#Oakland sketch night

[brettesims]

ART EVENT

A 21+ First Fridays Event:🍷 ✍🏾 Join me & my art mentor for a monthly drink & draw event @Oakstop_ ! Really happy to be back to hosting IRL events! 🔗 Link below to grab tickets👇🏾:

[beansidhebumbling]

au with human feyre and jurian during the war♥️

She knows his name long before she ever knows him.

He is myth. He is legend. He is the Saviour.

His name is said in prayers and sang in songs and whispered in the darkest, most desolate corners of fae-cursed land with an unmatched reverence.

He is Jurian of the Oaklands and his life extends beyond mere mortal form.

--

They meet first in the dark.

She is on watch, guarding over the dwindling Ironwood fort, letting the sounds of the night comfort her, that strange fae wind that always blows hard from the East tickling her nose.

If Nesta's gift is the Sight, that ability to see beyond veil and glamour, then hers is the Sound.

Since she was a child, the land has spoken and she has listened.

And so, on the lowest limb of an ash tree, she sits and lets the land whisper its secrets- that it will rain tonight, that the tubers are growing well, that a man approaches from the Broken River.

--

She lies amongst the soil and green, lets the hooded figure approach. Any of the fae-blooded would have made her hiding spot by now, would have heard the racing thread of her heartbeat. He must be human too. No great comfort. In a time like this, everyone is dangerous.

She waits until she can see the glistening tumbleweed of his breath catch in the air and then notches her arrow, rising like a wraith from the sweetgrass.

'Reveal yourself stranger. Or die.'

He startles, only slightly. A gloved hand moves.

A knife the wind says.

'Don't even think of it.'

She threatens, lowering her voice further.

'Force of habit, soldier,'

He drawls. His voice sounds like the earth when it's rained, rich and husky, like he has tasted the soil during Bealtaine and the remnants of it linger in his tone still.

She sees him then.

The heavy hood falls and in the cold caress of the scant moonlight, a face she has memorised from the 'Wanted' sketches scattered across Prythian is revealed.

A royal nose, slightly curved and crooked, a log of the battles he's survived. Eyes too beautiful for a man to own and a grin that slashes the gloam of the night.

He is here.

Jurian.

--

It is often difficult to identify beginnings Feyre thinks, they seem to hide in the mundane routine of life, only revealed in retrospect. But as the land pulses in time to her racing heartbeat, swirling and turning as she meets his stare, she sees it. This is the beginning.

He will be the death of her.

It starts here.

[jennyboom21]

Carl Weathers, who starred as Apollo Creed in the first four “Rocky” films opposite Sylvester Stallone, died Thursday, his manager Matt Luber confirmed to Variety. He was 76.

Weathers also starred in 1987’s “Predator” and had a memorable role in Adam Sandler’s “Happy Gilmore.” He was nominated for a Primetime Emmy Award for Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series for his work in the “Star Wars” series “The Mandalorian.”

He voiced Combat Carl in “Toy Story 4” and played a fictionalized version of himself in a recurring role on “Arrested Development.” His other credits include the TV series “Street Justice,” “Colony,” “The Shield,” “Chicago Justice” and “Brothers,” and the films “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” “Death Hunt” and “The Comebacks.”

After working with Sandler on the 1996 golf comedy “Happy Gilmore,” Weathers briefly reprised his role in “Little Nicky” and voiced a character in Sandler’s animated Hanukkah comedy “Eight Crazy Nights.”

Born Jan. 14, 1948, in New Orleans, Weathers played a variety of sports including boxing, football, soccer, wrestling and gymnastics. He played football in college at San Diego State University and helped the Aztecs win the 1969 Pasadena Bowl. While at SDSU, Weathers also pursued a degree in theatre arts, but in 1970 he signed with the Oakland Raiders as a free agent, and he played in eight games in the NFL as a linebacker across two seasons.

After his stint in professional football, Weathers pivoted more seriously to acting, landing small roles in Arthur Marks’ blaxploitation movies “Bucktown” and “Friday Foster,” as well as TV series including “Good Times,” “Kung Fu,” “Cannon” and “Starsky and Hutch.”

In “Predator,” Weathers starred as Colonel Al Dillon alongside Arnold Schwarzenegger, who went on to become the governor of California, and Jesse Ventura, who became the Minnesota governor. In 1988, Weathers hosted “Saturday Night Live” and, many years later, he returned to the live sketch show for a spoof segment in which he announces he is running for political office on the basis that he was “the Black guy in ‘Predator.'”

When Stallone asked Weathers for permission to use footage from earlier “Rocky” films for the sixth movie in the franchise, 2006’s “Rocky Balboa,” Weathers refused and lobbied for an actual part in the film, despite his character, Apollo Creed, dying in “Rocky IV.” Stallone said no and hired a lookalike actor to shoot flashback fight sequences. The pair reconciled, and Weathers later allowed Stallone to use his likeness in the “Creed” sequel series, in which Michael B. Jordan plays Apollo Creed’s son.

In his later career, Weathers landed smaller roles in TV procedurals, and he directed episodes of them, too. He earned his first Emmy nomination in 2021 for the Disney+ series “The Mandalorian,” in which he played Greef Karga in nine episodes across three seasons. Weathers stepped into the director’s chair for Episodes 12 and 20 of the “Star Wars” spinoff.

Weathers is survived by his ex-wife, Mary Ann, and their two sons.

[glowbstory1]

Carl Weathers, ‘Rocky’s’ Apollo Creed and ‘Mandalorian’ Actor, Dies at 76

Carl Weathers, who starred as Apollo Creed in the first four “Rocky” films opposite Sylvester Stallone, died Thursday, his manager Matt Luber confirmed to Variety. He was 76.

Weathers also starred in 1987’s “Predator” and had a memorable role in Adam Sandler’s “Happy Gilmore.” He was nominated for a Primetime Emmy Award for Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series for his work in the “Star Wars” series “The Mandalorian.”

He voiced Combat Carl in “Toy Story 4” and played a fictionalized version of himself in a recurring role on “Arrested Development.” His other credits include the TV series “Street Justice,” “Colony,” “The Shield,” “Chicago Justice” and “Brothers,” and the films “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” “Death Hunt” and “The Comebacks.”

After working with Sandler on the 1996 golf comedy “Happy Gilmore,” Weathers briefly reprised his role in “Little Nicky” and voiced a character in Sandler’s animated Hanukkah comedy “Eight Crazy Nights.”

Born Jan. 14, 1948, in New Orleans, Weathers played a variety of sports including boxing, football, soccer, wrestling and gymnastics. He played football in college at San Diego State University and helped the Aztecs win the 1969 Pasadena Bowl. While at SDSU, Weathers also pursued a degree in theatre arts, but in 1970 he signed with the Oakland Raiders as a free agent, and he played in eight games in the NFL as a linebacker across two seasons.

After his stint in professional football, Weathers pivoted more seriously to acting, landing small roles in Arthur Marks’ blaxploitation movies “Bucktown” and “Friday Foster,” as well as TV series including “Good Times,” “Kung Fu,” “Cannon” and “Starsky and Hutch.”

In “Predator,” Weathers starred as Colonel Al Dillon alongside Arnold Schwarzenegger, who went on to become the governor of California, and Jesse Ventura, who became the Minnesota governor. In 1988, Weathers hosted “Saturday Night Live” and, many years later, he returned to the live sketch show for a spoof segment in which he announces he is running for political office on the basis that he was “the Black guy in ‘Predator.'”

When Stallone asked Weathers for permission to use footage from earlier “Rocky” films for the sixth movie in the franchise, 2006’s “Rocky Balboa,” Weathers refused and lobbied for an actual part in the film, despite his character

More

[clarklovescarole]

July 1937: Clark's Big Hunting Trip

July 8, 1937 – The Philadelphia Inquirer

Chatter in Hollywood (Louella Parsons)

Carole Lombard isn’t going to be lonesome while Clark Gable is away on his hunting trip, because what should her old friend Director Walter Lang do but up and buy a house, and if there is anything in the world Carole loves to do it’s to furnish a house! In fact, she’s made Walter a promise he won’t even buy an ash tray that hasn’t her official sanction. Between scenes out at the Selznick Studio Carole is selecting drapes and carpeting, not to mention pictures and furniture sketches. Maybe Carole’s feminine taste wont’ be exactly the makings of a bachelor’s paradise, but Walter’s going to take it and love it – and besides Fieldsy says it’s okay. 

July 9, 1937 – The Courier Journal

Chatter in Hollywood

How do you think Carole Lombard leaves the studio every evening? In a limousine with liveried chauffeur? No indeed. Clark Gable, who is working at MGM only a block away from the Selznick Studios, calls for her usually in a station wagon with guns, tents, and other camping paraphernalia hanging out of the back. But Carole doesn’t mind. Life to her is a lot of laughs anyway. She and Freddie March spend all their free time on the “Nothing Sacred” set practicing with BB guns, so it’s practically worth your life to visit that set.

(Oakland Tribue/July 9, 1937)

July 10, 1937 – The Missoulan

A Screen Celebrity Visits

Missoula is no different from any other place in the country when a screen celebrity stops here, even briefly. 

It was close to midnight when Clark Gable swung into the Garden City from Pocatello on his way to the Jennings hunting lodge near Glacier Park, which is to be his headquarters for a foray into the wilds after a big game. But the hour did not prevent his receiving attention when he stepped into a café for a “snack” after retiring.

The Missoulan’s story of his arrival caused a demonstration of Missoula’s feminine population in front of his hotel Friday morning. How accustomed the screen star has become to such sudden descents upon his manly person was shown by the smiling nonchalance with which he hastily scribbled his autograph as books and papers were thrust at him from all directions.

Apparently, this attention from the populace goes with the job. It is part of an actor’s technique always to be ready to face the multitude, to keep smiling, never to give offense and to accept whatever the great public demands without show of resentment. 

Gable is a master at this sort of thing, through long experience. As he stepped into the Gable care to be whirled up through the Flathead to Jennings’ place, he was the same smiling, unperturbed personality that he was when he first emerged from the hotel to face the crowd. Ordinary male persons wondered how he kept his poise under such circumstances. Apparently it is all in knowing how and never forgetting that one is an actor.

July 10, 1937 – The Wichita Eagle

CLARK GABLE WILL TACKLE BIG GAME

POCATELLO, IDAHO, July 9 — (AP) Bearded Clark Gable seated himself in an expensive roadster today and rode away for a spell of big game hunting in the Idaho wilds – but not before the autograph chasers got him. 

Stopping in this southern Idaho city overnight en route to Montana on a hunting and fishing expedition, the screen star smiled:

“Hunting big game is a real (not reel) thrill. I hope to add a bear skin to my lion trophies. I enjoy ‘roughing it’ in the mountains. It peps me up, gives me renewed vigor.” 

Clerks said he called Carole Lombard on the telephone before leaving today for Sun Valley lodge, in the fringe of south-central Idaho’s primitive Sawtooth mountains. 

Surrounded by scores of girls, the actor scribbled his name on hotel stationery, blank checks, café menus and dozes of scraps of paper.

Two admirers even slipped into his room last night and carried away two belts and buckles. Clerks recovered them.

July 11, 1937 – Great Falls Tribune

Clark Gable In Park Area To Hunt Bear

GLACIER PARK, July 10 – Clark Gable, top ranking motion picture actor in the hearts of a multitude of female fans, arrived here last night and promptly endeared himself to more women by amiably signing his name for autograph seekers before retreating to the seclusion of the Charles Jennings guest ranch, 14 miles southwest of here, to begin a three-week bear hunting trip.

Jennings went to Great Falls earlier in the week and flew to Pocatello to meet Gable and return in the latter’s auto to Glacier Park.

Locks Up Car

On arrival, Gable went to Glacier Park hotel and made several phone calls, then locked his car in a garage here to prevent its dismantlement by curio seekers. He and Jennings then made the slow trip over mountain roads to the Jennings ranch.

At 10 p.m. Carole Lombard, noted screen actress and reportedly a close companion of Gable, called the actor from Hollywood and it was necessary for a messenger to make a three-hour round trip journey to bring Gable back to the hotel to talk to her. The long delay, it was reported, alarmed the actress and she queried park people excitedly, via the telephone, as to whether an accident had occurred. 

Dons Cowboy Clothes

The feminine idol had changed form street clothes to a cowboy suit and after conversing with Miss Lombard went to the Log Cabin inn, where he had lunch. Mrs. B. Connor, proprietor of the inn, showed him a snapshot taken 10 years ago when Gable and her husband were extras appearing in the “Painted Desert.” The actor autographed the photo after recalling how the two of them had played together in short scenes.

Gable and Jennings will leave Sunday for the hunting trip high in the mountains that will be their headquarters on the three-week hunting trip. 

Jennings met Gable through the former’s brother, Talbott, who is a Hollywood scenarist. This is Gable’s first visit to the Glacier Park area in Montana.

July 13, 1937 – Democrat and Chronicle

Lombard Awaits Gable Call

Snapshots of Hollywood: Carole Lombard staying home every night until she gets that long distance call from Clark Gable, who’s gone a-hunting.

July 16, 1937 – Shamokin News Dispatch

Big day for Brown Derby celebrity gawkers – Barbara Stanwyck and Bob Taylor arrive just a moment before Clark Gable and Carole Lombard whisk up in his station wagon.

July 18, 1937 – Knoxville Journal

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard’s birthday remembrance to L.B. Mayer a huge cake composed entirely of gardenias. 

July 18, 1937 – Evansville Press

Besides the popularity of the people involved, there is a good reason why Hollywood’s NO. 1 romance is between Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck – they don’t mind admitting they’re in love. 

Now there are Clark Gable and Carole Lombard: When either is interviewed (by appointment made through the publicity departments) correspondents are cautioned in advance that love is not to be brought into the conversation. Of course sometimes a reporter will blurt out Silly Query No. 37: “Are you and Mr. Gable planning marriage?” 

Miss Lombard, who can blush at will, will blush and exclaim: “Why, how perfectly absurd! Cl – ah- Mr. Gable and I are merely friends. I don’t know where all this romance talk comes from!”

July 19, 1937 – Fort Worth Star Telegram

Leafing through a 3-year-old fan magazine while I waited in a dentist’s anteroom, I ran across an article in which Clark Gable, with amazing courage, had named the 10 “most beautiful” women in Hollywood. His list included, in the order named: Mrs. Clark Gable (now practically ex), Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, Kay Francis, Jean Harlow, Claudette Colbert, Greta Garbo, Grace Moore, Helen Hayes and Lily Pons.

You know, search as I might, I couldn’t find Carole Lombard’s name anywhere in the list. 

July 20, 1937 – Spokesman Review

Feud Still On

Joan Crawford and Carole Lombard are still feuding, but Carole is adding more fuel to the quarrel by constantly referring to the days when both were Charleston hoofing champs – an accomplishment Joan would rather forget…

July 20, 1937 – Akron Beacon Journal

Short Notes

Clark Gable joins Carole Lombard each evening to view the rushes of her new picture… 

July 22, 1937 – Columbus News

Carole Lombard still has a sleek town car, a limousine and a roadster or two, but she isn’t using them much these days. Every afternoon when she finishes work at the studio, up drives a station wagon all filled with fishing paraphernalia and driven by Clark Gable and off go the two most irrepressible merrymakers of Hollywood. She claims she likes the station wagon better than the limousine and she’d rather go fishing than attend a fashionable party. Clark agrees with her.

July 23, 1937 – Star Tribune

Gable, on Hunting Trip, Calls Carole Twice Daily

By Sheilah Graham

Hollywood, July 22 – Clark Gable telephones Carole Lombard every morning and evening from his hunting retreat in Pocatello, Idaho, but they can’t hear a word they say because every operator from there to here listens lowdown…

July 30, 1937 – South Bend Tribune

Hollywood Is Naïve

In spite of all its pretended sophistication, Hollywood is the most naïve town on earth, and I have never seen the fact more convincingly demonstrated than the other day in the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer café. Carole Lombard had come to MGM to pay the boyfriend, Clark Gable, a visit and they entered the café together. Such craning of the necks you have never seen! Everyone in that huge room stopped eating and stared. Until Clark and Carole were seated, you could have heard a pin drop; afterward, for a good five minutes, the place buzzed like a beehive. And the Gable neck was very, very red. 

[streetartsf]

San Francisco Art Events this week

Check events on our website

https://www.streetartsf.com/events/

6/5 - SF - Whitney Lynn Artist in Residence at DeYoung Museum - Go to museum site for details 6/6 - SF Accion Laatina - Sam Rodriguez solo show closes 6/28. Go see this show of San Jose based artist who enhances faces with typography 6/21 - Oakland - Sketch night at Bad Luck of the Draw at Burnt Oak Gallery - flyer has details 6/22 - SF Chocolate and Art Show San Francisco 6/23 - SF - RVCA on Haight - Melissa Grisancich 6/24 - SF - The Growlery - Todd Francis 6/24 - SF - True SF - The Wheels fell Off - Nite Owl, Musk,Sidy, Maska, Ham 6/27 - SF - Sketch Tuesdays at 111 Minna Gallery

[aftgficrec]

i have literally been waiting for MONTHS to catch you guys with your asks open OMG!! do you have any andreil childhood (or just friends) to lovers??? ALSO enemies to lovers????

thank you guys so much in advance :)

We received four quite similar asks this round, so we’re breaking them up by theme to give you the most fics. The recs here focus on andreil enemies to lovers, and I’ll swing back around and link the others as they post. -A

for more friends to lovers, see:

andreil childhood friends to lovers here

andreil high school friends to lovers here

andreil friends to lovers 3 here

childhood enemies to lovers:

‘empty swimming pools’ here 

‘How to Lose an Enemy in 10 Steps’ here 

‘Pressure Points’ here

‘Oakland’ here (updated)

‘We Used To Be Friends’ and ‘I hate every inch of you’ here (both completed)

‘I Found Love Where It Wasn’t Supposed to Be’ here

‘free and young (and we feel none of it)’ here

‘Light my cigarette’ here (updated)

‘Grey Zone’ here 

enemies to lovers:

enemies to friends to lovers like ‘Hello World’ here

andreil hate sex here

fics like ‘Neil Josten’s Vendetta’ here

‘satisfaction dragged it back’ and ‘Meow Meow Lullaby’ here

‘Birds of a Feather.’ here (updated)

‘Don't Say I Mean Nothing to You’ here

‘Go Team!’ here

‘A Book for Christmas’ here

‘The Proposal’ here

‘a few living things’ here

‘You Don't Even Know Me (It's Only A Feeling),’ ‘Found Peace in Your Violence’ and ‘a criminal au…’ here

‘stars may collide,’ ‘Where We Are Wanted,’ and ‘told me everything about you (that's a bold move)’ here

‘Mission Failed,’ ‘I’m a free agent, sweet heart,’ and ‘The Oasis’ here

‘All of This Turbulence Wasn't Forecasted’ here

‘Shared Custody’ and ‘...(The Blame the Cat Remix)’ here

‘Two Birds with One Stone’ and ‘Come Back For Me’ here (both significantly updated)

‘Plaster’ here

‘Cosplay Stand Off’ here

‘No Place Like Home’ here

‘polarize’ here

‘I Spy a Broken Heart’ (completed) and ‘The Family Business’ series here

‘stab me yourself u coward’ and ‘pro exy, pro twitter au’ series here

‘Front Lines’ here

‘Insincerely, M. Andrew’ here (completed)

‘me, you, and the multiverse’ here 

‘Every Letter That You Write Me’ here

‘We're All Stories In The End’ here

‘The Foxhole Apothecary’ here 

‘between the wall and a hard place’ here

‘i'll be seeing you (wherever i go)’ here

‘I Just Wanted To Protect You’ here

‘Will you even tell them we happened?’ here

‘what now?’ here

‘you are my morphine (i had my first good dream)’ here

‘Whole Lotta Murder’ and ‘on a balanced blade’ here 

‘Retribution’ and ‘trivial questions about a triple murder (with answers)’ here (both completed)

‘Live while I breathe’ here

‘Feels Like Wasted Youth’ here

fantasy/other enemies to lovers:

‘Iron and Ember’ here

‘Alcyone’ here

‘Wibbly Wobbly’ here 

‘(don’t fear) the reaper’ here

‘Knights of the Fox Table’ here

‘heaven and hell (were words to me)’ here

‘that good night’ here

‘An Assassin's Guide to Romance’ here

‘Of Smoke & Bone’ (completed) and ‘Fang and Stake’ here

‘watcher of the skies’ here

pirouettes & pipedreams by beanwitch [Rated M, 9236 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2022]

Brushing auburn hair from his forehead, sweaty from his rush over, the new dancer is no other than Andrew’s irritatingly gorgeous next-door neighbor.

Andrew’s eyebrow twitches.

********

This year is Andrew’s second with the unconventional Foxhole Ballet company. When the new recruit turns out to be the attractive (yet suspicious) stranger who moved in next door, he becomes 104% certain this development can only lead to homicide.

********

An AFTG/Andreil ballet AU.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: gun violence, tw: depression, tw: dissociation, tw: panic attacks

NB: inspired by AFTG Ballet AU art by @princepeachie on instagram; bonus practice sketches and Neil stretching by @prince-peachie

Fear Me Not by Firefly_shy [Rated M, 14136 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2022]

Andrew Minyard, sixth year student at Ilvermorny, meets a weird kid on the train who won't stop lying.

If he figures out why, he might just have to kill him.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: canonical character death, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced rape/non-con

Witching You A Happy Holiday by AgentCoop [Rated G, 14370 Words, Complete, 2020]

"Magic shop?" Neil asked. "Love potion? You guys know that's not real, right?"

***

The one where Andrew's a hedgewitch, Neil is oblivious, Kevin may or may not be pining for Aaron who may or may not be pining right back, and Nicky is having a nervous breakdown while trying to woo the smokin' hot dude in his German class.

Number Four by jingerhead [Rated T, 4841 Words, Complete, 2021]

“Why am I here?” Neil asked.

“Kevin wants you to play,” Andrew said, not opening his eyes. “I told him you wouldn’t.”

Neil couldn’t. He wanted to, he wanted to get a racket and play, especially if he had the chance to with Kevin Day, but he couldn’t. This wasn’t his thing to want, this wasn’t his sport, this was…

This was…

Neil got up and ran out of the stadium. He didn’t think Andrew was surprised he did.

~*~

A bunch of snapshots for an AU in which Neil has an older brother that I'd like to expand on someday

Neil Josten Builds Himself a Life by tomat0head [Rated T, 9424 Words, Complete, 2021]

After spending years of his life on the run, then more time under the careful watch of the FBI, Neil is finally free to live on his own and start a new, real life with his best friend and FBI supervisor, Matt, at his side.

Along the way, Neil meets a five foot nothing goth wannabe Ikea builder, adopts a cat that is half demon, and makes a group of weird, somewhat annoying friends.

This is the story of how one Neil Josten, after years of struggle, finally builds himself a life.

bloody tears of the wicked by CherrryBlosssoms [Rated M, 108500 Words, Incomplete, Updated March 2022]

A wolf and a fox.

A liar and a cheat.

A runaway and a bastard.

A Wesninski and a Minyard.

When they meet, it is loathing at first sight, both wanting the other dead. But through a series of events, through lies being forgotten and truths being told and a feeling of wanting being shared, things shift and turn. For better or for worse; no one truly knows.

tw: dark fic, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: torture, tw: death, tw: murder, tw: blood/gore, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: homophobia, tw: kidnapping, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

Drabble City by alex_wh0 [Rated T, Collection, Incomplete, Updated May 2021]

Chapter 9: Andrew/Neil [1376 Words]

Drunk Neil meets Andrew at a concert and goes "i hate him because he said it first".

you're the coldest form of warm by ghvsts [Rated T, 4463 Words, Complete, 2018]

"there's someone singing," she signs.

(in which renee and andrew are spring and death embodied, and neil is orpheus)

Art

First Impressions by SmokesOnTheRoof (SceneryTurnedWicked) [ao3, 2017]; also here by @smokesontheroof

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

And so you didn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oliver here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?" He pressed.

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you think of that one?” 

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

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

Um, wow.

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

All you could do was nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

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

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

You rolled your eyes. 

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

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

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed puzzled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

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

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

Cheeky.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a hard no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

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

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

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

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

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

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

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

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

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

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

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

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

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

What the fuck.  

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

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

That stung.

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

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

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

That was you, ever the professional. 

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

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

“You got it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

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

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

“Boy?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel chuckled a little at that.

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath was shuddering now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

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

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on then, baby." 

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he would, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tagging:

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

[brattyfics]

Works with strike-throughs may or may not be completed.

Title: Cape Disappointment

Rating: Explicit (E)

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Black!OFC [Chantel]

Current Tags: Strangers Getting Snowed In, Cheating (By Both Parties).

Summary: Miguel Galindo doesn't rescue a damsel in distress because Chantel Williams is not a damsel in distress. He simply helps her with her car troubles just before the incoming snowstorm forces the pair to retreat to his luxurious winter cabin for the week. It's spacious enough to house two families, but that doesn't stop them from growing closer as the days pass. Being snowed in and cut off from the outside world and their estranged significant others allows them to bask in an artificial bubble where everything is fresh and fascinating.

When the snow melts away, and the roads are safe to drive on again, the pair is forced to decide: Is it just infatuation, or could they be something real?

Current Word Count: 5,069

Chapters Written: 1/6

Priority Level: Medium

Goal: I want to digitize/finalize the outline by the end of the month. Want to finish writing it in full by the end of November so that the fic can be posted in December.

Title: Sweethearts

Rating: Explicit (E)

Pairing: Ezekiel Reyes x Black!OFC

Current Tags: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Public Sex, Beach Sex.

Summary: Marisol Reyes' murder created a ripple effect still felt almost a decade later. Her baby boy, Ezekiel Reyes, was sentenced to eight years behind bars for his misguided attempt at avenging her. With one stroke of his finger, he lost everything; the hopes and dreams he had of becoming a doctor, but even more importantly, his relationships with the rest of his family. Ezekiel made amends with his grieving, aging father by being a doting son. He improved his strained relationship with his older brother through leather bonds. All that's left to do is heal his relationship with the scorned high-school sweetheart he left behind all those years ago.

Lena is scared to death of letting Ezekiel into her life again. She loves him, even now, but is love enough?

Current Word Count: 5,824 words.

Chapters Written: 3/?

Priority Level: High

Goal: I'd like to finish the next update by the end of August. Aiming for 8/28. After that, I'd like to go back and add scenes. Ideally, that would be done during September, let's say 9/15.

Title: Outside the Lines

Rating: Explicit (E)

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!OFC

Current Tags: OC Sketches Modifications for the Club, Angel's Amazed At Everything She Does.

Summary: Angel Reyes is a big bad biker with a history of seeing what isn’t there when it comes to relationships. Minerva is a talented but jaded artist who struggles to see color in everyday life. The pair teaches each other that it's okay to color outside the lines sometimes.

Current Word Count: 7,075 words.

Priority Level: Low

Goal: I'd like to add scenes and finish writing this eventually. I won't put a date on it.

Title: Escalate

Rating: Explicit (E)

Pairing: CEO!Erik Stevens x Black!OC

Current Tags: Age Gap (>10 Years)

Summary: The story takes place in an Alternate Universe where Erik chose a different path.

Erik Stevens is the CEO of a new but fast-growing tech company in Oakland, California. Bella is a recent college graduate with big dreams who has yet to actualize her talents. They’re at very different stages in life, but their paths cross in an elevator for twenty-eight stories. And then later, longer.

Current Word Count: 7,246 words.

Priority Level: Low

Goal: No finish date in mind. I'd just like to get back to working on it.

Title: Vice?

Rating: Explicit (E)

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Black!OFC

Current Tags: TBD.

Summary: Still figuring things out, but the story takes place in an Alternate Universe. More specifically, Miami in the 80s in a night-club/burlesque type of setting. Erik is a musician in town for the week, Ariel is a singer/performer at the club. When the two meet curiosity sets in and they decide to spend the weekend together.

Current Word Count: 5,223 words.

Priority Level: Low/Medium

Goal: Don't have any solid dates in mind, but I'd like to world build and make a more detailed outline soon.

Some WIPS still need to be listed.

Miguel Galindo/Nestor Oceteva — I Like Him (SongFic)

Nestor Oceteva — Savage (Alternate Version)

Angel Reyes — Take My Hand (Part 2)

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Vol. 2 Chap. 28

Summary: N’Jobu and Califia take Erik back to Sau Paulo, Brazil after major changes in Oakland...

"This world is still afloat No, not in Noah's boat We've only lost the vision Of the stars we're meant to be

Another broken heart Another lesson learnt Another harvest eaten Another night is gone A new day's begun Even your dreams they can be real"

Zero 7—"This World"

Califia watched her son write furiously in his journal.

Erik spent time sitting at their kitchen table most evenings writing and sketching just like his father. He was excited and antsy and she hadn't seen her son this happy in weeks. Sitting across from N'Jobu, Erik seemed to be in a world of his own.

When N'Jobu sat Erik down to give him just a tiny bit of their future plans, their son beamed with satisfaction. They both had no idea that the boy was unhappy with Oakland and his life there. Every day Black life wore Erik down, and instead of dealing with a child sad about leaving behind friends and family, Erik was eager to go far away. N'Jobu didn't tell Erik the possible troubles that awaited them. That would come in time. He was only told that they would be moving out of the country in a year and that he should not talk about it with anyone, not even close family.

Califia wanted to reveal their plans to her father and grandmother when they were closer to leaving. Nana Jean's health was a consideration for travel, and Califia had to prepare herself for the reality that she would possibly have to leave her and Dante behind if Nana was not up to the drastic change.

Erik was watching her.

Califia caught Erik's eye at the table as his busy hand paused in mid-scribble.

"Erik?" she asked.

N'Jobu stopped writing and stared at their son too.

"I want to go march for Auntie Lia," Erik said.

N'Jobu's eyes regarded Califia's.

The anniversary march.

Activists in Sao Paulo planned a huge memorial march for Negra Lia with the blessing of her family. Soliel and Aunjanue were part of the organizing happening there, and Califia wanted to attend that march too but there was the possibility of them moving at a moment's notice if this man N'Jobu trusted acted sooner. What was his name? Klaue?

N'Jobu put down his pen and looked at Erik.

"Are you sure you can handle going back there?" he asked.

Erik nodded.

"I want to be there. Marisol is going to march. I want those killers to know we aren't afraid of them."

N'Jobu glanced back at Califia.

"And you?" he asked.

"I feel ready to go back. That's our family. It will give us some closure," she said.

"I might not be able to go with you if things happen…I would like to be there too, but if I get word-"

"It's okay-"

"I can't say that I like the idea of you both being there again. I understand why you want to go, but…"

He stared down at his journal.

"If I am able to go, I will do so," he finally said.

Califia sauntered over to the table and sat on N'Jobu's lap. She kissed his forehead, and he raised his head up and pressed his lips onto hers.

"Aw, man…," Erik whined.

"What?" N'Jobu said.

"Should I leave?" Erik asked.

"Boy, what?" Califia said.

"You two start kissing and then…eww," Erik teased while making a face at them.

N'Jobu grinned.

"One day, Son, you will be grateful to be able to do this with a woman," he said.

"Y'all do it too much though."

"Mark my words," N'Jobu said.

His lips gave tiny smooches all over her cheeks and nose. Erik rolled his eyes and continued writing.

The house phone rang and N'Jobu continued kissing on Califia.

"I guess I'll get it," Erik said sliding off of his chair and padding over to the kitchen wall phone. Califia slipped N'Jobu a little tongue while Erik was gone.

"You keep doing that and we'll have to go upstairs," N'Jobu whispered in her ear as his tongue traced the curves of her left ear.

"Promise?" she said.

"Mom!"

Erik's voice made Califia jump off of N'Jobu's lap.

"What is it?"

Erik held the wall phone to her.

"It's Grandpop, Nana's in the hospital," Erik said.

###

N'Jobu watched Califia pace the floor outside Nana's hospital room. Dante and Erik sat on chairs against the hallway wall.

"Babe, sit down," N'Jobu said patting the empty chair next to him.

Califia kept checking her cell phone.

"He should've been here by now with them," she said.

"Junie probably got caught in traffic…Califia, please, sit," he said.

Nana's doctor came out of the room.

"You all may go back in. She may be a little lethargic because of the painkillers."

Filing into the room, they surrounded Nana and her hand reached out for Erik.

"It's okay, Nana," Erik said.

His son stood close to her bed and held her hand tight. Dante stroked his mother's forehead.

"They're downstairs! I'm going down to help bring her things up," Califia said.

"I can do that," Dante said.

"It's okay, Daddy. Nana, I'm going to be right back."

Califia leaned over and kissed her grandmother's cheek. Nana touched her arm, and her feeble hands shook. Califia stroked the woman's fingers and left the room.

"N'Jobu…"

Nana's soft voice propelled him to push a chair to her side. Erik stayed standing next to him.

"I'm here Nana…right here," he said.

"Come closer."

Her eyes struggled to focus, and when she finally held his gaze, she gave him a weak smile.

"…tried to stay as long as I could…"

"Nana, just rest. Save your energy."

She blinked several times and her head lifted, her eyes looking above him.

"Nana," Erik whispered.

Her eyes returned to N'Jobu's.

"Take care of my babies—"

A heavy cough shook her thin frame and Dante leaned over from the other side of the bed with a handkerchief. He wiped a bit of spittle from her lips.

"Ma, just rest," Dante said.

Dante clutched her right hand as N'Jobu hung on to her left hand.

"You were always a good son, Dante. I'm so proud of you," she whispered.

Dante's head dropped low and he wiped his watery eyes.

"N'Jobu…"

"Ma'am," N'Jobu answered.

Her breathing grew ragged.

"Take care of them all…please…and, JaJa…"

Erik pressed his face close to hers and N'Jobu let him take Nana's hand. She whispered in Erik's ear and held his hand in a firm grip. Her brow was covered in a light sheen of perspiration and Erik gave her affirmations of "Yes", "Okay", and "Uh-huh."

Eric finally pressed his forehead into hers and she kissed his nose.

"It's okay, Nana. It's okay. I'll tell her…Nana?"

Nana Jean's eyes closed.

Her doctor came back into the room with a nurse by his side. Dante still held Nana's hand.

Califia arrived with Junie and their other cousins.

"Wait! Wait!" Califia shouted.

N'Jobu touched her back as Dante pushed his face into Nana's covers and wept. Erik still held his great-grandmother's hand.

"Nana…Nana…I love you…"

Califia's voice grew soft and they all heard the heart monitor go flat. Nana's doctor turned it off.

"I shouldn't have left…I thought…"

Califia's wet face crumpled and Erik reached for her hand.

"It's okay Mom, I held Nana's hand for you and she said that when I hold her hand on this side, our family who passed on holds it for her on the other side. So when she let go here, they hung on there. See? Don't cry, Mom. She just went over there…to wait for us one day. She told me to hold onto your hand and Baba's too."

"Califia, hey…come here."

N'Jobu held her as she wept in his arms. The crying spread throughout the room and when Erik patted her back, she was able to face her grandmother once more.

"She looks peaceful, doesn't she? "

"She does," N'Jobu replied stroking her back.

They all sat with Nana for over an hour until Dante insisted that they allow the doctor to care for her remains.

"I have calls to make…I need to let the church know…" Dante said.

"I can do all that, Daddy," Califia said.

Dante nodded and they all left the room.

"Give me a minute," Califia said.

She went back into the room with Erik and the Doctor let her hug her grandmother one last time. He watched her touch Nana's thin hair as Erik held Califia's waist.

When she returned to N'Jobu, her spirit had lifted.

"Babe?" he asked.

"I'm good. I just wish I was here when she slipped away. I just needed her to know how much I loved her. How much everything she did for me all my life was…she…she saved me so many times. I tried to thank her every time I visited her these last few days. It didn't feel like it was enough. I wanted her to know my heart was always with her."

"She knew that Mom," Erik said.

Califia nodded and wiped her face. Dante slipped his arm around hers and they left the hospital in a solemn mood.

Erik did his best to cheer Califia up, and it worked. He had her laughing by saying Nana was only upset that she couldn't wear her best wig for the cute doctor.

"Only Nana would worry about looking cute," Califia said.

By the time they made it back to Nana's house most of the family who lived in town had arrived at the home.

Califia and N'Jobu greeted everyone and the family listened to Erik repeat the last words of Nana Jean. There were plenty of Nana stories passed around, and much laughter sprinkled throughout the tears. Dante had a difficult time with the realization that Nana wasn't coming home from a hospital visit this time and Califia rose to the occasion with Junie helping relatives ease into her absence. Phone calls and soft knocks on the front door occurred as neighbors came to pay their respects and give condolences. The Pastor from Nana's church arrived with fellow church members and Junie ran out to buy chicken and sides from a local restaurant to feed the house that was now stuffed with mourners.

A few hours later, N'Jobu went looking for Erik among the hustle and bustle of relatives crowding the house. He found him outside on the steps.

"JaJa."

He sat down next to him and patted his shoulder.

"How are you doing, Son?"

"Fine. I thought I would feel sadder, but, I dunno. Nana made me feel good. Is that weird, Baba?'

"No. Not at all."

"I know Mom is upset that Nana left without her saying goodbye, but I think Nana did that on purpose. Maybe she tried to make it less sad for Mom?"

"Maybe."

Erik looked out onto the street.

"Is there really a heaven, Baba?"

"I believe there is an afterlife, yes. I was raised to believe in a beautiful place. The ancestral plane. You die and return to your ancestors…spend eternity with those who helped create you."

"Even God?"

"Even God. In my country, Bast is a great cosmic energy that is infused in all living beings. You will see Nana again."

"And Lia?"

"She is family. So yes. All of your loved ones who have transitioned will be reunited."

Erik's eyes were shiny, and finally, the tears came. N'Jobu pulled his son against him.

"You were so strong for your mother. Do you know that? You helped Nana cross over in peace."

"I wish she could've stayed with us longer."

"She was very ill, Erik. And in a lot of pain."

"I know. Can she see me right now?"

"I'm sure she can."

"That means no matter where we go, she can be there with us, right?"

"Yes. In spirit."

Erik's chest shuddered. More tears fell.

"Can we move sooner?"

N'Jobu sighed and watched his son's face.

"Soon enough."

"I want to go to Wakanda, Baba. I don't want to live here."

"There will be a lot for me to do before I can take you to Wakanda, Son."

"I know. But I'm ready. Anyplace away from here is good. Will you tell Grandpop now?"

"Your mother will decide that. Now that Nana has gone, I don't know how your grandfather will feel about leaving Oakland."

"I will miss Walter. And Nevaeh."

"They will miss you too. But hopefully, in the future, you can visit with them. There will be so many changes and sacrifices son. There is so much more for you to know in due time. Thank you for being patient with me."

Erik threw his arms around N'Jobu's neck and they sat quietly together. Holding his son, N'Jobu felt emboldened.

"Can we go home now? I think Mom is ready. She looked tired," Erik said.

"C'mon. Let's go check on her," N'Jobu said.

N'Jobu walked back into the house and Califia slipped her hand in his when he stepped into the living room.

"Daddy is resting. Junie and Michelle are staying here with him," she said.

"You want to stay longer?'

"No. We can go. I'll come back over tomorrow. Junie is handling everything. Daddy is letting him too."

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

They bid everyone farewell and returned to their townhouse. When Erik had showered and gone to bed, N'Jobu rested with Califia in their bedroom.

"You think you're ready for things like this, but when it finally happens…it feels so unexpected. I know she wasn't going to be here forever, but she was such a huge part of my life…a huge part of who I am. I miss her so much already."

"You and Erik were her heart and she's in a special place now. You heard what Erik said. Rest in that love."

"I will. I will."

He stroked her hair and held her hand against his chest.

"When should we prepare to leave for good?" she asked

"The next three months. We should begin sorting and packing. Not a lot, but things you want to take with us," he said.

She nodded.

"Do you want to sell the house?" he asked.

"No. I'd like to let Junie or Michelle stay here and take care of it. Keep it in the family. My father may want to sell Nana's house. Now that she's gone, it may be easier to convince him to come with us. We have options. No rush though."

"Erik is so ready," he said.

"I am too."

He stared at her. She ran her fingers across his naked chest and pressed her cheek against his.

"I feel this surge of movement in me. Like I can't sit still…this need to move far away is swirling in me. It's not even about going to Wakanda, but just getting away from everything, taking Erik someplace where he can be free. Be a child for as long as we can let him be one."

She lifted her head to look at him.

"You do whatever you have to do to make that happen for him."

"I will."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

She dozed in his arms and he spent the rest of the night listening to her deep breathing.

###

Sao Paulo felt different.

There was crackling energy in the air.

Califia felt it all around her.

As she walked the streets with her father and Erik, their energy was different too. Although Nana's death was months ago, their family had bounced back into joy again being around Soliel, Aunjanue, Marisol, and Besouro.

So much eating. So much drinking.

Capoeira.

She couldn't record enough video of her father and Soliel's father playing with Erik and Marisol. Her fingers were blistered from drumming and playing the berimbau as her son flipped and fought with the best mestres on the planet. Their world seemed even more complete when Bakari joined them with Shavonne.

For once, Califia's soul was at ease. N'Jobu was there with them. Even with Nana Jean gone now, life was perfect.

They rented a little house near Soliel and her family, and N'Jobu quit his job. He created fake reports to be sent to Wakanda, and they lived it up in Brazil. He allowed her to listen in on some of his secret talks with his War Dogs even though she didn't know the language. He hid nothing from her.

Their temporary home in Sao Paulo was small, but Califia and Soliel had planning meetings for the big march there. Activists were fired up, and not just for Negra Lia. Three more police brutality cases had occurred in the states and another in Sao Paulo where a young teen was killed in her own yard when the Sao Paulo policia federal bullied and threatened smaller groups of protestors trying to support the upcoming larger march. Chasing young people through the streets, the policia federal shot bullets that struck the girl in her own yard. The child wasn't even part of the protest, just playing in her own yard and minding her own business.

The city was ripe for change. Not just in Sao Paulo, but everywhere.

Califia and Erik watched groups of Maori protestors doing sacred Haka for Black people killed in the United States. Indigenous people from Australia pointed out their own history of white and state violence against their own aboriginal people. It was a global pandemic of police violence against black and other non-white people everywhere.

Erik tried mimicking the Haka that he saw, and went online to learn more about it. It was the ferocity in the Maori people's eyes that enamored Erik. Especially when the Maori women did the Haka. The exaggerated rolling of eyeballs, the strong slaps to the chest and legs, the tongues thrust out and the loud shouts invigorated them both. The brandishing of the short patu clubs made Erik's eyes shiny with admiration.

"It looks like they are calling all the Gods in the world to come down!" he said in an excited voice as he shared video clips with her.

The fight was happening everywhere, and Sao Paulo was on the verge of exploding with the calls for justice floating around them. The kinetic energy to force change rippled through Califia's family.

She felt it from N'Jobu most of all.

When Erik was fast asleep, N'Jobu would be between her legs, his grunts and groans behind gritted teeth and fisted hands made her orgasms so intense she couldn't even see straight. They fucked like they were in college again, so much so that poor Erik made it a point to go for long walks away from the house in the morning because they were so loud.

Tangled up in sweaty sheets every morning, Califia would hold onto N'Jobu as his sated body pressed all his weight on top of her. He didn't even speak English to her when they made love now. The language of his homeland dripped from his lips and into her ears, and when he pulsed inside of her, all thick and juicy, the contractions of her body overwhelmed her.

They were blessed.

She was turned on by the aggression in his voice when he spoke to his followers. Rubbing his shoulders when he barked orders over his secured comm tab gave her a small glimpse of what he must be like when he was in Wakanda. The way the other Wakandan voices capitulated to him made her panties wet. She couldn't help it. Nothing on God's green earth was sexier to her than a man with total confidence and bass in his voice. He had even started wearing his gold panther teeth openly around them. The moment he shook off pretending to be a barber, she saw him step back into who he really was. It took her back to the time when she saw him in D.C., the time when she and Bakari saw him in his full glory.

Sometimes, when Erik was away with Marisol, Califia would lay in bed and listen to N'Jobu conduct his secret meetings online. If he sat in a particular chair in their small living room, she could leave the bedroom door open and watch his profile. His face was…fuck…his face was everything. His voice was everything. The clicks and growls from his language had her fingers busy flicking her clit and manipulating her soaked folds. She would pat her vulva and watch him, feeling the slick of her fingers get wetter the more he spoke. Covering her mouth with her hand, she would hide her intense release so as not to disturb him. This, in turn, would make her want to serve him.

She was compelled to be subservient to him.

Pussy dripping, she'd often walk into the room while he spoke and bring him things. Water. Snacks. She'd sit near his legs on the floor and rub his feet for him, or stand behind him and massage his scalp. She once was bold enough to wear nothing but his t-shirt while kneeling before him and taking his dick in her mouth. He muted the communications that day and allowed her to suck all up and down his erection while reports were given to him. When the call ended, he stayed in that dominant role. Barking orders at her to suck harder, take his length deeper. With those gold teeth in his mouth and that regal bearing of his just sitting in an ordinary chair, Califia saw him as more than a Prince. He was her King. She was more than ready to bow down to him.

He forced her to climb onto his dick and he sat back and made her work him over. He didn't move a muscle and she rocked and swiveled her hips, her smooth vulva so sticky with fluid from her own body. His dark eyes raked up and down her body and she whimpered as her pussy gushed all over his dick. His face looked hard, mean in his sexy way and she knew for a fact that he expected her to obey his commands to fuck him good. The brat in her came out, and when she switched up her wiggling and it displeased him, he reached up and yanked on her hair.

She bounced on him and he loosened his grip on her braids, but then she slowed down and he grabbed her throat. His heated gaze told her he was upset with her behavior on his dick and once he began talking to her with clenched teeth in Wakandan, she held still and listened. He still didn't move under her, and the raised anger in his voice spurred her to higher levels of bratty behavior: she broke eye contact with him.

A big no-no.

N'Jobu pulled her off of his girth and pushed her down onto his lap. His palm spanked the brat out of her until she was crying tears of torturous pleasure.

"Fuck me right!" He demanded.

She lifted up from lying across his lap, her ass cheeks hot with exquisite pain. He leaned back in the chair again and didn't assist her crawling back on top of him.

She bounced on him the way a King deserved to be served, his pants punctuating his own pleasure. The tipping point came for him when he watched her pussy clench around him and he gripped her waist tight and finally thrust up into her. She hung onto him as he cursed at her in Wakandan until he seized up and spurted hard and deep.

He made her lick all her juices from his dick before demanding that she sit on his lap while he took more calls. He fingered her pussy the entire time and dared her to make one sound as he did. She kept quiet and he punished her folds with frisky fingers for hours, only releasing her when they heard Erik returning from Soliel's.

He was everything and more to her, and he fell right into his royal status with her supporting that authoritarian energy.

Bakari joined her at the planning meetings for Lia's protest march. They were three days from the actual march and had already hit a snag. The police wanted to know the march routes ahead of time, and the core leaders were reluctant to give them.

"We could give them fake routes," Califia suggested, "or just a half-assed map."

"There's no way to control how many people show up. Or who will follow a sanctioned route," Soliel said.

Erik sat next to her as the fifteen adults in the room murmured among themselves on what to do. They needed a permit to fill the streets but many didn't want the authorities to know all their moves. At that moment, their permit was being held up.

Besouro stood next to Soliel, his face carrying a scowl.

"We march against our enemy and we have to give them a map of our plans?" he snapped.

Many agreed with him.

Califia stared at Soliel. Since Lia's death, she had taken on the role of community leader filling the huge vacuum Lia left behind. She could see the stress and worry on her sister's face. Aunjanue walked into the house with two more women from the community.

"There are policia federals outside," she said.

Califia and Bakari went to her windows and looked out. An unmarked car was parked down the street. Two white men dressed in jeans and soccer shirts walked across the street giving occasional glances to the house. A light-skinned woman stood next to another car talking on a cell phone, but she was no one Califia had ever seen before. N'Jobu swept the house for bugs every time they left their temporary home, so she wasn't worried about them hearing what was said inside.

She checked her own cell and let N'Jobu know the house had eyes on it. He had gone to get food for the meeting with her father and was due to return soon.

Bakari turned to look at the group.

"The eyes of the world will be on these marches. We know that there will be many around the world marching in solidarity. I say give them the routes so we can get the permit. The routes won't matter. If they plan on targeting any of you, it will be in front of the world," Bakari said.

Soliel glanced over at Erik.

"I don't think children should be there," Soliel said.

"What?"

Erik's voice piped up fast. He had been silent for most of the meeting, taking in all the ideas and suggestions.

"I want to march," he said looking up at Califia.

"I agree with Soliel. We use our children to do our battles with us and they end up getting hurt or traumatized. We should tell everyone to keep them at home. Just adults," Aunjanue said.

"Mom…that's not fair," Erik whined.

"JaJa, nephew, you are brave and strong and we all know you loved your Auntie. But these police are beasts here. They murdered a girl already—"

"Aunjanue…"

Califia gave a stern look to her friend.

"Cali, our children deserve to be children. Not warriors," she said.

"I agree," Bakari said.

"Man…"

Erik pouted and he sat back further in his seat crossing his arms.

"I'm not letting Marisol go," Soliel said, "It's too dangerous."

"Mom—"

"Erik, let the grown-ups talk. You are here to just listen right now," Califia said.

"We just want to protect you, Erik," Bakari said.

"You can't protect us all the time. That girl who died was at home. She wasn't in the streets. They will get us no matter where we are. I know you guys don't want me to see violence or get hurt, but I've already seen the worst of it. I was there when Auntie died. I was there when they bombed the street. They kill us here, and they kill us back where I live. I'm not scared to die. I want them to see that. I'm a kid, but I'm already a warrior. Mom, you raised me to be a fighter. Why would you make me sit in the house?"

"Because you are my son, and I want you to live to become an adult. I know you want to show your love for Lia, but this could get ugly—"

"It ain't fair…it ain't fair!"

Erik jumped out of his seat.

"JaJa."

N'Jobu's voice froze Erik in mid-stride.

Bakari walked over and took bags of food from N'Jobu as Dante walked through the meeting group carrying more bags to the kitchen. Califia reached out for Erik and pulled him back toward her and hugged him around his waist.

N'Jobu took in the room, and then his eyes fell back onto his son.

"There is a time for children to be children and a time for children to become adults. My, son, this is the time for you to be our child—"

"Baba—"

N'Jobu held up his hand.

"You will not go to the march, JaJa. Not this time," he said.

Califia felt Erik's body shake with anger and disappointment. She stood up and held his hand.

"C'mon…come with me," she said pulling him toward his room. N'Jobu followed her and closed the bedroom door. Erik turned and faced them both with his fists clenched.

"You said I could march before we came here," Erik said.

"That was before all the other killings," N'Jobu said.

"They kill us all the time. It doesn't matter—"

"You matter to us," Califia reasoned.

"And Lia mattered to me. All of us. I want to go. If you are both there, it'll be okay."

Erik's face wavered between wanting to cry and being full of hot anger.

"Baby, Lia would want you to be safe. Not going to the march doesn't mean you won't show the world that you care about justice…it's just that our children suffer so much trying to prove their humanity too, and you don't need that pressure. The adults need to do the hard work so you don't have to. I think you're worried that you'll disappoint Lia's memory, but you won't. Things have shifted in a serious way and these cops down here JaJa, they can be worse than the ones at home—"

"All cops are bad, Mom. No matter where they are. You say that all the time. They are all the same."

"I know I say that, and it's true, but the level of hate for us because she has been elevated in the world along with so many others…it's going to be tougher to keep you safe."

"Then you shouldn't go either."

Califia looked over at N'Jobu.

"We will go and you will stay. You can be mad. Upset. You can even feel angry with us for a long time afterward, but we make decisions for you because we know what is best. We love you. We protect you. We shape the world for you, my Son. Allow us to do this. In the future, you can march with us, but right now…for this particular event—"

N'Jobu's kimoyo beads lit up.

Erik stepped closer to them as they all watched the subtle glow of lavender on N'Jobu's wrist. N'Jobu held a finger to his lips and tapped a bead.

They heard the stern voice of a woman speaking rapid-fire Wakandan.

N'Jobu spoke to her and it sounded like he was giving orders. The call was short and when N'Jobu touched his beads again, his face looked determined.

"Klaue will be in Wakanda. Next week."

His eyes held Califia's and she felt a rush of adrenaline. They would leave for Malta soon.

"We're leaving?" Erik asked.

N'Jobu touched Erik's shoulder.

"Soon enough. JaJa—"

"Okay…okay, Baba. I won't go to the march."

Califia gave a sigh of relief. She couldn't focus on the work of organizing if she had to battle her son too.

"Thank you," Califia said to her son.

N'Jobu hugged Erik and pulled Califia in close too.

"Hey, we're ready to eat if you guys want to join us."

Bakari's voice rang out behind the bedroom door.

"Here we come," Califia said.

They walked out as a solid unit and enjoyed plates of steak and rice with the other organizers.

Soliel designed a mock-up of the protest route on her laptop and N'Jobu kept his eyes on Califia the rest of the night. They allowed Erik to stay among the adults and she was glad that he accepted not participating. She kept peeking out of the window with Aunjanue.

The undercover police were still lingering.

Soliel gathered the activists back into the living room and had three of them stand before the group wearing black coverings over their mouths and white paper pinned to their chests with black target rings painted on it.

"Lia always said we will always be a target if we don't speak out. This is what some of us will be wearing to the march. What do you all think?" Soliel said.

The others nodded their approval and someone suggested holding their hands bound in front of them to show that they were still treated like slaves.

It was going to be a long night.

She kissed Erik on his forehead and held him closer to her body.

Chapter 29 HERE.

###

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@thewaysheis—awkward

[malxlawson]

— && guests may mistake me as ( halsey ), but really i am ( amalia 'mal' lawson + cis female + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 8/6/1995 ). i am applying for the ( maintenance manager ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 202 ). i should be hired because i am ( + passionate, charismatic, thorough ), but i can also be ( - prideful, dramatic, argumentative ) at times. personally, i like to ( creating street art, volunteer community work, organizing protests ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration!

aaaand here we come with our favorite revamped heathen! mal hasn’t had quite as much changed - just a nice lil face lift and we love that for her.

before we get super into it: we have a stats page and a pinterest for your viewing pleasure.

going a little heavy on the triggers just because i want to be sure to cover all my bases!! most everything is just a mention, but we gotta be safe kids! take care of yourselves and remember ilysm.

( pregnancy tw, miscarriage tw, police brutality mentions tw, substance abuse tw )

- amalia raelle lawson was born august 6th, 1995 to marshal and cherisse lawson in oakland, california.

- marshal owned a local bbq restaurant and cherisse was an er nurse. both grew up in rough neighborhoods with rough childhoods, but vowed to make their kids’ lives better than their own.

- three years after mal came into their lives, they had a son; jayden.

- from that day on, mal had a best friend and confidant that she’d go to the ends of the earth to keep by her side.

- their childhoods weren’t easy in the way most kids are - their mom worked long hours and their dad spent most of his days at the restaurant. when their parents were home though (if cherisse wasn’t sleeping off a shift change), they spent their time with their community - be it at the restaurant or at block parties - trying to better it in any way they could manage.

- police brutality mention tw despite their efforts, their community was still plagued by all the injustices every other predominantly black community faces. from a young age, mal learned that the justice system wasn’t built to serve her or the people she considered family.

- police brutality mention tw she was six the first time she heard about a family friend being a victim of excessive force; nine when she saw it. for years after that, she saw mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and cousins coming to mourn their loved ones - either locked up or taken from them too soon.

- instead of becoming numb to these tragedies, a fire was lit in amalia to change the system - even if she had to dismantle it one piece at a time.

- in the mean time, mal found an outlet for her emotions in art - specifically painting. she started with watercolors and crayolas, but once her parents realized her abilities were beyond what they should have been for a kind her age, they put whatever extra they could manage into mal and her passion for art.

- she was fourteen when she was introduced to street art - graffiti, if you want to get technical. his name was trey and amalia was instantly enamored by him. trey ran with a rougher crowd than mal was used to, but he softened around her.

- pregnancy tw they were young, in love, and reckless. she was fifteen when mal found out she was pregnant. while she wasn’t thrilled about becoming another statistic, she was thrilled about the idea of having a child.

- not entirely pleased with the situation, but always willing to support their children, mal’s parents welcomed trey into the family with open arms and began planning what was sure to be a life full of love for the newest addition to the lawson family.

- miscarriage tw three months into the pregnancy, amalia started to experience cramping and spotting. worried it may be something serious, she had her mom take her to the hospital. it was there they confirmed that mal was experiencing a miscarriage.

- everything changed after that. amalia was no longer the girl who wanted to fight the world’s injustices - she was just a girl who wanted to fight the world. she was angry and bitter at everyone and everything.

- substance abuse tw her relationship with trey quickly began to deteriorate and she turned, for the first time, to the rougher crew he hung out with. booze and drugs quickly became a way for mal to cope with the pain she carried around. she started small - cigarettes and pot - before graduating to the harder stuff, like coke and prescription pills.

- substance abuse tw skipping school to get loaded became a regular occurrence and when the truancy officers showed up at the lawson’s front door, her parents sat mal down for an at home intervention. for as much as they yelled and cried and offered treatment, amalia wasn’t hearing any of it. it wasn’t until jayden snuck into her room late one night to ask if he was going to lose mal like one of his friends had lost his older brother that mal realized her actions weren’t only effecting her life.

- miscarriage tw just before her junior year - with the help of her parents - mal decided it was best for her to leave public school and finish the rest of her schooling online. the same time she started online schooling, amalia started painting again. something she hadn’t done since she found out she’d miscarried.

- being able to stay home meant mal had the space and time to heal in her own ways. when she wasn’t doing school work, amalia was painting to help clear her head. it took some time, but she was finally able to tell her parents what she was going through, both mentally and physically.

- miscarriage tw after she miscarried, mal started to suffer from chronic period and pelvic pain, as well as painful intercourse. she’d also been suffering from symptoms of depression, all of which help lead her down the destructive path she’d gone down.

- several doctor trips later, mal was diagnosed with endometriosis and depression and quickly began treatments for both. despite starting treatments for her endometriosis, doctors told mal the likelihood of her conceiving again was highly unlikely. 

- mal hadn’t expected to hear at 16 that biological children may never be in her future and she was devastated, but she had her support system and their love and willingness to do whatever they could for her helped her cope in a much healthier way.

- by seventeen, amalia was feeling like her life was back on track, though drastically different than she’d imagined. she finished her diploma early and began working for her dad in the restaurant; serving, cooking, even helping fix things when they broke down. slowly but surely, mal mended her relationship with her parents and earned back their trust.

- one day, after some kids had vandalized the restaurant, marshal asked mal if she’d help cover the graffiti. jumping at the chance, amalia spent three days finishing her first big piece - which is still her favorite to this day - a portrait of her family and the community that kept the restaurant going. abstract and colorful, full of life and vibrancy, mal’s piece drew a lot of attention and several offers for her to commission other pieces.

- for the next three years, mal worked at the restaurant and took commissions when she could. life seemed normal again. she even reconnected with trey, mending the relationship that had been broken.

- the day trey proposed was the happiest day of mal’s life. she’d been beyond thrilled! after everything they’d been through, he still wanted to be with her. unfortunately, the bliss didn’t last. their engagement abruptly ended and mal decided it was best if she get away for a while, so as to not slip back into destructive patterns.

- a quick google search brought amalia to the malnati website and their employee housing program. applying was a no brainer and a month later she and jayden were packing their bags and moving to chicago.

- she started as a maid and, in the four years she’s been there, has moved up to the maintenance manager position.

hcs!

- when she’s not working, mal’s usually painting in her suite or sketching at one of the many parks in chicago during the day. at night, you’ll find her taking full advantage of chicago’s nightlife. night’s in for mal lawson are few and far between.

- drugs tw she skates a fine line when it comes to sobriety. she’s careful to drink or use just enough to be sure she’ll have a good time, but it’s a slippery slope. in the four years she’s been in chicago, mal’s slowly started doing more and more, telling herself she’s got a handle on it. truth be told, she’s teetering on the edge of a full blown problem again. 

- super into video games, but partial to anything involving zombies. mal loves a zombie - don’t ask me why. she’s usually down to play among us, valorant, fortnight, and is always down for a little animal crossing when she needs something more chill.

- 90′s hip hop & r&b are mal’s shiiiiiit. she’s at her happiest when she’s got a little tupac on in the background.

- also don’t you dare try to tell her he’s not alive in cuba somewhere living his best life. she ain’t havin’ it.

- when she’s angsty/sad/angry her go to playlist is a lot of punk, rock, grunge. especially of the 90′s persuasion. she stays on brand. her favorites are the offspring, nirvana, the foo fighters, soundgarden, stone temple pilots, the smashing pumpkins, sonic youth, and pixies.

- she’s gluten intolerant and vegetarian.

- mal is a cult classic movie kind of gal. donnie darko, pulp fiction, rocky horror are all on her list of favorites. she’s never going to turn down a good horror/thriller marathon, either.

- she plays a little piano and a little guitar. she picked them up after she started online schooling. she finds both relaxing. she’s by no means going to make a career out of it, but it’s fun!

- hella resting bitch face, but she really is super friendly! she just doesn’t always look it.

- don’t test her, though. she’s got attitude for days and she isn’t afraid to let you know what she thinks or how she feels about you. we ain’t got no time for games, okay?! okay.

- amalia has also very much immersed herself in community work since moving to chicago, especially on the south side. if her parents taught her anything growing up, it’s that she should give back the her community as much as she’s able.

- a lot of her street art celebrates women of color and their beauty. 

- not a fan of cops, still. soz pals.

- when it comes to work, she does her best to make the malnati a decent place to work. she’s all about positive reinforcement and making sure she takes care of her employees. she’s not gonna shy away from telling you ya fucked up, though. she’ll say it with love, though, while also calling you a giant pain in her ass. but with love. okay?! okay.

wanted connections!

- hook ups! : mal is a RAGING bisexual and is not at all afraid to make her appreciation for someone’s physical appearance known. just don’t expect to stay the night. once the deed is done you’ve got about thirty seconds to vacate mal’s suite.

- softies! : make. her. soft. give me someone who makes her break her no sleep over rule, pls and thank. she’s a stubborn, pain in the ass, and sassy af but someone who can make her melt? and act like a teenager in love again? all gooey and gross? yuh. pls.

- good influence! : someone she doesn’t have to drink and party with to have a good time! remind her that she misses things when she’s not sober - that the world is still beautiful and inspiring even when she’s not in a drug induced haze.

- chill baes! : drugs tw people mal just ~ v I b E s ~ with! probs smokin’ a decent amount of weed together. 

- protest pals! : people who are also involved in the community and social justice movements. they happily bail each other out of jail (or, more likely, sit in the back of a squad car together) and attend protests together. bc the buddy system. overthrow the government safely ty.

- rivals! : mal’s got a big mouth and some seriously controversial opinions. she’s not afraid to call people out for being ‘wrong’ and calling them...creative names. she’s bound to have a giant list of people who aren’t her biggest fans.

- bad girl’s club : need i say more? give. me. the girl gang. constantly partying and constantly getting into some kind of mischief and leaving a trail of broken hearts as they go. 

if you made it this far, you deserve SEVERAL high fives and literally all my love. ily all v much and uh, yuh. let’s plot pals. :)

[papermoonloveslucy]

DREAM GIRL

June 23, 1947

On this date in 1947, Lucille Ball opened in DREAM GIRL, produced at McCarter Theatre, Princeton, New Jersey for the Princeton Festival.  The comedy had originally opened on Broadway on December 14, 1945, starring Betty Field and written and directed by Elmer Rice (then married to Ms. Field).

In 1937, Lucille Ball had performed on the McCarter Stage in the play HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE opposite Conway Tearle. The play launched a short tour headed to Broadway, but Tearle’s illness forced it to close in Washington DC, postponing Lucille’s Broadway debut. That would have to wait until 1960′s Wildcat. 

Lucille Ball was the Queen of Comedy long before television. In this DREAM GIRL program bio, she continues the fib that she was born in Butte, Montana, finding it more exotic than Jamestown, NY. 

Ball played the role of Georgina Allerton, a daydreaming bookshop owner. Subsequently, she toured the show, playing Boston, Detroit, Toronto, San Francisco, Oakland, Brooklyn, and the Bronx. 

SYNOPSIS ~ Twenty-two year-old debutante Georgina is the owner of a small unsuccessful bookstore. She also writes novels. She has an overactive imagination and regularly escapes reality by means of her romantic daydreams about three men in her life, which are acted out on stage. The play's time span covers a single day of Georgina's life, during which several successive extravagant and often comic daydreams are portrayed.

The play’s fantasy sequences seemed tailor-made for Ball’s style and comic wit. In a way, Georgina was a prelude to the “Lucy” character on TV, who is dreaming her way out of her suburban life - and sometimes succeeding. In the play, Georgina’s imagination takes her to:

A balcony in Mexico...

The maternity ward of a hospital...

A stage where she plays Shakespeare’s Portia

A street where she is a ‘woman of the night’ in a scarlet red dress. 

On two notable occasions, Lucy Ricardo’s fantasy or dream life manifested itself on our TV screens. In “Ricky’s Old Girlfriend” (ILL S3;E12) Lucy dreams of what her life would be like if Ricky left her to go on tour with his former partner, sexy Carlotta Romero. 

In “Lucy Goes To Scotland” (ILL S5;E17) Lucy dreams of visiting her ancestral home in Scotland while visiting London.  Having just come from seeing a West End Musical, she dreams in the musical comedy format!  

In “Lucy and the Dummy” (ILL S5;E3), after MGM offers Lucy a contract, she imagines fame and fortune but is fully awake. Lucille Ball pantomimes the joys and sorrows of stardom while a Theremin gives the sequence a dream-like, surreal quality. Lucy Ricardo is most like DREAM GIRL’s Georgina in this short reverie.  

In “Lucy and the Monsters” (TLS S3;E18), Lucy Carmichael has a nightmare  after watching a scary horror movie. The dream takes her and Viv to a haunted house where they encounter a variety of typical movie monsters and then turn into witches themselves - all before waking up. 

DREAM GIRL CAST & CREW

Herbert Kenwith (Producer) later directed 14 episodes of “Here’s Lucy” between 1969 and 1970. Dede Ball warned Kenwith that her daughter was indeed the bitch everyone said she was. Lucille snapped back: “I am not! Only when I’m working.”

Jack Benny (to Herbert Kenwith, about Lucy): "Herbert, you ought to call a psychiatrist for her."

Jus Addiss (Director) was the life partner of DREAM GIRL actor Hayden Rorke. Barbara Eden (who, like Rorke, also guest-starred on “I Love Lucy”) later remembered that Addiss and Rorke were “unabashedly gay” and often invited the “I Dream of Jeannie” cast over for parties. 

Jo Mielziner (Settings) had also done the scenery for the Broadway premiere of DREAM GIRL in 1945. From 1949 to 1970 Mielziner won 9 Tony Awards. His designs were adapted by Richard Burns for the tour starring Ball. 

The play co-starred Scott McKay as the imaginative writer. McKay played the role of Wilbur in the 1958 pilot for TV’s “Mr. Ed” but was replaced on the series by Alan Young. 

Hayden Rorke, best known as Dr. Bellows in “I Dream of Jeannie”, was also in the cast. Lucy later employed him to play the Ricardo’s new neighbor, whom she suspects to be a spy, on “I Love Lucy.”  He later returned to play a judge on a 1971 episode of “Here’s Lucy.” 

Barbara Morrison was an English-born actress who came to Hollywood in the late 1940s. She did two episodes of “The Lucy Show” and three episodes of “Here’s Lucy.” 

Lela Bliss went on to play Mrs. Shellhammer in the 1947 film Miracle on 34th Street, which also starred William Frawley. 

Andrew Duggan later did an episode of Desilu’s TV series “The Greatest Show on Earth” (1964). He is best remembered as the voice of the Father in Disney’s theme park attraction The Carousel of Progress. 

Phil Arthur appeared on Broadway from 1948 to 1952, his last play with Henry Fonda (Lucy’s one-time boyfriend) and Frances Baviar (Aunt Bee on “The Andy Griffith Show”). He began on television in 1949 and his last job on the small screen was as a background player on “Perry Mason” from 1961 to 1966. 

Dorothy Elder began doing television in 1950, but her career only lasted until 1955, as a regular on “True Romances”.

Alan Hewitt  was a veteran of sixteen Broadway shows, including the original production of Death of a Salesman (1949) and Call Me Madam starring Ethel Merman (1950). From 1964 to 1966 he played Detective Brennan on “My Favorite Martian.” In 1964, he appeared on an episode of “The Lucy Show.” 

The Newark Star-Ledger review of DREAM GIRL, June 24, 1947. [Thanks to Eric C. Schwarz, research librarian extraordinaire, for the review.]

POST PRINCETON!

In January 1948, Lucille got the opportunity to recreate the role in Los Angeles, but fell ill with a virus shortly after it opened and the show closed prematurely. Because Ball was known for her film roles, promotion often said that she was appearing “Live In Person” - which seems obvious in a live theatre production! 

Handbill for the Los Angeles production that was cut short by Ball’s illness. Lela Bliss took over for Barbara Morrison. 

Souvenir program from the Brooklyn engagement at Brandt’s Flatbush Theatre in July 1947. It includes an excerpt from a write-up by Hall Barnell for Actors Cues about the rehearsal he attended at Malin Studios and a sketch of Ball from that day. 

Detroit Music Hall - signed program. 

Boston Production at the historic Shubert Theatre - signed program. 

San Francisco production at the Curran Theatre. 

During this San Francisco engagement, Ball’s husband was not far away!  Five blocks, to be exact. It is likely that Lucy and Desi stayed at the Palace Hotel while she was performing at the Curran. It is also likely that Desi’s performances were in lieu of a hotel bill for the couple! 

"I have seen other productions of this play, but the only actress whose performance really delighted me was Lucille Ball. She lacked… tender wistfulness, but her vivid personality and expert timing kept the play bright and alive." ~ Edgar Rice, Playwright

It is pretty clear that this photo was an early version of photo shop. Although it was created during the time of the play, it is quite obviously a manipulated photo. 

In August 1947, the show had finally reached what was known as “the subway circuit” - a group of New York City borough theatres that were not considered Broadway. Meanwhile, in Princeton, the summer season continued with yet another show produced by Kenwith and Kennedy, “Horace”.  The Billboard review of August 30 was of the opinion that Lucille Ball was simply playing Lucille Ball, and that audiences were okay with that. 

This sterling silver cigarette case was a gift to Lucy from the DREAM GIRL company and is engraved on the front: "With Grateful appreciation TO OUR 'DREAM GIRL' December 1947." The lid has the engraved signatures of the company, 17 in all, including actors Scott McKay, Guy Standing, and Andy Duggan. The item came up for auction after the death of Gary Morton. 

While Lucy and the DREAM GIRL company were touring, they knew that a film adaption had been made and was awaiting release. It starred Betty Hutton and MacDonald Carey, but did not open to the public till later in 1948. Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz took a chance on Hutton in 1959, giving her a CBS sitcom “The Betty Hutton Show” which ended after 30 episodes.

In 1955, while Lucille Ball was busy with “I Love Lucy,” NBC made DREAM GIRL into a TV film starring Vivian Blaine. It featured “Lucy” character actors Hal March and Ida Moore. 

Ten years later, it was turned into a Broadway musical named Skyscraper, with the play adapted by Peter Stone (”1776″) and starred Julie Harris in her first musical. It earned five Tony nominations. Charles Nelson Reilly guest-starred on “Here’s Lucy” in 1970. Peter Marshall played Lucy’s brother-in-law Hughie on “The Lucy Show” in 1963.  Choreographer Michael Kidd also did the dances for Wildcat starring Lucille Ball in 1960. 

[min30am]

Does the music you listen to shape your perception of the world?

Immediately, yes. Definitely, no doubt. I pretty often link songs to different times in my life or places or specific events or people. It’s actually more difficult for me not to do that. 

Hotline Bling - driving back up del Este, or back to the parking lot for mock trial practice at 5pm. It’s the winter months usually, so it’s pretty dark out at that point. Quick snacks from the local Quickly are always a good bet, or Chipotle of course. Bright classroom lights, hearing the rest of the trial drag on in the adjacent room while the pre-trial attorneys hang out doing nothing really in the room facing the street. 

Starboy - we’re in an Uber to the ice rink in Oakland, it’s the evening after Yule Ball. We met at my first ever Halloween party but I’m decently sure I like you; I’d pretty much broken up with someone else that same night, over speaker phone with more than a few friends eavesdropping in our room. Anyway, we’re in the backseat of the Uber and you mention that you really like this song, and you start singing along and it’s cute- cute enough to make an impression. You turn out to be a really really good skater, and you don’t leave my side all night even though I’m an awful one. 

Under the Cover of Darkness - first time hanging out with a few people just having a jam session with our mix of guitars. A slightly condescending guy who’s good at solos teaches me a set and decides he thinks I’m a fast learner. Flattering enough. 

Out of My League - I looped the Fitz and the Tantrums album that this belongs to that summer that I spent painting the house kokong built at Marcy’s. There was a lot of detailed work that went into it, and I sketched the designs meticulously in pencil before going over it with the metallic paint shades I’d picked out. 

You & Me - this particular Disclosure song was really popular but after that one YouTube comment talking about how the highs were screechingly, painfully high, I could never listen to it without being way too aware of that. Thanks, whoever that was. 

Location - this was a song I generally really liked when it was in its hayday, but it’s had a little bit of a different flavor and nice comfortable blue bit of nostalgia ever since Eli told me he associated it with me. 

High You Are - the height of my Youtube playlist days, barring the AMVs with Linkin Park songs. I had another Odesza song that I linked to this one, Say My Name featuring Zyra. Great times, definitely middle school and early high school. 

Tennis Court, Wires, King - all linked to the same person, listening to these songs by the stairs at the far end of the high school on a shared pair of wired earphones after school, blue skies and mild breezes and radiant sun off the metal handrails. 

Fell in Love With a Girl - hilariously coincidental lyrics, thanks for this one. 

Trndsttr - driving back from the hospital, specifically in the morning after drop-offs at work. It’s cold and not too bright yet, but the sun will definitely be in my eyes on the drive back up toward the fountain intersection. My contacts are cooperating at least. 

One Time - that one concert we went to with Kou, pretty spontaneously but it was pretty good. Cool venue too.

My Funny Valentine - listening to this on the bus to Loch Ness, the same trip I believe that we hit heavy traffic on the winding road back toward Glasgow. There’s a beautiful lake at the bottom of the hill that our road spans, lots of the richest green you’ve ever seen in trees. The whole Ella album was pretty popular that trip, and this particular song felt like an inside joke to listen to next to you. 

Love Galore - we’re up by the Sutro Tower parked in a little dusty area by a few other cars that made the winding drive up. The view is pretty clear and definitely impressive, we’re trying to identify things and you’ve already finished telling me a long made-up story about how the tower works- which I believed because you, after all, have a masters in engineering. 

Foreplay, IV. Sweatpants - it’s first year and we spend all our free time meeting up at night just to freeze our asses off because we’re talking and it’s so easy and so funny and we don’t want to go home. It’s the 2am campanile talks at the bench, where we move at the pace of kdramas. It’s sitting by the now-renamed boalt hall, I’ve never met anyone I clicked with better and I still won’t say I’m in love.

Cheese & Wine - bro forreal your dad’s an asshole. seriously.

TALK ME DOWN - senior year of high school, you’re obsessed with Troye Sivan but he’s pretty good so no one in the car complains. Our friend group is hanging out so often at boba and coffee places and just talking nonstop, we have every class together pretty much and so many small things happen in that last year. 

Girls That Dance - that overcrowded, cozy, compact dorm room on the eighth floor. We’re there so often, you always pick me up from mine and we walk or bike down together, sometimes we take the shuttle. Jerry is always there, always greets us and talks to us about his nephew and his life. We have Olay by the mirror near the door, which I discover serves as a bit of a primer and is SPF15. We make ramen and Jess uses your desktop to play games while we watch Netflix movies in your top bunk. 

Cardiac Arrest - I, like the monumental asshole I am, make it a point to finish chemistry lab in the morning as quickly as possible so I can be the first person to leave every time. I always play this song as I’m going up those curved wide stairs to take that little bridge back up to the castle on the hill. I almost invariably get back to my room and waste all the time I saved by finishing early. 

Liquor Locker - chilling at lab, doing what I’m supposed to be doing between classes or meetings. Dilution calculations are scribbled in my green lab notebook. I’m responsible for many colonies of single-cell babies but at least a quarter of my attention is on the bus tracker while I run the math in my head. 

Shutter Island - we’re all at the Vevo Halloween concert together in a gigantic warehouse on the water’s edge. I’m absolutely taken with the singer and thus starts a pretty long infatuation with her music. No one else agrees, they definitely think she was the worst of the night. Fair enough. 

GOLD - we’re in the backseat of his car and he and his girlfriend are great. We already had dinner all together that one night before the concert- a vibe check - and now we’re in San Jose to check out a viewpoint where you and I just enjoy each other’s company. It’s our first double date(s) really, and it’s pretty great. 

Trois Gymnopédies - honestly, such a great song but I deadass sought it out after seeing it on a sad parrot video. 10/10

Heebiejeebies - definitely love this song but I don’t know if I can listen to anything from this album without remembering how you were so ready to start a fight at that concert. Again. 

If We Ever Meet Again - I have really strong feelings of being on a field trip associated with this song somehow. 

[blackkudos]

Biz Markie

Marcel Theo Hall (born April 8, 1964), better known by his stage name Biz Markie, is an American rapper, beatboxer, DJ, actor, comedian, television personality and spokesperson. He is best known for his 1989 single "Just a Friend", which became a Top 40 hit in several countries. In 2008, "Just a Friend" made #100 on VH1's list of the 100 greatest hip hop songs of all time.

Markie has been called the "Clown Prince of Hip Hop."

Early life

Markie's career began on Long Island and he graduated from Patchogue Medford High School in 1982."Biz Markie Shows, Concerts, & Tickets 2020". EventBrite.com. Retrieved March 29, 2020.

Career

1980s

Biz Markie was interviewed in the 1986 cult documentary Big Fun In The Big Town. Markie released his debut album, Goin' Off, in 1988, which attracted a fair amount of attention, largely due to the lead single, "Make the Music With Your Mouth, Biz". The album also featured the underground hit singles "Nobody Beats The Biz", "Vapors", and "Pickin' Boogers".

On October 10, 1989, Biz Markie's second studio album, The Biz Never Sleeps, was released on Cold Chillin'/Warner Bros. Records, produced by Biz, his cousin Cool V and Paul C. The single "Just a Friend", in which he alternates between rap and singing, became Markie's most successful single, reaching #9 on the Billboard charts.

The song interpolates the 1968 song "You Got What I Need" by singer/songwriter Freddie Scott, whose basic chord and melody provided the base for the song's chorus. "Just A Friend" was ranked 81st on VH1's 100 Greatest One-Hit Wonders in 2000, and later as number 100 on VH1's 100 Greatest Songs of Hip Hop in 2008.

The music video, directed by Lionel C. Martin, chronicles the rapper's woman problems.

1990s

Markie's third studio album I Need a Haircut was released on August 27, 1991, on Cold Chillin'/Warner Bros. Records and was produced by Biz Markie and his cousin Cool V. Sales of the album were already low when Markie was served a lawsuit by Gilbert O'Sullivan, who claimed that the album's "Alone Again" featured an unauthorized sample from his hit "Alone Again (Naturally)". O'Sullivan's claim was upheld in a landmark ruling, Grand Upright Music, Ltd. v. Warner Bros. Records Inc., that altered the landscape of hip-hop, finding that all samples must be cleared with the original artist before being used. In accordance with the ruling, Warner Bros., the parent company of Cold Chillin', had to pull I Need a Haircut from circulation, and all companies had to clear samples with the samples' creators before releasing the records. This development reflected the increasing popularity of hip-hop and the financial stakes over which releases were set. Biz responded in 1993 with the mischievously titled All Samples Cleared!, but his career had been hurt by the publicity emanating from the lawsuit, and the record suffered accordingly. Additional bad news came when the video for the track 'Toilet Stool Rap' was labeled Worst Video of the Year on the Fromage show from Canada's MuchMusic.

For the remainder of the decade, Markie occasionally made television appearances, including guest appearances on In Living Color (including as contestant Damian "Foosball" Franklin in the recurring game show sketch "The Dirty Dozens" and as Marlon Cain in "Ed Bacon: Guidance Counselor") and in a 1996 freestyle rap commercial on MTV2. He also made numerous guest appearances with the Beastie Boys on Check Your Head (1992), Ill Communication (1994), Hello Nasty (1998), and their anthology The Sounds of Science (1999). He also rapped on the song "Schizo Jam", on Don Byron's 1998 release, Nu Blaxploitation (Blue Note/Capitol) and worked with Canibus on the first track on the Office Space soundtrack (1999). He also rapped on the track "So Fresh" alongside Slick Rick on Will Smith's 1999 album Willennium.

In 1996, Markie appeared on the Red Hot Organization's compilation CD, America is Dying Slowly, alongside Wu-Tang Clan, Coolio, and Fat Joe, among others. The CD, meant to raise awareness of the AIDS epidemic among African American men, was heralded as a masterpiece by The Source magazine.

In 1997, a sample of a Markie recording appeared in the Rolling Stones' song "Anybody Seen My Baby?" from their album Bridges to Babylon. His part was shortened on some radio versions. Biz also teamed up with Frankie Cutlass on his third single and music video titled "The Cypher Part 3" with some of Marley Marl's Juice Crew veterans.

In 1999, Markie appeared on Len's song "Beautiful Day" on their album You Can't Stop the Bum Rush, as well as on Alliance Ethnik's album Fat Comeback.

2000s

In 2002, Markie appeared in Men in Black II, with Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones, essentially playing an alien parody of himself, whose native language sounded exactly like beatboxing. Between 2002 and 2003 he appeared in episode 5 of the TV series Fastlane playing himself as a nightclub DJ. In 2003 he appeared in the international television series titled Kung Faux performing a series of voice over characters featured in a variety of episodes. In 2004, his song Vapors appeared on the soundtrack of Rockstar's popular videogame Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas which featured an old school hip hop radio station, Playback FM. In 2005, Biz detoured from his recording duties to appear on the first season of the television show Celebrity Fit Club which challenged celebrities to lose weight by a combination of diet and exercise. Biz Markie lost more weight than anybody else in the competition. That year, he was also in an episode of The Andy Milonakis Show.

Biz Markie was a cast member on Nick Cannon's Wild 'n Out, seasons 1 and 3. Biz also does the beatboxing segment, Biz's Beat of the Day on the Nick Jr. show Yo Gabba Gabba!.

Biz Markie began 2008 opening for Chris Rock's "No Apologies" tour. Biz Markie's act includes spinning records ranging from old school hip hop to Lynyrd Skynyrd and then performing "Just a Friend". Biz Markie's playlist includes the following: "Children's Story" by Slick Rick, "Rapper's Delight" by The Sugarhill Gang, "Billie Jean" by Michael Jackson, "Holiday" by Madonna, "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" by Wham!, "It Takes Two" by Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock, "The Breaks" by Kurtis Blow and "Robot Rock" by Daft Punk.

In December 2009, Biz Markie appeared in a RadioShack commercial, repeating the line: "Oh Snap! Guess what I saw!" from his song "Just A Friend". That same year saw his debut with Andy Milonakis in television commercials for the commercial Internet service Tune Up.

2010s

In 2010, Biz Markie appeared on VH1's 100 Greatest Artists of All Time, providing commentary throughout the series. Biz Markie himself was not included on the list. On November 9, 2010, Biz appeared on The Aquabats! new EP, Radio Down! in the title track. On November 11, 2010, Biz sat in with The Roots on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, and performed "Just a Friend" with actor Jeff Goldblum.

In 2017, Markie appeared several times on the MTV2 game show Hip Hop Squares, a spin-off of the popular game show Hollywood Squares. That same year he made an appearance in the track "2012 (You Must Be Upgraded)" by The Flaming Lips, alongside Ke$ha.

In 2013 Markie toured with the Yo Gabba Gabba! live show. That year, his song, "Just a Friend" was featured in Saints Row IV, which included a Pop station 107.77 The Mix FM.

He appeared on the CN show Mad, as the Hip Hop Hobbit.

He voiced rapper Rhymez and his DJ, Tiny Timmy Scratch It, in the Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja episode "Hip Hopocalypse Now".

He guest starred in the SpongeBob SquarePants episode "Kenny the Cat", in the episode's title role. His voice acting work also includes the voice of Snorlock the Beatboxing Slug in an episode of Adventure Time.

In 2014, he appeared in the Syfy network movie Sharknado 2: The Second One. That same year, he threw a ceremonial first pitch for an Oakland Athletics baseball game.

In 2016, his song, "Just a Friend" was featured in the Netflix Series Love as an ending theme for episode 4. He also makes an appearance in a song titled "The Noisy Eater" off the album Wildflower by The Avalanches.

In 2016, he appeared on the Fox TV series Empire as himself, where he performed the song, "Just A Friend."

In 2017, he appeared in the season 3 finale of the ABC series Black-ish. He performed a personal version of the song, "Just a Friend", in which he added the names of the characters.

Discography

Studio albums

1988: Goin' Off

1989: The Biz Never Sleeps

1991: I Need a Haircut

1993: All Samples Cleared!

2003: Weekend Warrior

Compilations

1994: Biz's Baddest Beats

1996: Schoolhouse Rock! Rocks

1998: On the Turntable

2000: On the Turntable 2

2002: Greatest Hits

2006: Make the Music with Your Mouth, Biz

2009: Ultimate Diabolical

2009: "Yo Gabba Gabba"

2010: The Aquabats Radio Down!

[shesaidred]

there’s no title yet & going & attempting to process next roll of 16mm...i up messed up some frames last night but how else will i learn this new medium...excited, nervous, & elated as hell!!! so much more to come...i cannot keep up with the amount of stills, ideas, motion, prints, sketches, drawings, paintings that i want to purge...vomit...simply create because it haunts me...it won’t let me be peaceful if i ignore it...i can only ignore for so long otherwise i go into that pit of a blackhole of misery... #shelovesyou #shesaidred #still from #16mm #bolex #photooftheday the ever so lovely y amiga por vida @aldnorman #bw #kodak #film #filmisalive #filmisnotdead #istillshootfilm (at Oakland, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/B7uIpiWnyaI/?igshid=2x55c0t0v3ex

[layesica]

2019: It was a year that ends tonight.

2018 was rough, right? Well, so was 2019!

I did not feel like writing this, but it’s a tradition now, so for the fifth year in a row, here’s what I did all year with some of the crappy crap that made it not the greatest. I can’t promise an unwavering sense of optimism, but it’s okay. I’m okay. Here we go!

JANUARY Went to The Not Inappropriate Show at UCB curated by the Odenkirks, then Spent New Years Eve at Dynasty Typewriter with Ian & Emily. It was fun, but... eh. Home is better, y’all. Home is always better. Did a couple performances of a show at Second City – A Fonzie Scheme. It was fun. I was in an improv class at The Pack. I think it was Improv 4. The last weekend of January, Very Famous went to Sketchfest, which was super amazing. That’s, like, a goal. And even though it had pretty much nothing to do with anything I did, it was cool. And it was fun. And I was at a party with Neil Patrick Harris and I was SUPER cool about it.

Went to stuff: LA Times screening of Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse. It was free, and I would have never seen it otherwise. I enjoyed it. It was good.

Salt & Straw Flavor: Toasted Coconut Milk & Cookies (V)

FEBRUARY Made a return trip with Ian & Emily to San Francisco. Well, Oakland with an SF jaunt. I don’t have any cool stories, but Emily fought a seagull for her cookie and won, and that was pretty badass. On the drive back, there was a ton of snow just on the other side of the Angeles National Forest. I wasn’t excited enough to get out of the car, but snow is nice to look at. Oh, I had lunch with one of the head writers on my dream show that my old roommate met at the gym. I am terrible at networking.

Went to stuff: LA Times screening of VICE. It was free, and I would have seen it... eventually. It was... a bit... self-indulgent.

Salt & Straw Flavor: “The Chocolatier Series” = Jeni’s Coffee & Sweet Cream

MARCH Auditioned for a house improv team at The Pack. I didn’t mention working with a practice group all of February & March to prep for that. The biggest bummer about not getting on a team may have been the loss of that practice group. It was fun while it lasted.

Went to stuff: Saw comedy dads, Bob & David, at Largo. They asked for volunteers, and I almost passed just thinking about it. Ian & Emily jumped up there. Good for them!

Salt & Straw Flavor: Smoked Sea Salt & Chocolate Crack

APRIL Interviewed for a new job at one of the guilds. HEY! I owe the government $3700. That’s fun! I went ahead and added a good purse to my new 0 APR card.

Went to stuff: Dana Gould Podcast at Dynasty Typewriter. Panel with Conan Writers at Lyric Hyperion. For some reason, I saw Avengers: Endgame. I dunno. I feel like I should see it through for some reason. Deadline did their day-long FYC event, The Contenders, at Paramount, so I spent all day seeing so many people from TV and eating so much yummy food in between. Amazon FYC at Hollywood Athletic Club – went mostly for the building. Prime seat at Conan taping.

Salt & Straw Flavor: Wildflower Honey with Ricotta Walnut Lace Cookies – I wait all year for this to roll around again!

MAY We were supposed to have a call for a travel show on Buzzfeed, but they ghosted us. I went camping with a huge group at Idyllwild, which would have been fun, but it was FREEZING and I got SUPER sick on the second day. After a few days, I got better and got the guild job. Free insurance, baby! (More on that later.) Bought a Universal pass.

Went to stuff: A UCB show with people from Chicago. Free Booksmart screening with Q&A. Such a good movie! LA Times panel for Broad City. I never really watched it, but I would love to have a partnership like that! Netflix FYSee for Nanette. Guys, people are like vultures for the passed trays. Adam Sandler at Dynasty Typewriter. Attended the actual red carpet, fancy-pants premiere of Amazon’s Late Night. It was enjoyable and not at all realistic, and I could not stop staring at John Early in the theater. He glows!

Salt & Straw Flavor: Pear & Blue Cheese

JUNE Went to stuff: FYSee for Dead To Me. I had not seen it yet, but then I watched it and it’s good. JV show at UCB with Paul F Tompkins. Did a lap at the AT&T Shape event that is always free. I only go to be on the WB lot where I would like to be more often. Like, 40+ hours a week more often. That’s it. I just went to stuff.

Salt & Straw Flavor: Campfire S’mores (with Brian)

JULY SO. MANY. EARTHQUAKES. After the third one, it stopped being cute. Went for a drive to the Angeles Forest and hiked to a waterfall. Did a sketch with Very Famous at Packcon. It was a small group, so I got a part! Huzzah!

Went to stuff: Saw Once Upon a Time in Hollywood at the Cinerama dome. (First visit!) Not a great idea because I kept trying to pick out the scenery and got a bit of motion sickness. Shirtless Brad Pitt on a roof in the ‘70s is nice.

Salt & Straw Flavor: Goat Cheese Marionberry Habanero (2x)

AUGUST Went on a random overnight to San Jose. Time to get panicky about Pack Sketch Teams! I did what I should have done last year and requested to be moved. I loved the people on my team, but I wasn’t getting a return on investment for myself. And that’s no fun. Did a show called Gibberish with Duckboi as Sharon Osborne and wore a great wig. Sketch is fun. Fell off my bike & got bruised legs.

Went to stuff: Mike O’Brien & Friends at Lyric Hyperion. Saw some Pack shows to be a supportive. Put up a sketch at GSY.

Salt & Straw Flavor: Green Fennel & Maple

SEPTEMBER Started working tech at UCB. It’s pretty easy. I get to see new faces... and old faces, too. I have no more comedy theaters to work at. Well, unless someone is going to pay me real money. My vision has been getting blurrier, so I went to the eye doctor to get new glasses. Ended up getting referred to a specialist for a “freckle” in my eyeball, but had to wait a month to go. Submitted a character video for Pack Sketch performer auditions. Got a callback! That’s one step further than last years attempt, and I actually came up with characters and I was pretty proud of it. Came up with more characters, then faced the fear of being on a stage all by myself while trying to be funny. I felt good about it. It used to take a day to find out, but not this time...

Link to Character Audition Video

Went to stuff: Got an AMAZING ticket (location & price) to see Skintight at the Geffen with friggin’ Idina Menzel. She is a queen! It’s a cute theater I should go to more stuff at. Saw Scott Thompson as Buddy Cole at the Lyric Hyperion. So good! I think I’ve seen the evolving show every year I’ve lived here. My face hurts for several days after. Lyndsey got a fancy job and invited me to the Dreamworks Friends & Family screening of Abominable. Would not have seen it. It was cute. Thanks, Lyndsey!

Salt & Straw Flavor: Forgettable

OCTOBER Flew to Denver for my cousin’s wedding. I almost typed, “weeding.” That’s Colorado for you. It was my first time to see my family all year. The time just got away from me. I got a late flight out and spent the day walking around Denver on my own. Went to a good bookstore. Ate some Giordano’s. Left my luggage in a van. Found out I got cut from Very Famous – also, Very Famous got cut from sketch night – and I didn’t make a new team. Started watching new season of Mr. Robot and felt so lost, so started it from the beginning. The new Almodóvar came out, so I bought one of those expensive Arclight tickets. It was very, very good. Maybe my favorite Almodóvar film. Worth it! Saw the specialist about my eye. They dilated it, took a bunch of pictures, did a closed-eye ultrasound (Yeah, they use jelly for that!), and refereed me to another specialist. Hunter picked me up, and I ate at Canter’s for the first time. The specialist’s office made the appointment for me at an oncologist. Guys, I just wanted new glasses and now can’t stop Googling some pretty scary stuff! Lyndsey took me to USC & hung out with me for a while. They dilated my eye, took a bunch of pictures of it with a bunch of different machines, performed an OPEN EYE ultrasound, saw two trainees and then the doctor. She said she is not diagnosing me with melanoma. BUT it has the orange color and a sliver of the fluid that are “concerning.” The pictures of the tumor weren’t as large at the ophthalmologist’s pictures made it look. So... bright side, I guess. I go back in January to check for changes. Margot scooped me up and brought me home. Baby’s first root canal! 

For our very last Very Famous show, everyone got to put up a sketch they wrote. My favorite had too much production, so I did a black out. It turned out great, and I felt loved. It was a very nice way to go out.

Went to stuff: Two weeks after the Arclight screening, the LA Times invited me to see Pain & Glory with a Q&A, so I finally got to be in a room with my favorite director. I may have cried... slightly more than I did just seeing the film.

Salt & Straw Flavor: Black Cat Licorice & Lavender (2 cones, 1 pint)

NOVEMBER It was time for Penelope’s annual visit to the vet, so I rented a car for the weekend and took her. She had lost quite a bit of weight. I sprung for all the tests, and she has kidney disease. Her numbers aren’t terrible, but there’s not really treatment for it. We switched to a new kind of prescription food. All I can do is be good to her and try to keep her hydrated & happy. So... yeah... September – November have been... uh... not so great. On the bright side, I got invited to be in the Night Cap with Stacy Rumaker show as a character! I love this show so much - and when you read a thing in December, this show is the exception to that. I was so nervous, but I pulled it together and think it went very well. It felt good! Also, I am so emotionally invested in Mr. Robot! Mom & Dad came to visit for Thanksgiving and that was a nice relief. It rained most of the time, but we got out at about a bit.

Went to stuff: Vulture Fest screening of MacGruber with Will Forte & John Solomon.

Salt & Straw Flavor: Spiced Goat Cheese & Pumpkin Pie (with Mom & Dad)

DECEMBER Fell off my bike, bruised my legs, and scraped a chunk of skin off my hand. Finally: I left my mark on this town! I was not in the mood to plan a birthday thing, but rented a car to take Penelope for her health certificate she might need to fly home with me, then went on a showtune-belting drive on my birthday. Not the best drive ever, but it was nice to just drive aimlessly. Margot went with me to dinner at an Italian place in Los Feliz. In other news, Penelope gained some weight. Then I flew home for Christmas. I’ve just been sitting around with Mom & Dad, and it has been great. I had lunch with Justin & traditional margaritas & Tex-Mex with Lindsey. I finally did an entire month of morning pages after 4 years, so I may be done with that. Oh, and I (temporarily) quit comedy.

Went to stuff: Saw CATS (can’t hate on a bad movie with bad source material) & Little Women (I cried so much!)

Salt & Straw Flavor: Apple Brandy & Pecan Pie (with Brian), but I’m in Texas now, so I’m ending the year with some Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla. Do better, Tyler!

So, that’s it. I was not looking forward to this, but it did make me feel a little better since the crap at the end has just felt like it has beaten me down. I’m not a quitter, but a breaker is maybe a good idea for a bit. I don’t have any resolutions for 2020.

If you’re still here, THANK YOU for reading my yearly download. I hope that you are doing well.

You’re great!

I love you!

Have a great 2020!