#Also this one was based off of that one song from Book of Life aka I Love You Too Much because that shit was so gaddamn adorable so yeah

[celerysimpnartz]

Here's a lazy one for you guys 😭

Tap the image for better quality 🤡

[astronicht]

Okay I'm almost done with Fellowship, here's an incomplete list of shit I noticed and thought was buck fucking wild on my first ever read-thru: medieval edition.

In literally the second line of the book, Tolkien implies that Bilbo Baggins wrote a story which was preserved alongside the in-universe version of the Mabinogion (aka the best-known collection of Welsh myths; I promise this is batshit). This is because The Hobbit has been preserved, in Tolkien's AU version of our world, in a "selection of the Red Book of Westmarch" (Prologue, Concerning Hobbits). If you're a medievalist and you see something called "The Red Book of" or "The Black Book of" etc it's a Thing. In this case, a cheeky reference to the Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch Hergest). There are a few Red Books, but only Hergest has stories).

not a medieval thing but i did not expect one common theory among hobbits for the death of Frodo's parents to be A RUMORED MURDER-SUICIDE.

At the beginning of the book a few hobbits report seeing a moving elm tree up on the moors, heading west (thru or past the Shire). I mentioned this in another post, but another rule: if you see an elm tree, that's a Girl Tree. In Norse creation myth, the first people were carved from driftwood by the gods. Their names were Askr (Ash, as in the tree), the first man, and Embla (debated, but likely elm tree), the first woman. A lot of ppl have I think guessed that that was an ent-wife, but like. Literally that was a GIRL. TREE.

Medieval thing: I used to read the runes on the covers of The Hobbit and LOTR for fun when I worked in a bookshop. There's a mix of Old Norse (viking) and Old English runes in use, but all the ones I've noticed so far are real and readable if you know runes.

Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you once spent months of your life researching the early medieval art of galdor, which was the use of poems or songs to do a form of word-magic, often incorporating gibberish. If you think maybe Tolkien did not base the entirety of Fellowship so far around learning and using galdor and thus the power of words and stories, that is fine I cannot force you. He did personally translate "galdor" in Beowulf as "spell" (spell, amusingly, used to mean "story"). And also he named an elf Galdor. Like he very much did name an elf Galdor.

Tom Bombadil in fact does galdor from the moment we meet him. He arrives and fights the evil galdor (song) of the willow tree ("old gray willow-man, he's a mighty singer"), which is singing the hobbits to sleep and possibly eating them, with a galdor (song) of his own. Then he wanders off still singing, incorporating gibberish. I think it was at this point that I started clawing my face.

THEN Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you've read the description of the scop's songs in Beowulf (Beowulf again, but hey, Tolkien did famously a. translate it b. write a fanfiction about it called Sellic Spell where he gave Beowulf an arguably homoerotic Best Friend). The scop (pronounched shop) is a poet who sings about deeds on earth, but also by profession must know how to sing the song or tell the story of how the cosmos itself came to be. The wise-singer who knows the deep lore of the early universe is a standard trope in Old English literature, not just Beowulf! Anyway Tom Bombadil takes everyone home and tells them THE ENTIRE STORY OF ALL THE AGES OF THE EARTH BACKWARDS UNTIL JUST BEFORE THE MOMENT OF CREATION, THE BIG BANG ITSELF and then Frodo Baggins falls asleep.

Tom Bombadil knows about plate tectonics

This is sort of a lie, Tom Bombadil describes the oceans of old being in a different place, which works as a standard visual of Old English creation, which being Christian followed vaguely Genesis lines, and vaguely Christian Genesis involves a lot of water. TOLKIEN knew about plate tectonics though.

Actually I just checked whether Tolkien knew about plate tectonics because I know the advent of plate tectonics theory took forever bc people HATED it and Alfred Wegener suffered for like 50 years. So! actually while Tolkien was writing LOTR, the scientific community was literally still not sure plate tectonics existed. Tom Bombadil knew tho.

Remember that next time you (a geologist) are forced to look at the Middle Earth map.

I'm not even done with Tom Bombadil but I'm stopping here tonight. Plate tectonics got me. There's a great early (but almost high!) medieval treatise on cosmology and also volcanoes and i wonder if tolkien read it. oh my god. i'm going to bed.

edit: part II

[rainbowdaisy13]

Scott Swift Email Thoughts

WOW just finished and wow. This is a huge peek behind the curtain moment IMO, so this is my equally long take on it all

First, THESE ARE ALL JUST MY OPINIONS and also “Allegedly” in regards to everything I’m writing

First off, Scott, like many well to do white men, seems to be someone who needs constant praise and acknowledgement to fill the void of his lack of sense of self. This isn’t a new phenomenon, this has been most rich white men since the dawn of time. It’s rare to find one that has been able to self reflect and heal their traumas enough to truly see outside their own sphere of existence

Scott has been, in his words, and arguably based on their finances, very successful in his employment as a Financial Advisor. Ok cool. But because his main focus in life is making, maintaining, and growing the most amount of money possible AS A JOB, it stands to reason the lens he is going to view Taylors budding career out of is one of cost benefit analysis—aka—how do we generate the most amount of money possible. We see this theme time and time again in the email as he continues to remind Dan that he will make a ton of money if he continues to manage Taylor (with Scott’s secret guidance)

His constant trashing of Andrea as a mean controlling belittling wife and of Taylor as an ungrateful snobby daughter is really telling. This is 2005. Taylor is a freshman in high school, her career is just starting to gain traction, Scott Swift *already* felt this bitter and betrayed by his family and Taylor’s not even famous yet!!

He spends 10 pages listing everything he’s done for Taylors career—if that’s accurate, he has done a lot, and it sounds like he wasn’t afraid to be pushy and annoying to try and get Taylor out there. That being said, he never once speaks about how becoming famous will impact TAYLOR. He doesn’t talk about how important this is to her, about how much writing songs and playing music is a part of who she is as a person. He doesn’t talk about how excited she is to book bigger and bigger venues, to be interviewed on TV, to sing for hundreds of people. Nada. All we hear about is how much time and money HE has sunk into Taylors career, and how ungrateful Andrea and Taylor are

I’m gonna close up by saying, yes people can evolve and grow. 2005 Scott may be miles different than 2023 Scott. But knowing this is the man who has had his hands in Taylor’s career from day 1, this man that only cares about money and being praised for his contribution, makes my blood run cold. Yes she is a mastermind , but breaking free from a literal lifetime of this kind of control can take its own lifetime

Taylor Babydoll, break free and leave him in ruins!!!! It’s your life, live it how YOU want!! 🖤

[softstanb]

kidnapping toxicity (star eyes)

[aka no time to bleed]

i won't lie to you, dearest reader - this fic started in a buckwild way.

it's the summer. i'm queer. chappell roan sings the songs of my people. yet somehow the music video of casual, the lyrics, the melody, it all ingrained itself into my brain in a funny way. see, i ended up with about three ideas based off the song, each looser than the previous.

though it may not seem to be true, this fic was inspired by casual. that and this lovely little tweet. it drove me insane. sorry if it does the same to you.

but there's something else i'm not telling you. have you seen the movie predator? classic 80s action/horror. lovely little flick, not at all scary if you're a weenie. feels like terminator with neon green blood and bad heat vision.

if you've seen predator then you know exactly what i'm talking about. the beginning of the movie, before you even meet the predator, they raid what seems to be a cartel compound. they take this woman as a hostage. the alien starts fucking things up, but even throughout this she doesn't let them know she speaks english until she's seen the predator murder a guy. our lovely lady is our seokmin inspiration.

and there was something in me that was just itching to write something toxic for once. look through my backlog and you'll find softness overwhelmed with even more softness, tenderness filling the cracks. i write things that are meant to be cherished, relationships that feel like warm blankets and mugs of hot chocolate, your favorite books when you were nine and it was raining and nothing hurt and everything was okay.

i was a little bored. a little weary. i craved a toxicity you never see from me. this is what comes from it.

what's funny is that this fic actually had me crying in dms that it wasn't toxic enough. here i am, sobbing in my babies' dms, that our boy mingyu has too fast of a turn around for someone who is supposed to be the leading mc of a doc called "kidnapping toxicity (star eyes)". and sure, he isn't actually toxic enough to hold down this role, but he's toxic enough for the start for it to matter, i guess. besides, when i write, these stories take on a life of their own. all i do is just put them in a silly little doc and then release them to you. i don’t outline, i just vibe. i’m sure you all can tell.

this fic also has a bit of a funny story. it’s the second fic i’ve posted in a row at a wedding. in a different time zone. my streak is beyond bizarre but i should break it soon. i don’t have any more weddings on my immediate horizon so to keep it going you wouldn’t hear from me for almost years.

i intended a little more with this one too, sure. same shit different smell. ran up against the deadline with the force of an angry bull. ran into it a few more times too. fest mods deserve the world, truly. i love them and they’re too good for the rest of us. sure, i had other shit going on, but i still was an added stress in their life. but they told me not to be sorry. (i still am.)

anyways, the intent was to have a movie night or two. or just them binging movies and eating junk and doing nothing more than rotting as their matching wounds became matching scars. y’know, cute shit. but then i wrote the ending and i looked at it and looked at it again and realized that’s it. there’s nothing more i need to say.

there was an epilogue too, one i’m not going to promise to write. i won’t even tease it. it goes like this:

they get seok out. they get him off base and move him into that city that he once called home. it’s not really home anymore, something eerily reminiscent but to the left. something hazy with memories but with harsh realities poking through the nostalgia like machetes through sheets. it’s unsettling and off putting and just plain wrong, but it’s the closest civilization to the base for miles. his sister lives there. his mother visits, too. and though they don’t seek each other out, still far too scared of seokmin’s original captors coming back for them, even if their corpses are charred husks abandoned in the middle of nowhere they were a part of a network dammit, they see each other. they’re neighborly when they run into each other. if they leave each interaction more teary-eyed than the last, no one mentions it. the town is too good to.

and maybe there’s mingyu. mingyu, now desperate for an out, who latches onto seokmin like a snapping turtle who’s just got its jaws around a delicious treat it can’t quite break. he gets wounded again. something super fucked - think a demolished knee, a fused major joint, blurry vision that can’t be fixed. he’s declared unfit for duty and they plan an extraction date. is it an execution date? no one is sure. no one finds out either. he disappears into the trees, never to be seen again.

no one talks about the new man in the city, with his clumsy language and mysterious background and lover who looks at him like he has hung the moon, who stares right back at him like he’d give him the stars if he’d only ask for them.

that city holds both boys close to their chests and shields them whenever trouble rolls through. the city laughs in the face of danger. try us, they say, they are ours and you cannot have them.

and maybe there’s a bit of a treehouse somewhere in those woods. high and hidden unless you know where to look, know where to find it. seokmin brings the home cooked meals he grew up on and mingyu brings base favorites, leftovers concealed and treated as a gold standard currency. they hug and chat and catchup, jihoon recounting the newest way he’s made the suits lives shit and seokmin talking about his new adventures, about dreams he never thought he’d be able to have. he’s so much more alive that it’s common for men to come back from their “surveillance missions” and “general recon missions” with red puffy eyes. no one asks about it, for seokmin’s sake. even if he’s not there they know he’d be upset to find out they were teasing each other over happy tears.

and maybe they find another kid stuffed away on a compound, scared outta his mind. jihoon takes him to seokmin and leaves him there, knowing there’s no better hands for him to be in. he grows up loved and understood, even if he is technically fully grown. he gets years back to act like a kid.

a happy ending. hope for the future.

it’s a tcg fic. yall know the drill.

p.s. if it helps, since this is a vague predator au and that takes place in guatemala, the way i thought of the languages is like this:

- the base/soldiers/vague govt agency = english

- the compound/vague cartel stand in = spanish

- seokmin/the natives= an unspecified indigenous language/mayan/garifuna/xinca

kidnapping toxicity (star eyes) aka no time to bleed

other notes on my fics aka the index

[taito-division]

Welcome to the first annual Mr. and Mrs. HypMic Couples' Pageant!

Provided to you by the Chuohku Ward and Party of Words.

Sponsored by Sigma Inc., Toi Pharmaceutical, Wonder⇓anD Sound Systems, and E.L. Medical Co.

Following the success of both the Miss and Mr. HypMic Beauty Pageants, the Party of Words decided that, in order to get the citizens of Japan into the festive and loving mood of the upcoming Valentine's Day holiday, to implement the newly created Mr. and Mrs. HypMic Couples' Pageant. Much like the previous pageants, which showcased the features, talents and personalities of the men and women of various divisions, the Couples' Pageant seeks to combine the these features of both men and women who have formed a cohesive unit in order to take the competition by storm. The couples who participant will prove that not only is love still truly alive in Japan and today's world, but also serve as inspirations that anyone can find romance if they search long and hard enough.

Note: Each Round will begin with a starting post in which our contestants have a time limit of 1 hour to prepare themselves until it’s time for them to go on stage (aka, making a post on their respective blogs), then a poll will be conducted and open for a limited time before closing. At the final round, all the votes will be grouped together and the one who has the most will be crowned this year's "HypMic Couple"!

Round 1 — Fashion Contest ('Opposite Day')

To kick things off in the first round, we'll be starting with a traditional fashion contest! After all, it wouldn't be a pageant if the contestants stayed in their same old attire for the entire of the show. However, there's a twist! You see, for a couple to truly thrive, especially in today's world, it's important for their partner to understand them, both inside and out. Therefore, the couple will be dressing up as their as partner, taking their style of dress and making it their own! Points will be given based on how accurate the attire is to their partner's style, and whether it works.

Round 2 — Talent Show

That's right, for the second round, we're bringing back an 'oldie but a goodie': a good ole' fashioned talent contest! After all, no pageant would be complete without the contestants showing off some of their unique and original skills. But, there's a twist! This is a Couples' Pageant, after all! Therefore, the couples will have to put their individual skills and talents together to create something truly unique and spectacular! Points will given for innovation of the talents presented, and how unique they are. (Note: You don’t necessarily have to write down what talent your OCs have in full detail, a picture or video will work just fine!)

Round 3 — Fashion Contest ('Cosplay Round')

Yup, it's another fashion round! This time, our contestants will be choosing a specific couple of their choosing from the billions of other couples send in the media. These can include, but are not limited to: movies, TV shows, books of fiction, etc. The couples will be judged by how accurate their outfits and personalities/mannerisms are to the couple that they chose. We cannot see what our couples have in store!

Round 4 — Duet Singing

Yup, it's another 'oldie but a goodie': a good ole' fashion singing contest! The contestants will choose a song featuring two or more singers and will do a cover of that song on stage in front of a real-life studio audience, as well as the millions of viewers watching across all of Japan! Judging will be based by the song that the contestants chose, and how large a part each contestant had for their chosen song. So some friendly advice for our couples: be sure to give the song you choose some real, careful thinking!

Round 5 — Fashion Contest ('Prom Night')

Our final round for the pageant will consist of, you guessed it, another fashion contest! The theme for this round is 'prom night'! That's right! Our couples will be going back to their teenage years (unless they already are teenagers) and dressing up for that special night that comes, perhaps, only once in a lifetime. Judging will be based on the couples' outfits, and whether they match or not. No expense has been spared for this part of the contest, so feel free to dress as extravagant and fabulous as you possibly can!

Lastly to wrap up this pageant, the ladies of Chuohku have graciously allowed the couples to use the Tokyo Dome for an-all night prom, where all of the contestants and more will be allowed to dance the night away! Give it up for our gracious hosts, the Party of Words!

I believe that’s all there is to it! We hope you are excited and looking forward to the competition which will be broadcasted to the entirety of Japan! For those of you watching at home, make sure to tag your PROFILE with the tag #mr. and mrs. hypmic 2024! We wish you a very good day!

To kick off the event, here’s a special performance featuring an unreleased track created by the one of the music producers for this event, the one, the only, DJ Overdrive!

‘Giants'

Preformed by:

Rashaad "Straight Up" Young

Mireya "Gypsy" Quinlan

Reika "Belladonna" Aichi

Moriko "Canopus" Himawari

Aiko "Overdrive" Mayeda

[t-nd-rfoot]

love the fun headcanon idea, and i’d love for you to do 🤠 for bob!

💌 laracrofted

REACH FOR THE SKY aka Bob loving Toy Story Headcanons

Bob’s favorite Pixar movie is Toy Story, and for very good reason.

Theme Fluff

Warnings One mention of animal birth but no details...maybe some inaccurate Navy/wizzo info sprinkled in there (?)

Word Count 826

Note @laracrofted oh my honey, thank you so much for being patient with this! I also apologize for two things: 1. for making this not a Bob x reader thing if you were expecting it 😭 and 2. for going overboard...like, extremely overboard... 🫣 thank you so much again for requesting and waiting, I hope you enjoy it!

If you enjoyed this, please reblog! Reblogs are the best way to support creators (writers, artists, gif makers, everyone!) on this platform. Share the content, share the love!

When Bob was 6 years old, he was convinced that Toy Story was based on him

Not so much because he thought his toys came to life when he wasn’t looking (but that didn’t stop him from trying to see if they did) but because like Andy, his two main interests were cowboys and aerospace

He came to the realization when he watched the movie for the first time on VHS a few days before watching Toy Story 2 in the theater (his first theater movie)

Since he spent many summer and winter vacations on his uncle’s ranch, he grew up wanting to be a cowboy after watching his dad and other relatives work with the cattle

Every themed birthday, preschool dress up day, and halloween were spent in a cowboy costume since he already owned a Stetson and boots

Mama Floyd was actually thankful for that since she didn’t always have the time to make or look for costumes every year

There was also no use suggesting anything else since he wasn’t interested in anything else

In fact, working on the ranch was his original childhood dream before he wanted to be a pilot

He also has a severely cute home video and several pictures of the first time he rode a horse…well, more like sat on a horse

The horse’s reins were tied to a fence, and toddler Bob was sat on the saddle, his dad’s hands holding him tightly

“Look, Momma! I’m just like Daddy!”

And then it was time to fly back home, so he traded horses for airplanes, especially after the first plane ride he remembered taking

Bob was also definitely that kid that was practically glued to the window at an airport, watching the planes taxi, take off, and land

He also refused to sleep on a plane ride, fighting off a nap for as long as he could so he could look out the window to look down at the land below, while singing The Airplane Song from Barney

After watching Toy Story, he would pretend that the plane was a spaceship and that he was Buzz Lightyear

Right before the plane would take off down the runway, he’d say, “To infinity and beyond!”

To this day, one of Papa Floyd’s most embarrassing moments was when Bob was able to get his seatbelt off, stood up on his seat, and kept pressing the flight attendant call button to “report his mission log”

As he grew up and grew out of his Toy Story obsession, he never really grew out of his love for the movie (who wouldn’t? Toy Story is an animated classic!) and part of him still carried his inner Andy

When he was 12, he volunteered around the ranch whenever he visited

One of the first things he had to do was assist his uncle in helping one of the mares give birth, and when his uncle asked what the should name the foal, he chose the name Bullseye

Once Bullseye was big enough to ride, he became Bob’s horse, and when Bob wasn’t around, he trusted his uncle and cousins to take care of Bullseye until he came back

He kept his collection of books and pictures of aviation in his bedroom back home

When he was 16, he decided to join the Navy so he could fly as much as he could

(He remembers that conversation with his parents perfectly)

“Does it have to be the Navy, though? Why not fly commercial planes? Or why not just be an engineer?”

“I wanna be in the sky, Ma. And it’s more than just flying or being a co-pilot. There’s tactics, weapons, navigation…if I’m going to be on a plane, might as well go all the way. And I want to feel the physics behind it too, not just study it.”

“And here we were thinking you were gonna be an astronaut! Especially with all those space shows and books of yours, not to mention all those NASA posters.”

“That would be pretty cool too, Pa, but at least you guys would probably get to visit me wherever I’m based. I don’t think it would be that easy for you guys to go up to the International Space Station.”

“Well, we still love you to the moon and back, honey. We’re so proud of you!”

The night before he left, his parents gave him an envelope, telling him to open it after he left

It contained a letter from them saying how much they’ll miss him and how they’re so proud of him

His dad inserted an old polaroid of toddler Bob wearing his cowboy outfit while sitting on a horse, his penmanship spelling out in the space below ‘Reach for the sky!’

And his mom made and added to the envelope three patches: a sheriff’s star, a space ranger badge, and a blue square patch with a distinctive cloud, reminiscent of his favorite childhood movie.

Tag List @roostersrooster @rosesvioletshardy @bonitanightmxres @avaleineandafryingpan @bradshawseresinbabe @hangmanbrainrot @babyonboardfloyd @demxters @bradshawseresinbabe @footprintsinthesxnd

Add yourself to my tag list!

Disclaimer  I do not own Top Gun: Maverick or any of its characters. Please do not copy my work or translate without my permission.

[stillresolved]

💕 For all my blogs, uroborosymphony, geaesaekki, usuhan, yaoogui, devangelis

Dammit I sent without finishing my line : for all my blogs even though we already have many pairings and ships already<3 (2/2)

@uroborosymphony / send 💕 and I will tell you some muses...

HELLO LYNNIE nyahahaha, i'm here to enable you some more my dear friend bc we can never have too many plots/dynamics JFKSLDJFL :'D i'll talk about characters i have on my other blogs and to obligate myself to write out the new muses profiles, i will also include the muses i planning on add in the (hopefully) near future <3 i'll go in order here :3

@/uroborosymphony:

okay so i know that CALISTA is on hiatus, HOWEVER would she like a friend aka can YOOJIN be frends with her bc they are both immortals who lowkey wanna die (yoojin's just better at hiding it :'( )...but they cope with their immortality in opposite ways. whereas calista hides away from society in one place, yoojin is a nomad, can't stay in one place for too long. i could see something in calista resonating with yoojin when it comes to tru feelings....also just thinking yoojin randomly visiting her like once a century bc 'hi i know we haven't talked since like the 1900s so how have you been'. also more opposite vibes in that calista loves reading and you would have to pay yoojin to hold a book :'D

we did talk about this briefly but...ILANA?? being the lu*cy-gr*ey figure for my interpretation of SNOW 🤩🤩🤩 aka being the one person who haunts him for life bc she was the one person who escaped him....and who he could never control. i see them being like toxic lovers ( although the toxicity is probably coming from his side more :'D )...this is also to say though if we're doing something similar to the books, i would love...if ELISE, the mockingjay figure in our THG verse, could perhaps be a descendant of ilana since she had to have heard one of ilana's songs (the hanging tree) from somewhere....i don't think elise would have to be a grandchild of ilana, but you know ilana haunting snow would be a dream come tru of mine <3

still building on that though, PERHAPS?? in the crime verse, since i plan on SNOW being like the mastermind of ANACHRON, maybe he and ILANA could also have been lovers for a brief time too?? before she scams him and maybe it was a while back , but snow also suck at letting things which is probably why he ended up opening base in seoul aka subconsciously looking for her, but also wanting to hm, how should i say this, show her how much better off he is without her anyways if that makes any sense?? basically he's a boy having a temper tantrum about a situationship that didn't work out fjskldfjskl

also obviously GREY and ARA, still gotta work out most personality and backstory stuff for him, but grey would follow ara to the ends of the earth <3

@/geaesaekki:

we talked about this briefly in the dms, but STILL, GAYA in the THG verse being SNOW's wife by arranged marriage, but lowkey those two could be a power couple (panem needs more than just a despotic president uphold the system :'D) BUT ALSO in the crime verse perhaps, after her fall from grace (unless you have other plans for her of course), he offers a means of redeeming herself in the public's eyes aka ANACHRON's front is a charity organization so if you want her to pick the evil side again :3 they can casually date too if you're interested <3

i feel like GAYA and GA-RAM could probably have a connection of some sort too since most likely gaya would have heard of ga-ram's father AND probably about yo-han as well...maybe they were acquaintances since they're technically in the same field.

also i remember!! seeing a plot you once posted with the other muse killing someone and MARA being there to help them through it....what if that muse was ANNIE :3 ( although she might end up going to ARA instead though 🤔🤔🤔 ). this could also be NELL since she wouldn't want to tell myungdae or alfred about this :/ nell could also help mara with mask girl things since that does take place...over the net too!!

on a lighter note though, perhaps MARA could be acquaintances with SUKI since suki does drop by the gangnam police station often to visit her friend there...i think they could get along and also suki is....a fan of vigilantes so she would probably following the activities of mask girl bc she can 🤩🤩🤩

also if MARA is looking for more...illegal information, perhaps ALFRED could be a source of information. i have a thought about him opening up shop in seoul with a coffeehouse as cover for dealing with the exchange of information (it also acts as a community center in the neighborhood tho <3)

more MARA apparently :'D i think you also mentioned looking for undercover threads so perhaps since FELICITY is also undercover as an executive assistant for guess who, SNOW, she and mara could be allies of sort on the field? more on that later!!

@/usuhan:

okay this is where i'll be talking a lot MORE about the muses to be added because i would like for SNOW in his modern verse?? to be a patron of La Rose because one, his favorite flowers are roses, two, he'd be rich enough to get in anyways, but also three, he's deprieved enough to want to be a member there :/ anyways, if you want, he could be casually hooking up with SERAPHINA while being 'pals' with DANTE ( although that might contradict the fact that in his THG verse, he's technically married to gaya...but then again he is a bastard so i'm not putting him above sleeping with sera before switching over to being lovers with gaya :// )

you know how GA-RAM hates rich people? you know how BELLAMY is a textbook example of 'rich people' so what if ga-ram was part of the fighting ring circle bel watches bc ga-ram needs a way to let off steam (they're already rich thanks to yo-han :'D)...maybe bel can sponsor them??

obviously we have SERAPHINA and AERI to develop, but also what about aeri and DANTE's relationship aka in-laws interactions, although i'm not sure what assumptions to make about dante quite yet...although perhaps mama kang made aeri go see dante for like 'therapy sessions' :'D i could see aeri at least begrudgingly respecting him....maybe dante sees her as amusing to be around if only to psychoanalyze her fjskldjfslk

also if SNOW is in la rose, i have a feeling he'd also drag FELICITY into the club too. maybe SERAPHINA and/or DANTE could be suspicious of her since her only connection is through snow and low key i could see felicity wanting to down la rose as well...also just an aesthetic thought but felicity in a fine dress and also pseudo flirt(ish cause she's technically only an assistant) with dante to try and get more information and felicity will be giving the popular girl vibes :D. no feelings on her end though bc she's already in love with you know who <3

@/yaoogui:

gonna be honest, i don't know if i have as many for the muses here since most of my muses aren't exactly involved with straight up ya*kuza crime life...that being said, i still would love?? for DAI and SUKI to like be friends kinda?? since i MUST continue the trend of suki being friends with the most unexpected of ppl...maybe she doesn't have to know about dai's history, but she could become a regular at the octogon club... dai probably invited her bc he thought she was funny and she was like 'well i like free alcohol, can you get me paper too' ...gonna be honest but i feel like this would be more of a crack dynamic :'D

oh!! but also perhaps DAI and ALFRED have a business partner kind of relationship/old comrades kinda relationship?? i'm thinking of alfred deciding to fly solo when it comes to information dealing and maybe he did a favor for dai and they became drinking buddies back in the day....so if alfred needs a favor, dai's the guy to go to unless it impedes on yamazaki clan business

@/devangelis:

alrighty we're on the last one, so obviously if she knows myungdae, then she would probably know about ALFRED and NELL....but also!! i would love for her to meet SUKI as well since suki is friends with myungdae aka the pigeon man ( obviously ONE DAY....i want deva and alex's hyuk to interact too bc those two are both important ppl to patrick :'D )....perhaps deva would be amused by suki as well

since deva is devoted to proper journalism, maybe she could have been looking into GA-RAM's father's death and the circumstances there and yeah there is ga-ram refusing to help at first but also 'c'mon don't you want to clear your family's name once and for all?'

also if DEVA is a friend of patrick, i could see FELICITY approaching her at least once just to say 'thank you for being there for him when i couldn't be' <3

adding one more to this, it's angsty one, but perhaps during the revolution let's say both PATRICK and deva's beloveds are kidnapped by the capitol so the both of them?? are literally just going stir crazy out of their minds with worry and wow, the only ppl who are going to be able to calm them down is each other :'D....either that or they take turns breaking down bc they are mom and dad someone has to keep it together for the rest of the victors :'D

okie that's all i got for now, but we don't have to do any of these if you are not interested!! THANKS FOR ENABLING ME AGAIN LYNNIE and cheers to the 48293048230 plots we will hopefully develop in the future 🤩🤩🤩

[hinasho]

guide book tidbits

Just some info from the Guidebook I found interesting!

HISTORY & CUSTOMS

It’s implied the language of mermaids has changed over time (as our language does). Because long ago, when humans and merpeople co-existed peacefully, they’d trade resources and “learn to speak in the others’ tongue”. (pg. 19)

Off the coast of “Nevezuela”, there are cave markings of the old relationship between merpeople and humans. There is also this old recitation. It’s a bit wordy, but the last two paragraphs are as reads:

“Guided by ancient fears, [two rulers] kept their realms divided, bordered by the same churning surf, yet worlds apart... Until a storm cast their children ashore together, mermaid and man, side by side... and love turned the tide” (pg. 20)

Sounds like a prophecy to me!

Merpeople’s customs seem to be a blend of nature + ancestral worship. They have celebrations based on moon and sun types, as each one is said to have a magical effect on merpeople. The Coral Moon brings good fortune to merfolk, so merpeople gather in groups to celebrate it in the Carinae Sea. (pg. 60) Each Sister is responsible for hosting one moon and one sun celebration. And all merpeople travel to their respective seas during these celebrations.

Merpeople have a lot of celebratory events and holidays. They celebrate birthdays and weddings, and other new customs, like the moon and sun cycles mentioned previously, but also others like a “Meal of Gratitude” where they enjoy a “feast of seagrass”. (pg. 74 + 75)

Merfolk and humans have mixed legends and myths. By this I mean, sometimes merfolk will tell folk tales that are about other merpeople, humans, or both being involved. Humans do the same, and Lashanah used to tell Eric quite a few merfolk stories when he was a child. (pgs. 174 - 188)  

ANATOMY & DAILY LIFE

Merpeople vary from “more fishy” to “more human-like” in appearance. They can look a clear cut 50% human and 50% fish (ex: the Sisters), meanwhile there are merpeople that have a higher percentage of fishy features, including fins for ears, for hair, distinct gills on their necks, etc. However the reverse, merfolk with a higher percentage of human features, are not depicted. So no, nothing like this 💀 (src: several illustrations throughout the book)

Merfolk babies are referred to as “hatchlings” by the human researcher who “wrote” the guide. I guess this is supposed to signify they come from eggs and not live births. (pg. 29)

There are two types of merpeople: regular mermaids and “singing mermaids” aka sirens. (pg. 26) Eric alternates throughout the book of being wary of Sirens vs defending them. He never takes issue with regular merpeople though.

On that same note, there seems to be a bit of a prejudice from humans’ POV. Sirens are the main ones humans are wary of and fear, while they view mermaids as ambiguous/neutral (pg. 102)

Sirens have different song types. Ranging from offensive (ex: causing a shipwreck), to defensive (ex: shark summoning), to passive (ex: creating a calm sleep), to helpful (ex: granting luck). And more. (pgs. 36 - 39)

Every merperson has a companion/familiar. Size does not matter and it can range from a small fish to a massive whale. It just depends on which type of sea creatures are commonly found in that merperson’s waters. These companions assist in the life’s journey of the merperson. (pgs. 40 & 54-57) Eric says if he were given the choice, he’d pick either an otter or a whale to be his companion.

Most merpeople live in the Twilight Layer of the ocean. (pg. 43)

It seems all merpeople can sing, but only the songs of sirens have actual abilities. I could very well be wrong, this is just my interpretation of the book. It says for merfolk, “finding one’s singing voice is a rite of passage, denoting a coming of age” (pg. 66) and I struggle to see how singing can be this important if only a chunk of the population partake in it.

Anywho, merfolk do need to practice their singing, and they have the ability to “trap musical notes” in bubbles to review later or create their own symphony. Only experienced vocalists can do this though. (pg. 67)

Merfolk diet consists mostly of shellfish and aquatic vegetation. It appears they don’t eat crab, lobsters, squids, or octopus though and see them as companionable. It’s not explained why they don’t give a fuck about shrimp, because despite those exceptions, they do eat shrimp. (pg. 75)

They have sports and athletic games. Their version of “chicken” is diving into pitch black trenches and the first to quit loses. Another is where they see if they can hitch a ride on an unknowing giant squid. (pg. 76)

The merpeople in Perla’s waters ride elephant seals for sport. With a harness, reins, saddle, the whole shebang. (pg. 150 - 151)

SEA CREATURES & ITEMS

The ring Queen Serina passes down to Eric for his betrothed looks strangely like a “Sapphire Mermaid Ring” that’s described as a pale blue and symbolizes repairing rifts and brokering peace between humans and merfolk. There’s a legend that some humans can look into mermaid sapphires and see into mermaid life underwater. (pg. 11) I have no idea how to take this information, but it’s possible Serina also had no idea what’s been in her family for generations.

There’s a bioluminescent sea dragon that has “glowing, veined wings” that resides in the Abyss layer of the ocean. (pg. 51) I don’t know if this is referencing another disney movie, but there’s an illustration and it’s... straight up a dragon. I might post a picture because it looks cool af. (Note: I don’t believe it’s depicting Sisu’s kind as it has two horns and wings)

Water Nokks (the water horse in Frozen 2) exist in this universe! They’re said to mostly reside in the Saithe Sea/Dark Sea that Princess Karina reigns over. (pg. 123) Does that mean Frozen and TLM2023 exist in the same universe? Who knows!

THE ROYAL FAMILY

Merfolk rulers are trained in combat. (pg. 79)

The royal advisor is usually a “small” sea creature. Sebastian is the current one, but its believed an octopus and/or a seahorse were his predecessors somewhere down the line. (pg. 97)

Tragedy of the Mermaid Queen (pgs. 98 - 99)

Mala used to communicate with humans using Great Crested Terns as a courier service before humans and merpeople were divided. She knows how to write and use to write messages on “scrolls of seaweed”. (pg. 104)

Tamika once wrestled a tiger shark into submission (pg. 112)

In Karina’s waters, her Palace City is underneath a massive iceberg. From our POV, it essentially hangs upside down. (pg. 124)

There’s a legend that Indira once saved her subjects from a “rampaging giant venomous sea snake”. (pg. 128)

Caspia created a river to provide merfolk with easier traveling routes to other kingdoms. Which is ironic as it’s said she’s a homebody and only travels for “all-sea gatherings”. (pg. 136)

Each Sister and their people have their own customs. For example, the way their people greet each other, what they consider rude or pleasant, what they eat, etc. (pgs. 111, 119, 126, 135, 142, 151, 158)

Ariel is already the ruler of her sea (the “Carinae Sea”). This caught my attention because I thought she was just in training for it during the movie, but no, she’s the ruler of that sea. (pg. 152)

The other Sisters all have their own palaces in their oceans. Since Triton’s Great Palace already had its home in Ariel’s sea, she just lives in one of its towers. (pg. 156) 

URSULA

It’s believed that Ursula, as a half human half octopus, is either an extremely rare species or is the only one of her kind. (pg. 163)

There is a 3-part system to most if not all of Ursula’s spells/deals: The Want, the Take, and the Rule to Break. (pg. 170) So for example, for her “Transformation Spell” The Want = wanting to be human, the Take = the merperson’s voice, the Rule to Break = true love’s kiss. Ursula was not exaggerating in the movie when she said Ariel was “almost too easy” as she fit the 3 categories perfectly.

Ursula uses latin for her spells (pg. 171)

NOTABLE LEGENDS / TALES

“Legend of the Dagger Shell” - basically an enemies to lovers about a “hard-bitten and unfeeling” merman and a rude as fuck fisherman. The two fall in love right as the merman is about to kill the fisherman. (pg. 182)

“The Flute of the Deep” - a mix of the Spongebob Jellyfish Jam episode and the Legend of the Pied Piper. Basically there’s believed to be an entire village who’s children went missing after they wronged a mermaid. (pg. 183)

“The Tale of the Great Briny Storm” - a merman in this tale can supposedly hear a human’s thoughts??? It’s not clarified whether all merpeople are telepathic, or if they’re only telepathic towards humans, or if only this one guy has telepathy. But he can hear a human woman’s thoughts on land and they fall in love. (pg. 184)

I have a sneaking suspicion the guy might’ve been a young Triton, given that towards the end of the tale, when the merman and the human woman are forced apart, “the sea sent a great storm to lash shutter and shake cave” and from the Sea King’s chapter, it’s said only he has the ability to summon storms via his trident. I could be wrong though! Just a theory.

“The Tale of a Thousand and One Shipwrecks” - a lot of the boats in the shipwreck graveyard are Ursula’s doing. When two continents’ navies were at war over their waters, she had had enough of their nonsense. She stole her brother’s trident and sunk both factions. (pg. 185)

“The Tale of the Great Sea Flood” - this one was intense. One of the Seven Sisters was kidnapped by humans (I suspect Mala because of the other TLM novel). Triton got big mad, so 1) he caused a tsunami, then 2) the “water took his form” (???) and he lifted roofs and building walls to locate his daughter, and 3) grabbed handfuls of land and pulled them down to the sea as retribution. And this is one of the main reasons why the ocean “steals a bit of land from the shore year after year, as payment for the humans’ treachery”. (pg. 186)

If I’m right that the kidnapped mermaid is Mala, that also means the figurehead at the front of Eric’s ships are inspired by her, since upon seeing the illustration on the page, Eric says as such in his notes. (pg. 187)

QUESTIONABLE BITS

The Conch - there’s a page that explains that merpeople use conch shells to communicate. Eric takes note of this and even says the illustration present reminds him of the one in his collection. (pg. 69) I say this is questionable, because it makes his line in the movie about having no idea a conch shell could be used to make noise, a bit off.

In the illustration for Princess Mala’s ocean, her palace has stairs. (pg. 109) I don’t know why they’d need them though. Maybe just aesthetic?

Eric has already heard about Ariel! The book describes her in detail (illustration and name) and Eric says she reminds him of his mermaid figurine. (pg. 152) It begs to question how he wouldn’t recognize or suspect something was up in the movie. But I suppose it can be argued that seeing something in a book and then meeting the person in real life are two very different things.

And that’s it! This post is entirely self indulgent as I just wanted to share my thoughts on some of the info in the guidebook. If you’ve read all this, I’m glad you found it as interesting as I did!

[blackidyll]

rules: tag people you want to know better and/or catch up with, then answer these questions below!

thank you @derpinathebrave for the tag! ♪(^∇^*) I answered a similar version of this not too long ago, so I've changed up the answers for some of these (like the ship one, i have so many ships, i can answer so many different versions of this LOL).

four ships:

Victuuri (Victor Nikiforov/Katsuki Yuuri) from Yuri on Ice. Love wins, and individually these two intrigue me so much that my YOI fics are the longest works I've ever written, and also thanks to this fandom for making me watch and now become a pretty fervent real life figure skating fan.

Kiryuu Joshua/Sakuraba Neku from The World Ends With You, specifically, the 2007 game version (because I'm still mad at how the 2021 anime changed their final confrontation). The partnership, the betrayals, the choices made when the chips are down. Trust your partner indeed.

Touya Akira/Shindou Hikaru from Hikaru no Go. Every couple of years I go insane on May 5 about this series and these two but anyway it's 2.5 months too early. Eternal rivals, soulmates, forever bonded together in pursuit of the Hand of God. This ship has everything.

Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) from The Sandman. I'm TV series only but like. We all saw episode 6 right? Like, the chemistry is off the charts.

last song: Someday by OneRepublic (this feels like a very IceMav-during-DADT-era song..)

currently reading: 羽生結弦アマチュア時代全記録 aka the complete record of Hanyu Yuzuru's figure skating amateur era. I can't actually read much Japanese (I am navigating this book by reading all kanji as their Chinese meaning) but frankly I'm mostly here for all the gorgeous pictures of Yuzu included in the book.

last movie: Puss in Boots: The Last Wish. I really enjoyed it! The animation is great and I loveeee every single entrance the Wolf has. Just excellent.

craving: sleep grrrr let me sleep or at least nap in peace ummm something sour and tangy, like lemonade or some kind of lemon/lime-based dessert.

not tagging anyone this time since i already tagged folks last round; feel free to pick this up if you'd like!

[gldenhrs]

                              (—) ★ spotted !!  OLIVIA JAMES on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid ! many say that the 34 year old looks like CANDICE KING , but i don’t really see it. while the  ACTRESS  is known for being  CARING  my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be  BOSSY  i swear, every time i think of them, i hear the song LOVER BY TAYLOR SWIFT  .

*   ◞  ╰   general   .

full name : olivia marie james ( nee richardson ) . nicknames :   liv , livvie birthdate / zodiac sign : somewhere in march during aries season . birthplace : houston , tx . sexual orientation : heterosexual . family :   emily richardson ( mother )  &  zach richardson  ( father ) siblings :  none relationship status :  married   children :  emma james ( daughter , 5 years old )  +  another daughter on the way pets :  golden retriever named sammy occupation :  actress . love language :  physical touch , deeds , words . + traits  :  loyal , caring , organized , valiant   &   courageous . - traits  :  bossy , stubborn , workaholic   &  controlling . aesthetic :  matte lipstick , family beach days , blowdried bouncy hair , lipstick stained coffee mugs , matte nail polish , freshly cleaned sheets , gentle touch , game nights , day drinking , sneakers instead of heels , long talks on the phone , mom vibes , oscars stocked shelves . muse inspo :   monica geller ( friends ) , haley james scott ( one tree hill ) , caroline forbes ( vampire diares ) , lorelai gilmore ( gilmore girls ) , prue halliwell ( charmed ) , amy santiago ( brooklyn nine-nine ) , leslie knope ( parks & recreation ) , claire dunphy ( modern family ) , dorothy zbornak ( golden girls )

*   ◞  ╰   quick history   .

ok so , liv grew up in houston with a loving , caring af family which set her values high from the start . the fam was never rich but they also never truly lacked anything ??  

it was clear from a rather early age that liv possessed insane talent when it came for acting , so after a couple of lessons , school plays  &  whatnot , her parents decided to relocate to california so she could pursue acting full time  (  which was a big thing considering she was just 5 , but they believed in her ! )

so obvi , since she was a cute lil blonde girl with immense talent , it didn’t take long for her to book her first big shot movie , &  soon enough liv was a household name !!

growing up , she was careful what she picked  &  even more careful of the company she kept  (  aka fame never got in her head that much )  so with that more blockbuster movies followed , so did appearances on tv , commercials , etc ... u name it ! she was basically hollywood’s sweetheart  (  think hilary duff grows up to be kate winslet or kate blanchett )  &  i have the list of movies she’s made  HERE  to make it easier for u :)) 

fast forward a couple of more years  &  now she’s a big a-list actress , is happily married  (  which is a shock itself for hollywood standards )  to the love of her life for about 7 years now (  think of blake lively and ryan reynolds on this one !! ) ,  has a beautiful daughter named emma who just turned 5 , owns a golden retriever called sammy ( american cliche what can i say )  &&  is about seven months pregnant with ANOTHER  baby girl !!

*   ◞  ╰   personality & cute facts .

not gonna lie she’s totally based off monica geller from friends  &  i regret nothing .

also a huge coffee addict (  surprise , surprise  ) 

wears glasses for reading  &  cleans when frustrated !! 

the mom friend of every group so .... will protect anyone who needs it .

doesn’t tolerate nonsense &  is quick to give u a smartypants comment to a stupid question or overall give u lectures on the bad decisions u make .

does not too well when she’s on the receiving end of criticism  &  hates admitting she’s in the wrong .

famous lines include  “ you did not just say that “  &  “ i told you so “

can do her makeup even drunk ;))

still cries like a baby when mufasa dies  &  susan forgets about narnia .

likes having a glass of wine every night before bed to calm her nerves lolol .

goes lowkey crazy during superbowl season bc .... she’s a big football fan .

a total momma bear  &  will hurt u if u hurt her family .

lowkey hates going to all the award shows bc the press always makes a big deal out of it meanwhile all she wants to do is stay home . 

her husband & her love cracking jokes / tease each other thru social media so they often post ridiculous pics / twitter posts  &  the fans eat it up !! 

*   ◞  ╰   connections  .

childhood best friend aka the rachel to her monica !! <3

a group of  FRIENDS  ( see what i did there fdjnrjtdg  ) give me ross , phoebe , joey & chandler pls !!

friends that often barbecue together on the weekends ?? 

hollywood couple friends !!!

maybe her first love ??  like a guy she dated when she was 14 , and it was totally cute  &  innocent

also exes she dated before meeting her husband  (  think taylor swift before she met joe alwyn ) <3

also co-actors on her films would be grand too !!

ok so since i know our group is full of QUESTIONABLE people , maybe someone she watches over , protects , lectures , etc ??  just let her be a mom friend pls !  

frenemies , coworkers , protective friendship , sibling like friendship , unfaithful friends  , unlikely friends , friends who used to be enemies , ex best friends , friends who balance each other out , competition , rivarly , friends by association , family friends , her husband’s friends :))

[sugaredoleander]

looking for very specific friends

a list of media ranging from being incredibly niche to not incredibly niche but that i'm deeply obsessed with and would like to talk to someone about

the search for signs of intelligent life

subnormality (webcomic)

people watching (webseries)

legends of tomorrow

smoke gets in your eyes, from here to eternity, will my cat eat my eyeballs, the death positive movement in general, even just caitlin doughty's youtube channel

alice isn't dead

the magnus archives

i'm thinking of ending things (book & movie)

tuca and bertie

the mad ones (the musical)

compatibility is based off specifity, so i will now list some of my favourite things that haven't already been listed

movies

everything everywhere all at once

mamma mia!

promising young woman

the handmaiden

pride

fear street

the half of it

saving face

but i'm a cheerleader

kajillionaire

tv shows

killing eve

the haunting of hill house

the haunting of bly manor

midnight mass

russian doll

sense8

crazy ex-girlfriend

wynonna earp

a series of unfortunate events (also grew up with the books, which is Very evident in my writing)

derry girls

one day at a time

books

less

the secret history

this is how you lose the time war

war of the foxes

crush

music

the mountain goats

mitski

indigo girls

zolita

ABBA

some of my all-time most played songs on spotify

i guess - mitski

ghost - indigo girls

working for the knife - mitski

JUDAS - the reverent marigold

this is a life - son lux

putting the dog to sleep - the antlers

amy aka spent gladiator 1 - the mountain goats

a better son/daughter - rilo kiley

misc.

interior design & architecture

country & folk music but especially specifically lesbian country & folk music

hannah gadsby

mary oliver

lefttube

museums

dark academia

stabat mater by vivaldi but specifically the version on the talented mr. ripley soundtrack

tove jansson

dykes to watch out for

queer horror & narrative podcasts

oh. the very concept of hobbies. the artistic, the culinary, the physical, if you bounce from interest to interest & have an incessant curiosity for the world

add ten points if you are a

medstudent

lesbian

leftist

writer

ADHD-er

live in italy bc i'm (hopefully, assuming i do well enough on the IMAT*) moving there this fall & don't have any local friends *if you're also studying for the IMAT, add 20 points, i need a study buddy

do NOT reach out if you

are under 18

don't support lgbtq rights, terfs do not interact

don't support BLM

are anti-choice

in any way do not support the liberation of marginalised people

if you went through this whole list, add ten points because i talk a lot & type very fast so expect a lot of reading. and if, going through the list, you found yourself thinking, hey, i do that! repeatedly, the inbox is open, come chat!

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once, part two [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: Muahahahaha. IT’S HERE!I know, it’s been over a month. And I’m really sorry for that. But HOLY SHIT, the traction “loved you once’ got was way more than anything I could ever have imagined or expected. I am just so grateful to everyone for reading. For the people I’ve met and gotten to know since engaging in the Mayans fandom and posting fic. Honestly, this wouldn’t exist without you.

For this part, as before I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit and added some elements from season three in here. You’ll know them when you see them. Also, if you can tell me where Frida’s date comes from, you win a cookie, and maybe a hug from me.

Part one was based on "Loved You Once" by Clara Mae, this part was definitely moreso based on "You Broke Me First" by Tate McRae. And "After Hours" by the Weeknd. Honestly, the playlist for this fic is a sad, horny mess. You wanna cry, but feel confusedly turned on by it? I may drop the link.

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 (aka Frida -- as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.); also slight Frida x other, and slight Coco x Frida.

Word Count: 23.4K (I KNOW, OKAY?) of ANGST! Half-baked simile and overbaked metaphor. Heartbreak swathed in honey-sweetness, and biting frustration. But maybe, ultimately, the balm of peace?

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, descriptions of sex, fingering, oral (female receiving) so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry). This honestly feels just like a compendium of heartbreak.

Summary: You and Angel have been broken up for a while. After the ill-fated run-in at the patch party, will you continue on as you have? Or is it the push you both needed to reconnect? Angel loved you once; will you love him again?

Read part one here.

---

It doesn't snow in Santo Padre.

It's not that you enjoyed being cold, or particularly wanted snow. But a part of you had always romanticized the concept of a “classic” winter -- the feeling of crystalline fluff tumbling from the heavens to dust your cheeks and lashes, bathing your surroundings in an ocean of chilly silver-white. Of retreating from the exterior world's glacial crispness and  into the warmth of your home, bathed in an orange-golden glow, the cinnamon-y scent of something baking. 

Of falling into the arms of your beloved, someone who would seep the chill from your bones with his warm embrace, kissing the tip of your cold nose. Who would admire the snowflakes caught in your lashes before they melted away as he presses his lips to yours. Cherishing you and cradling your cheeks as he does so, like you're the snowflake he's afraid will melt away.

But it doesn't snow in Santo Padre. Your idyllic winter fantasy is not to be. No snowflakes, no cinnamon; even the man of your reality is, in truth, much harsher than that of any winter chill you could’ve dreamt up on your own. 

In the real world, your romance with Angel bloomed, despite the dying light of mid-January. And nearly a year later, it felt like the true harshness of winter had come to your doorstep when you were, quite literally, left out in the cold. Not exactly the stuff of dreams. You know what they say, be careful what you wish for. This frigid winter was inhospitable, and worse than you could have ever imagined. 

The stinging numbness of Angel’s harsh treatment of you and subsequent departure left you with frostbitten limbs and an icy heart. 

The chill had subsided, had melted away from your bones some in the passing months... 

Until a few weeks ago. At that damned patch party that you were foolish enough to attend, despite knowing full well who would be in attendance. 

That had gone famously. 

Aneesa had come by the next day to drop off your gear, your books, and a wad of cash you’d tried to push off, but that she’d insisted was from Bishop for the night’s work. 

“So you are alive,” she’d snipped, her annoyed expression melting into one of sympathy when she’d taken in the shadowed look in your eyes, the sunken nature of your shoulders. How you’d shed your party clothes for one of Angel’s old t-shirts he’d left at your place and never come by to reclaim, something you hadn’t done in a while. And if you were honest with yourself (something you were a little afraid to be in this moment of weakness), you knew it was wildly unhealthy to still have it-- let alone to take comfort in wearing it. To want to take comfort in anything to do with Angel.

Though Aneesa hadn’t been in the room when it had all gone down, otherwise occupied with Gilly, she’d heard more than enough from Coco and EZ, Gaby standing to the side with an empathetic expression as EZ recounted how Angel had basically run you off the property in his insistence to speak to you. How you’d looked ready to burst.

You’d apologized, of course, for not responding to her texts and calls. For worrying her. She’d waved the apologies away, opting to scoop you into her signature warm embrace. But it wasn’t just Aneesa. 

The texts from that night went unanswered, despite the near-constant buzzing of your phone. 

It had nothing on the buzzing of the thoughts in your own head, replaying just what-the-fuck had happened at that party. 

“I care, Frida.”

“... and if I wanted you back?”

“Please, querida.”

Frida, this. Querida, that. Honestly, it was too much. 

You were smart to get out of there. You were right to get out of there. You’d said what you’d needed to say in that moment, even if it didn’t scratch the surface of everything you’d wanted to say to Angel since he tossed your shit in a box all those months ago.

You’d almost thought you were back in mid-winter, with the chill that had resided in your bones after you’d gone home, hands shaking and clammy with the nerves from confronting Angel. Your skin felt like it was vibrating on a different frequency. Nauseous. And as you’d slid into bed that night, all you could feel was the cavernously empty side of your bed, threatening to swallow you whole. And not for the first time did you wish it would snow. It would be warmer than the perpetual bleak chill you felt everywhere since Angel had left you.

Now, in the sweltering heat of late summer, the season’s defiant final push before it shunts away into cooler autumn, you find yourself back in your shop. Ever-grateful for central air as you watch the waxy sunshine and passersby through the glass door. 

You were  leaned over the counter, idly sketching, when the telltale ding signalled the shop’s door opening.

As you looked up and saw just who was making his way in, ever-present gentle thunk and squeak of his boots meeting the linoleum, you were struck with visions of your life a year and a half ago, when this very sight had been what started it all. 

A sight that should have been a welcome one -- your man walking into your workplace to greet you on a break with a kiss on the cheek; or, at the very least, what should have been a cherished memory -- the ineluctable meeting with the person you’d thought you’d spend the rest of your life with … all of it was tainted now by the actual sight of him walking to the counter for the first time in a long time (but not nearly long enough, given everything), hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were fixed on his feet as he put them one in front of the other on his way to where you stood. 

There was no easy lean on the counter. No self-confident rapping of his ringed knuckles against the hardwood. No smirking grin. 

The Angel before you was a sulking shell of the man who had blown into your life a year and a half ago with his practiced flirtation and his warm, ochre eyes. Maybe 'Clara Forever' should have been more of a red flag than you'd originally lent it. But you weren't reading between the lines then, content with perusing the beauty of the surface poetry that was the man you'd met. 

The man now? Between the lines was all you were reading. How could you trust the surface? After everything. This man was mussed hair and tired eyes, overgrown scruff and rumpled jeans you were sure he’d rolled out of bed in. Despite his disheveled appearance, your guard was still up. You knew how easily Angel slipped beneath your skin, like pin-pricking bolts of easy silk gliding seamlessly into your bloodstream, taking you over before you even knew he was wrapping you up, away, and into himself.  

To say you were grateful for the buffer the counter provided between the two of you would be a massive understatement. It may as well be Everest, because there was no damned way you were going to let him scale it and press his way even further into your day, let alone back into your life.

You were silent as you watched Angel unstuff his large hands from the pockets of his kutte and shift a little from foot to foot. You crossed your arms over your chest, flexing in your impatience, and waited for him to speak.

He looked up at you, sullen eyes meeting your shrewd ones for the first time since that night on the clubhouse porch. 

Oh. And Angel’s eyes had always held so much emotion. You knew you’d said it before, thought it before -- Angel’s feelings were his worst-kept secret, ever bubbling beneath the surface but inevitably bursting through like greenery through the cracks of stone. Spilling molten lava.

Bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.

Today, they were glistening; but not with rage or definitive humor. You saw shame. You saw remorse. You had half a mind to tell Angel just where he could shove those feelings, and then he spoke, cracking the brittle, tense silence between the two of you with the gravelly timbre of his voice 

“You, uhhhh, got any space for me today?” You had to hand it to him, Angel’s question was unexpected; his eyes left yours to take in the  empty chairs at the back of the shop. 

You shuddered a little with your exhaling sigh, internally bemoaning the fact that you were alone to face this as you chewed over just how you could answer. Olí had gone to the bakery a few blocks down to procure some late-morning cafecito. You immediately thought of texting him, begging him to come back and save you from the inherent awkwardness of this situation. But you knew he was likely caught in the line of the belated rush. And eager to flirt with the barista.

On your own again, then. Left to battle with your own emotions, and to face the minefield that were Angel’s. To face the consequences your admittedly-childish and flippant exit the night of the party had wrought. And if you were honest with yourself, you were not ready for this. Not quite ready to face the music (music that, to you, sounded like every clichéd, sad song you’d played ad nauseum since Angel had pushed you aside, causing you to unintentionally meet the quotient of every breakup truism). 

What was it they said? Clichés are clichés for a reason? 

You pulled yourself from the mire of your own thoughts with the sluggish carefulness of a child unsticking their boots from thick mud, hating the way Angel’s eyes shone now with hopefulness as he awaited your answer. 

Was he fucking serious? 

You uncrossed your arms, sighing loudly now before you answered him.

"My books are full," you said simply, shrugging. “Sorry.” Though you clearly weren’t, your clipped words plinking through the tense air like chips of ice.

Angel looked around the empty shop, eyebrows lifting as he took in the underlying meaning to your statement. 

“You got no one in here,” he responded, trying to keep his instant and rushing frustration at the situation at bay. He’d come here to try to talk to you. To hopefully appease your mood by coming to your turf to do so. Make something easy for you. Couldn’t you see that?

You stood unmoving, studying him keenly, almost like you were wagering with yourself on just how long it would take his frustrations to boil over. 

You weren’t about to cave so easily.

“Dunno what to tell you, Angel,” he’d quirked up at the way you said his name, almost like a little puppy, and you tried not to let yet another icy shard wedge its way into your heart at his behest, slightly disgusted with yourself for how you defaulted to the desire to smooth the wrinkle from his brow, to cup his cheeks and kiss away the worry you saw behind his eyes. Even after everything, your first instinct -- your first desire -- was to nurture him. But you told yourself since the patch party that you would be resolute. 

Even if on the inside your heart was frozen, but your resolve was melting.

“My books are full,” you repeated, holding up the datebook where you kept your schedule and making a show of flipping through the obviously-sparsely scheduled pages. “No room for you here.”

The line across Angel’s quizzical brow deepend, ochre eyes hardening into a slate frown. His upper lip curled slightly in annoyance, and as he caught his breath on the inhale, you could see him physically resist the urge to snap at you. 

“A lotta white on those pages, querida,” he bit out, starting to lean forward in the direction of the counter, weight on the balls of his feet. 

You closed the pages to your datebook primly, placing it on the counter and folding your hands over where the book rested. 

“No sé a qué te refieres.” I don’t know what you mean. You gestured at the empty chair behind you. “Business is booming. Now, if you want something done, Olí has openings next week. Or I can have him call you if he has a cancellation. Other than that, I surely can’t help you,” you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. 

You may have sounded tough -- cold and distant to your own ears, even. Angel may have been convinced. But you knew that if you looked him in the eye now, he would see the cracks in the already thin veneer that was your display of disinterest. Better to keep your head down, so to speak. Lest he see just how false your sense of bravado truly was.  

“Frida …” Angel slowly reached across the counter, holding out an arm to touch yours. 

You took a deliberate step back, just out of his arm’s reach, your eyes blazing now as he curled his fingers back and dropped his hand once more to his side. You shook your head. 

“Am I speaking something you don’t? I already said I can’t help you." You pointed to the door, “That’s your cue to go. I have a client waiting.” 

You'd had to hand it to yourself. Despite the depression-gymnastics your insides were doing, you were putting up a good front.

With that, you jabbed the finger pointing at the door, now over your shoulder at your empty chair. 

You were nothing if not adamant. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. At the very least, he’d deserved that.

Angel exhaled, rolling his eyes a little at your unwillingness to engage with him, before holding his hands up in surrender, retreating. 

Your heart was pounding in time with his steps to the exit. Were you really going to let him walk away -- keep walking away -- from you? Was he really going to say nothing else?

Angel gave you one last look before turning on his heel and making his way toward the exit of the shop. 

You don’t know what possessed you to say it. Maybe your inner masochist wasn’t done playing “Operation” with your feelings -- perhaps it was the gnarling, twisting fear you felt at seeing him walk away again, and maybe this time for good. But, as Angel reached the door, you called out,

“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.” 

Fuck. And you were doing so well. 

Angel glanced over his shoulder at you, full brows raised in mild surprise at your flimsy olive branch, wrapped in reference to your first meeting. He nodded mildly to acknowledge he’d heard what you’d said, his shoulders shifting beneath his kutte as he pushed the door open and walked back out into the hazy heat. 

Huh. Guess you had more to say to him, after all.  

----

"¿Flores, Angelito? ¿Para mi?" You asked in mild surprise, a little giggle bubbling from your lips as you took in the man before you with his short-sleeved flannel beneath the kutte, his thick, ringed fingers clutched around the bunched stems of an impressive-looking bouquet. 

The few dates you had been on with Angel at this point were all sweet. You’d never had much of a sweet tooth, but … there was a first time for everything. And Angel Reyes made you want to indulge. 

He had texted you the night before, asking if you'd like to meet him at the park the next day for some coffee, and maybe a walk. 

 "A walk?" You'd teased. "So old-fashioned, Angelito. Will we be supervised on this walk?" You drummed your nails against your thigh while you awaited his response, the bubbles in the corner of your screen popping up to indicate Angel was answering.

"Not the first time I've been told I needed adult supervision. But I think you're up to the task," he'd answered. Followed by a "winking" emoji.

Before you could type a similarly-cheeky response, he was typing again. A double-text.

"No need to involve anyone else in our business."

You chuckled at that. You'd give Angel Reyes that one. He certainly was charming. 

He'd met you as planned the next morning, proffering you the cluster of blooms. An unexpected gift. 

"¡Que bonita!" You accepted the bouquet, admiring the starshine sprigs of queen Anne's lace that were nestled between the soft pink pastel peonies and crisp swaths of greenery. You stood, rocking up to your tiptoes to press a kiss to Angel's cheek. "Gracias, guapo."

As you dropped back onto your feet, you took in the mildly flustered expression on Angel's face, rewarding him with another light giggle.

"Yeah, well…" Angel scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck. He had a habit of that, you noted. Was he nervous? "Seemed right, right? Since I've got flowers from you, and all.." he trailed. 

"I love them, Angel," you assured. "You didn't have to get me anything. I was just happy to have coffee with you."

On that note, you turned to the bench you had been waiting on, two cups of still-piping coffee in the little corrugated to-go carrier. You plucked one from its nest and handed it to Angel, popping the little plastic flip-top on the lip of the cup, blowing on it a tad to cool it, before handing it to Angel. 

You’d done it so seamlessly, he wondered if you truly realized what you had done, a cute little gesture of caring that -- the more he thought about in hindsight, the more he realized -- were the kind of gestures that exemplified and embodied you. He couldn’t help but stare down from his height in admiration of you.

“I assume you take it black?” you chirped. “If not, I grabbed packets,” you gestured at the little four-cup carrier, packets of cream and sweetener stuffed into one of the empty holders. 

He chuckled a bit at that, taking a small moment to admire you the moment you turned back toward the bench, your beauty in the late-morning sun as it streaked solar beams making your hair shine like a resplendent halo, the aura of it soft and reflective against the apples of your cheeks, ethereal. 

He appreciatively noted your own tattoos, streaks of ink awash against your skin and flashing beneath the ridden-up sleeves of your hoodie as you reached forward to grab your own cup from the carrier. 

You deposited the empty holder and packets into the trash, bringing your own cup to your lips and turning back toward Angel,

“Shall we?” You tilted your head toward the path encircling the park.

Angel took deep sips of his coffee, seemingly immune to the heat, and savoring the rich flavor as you walked by his side. 

Asbestos mouth, you thought, amused with yourself and your thought at Angel’s ability to slug the piping hot liquid without even flinching. 

For his part, Angel appreciated that you didn’t feel the need to compulsively fill the silence-- content to sip your respective “wake-up” cups, walking side-by-side and enjoying the sun’s tender, teasing warmth while basking in the other’s company. 

Angel didn’t know what made him say it, but in this moment, with you looking so perfect as you did, it felt like the moment to share a little piece of himself, 

“My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid, ya know?” 

You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, not breaking your stride, “That’s sweet,” you acknowledged. “I can just imagine you and Ezekiel running her ragged while you play. Do you and she ever come back here together?" 

Angel balked at your question. It struck him in moments like these, just how truly new you were to the self-contained corner of the universe that was Santo Padre, a vacuous and arid black hole that the rest of space and time forgot. It didn’t occur to him that there was anyone in town who didn’t know what had happened to Marisol Reyes. 

He stopped walking, unsure how to answer your question. You caught on to the change in pace, turning to meet him where he stood. 

“She, uh… she’s dead,” he said, softly and simply. He couldn’t deny the truth, and certainly didn’t see the point in being dishonest about it. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “Shit, Angel, I-- I’m so sorry,” you quickly wrapped your arms around him, mindful not to spill your coffee on him as you brought your hands around his waist. “I didn’t -- I didn’t mean to ask … I didn’t know.”

At first, Angel’s body had stiffened when you made contact with his torso. But he quickly relaxed into the hug, tilting his chin down to rest atop your head, bringing one arm around to gently pat your back, to reassure you that your innocent question hadn’t done any harm.

“S'okay, querida, it happened a while ago. Like you said, you didn’t know.” 

The two of you gently parted from your embrace, you leaning forward to run a reassuring hand over his bicep, genuine empathy emanating in the gesture.

“Well, this isn’t heavy at all,” as you withdrew from Angel, you hunched your shoulders at the mild discomfort you felt having brought up something painful for him. “Nothing like some light conversation on a casual coffee date,” you chuckled nervously. 

Angel had the good grace to smile at that, his easy expression a gesture of mercy on your flip-flopping conscience. 

“I mean,” you carried on, “I know you don’t know me all that well, but… if you ever want to talk, ever need anything, I’m here. I didn’t mean to dig at any old wounds,” you murmured, sincerely, but sheepishly.

“Really, querida, it’s OK,” he reassured. “I didn’t bring it up to be … depressing, or nothing... I have nothing but good memories with her here,” Angel took a long sip of his coffee, nodding at you slightly and resuming his previous pace. 

He pointed over to the swings on the other side of the large lawn, “She used to push me and EZ. Would cheer for us when we got higher. And ... if Pop was working late, and we wanted to play, she’d grab his glove and bring it to play catch with us, even if the damn thing was too big for her hands,” Angel smiled as he looked over at the lawn. “She woulda liked you, you know?” 

He nodded to himself in assurance at his own words, confident in his assessment of your character through the lens of his mother’s memory. 

Your breath caught at that, taken with the compliment. You smiled gently when Angel turned to face you again.

“It would have been an honor to know her,” you said, sincerely. “Sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”  

“She was,” Angel agreed, easily slipping his hand into yours as the two of you continued to walk, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “I just hope I never lose that. Never forget her.”

Angel’s words gave you pause, struck with your default instinct to nurture. You were no stranger to loss. Who was, really? Not wishing that pain upon anybody, you imparted wisdom that had, in turn, been impressed upon you in your own similarly-sad moments: 

“You won’t,” you assured, taking your hand from his, trailing your fingers up his wrist and to his forearm, tracing your thumb over the sprig of rosemary you had etched into his skin a few weeks prior. “¿Por recuerdo, sí? For remembrance? You remember her in moments like these, where you share her with others. That’s not something you’ll lose, Angelito. Because she lives on in you. And your brother.” 

Angel was silent for a moment. 

Worried you had somehow overstepped -- when weren’t you feeling that way with Angel? Could you ever just mind your own business without spilling clichés like some kind of poetic dimestore vending machine, or a stale-ass fortune cookie? He hadn’t asked for you to  --

But Angel hadn’t said anything to put you down. As a matter of fact, he was just standing there… looking at you with that face again. What did that face mean?

Angel regarded you with a peachy-hued gaze of adoration, your words stirring something in him. But when weren’t they? Would everything you said always make him feel this way?  He had learned from the day you’d met, and your first date, that you were thoughtful. Generous with your thoughts and your empathy. Willing to give to others, but reserved with your own heart. 

And as he held your gaze, he was lightning-struck with the desire to make you feel safe enough to share your everything with him; wanted to kiss your pretty mouth and share every story from his life with you. Wanted to leech any pain from your pretty bones and replace it with the security of his affection. 

The thought might have scared him, if he had given them a second longer in that moment. Never before had he truly desired to share these things with another. 

You were dangerous that way, Angel decided. A real sleeper hit.

He tilted his head down, bringing his free hand to gently graze the high part of your waist with his fingertips, pressing his lips softly to yours. 

Every kiss with Angel was a novel experience, a lesson buried in a newly-cracked book you couldn't wait to turn every page of. He kissed fully, sweetly. At times, he kissed like the languid, steady pour of warm, thick syrup over waffles, overwhelming your every pore. Other times, he kissed like a bonfire -- passionate, smoky, hazy and stuttering in its fervor to reach the height of its burn. 

Now, he kissed you like honey, spliced with a crisp zing of orange zest, all sweetness and light. His hand on your waist a grounding reminder of your place on this earth beside him. But the longer you tasted it -- the heavier it became, filling you with a rush of sugary affectations, awash with your desire. 

You break the kiss to cut the cloying taste, just as much as you'd needed air.

Angel’s gaze upon you as you broke apart was heavy-lidded and weighted with some emotion you couldn’t (or wouldn’t dare, just yet) to name… his full lips dragged into a low, lazy smirk, watching as you giggled lightly, nervously. 

“So …” you trailed, making a vague gesture toward your stomach. “The butterflies. Not just a first date thing with you. Good to know,” you nodded, more to yourself than to him. 

A genuine little barking laugh escaped Angel’s lips at that, his amusement and rush of adoration for you compelling him to bend down once more and press a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

“You are something, Frida.” 

The two of you resumed your walk, you teasingly bumped your hips into Angel’s as you spoke again, 

“Since we’re sharing about when we were kids -- I always wanted to be a dancer, you know? My dad used to take me to classes. But I was… fucking awful,” you giggled. “I was better with my hands than on my feet.”

"I'm sure you are," Angel snickered, quicker than you were...

Your eyes widened when you realized what you’d said,

“I -- not like that. You know damn well what I mean,” you made a vague gesture in the air like you were holding a pen and sketching.  "You know I'm good with my hands. I freehanded that, didn't I?"

You nodded toward Angel’s arm once more.  

“Sí, sí, you’re Frida, after all,” Angel decided not to make a joke at your accidental double-entendre. “It's your hand, but it's also your eye. Your spirit.” 

And if Angel was more honest with himself -- and with you -- in that moment, he could have gone on -- “And in your heart, something inscrutable.” Not that he was one for too much, too soon with any woman.

"--But I'm sure you can dance Frida," Angel continued, gently knocking your shoulder with his own as the two of you continued to walk. 

"And how would you know that?" You teased. "I'm only left feet." As if to demonstrate your own self-deprecating point, you swung one foot behind yourself in a reverse-kick as you walked, an attempt to softly, jokingly kick Angel’s behind. But you’d woefully miscalculated the height differential between the two of you, your leg not extending high enough to reach its target, causing you to stumble and pitch off-balance. 

Angel scooped you in one arm before you could even begin to fall.

“Already tryna kick my ass? Damn, mama, I try to compliment you and this is what I get?”

Angel’s arm was warm around your waist, the result of his successful rescue to keep you from falling. Maybe you were glad with the stunt you’d pulled, if it resulted in him scooping you into his arms like something out of an old movie. 

“Yeah, well I may not be able to kick your ass now. But give me time,” your voice had taken on a breathy quality, overwhelmed by Angel’s proximity to you. “But I did tell you I couldn't dance.”

“Whatever that was aside,” Angel shrugged before replying, as simply and matter-of-factly as though he was telling you the sky was blue, “I know you’d be a hell of a dancer.” He gazed down at where you were held against him before continuing, 

"How could something about you not be beautiful?"

---

Now, you were squirming in your seat as you sat in one of your favorite restaurants in town, the familiar ambience not enough to assuage your nerves. Not only were you unused to the feeling  of the summer dress and heeled wedges you had donned for the first time in your post-Angel months, you were similarly unused to the company. 

Even if the man across from you had been the perfect gentleman thus far.

Christopher was suave, sleek in his black button-up and expensive-looking dress pants, tattoo peeking from the buttoned collar of his shirt, adorning his throat in a way you found regal. He was far too overdressed for this mid-level, casual dining. But you figured that on the first few dates, you should keep it light. A cup of coffee here, a quick lunch at a food truck there. 

The two of you had met when you were perusing your options, mulling over your selection of the perfect avocado at the supermarket. You didn’t see the man on the other side of the display, reaching for the same fruit as you, and you brushed hands. The two of you chuckled and made light conversation, and then went on your merry errand-running ways. Perhaps it would have ended there if you didn’t see him two days later at the bookstore. 

At that point, you had to say something. You took note of the novel in his hands, and by the end of the encounter, he had smoothly asked you to coffee on your next day off. You had liked his firm handshake when he had introduced himself, and the warmth behind his eyes. His smooth voice that sounded like a crime, too suave and beautiful to be legal. 

Had the whole thing been a little rom-com for your taste? Sure. 

Were you a little afraid to get out there again after the absolute shitshow the last few months had been? No shit, Sherlock. 

Were you keenly aware of the way Christopher’s dark eyes danced with mischief the same way Angel’s did? That he had the same keeled, low-pitch to his voice?

Fuck that. You weren’t going to shoot yourself (and someone else) in the foot because you were too busy lugging around heavy, distinctly Angel-shaped baggage. You resolved to give Chistopher an actual chance. 

And this was the first time you had sat down indoors together for a prolonged period. The first date-date. 

To say Aneesa was ecstatic when you told her about your plans with Christopher would be an understatement. 

“Girl, you know he’s gonna treat you. That man is smooth as hell, darling,” she called from the depths of your closet, mocking Christopher’s deep voice that you had relayed to her in your recap of the encounter, while she tossed out dress after dress in her mission to dress you in what she dubbed “the date ‘fit to end all date ‘fits.” 

She had outdone herself. You felt gorgeous.

And while there were no homemade sandwiches, and your favorite worn jeans were tucked away at home, you had to admit that Christopher was doing one hell of a job at making you feel wooed. And maybe Aneesa was right when she said that maybe “new” was a good thing.

You and Christopher had laughed your way through dinner. He didn’t talk much about his work, but was very interested in hearing about your job, and seeing photos of finished pieces from your ‘gram.

“Damn, mama, you drew that?” He asked appreciatively. “You got an eye for the beautiful things.” 

You felt heat rush through your cheeks and down across your collarbones at his words, preening beneath his smoky praises. 

"Well, I'm out with you, aren't I?" You flirted back gently, smiling into your glass of wine.

The easy smirk Christopher rewarded you with was swoon-worthy to say the least.

Who was she? You were impressed with yourself. Gone was the fumbling girl rife with awkward, unintentional double entendre that you were with Angel. This Frida was a smooth motherfucker, making a man like Chris smile.

He, in turn, showed you photos of his son, beaming with pride while he talked about his son’s winning science fair project. 

He had confided in you that, normally, talk of a kid on the first date could be a deal-breaker. 

“But you seem like the kinda woman who ain’t afraid of an up-front man,” he had said. 

If he only knew. 

As the date was winding down, Christopher gave you a kiss on the cheek as he departed the table to use the restroom while awaiting the check. 

You smiled to yourself, using the moment alone to glance down at your phone, basking in the champagne-warm, fizzy feeling of a date gone well. Of mutual attraction and reciprocal attention. When you looked up and out of the glass doors of the restaurant you saw him. The champagne feeling gone, dousing you like ice-water; as quickly and sharply as it had come, it was gone. 

And he saw you, too.

Oh fuck. 

Through the glass, Angel appraised your sundress, your makeup, your styled hair. You saw the decision on his face the moment it was made.

He fucking wouldn’t. 

Oh, but he fucking would. Ever one to place his heart before his own head, Angel reached for the handle, entering the restaurant and making a beeline for you, past the hostess stand. Until his biker boots carried him to your table, where he noted the napkin tossed on Christopher’s side of the table, the companion chair slightly pulled back.

He glanced at the empty plates on the table before raking his eyes up your crossed legs beneath the table, and up to yours, taking in the blaze resonant in your gaze. 

Fuck, you were hot when you were mad.  

Not giving him a chance to speak, you piped up first, voice hard and laced with boxcutter edges and vinegar,

“You need to leave, Angel,” you seethed. 

It was apparent to Angel, even in his slightly-tipsy haze (you hadn’t caught onto his mild impairment, thank God) just what you were trying to get him away from. You were on a date. And it wasn’t beneath Angel, he would admit, to make you sweat a little. Especially after you had brushed him off a few days ago in the tattoo parlour. Petty as fuck, and he knew it. Coco would certainly have told him so.

He pulled Christopher’s chair back even further from the table, lowering himself and spreading his legs out comfortably, leaning back in his chair, head tilted back obnoxiously to appraise you further. 

“You look good, dulce. What’s got you so dressed up and out and about on a Friday night?” He lilted his voice in a crudely teasing way, like he was mocking you for making yourself feel pretty. 

You would not let him have this one, too. Not after the shitshow of a patch party. Isn’t it funny how you could barely bring yourselves to look the other in the eyes then? Too afraid to broach feelings, content to instead skate around them with all the grace of Bambi on ice. But  this town was too small for you to hide from him for the rest of your life. And you were well-past sheepish aches and pains and trying to spare Angel's feelings; no, you were on the road to well and truly pissed.

The pulse and magnetism between you and Angel was always strong, a source of perpetual warmth for you. But it was you he had left behind, in the whispering grip of a ghost. And you? You refused to be that girl on the clubhouse porch forever. 

Now, your blazing eyes met his slightly-glazed, blasé ones.

Was he … drunk? 

Fuck this. 

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Angel,” you warned. “That isn’t your chair. You can go.”

“‘You can go,'" Angel mimicked your words, echoing what you had said to him just now, and of when he dropped by your shop. He giggled. “Bit of a broken record, Frida. Maybe I’m just here to get dinner?” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, tired of Angel’s games, and thinking that Christopher was likely due to return at any moment. 

“Then get your food. If that’s what you're here for, it has nothing to do with me. No reason for you to sit here.” 

Your usually patient nature was fading fast, the ice Angel had bestowed you with in his departure hardening your demeanor into someone he barely recognized. If he had been more himself, maybe that would have been cause for distress. But he was in petty, childish, drunk-Angel mode. The Angel his brother had often chastised him for being. The Angel his brother had laid into him for being after his behavior at the patch party, leaving you to the proverbial wolves while Andres had insulted you. The Angel who was hurt. Who tended to lash out.

That Angel ever-so-delicately chose to ignore your just-left-of-polite plea for him to leave. 

“So, you dressin’ up for dinner with Aneesa? Or … wait… is this a date, amor? You dating? Maybe I’m just tryna to talk to you?” 

A cool hand met your shoulder, a protective arm sweeping over you from behind where you sat. Christopher had reappeared, standing protectively over the back of your chair. 

“And if it is?” Christopher’s voice was smooth, even and deadly-cool in a way that made you shudder a little. 

This was all getting a little “West Side Story” for you. And you had to break it up before something worse could happen. You would not let Angel ruin the first date you had been on since him. Let alone the first decent date. 

“It’s OK, Christopher. Angel was just leaving,” you nodded at him in what you’d hoped was a reassuring manner. For his part, Christopher didn’t flinch at Angel’s antics, and didn’t remove his arm from the back of your chair. 

“C’mon, Frida. I told you, I just wanted to talk. You can’t give me a few minutes?” Angel’s voice had lost its teasing demeanor, bald and glaring. 

You glanced between Angel and Christopher, now thoroughly uncomfortable with the trajectory this night had taken. If Aneesa ever asked, this would be one of the top reasons you’d choose not to date in a small town. Who's dick didn't you step on when you left your house?

You opened your mouth to answer, to politely brush Angel off and resume your date with Christopher, when Christopher surprised you by speaking first. 

“Do you want to talk to him, mama?” Christopher’s arm was still resting reassuringly on your shoulder. You glanced between the two again, unsure of what to say. 

Your pause seemed to be enough for Christopher, taking in the raw emotion behind your eyes as you looked at the slick, kutte-wearing man that was in his seat. Your hesitation and apparent emotion filling in the gaps about just who this person must be to you. 

“Tell you what, darling,” Christopher said, sharp eyes never leaving Angel’s as he spoke to you, “I gotta take a quick call,” Christopher gestured to the sidewalk beyond the glass doors. “I’ll be right out there, give you a few minutes. But if he doesn't leave when you want him to,” he looked directly in Angel’s eyes now, “I’ll be back. I owe you dessert, anyway.” 

You swallowed heavily at Christopher’s words, a kind of sick relief washing over you as you nodded. Was he just that understanding? The demeanour around him had an air of what you would describe as … deadly. While his words were a balm to you, they were clearly a threat to Angel. But maybe that was just you being too dramatic. He was a smooth-talker, is all. 

Christopher took your nod as acquiescence to his compromise, pecking a quick, light kiss to your cheek and striding casually toward the door. The absence of his warm arm now rendering you unpleasantly naked beneath Angel’s gaze. 

“Weeeeeell,” Angel drawled, turning to look over his shoulder, eyes following Christopher as he strode just to the other side of the glass. “That’s who you’re going out with? He. Seems. Nice. Cheerful, too. You sure know how to pick ‘em, querida.”

“Is that really a joke you wanna be making, Angelito?” You sneered. “What the fuck do you want?” 

“I told you,” Angel said lightly. “To talk.” 

You sighed, rubbing your temples, carelessly dropping the napkin that had been resting on your lap on the table, a not-so-subtle white flag. You looked pointedly at Angel, urging him to continue. 

“I meant what I said at the party,” Angel started.

Strike one, Angelito. Mentioning the party was not the way to go. 

“Which part did you mean?” You asked, voice taking on a tinge of faux-sweetness. “The part where your hand practically up some girl’s ass the entire night? Or the part where you let that guy shit-talk my work? Or maybe it was the part where after all that, you cornered me with nobody around to tell me you loved me?”

Angel flinched. 

“I deserve that,” he said. 

Strike two. Too little, too late. 

“You deserve more than that, Angel,” you chastised. “And now you’re still trying to take from me. Date-crashing? You tryna fuck this up for me, too? Haven’t you done enough fucking? So, what is it about me that says you can walk all over me? Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?” 

Shit. You’d said it at the party, and you were telling yourself again now -- you would not cry in front of Angel. So, why were there hot little slivers poking the corners of your eyes? Your heart felt heavy, sick. It was getting to be a familiar sensation -- like a friend who showed up to crash at the worst possible time. 

The appearance of your tears was sobering to Angel. He reached toward your side of the table in an attempt to brush your hand, to offer you some kind of comfort, even though he was the one you wanted to be comforted from. 

“No, Angel,” you wiped your cheeks and placed your hands in your lap, out of his reach.  “Why aren’t you listening to me? You tell me. How much more could you possibly take from me? There's nothing left,” you shuddered, sucking uneven air between your teeth before gesturing at his state. “I don’t care if you’re drunk, I don’t care if you’re broken. You can’t just walk in here like nothing, trying to tell me the same shit that didn’t land the first time. To what?  To give you my heart back when y-you broke it -- broke me -- first? Is that what you wanted to talk about?” 

Angel was stunned. But, as is the default, Angel deflected. His genuine remorse at your words buried beneath his childish need to lash out, like a child buries toys in a sandbox to spite the friend he won’t share with. 

“That's why you're out with that … What was his name? Chad? Tim? Awfully shiny duds that dude had on,” Angel continued, “He's so… not me."

Strike. Fucking. Three. 

"Possibly one of his best qualities," you snipped, venomously. “But this isn’t about him, and don’t act like it is. You keep trying this thing where you just want me to hear your broken record bullshit about how you want me back, how you wanna talk. But then you don’t say any shit of substance  And you certainly don’t hear a goddamn word I say back to you. That tells me you aren’t really ready to talk. And you don’t give a shit if I’m ready, either,” you bit. “I tried, Angel. To tell you a little bit of what I’m feeling? You don’t wanna hear it. You just want me to hear you -- even if you say nothing.”  

A little flurry of movement caught the corner of your eye, turning your head to see the waiter hovering awkwardly, clearly confused that the man sitting across from you was not the man he had seen you with all evening. 

You pushed back from your seat, standing and beckoning for the waiter to come over. 

"He's got the check," you gestured at Angel. 

You patted Angel’s leather-clad shoulder as you walked past him, toward the door. “Thanks, amor. Real classy of you, paying for a girl’s date, and all.”

Ice cold. 

You walked out of the restaurant as Christopher hung up his phone, turning to see the door swinging shut behind you, and you walking toward him. His sharp brow arched questioningly at your sudden appearance, opening his mouth to ask about the bill. 

“It’s taken care of,” you breezed before he could ask, “Let’s go. You said something about ice cream?” You looped your arm through his as the two of you made your way down the block. 

Inside the restaurant, Angel’s phone buzzed with a text from Coco asking him where the fuck he was, and what the fuck he was doing. 

But his mind was swimming. The verbal truths you’d laid into him wriggling beneath his skin to take residence in the part of his brain that kept him up at night. 

He looked down at his texts again. He honestly didn’t know how to answer. 

---

Then, after a bad night, there was nothing more you wanted than to see Angel, his presence always a balm to your frazzled nerves. His easy, (at times) childlike demeanor was refreshing, and brought a light into your day that you now realized had been long missing before you had moved down here. 

You were sitting on the couch in your living room, feet up on your coffee table, wearing your favorite joggers and oversized tee, the epitome of comfort. 

You had a crappy reality TV show on in the background while you tilted your head back, sheetmask on, the cooling gel seeping into your pores. Cleansing your face and your soul.  

You had texted Angel to come over. After this shit-show of a day, you could use the company. You understood it was late. You understood he may not be able to come over right away -- club shit. And wasn’t there always?

“Hasta pronto, Frida,” his last text had read. See you soon. 

That was over 45 minutes ago. You were antsy. You’d had a long day. Some dude at a consultation had rubbed you the wrong way -- the two of you not communicating your respective ideas together well. The idea that your artist’s brain couldn’t match his vision to deliver something itched at you, wrinkled your brain. You’d had no choice but to refer him to Oli. On top of that, he’d been leery with you. 

Your hands were tired, the fine bones in your fingers aching. And you sure as shit didn’t want to answer any more emails or DMs. You just wanted to lie here, sheetmask on. Unbothered. Your boyfriend’s presence would be a bonus, but he was late.  

Somewhere between your next episode of “90 Day Fiancee” and your umpteenth sigh, you heard it -- the telltale rumble of Angel’s bike making its way down your otherwise quiet street. 

At the gentle rap on your door, you solidified your puddle of comfortable bones long enough to slip off of your couch and make your way down the hall, unlatching it and opening the door, only to be greeted with the rapidly-horrified face of your boyfriend.

“Jesus fuck!” Angel yelped. 

Your body jolted at the shock of his shout, hand coming to your chest. 

“Sorry, Frida, didn’t mean to scare you, but…” he gestured at your face. “What the fuck is that?”

Oh. 

You brought your hand up to where the silvery-grey sheetmask was still resting atop your skin. You sighed, peeling the mask from your face slowly, revealing your dewy skin beneath. 

“Sorry about that,” you chuckled, your heartbeat returning to normal.

You turned and made your way back down the hall, beckoning for Angel to follow, which he did, shutting the door of your place behind him. 

“Sorry about that,” you called over your shoulder as you tossed the mask in the trash beneath your sink. “I kinda forgot it was there.”

“Not for nothing, Frida, but that’s a hell of a home defense system.”

At the question in your eyes, Angel continued, kicking his boots off and shuffling his way into your living room. 

“If any serial killer ever shows up to fuck with you? All you gotta do is answer the door like that. He’ll think another murderer is already here,” at that he sucked air thorugh his teeth like Hannibal Lecter. “Hellooooo, Clarice,” he mimicked, laughing at his own joke and popping the button on his jeans to make himself comfortable as he slouched on the couch. 

“Bien,” you agreed, between a flurry of giggles. “Too many cooks in the kitchen, and all that. Brilliant, Angelito.” 

You popped open your freezer to grab your jade roller, subsequently grabbing Angel a beer from the fridge. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Angel called from the other room. “Club shit ran long. Plus, you sounded kinda down when you messaged me. So I had to make a stop.” 

You peeked into the living room in time to see Angel pull a crinkling plastic bag of mini peanut butter cups from the deep pocket of his kutte, plopping the bag onto the coffee table. “I come bearing gifts.” 

You smiled to yourself in the kitchen, pleased as punch with Angel’s thoughtful gesture. You popped the cap on Angel’s beer, turning to bring the drink to him, simultaneously rolling the jade over your face in your other hand. 

“Gracias, amor,” he accepted the beer from you. “What’s this now?” He beckoned at the roller in your hands.

“It’s to help rub the product from the mask into my skin, plus it’s nice and cold -- keeps my face from getting puffy,” you explained. 

“I don’t understand why you females think you need alla that shit,” he said, taking a sip of your beer, turning his attention to your TV. Not that he would ever admit it, but he was following along the trainwreck of season six of ���90 Day Fiancee” with you. Had his own couples he loved to hate. 

“We females,” you emphasized, “just aren’t afraid to prioritize self care, unlike you big, bad bikers. Seriously, Angelito, when was the last time you washed your face with something other than hand soap, or --” you gave an exaggerated shudder to drive home your point, “that shitty 16-in-one body wash/engine oil I know you keep in your shower.” 

Angel gave your shoulder a teasing little shove, ”Man, shut up. I bring you chocolate, and this is how you treat me?” 

Flirtation and sexual chemistry come easy to Angel. He was always blessed with an easy social grace, and women seemed to eat up the flirtatious attention. But anything more serious, and he becomes a blushing little boy, all shuffling feet, nervous smiles and awkward stuttering. There was some of that with you, he wouldn’t lie. But with you? Everything had a way of feeling so natural. 

“Oh, gracias, beautiful, generous, benevolent Angelito, god among men,” your voice was dramatic, teasing, you mocked bowing to him. 

“Okay, that’s enough outta you,” you grabbed your wrist, tugging you into his lap, tracing tickling fingers up your sides, causing you to writhe, shrieking through chiming laughter.  

Angel’s beer long-abandoned on the coffee table, your jade roller now dropped somewhere on the floor, you gazed into Angel’s face from your place reclining across his lap, chest heaving with the exertion of being tickled and laughing too much. 

For his part, Angel was looking down at you, brow softened in fondness for the woman before him, lightly trailing his hand along your cheeks. 

No one was laughing now, and the noise of the TV became an unimportant, staticky hum somewhere in the background to the moment you and Angel found yourselves in. 

You don’t know how you ended up beneath Angel on your couch. You were even less certain just when the two of you had absconded with your clothes. 

All you knew was that the heavy drag of him inside of you was resplendent, beyond words. Was it always like this with him?

And you? You were a brazen little thing, all gasping moans and dragging fingernails, urging Angel on with pleas and fluttering lashes. Your dedication to marking Angel’s back was admirable, and it’s not like he could honestly say he minded. He’d bear the battlescars of a night with you for eternity, if he could. 

As Angel thrust into you, all you could think about -- beyond the heated urgency of the way he was making you feel, was that he was perfect. 

The two of you basked in the after, awash in the blue-white glow of the TV screen still playing before you, skin now slightly sweaty and glistening in its own right, catching your breath together. The synchronicity of it all … music to you. 

You were both unfocused in your respective gaze’s on the television, just content to lie next to one another. Angel was stretched out on the couch behind you, unwrapping peanut butter cups, handing them to you piece by piece. This last one, he had pressed directly to your lips, which you had wrapped around the tips of his fingers, tongue following, as you accepted the candy. 

“Don’t start, Frida. I don’t know that I have the strength,” Angel said, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Just once more, Angelito? You know I’ve had a hard day,” you hmm’d. 

“Evil woman,” he chuckled, reaching for you again. 

“You love it,” you gasped at the feeling of his fingers making their way once more to your center. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, eyes trained on your face as he played your body. “I fuckin’ do.”

Somewhere between rounds two and three, you had managed to talk Angel into wearing a face mask of his own, promising that he would “feel so much better for it.” 

He had acquiesced, of course, never able to tell you no. But made you promise under pain of death that you would never reveal that he had done something so girly to any one of his brothers.

You had agreed, but taken out your phone to snap a quick pic. Angel shirtless, tattoos illuminated against his skin in the ambient lighting of your living room, with a sheet mask on his face was too good not to capture.

“I swear, Frida,” he began, mock-threateningly, “If that ends up on the ‘gram…”

You shook your head. 

“Don’t worry, Angelito. This one’s just for me. And… maybe for Coco, if I’ve had enough tequila.” 

So, the butterflies… Always gonna be there with you, huh?

---

A few days after your date, Coco had texted you. 

“Leti needs a ride to work on Tuesday, and I have a yard shift. I hate to ask, but can you take her?”

“Sure,” you’d agreed. Following up with another message, “Do I pick her up from your place?” 

“She’s coming with me to the yard. She likes to hang in the office with Chucky,” he’d responded. 

Well, shit. 

If you’d known that this favor had come with the condition that you return to the yard -- to anywhere within the vicinity of that god-forsaken clubhouse, you probably would have refused. But you knew Coco was struggling to balance his club life with his relationship with his daughter. And you liked Leti. 

“You got it,” you responded. Cringing to yourself at just how you were going to pull this off and get out of there without anyone else talking to you. But texting Coco back to ask who else was on the yard shift with him would be too obvious. And kinda rude. He knew who you were hoping to avoid. 

Not much got past Johnny “Coco” Cruz.

So, Tuesday afternoon found you rolling over to the yard, hoping to swoop Leti and make a quick getaway. 

Luck, like time, was a bitch of a woman. And never seemed to be on your side in the keen moments you’d hoped she would be. Because as you pulled your car into the dusty lot abutting the scrapyard, who do you see?

Coco, in his snapback and yard uniform, was laboring with a large piece of metal. Ezekiel appeared to be fluttering in and out of the clubhouse, the clinking of glasses from inside reaching your ears when the door opened. 

Angel and … of fucking course … Andres were across the yard from Coco, standing over a junker and exchanging words. 

You sighed, rolling your shoulders and steeling yourself for whatever this was about to be as you got out of your car. 

The sound of your door opening and shutting was enough to draw nearly every eye in the yard to you, Angel freezing in his spot from the other side of the lot

As you began to stride over to where Coco was standing, EZ bound down from the clubhouse steps, intercepting you and greeting you with a warm hug. You smiled easily at the younger Reyes brother, holding your hand up to your eyes to shade your face as you looked up at his smiling face, him already talking to you a mile-a-minute.

From across the yard, Angel observed the interaction. After you’d met the club initially, and met EZ, Angel was content to say that he could appreciate how well you got along with everyone. How well-liked you were by each of the men, especially his brother. 

You two discussed literature, art, and liked to talk shit to each other, friendship in its purest form. Somewhere between Faust and the floodgates, Angel had watched on as you spilled over in your excitement speaking to EZ. Faust and Proust. Did Angel know what -- or was it who?? -- the fuck a "Faust" was? No. But he'd drown himself in literary references that already made him feel over his head if it meant he got to sit back and just take in how well you'd gelled with his family, with Ezekiel. In another life he supposed he'd be jealous that you had so much in common with his brother. But you didn't look at Ezekiel the way you looked at him. 

Even Angel could see it. And if he couldn’t, Coco was quick to remind him. 

“She only got eyes for you, mano,” Coco had told him, quietly, resolutely. 

EZ had left you now, gone back to the clubhouse for something. As you made your way to Coco, hugging him in spite of his obvious hesitance. 

Angel heard him protest against your attentions -- “I’m covered in grease, ma.” 

You’d hugged him anyway. He’d melted into your embrace, smiling softly. Angel had confided to Coco that he had seen you a few days ago on a date. Coco’s eyes had clouded over with something as Angel spoke, but passed through his features quickly, like a summer storm, before clearing. Resuming listening to Angel. The conversation… hadn’t gone well. 

“Back again, huh?” Andres had said from Angel’s side, gesturing lightly to where you stood with Coco. He nudged Angel’s side. “You taking another crack at that?” 

Angel ignored his question. 

“I think she’s here to pick up Coco’s kid,” he said simply, turning his attention back to the junker. Choosing to stay out of the situation, as Andres had left the car and was now striding across the lot to you.

“No hug for me, jaina?” 

You’d frozen in place at the voice behind you, Coco’s quicksilver eyes darting to over your shoulder, where Andres now stood, narrowing at the man’s question. 

You recovered quickly.

“Sorry,” you breezed, turning to face Andres. Noting the way his panther tattoo peeked out from the tank the man was wearing. You would never say you hated any piece you did, per se. But you weren’t about to post this one, wanting no association with it, or the man who bore it. Even if it was perfectly fine work. “Coco really was covered in grease. It’s pretty gross. I think I’m good,” you diverted, nudging Coco’s ribs and smiling to ease the tension. 

Andres shrugged, the blow to his pride obvious in the way his face twisted and his eyes narrowed at how closely you stood to the lithe ex-military man next to you. 

Coco eased through the conversation, patting your arm comfortingly, his eyes finding yours as he spoke, “I’mma go get Leti, OK? I’ll be right back.” 

You were a little distraught at the idea that Coco would leave you with this man, knowing how he had spoken to you before. But you supposed if he could hurry this interaction along and go get his daughter, it might not be so bad. 

“So,” you turned, schooling your facial features into a mask of cool indifference as you faced Andres, who was now addressing you. “We didn’t get to finish what we started the other night,” was all he said.

“Didn’t we?” You asked, tilting your head, nodding toward Andres’s tattoo. “I think we finished. It healed nicely.”

Andres rolled his eyes a little at you, as though you were slow. 

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He took a step toward you. 

Was this guy for real? Was he not getting it, or did he just not care?

You took a step in kind back from Andres, your anger flaring. “So what did you mean?” you asked. “You mean the bit before I gave you free ink, where you insulted my work? Or the bit after I gave you free ink, where you just insulted me?”

You could see the faint twitch in Andres’s face as you called him out. His patience clearly wearing thin. A man not used to hearing no when it was told to him. 

“That’s what I always liked about you,” he gritted out, smiling fakely, “you got that reaaaal fiery attitude. Not just any guy would put up with it,” he said, as though he was trying to give you advice.

“I dunno what you mean by ‘always,’” you said, politely, your own fake smile screwed into place. “If you excuse me, I’m gonna go find Leti.” 

As you made to leave, Andres lunged forward, gripping your wrist. 

"You really don't remember me?" Andres pressed, "C'mon, chiquita, don't be like that."

"I really don't," you snipped, whipping your wrist out of his grip. You were a little shorter with him than you usually were with people, even in your more frustrated moments. But he really was pissing you off. "Sorry if that's a blow to the ego, or whatever, but I didn't really make it a habit of looking at other guys when I was with someone else."

Andres snorted, tone no longer teasing, eyes dark and flat. You turned to face him again at the undignified sound he had made, noting his cool, angry features. 

"If only that 'someone else' had shown you the same courtesy," he snarled, swatting at your wrist now instead of reaching for it. 

"Hey, man, leave her the fuck alone." You turned to see EZ and Coco striding across the yard with Leti in tow, making their way toward you. Out of the corner of your eye, Angel was also making his way over, shoulders tense. 

EZ turned to you, taking in your crestfallen expression and the way you were suddenly very interested in your shoes. 

"You okay, hermanita?" EZ asked, large hand gentle on your shoulder. 

You nodded, sheepishly. Hating the way you seemed so small in that moment. This man was nothing, to you, or otherwise. And he’d managed to make you feel like you were nothing, too. 

You tried to find your voice again as you spoke, quiet at first, “Andres was just apologizing to me for the way he was rude at the patch party,” you turned to look at him, your eyes blazing now, “weren’t you?” 

Coco snorted. 

Andres narrowed his eyes, glaring at Coco, who held up his hands as if to say, “what can ya do?” 

“Best apologize,” Coco rasped, now pulling on a cigarette that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. “One does not fuck with Frida,” Coco exhaled. “Unwise, mano.” He gestured to you, “She’s got that scary tia energy.” 

EZ’s hand was still resting protectively on your shoulder as you crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for Andres’s apology, now that you’d put him on the spot in front of his brother. Angel watched the entire exchange like a snake coiled to strike.

He knew he had fucked up by not saying shit as Andres dug at you at the patch party. It had been roiling beneath his skin, his blood bubbling and waiting to burst forth. Waiting for a chance to put the fucker in his place.  

“Yeah,” Andres gritted through his teeth, fake smile ready to crack at any moment. “Sorry about that. Too much to drink, and all.” His voice was flat. Devoid of any real remorse, as you knew it would be. 

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I hope you enjoy the ink. It’s the last you’ll be getting from me.”

Andres’s eye twitched before the dam broke on his childish rage, “Why you gotta be such a fuckin’ bitch? No wonder Angel fucked around on you -- that smart-ass mouth is gonna get you slapped.” 

He made to step toward you again, EZ and Coco stood before you, protectively, blocking you from Andres’s approach.

But Andres could reach you, Angel had gripped his shoulder, turning him around and landing a punch square to his jaw.

“Man, what the fuck,” Andres swore, spitting a wad of blood at the toe of Angel’s boot. “What the fuck did you hit me for?” 

Angel cracked his knuckles, shaking his wrist and his hand out from the impact of his hit to Andres’s face, readying himself to strike again if he needed to.

“You don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that,” he squared up, shoving Andres in the shoulder. “Listen to me, new patch. I’ll explain the rules -- you don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. You don’t even think about her.” 

Angel’s shoulders were heaving as he worked himself up more, stalking toward Andres, like a jungle cat, coiled muscle beneath his skin ready to unleash. 

“Nod so I know you understand,” he bellowed in Andres’s direction, pointing a thick finger accusingly into his face, rewarded with Andres's curt nod.

EZ gently removed himself from your side, coming to grab Angel and whisper into his ear, calming him.

“Hey, man,” EZ reasoned, “Now’s not the time. You guys can settle this later. Cage.” 

Angel nodded, breathing heavily through his nostrils and willing himself to calm down as he turned to you, locking eyes with you again, only to be met with an imperceptible look on your face. Had he fucked this up even further now? You had never looked at him like that.

You shook your head, breaking the moment and stepping from behind Coco to go meet Leti where she was standing a comfortable distance away from the whole scene. 

“We gotta go,” you said, hurriedly grabbing Leti’s hand and marching off toward your car with the girl in tow. 

You buckled yourselves in and drove away from the lot in a cloud of dust. Hoping you could just leave it all behind. The further you got from the gates, the easier you could breathe. You drove in silence, as Leti watched you, assessing. Before she broke the silence. 

"We all miss you, you know," Leti said, softly, from her place in the passenger seat. "Just because Angel let you go doesn't mean we wanted to lose you, too. And fuck Andres. He’s a fuckin’ clown."

Leti's words were a wave of molten-hot guilt washing over you, burning your synapses and hardening over any residual anger and sadness you'd felt over the confrontation that had just happened. You knew some of what Leti had been through. How she, so like yourself, was reticent to form bonds with new people. How she'd routinely felt abandoned by those she let herself care about -- and you felt you'd now done the same.

"I'm so sorry, Leti," you implored, looking into the girl’s doe eyes, flecked with amber-gold and layered with wisdom and emotion. Her gaze heavy and so like her father’s. Nothing slipped past them. "I never meant to hurt you, to leave you."

"I-it's just … I miss you, is all," she murmured, twisting her long hair around her finger. "I know EZ misses you. He talks about you all the time. And … and my dad, too. Coco doesn't talk about it alot, but I think that says more than if he tried to put it in words. I know for a fact he misses you. Was pretty pissy with Angel for a while after everything went down." 

You smiled gently, leaning forward across the console to give Leti a soft hug.

“I really am sorry, Leti. I promise I’ll be around more,” you broke the hug, rubbing her arm as you pulled away. “You and Coco are welcome to come over for dinner anytime. I’ll cook for you. Just tell Coco no smoking in the house, cierto? And don’t tell Coco I said so, but you can come hang with me in the shop, if you want. Been slow lately. You can come do homework someplace quiet..” 

She chuckled lightly, nodding and promising to text you about coffee plans as she got out of the car.

You mulled over Leti’s words as you drove away. Maybe cutting everyone other than Aneesa out flatly wasn't the way to go. It's possible you had made a mistake there, though it's not like Leti hadn't confirmed that she understood why you did what you did. And it's not like other people wouldn't have done the same in your shoes. Even still, perhaps re-cracking open the "Angel" chapter of your life had its benefits, if only to once more let in the friends you had made along the way. 

Your departing words to Leti ringing in your ears long after you’d parked at home,

"I'll reach out to the guys more, too," you confirmed. "I didn't mean to leave everyone hanging."

I know you, you're like this. When shit don't go your way, you needed me to fix it.

And like me, I did, but I ran out of every reason.

---

The cracks of the next morning’s light streaming through the slats on his window were barely perceptible to Angel in his haze. The kind of stupor that comes when you’ve effectively straddled the line between two worlds -- Angel reluctantly bids farewell to the gentle caress of sleep, even if it was imperfect and restless; and begrudgingly greets the world of the waking, frowning beneath a heavily-furrowed brow at the grey-orange sun. 

Through the warming beams of light that streamed in isolated splashes across his skin and the bedspread, he could still imagine, half in dreams, that the warmth was you curled beside him, all soft curves, your thigh slotted between his, your sleep-mussed hair, his shirt riding up your form just so as you snoozed, and oh, your sweet, half-awake smiles. But the alternating cool spots of shade from the slats were the chilly reminder of your absence, of the ghost of your touch long gone cold. And as Angel shook himself more evermore awake and into the latter world, he wished he could return to the amorphous and hazy, staticky embrace of his dreams. 

Where life was a little more kind. Where there was a little more you. You were haunting him. Did memories, both experienced in your past together and the hypothetical potential “memories” of an unmet future, plague you, as well? Never to be? Did you dream of him? Or was he your nightmare? He supposed he’d never know, and knew had given up the right to ask. 

Put myself to sleep, just so I can get closer to you inside my dreams ...

It was a truth that was bitter, acrid, and hard to swallow. Or was that just his morning breath? Angel licked his lips, tasting the post-sleep stale dryness on his tongue, pushing himself out his side of the bed and toward the door -- for coffee or his toothbrush, he hadn’t decided. But the need to make a decision was cut short with an unexpected event-- 

A pounding at his door. Three raps from a heavy fist on the other side of his shitty apartment’s excuse for a door.

“Angel!” The shout through the wooden barrier that followed the persistent banging was unmistakably his obnoxious younger brother, come to pester him about what had gone down yesterday. Likely with a peace offering of some sort, as was EZ’s way. 

Angel sighed, rolling his neck to both sides until he was satisfied with the resulting crack, not bothering to tug on a shirt or socks as he padded his way through the cool, empty apartment. 

He fixed his signature scowling look of annoyance that EZ was so accustomed to to his face before swinging open the door. 

One of EZ’s bearpaw-like fists was still raised, fixed to rap against the door again if necessary. The other clutched a carrier with two to-go cups of coffee from EZ’s favorite shop. The one down the street from yours. The one with the cute barista. 

EZ, for his part, looked a little sheepish at the exaggeratedly grumpy look on his older brother’s face, his gilded, mossy eyes widening in a show of good-natured surprise. He recovered quickly, shouldering his way into Angel’s apartment, placing the to-go carrier with Angel’s coffee on his coffee table and flopping on one end of Angel’s couch, the leather giving a groan beneath his weight.

“By all means, bro, make yourself at fuckin’ home,” Angel groused, smacking his lips and turning to swipe the cup of coffee off of the table. 

“You’re welcome,” EZ smarted, eyebrows raised at Angel guzzling the fresh coffee like the heat was nothing. What was it you had called it?

Ah, asbestos mouth. EZ had heard the moniker pass through your lips on more than one occasion and found it to be apt as applied to his taciturn older brother. 

“So,” Angel said between sips of nuclear caffeine. “What? Any particular reason you’re banging on my door at ...” Angel trailed off, clearly unsure what time it actually was. 

“At 11:00 a.m.?” EZ supplied, sarcastically, “You’re right, Angel. It’s practically dawn.” 

“Man, shut up,” Angel groused, “What do you want?” 

“Who says I want anything,” EZ asked?

“This coffee’s got a string attached to it,” Angel shrugged, shuffling over to the couch and sitting a respectable distance from his annoying younger brother.

“We gotta talk about yesterday,” EZ supplied, finishing his sentence over Angel’s exaggerated groan and eye-rolling. 

“Wasn’t the point of yesterday that it’s done, little brother?” 

“Between you and Andres, maybe,” EZ said. “But not between you and me. After that shit you pulled at brunch with Gaby a few days ago, and now this, with Frida...” 

Angel took another sip of his coffee, his annoyance doubling at the increasingly lighter weight of the cup in his hands and at his brother’s pestering. 

“So, what? You wanna try and beat the shit outta me, too?” Angel asked. “Didn’t work out so well for Andres, did it?” 

“Look, Angel, I’m not trying to say I understand why you did what you did, fucking with Frida and Adelita. Because I don’t. And I gotta be honest -- after how yesterday went down, I understand it even less. And Coco agrees with me --”

“Oh, great,” Angel rolled his eyes, cutting his brother off. “You gotta stop going to the Church of Coco, man. What’d he tell you this time?” 

“That you’re fucking your way through your pain,” EZ parroted, mimicking Coco’s signature throaty breeze, “and you won’t stop until you feel something,” he shrugged, resuming his normal voice as he continued. “I don’t know about alla that, but --”

"It was too … domestic," Angel cut EZ off, shaking his head, more at himself than his brother. "Can you really see me with all that shit? Drinking coffee in bed together on a Sunday morning until we're old? Nah, bro … that ain't me. Adelita, the chaos. That's me." 

"It could be you, Angel," EZ protested. "The only person saying you can't have the Sunday coffee life is you."

“I'd just… I'd just fuck it up,” Angel sighed, dropping his forehead into his palm, his elbow on his knee. 

EZ continued drinking his coffee, pausing before delivering the blow. 

“I got news for you, bro,” he said between his prim little sips. “You did fuck it up.” 

Angel tch’d in annoyance at his brother, carding his hands through his hair and smoothing the thick strand that seemed to always threaten to fall over his eyes. For good measure, he tossed EZ that wicked side-eye only that only Angel and his mother had ever been able to truly perfect. 

“You think I don’t know that? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

Angel takes another pull of his coffee, now just the overly-concentrated dregs at the bottom of the cup, lightly grimacing at the beverage’s bitterness. EZ knew Angel took his coffee black, of course it would be the kind of thing his little brother would remember. But, in truth, given the way this conversation was turning, the literal sensation of bitterness on his tongue was almost too much for Angel to bear. He’d almost preferred it if EZ had forgotten his order -- watered the drink down with cream and (dare he say it?) sugar, and called it a day. Because at least it would be easier to swallow than the harsh truths and bile that were currently stewing inside of Angel, waiting to be given a voice. And it didn’t seem that EZ was in any kind of charitable mood when it came to pulling punches, either. 

Angel took in his brother’s profile from his perched place at the end of the couch: EZ’s legs were spread in a show of comfort, but shoulders tensed, like he was waiting to fight Angel every step of the way, no matter where this conversation was headed. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. 

For as fiercely protective as little Ezekiel was of his big brother, he was -- annoyingly so -- protective of the woman he’d dubbed his hermanita. A soft spot for you, the artsy girl with ink-stained fingers who would press lent books into his baby brother’s hands insistently, all the books you could bear to part with. Always there for Ezekiel with a patient ear and arms that would do their best to wrap around his broad shoulders. 

 Angel was struck again with the heavy weight-- the sinking stone in his gut that -- in theory-- should pull him to the bottom of the river he found himself awash in. Drowning is a sort of grounding, yes? But no… he just drifted further and further down the bank, carried in the foaming rapids by the pressing weight of his choices. In addition to that weight, his guilt prickled. Once again with the realization that his decisions had affected not only his love with you, but your relationship with Ezekiel, as well. How incredibly short-sighted he'd been with it all, playing fast and loose with the lives of everyone he'd loved.

Angel sighed before he spoke again, 

“No one ever tells you, do they?” EZ perked up at that, looking at his brother with his brows furrowed in puppylike-confusion. 

“No one ever tells you just how insecure it all makes you feel,” Angel supplied. “Love. They write a million songs about how perfect it all is -- how it’s supposed to be some kind of divine answer. Birds singing, an’ shit. Or they talk about how it rips your fuckin’ heart out, but they…” Angel pauses to chuckle, “They never tell you how when you’ve got it, you feel both so… happy it’s yours. But terrified at the same time that it never. Really. Belongs to you.” 

He shook his head, meeting his brother’s eyes again, his own swimming with the glimmer of emotion long-kept down. EZ leaned across the couch, placing a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, nodding at him in acquiescence, encouragement to keep going. 

“I-I know what I did, and I know everyone wants an answer… Why did I do it? Why-why did I let it all go down like that? But what answer would ever be good enough? I hurt her, and that’s the end of it. I was fuckin’ stupid, all because I was scared. I had her, and I knew I shouldn’t have had her at all. And I’m just so fuckin’ … sorry.” 

He sighed, breath shuddering. Opting to fill the now-still air in his apartment with another bitter slug of shitty coffee while EZ pondered what to say in response. 

EZ shifted on the couch, leather creaking beneath him as he weighed what to tell his brother. 

“I- I don’t know what the answer here is, Angel,” EZ finally admitted. “I get that it’s scary. Fuck yeah, it is. But that’s no excuse --”

“I know that,” Angel snapped. 

EZ held his hands up in surrender, placating the red dragon-heat that was his brother’s quick temper before it could rise. 

“I know you do,” EZ spoke softly, “I know, man. But it’s not that simple. You should probably tell her, ya know? What you just told me. But even if you did, she’d be within her right not to hear it. Or not to want to fix shit with you, or take your apology. And you? Gotta accept it.” 

EZ brushed imaginary dirt from the thigh of his jeans before speaking again, 

“Sucks,” he sighed through his nose. “I dunno if I’d be madder at her for taking you back or for not taking you back. But, uh, even if she doesn’t, that doesn’t mean you won’t find it again, Angel. You just gotta decide whether you wanna try here -- and accept the outcome no matter what she decides. You owe her that. But one thing’s for sure … you should actually try talkin’ to her.”

Angel had the faraway look in his eye of a man either deep in thought, or someone not listening entirely, staring through the far wall as EZ had spoken to him. Maybe he didn’t look it, but he’d heard every word, turning them over again in his mind before swallowing them somewhere deep in his gut, internalizing wisdom from someone who was younger than him, but who’d undoubtedly lived through more than most people. EZ was good for that kind of bereft wisdom -- disconnected in its logic coming from someone like EZ, but completely sensical when you understood the depth of the boy’s character and empathy. Not for the first time in his life, Angel was grateful for Ezekiel. 

He smiled weakly at his little brother, acceptance cracking through the little cracked crescent grin, “Mom would’ve liked her, huh?” 

EZ smiled at his brother in return, facile and genuine, as only Ezekiel’s grins could be.

---

I swear, for a while I would stare at my phone just to see your name, but now that it's there, I don't really know what to say…

Across town, EZ had left Angel’s, and the latter, now alone in his apartment and buzzing with EZ's words, was typing a text to you. And here you are … looking down at your phone between gathering your laundry and stacking clean dishes. You saw Angel’s name pop up next to the little text bubble on your homescreen, causing you to pause in your chores.

Huh. Unexpected  Should you open it? 

After everything that had gone down yesterday at the scrapyard, and the shitty attempt a few days prior to fuck up your date-- were you ready now to have the conversation you knew you and Angel were dancing around for the better part of several months? Ready to breach the seemingly impenetrable wall of silence? Feelings like the ones you held for Angel had a way of not being able to stay buried for too long. And you knew you could never truly move on, never would be able to give the icy shards wedged between your ribs and into your heart a chance to heal. Not unless you and Angel got it all out into the open.

And with the circumstances the way they were, with everything that had gone down -- how many women in your position could say they'd had the same opportunity?

How did the old saying go? What three things cannot long be hidden? The sun. The moon. And the truth. 

The truth was, to you, the sun and moon rose and set on Angel. 

The truth was, you had bitten off a few barbs and spat them at Angel in the few moments you’d shared with him since he tossed you from his apartment all those months ago. You weren't a perfect person. But it’s damn well what he deserved, after what he did. You weren’t wrong about that. The fact that everyone, and Angel’s father, were angry at him for the way things had gone down told you that you were not the one in the wrong.

The truth was, Angel had fucked up. Not only with his infidelity and the way he had tipped you from his life, with blunt hands tearing haphazardly at the roots… but he had insulted you, your work, and stood idly by and allowed others to do the same. 

He knew it, and you knew it. And you had both been petty.

But now that the wound was open, and the skin around it raw and heated, pulsing with its own heartbeat -- how could you ever give it a chance to heal if you didn't try to close it?

There was nothing saying that if you read Angel’s message, if you heard him out, and you got the chance to say your own piece, that you had to forgive him. And if it meant moving on? Maybe it was the step you needed to take. 

Like burning a candle to the end. Or, yes, wrapping a wound. Or perhaps like covering an old tattoo. Clara Forever? 

You unlocked your phone, sliding open your texts, taking a deep breath as you did so.

“I just wanted you to know I heard what you said,” Angel’s text read. “I do wanna talk to you, Frida. But only when you’re ready to talk to me. If you ever are. I just want to hear you out. Even if I know you never have to accept my apology.” 

Well. 

You looked down at your phone. You read Angel's text. Re-read it.

You'd be lying to yourself if you didn't acknowledge that everything that had gone down hadn't been building to this. 

 You brought your thumbs to the glass, beginning to type,

"I'm off tomorrow at six. You can come by after."

There. Short, sweet, and to the point.

Your phone pinged in your hand. Glancing down at it, you saw two words in response,

"Gracias, Frida."

"Don't thank me yet."

You put your phone down flat on the counter. 

The truth was, you still loved Angel Reyes. And you weren't sure whether your rage outweighed your ardor. And this scared the shit out of you.

When Angel rolled up the next day at ten after six, you were slightly annoyed. In the beginning of your relationship, he had been incredibly punctual, likely borne out of eagerness to see you. As time wore on, Angel's timeliness waned. At the time, you had assumed it had everything to do with his commitments to the club, and had remained understanding. With the benefit of hindsight, however, you now knew that it likely wasn't always the club. 

You didn't know anything about Adelita, save for her relationship to Angel. And you intended to keep it that way. But a nastier part of your brain was intensely curious. 

Did she make Angel laugh? Was she smarter than you? Prettier than you? She had to be beautiful, just like Angel was beautiful. The thought made your heart ache. 

When she kissed Angel, did she taste your lips on his? Did she know about you now? Did she hold more of Angel's heart than you had? 

If you were more like her, would Angel have chosen you?

You knew you wouldn't ask Angel any of these questions -- what did they always say? Don't ask something you don't really want the answers to? 

You slept easier at night keeping the idea of Adelita just that -- an amorphous, question mark-shaped idea. Knowing Angel's part in it all was more than enough.

Easier. You said you slept easier. Not well. You dreamt of Angel far too often to say you slept well. You dreamt of the feel of his hair between your fingers, both in a gentle and comforting pass, and in the harsh tugging borne of passion. You dreamt of the feel of his warm skin against yours. You dreamt of days spent swimming in the ocean, him lifting you up to twirl you through the water, like a sea sprite, a deity meant to be worshipped. Perhaps most cruelly, you sometimes dreamt of a future. Your memories blended with your dreams at the cruel, twisting hands of hazy sleep. Never to be.

And when Angel arrived at your place shortly after you had returned home from closing the shop, your gut, your brain, and your heart were all writhing in their own respective dances, never in sync with one another, and rendering your nerves completely fried. 

You opened the door, beckoning Angel in. You stopped yourself from moving to help remove the kutte from his shoulders and hanging it by the door, freezing your hands in the middle of raising to do just that, dropping them awkwardly by your sides again.

If Angel noticed, he hadn't said anything.

He shuffled into your place, likely surveying what had changed since he had last been there. To his surprise? Not much. You still had candles everywhere, casting everything in a warm glow. Your overstuffed chairs were still draped in cozy blankets and piled with brightly-patterned throw pillows. The bookcase in the corner of your living room was still packed to the edges, stacks of additional books on the floor at the foot. Your potted green plants made the room look simultaneously larger and smaller. Your dedication to maximalism was admirable. 

You loved what you loved, even if you didn't have the space. In your heart, or otherwise.

Angel breathed in the familiar cinnamon-orange scent that was your place, its permanent residence in his mind sending a zip through his heart. 

You shuffled past Angel, into your living room and making your way toward the kitchen, offering Angel a drink, which he declined.

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

You made your way into the kitchen, opening a cabinet that Angel knew contained a precarious tower of stacked coffee mugs. Like a personal game of Jenga only you could win, you plucked your desired mug, and closed the cabinet before the dangerous clinking of the remaining mugs could turn disastrous. 

You prepared a cup of tea while Angel stood at the carpeted edge of your living room, unsure of just how comfortable he was allowed to make himself in this space that -- while just as chaotically orderly and distinctly you as he remembered it -- seemed to be purged of any remembrance of him.

Stirring honey into your mug of tea and blowing on it, you watched Angel over the rim of your mug. Watched him observe your space, and waited for him to speak. 

You tilted your head toward the open door of your bedroom, breaking the silence first,

“I, uhhh, I’ve been working all day. I’m just gonna change real fast.” You shuffled your feet into the carpet, padding softly into your room and pushing the door softly shut. 

You slipped out of your jeans and into soft sweats and an oversized tee. Maybe if you felt more comfortable, you could stave off some of the awkwardness. Maybe letting Angel back into your space wasn’t the best idea. 

After changing, you took a moment -- sat on your bed, elbows balanced on your knees and head in your hands … you took a few deep breaths, lit a candle. Your palms felt clammier by the second, knowing that Angel was out there waiting for your re-emergence.

You don’t know how long you were sitting on the edge of your bed, just breathing. Preparing yourself. 

A soft knock on your bedroom door broke your dazed thoughts. You looked up, seeing Angel through the widening crack in the door, fist raised, his knuckle rapping softly on your bedroom door. 

You locked eyes for moment before Angel chuckled sheepishly to himself, shuffling his feet in your doorway,

“I, uh, thought you might’ve jumped out the window,” he chuckled lightly. 

Leave it to Angel to find a way to lighten the heavy mood that had descended upon your space. You managed to crack a small smile, corner of your mouth tilting up just-so in that way he had always found endearing. 

“The thought had crossed my mind,” you shrugged, patting the space next to you, acquiescing to allow Angel to sit. 

He crossed your room, exhaling heavily as he took a seat next to you on the bed. 

Now that you were seated so closely to Angel in the low light of your bedroom, you looked at his face, taking him in. Really looking at him for the first time in months. Trying to ignore the pricking feelings of trauma that were doing their best to bubble beneath the surface and consume you --- had Angel not broken your heart in a manner so like this? Seated next to one another on the end of his bed while he told you, in no uncertain terms, that he was done with you? The thought made a sick wave of nausea wash through you. You wiped your perpetually-sweaty hands along the thighs of your sweats. 

You had survived the last encounter like this, hadn't you? Honestly, what more could he do to you? 

For his part, Angel was silent next to you, surveying the space of your room as he had in your living room. The familiar clutter greeted him -- a stack of books and a coffee mug on your bedside. A sketchbook never too far from reach. The comforter beneath him as pillowy as he remembered. He shuddered a sigh. 

You decided to take conversational mercy on him, 

"Go ahead,” you beckoned. “Say what you have to. But just know I meant what I said at the party. I don't need shit from you. You telling me what you want to say is for you. And when it's done, you're going to give me what I deserve and listen to me. We need to put this behind us. I’m not going to be looking over my shoulder for you for the rest of my life, Angel.” What had started as a murmur grew fiercer with each word.

"That's fair, querida," was all he offered. Your words to him each time you had spoken since the party were evermore forceful. He was used to gentle Frida. It wasn't often that the turn of your tide was leveled against him. Not often he was forced to bear the brunt of your storm when you were upset.

He could see what Coco meant. It was unwise to make you angry 

He turned his body slightly to face yours, looking down at your hands as though he was contemplating attempting to hold one. His fingers twitched where his hands rested along his thighs. Better just to crack the ice, become submerged in frozen water. Take the shock out of it now, even if he wasn't sure where to begin, now that he faced you.

“I”m not really sure what I can tell you that’ll make it better,” he admitted.

You sighed. 

“I’m not looking for you to make it better, Angel. There is no more better. Whatever you want to say, you say it,” you pressed. “We’re past better. We’re not together. you were clear about that. You don’t have to spare my feelings, I’m not your girl.”

Angel flinched, almost imperceptibly, at your last statement.  He knew you weren’t together, knew you weren’t his. Hell, he’d been busy in the months since you’d been broken up. Busy chasing Adelita. Busy with other women when it didn’t work out with Adelita. Busy acting like a jackass with Andres. Busy with club nonsense. But hearing you say that you weren’t his girl? 

It made Angel’s heart ache in a way he wasn’t expecting. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. At your scoff, he shook his head. “Really. After Adelita told me she was pregnant … I thought it was easier just to let you go. I needed to be there for her, for the kid. Even if it meant -- even if it meant losing you.” 

“Easier for who? For you?” Your voice was soft. You hated that, once again, you felt like the crystalline girl Angel’s heartbreak had rendered you. Worried that the slightest thing would shatter you once more. 

Angel chucked again, but there was no humor behind it. His eyes looked flat, as though he wasn’t really focusing on anything. 

“For both of us, I guess. It’s stupid. I thought if I just -- cut you out … we would both be better. But … that ain’t what happened. I just made us both miserable. I made you hate me. And now ...  She's gone. And so are you,” Angel’s voice was low, cracked. 

The weight of his words, coupled with the gravelly pitch of his voice was making you feel restless, itchy. Grit like pebbly grains of sand you would roll between your fingers on days at the beach, palpable and pronounced.

“A-and,” you interjected, “how did you meet her? When did you meet her?” 

Angel’s eyes darted to meet yours again, finding a swimming emotion he was getting better at putting his finger on. You only looked like that when you were getting lost in negative thoughts, awash in a sad song. Or when he was breaking your heart. He hated that look on your face. Hate that it marred your beautiful features into baleful melancholy. 

“Club shit,” was all he’d said. “We were mixed up in some shit with the rebels. We were helping each other. W-we connected. It just … happened.” 

You whipped your head at that last bit, eyes hardening. Angel’s hands came up, defensively.

“I know. Everyone says that, don’t they? It’s true… and I -- I really didn’t mean to hurt you. When I found out she was pregnant, I thought I was doing the right thing. By her. And by you,” he sucked air in through his teeth before releasing the breath in a huff of air. “I was wrong, Frida. I made every wrong choice, and I’m sorry.”

Angel carded his hands through his hair, tugging the ends lightly in his frustration. “I-- I just been going through some shit lately. And then ... Ezekiel tried to serve us brunch, and I was an asshole.” 

He looked at you, only to meet your puzzled gaze.

“Brunch?” You queried, wrinkling your nose lightly. “Since when are you a brunch kinda guy, Angelito?” 

“I really ain’t,” he said. “And you?”

“I like brunch just fine,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“That’s not what I mean, Frida, and you know it,” he said. “But we can get back to that later.” He took in your loose sweats, the way you had been picking your nails, the bags beneath your eyes. You had looked so beautiful, so perfect and untouchable,  at the patch party the other night. And now -- in your room, all pretense stripped away, Angel could see the real you … behind the professional and put-together front. The tired girl with a broken heart. And he felt the residual ache in his chest that had taken residence left of his heart ever since the day he had put your stuff in a box and left it outside of his door. 

“I know you have something you want to say to me, too, Frida. Your turn. How are you feeling?”

You laughed hollowly, your eyes fixed on the doorway to your room, half expecting Angel to get up and go.

“I’ve been better, Angel,” you deadpanned, swiveling to look at him, and finding him still seated next to you. “Ya know? It’s been a tough couple of days? Between that disaster of a party and whatever the hell went down the other day… but this town is too small for us to just try to ignore each other, and I do like it here.” You rubbed your eyes, the air between the two of you filling with silence that never used to be so awkward.  

“That can’t be all you gotta say,” Angel pressed. “C’mon, Frida. Tell me how you’re feeling. I was… I was awful to you.”

The candle in the corner of the room sputtered, causing momentary, flickering shadows to dance along the walls of your room. Your safe, homey space felt full of shadows and ghosts, words unspoken between the two of you threatening to burst forth, your closet brimming with proverbial skeletons. 

And you were just so tired. And now Angel was pressing you? You weren’t sure if the heat was from your sweats, the proximity of the man next to you, that you had turned up the thermostat too high. Or the fact that you were still so fucking angry. 

“You want to know how I’m feeling, Angel?” You tugged on the ends of your hair, running your hands down the thighs of your sweats once more. Were you always so sweaty? “I appreciate you telling me the truth. Finally. And for apologizing, I guess.”

Tears were pricking at your eyes, the heat blazing in your cheeks matching the heat in the room.  

"But you made me look stupid. Like someone in need of pity," you sucked air in through your teeth. "I fucking hate pity, Angel. It's just misplaced empathy. A useless emotion. And you’d think I’d just wear that mess? For everyone to see? At the party. At the yard. Everyone just feeling sorry for me. For months. Because of you.”

The ache in Angel’s chest intensified. Awash in a wave of hot shame. Was it always so hot in this room? You were right. And weren’t you always? You never were that girl, and he had sent you down the river like you meant nothing, your artist’s hands crushed beneath the washed stones of his choices. He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done, apparently --

“And after everything? The way it went down? You made me feel like … I don’t know … Like you were punishing me,” your voice cracked, sobs and tears imminent through the dam you had erected. “Like I loved you more than you loved me, and you knew it… like you wanted to make me pay for that.” 

“Frida …” Angel turned his body toward yours fully now, closing the space between the two fo you and cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the silvery hot tears that were slipping down your face, sick that he had caused them. Sick that he had even made you think that what you were saying was true. “It wasn’t like that,” he assured. 

“And the shittiest part is,” you hiccuped around your words, “you can’t even tell me give me the comfort of a cliche -- you can’t honestly tell me ‘it meant nothing,’ or that it was a ‘one-time thing,’ because none of that is true, is it? You care about her -- you had a child with her. You love her. And here I thought I could take what you did, take you, fold you up and tuck you away, like a note you pass in school. And I can’t. I just can’t.”

You tilted your face downward now as your tears fell, allowing your face to be fully cupped by Angel’s warm, calloused hands. Even now, you were still amazed at how tender his touch was, despite his rough exterior. All he wanted now was to comfort you, to touch you and bring your eyes to his again. To remind you of his love for you. Once. Now. Always?

“Frida, it wasn’t like that. They were my selfish, stupid choices. Mine. And I was scared. Scared of how much I wanted … everything with you. And it wasn’t right. I told you -- I … been going through some shit.” 

“Scared,” you murmured. Turning your face in Angel’s hands, causing your lips to brush over his fingers. You leaned back, effectively releasing your face from the trace of his touch. 

“Isn’t it remarkable how secure and insecure you can simultaneously feel when you’ve found someone worth loving? I felt it, too. With you  it's now I knew you were the one,” You said. Angel straightened in shock, at how, though you weren’t present for his conversation yesterday with Ezekiel, you parroted his feelings he had confided in his brother back to him. Always on the same page. His full lips pursed as you continued. 

“We can’t keep using what happened to hurt each other. I’m done with that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry you felt the way you did. I’m sorry you felt like you needed to look elsewhere. And I hope you find what you're looking for,” you hated how soft your voice sounded to your own ears. Hadn't you meant to be forceful, angry? You sniffled. “Because, despite everything that’s happened...  You are someone worth loving, Angelito.” 

"No, Frida," he shook his head softly before looking at you again, eyes glittering. "You are. Someone deserving of more.”

Your breath caught in your chest at his words, taking this moment to look into his ochre eyes once more. You wanted to commit to your memory just how they swirl like melting chocolate and promises in low candlelight.

And, oh. Angel was made to be seen like this, you’d thought. The dim candlelight giving everything in your room a pleasant glow and slightly-blurry edges. He looked like his namesake. And how ironic was that, really? Considering the context of your conversation. 

It's easy these days, you thought, for you to get carried away by your own feelings... While you searched desperately in the emotional rubble for your muse, Angel, the truth of it tore you to shreds with blunt fingernails -- knowing he was  out in the world -- running freely and carelessly. Running away with your imagination. With your hope. With the pieces of your heart that had survived the blitzing storm he had put you through. With the pieces of your heart that had belonged to him. That you feared may always belong to him.  

Looking at Angel now, in the low-lit steadfast luminescence of your room, shadows flickering agreeably across his angular cheekbones. He was sculpted. Made to be admired in perpetuity. Artist that you were, it ached. It stung. The knowledge that your hands were not the ones that had molded him into the man sat beside you. A man molded, instead, by his own choices. 

All you could do was watch as those wrong decisions drifted lazily down the river, only to become a torrent, Angel caught in the current. The waves lapped loudly, sloppily against riverbanks of better judgment, but Angel is never quite washed ashore. No, as you watched, he slipped down the river, out of your fingertips and toward something you're too fearful to quantify. Away from you. 

You want the river to carry him back to you. To home. But you know it never will. 

Angel has two choices now: To drown under the weight of his path this river has wrought; or to swim. 

As you sit beside him in the growing heat of your room, you hope he chooses to swim. Even if it’s not to where you stand. 

"So, is that what’s next?” You asked, wiping your eyes. 

At Angel’s puzzled look, you carried on,

"You're asking for it back," you whispered. “Or you’re going to. My heart? You may not have said it like that, exactly, but it's what you want. Like you don't know how bad it all hurt me, even if you say you know, I don't think you ever will. And even if I wanted to give it to you, I don't know if there's enough of it left."

You wrung your hands together, awaiting Angel’s response. You looked up at him through your lashes, clumped together with the tears that had escaped during your confessional. 

His molten eyes were soft on your form, swallowing before he spoke again. 

“I was such an asshole… to you. And at that stupid brunch … to Gaby. But it was all just … too much. I mean, she was wearing mom’s apron…” Angel shook his head. “And all I could think of … Even with Adelita out there, with her and my boy gone, outta my life… all I could think of was how it should be you wearing the stupid apron. It should be me giving you my mother’s ring. And I was so angry at Ezekiel for having all of that. For having what I wanted … wanted with you.” 

If there was any air left in the room, it was certainly all gone now. All that was left was heat, no air or space between the two of you. Just stagnant air and the weight of words, both said and unsaid. And if Angel had said these words to you more than a year ago? Maybe they would sound different to your ears. Melodious, even. 

Now, all you could think to do was comfort. Ever the nurturer. What else could you do, really, after he'd said that? You shook your head gently, lacing your fingers through Angel’s and squeezing. 

“It’s not that he has something you don’t, or that you can’t have, Angel… What EZ and Gabriela have is what they have. It’s theirs. You’ll have yours. Someday.”

Silence descended upon the room once more. The warm scent of orange-cinnamon from your candle permeated the room, the ever-present heat between you and Angel banishing all thoughts of romantic winter from your mind. 

“I just wanna say, again, Frida… how sorry I am for what happened at the party. For what happened with Andres. It was fucked up of me,” Angel’s tongue passed over his lips. “Did I answer all of your burning questions?” 

You reached over, trailing your fingers over the tattoo you had given Angel what felt like a lifetime ago.  His eyes followed the trajectory of your fingers, his nerves alight at the feeling of your starlit, feathery touch on his skin once more.

"Just one left.” Your eyes locked with his, unwavering. “Who am I to you, really?" You ask, the edge your silken voice had taken on slides beneath Angel's skin clumsily, like crumbling shards of glass. "What did I mean?"

Angel tries not to look at you now. Tries, but fails. His dark eyes meet your downcast ones once more, hates that they are once more glimmering with unshed tears waiting to fall. Hating that once again, he's the cause of the dreary blue tinge shading what should have been your sunny, hopeful worldview. Awash with the sunsets he would take you to see. 

And if there was any time for blossoming truth, for a sprig of rosemary remembrance of sacred feeling, it was now. 

"You're the love of my life," he finally admits, exhaling heavily. "That's just it, ain't it? Always you. And not that I have any right to ask you now -- But I need to know, Frida. Am I yours?"

Any air left was sucked from the room in one fell swoop, leaving you with the stuffy and sticky discomfort of Angel's question and the weight of his heated gaze on you, waiting for something, anything to fall from your pretty lips.

And what a question it was. 

You knew the answer, of course. You reach up to brush your thumb tenderly across Angel’s sculpted cheek, as though you could be the one molding it, nodding before verbalizing your answer,

"You've always been the love of my life. Had my heart. I'm yours, But, I think I know now… that  you were never truly mine. Even if you say it now. You have a heart that's not so easily won, Angelito. That's something I wish I'd learned sooner, wish I could've taken from you… from all of this." 

All Angel could do was shake his head, the crease in his brow deepening at your words. 

"Ever the poet, Frida."

"I thought I was a 'shit' poet?" You teased gently, recalling his words to you when he’d texted you to ask you out for the first time. 

Angel chuckled, the grit and honey in his voice washing over you, a wave of silken heat, his eyes are fixed upon yours intently, leaning forward and bringing his hands to trace along your neck, your jaw, dragging his thumb over the full, pillowy part of your bottom lip. 

“You did win it, Frida,” was all he said. 

The rush of warm, fluttery feeling swam through your body, prickling you like sparkling, popping champagne. Angel’s eyes tracked yours, down to where his thumb was dragging across your lip. Your eyes slipped shut, lashes fluttering. 

You could feel it rushing back. Everything Angel had ever made you feel -- the ardor, the frustration, the crushing weight of the river wild. Heat bloomed across your cheeks and down your chest, between your thighs and through the fingertips that you had brought to grip Angel’s biceps. 

His declaration of love, of melted marshmallow and warm cocoa -- made you crave him in a way you had long thought gone. 

You pressed your lips to kiss the tip of Angel’s thumb. You were rewarded with a reciprocal, sucking in of air on Angel’s part. 

He held his breath momentarily before surging forward and capturing your lips with his full ones. 

You were awash in the memory of every kiss shared with Angel. Of how he’d made you feel in your full-hearted moments together. Rich and full, like morning coffee. Hazy and sweet, like cherry smoke.

Angel’s kiss makes you feel dizzy, fizzing and dissolving simultaneously, like a Mento in a glass of Coke. Volatile and thrumming, both erupting and disappearing so fast, you were afraid you’d never have the chance to process exactly what it made you feel. 

It might be okay, you reasoned to yourself -- if you could hold Angel just for one more night, feel his body pressed against yours. It felt like a good idea in this moment, just to hold him for one  night only. 

Your lips pressed against one another, his hand cupping your jaw trailing back to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging it -- causing your kiss to break. Angel trailed his lips from yours, down and along your jaw. 

Angel’s grip firmed, turning your head further as he continued his attention down your neck, giving you a view of the chair next to your closet where you had haphazardly thrown Angel’s t-shirt when you had worn it last, a symbol of comfort now worn-out. 

You laid back, Angel following, surging over you and pressing you into your cloudlike comforter. His hips rolled into yours, his teeth now scraping gently along the slope of your neck. 

At the gasp you emitted, Angel felt himself harden in his jeans. He'd thought he'd never hear that sound from you again. And replaying the memory of it in his head? Not enough. He rolled his hips into yours again, again, as you dragged your thighs up Angel’s sides, locking your legs around his hips. He trailed warm hand down to caress your breast through your soft t-shirt, leaving a heated trail in its wake. 

“Oh, Angel,” you gasped, rolling your hips to meet his. 

“Can I kiss you like this, amor?” Angel rasped, “I’ll make you feel good.” 

He took in the heat behind your eyes, the kiss-swollen state of your lips when he broke from them. The creeping heat he felt from beneath your collar in his position atop you, and the way your breasts heaved beneath your shirt. 

The thread of resolve you were hanging by seemed to dissolve, leaving you unraveled and threadbare, naked before the man you swore would be your forever. The ache you felt between your legs burned crimson, cloudy and acrid. You tasted Angel’s kiss, tasted him, on your tongue.

You were never more aware of the dimensions of your body than when Angel had his hands on you, tracing and gripping every curve, the touch of places you don't think to touch yourself, strange but pleasurable as you relished in the trace of his rough fingertips against your smooth skin. He slid his hands down your waist, hips and into the loose waistband of your sweats, sliding them down your legs as he went. 

Angel played your body with temerity, a confidence, and before you knew it, your lower half was bare before him. He pushed the soft, loose fabric of your t-shirt up and over your chest, trailing his lips over your now-exposed skin, bringing his other hand to cup your breast, circling the pad of his thumb over your nipple. 

You gasped and groaned beneath Angel’s attention. Gripping at the hem of his shirt, you tugged it up and over his head, trailing your hands down his firm, thick torso. 

Angel was reticent to deprive himself of your touch after not having had it for so long. The touch of your nimble, artist’s fingers trailing over the lines of his body made Angel feel like an instrument being plucked to a tune that made both his and your body sing. He thought he would never feel it again.

 But this moment? This was about you. 

 Angel gripped your wrists, firmly planting your hands next to your head, following the trajectory and leaning over you with his full body. Releasing your wrists, Angel firmly pressed his lips to yours again, his tongue swiping past your lips and invading your mouth. Hot, needy, dirty. 

Ange tore his mouth from yours, his lips trailing lower and lower down your body, kissing your hips, nipping at your hipbone, causing you to yelp and buck your hips.

The action drew Angel’s attention, lifting his lips from your body, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I missed you, baby. Did you miss me? Sweet girl...” His voice was lower than you think you’d ever heard it, dangerously so. 

Bringing his hand down to cup your mound, he traced his fingers through your slick folds.

“Ah-Angel,” you gasped, tilting your head back at the blissful feel of Angel’s touch. As quickly as his touch had come, he withdrew it, causing your eyes to snap open, fixed on him and full of fire. 

“You know how this works, querida. I won’t touch you unless you answer me,” he taunted, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly over where you’d wanted him most, staunch in his refusal to commit to the touch. 

“God, Angel, yes,” You gasped. “P-please.”

Angel rewarded you, prising apart your legs and sliding down your body, tracing a teasing lick of his tongue through your folds, increasing in pace and intensity at the noises passing through your lips.

"I d-do miss you,” you sighed, starting to roll your hips against Angel’s tongue. “I miss the way you touch me… the way you fuck me.”

God. It was hot, the way you talked, the way you gave yourself over to him. 

Stars and firecrackers popped behind your eyes at Angel’s attention, cinnamon heat seeping through your bones, writhing and twisting at the way Angel strung his way through your body. Unable to justify the concept of being left alone, you tugged up at Angel’s jaw, forcing him to look up at you. Met with your wanton gaze, Angel licks his lips at the sight of you and slides back up your body with a grace that defies his size. 

Now level with you once more, he gripped your jaw, turning your head to the side and attacked your neck, your breasts with renewed vigor, grinding his denim-clad hardness against your naked core, the painful drag of the fabric turning pleasurable. 

With your gaze turned toward the wall, you were once again greeted with the sight of Angel’s rumpled t-shirt on the chair by your closet. An object of comfort, threads and strings tying you to a past life.   

What were you doing? Taking comfort in something that you couldn’t, in good conscience, call your own?

The rumpled shirt seemed to be mocking you, taunting you. Reminding you that, once again, you were seeking clinging to something you shouldn't. Seeking solace in things -- people -- that you shouldn't. 

Apart from Christopher's warm, sly, sensational goodnight kiss the other day, Angel's was the first touch you'd experienced like this since, well, Angel… How easy it was to slip back into your feelings for him, get caught up in him.

I'd give it all just to hold you close, sorry that I broke your heart... You shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Angel,” you prised his lips from your body. “St-stop.” 

Angel’s eyes were wild, hair mussed and lips swollen.

“What, querida?” 

“Angel,” you sighed again, sliding your shirt down and coming to sit up. “We can’t be doing this.”

Angel slouched next to you with a huff, trailing his fingers down your arm.

“Why not?”

You sighed. After all this time, the feeling of Angel so close to you was everything you thought you wanted. But everything that had been said? The water beneath your respective bridges? Angel was still awash, had not come to rest on any bank. And you were still waiting on the shore -- now certain that all you would mold from the riverbank clay were memories and half-baked dreams. 

“We’re not together,” you breathed, leaning over the bed to pick up your sweats and tug them back on. “And that’s not what this is. We're too old for platitudes, and happy endings are for children's stories. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you know this is wrong.”

“Querida -- I want…" Angel started, before turning away, leaning over his thighs and tugging his hands through his hair… his distress with how he had let himself get so out of control with you was mounting. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“What? Angel,” you touched your hand to his still-bare shoulder. “What do you want?”

"A second chance…?" Angel's normally smooth voice trailed at the end, transforming his desire into a question, fading into the silence of the room. He shifted his shoulders, turning his body to once more face yours, but not quite meeting your eyes. 

You let his words hang in silence for a moment, weighing how you wanted to respond.

“Say something, Frida.” 

"I knew you'd say that," you chuckled drily. "I know you, you're like this. But second chances become third, fourth, fifth. I can't trust you. What did you expect me to say?"

Angel opened his mouth to answer before catching sight of the expression on your face, twisted into proverbial knots. Even now, you were being far more gracious than he had any right to expect. He closed his mouth again, sighing.

"I don't know, dulce."

"I do,” you shook your head. “You expected me to say 'yes,' " you reached across the bed to one more lace your fingers through his. "I know you. But what does it say about me that I want to? It would be so like me, wouldn't it?"

You squeezed Angel's fingers tenderly in your grip, awarding him a flickering, wan smile. 

Angel's voice cracked when he spoke again, "Then say yes, Frida. Let me prove it to you. Prove that we’re meant to be together."

"And would you? Would you take me back if I did that to you? If I had someone else's child? While we were together?" 

Angel was silent at that, not having considered the reversal of roles. In truth, though you knew him, he knew you, too. It would be so wildly out of character, how would he have been expected to consider it?

"You think you might, because you love me. But, see, Angelito, I don't think you would. So how can you sit there and say we're two people who are meant to be when we don't even love each other the same? Love doesn't come in pieces, amor. You held my heart in your hands. And you crushed it. Let it crumble into nothing, like sand. Like I meant nothing."

“But this--” Angel gestured between the two of you, eyes lingering on the skin of your neck where his mouth had been, tracing his fingers over your kiss-swollen lips. 

“--Can’t happen.” Tears were rising to your eyes again. 

Goddamnit. Couldn’t you get through one conversation with him without crying?

“Maybe we are meant to be. And maybe we'll find our way back to one another. But right now? I -- I don't think I can. But more importantly, I don't think we should. And please hear me when I tell you how much it breaks my heart to say that."

Your heart was burning, but your skin was ice. Dream, they call desire. And he could hear the heartbreak in your voice. Always stupidly genuine.

Angel was stock-still, and as you took in his prone form, eyes tracing to his face -- you saw a lone tear slip down his cheek, shaking his head. 

"I miss you, you know?" He chuckled, no humor in his soft, velvet voice. 

"I know."

You were in a fugue state, the rumble of Angel’s bike retreating down the street barely registering as you were processing as you retreated to your bed, the room and your sheets noticeably cooler in Angel’s absence. The room feeling too large without him in it.

As you settled into bed, you noticed it -- Angel’s old shirt, still on your chair. 

You hadn’t thought to return it.

---

The following week found you back in the shop, preparing for your mid-afternoon appointment. You had wiped down the table, changed the wrapping, and were now idly jotting as you waited. Thoughts on one person in particular. 

The bell above the shop door dinged, causing you to look up from the poem you were penning on the lime-green sticky you kept a stack of near your work station. 

Your one o'clock was right on time.

And you were greeted with the sight of Angel striding in with two cups of caffeine, offering one two you as he rested his ringed hand on the counter.

“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.” 

Since Angel had departed your place in the middle of the night a week ago, the words between the two of you having had time to simmer and settle, allowing you to process the weight of it all. 

For his part, Angel had given you space. Hadn’t said anything past texting you to tell you he had made it home safely. 

 In the days that had followed, you had cautiously cracked the ice between the two of you, hoping to assuage any awkwardness and rebuild some kind of friendly connection removed from the physical. It was probably better that way. Messaging him idly to ask about his day. Not that you had shared with Angel, but you were also texting Christopher. 

Angel had called the shop, asking if you were available to help him with something he’d wanted to do. Something special, he’d said.

“Something for Ezekiel,” Angel told you. “He’s been through alot lately, with Gaby and the club and everything … been through alot with me lately. Now feels like the right time”

You had, of course, readily agreed. Eager and honored to help Angel with a tribute to his brother. The texts between the two of you changed to exchanges of ideas, you sending him screenshots of your sketches before the two of you had decided on a design that fit. 

You accepted the cup of coffee from Angel gratefully and with a gentle smile, beckoning him behind the counter. Coffee truly was a love language. 

“You can sit in the chair and lean forward, or you can lie on the table. Both are clean. Dealer’s choice,” you said between sips. 

Angel nodded, slugging the last of his coffee and placing the cup down before slipping his shirt over his torso, baring his back to you as he sat in the chair, leaning forward and twisting his abdomen to bare his shoulder blade to you. 

The tawny patch of skin on his shoulder, above the large Mayans tribute that covered the expanse of his back, seemed like the perfect place for something for EZ, the angel (ha ha) on his shoulder and guiding influence in one another’s lives. 

You cleaned and bic’d the area, stenciling your design into the space and getting your kit ready to begin.

Angel watched what he could of you from the corner of his eye, a resonant ache blooming through his chest at the familiarity of this scene. Of you, all business, touching his skin, preparing to impart a piece of yourself that he would wear on his body for the rest of his days. 

You queued up your playlist, the sounds of motown flowing through the shop as you hummed along idly. 

In this moment, Angel knew … he was still in love with you. Likely always would be. You had been far too gracious with him, as you always were -- in the way you had treated him the other night. No mention of your “almost” encounter, for which he was grateful. And he knew he was correct in his assessment of you when you had first started dating -- it was in your nature.

“You mind?” Angel broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, gesturing at the journal-like sketchbook you had left near your station. 

You shook your head in acquiescence, “No. But it’s kind of a mess in there lately,” you acknowledged. “Shit poet, and all.” 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Angel barked a laugh. “I didn’t insult your poetry, Frida, you did.” 

“Ever the self-deprecating, starving artist,” you sighed dramatically. 

Angel took that as his cue, flipping through the pages of your book. One page felt particularly heavy beneath his fingers. He flipped to it, to be met with dried, pressed flowers that had been delicately glued to the pages, the page covered in a plastic slipsheet -- the dried, dusky pink of peony petals were affixed to the page next to a swath of a white, lacy-looking bloom. 

Around the flowers were sketches of hands that looked suspiciously like Angel’s own, down to the tattoos, and idle lines of poetry. 

Angel furrowed his brows as he glanced at the flowers again.

“You got those flowers for me,” you acknowledged, looking over his shoulder to see the page of your book he had settled on. “One of our first dates, when we went to the park. I’m not sure if you remember.”

Angel’s throat caught in a way that both annoyed and unsettled him. How were you always doing this to him?

“Recuerdo, Frida,” he breathed. “Lo recuerdo todo.” 

You patted his arm gently, resuming your work. 

“I like pressing flowers. It takes a while, but the end result is worth it.” 

You pinched your brows in concentration as you drew along the stenciled lines you’d previously etched into Angel’s shoulder blade, gun buzzing. You began to fill in the minimalist rising sun that was now filling the shoulder blade, stippling the interior as you went, the effect giving the sun an almost stucco-like finish that looked breathtaking against Angel’s golden skin. 

Angel allowed you to continue you work in silence, the weight of the past few days with you settling into his bones. He had pleaded with you, endeared himself to you so much that he had lost his voice. His bones filling with the words he wished he could verbalize. 

He was slowly arriving at that place of acceptance -- Santo Padre was a small town. He would see you. And it appeared that you could now stomach his presence, but he wouldn’t push his luck. Seeing you alone. Hell, even seeing you with someone else, was better than not seeing you at all. 

But once thing was clear -- you were someone who would always be in his life, his memories, his heart.

Angel was lost in his thoughts; you were focused on your work. The only thing that gave any indication as to the passage of time in the room where you two found yourselves was the evolution of your playlist passing through tracks.

Isn’t that how it always was with Angel? Time stood still. 

As you finished his tattoo, you snapped a quick pic for your work Insta -- and maybe, selfishly, for yourself, to admire, too. It’s true, what you had felt all those months ago, and again a week ago -- Angel Reyes was your muse. 

Made to be admired in perpetuity. 

You cleaned and wrapped it, pushing back wordlessly from your seat and making your way to the front as Angel gingerly tugged his shirt back over his head. Quoting the rate over your shoulder, you put Angel's aftercare bag together. But not before slipping the lime sticky in.

“Is that it?” Angel asked, arriving at the front counter, kutte once again in place..

“C’mon, Angelito, you know you get the friends-and-family rate,” you shrugged.

"And is that what we are, querida? Friends?” Angel's voice had none of the bravado it held when he had first spoken these words to you the day you'd met. Now it was cotton soft and carefully tinged with hope. He leaned over the counter.

You shrugged again.

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" You tilted the corner of your lips in a gentle, wan half-smile. 

"One day with you, and already friends again?” Angel breezed. You shrugged lightly in response, as he continued, “Or maybe the day after that? A man can hope, Frida."

“You know what they say, Angelito,” your voice was soft, but he’d recognize the teasing lilt anywhere. He’d heard it so often at the breaking dawn of your relationship. Kindness, with a hint of subtle flirtation. It was just how you were. “Hope springs eternal.”

Angel nodded, tossing a few bills on the counter and gently rapping his ringed-knuckles against the counter, a he was wont to do. He smiled gently at you, all glimmering white teeth and high cheeks. 

As Angel walked away, head down and focused on his phone now as he headed out the door and toward his bike, you watched him leave. Your elbow on the counter and head propped in your hand. 

You wondered when Angel would discover the sticky, recalling the words you had written on it. 

my stark moments of clarity between hazy and woebegone memory (thanks to spilled red wine) -- are still marked by the firm hand of your bruising ardor.

Your phone buzzed, breaking you from your reverie as you looked down at the name flashing on the screen, an easy grin blooming across your features.

“Well, hey,” you greeted. Unable to keep the happy chirp from your voice at hearing from him again so soon.

“Hey, mama,” he greeted in that smooth, throaty rasp of his you adored. “You busy later?”   

---

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[chris-hartley]

Tell me about other choice based games, also have you ever played oxenfree?

Ooh boy. For starters, I saw this and went "oh god where do I start" so that's a warning for what lies ahead. PS: Have not played Oxenfree and don't know what it is but I will look it up.

This is a spoiler-free zone unless otherwise stated in the headings btw :)

I know you know about Until Dawn so I'm not gonna touch that. But that being said I have to mention the Dark Pictures Anthology since that wasn't listed in the post :D.

THE DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY

The Dark Pictures Anthology is another choice-based game created by Supermassive Games, which made Until Dawn. Where Until Dawn was 8 hours long, The Dark Pictures games are all much shorter, with Man of Medan and Little Hope around 4 hours, and House of Ashes being at 6.

Each one of the Dark Pictures games is based roughly on a real-life event. Man of Medan is the Ourang Medan ship, Little Hope is the Salem Witch Trials, and House of Ashes takes place during the Iraq War. And the upcoming game Devil in Me is rumored to be based on the murder hotel of HH Holmes. Of course, with each came the fabrication of the threat/monster.

The games themselves are hit or miss. Personally, I enjoyed House of Ashes the most out of the three, followed by Man of Medan, and then Little Hope (I hated the ending but won't spoil it). I think one of the reasons I did like HoA best, is because of the length, they were able to build the characters more and make you like them and wanna save them, which the other two I felt lacked in that department.

In the end, the way they set up the games was very similar to Until Dawn (and on the off chance someone is reading these and doesn't know), one of the big components of all choice-based games is that you can save or kill any number of the playable characters: Alex, Julia, Conrad, Fliss, and Brad in Man of Medan. Andrew, Taylor, Daniel, Angela, and John in Little Hope. And Eric, Rachel, Salim, Jason, and Nick in House of Ashes.

The one tie-through of those games is the recurring character The Curator (who fans flock to partially due to his dump truck ass). He warns you of what's to come in weird puzzle-like riddles, can flat out give you hints, and overall in my opinion seems like you're talking to The Grim Reaper or Death. In his office he has a bookshelf where there is a series of books with symbols on them to represent the four games (which I will have tattooed on me now!): a little ship for Man of Medan, a stick figure doll for Little Hope, an eclipse for House of Ashes, and a compass (although I keep wanting to call it a protractor) for Devil in Me.

Anyway! That's the Dark Pictures. On to the next one... one that hasn't even come out yet lol.

THE QUARRY

So this game is the next game slated to be released by Supermassive Games (on June 10th). It has been released that the game is a "spiritual successor" to Until Dan and like that game, follows a stellar star-studded cast featuring David Arquette as Chris Hackett, Justice Smith as Ryan, Ted Raimi as Travis, Brenda Song as Kaitlyn, Halston Sage as Emma, Skylar Gisando as Max Binly, Siobhan Williams as Laura, Ariel Winter as Abigail, Evan Evagora as Nick, Miles Robbins as Dylan, Zach Tinker as Jacob, Lance Henriksen as Jedediah, Ethan Suplee as Bobby, Lin Shaye as Constance, and last but not least Grace Zabriskie as Eliza.

The game is announced to be 10 hours long and the first 30 minutes (aka the prologue) have been released on IGN. The Quarry follows 9 summer camp counselors (Max, Laura, Ryan, Dylan, Nick, Abigail, Emma, Jacob, and Kaitlyn) on the last night of camp at Hackett's Quarry, and some spooky shit starts happening.

Also the character Eliza has been confirmed to be almost a Curator/Dr. Hil type of harbinger of things to come which is kinda cool.

From what I've seen of the teasers and stuff, my theory is that it's werewolves and possibly a situation of the campers being hunted by humans (think The Most Dangerous Game). But nothing is confirmed that's just what I think.

From what I've seen, I'm VERY excited for this game's release. 45 days so the hype is building!

HIDDEN AGENDA

Ah yes, the shortest choice based game. Created by Supermassive Games to show off a functionality of the PS4, which I don't think was used for any other game, lol.

The game follows Becky Marney (played by Katie Cassidy) as she investigates the claims that the guy they've had in custody/on death row for being The Trapper killer-- calling card boobytrapping the bodies of his victims to kill the first responders too-- claims he isn't the actual trapper but has been taking the fall for his friend Adam.

Throughout the very short 2 hour game, you play as Becky and Felicity Graves who are trying to figure out if the claims of the alleged Trapper are true. Once again it plays into the choice based to where both of the characters can die in an attempt to solve the murders.

It's a fun game! It's just built as a party game with the feature using your phones as the controller and the functionality to (when playing as a group) have Hidden Agenda's in order to get people to react one way or another to choices, although there is a single player mode where you don't have that but it's still on your phone.

Anyway you can watch my stream here!

Onto another developer! Quantic Dream (or David Cage). I remember watching one playthrough of Until Dawn and someone comparing it to Heavy Rain, which is next up.

HEAVY RAIN

Heavy Rain was (from what I know) the first game to follow through on the "your choices actually matter" as far as choice-based games go. It was released in 2010 and follows the story of Ethan Mars whose son has been kidnapped by the infamous Origami Killer that has been taunting the city for years. The calling card is that the kid goes missing in broad daylight and the father of the sons (it's always boys) receives a series of trials they must go through as a test to see if they're a good enough dad to save their son. Each trial succeeded gives Ethan a few entries into a really sucky Hangman game that when fully completed gives him the address of where his son is.

That being said, you also play as Madison, a reporter who is writing an article about the Origami Killer and accidentally falls in love with Ethan, Norman (or as I mimic his Boston accent, Nahman) Jayden who is an FBI agent sent to investigate this serial killer, and Scott Shelby who is a private investigator hired by the parents of the missing kids to help the police in their investigation.

Over the span of the game, you complete the trials as Ethan and investigate the crimes as Jayden and Shelby, ultimately finding out who the killer is and bringing them to justice.

And the best part? You can kill or save all of them in a number of ways (including Ethan's son who you never play as but still).

I played this game a few years ago and while the graphics have aged with time, it is still a fantastic game and if you haven't played it (or watched a stream) I recommend it. Here is my personal stream of the game if you wanna check it out.

DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN

In 2018, Quantic Dream released its most recent game, Detroit: Become Human, which much like Heavy Rain makes good on it's promise to create a game where your choices do really matter. And this time, the graphics are UNREAL. It's roughly 10 hours long and follows the city of Detroit, Michigan way in the future (I'd say nearly 80 years from now but I don't know the exact date). In this future, we have developed a humanoid Android robot to do pretty much every job for us that we don't want to/can't do for ourselves.

The game follows 3 story lines where you're playing as the androids Kara (played by Valorie Curry), Marcus (played by Jesse Williams), and Connor (played by Bryan Dechart). Connor is a police assistant android whose mission is to help figure out why androids are slowly becoming sentient ("deviant") and exhibiting human-like traits like having emotions. Marcus, who has become deviant and with a group of others, begins to lead a resistance to show humans that they just want to be treated as equals (noted: your resistance can be peaceful or riot-like depending on your choices). And Kara starts off as a nanny/maid for a family but rescues the little girl from her abusive father and runs away in search of a better life for both of them.

Their stories start off separate but soon overlap with Kara ending up seeking help from Marcus, and Connor hunting down the shelter of deviant androids who are apart of the resistance. And like all the others, you can kill or save all three of the main characters along with the non-playable side ones (North, Simon, Josh, and Luther).

Once again. 10/10 game. My stream is linked here.

BEYOND: TWO SOULS (spoilers)

Another game by Quantic Dream, Beyond: Two Souls is different. Where as the other games give opportunities for the characters to die throughout the game and alter how it ends that way, Beyond has a pretty strict choice based nature.

The plot is you follow Jodie (played by Elliot Page) as she grows up and learns to make sense/become friends with the entity she was born linked to. She starts off as a child who is undergoing tests led by Nathan Dawkins (played by Willem Dafoe), eventually gets recruited by the CIA, and falls in love. The whole time you're playing as Jodie and her entity Aiden (pronounced eye-den not like how you'd normally say aye-den).

Eventually the game builds up as Jodie begins to learn where Aiden came from and why they are bonded and it ends with a big choice.

Either die and join Aiden in the afterlife, or live and have her ties to Aiden be severed. If you choose to live you also have the choice of being able to be in the established romantic relationship with CIA agent Ryan (played by Eric Winter).

Not gonna lie the first time I played the game I had to sit and stare at the screen after it ended cause it hit differently personally for me (as someone who also lost a twin prior to birth-- like Jodie with Aiden). But it was still fantastic nonetheless.

LIFE IS STRANGE (spoilers)

2015 was a good year for games. Because it gave us Until Dawn, and Life is Strange. LiS is the first game of a series created by Dontnod and Square Enix. It follows protagonist Max Caulfield as she discovers she has the ability to rewind time because she witnesses her best friend Chloe Price get shot at the hands of Nathan Prescott (the entitled rich kid).

She rewinds and manages to save Chloe, but her choice creates a ripple in time as she begins to see visions of the town of Arcadia Bay destroyed in a huge tornado.

The game goes on and on as you (along with Chloe) investigate the mysterious disappearance and eventual discovery of the murder of Chloe's "friend" (*cough* girlfriend) Rachel Amber.

But as you continue playing, you keep having to use Max's rewind powers in order to save Chloe's ass more than once and that leads to the dramatic choice at the end of the game: Sacrifice Arcadia Bay (and everyone living in it) to save Chloe, or Sacrifice Chloe to save the Bay-- also called Bay or Bae due to an option to be romantically involved with Chloe throughout the game.

Personally I think that ending is amazing because it really says a lot about what people value as they choose which one to save. It's a phenomenon known at the Trolley Problem and honestly so interesting. It's one of the reasons I love watching people play it for the first time/discussing the choice with others.

LIFE IS STRANGE: BEFORE THE STORM

Ah yes, Before the Storm, which was an interesting addition to the LiS universe. It's a prequel to the original game where you instead play as Chloe Price in the year prior to Rachel's disappearance while she is also dealing with the grieving of her father's death and mother's eventual remarriage with the security guard David Madsen.

Where as the main LiS game is split into 5 episodes, this game is only 3 (with an optional 4th as part of the deluxe edition). And in the original 3, you basically get a glimpse into Chloe and Rachel's friendship/relationship if you choose that path.

You witness Rachel's parental issues and the drama that comes with that, an accidental wildfire, you get to participate in Blackwell's production of The Tempest, and play DnD with Chloe's friends Steph and Mikey.

As for episode 4 (titled "Farewell"), you get to see the day that everything goes wrong for Chloe. Max announces her family is moving to Seattle on the same day that her dad dies in a horrific car crash. This episode made me BAWL my eyes out, mainly due to the fact it ends with Max leaving Chloe a tape in which she promises to keep in touch with her after she's gone, and in my playthrough of the main game, I chose Bay and therefore they never see one another again after she leaves.

Overall, the game is a great addition to the series. And it really gives a glimpse into Rachel Amber's personality and why exactly her and Chloe were so close. You can watch my stream here.

LIFE IS STRANGE 2

Not gonna lie this game is heavy, topic wise. The story follows brothers Sean and Daniel Diaz who are on the run from police after an incident of police brutality that left their dad dead (which resulted in Daniel discovering he has telekinesis powers and accidentally killed the cop who killed his dad.)

The two of them, now wanted criminals, start hitchhiking down the west coast of America heading for Mexico where their dad's family lives. Along the way they run into a LOT of trouble. They work on a pot farm, accidentally have a run-in with a religious cult, and reconnect with their mother who'd abandoned them years prior and stay with her in her desert commune.

One thing I really liked about this game is while it exists in it's own space, there are callbacks to the original LiS game (being able to see Arcadia Bay in either ruins or thriving, and getting to interact with David Madsen on the commune with different interactions based on the ending of main game). Also I felt it delivered more on the choices mattering. Where as I felt LiS's didn't matter aside from the ending one, this game mattered a lot more and had several endings.

Throughout the game you're playing as Sean (the older brother) and depending on how you choose to essentially raise Daniel while on your journey, the game can end in a number of ways which I really liked. Even if the looming topic was very heavy.

LIFE IS STRANGE: TRUE COLORS

The last one! Woo! If you've read this far consider me giving you a pat on the back cause good god did I write a lot about these.

True Colors follows the story of Alex Chen, a young girl who moves to Haven Springs, Colorado to live with her brother Gabe whom she hasn't seen in several years to being separated in the foster care system.

Everything seems too good to be true, and it is. After a shady event in the mountains of Haven, Gabe ends up dead in a horrific matter (not a spoiler it's in the trailer) and now Alex is in a new place with a load of strangers as she attempts to figure out how to navigate the loss of her brother.

And it wouldn't be a LiS game without a superpower, though Alex's is a little less farfetched. She's an empath, who can sense people's emotions and if they are too strong, can become overwhelmed with them.

You go through the story, learning all about Haven's (shady) past as you search for exactly why Gabe died. You become friends with the locals, and possibly even have a romantic relationship with either the rugged (and handsome) park ranger, Ryan Lucan, or the town's local nerd and radio DJ Steph (who is the same Steph that is friends with Chloe in Before the Storm-- a great call back!).

The game also had an option to have a DLC (called "Wavelengths") in which you are playing as Steph along her journey and transition from living in Arcadia Bay to living in Haven Springs and you get to actually be a radio DJ which was my fav part. It also confronts her dealing with the fallout of the events of the main game and how she processes it.

That's all about the games I have played!

THE OTHERS

So I may have a lot of experience in these games, but there are still some I know that exist that I have not played yet. Those being Twin Mirror (created by Dontnod), The Walking Dead series, and I guess now Oxenfree -- I assume it's one as well. I do own Twin Mirror but haven't played yet, and the other's are on my to-buy list!

Thanks for reading!

Sorry I go on about this! This is just scratching the surface.

[relaxxattack]

Someone's probably asked you this before but how long did it take you to plan out the plot for knifetrick? What did you do to come up with everything and do you have any tips for other writers who are struggling to put together their own fics?

after checking out my history lol,

it seems i did serious brainstorming and research for about a week before i started writing.

what happened first was that i had in my head the funny idea of ran failing to kill jackie and them getting tax-benefit married (to make ran feel guilty and admit his plot)

and once i realized i wanted to make it into an actual story, i had to change some of it and come up with plot and reasoning.

the first thing i did was ask my followers for song requests, lol. i asked specifically for “songs about futuristic settings or being married to/loving your assassination target”

i listened to a lot of that music to get my brain juices flowing. i had to put together a couple of Reasons for why things happened. i also knew i couldn’t just write the fic on the assassination alone, or else ran would have nothing to distract him and be the overarching plot, lol

the music helped me picture scenes and concepts. i then just jotted down a bunch of stuff i thought would be interesting to happen (possible scenes)

a couple thoughts on this image— for one you can see that i originally wanted to name my fic after a movie. i looked up ones where assassins grow endeared to their targets and fail to kill them. but i realized i didn’t want to name the fic after a movie in case it was controversial or something, so i ended up going for a song instead. ALSO, as you can tell, some of these points got dropped! again, this was just brainstorming for things i wanted to include

the next thing i did was ask for ranjack classpects, lol. for those unfamilliar with classpecting, it’s sort of like personality types for really sad nerds (/lh). aka, hogwarts houses but more complicated.

@dyketubbo wrote some INCREDIBLE classpects for ran and jackie. it was based off what we knew about their personalities (which wasn’t much) but it also helped us infer a lot MORE about their personalities by figuring out where they could go or how they probably think in their minds.

if you don’t know classpects you can probably do this with personality types. or, just, figure out your characters personality some Normal way. i wouldn’t know.

there was a lot more brainstorming i did (where i came up with ms. laramie, scoots, and clementine) and tried to come up with a basic plot of what would happen and what they would do. during this i did some research on a proper three-act story structure so my plot would hit just right.

during all of this, i watched a bunch of spy and futuristic flicks (not too intensely, just had them on in the background to absorb the vibes).

i then made a plot map once i figured i knew what was gonna happen

(the last few chapters are on the other side of the paper, so you don’t get to see them haha)

a lot of this stuff got switched around or dropped completely as i was writing. honestly, the details don’t matter too much— the FLOW of the story is what’s important.

i’m very flexible with my scenes— literally what happens in a chapter is completely up in the air until i FINISH the chapter. sometimes they’re entirely different from my original ideas. it’s not too important to me what exactly happens, as long as it makes sense and i like it and it fits in with the rest.

in my mind, the events themselves are not as impressive as the characters in them. as long as i’m still developing the characters the way i need to throughout the story, and they eventually get to the plot points i need them to, i don’t worry too much about the specifics! as long as they’re fun.

i also didnt write chapter-by-chapter— i mapped the plot first, and then drew little dividing lines where i thought it would be good to end the chapter after. chapters are useful to me as pacing tools, but i didnt want the plot to seem too episodic by Planning it as chapters.

after i wrote the plot map, i did research on deserts, cities, and fantasy politics for DAYS. (i also watched videos on how fantasy militaries should work.) i ended up not using most of that information i came up with, but the parts that do leak through into my current writing do wonders to make the world feel real and alive. each character has a personality and a life, they aren’t just there to be background characters for ran and jackie.

then, i re-read a few books by authors who really inspire me. to get their narration voice fresh in my mind and feel really inspired

eventually we got to where we are now— i write the chapters and i post them!

as i’ve mentioned, i’m very flexible with my plot— so while i’ve foreshadowed certain things since the beginning, some parts of the story have only come perfectly together towards the end. and i have @shrugofgod to thank for that!

my wonderful editor is always willing to chat with me about what scenes and bits work and are most satisfying story-wise. of course lyssie also EDITS my chapters after they’re drafted — to make them more polished, and also ask me questions about things that are going on to clarify them.

many thanks to lyssie shrugofgod for making the story so much better :D

because my chapters have a tendency to get away from me and do whatever they want, if there’s certain plot things i need to hit in a chapter, i’ll outline the chapter before i write it.

also, recently, (after coming up with one too many REALLY COOL scenes and lines in my head while cleaning, but then completely forgetting them later) i’ve implemented a protocol for myself to jot down anything that comes to mind WHEN it happens so i don’t forget.

these are unprofessional and have spelling errors and all that, because i just wrote them really quickly, often while doing the dishes or laundry, lol.

so in conclusion:

um yeah that’s how i write knifetrick! i’ve never done this much work for any other fic though, so don’t feel like YOU have to. i did so much research for knifetrick because it was very out of my wheelhouse.

at most all i think is necessary for a good story is a plot map, and a hell of a lot of inspiration. (i got mine from music, movies, books, and drawing ran and jackie a lot, haha!)

make sure you’re having fun with your plot. writing won’t always be fun, but you should at least like your PLOT. because if you don’t then you won’t be inspired or enjoy it at all!

[kaypeace21]

Name analysis of the Creel family

Virginia creel ( victor creed's wife)

The name Virgina is derived from the Roman myth of a father k*lling his daughter (Virginia) . And is mostly likely foreshadowing of what Mr Creel will do to Virginia and their daughter.

Victor creel

Is probably based off the xmen comic book character victor creed, who k*lled some of his family members. He also had the tradition of ab*sing family members on their bdays. I predicted possessed-Creel will parallel Lonnie. Lonnie made Jonathan cry on his bday & i predict he will visit Will on his bday (based on foreshadowing)- post here. It would make sense , especially given the fact St references the xmen every season. And so they may have used this xmen ref/name to establish a loose connection between possessed- Creel and Lonnie.

Alice creel (the daughter)

Her name is a tip off that the Creels are constructs of Will's psyche, brought to life-similar to the fantastical world/inhabitants of Alice & wonderland. Which was also referenced in s1.She even is blond similar to the titular Alice. Alice (in s4) is the one to discovers the “de*d “ rabbit. In the original story, Alice follows the white-rabbit , and this causes her to fall down the ‘rabbit hole’ which leads to wonderland. But our Alice finding the “dead “ rabbit indicates the DARK-wonderland they’re about to fall into (as the perfect image of the family starts to unravel) .  A “rabbit hole” is also defined as “ bizarre, confusing, or nonsensical situation or environment, typically one from which it is difficult to extricate oneself.” ESSENTIALLY WHAT THE CREEL’S WILL EXPERIENCE.

Hopper also  says his depression is like a “black hole” . And Will’s dark thoughts about his past could be the metaphorical “black/rabbit hole” that destroys the Creels.

We also have other rabbit refs.When El is running away from the "bad men" the song "white rabbit" (describing Alice and wonderland )plays. Later we see in Terry's room for El : the same white rabbit, from the story. And Billy (William) Hargrove paralleled/created by Will also has a connection to the rabbit. As the name Hargrove means “grove filled with rabbits”. And Max in s3 also has a rabbit figurine- similar to Terry’s. And Hopper- sounds a lot like “thumper”(the rabbit) which Jonathan references in relation to his father making him k*ll a rabbit. Even “hop” is a word we associate with bunnies. And in s3 Hopper makes an analogy to “rabbits”. So all these characters are associated with rabbits: the hunting story/alice and wonderland. Because they're similarly... constructs of Will's mind: that were brought to life. Similar to how Alice (subconsciously) created wonderland and it's inhabitants via her imagination. 

Creel

Is a type of basket used to TRAP sea life such as fish-to later consume and k*ll . A hint something sinister will happen to the Creels. Especially because in the show - water is a sinister element. The watery void, the tub, the isolation chamber where El first sees the demogorgan, Will's fake body in the quarry, Barb being attacked in a pool,and Heather being att*ked in the shower,etc . We also see while eating dinner - Alice has a dress with umbrellas on it . Indicating it’s probably raining outside (and something awful is about to happen). Again it was raining , when the flayed (Heather) knocked out her 2 family members at dinner. And we then see Alice (in the same umbrella dress) on the floor with her brother- as their most likely Flayed-father is looming over them. I’ve seen a lot of people mention the dinner-flayed parallels-such as @small-town-byers (but I don’t believe anyone has mentioned the correlation to Umbrellas/rain).

Son's name is unknown? (Speculation)

I honestly do wonder about this. He parallels Will (both are artists and wear flannel). And his sibling (like jonathan) sees a de*d rabbit. Is there a reason we don't know his name? Unlike everyone else else?

So far we already had Billy whose real name is William (parallel Will) . So will this boy’s name also be a nickname for William?When El is looking into Billy's memories (relating to his ab*sive father) the song playing is even called "William".

Will this boy's name be avoided - and he'll only called William (by his possessed father). once Will realizes that his father is - the real monster ?

Will he simply have another nickname for William not already used in the show (Bill and Billy have been used), so maybe : Liam?

Or perhaps Gill (it’s also a nickname for William) . And, it also correlates to  fish  (like a fish gill) . Similar to  the creel family  being a "trap" for k*lling and consuming fish.

Since the demogorgan (which in d&d is a demon called the "deep father") who is described multiple times in s1 as "eating" when k*lling. And the fact, in s1 we see the demogorgan eating his own eggs (aka: his own young/kids). The boy’s name, being a nickname for William and food/fish, and his surname being a fish trap (for fish heading to the sla*ghter)... would be very clever. Honestly, if the Creels were eating fish at this dinner too-before everything goes wrong (I’d lose it , over the symbolism).

It'd also be creepy, if Mr Creel normally calls him "Gill" (rhymes with Will) but calls him "William" when possessed/angry. And maybe they could make that a parallel between possessed-Creel and Lonnie. So if Lonnie is calm he calls him "Will “ but when he starts to get angry/or have sinister intentions: Lonnie calls him "William". It would give the context of playing the song "William" during the Billy's flashbacks of his father - a different context. Also would give Max saying "max , never Maxine" + Will in s3 calling Mike "Michael", a sort of dark foreshadowing...

But who knows his name could be a different reference entirely. XD

[idv-asktheconsigliere]

Introduction + Rules

“Look, I’ll keep this nice and simple. I got roped in by the others to do this and here we are. Whoohoo. Alright, my name is Melissa Fair, my title is Consigliere but just call me Melissa. If you got any questions just send them my way.”

She came to the manor solely for business. What kind of business? It can't be legal, that's for sure.

-----

A/N: Answers are mainly texts and I plan on filling them with art later.

--Basics--

Nationality: Asian-American

Survivor type: Decode subcontainment

When did she arrive at the manor?: September 15th (Check Not Going to Bother).

Character Day/B-day: June 30th

Height: 5'2"/157.48cm

Voice Claim: Justine's Mic

Likes: Solving things, weapons, symbolism

Dislikes: Disorder among peers, funny business.

--Skill + External Traits--

Item: Paper Codes (Can be swapped, similar to Norton's magnets but it can only be used so many times before they get destroyed... Like Melly's net.)

Skill 1: Do You Understand This?

Blue paper: When in use, it increases decoding by 2% every time the skill check hits a perfect. (So 2%/4%/6%/8%/10%, it stops at 10%.)

Red paper: When in use, increases movement speed by 5% per cipher machine's done. (Max is 10%, because 15% sounds too OP.)

Skill 2: Run in with the Law

Being used to running away from the law, vaulting speed is increased by 15% for 2/4/6(one of these numbers) seconds. (I would add something related to getting terrorshocked, but that's too OP, and Freddy already has that.)

Debuff: Walk it Off for Now

Healing speed and rescuing speed is slowed down by 15%.

--RULES--

1. Just use basic internet common sense, just down below is some reinforcements.

2. Admin's(aka me, Katniss) 18 now but still don't send anything majorly NSFW, if it's for a joke pls DM me clarifying that it's a joke. Otherwise, I may carry it too far without knowing.

3. I allow magic anons so like yes you can inject her with truth serum or turn her into a mermaid. Or give her a shock collar! Wait I'm showing the Quotev anons- :ohgodohduck: ALSO! I respond very quickly, so keep those asks coming.

4. Due to life replies may receive a long answer or a short answer. Along with that, some may receive art and some may not. All I ask is don't be a whiny-

5. I may occasionally swear(if it seems fitting) and mention topics such as drugs, blood/gore/injuries, and possible threats. I will add TW to those, Melissa's position originates from the mafia, after all.

6. NEVER, EVER, HOLD BACK YOUR MUSE! THIS GOES WITH OCs, CANON PPL, AND AUs! If they want to hurt her, hurt her, the same goes for comforting and such. It'll be a lot more fun. If it's angst-heavy, I'll probably ask if we can stop, sorry I'm emotional. I do descriptive roleplaying so expect blocks of text or a short thing.

7. If you want to do some shipping stuff please let me know. I plan on having her as multiship so relationships will never ever cross each other.

8. Have fun, everybody!

--ASK LINKS + ARCHIVE--

Emojis 1

Dynamite, eye, baby, pen, baby bottle

Starters/Journal Entries based on songs!

Spotify Playlist!

Emojis 2

Growing Heart, Liar, Bouquet, See-No-Evil, Owl,

Dear [insert]...

Anyone, past me, Santa, Jealous of

Words!

Emojis 3

Dancing, book,

Emojis 4

Gestures, Mannerisms, Good Traits

Fire Emblem Heroes

Confessions

Uncomfyness

Relationship Types!

Tarot Cards

Empress, Moon, Lovers,

Interview

24, 25?

Botanical Ask Prompts

Gladiolus, Abatina + Angelica, Apple Blossom,

Masterlist

Look at the stars,

Fruits & Veggies

Avocado, Melon, Strawberry

Bother My Inbox

A WHOLE BUNCH OF NUMBERS HERE

Valentine's Day

Lovey dovey words here.

IDV Ask Game

LORE LORE LORE

--OPEN INTERACTION LINKS--

Babooshka

I'm lost.

--PAST EVENT!--

Candlelight - Roman Chiaro this event has ended. Go in the archive or go through the event candlelight tag.

--CHIARO FAMILY--

Voices

Appearance