic memory, certainly would have seen it, too. If Angel saw it, it’s not like he was going to say anything now. 

Where the fuck was Aneesa? Wasn’t she supposed to be heading this kind of shit off? You glanced over at the couches in the corner where your friend had previously been sitting with GIlly, and was now nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ typical. 

“Aight, no más flores." No more flowers. “What were you thinking, then?” 

That was you, ever the professional. 

Andres showed you his phone, a rendering of an old-style beastly cat, like a panther from an old folktale, pulled up in his image search. 

“Something for a warrior,” he puffed his chest slightly. “I was thinking here,” he shrugged out of one side of his new kutte, tugging the button-up to expose one side of his chest. 

“You got it.” 

You set to work, cleaning the area to be inked and getting your tools ready. The rest of the group drifted as the project progressed, clearly not feeling the need to stand there for the entire duration of a tattoo. 

You were acutely aware that Angel hadn’t stepped as far away as the others, circumventing the periphery of yours and Andres’ space, not close, but not far. And he still had yet to even look in your direction. Or acknowledge your existence. 

You tried your best to ignore the icy shard of Angel’s indifference that was currently wedging its way between your ribs and lodging itself firmly once more into your heart. At this point, you guessed it would never heal. 

“Sooooo,” Andres lolled his head to the side of his chair to face you, slinging back the beer from the bottle dangling in his free hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You were around a little bit when I was prospecting.” 

You opted not to respond, aware that Angel was likely listening, and you would need to choose any words carefully. Andres had no such reservation, clearly uncaring about who might be listening. He pressed on, each word more infuriating than the last. 

“You were Angel’s little sidepiece for a while, right?”   

You tried to keep your despairing sigh to a quiet little nothing. 

“Sure.” You offered lamely. “Sorry, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really work better when I’m not talking.” 

“S’alright, jaina. I can talk enough for the both of us.” 

You hmm’d nonchalantly at that, lip imperceptibly curling over your teeth in distaste at the moniker. You chose instead to focus on the piece. You wouldn’t give a shitty tattoo, even if this guy was a douchebag. And the pleasant buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe you were etching the lines a little sharper than strictly necessary. If he noticed, Andres gave no indication, continuing on with his diatribe: 

“So, what happened? I mean, Angel knocked that other chick up? Ouch, right?” 

You were now seeing red, the edges of your vision blurring slightly with angry, pinpricking tears. Thank fuck you were just about done with this. 

“But that’s the life right? I mean, we’re not exactly known for being steady with just one chick. You know how it goes ...” He eyed you up and down again, lingering a little too long on your legs before finishing his thought with a smirk “... Clearly.” 

You hated his use of “we,” like he was in any way, shape, or form worthy to be in the class of man EZ, Coco, Bishop, or, hell, even Angel, was. None of them would talk to you like this. No matter what Angel had done. 

You shut off the gun, pushing back from the space with Andres, spinning in your chair, and grabbing the clean wipes for Andres’ fresh ink. As you dabbed the area and made to bandage it, the oblivious biker grabbed your wrist. None of the teasing fun or gentleness in the same gesture that Angel had imparted when you had first met. No, Andres’ grip hurt. It was all bruising possession and entitlement. 

“I think we would have fun, you and I.” He leaned forward and far too into your space, the stale stink of warm beer heavy on his breath. 

You wrenched your grip from his, standing quickly and offering him a tight smile, cheeks flaming with your anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak so trivially of your relationship with Angel. How dare he think you were so easily won with his kutte and shitty attitude. 

“Uhm,” you tugged your fingers agitatedly through the ends of your hair, chewing your lip. “You’re all set, Andres. Aftercare sheet is on the table next to you. It’s on the house. Happy patch party!” Your voice sounded so shrill and fake in your own head, but you just didn’t have it in you to care at the moment. 

With that, you quickly whirled on your heel, in a distressed flurry past the Angel-shaped blur who had been watching the entire encounter, and out of the clubhouse door into the cooler late-night air. 

Getting heavy to breathe in this room together. It’s so awkward, we can’t seem to do it better. Can’t we just fake a smile and put our shit to the side? 

---

Angel had waited a whopping 18 hours to text you after your clandestine tattooed meet-cute. 

You were in the middle of exchanging consultation e-mails with a prospective client when your phone had buzzed. 

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

“Vince? No Vince here. This is Frida’s phone.”

You watched as the little bubbles appeared in the corner, disappeared for a second, and then reappeared. You were grateful for the little manifestation of Angel’s hesitance. It made him seem more human. And it made you appreciative that he was clearly trying to choose his words with you, when words had seemed to come so easily to him when you had met. 

“My bad. Oh, beautiful, talented Frida.” 

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your features now. Grateful it was still you and only you in the shop so that no one could see your “obviously-texting-a-cute-guy” face. 

“It’s nice to hear from you, Angel. Good thing you didn’t throw away the card.” 

“That card was clearly a gift, querida. Much like the pretty flowers on my arm.” He snapped you a picture of his tattoo, the healing process underway. 

“Looks great!” You sent, cringing at your lack of ability to effectively flirt via text. It was something that your friends had teased you relentlessly about back in the Town -- your notorious lack of game. No! New home, new you! Be cute. Be cute. 

“So, if I’ve given you all the gifts, what do I get?” You sent with a “thinking” emoji. 

Angel at least had the decency to wait a minute or two before replying, either thinking about his response or keeping you in suspense… you weren’t sure. But you were grateful for the little opportunity to catch your breath. How did he make you so speechless when he wasn’t even in the room with you? Some things just weren’t fair. 

“Niña, I paid you for this ink. What more could you possibly want from me?” 

Tricky Angel. Zorro. Like a little fox, he had effectively maneuvered the conversation back to you -- the ball was in your court. Would you tell him what you wanted?

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

“You texted me, boy. Are you sure it isn’t you who wants something?”

If only your friends could see you now. That was damn smooth. 

“Boy?” 

You snorted to yourself. Trust a guy like Angel to get hung up on something small like that. The bubbles reappeared. 

“I was thinking about this pretty girl I met the other day. Hell of an artist. But a shit poet. Thought I would see if she was free sometime?” 

Angel was merciful. You could kiss him. Had he seriously just taken all the weight out of this conversation? Your heart felt a million pounds lighter in your chest, knowing he was asking you. The wave of relief that he wanted to see you again crashed through you, replaced in the tide with the backdraft of a feeling of mischievousness. You wouldn’t let him off so easily.

So you waited before responding. Let him sweat a little, right?

Only… you weren’t sure Angel was sweating as much as you were, fingers itching with the desire to text him back and accept immediately. 

When what had felt like an eternity (but in reality had only been about seven minutes) had passed, you picked up your phone, opening the conversation with Angel. 

“She’s free next Thursday … After your bike week, el rey de los bandoleros.” 

You put your phone back down on the counter, grinning like an idiot, feeling like you had just swallowed a bunch of bubbles. You entertained the notion that if your combat boots weren’t keeping your feet weighted to the floor, you would have floated away. 

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

Time passes slowly the more you want it to go quickly. And whenever you have a deadline you’re dreading, it gallops ahead. Time really is that bitch, and she does not give a fuck about your feelings. 

The following Thursday felt like it took a year to arrive. But it found you closing up the shop, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and pop rocks, adorned in your favorite pair of jeans and boots, a clean, flattering tank top that showed off your own ink. You hoped it was fine for whatever Angel had in mind. 

Honestly, he hadn’t said anything about your date. A few flirtatious texts here and there? Obviously. You sent him photos of the pieces you had done for new clients. He sent you ridiculous selfies and a couple of group pics of him and his friends at the biker event. One guy who kept popping up in the photos, Angel had told you, was his “little” brother. But there was nothing “little” about that dude. 

You loved seeing all of Angel’s goofy, smiling faces. Treasuring the photos in your small moments of quiet downtime. 

The rumbling of a bike engine greeted your ears, like the seductive purr of a large cat. You glanced up, a full Cheshire grin alighting your features at the sight of Angel’s gorgeous, deep forest green bike, and the man of the hour looking very at home on the seat. 

He rolled to a stop in front of you, unclipping his helmet and dismounting with his winning trademark smirk, ambling over to greet you. 

“Frida,” he scooped you into a hug, his tall frame causing you to lift, your toes now barely brushing the ground as he brought you to his height. He pressed a soft kiss to your check, setting you down gently and letting you get your bearings, chuckling pleasantly at the obvious, dizzying effect his greeting had had on you.

“Angelito,” you returned. “Back in one piece?”

“Hail to the king, baby,” he countered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, scuffing the toe of your boot into the gravel of the lot. “So, where are you taking me, o benevolent one?”

“Just gonna hafta find out.” He handed his helmet to you, helping you clip and tighten it beneath your chin. “Ever ridden before?”

“Uhm, well, sure” you replied too assuredly, quickly realizing your slip. “I mean, no. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that. But not on one of these.” Fuck. Could you be more embarrassing? 

Angel released a full-bellied laugh at your response, his head tossing back a little. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about alla that later, cielo.” You put your head in your palm willing the embarrassment to go away. Angel quickly pried your hands away, cupping your cheeks with his own warm hands, long fingers brushing your cheekbones reverently. “In the meantime, just hang on, okay?” 

You nodded, still cursing your idiot-brain that had partnered with the dirtiest corners of your mind to take over your mouth. Shut the fuck up, dumb-dumb. 

You clung to Angel as he drove, your hands roaming his firm torso probably a little too-familiarly. You enjoyed the way the wind whipped around you, tugging at yours and Angel’s clothes as you made your way up the canyon overlooking the desert that was Santo Padre. 

Angel parked his bike on the ridge overlooking the town, the sun beginning its descent in the desert sky in swirling hues of pastels and cotton candy pink-purple-blue overtaking the orange hue. 

You had never been up here before, and you told Angel as much. He looked pleased at that, pleased that he was the one to show you the best view of the Santo Padre sunset. 

Angel busied himself unpacking the bags on the side of his bike while you enjoyed the scenery. Pulling out a couple of wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water, he handed yours to you, coming to stand next to you on the ridge. 

"Thanks," you acknowledged, looking at the offerings. "What, no beer?"

Angel chuckled a little at that.

"I ain't tryna liquor you up, niña. Besides, you want warm beer that's been rattling around on my bike all afternoon?"

You crinkled your nose a little at that. "No," you decided. "Never mind. Besides, I'm more of a whiskey girl."

Angel glanced at you, sipping on his own water idly.

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks it's impressive when a girl drinks whiskey because it's such a 'man thing.' "

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

"Nunca. Just took you for more of a… dunno? Maybe a rum kinda girl?"

"Don't think so. For now, though? Water and sandwiches do me just fine. Whiskey can come later." You took a bite of the now-unwrapped sandwich. "This is good," you confirmed around a slightly-full mouth. "Did you make this?"

"Of course. Pop owns the butcher shop down the street from your parlour. Sliced the meat myself, an' all," he said, a little proudly now that he knew you approved of his sandwich-making skills.

"Bueno," you giggled. "Thank you for this, Angel. Really. This is one of the nicest nights I've had since moving here." You shuffled a little closer to where he was standing, looking in his eyes as you thanked him.

"Bah," he waved away your compliments, "it ain't alla that. This can't be the most exciting thing you've done since getting here."

"Maybe it is," you pressed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm too boring for the king of the bikers?"

"I doubt that very seriously, querida," he turned his body so he was facing you now, sandwich long gone, fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. "You play your cards right, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. Then things'll get really exciting."

You blinked. One date and he already was thinking about introducing you to his friends? Your inner shy romantic (okay, not so "inner," right? You're pretty clear about who you are) was doing little somersaults in your chest. 

You must've been silent a beat too long because Angel was quick to supplement, "Only if you want."

"I'd like that," you confirmed, nodding and smiling gently. 

"So, are you gonna tell me what brings an East Bay girl here?" 

You raised a brow. You didn't remember telling him where you moved from. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck nervously, realizing you'd caught his slip. 

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

You finished your sandwich, thinking about how much you wanted to tell him.

"Just time for a change of scenery. Olí is an old friend, and he offered me a job. I think he wants to travel more." You shrugged, "It just felt like it was time. Plus, I dunno… I like it here. Much quieter."

Angel nodded at that, not having the heart to tell you that his club was not at all quiet and was the source of the disruption in the otherwise-quaint town. 

You kept talking, telling him about the friends you'd left behind, your old shop, weekends spent in the park surrounding Lake Merritt, and going to Raiders games. Angel took in your features as you spoke, the golden light of the sunset making you glow like something out of a dream he'd had once. Your eyes sparkled as you talked about things you loved, the books and art that inspired your poetry. How you'd gone to art school. You were something.

"-- Sorry, I'm rambling," you breathed in a rush, flush with the amount of talking you'd been doing in a record amount of time. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Angel realized he'd been staring as long as you'd been talking.

"No, querida. Nothing in your teeth." He gave you a dazzlingly white smile.

"Oh thank God," you returned his smile with a small one of your own, shying a little under his gaze, and wondering how long he had been looking at you like that as you'd talked.

He leaned over you now, his height giving him the definite advantage as he'd -- not unwelcomely-- invaded your space. He brought one hand up to cup your chin, his dark eyes revealing flecks of sparkling gold in the pastel wash of the sunset as his gaze once again met yours.

You saw his quick glance down at your lips, you unconsciously giving a small nod before his warm lips met yours.

Oh.

You had obviously been kissed before, been the recipient of past romantic attention. All of that paled in comparison, melting away as Angel's full lips maneuvered over yours, both of his large, calloused hands gently brushing your cheeks as he cupped your face, sliding one hand down to rest on the side of your neck.

You sighed lightly, one of your own hands twined into his shirt, the other resting on the side of his firm torso. 

Angel took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, your own brushing against his as the kiss deepened.

 You were in no hurry for the kiss to end, enjoying the way everything about Angel was so warm, something that was surprisingly welcome, despite the ever-present desert heat of Santo Padre. You could get used to this. 

You had only known Angel a short time, realistically. Your one meeting spawning a series of flirtatious texts and snaps, and now this date that, while low-key, felt almost too perfect to be real. He made you feel safe, desired.

You could already feel him slipping beneath your skin to rest in a special place in your heart. And while you as a person were generally reticent to share that part of yourself with anyone, you had a feeling Angel could take up permanent residence there. If he wanted. 

You dropped from your tip-toes, effectively breaking the kiss.

Angel blinked, looking down at you and noting the pleasant glow on your skin, lips now slightly swollen from his kiss. He could get used to this.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, trading quips and stories as the sun went down. Angel told you about his club, his brothers. About his pop and Ezekiel, and how at one time, he enjoyed being the bigger brother, teasing, pranking and lording over EZ until EZ had hit his growth spurt and could (and would) definitely hit back. 

As he drove you home, you snuggled a little bit against him, pressing yourself into his back and enjoying the way you swore you could feel his heart pounding through the kutte and over the rumble of the bike and the road.

He'd dropped you off with a parting kiss and the promise of another date.

Another date turned into several. Time you weren't at the shop was now spent with Angel, showing him what you were working on, inviting him over for dinners and to watch mindless television while he told you what he could about his day. 

The both of you were slowly peeling back the layers around your respectively guarded hearts, revealing more of yourselves only to be met with pure acceptance by the other. Even blindados had to take off their armour at some point. 

You cherished your time with Angel, and he quickly found himself stumbling, head over his own biker-booted heels for you.

After a few months had passed, he had brought you to meet the club. You had manifested nothing but general acceptance of his lifestyle and were eager to meet the people Angel had so obviously cared for. Who had helped shape him into the brash but conscientious person he was with you. 

And one sunny afternoon had found you bringing lunch you had made for the entire club over to the scrapyard, Angel agreeing with your plan. You never were one to show up empty-handed. 

As you walked across the yard, past the gate, and into the clubhouse, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the blinding sun outdoors, Angel bounded over to greet you. Taking the bag full of homemade goodies from your arms, he pressed quick kisses to your cheeks, and one to your forehead. 

He turned, met with the pleasantly-surprised stares of his brothers. He announced your name to the room before turning to you, pointing at each man and supplying a name. You nodded, smiling and offering a warm wave to each. 

The man you knew to be EZ from all of Angel's initial texts and photos quickly strode over to you, shaking your hand in his impressively firm grip before bending down to press a quick kiss to your cheek with a,

"Bienvenido, hermanita. Angel's told me a lot about you. Won't shut up, really," giving you a sly wink as Angel swatted EZ's arm in annoyance at his brother's revelation.

Boys.

The smaller man with the sharp eyes and full curls you knew to be Coco made his way over to where you were now seated as Angel went to get you both drinks, the other men digging into your offerings as you made yourself comfortable.

He sat next to you, tossing you a, "You mind?" Lighting his cigarette after you’d shaken your head.

He studied you through his own plumes of smoke before leaning across the table and speaking to you, lowly and with an almost conspiratorial rasp to his voice,

"You did that cover-up for Angel?" He asked on a smooth exhale.

"Mhmm," you nodded. "He gave me free reign. I was nervous he'd hate it."

Coco seemed to chew over your words for a dragging moment. You shifted in your seat. He was definitely sizing you up.

"Bold move, pequeña, giving the secretario of a biker club a sleeve of flowers." 

"I suppose it was," you sighed, more than a little uncertain now. "But it felt meaningful, right, I guess. I just sort of… started drawing. I… think it worked out, though?" You trailed off.

Coco nodded. "It's a fuckin' good piece, mami. Angel told me what you'd said about memories making you who you are." He snorted lightly through his nose. "It's funny. We've never even met before, and you're already sounding like me." 

A small smile played across his lips, returning it with one of your own.

"I'm glad you approve," you nodded. "Angel's opinion obviously matters, and don't tell him I told you this, but it means alot coming from one of his family." 

And that's what they were. His family. You could see it. The obvious camaraderie and care underlying each of their actions with the other. You admired the system of support, cushioned by good humor, despite being flung regularly into harsh reality. It was clear -- they were there for one another.

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

"Maybe you got space for me in your books one-a these days?"

Your small smile was a full-blown, sunny grin now.

"Of course. Anytime you want to drop by, you're more than welcome." 

"Gracias, chica." Coco leaned across the table and patted your shoulder before getting up and taking his leave.

And so it went. The boys would filter through your shop. Olí teasing you about his offense that all of his most lucrative, inked clients were now going to you. 

You enjoyed the time working on pieces for them afforded you -- offering you a glimpse into their inner workings, what they felt was important enough to take up permanent residence along their skin. Making idle chit-chat with you while you worked. And always, always sharing embarrassing little anecdotes about Angel. 

The months passed with you and Angel, finding comfort in your unpredictable, but welcome, respective routines. 

One night in particular found Angel wrapped up in your embrace, the physical embodiment of your gradual and growing trust in one another.

He had arrived home more than a little rattled, his eyes wildly darting to the corners of the room before settling in you, exhaling a shaky breath before striding the length of the room and crushing you to him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. 

You understood he probably couldn't tell you what had happened, but you asked anyway, needing him to know you would hear him.

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

He shook his head softly in the negative, but didn't elaborate. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it," you wound your arms up and around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. "But it's going to be okay. I've got you. I won't let go."

He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from his neck and sliding your arms down, bringing them to rest around his waist. Once he had positioned you where he wanted, he brought his hands to cup your cheeks, eyes heavy and dark with the weight of his stormy thoughts. 

He nodded at what you had said before bringing his lips back to yours. 

You brought one hand up to meet his, where it rested along your cheek. You twined your fingers through, joining your hands while breaking the kiss. You lead him through the apartment, bringing him to the bedroom. You had music softly playing from your speaker in the corner, candles lit to bathe the room in ambient glow and a warm, honey smell, all in anticipation of Angel's eventual arrival home.

You silently gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, where you took your seat next to him. 

You tugged the leather kutte from his shoulders, folding it reverently and placing it on the chair near the bed. He exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging once the leather manifestation of his obligation to a darker world had been removed. The weight of the world a little less on the mantle of his shoulders. 

You turned your attention to his feet next, unlacing and tugging off his boots. Then, his belt. 

Once he was just in his jeans and his t-shirt, you resumed your seat at his side, bringing him back into your embrace and carding your hands through his hair, as his head rested on your shoulder. 

Angel spoke, voice cracking as he broke the seal of silence in the room. 

"It was… it was awful, Frida." He sighed. "I do everything they ask. It's my job … Fuck. Sometimes I wonder how much more my heart can take. But then, I get to come home to you." 

His breath was shuddering now.

And while you didn't always know what to say -- it was a rare sight to see Angel so rattled. But you were a caregiver by nature, ready to give him the pieces of yourself that would make him feel whole.

You guided him down so that he could recline, you came to rest at his side, winding your arms around his torso, your face turned into his neck, cuddling him as he came down from the mania of his emotional high.

The moments passed, Angel's breathing leveling again as you stroked his hair in time to the soft music.

He turned his head to look at you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked at him, your gaze warm and adoring, full of twinkling fairy light and starshine. 

"Te amo, querida," Angel breathed. This was not the first time he had said it to you during your months together. But each time felt as momentous as the first, each declaration of love felt like the slip of something sweet, and you were determined to store it in your heart and mind forever.

"I love you too, Angel. More than anything," you murmured. "I love your smile, your sense of humor, your strength." You pressed kisses to his face and neck with each admission. "Mostly, I love your strength. And that you trust me enough to tell me when you don't always feel it."

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

"I love your mind. How creative you are. How you see everything so beautiful, just like you," he hmm’d. "Mostly I love your trust. And that you choose to give it to me." 

You kissed him again, leaning over him with your entire body, pressing your palms gently into his shoulders. 

As your kiss deepened, you each began to tug at the other. His hands carded through your hair, tugging gently, but firmly. You lifted his shirt from his torso, the kiss breaking so you could peel it away.

You divested one another of each layer, baring yourselves to the other, body and soul. Again, this wasn't the first time you had done this. But this felt momentous nonetheless. 

Angel skimmed his hands over your form, running his hands softly down and over your breasts, loving your soft sigh at his touch. 

You leaned over him once more, reluctantly removing his hands from you, and placing them gently down at his sides. 

"Your heart is mine, mine to protect," You hummed softly, invading his senses and placing kisses down Angel's neck and to his chest, trailing your lips lovingly over Angel's heart, and pressing one last deliberate kiss there. "And I take my job very seriously." 

As you kissed him, you lightly trailed your fingers down his torso, coming to rest at his hip.

Your declaration was met with silence; you glanced up at Angel through your lashes only to find him already looking down through heavy-lidded eyes at you, his now swirling with some unnamed, weighted emotion.

You trailed your hand across his hip, not breaking eye contact as you took his hardening length into your hand. He inhaled sharply at the sensation of your grip, but refused to look away as you began to pump him slowly, still pressing kisses to his hips, torso and thighs. 

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

"Please, what?" You murmured back, your voice taking a throaty register you reserved strictly for private moments with your beloved.

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

"Relájate, baby, I've got you," you assured. Sweeping your hair back, the action washing Angel with the sweeping comfort of your scent as you made your way lower down his body. 

Angel slumped back against the bedspread, glittering galaxy eyes still trained on you as you lavished him with attention. 

You took the opportunity to flatten your tongue, licking a broad stripe up the length of him, one hand braced against his firm thigh, the other holding him gently at the base of his cock as you worked.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of him, delighted at his throaty moans, feeling the effect they had on you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside, feeling the slickness from your own center as your thighs rubbed together. 

Taking Angel wholly into your mouth now, you bobbed over him, relishing in the heavy feel of him in your mouth and the throaty groans you received from Angel in response. 

Before you could spend too long lavishing him with attention, Angel tugged on your hair at the base of your neck. Following his grip, you lifted your head and released him from, watching (a little greedily) as his thick length bobbed against him when you relinquished him from the confines of your mouth. 

He guided you up his body, hand still knotted in your hair, pushing his mouth onto yours, uncaring of the saliva on your lips and chin, and the taste of himself on your tongue. 

You straddled his hips, surging the rest of the way up his body and effectively deepening the kiss. The hand that was once in your hair now made its way to loosely grip at your throat, the other skimming his way down your breasts, across your ribs and toward your center.

As his fingers traced through your folds, you involuntarily rolled your hips into his hand, alight at his touch, and desperately seeking more. 

Angel touching you was like the shock of a live wire. Every time felt just as electric as the last, goosebumps erupting across your flesh as his fingers traced across your skin. 

He chuckled through your fused mouths, drawing back at your reaction and the wetness he found between your legs.

"Eager, amor?" Every word fell that fell from his lips sounded like a dangerous purr.

You nodded, drunk on the way Angel's hand gently squeezed your throat, while the other was teasingly making its way to-and-fro across your wet folds, occasionally making his way up to lightly circle and press his thumb over your clit, making your eyelids flutter. Your hips continued to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, his teasing touch making you more than a little crazy.

"Yeah?" Angel asked, his voice thick and syrupy, the timbre like dark clouds. "That shit turn you on? Sucking my cock?"

His words combined with his touch made another rush of heat flood through you. You were certain you would pass out, that your knees would buckle. And you were doing so well, holding your place up and over his hips while he played with you.

The hand on your throat gripped a little tighter, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

"Nuh-uh, baby," he shook you lightly, all mirth gone from his eyes, no more pleasant, smiling crinkles at the corners. His full lips pressed firmly together. "I asked you a question. You answer that shit"

He pressed two fingers teasingly against your entrance, refusing to insert them, despite the little roll of your hips.

"Y-yeaahh," you sighed, head tossed back, "I-I fucking love it -- love you, Angel."

He rewarded you by sliding a long finger into you, allowing you to ride his hand. The hand still around your throat guiding you forward, over him, allowing him to press hot, open-mouthed kisses, first to your lips, dirty and raw, like an exposed nerve in his unabashed want for you. 

He relinquished his hold on your neck, allowing him to trail his lips and his tongue there, kissing you softly behind your ear, down and around your neck to your collarbones, all while his fingers continued their earnest treatment inside of you, his thumb now pressing to your clit, your warming crescendo building.

Using his height and the fact that you were straddling him, Angel encouraged you to lean forward, allowing him to capture one of your breasts in his grip, his mouth following. His warm tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so gently over your sensitive flesh.

Angel's attention was rewarded with your gasping sighs and breathy moans. How anyone could make you feel this good was beyond you. Angel had an uncanny ability to elicit responses and feelings like no other person before him.

You felt the thrumming hum and warm, sticky wave of your orgasm building as Angel worked his fingers inside of you, stroking that particular spot from within that he knew would be your undoing.

"O-oh," you whined, keening noises caught in your throat. "Please, baby, I n-need you. Need you inside." 

The room was sweltering. Or was it just you? Angel withdrew his fingers smoothly, not sparing you the chance to be disappointed at the loss of feeling as he smoothly flipped the two of you, guiding you down to the mattress and hovering over your trembling form. 

"Yeah?" Angel asked. "You ready for that, querida?"

You gazed up at him through your lashes, longingly. He would give everything, anything, that he had in the world if you only looked at him like that forever, gaze full of warmth, heat, and unfiltered, starry adoration. 

"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"

He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?

He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.

Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.

Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore, 

"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."

Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours. 

Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.

“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.

You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.

A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you. 

"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.

"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me." 

You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.

Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.

He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.

"Come on then, baby." 

Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.

Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him. 

He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath. 

Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.

"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."

---

Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks. 

Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing. 

The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end. 

How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them. 

The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind. 

Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you. 

But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes. 

Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him. 

Of fucking course.

You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him. 

And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't. 

One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex. 

A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart. 

"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."

You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply, 

"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."

"I care, Frida," was all he offered.

You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?

"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.

"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"  

Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then… 

"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"

You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.

The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him. 

Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.

You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."

“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion. 

You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply, 

“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.” 

Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way. 

"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--" 

You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.

"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"

You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on. 

"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it." 

You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.

Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??

It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why. 

An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite. 

And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it. 

You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more? 

"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it." 

Like he would, you thought.

You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car. 

Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.

You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them. 

The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky  new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.

And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.

What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?

---

Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp. 

Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous  energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.

He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.

His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning. 

“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. 

Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day. 

“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."

Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.

But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve. 

He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest. 

The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now? 

Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the  pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t. 

All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.

And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel. 

How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.

And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking. 

If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.

Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.

Tagging:

@themarcusmoreno @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @steeeeeeeviebb @qveenbvtch @mxsamwilson @ifimayhaveaword @huliabitch @pettyprocrastination @phoenixhalliwell @flightlessangelwings @cinewhore @velvetmel0n @moonlight-prose @rebeccasficrecs @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @ciriswife @justanotherblonde23 @superhoeva @witching-hour​ @luckyharley1903​

[welcome-to-green-hills]

I just made a blog here so I'm pretty nervous about how big artists and writers will think about my art and stories regardless of I don't mind criticism. I even just finished a big comic but my worries got the best of me. That and my comic was previewed blurry. I wanted to give these people the best gifts I can make without feeling like I can't be like them. Just wanted to thank them for their amazing content and stuff. Guess I'm not ready to have a blog after all.

Hey there, buddy! 😊👋

I completely understand where you are coming from. I promise. You’re not only making artwork and fiction to share with others, you’re actually putting bits and pieces of yourself into it and sharing it with the world. You’re also putting yourself out there and hoping to be accepted for who and what you are. When it’s put that way, of course it’ll feel scary. You don’t know who will see it and how others will react. Putting yourself is big. It takes a lot of courage to do. And it takes a lot of will power and strength to share your work with everyone. Each piece that a person makes is special regardless of what medium it’s in.

My best advice that I can give you is rip off the band-aid and post your work. I know that it’s cheesy to say that you should aspire to be yourself on a platform, but it really is the best advice that I can give. I’m not going to lie, sometimes having a blog and managing one can be stressful as well. Sometimes it makes me anxious making a post because I don’t know how others may react. Don’t worry about what others think about your work and don’t compare yourself to content creators. Do what makes YOU happy. If the whole time that you’re here is spent comparing yourself to others and your artistic abilities, then it defeats the whole purpose of you sharing what’s in your heart.

I think that you should go ahead and make your blog. Have fun with it. Do what makes you happy and share your talents with the world.Thank God that this isn’t Twitter. Tumblr has a good community where the users show compassion and grace to one another. This is the perfect spot to share your work.

Breathe in and begin. Make your post. I think that people will like it! ❤️✨

[descendantofthesparrow]

Audrey confronts Mal - D3 Rewrite clip (not poyw)

=

Mal let out a soft sigh as she stepped outside of Evie's house, re-gripping the purple gift bag in her hand as she went to set it on the small picnic table while she waited for her friends to be done getting ready for Jane’s party.

She squealed and jumped as a loud crash of thunder echoed in her ears, she spun around, eyes widening as Audrey walked toward her, dressed head to toe in dark tones of blue and pink, her mother's scepter in her hand, and the queens crown perched on her head.

“I was hoping you were home~” Audrey purred, Mal's hand twitching as the scepter hit the ground. Mal looked back and forth between the scepter and Audrey.

“is…Audrey what’s is going on?” Mal set her bag on the table and held her hands up, palms facing towards Audrey “why do you have the crown and scepter?”

“well, I wanted them so I took them” Audrey stated, as if it was obvious “you of all people should understand that Mal~” Mal mentally cringed, knowing exactly what Audrey was referring to. Mal yelped as Audrey’s other hand started to wave around the gem.

“Audrey! Stop please, you have no idea what that thing can do, I don’t want you getting hurt-“ Audrey’s dark brown almost black eyes looked at her, rage bubbling beneath the surface.

“don’t want me getting hurt?...that’s a first…and here I thought you only cared about yourself” Mal shook her head gently, reaching out slowly to Audrey.

“Audrey, I’m sorry for whatever I did that’s causing whatever is happening right now but you need to give me the scepter, it's dangerous!”

“I want to be dangerous!” Audrey snarled, her eyes flashing magenta, making Mal take a step back in fear. “my life was perfect till you came here…and then Auradon turned its back on me” Audrey’s eyes turned sad for a moment, looking at nothing before she whipped around, walking away from Mal “but this time, I will be the one in control”

‘Control?’ Mal thought, immediately following Audrey “Audrey please! Stop-“ Mal reared back as Audrey spun back around, a cruel smirk on her face.

“Now you’ll know how I felt when you stole everything from me” the scepter glowed a bright pink and Mal screamed in pain as she felt every bit of energy being ripped from her, the crackle of fire beneath her skin dimming.

She collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

“How does it feel to be powerless~ to be like me~” Mal opened her eyes, her blurry vision doing nothing to block the odd color of her hair.

She let out a quiet scream, sitting up and pulling her hair in front of her eyes.

Brown…it was just brown...no purple in sight, Mal shoot up, but collapsed back on her knees as the sudden rush of energy left her just as fast as it came. “You’ll pay for everything you’ve done and so will all of Auradon!!!” Mal looked back at Audrey, reaching out for her one last time.

“Audrey please!”

“so long suckers~!” in a whirlwind of smoke Audrey was gone.

“woah!” Jay gasped, his arms wrapping around Mal and pulling her to her feet, catching her as she stumbled “um, you might want to think of a spell for this?” Mal looked up at him, Jay gasping in shock again.

“what?” Mal sighed, pulling away from Jay and standing on wobbly legs “what's wrong? I know my hair's brown but?” she gestured to the rest of her, looking at her friends. Carlos just pointed at her eyes as Evie covered her mouth and stared at her. “my eyes? What's wrong with my-oh” Evie pulled out her phone and turned on her camera, setting it to selfie mode and giving it to Mal.

Mal's eyes were brown, not a speck of gold or green to be seen. “that’s…different” Mal muttered, pulling the phone back at getting a good look at her hair. All brown.

Her face and cheeks were paler too. “what did Audrey do?” Evie asked, running her fingers through Mals hair “is there any way to reverse it?”

“there’s no spell to reverse the curse of the scepter” Mal muttered, handing the phone back to Evie “and I’m not even sure I could if I tried” her friends looked at her oddly “I think she took the rest of my magic away”

Their eyes widened in shock and they stared at her for a few moments in disbelief. Evie snapped out of it first, tilting her head “how do you know?”

Mal sighed, looking down at her hands and clenching her fingers “I-I don’t know…it felt like being shoved behind the barrier again, I felt like I was being drained of all my energy…and remember how I said my magic felt like fire crackling underneath my skin, even on the isle?” the boys and Evie nodded “it’s all gone, I feel nothing, even as a kid I felt more magic then I do now”

“then what are we going to do?” Carlos groaned, running his fingers through his hair in frustration and starting to pace the patio “Your magic is gone and Audrey has the scepter which basically holds your magic! If anyone could defeat it's you but you don’t have magic anymore!” Mal just watched, having no energy to stop him or come up with a plan.

“Fairy godmothers wand” Evie started already having come up with a plan, she turned to the boys “Carlos call jane and tell her to tell FG to meet us at the museum, it’s an emergency, and tell her as much as you can so she's prepared for anything” Carlos stopped in his pacing and nodded, pulling out his phone and calling Jane “Jay, get our gear and the bikes ready, we need to be able to move fast and quick” he nodded, running back into the house with Celia hot on his heels. Evie turned to Mal.

Mal just smiled, glad someone had their head on right to take control…hell knew if she could the way she was “thank you E” Mal muttered, curling into Evie’s shoulder as Evie pulled her into a hug “I don’t know what I’d do without you”

“be powerless forever and probably get yourself killed?” Evie joked, smiling as Mal let out a chocked laugh.

“yeah…how bad is it?” Mal asked, looking up at Evie and tugging at the ends of her hair, pressing her lips together.

Evie pulled back and gave Mal a once over, before she smiled “Brown is a good look” Mals stressed look softened into a smile.

“really?” Evie nodded, reaching to Mal and tugging at one of her locks. “yes, now let's just get you into something fabulous!” Mal laughed a bit as Evie grabbed her hand and pulled her back into the house.

“okay”

-end of preview/test-

Sooo this was just a little test/preview of what my rewrite is going to be like, in the hhxr (y/n) will be in this scene while in the “official” rewrite they won't be since (y/n) won't exist in that version.

This is the “official” rewrite Audrey confronts Mal excerpt and I hope it satisfied yall heh. But this is basically what it's going to look like and there might be some changes by the time I actually start writing the whole thing instead of excerpts n stuff.

Thank you for reading~

[tenebraevesper]

Up Ladybug, Entry 2: The Black Cat

Chapter Preview/Link To Full Chapter Below

Bridgette yawned, stretching her arms as she slowly opened her eyes. Her vision was a little blurry due to the daylight, but after blinking a few times, it quickly cleared. While she was still in a state of daze, she was in a good mood. She had a nice dream about being a superheroine, parkouring across the rooftops of Paris and enjoying her newfound powers as Ladybug.

But, that was just a dream… Bridgette glanced to the side and saw, to her surprise, a red creature with antennae sleeping next to her. ''Tikki?!''

Tikki stirred in her sleep, slowly opening her eyes and seeing Bridgette, who sat up. She smiled, stretching her tiny arms, and flew up to the teen. ''Good morning, Bridgette!''

''W-Wait, if you're here, then this means…'' Bridgette's eyes widened as it dawned on her. ''What happened last night… It wasn't a dream, right? Everything that happened was real; I am Ladybug!''

''Exactly!'' Tikki nodded. ''I guess you need some time to process what happened.''

''Actually, I already have,'' Bridgette replied, reaching for her smartphone. ''I just needed a reminder that what had happened was actually re- aagh! I'm late!'' Panicking, she got out of her bed and stumbled, almost falling over. ''I forgot to set the alarm and now I'll be late for school!''

Tikki observed her holder with a sympathetic look on her expression as Bridgette dressed herself in record time and darted downstairs, with the kwami managing to hide in her backpack. Bridgette skipped two stairs at once, still scolding herself for oversleeping and hoping that she wouldn't get into trouble with her teacher.

''Good morning, Bri-!''

''Sorry, Gran, I'm late!''

Mei was a stunned when Bridgette darted right past her, almost colliding with a woman who was about to enter the store. She then sighed, being already used to her granddaughter's antics.

Meanwhile, Bridgette was running down the street towards the school, trying to remember whether she had packed all the right books and necessities for the school day. She figured that she would get her answer once she had settled down in the classroom, if she managed to get there in time. However, as it turned out, she wasn't the only one on her way to school.

''Allegra?''

Bridgette was stunned to see her friend standing on the street, typing something on her smartphone. Allegra rose her head and smiled, waving Bridgette over, who ran towards her.

''Hey, Bri, what's the rush?'' Allegra asked as Bridgette skidded to a halt in  front of her.

''I could ask you the same, we're late to school,'' Bridgette told her briskly, panting. Allegra gave her a puzzled look, but then shook her head.

''Haven't you read the group message? We don't have first period due to the teacher calling in sick and being unable to find a substitute,'' she explained. Bridgette gave her a look of disbelief.

''I panicked for absolutely no reason,'' she said in exasperation, her ahoge drooping. Allegra simply shrugged.

''You're lucky you ran into me, so at least now you know,'' she said. Bridgette perked up, giving Allegra a curious look, then smiled.

''Lucky, right,'' she said. ''How about getting breakfast? I didn't have the time to eat anything this morning.''

''Sure,'' Allegra replied, with the two girls starting to walk towards a bakery. ''So, how did it go?'' She tilted her head when she saw Bridgette giving her a confused look. ''I'm talking about your letter. Did you give it to Félix?''

''Oh,'' Bridgette muttered and looked ahead, thinking about yesterday's accident. ''I did, but it didn't go well. It accidentally got drenched in water and I had to throw it away before Félix had the chance to read it.''

''I'm sorry about that,'' Allegra said, giving Bridgette a sympathetic look. Even though she didn't particularly like Félix, she did acknowledge the effort Bridgette put into trying to confess to him. She had seen how happy and proud her friend was when she held that letter and it was quite a pity that she couldn't deliver it to her crush.

However, instead of looking downcast or heartbroken, Bridgette just smiled.

''Don't worry about that,'' she replied in a carefree tone. ''I'll figure out another way to let Félix know how I feel about him.''

''That is, if he decides to acknowledge your feelings,'' Allegra said, giving Bridgette a thoughtful look. ''I understand that you like him, but what will happen if he rejects you?''

''Even if he does, I wouldn't mind. All I want is to talk to him, maybe befriend him.'' Bridgette fell silent for a moment. ''Am I really asking for too much?''

''Honestly, I don't think that you're asking for too much,'' Allegra replied. ''However, from Félix's perspective, it seems that you do. I wouldn't be surprised if he refused to socialize even if his life depended on it.''

''I believe that he has a reason for the way he behaves,'' Bridgette told Allegra as she entered the bakery. Allegra just shrugged, opting to wait outside for her friend, as she wasn't hungry.

Her thoughts still being focused on Félix, Bridgette walked up to the counter, looking at the pastries. There was another customer being served, so she had a few minutes to decide what she would buy, even though she had already decided on the brioche filled with strawberry jam, as well as a few macarons for Tikki, since she figured that the kwami was just as hungry as she was.

''What would you like to order?''

''I would like one pain au chocolat, please,'' Bridgette said, registering her words only a second later. It appeared that the girl behind the counter didn't notice the look of surprise on Bridgette's expression, but went ahead with putting the pastry into a paper bag.

''Anything else?''

''Uh, I'd also like a strawberry-filled brioche and three macarons,'' Bridgette quickly added, pointing at the pastries. Why did I ask for the pain au chocolat?!

Bridgette felt a little dazed as she payed for the pastries, still wondering what possessed her to buy something she didn't plan to eat and not change her order. All she knew was that she had a strange feeling that this was the right decision, even though she didn't know why. Bridgette shook her head as she exited the bakery, figuring that she should enjoy her breakfast.

''Bri, are you okay?'' Allegra asked, noticing the weird look on Bridgette's expression.

''Yeah, I am,'' Bridgette told her. ''I was thinking how I bought some extra food, just in case.''

''In case of what?'' Allegra rose an eyebrow. Bridgette was silent for a moment, with Allegra being a little worried, wondering whether something was wrong. Bridgette than looked up at her, her airheaded answer catching Allegra off guard.

''I don't know,'' she said in a chipper tone, causing Allegra to give her a baffled look. Bridgette then winked. ''However, I do have a good feeling about this.''

xXx

Félix was no stranger to disasters. After all, he had been followed by the very incarnation of a disaster over the past two and half weeks and he was well aware that there was no way to escape it, as it would stick with him through the rest of his life. The fact that he also had to deal with the unwanted advances from a certain pigtailed classmate didn't help either.

Nevertheless, that didn't mean that he had no idea how to handle himself in these kinds of situations. As a matter of fact, he had thought of every scenario possible, making meticulous preparations and taking control over his every move and word. Everything had to be perfect if he wanted to have a normal life.

Unfortunately, he knew that his life wasn't normal and will never be, all thanks to a certain noisy creature who loved to make him miserable. Still, there was hope, as the one who would break his curse had finally entered his life. The only issue was that he had to figure out how to convince her to help him.

He furrowed a brow as the ringing of the school bell signaled the end of the class and got up. He felt the hair on the back of his neck standing up as he heard Bridgette's voice from behind him, the teen discussing her lunch plans with her friend Sophie.

''I'm not sure whether I'm going to join you today, Soph,'' Bridgette explained. ''I actually…''

Félix didn't stick around to hear the rest of the conversation. With one swift movement, he grabbed his briefcase backpack and left the room, wanting to get away from his admirer as far as possible. For all he knew, waiting longer would turn into an opportunity for Bridgette to ask him whether he wanted to have lunch with her, a scenario he wanted to avoid.

Instead, he decided that he would get out of the school and go to the nearby bakery to buy himself lunch, then find an isolated spot where he could eat his lunch and read his book in peace. Satisfied with his plan, he reached for the inside of his backpack to take out his wallet, only to realize a moment later that he couldn't find it.

He took a sharp breath, trying to stop the surge of panic from spreading through his body. He opened his backpack, checking the pocket where he usually kept his wallet, but it wasn't there. Instead, he found a small black creature with cat ears, a cat tail, a pair of whiskers on his cheeks and one on his head. It blinked, his green eyes having black cat-like slits as pupils, and smirked, a fang popping out of the corner of its mouth.

''You can keep searching, Kid, but you left your wallet at home,'' Plagg told him. Félix frowned, glaring at his kwami.

''Why didn't you tell me anything?''

''You didn't ask,'' Plagg replied dryly.

Félix sighed, but he wasn't going to give up so easily, as he had a back-up plan. He made sure to always keep spare money in a pocket on the inside of his backpack, but when he pulled it out, it turned out that he only had a few cents, not enough to buy himself anything. It seemed that he'd have to go through the rest of his school day on an empty stomach.

Great, just my luck… Feeling bitter, he glanced at the cat ring adorning his finger, the actual source of his misery. Ever since he put it on, he had nothing but bad luck. He would dread every day, being already used to the idea of something bad happening to him, from getting accidentally hit by a stray frisbee to having his teacher accidentally pour hot coffee over his homework, ruining it completely. Whenever he thought that it couldn't get worse, it would get much worse.

Having resigned himself to his fate, he closed his backpack and put it over his shoulder, clutching the strap tightly. However, before he could walk away, he was startled by a familiar voice.

''Hey, Félix!''

Not her again. He turned around, feeling annoyed when he saw Bridgette approaching him. It appeared that she wasn't bothered by the irritated look he gave her, smiling happily when she realized that he actually had acknowledged her presence.

''What do you want?'' he asked her. Considering how he wouldn't be going anywhere, he figured that he could allow himself to spend a few minutes talking to Bridgette and letting her know that he wouldn't be accepting any of her invitations, period.

''I was wondering whether we could maybe have lunch together,'' Bridgette said hopefully.

Surprisingly, instead of rejecting her, Félix quietly observed her. It was obvious that he had already expected her to ask him that, but unknown to Bridgette, he actually found himself considering her invitation, only because he realized that he didn't want to spend the rest of his day hungry.

However, before he could respond, Bridgette quickly added, ''If you don't want to come along, I did buy myself pain au chocolat this morning, but decided against eating it.'' She reached for her backpack, taking out the paper bag with the pastry. ''If you want, you can have it.''

Félix was surprised, having not expected that Bridgette would bring him lunch. At first, he thought about refusing, but he then took the paper bag, figuring that it was better than nothing. As he glanced back at Bridgette, he realized that she had that dreamy and giddy look on her expression, her ahoge having curved into a heart shape.

''Thank you,'' he said curtly. Frankly, he would've left without a word if it weren't for the fact that common decency had been hammered into his psyche.

''You're welcome.''

A wide smile spread across Bridgette's lips, her chipper voice irking Félix. It annoyed him that she made a big deal out of him accepting the pastry and, after thanking her for the treat, he turned around and left. He remained alert, figuring that she would attempt to follow him, but was surprised when he realized that she left him alone.

Maybe she had finally got the hint to stop following me around the school.

He scoffed at the thought. Even though he didn't know Bridgette well, he was aware that she could be quite persistent, often showing up out of nowhere in order to talk to him. Admittedly, she didn't ask him for his phone number, e-mail or any social media, nor did she try to follow him to his home, as far as he knew. The only time they would interact was at school and even then, she would keep her distance whenever he told her to leave him alone. That didn't stop her from trying to talk to him the next day, though.

As if I already don't have enough problems to deal with.

Up Ladybug, Entry 2: The Black Cat (Complete Chapter)

[sweetestlamb]

Stronger Part 4 (A New Day Has Come)

Summary: Mun-yeong spends some time with someone important and a gets a surprise.

Author's Note: Got an annoying comment on this story yesterday and it motivated me to write lol so thanks! Hope you guys like and comments, that motivate me even more 😉🥰 nothing like love to drive out hate! The story is coming to an end unfortunately, I'm thinking 2 more chapters maybe three. If I had time I would drag it out for 9 😂😂 but schools start Monday so there goes my life. Happy reading y'all.

Solitude gripes at her insanity, tearing her apart until she succumbs to the thoughts that plague her mind of her inadequacies and how insignificant she is to those around her.

Being around Sang-tae oppa fills a portion of the void in your chest but his presence only reminds her further of another that she's dreadfully missing, his messages overflow her phone now. Taking a swift turn from condescending to something sweeter and more pleading. It takes every ounce of restraint in her body not to open them, relying on the bits she can see in the previews. Fully turning a blind eye to him is beyond difficult for her, every atom of her being is calling out for him.

She has dragged herself from the car too many times, desperate to run to him and soothe his pain, eager to see what he wants to talk about, maybe just maybe he's ready to apologize and unclench the clamp he placed on her heart that day on the beach.

But.

What if he isn't? What if he wants to share more of his past with her in the hopes that she'll overlook all that came before. In the past that might have been the case, she had been ever forgiving, something that only he was privy to. But his words ring in her ears- one time event, get lost- invading her dreams and taking the place of her mother's floating figure terrorizing her nightly.

Somewhere along the way she realized that she puts him first, his emotions and comfort have taken precedent over her own and when she'd searched what exactly that meant the answer made her head spin.

A four letter word that most humans will experience except Ko Mun-yeong.

She's much too selfish and destructive to be ever love or be loved by another, she knows that know. When he'd finally opened up to her, there'd been a plethora of emotions that clawed to the surface and vengeance had been one of them, it wasn't enough that he was sharing his darkest secrets because of everything she'd been through to get there. It was as if he'd stabbed her in the chest, left her bleeding only to return and patch up her wounds, too much had occurred and the scarring remained.

So she left in the middle of the night, abandoned that godforsaken place, stuffing expensive fabrics in a vintage Louis Vuitton luggage set, eager to escape the dead silence that rang out in the castle without the Moon brothers pumping life back into it.

In the end she didn't go far, finding a guest house that reminded her of that brief getaway with him, she paid for the week and turned off her phone fielding persistent check in calls from Sang-in. Gang-tae hadn't tried to call merely texting that they should talk and it was almost laughable that despite his seeming desperation he still seemed reluctant to go the full mile. Only her deep rooted sadness stopped her from chuckling at her circumstances, what a tragic mess.

She didn't let his current persistence fool her, fool me once shame on you fool me twice, well everyone knew the rest. It was time she stopped looking like a fool. Regardless of what she felt for him she knew that that this couldn't be, he'd been right all along.

I hope I never see you again.

So much heart ache could have been prevented if she'd heeded his warning. So she was doing it now, her anger had fizzled off tempering into bitter acceptance.

He would give up soon enough, that was his style.

The woman in charge of the guest house steers clear of her and the first day she lays carelessly on the bed roll, not even bothering to comb her hair. Simply, being. It's intoxicating and new, her phone remains turned off tossed to the side as she thinks about nothing- ignoring the way that nothing something has deep sad eyes and a bowl hair cut. She's trying to think about nothing and that's what counts.

She has food delivered and it's strange to eat something that isn't a Subway sandwich after all the food Sang-in as been bringing her and temporarily guilt forms in the pit of her belly, he's probably going crazy trying to locate her but she's just not ready. She's still tired. Bone chilling fatigue.

The next day she walks down a dirt road, her long white dress dragging on the ground, dirtied but the thin material allows a passing breeze to wash across her body and she's content, staring at the sky and thinking of nothing. She spots a lone bird sitting in a tree and wonders if all the other birds have left it behind, whether it has nowhere to go and no one to see. Then she berates herself for worrying about a bird, all this time alone is pushing the limits of her sanity.

The days bleed into each other, dawn folding into dusk with watercolor skies and earthy morning dew.

She tries to write but it's hard to get any words down that aren't depressing and she can't think of any morals or lessons besides don't let anyone in.

Then she tries her hand at drawing, a portrait of her twisting a deer's neck.

The guest house keeper asks her if she hates bears the next day and that's the end of that endeavor.

The week is coming to an end and she's no where closer to knowing what to do, maybe it's time to go back to Seoul, leave this all behind like a bad dream.

When she finally deems herself mentally prepared she turns on her phone, pinging and vibrating from all the forlorn messages, sputtering in her hand as she watches in shock. As expected Sang-in has called and messaged and threatened, she smirks at his empty threats, heart slightly warmed.

Ju-ri, Seung-jae, Sang-tae, and him. All their names flash on her screen. Surprising her, as she'd never expect them to notice her disappearance. Much less reach out to her. Strange. But she writes it off, maybe Sang-in had roped them all into it. With trepidation she opens her messenger and responds to one, keeping a promise, with a few presses and a selfie she sends the message and closes the phone with a sigh.

Done.

The next day the clouds are smoggy ash grey in the sky, darkening the skies into something fierce and she pulls on a sweater and forgoes an umbrella welcoming the storm. Electricity swelters in the thick air causing a sheen of sticky perspiration to cling to her skin. She dons a simple sleeveless mini dress and sandals, trekking to the familiar dirt road.

She walks for hours, aimlessly without a care or worry in her head. Thoughts of him still push their way in at times but she's come to accept that as her baseline, once she returns to Seoul he will be nothing but a faint memory of the time she dreamed too big.

The first drop of rain on her skin makes goose pimples explode across her flesh, fat and chilled as they cascade from the atmosphere. Turning her head up towards the heavens she grins bitterly at nothing, her whole life has been nothing but rain, the moment is oddly fitting.

Mud splatters to her feet coating her toes in sloshy brown that slides between her toes, drenched from the downpour she slowly walks back no haste in her movement, steady footsteps despite the speed of the rain as it pelts against her.

The guest house comes back into sight as she meanders to the gate, vaguely remembering that she'd pulled it shut yet the doors now swing open. Blaming that on the rain she steps through, pulling it shut behind her continuing to stride to the steps.

As she hears the sliding door she eyes catch a figure blurry through the watery sheet in front of her eyes, the voice calling her name stops her in her tracks, no longer able to pretend that it's a mirage.

Her eyes aren't deceiving her, there he is. Once again finding her in the rain, except this time she doesn't need to be saved, she'll be the one doing the saving. For them both.

She takes him in, the rain soaking his hair flat onto his face, clothes plastered to his body as he stands eerily still, dark pools intensely taking her in as well.

After the slight hiccup, she continues walking taking off her sullied sandals and tossing them to the side and then she places her hand on the door, prepared to enter and forget what she saw. Ignorance is bliss.

"Mun-yeong."

All he has to say to get her heart pounding like a drum, she screams in her mind. That time spent apart should have made this easier, why didn't this feel easy? All the fatigue that she'd been running from hits her like a freight train crashing through her passive wall.

"Get lost."

He moves to block her way and her rage simmers below the surface.

"I've been worried about you. We all were so worried. You can't just leave like that, why did you go without saying anything?" His voice is wavering between anger and something softer, more human that makes his voice crack on the last syllable.

"Move."

She's not ready to assess what his being here means, what his voice and his concern mean. None of it makes sense and she's going to file it all under: unexplained phenomenon.

"Can't we talk first, please?"

"I don't want to talk." She sidesteps him, reaching once more for the door.

"Mun-yeong let me explain, let me make this right. I'm sor--"

"Shut up. I said I didn't want to talk. Go back you saw me, I'm alive you don't need to say anything more."

She's not sure she'll be able to contain herself if he says anything else, she's already dangling off the cliff. She can't allow herself to fall and burst apart.

"No! Why are you pushing me away? I need you! I told you I needed you I meant that, you can't just run away damn it."!

She stares blankly before her throat croaks and laughter tumbles from her lips. Deep belly chuckles that shake her body viciously.

Then quick as a switch the laughter stops.

Diamond hard gaze locked on his bewildered face before she speaks, "You think you're the only one who wanted? Do you? I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to fight for me, to let me in. I wanted you to see that I was hurt and apologize and mean it. You think a kiss is enough, you think telling me everything is enough after you break my heart? It's not!" Her voice pierces through the cacophonous drone of the rain beating the world, crying its heart out.

He jolts at her pained cries, fingers reaching for her but she immediately moves out of reach feeling naked and raw under his stare.

You broke my heart.

She's shown too much of her cards already, it's too late to bluff.

So she'll take a page from his book.

Throwing the door open and slamming it shut, holding it tight.

He doesn't try to open it. She sighs in relief leaning back against the hard wood, feeling all the fight evacuate her body.

He's probably gone. You pushed him too hard. Who are you to reject him? No one else will ever tolerate you.

Her thoughts don't scare her, just like Gang-tae had chosen his brother and the life he knew she was doing the same, choosing herself and the loneliness she'd grown accustomed to. Why give him another chance to throw her away he was clearly capable of it, it was only a matter of time she wouldn't change. Couldn't change. Immovable object.

The rain falls and falls, washing everything away and making the world anew. She lays on her back wondering how far he's gotten in this downpour. How had he even found her? All questions she'll never get the answers to.

Sleep tugs her eyelids shut as her thoughts swirl until they too fade to black.

Hands held high over her head, she pulls her tired bones feeling the tension melt with each stretch. Gathering clothes to take a much needed bath she carelessly tugs the door open only to jump back when he almost tumbles into her room.

What.

"What? What are you doing here?" She shrieks, avoiding collision by the barest inch.

"Waiting for you."

She blinks at him, taking in his drenched clothes-noting his shivers- and the dark circles that sink into the skin beneath his eyes, resembling a raccoon.

Had he slept outside all night? And if he had was he insane, why didn't he go back home?

"Why didn't you go back? Are you crazy? You can't sleep outside in the rain!"

She blushes at her outburst, slapping a hand over her traitorous mouth. He merely looks at her, she overlooks the tender glint in his eyes.

Stepping forward he grabs her hand, she fights to pull her appendage away but he tightens his grip which contrasts immensely with the softness in his eyes.

Voice like warm honey he answers, "Because you're here and I.....need you. I'm not going anywhere."

The sun shines brightly outside as a new day rises somewhere in the distance a lone bird's call is answered by another.