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brydeswhale · 3 years

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Fic Preview Time!

Bc I might as well tease you guys since I actually haven’t been writing that much lately.

1. Untamed death row exoneration fic

So, I was writing this one before the US government went on it’s little killing spree, but it started to be topical and real, so I put it on a backburner, but I'm getting back to it.

The house wasn’t huge. Wei Ying knew that, intellectually. Compared to the house he’d grown up in, it was modest. Compared to the entire lake that had been in his backyard as a kid, the small pond and five trees in the backyard were cute.

But he couldn’t help it, as soon as A-Yuan left the house, just walking from room to room to room, in and out. He tried to be careful and close the screen door, but sometimes he’d forget and one or two rabbits would hop in and surprise Lan Zhan in his office.

Lan Zhan never scolded him for it. He’d just pick the rabbit up and put it in his lap.

“You’ve got to go to therapy,” Jack came by with a bottle of wine the first day, patted A-Yuan on the head, and let his wife give Lan Zhan a salad with nuts and artichoke hearts. “I’m going to give you this right now, and that’s all the booze you get until you send me a picture of the appointment.”

“I can buy my own alcohol,” Wei Ying laughed at him.

Jack just smiled indulgently at him.

“Trust me,” he said, gently. “You want to do this. For your kid.”

So he had an appointment on Friday, and until then he was walking the house the same way he’d paced his cell.

Wen Ning was in his room, working on something A-Yuan had asked him to do. Qing-jie was working on finding whatever job a woman who was snatched from the gentle grip of a first year med school could get.

Wei Ying tried to lie down at the edge of the pond. Several goldfish swirled around, looking at him expectantly, and he waved apologetically.

“Lan Zhan told me you guys are on a diet,” he pointed out. The fish, disgruntled, fluttered their fins, and drifted away.

The sun went behind a cloud. The lilies floated in the wind.

He slept.

The sun shone off the wine bottle, still unopened, on the kitchen windowsill.

So it’s not really about the death penalty, per se, it’s more about exoneration and also humans and trauma and stuff. Really heavy and it makes me sad.

2. Unnamed Teen Wolf vampire fic

So this isn’t REALLY a Vampire The Masquerade crossover, but it kind of IS, because I played that LARP for ten years and I still don’t understand(because I’m stupid) so it incorporated a lot of their brokenness, lol. Basically, it’s Scott getting kidnapped by vampires, who then decide to keep him and won’t give him back based on him being their precious darling.

A hunter came up behind him, but Scott felt, smelled, heard him, and, with a twist, threw him into the lights. They smashed, and several of them died, much to the delight of the captive. Her grin, briefly delightful, suddenly terrifying as two delicate fangs appeared, brought a cry of terror from the hunter as she dragged him up, and Scott found himself stepping forward, hands outstretched helplessly.

“Don’t kill him!”

She paused, and her pout returned.

“But I’m hungry,” she complained. “And he’s not exactly a good guy, wolf, he steals kids.”

“Just,” Scott wanted to agree with her, wanted, suddenly, to just leave the bastard there. She was right. He was a kidnapper and probably a murderer.

(“Some of us are human!”)

“Just, please,” he begged. “Just leave him. Help me save Siobhan.”

She looked him in the eyes, hesitating, then bent her head and sank her teeth into the hunter’s neck.

Scott felt himself drop a little. That was that. He didn’t know why he’d expected to persuade her otherwise.

“Fine,” she stood up, letting the hunter fall into the broken glass of the lights, blood dripping down her face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You could turn a cat from a mouse with those eyes. He’ll live, he just needs some juice.”

...

Maybe it wasn’t the shadows that had taken his breath from him. She’d thought the blood was someone else’s, but she could see it seeping out from under his fingers.

“Are you okay, wolf?”

“Scott,” he reached for a shirt, and pulled it on with jerking, shaking fingers.

“My name’s Scott McCall,” he clarified for her raised eyebrows, then collapsed in a heap beside a pile of laundry.

She let a note behind. It was what you did, right?

She wrote it out on thin, lined paper, and pinned it to the fridge under a cute, pig shaped magnet. Then she picked him up, and stepped into the darkness.

...

“You’re awake!” The girl walked in carelessly. She wore draping scarves over a loose, not very long dress, and long, flashy necklaces. Her curls didn’t quite seem to match. “Took you long enough.”

“I can’t- I can’t stay here,” he was trying to get up, and he realized that someone had taken off his jeans and replaced them with loose, soft pyjamas. He was wearing a matching shirt.

“You took my pants?” He held himself up with one hand, and noted, as if from far away, that it was shaking.

“Don’t worry about your maidenly modesty,” she pulled out her phone and used the camera to reapply lipstick in a bruised purple. “Seamus wanted you to be more comfortable. That’s all.”

“I have to go,” he shook his head. “I have to- How long have I been here?”

“Almost four days now,” she said, pushing him back into bed. “Stop that. You nearly died about five times.”

“My friends,” he tried to move, but she was stronger than she looked. Her hands were cold, and she smelled strange. Dull, and still.

“I left a note,” she seemed utterly unconcerned. “I put it on your fridge. Cute magnets, by the way.”

“I’m Jewel,” she told him, clambering up to sit cross legged on the bed beside him. “Jewel Cleary.”

“Scott-“ she interrupted him carelessly.

“I know, Scott McCall, you told it to me while you were dying.”

That explained it. They didn’t know he was an alpha.

“I wasn’t dying,” he tried to explain. “I’m an alpha. I would have been fine, you didn’t have to bring me here.”

“You nearly died three times in this very bed, boyo,” a huge, decaying mountain of a man, whose bulk spoke of power beginning to fade, and who had laugh lines at every corner of his face, came in with a steaming tray. “And now you’ll stay in it and eat your dinner and rest until you look a bit less of a corpse.”

“I’m Seamus,” the man handed the food to Jewel, then helped him sit up. “Tho most call me Shea, on the belief that my true name will call all manner of calamities down upon us. You’re Scott McCall, who saved our Jewel, and it’s a pleasure, indeed it is, Mr. McCall.”

He was saved from replying by Jewel putting the tray under his nose and both of them beaming expectantly over a bowl of stew and a cup of something dark and hot.

It was… very good. And he fell asleep again as soon as he finished.

3. Another Chapter In Mysterious Fathoms Below

So this fic is actually stalled because I’m writing Uma giving a Ted Talk style speech on what it was actually like growing up in a concentration camp run by a totalitarian dictatorship and I’m stumped on it, also the mystical stuff that's coming in. But I'm back on track soon, so hopefully this will come out soon.

“Davy Jones’ Locker!”

“Don’t curse, dear,” Merryweather had scolded absently, trying to clear up supper dishes.

“Don’t-What? Merryweather, look at the bloody stars!”

Harry grabbed her arm, pushing her to look up at the sky. It was just past dusk, soft and velvety blue, with early stars cheerfully popping into place. She followed Harry’s finger.

There should have been two stars there. One was newer, and that one had taken its place, although it’s bright shimmer was somewhat reduced.

Where the other should have been, there was black emptiness. Somehow, the sky looked cold and empty without it, and its mate seemed to shiver in the blackness.

“The second star,” she whispered. “Oh, Harry, what’s going on?”

…

“I was born in a prison, and on that day, from the moment I came screaming and bloody into this world, I was sentenced to life without parole. Like everyone born on the Isle Of The Lost, all my friends and my enemies, I was born to starve, suffer, and die, for the crime of being born to the losing side.”

“My first memory is of vomit. I was sick, because the food that came to the Isle came off garbage skows. Now, I don’t mean that the ships that transported the food were garbage skows, repurposed for bringing food to our prison, I mean it was garbage. The leftovers, the trash, rags and rot. Every bite we took was Russian roulette, and that day, I guess I lost.”

She smiled, and turned slightly again. She had never managed to stay still, even when she slept, she kicked and pushed out against the world. She had crawled early and walked early, she had swum from the moment of her birth.

“I don’t mean for you to think this was some kind of unusual event. I had food poisoning several times a year. The alternative was to not eat. There were no gardens, no farms. The ground was rocky and hard, and even if we’d managed to till it, the earth was leeched of life, to keep the barrier going. It was fed from the very island.”

From something more than the island. From something that had been since long before the Beast and his doll had been even thought of, something that had reigned before princes and queens.

Ursula drank her daughter’s face in. Sweet and pretty, crowned and gowned, just as she should have been. She traced the curve of her cheek, and pretended that this was something else, something from another world, where Uma was all that she appeared, and pure, and soft.

…

They were making their way through grey fog, as fast as pixy dust could swing them. The Pan stood at the bow, staring into the mist. When Harry approached, he turned, eyes glowing with a terrible fire.

“It’s begun, impossible child,” he said, cheerfully.

Harry swore at him, savagely, and sat on the rail, listening for the sounds of planes and guns.

…

“Look how she lights up the sky,” she could hear Naveen singing, singing somewhere far away.

She stumbled out of bed. He must have been singing to Jimmy, and Jimmy was probably missing her.

But when she got to the nursery doorway, it was gone.

The air was rich and humid, sweet with flower and sour with decay. Dragonflies hummed, their jewel-like bodies gleaming in the last of the sunlight as they danced over the glimmering water. She took one step, and another, the ground not giving way, but welcoming her in, wrapping water and earth around each foot. The trees swayed overhead, moss waving in the wind.

A place of death. A place of life.

3. The next chapter in Five Wolves Sansa Never Had

So this was a fic that stemmed from my irritation that Sansa lost her puppy. This chapter is called “Ned, you fucked up big time” and its about Ned trying to replace Lady with a sickly puppy who actually IS a dire wolf. Knowing what I know about dire wolves now, this is HILARIOUS.

He almost bought a doll, but Jory had shaken his head furiously, and he’d stepped past the toy shop, to a man selling what he called “exotic beasts, fit for the King’s own menagerie”.

Of course, the quiet little pup certainly wasn’t the dire wolf the man advertised him to be, but something in his golden eyes and quiet nature had reminded him of Lady, and he’d paid far too much for the little creature.

Far, far too much, it seemed now.

Sansa hadn’t been grateful. She’d sullenly put it in her lap, and told him he couldn’t replace Lady, and needn’t have tried. Then she’d gone to her chambers, ignoring Arya, who wanted to play with the little creature.

At first he’d thought it was simply a quiet pup, like Lady had been. It had had little appetite, and messed in Sansa’s chambers, but she had been used to that from Lady’s infancy and hadn’t complained. He’d heard it when he accidentally eavesdropped on Jeyne’s complaints to another maid.

But after some days it had become clear that the little beast was dying. Food and water ran through it, ending in messes on the floor, it slept for hours, and when it woke, it cried weakly. It couldn’t walk, and Sansa would carry it out to the gardens, lay it on a blanket, and sit and embroider, only getting up to change the linens under the poor thing, or to persuade it to take a sip of water or a bite of food.

Ned tried to broach the facts of the matter with Sansa, but she had only glared stoney-faced at him, until he found himself faltering and retreating. He’d thought of sneaking in at night and smothering the creature, but it felt too much like murder, and he finally gave up, leaving the little creature alone to die in peace.

The one good thing about the matter, which was the rift between Sansa and Joffrey. The Prince found the puppy disgusting and wasn’t quiet about it, and Sansa found his rudeness distasteful, and tactfully avoided the boy. By the time he was able to put them on a ship, sickly pup and all, she was distant enough from Joffrey that her protests were only quiet, pointed remarks about how he had made her fit to be a princess, and now didn’t find the price she brought him high enough.

It reminded him, chillingly, of how Lyanna had argued with his father, and he found himself unable to embrace her when she left.

…

Stark had sent one of his daughters with a Braavosi swords master and the other with a sickly puppy, as if he thought that Stannis hadn’t enough to do, and would appreciate some further inconveniences.

The younger daughter had no idea how to behave, and put the entire castle into uproar after uproar. But if he had hoped that the eldest daughter, who had lived up to her reputation as far as being a pretty child, who curtsied precisely the right depth, would balance the little urchin by behaving and staying in her place, he was, well, mildly disappointed.

“The dog will be placed in the kennels,” he told them on the arrival.

The girl shook her head.

“No, my lord.”

He had paused, and the entire parade of noblewomen, septas and servants had stumbled in its tracks.

“No, Lady Sansa?”

She met his eyes, and he was reminded, uncomfortably, of her father.

“No, my lord,” she reiterated. “He shall not go to the kennels. He is the symbol of my house and he will remain with me.”

“It’ll probably die soon, anyhow,” the younger girl told him. “It’s been dying since father bought it, it’s an ugly little thing.”

For a moment, Lady Sansa was unable to school her expression to proper demureness, and a cold rage turned her eyes from sky on sea blue to springtime ice as she glanced at her sister. It only lasted for a heartbeat, then she was back to cold courtesy.

Stannis ignored their silent squabble, and looked more closely at the creature. It lay limply in her arms, eyes unfocused, and breaths shallow.

“At the very least,” he allowed. “We ought not to bring whatever sickness that is amongst the dogs.”

Later, he found the girl seated by her hearth, trying to feed the little creature a soup of broth and bones, while her ancient septa slept in the window seat. The pup ate but little, and the girl rubbed a hand over her eyes before she saw him and stood to curtsey again.

“Forgive me, my lord, I did not see you.”

“I brought this,” he held up a small pot. “I purchased it for a sick hound, once, and it brought the creature strength enough to heal.”

She thanked him very prettily, and he mixed a spoonful with the broth she was trying to feed the pup, showing her the portions carefully and appreciating her careful attention. Between them, they got the poor thing to finish the broth and eat a little meat, before it fell asleep in a rabbit fur lined basket.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He took a closer look at the child. He’d never thought much about the girl who would marry his goodsister’s bastard, but he could see now that she had bright, intelligent eyes, despite her clear exhaustion, and that she carried herself very well.

“It must have been a shock,” he said, abrupt in his discomfort. “When your father told you why he had to break your betrothal.”

She hesitated.

“My father,” her voice was very soft, and uncertain. “My father has not-“

He stared at her, irritable and disbelieving.

“Did your father not tell you why you were being sent here?”

He knew he sounded skeptical, but the idea that Eddard Stark would not have told his eldest child why her very excellent marriage pact was being broken seemed truly ludicrous. Stark wasn’t stupid, and he was a man of honour. It would only serve him well to keep his eldest daughter in his confidence.

The girl blushed in embarrassment.

“He-He told Arya,” she said, slowly. “That is, I believe he told her. She hasn’t said anything. To me. But he speaks to her. He likes her.”

Stannis frowned.

There had been another father, once upon a time, that father had made sure there was a space in his mews for a crippled bird, and as much fresh and good food for her as any flighted creature, all because his son had hoped she might fly again. Even if that son was not as handsome, or charming, or bright as his brother.

“Your father has been foolish,” he told her, coldly. He had not the talent to speak to children, but she seemed to understand that he meant no harm to her. “He may as well have sent you riding an aurochs blindfolded.”

“No matter,” he continued, and sat down in a chair by the hearth, motioning her to the opposite seat. “Listen to me. It’s a very long story.”

…

“…His Grace, the King, has explained all to me, my Lord Father.

I am very glad to hear that you have escaped your confinement. Perhaps we shall see each other again soon.

Your Obedient Daughter,

Sansa Stark, lately of Dragonstone”

There was something cold about the letter, Ned thought, running a hand through his hair, for all that it was prettily written, with no ink blotches or crossed words, but he couldn’t quite tell what made him think so. He set it aside, with a group of others he planned to answer later, including word from White Harbour and the Wall.

Stannis had overstepped, he thought. Sansa was too young to know the truth of her betrothal, that her former betrothed was a bastard born of incest, that Jon Arryn had been murdered. But Stannis had never been known for tact.

His son had become a king. The Riverlands and the North called him so. So did some among the Vale. Word had come to the Stormlands, just as he managed to convince Renly to wait for the proper order of succession.

He put it aside for now. Robb was a boy, he could be persuaded to see sense.

“Sansa has chainjed her hair again. She just brayds it and pins it back under a hood like the new Queen does except she hardly spends any time with the queen. She and Stannis are always together with the Prinsess. All they do is play kivuss, and talk over maps and books.

“I found a secret passij in the cellar of the kassle. It goes to the dungeon.

“Are you alright, Father? I herd one of the men say you lost your leg. I miss you very much.”

He smiled fondly over the mis-spelled words, imagining Arya roaming a new castle, learning all the new haunts and secrets.

“My Dearest Arya,

“I have not lost my leg, but it was very badly infected. I hope you are well, and you are behaving for your hosts…”

…

The black wolf didn’t die, to everyone’s surprise. To their further astonishment, he thrived, with an ever-growing appetite and a newfound strength to match. He began to grow, and developed a certain cool dignity, to match his mistress’ adolescent gentility. She named him “Prince” and embroidered a collar in silver-grey thread and white shell beads.

Stannis wasn’t, precisely, surprised to find that the elder of his new wards was quick and clever, or that she knew already the names and banners of nearly every house in the Seven Kingdoms, and the relevant histories of said houses. His wife was pleased with her sewing and manners, and engaged a musician to teach her and Shireen the high harp and the lute. The girl’s septa kindly took Shireen under her wing, along with the younger Stark girl(when she wasn’t playing at swords with her water dancing master or dragging Shireen and Patchface into trouble) and their maid. She couldn’t really do much more than teach them etiquette and sewing, but she meant well, and she was too old to do anything else, so Stannis allowed it.

Sansa and Melisandre had begun a polite war. Word had been that the girl prayed as much in the sept as her father’s godswood, but she was little interested in opening her faiths any further, and clearly disliked the Red God’s followers for their fanatic disavowal of the older faiths. The small folk had been afraid that she was a witch, with her black wolf as a familiar, but when she proved kind and generous, they apparently decided that she was a good lady, whose wolf was a sign of favour by either the old gods, or the new.

#disney descendants fic #disney descendants #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #a game of thrones #a game of thrones fic #asoiaf #asoiaf fic

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staticscreenwriting · 5 years

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It sounds so sweet // Angel Reyes

Synopsis: Lips of an Angel by Hinder is a cheesy song but it makes for a good story.

A/N: I have wanted to write about Angel since I watched the first episode. Please let me know your thoughts :) thanks.

I guess we never really moved on It's really good to hear your voice saying my name It sounds so sweet Coming from the lips of an angel

The wind is softly blowing through the curtains of the open window. The air is hot and sticky that night and Angel can hardly bear to sleep with even the sheets covering his body. His skin sticks to Bianca’s like they’re one person instead of two and it’s driving him crazy. How is anyone supposed to sleep like this.

He thinks back to another hot night many summers ago with another girl. Only that was different because the girl was different. Back then he couldn’t get close enough and if it meant he was forever intertwined with her, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat just so he didn’t have to let go.

But that was another life. Things were different then. He was different then.

There’s no sleeping happening anytime soon so he entangles his limbs from Bianca’s, crawls out of the bed and grabs his phones and cigarettes.

Sitting on the front porch in only his boxers and a wifebeater shirt feels way better than being stuck to another person and covered by what felt like a shit ton of fabric.

He takes one puff of the cigarette, then another as he stares into the night sky and wonders. Angel will never let anyone know this because he has a reputation to uphold after all, but his mind works on overdrive sometimes. Like there’s so many thoughts and they’re all so loud and none of them make proper sense. And he can’t explain it either. EZ is the one with the photographic memory. The smart one. He’s just — just Angel.

(Y/N) always understood, even when he didn’t. And when she didn’t understand she was there for him anyway. To let him ramble or just hold him.

It’s on cigarette number 2 that his phone starts to ring. Not the burner phone. His actual cellphone.

When he sees the name on the display he can’t suppress the chuckle leaving his lips. It’s not one of amusement though. He thinks that maybe the universe is playing a trick on him or it wants to fuck him over. He doesn’t know.

Why today of all days she’s calling him, he has no idea. There have been days where he hardly thought of her. So caught up in family shit and club business that there was no time to wallow in self pity in think back to the one meaningful relationship he ever had. The one he ruined for dumb and ultimately selfish reasons.

For a moment he thinks about ignoring the call, pretending like he didn’t hear it. But this is (Y/N), his (Y/N). She’s the one person outside of his family that can call him at any day of the year, at any time.

(Y/N) was, and he assumes still is, this wonderful warmth in his world. This bright light in the darkness. One good thing in a life that is so tainted by misery. By his mother dying, EZ getting locked up, his dad shutting everyone out. By all the things he’s seen and done with and for the club.

(Y/N) is that one spark that keeps reminding him there is good in the world. Even if it hasn’t been in his life for a few years now.

When he picks up, it feels like there’s a knot in his tongue and he’s unable to say anything. Like some stupid teenager or something. It’s ridiculous and he’s acknowledging that alright, but that’s just the effect she has on him.

“ Angel ? “ it’s been too long since he’s heard her voice. It feels really good. Especially when she’s saying his name. It sounds sweet. Like it comes straight from the heart. There’s no sultry promise of pleasure. No expectations. No disappointment, like when his father says it.

It’s like it was some kind of ethereal being that softly lulled his name into the phone.

“ Angel ? “ he notices then, that he still hasn’t said a word. He’s just too overcome with a mess of emotions to reply. It makes him feel so weak and out of control.

“ I’m sorry I called. I shouldn’t have called I — “

“ — no it’s okay “.

Really it’s not. Those are not the boundaries he set when he broke up with her. He wanted to quit this relationship cold turkey. To spare her the heartbreak of having to see him chose the club over her. When he joined the MC he knew she’d have to take be on the backburner for a while and she didn’t deserve that. She deserved the world. A world that was safe and happy. His was all but those things. And the last thing Angel ever wanted was to drag her into a life of constantly dancing on the tightrope between legality and crime.

And maybe, if he’s being completely honest with himself, maybe he also didn’t trust himself then. He was younger and more reckless and there were women at the club all but throwing themselves at him. He couldn’t even imagine the heartbreak he would cause (Y/N) if he ever as much as slipped up and touched another girl.

“ It’s so good to hear your voice “ she says and Angel can tell she’s been crying. It breaks his heart to think of her being sad. That’s all he ever wanted to shelter her from. Crying girls in itself he can hardly deal with, that is his soft spot for sure. But (Y/N) crying ? His girl crying ? That is an absolute no.

Only she isn’t his girl anymore. He has to remind himself of that.

“ Honey, why are you crying, is everything okay? “ it’s not like him to outright show that he’s concerned about someone, especially a girl. But this woman has been by his side when he was so close to the edge. There isn’t ever gonna be an instance where he doesn’t worry. Where he doesn’t care.

His heart is hers for the taking and he knows that’s fucked up because he’s the one who took it away from her again. But it will always be hers and that’s the sad truth of it all. So he buries the feelings deep down for no one to see and distracts himself with meaningless sex and fleeting flings with girls who are nice enough but don’t mean shit in the long run.

EZ doesn’t know that half of Angel’s heart is permanently missing because he let her go, pushed her away. His dad doesn’t either.

They don’t have to. EZ and Emily, that’s the tragic love story of this family. The one that comes with longing glances and questions of what-if. That’s the Hollywood worthy tragedy being put on show for anyone to witness and wallow in pain with the protagonists.

Angel would suffer in silence while hoping that he made that right decision.

“ I uh — sorry I’m calling so late. I just had a shit day at work and just went through some old pictures and came across some of us. I found one of us and EZ and Em and your dad. When they went to prom and your mom made us dress nice so we’d look good on a photo with them, do you remember ? “

Of course he remembers. Those were the days he was happiest. Those are the memories he goes back to when things get too overwhelming and sad and dark. When he hates himself too much for becoming such a bitter old fuck.

“ Yeah. Of course I do. I looked ridiculous. “

“ You looked handsome “

He blushes a little and immediately scolds himself for that. He’s in an MC for fucks sake. Bikers don’t blush because girls call them handsome.

Only he does anyway.

There’s a moment of silence between them but even through the phone they can both feel just how heavy the air is. How many unspoken words are hanging there. How many feelings they both forbid themselves to feel.

His eyes wander towards the front door. There’s a girl in there who worships the ground he walks on. Who dotes on him like a fucking housewife. It’s not fair to her to do this. But it’s not fair to lie to her either. To pretend like he’s perfectly in love and satisfied and happy when he’s not.

“ Angel ? “

“ Sorry It's kinda hard to talk right now. I gotta whisper 'cause I can't be too loud “.

She takes a moment to reply and he hates himself even more now.

“ Is there — are you having a girl over ? “

What’s he supposed to say ? No ? That would be a lie ? Yes ? That’s just gonna hurt her. But he’s never been a liar. Not to the people he loves most at least.

“ Kinda yeah “

“ You seeing someone ? “

“ Mmh “

“ Oh “

“ Yeah “

“ Does she know you have an ex-wife ? “

“ Wife. You’re still my wife. “ he doesn’t really know why it means so much to him to set that fact straight, but it does. It means everything.

“ Wife. So does she ? “

“ Nah. I don’t think she has a clue “

And then she laughs and it’s like a million suns rising at once and that stupid butterfly metaphor finally makes sense. God, he’s missed her so much.

“ I guess we never really moved on, have we ? “

“ No “ he’s never going to but she doesn’t need to know that. Maybe it just takes her some time to forget him. That would be the ideal situation, he thinks. For her at least. To forget him and start a life she deserves with a man who can give her more than Angel could ever imagine giving to her.

He remembers one time he saw her at a grocery store with some guy who looked like he was as rich as he was cocky. They had an awkward conversation and the dude clearly didn’t like the way the two were still so familiar with each other. He started a huge fight outside of the store. Angel wanted to step in then but it wasn’t his place then and (Y/N) managed alright by herself, getting into her car and leaving the guy stranded on the curb. She never needed his help and yet he always offered because that’s what good husbands do.

“ Hey uh — about that rich kid I saw you with that one time. Does he know you're talking to me? Will this start a fight? Cause if it does, just let me know. I’ll teach that dude some manners. Tell him how to fucking treat a woman “.

She laughs again. His heart grows 3 sizes.

“ Angel, there is no ‘he’ anymore. I went on a few dates with him. The last time I saw him was that day when I left him at the grocery store. He was controlling and mean and he was jealous of you “

“ Jealous of me ? Why would a rich boy be jealous of me ? I mean, I know I’m good looking but still “

“ Because I love you and I will never love him “.

He’s not sure if that’s the moment he dies or actually starts to live. He knows his mom loved him. He knows EZ loves him. Most of the time he assumes his dad loves him. And for a long time he was sure of the fact that (Y/N) loved him. But that was the past. He thought that this was well over. With how he has treated her and all. With the pushing away. The no contact.

And yet after all their love apparently persisted.

Maybe they weren’t the tragic love story. Maybe they were the one that would last in the end.

“ You know, I dreamt of you the other day. And no it was not a sex dream “

“ Were we fighting giants squids again ? “ she asks, laughter clouding her words.

“ Nah. No squids this time. “

He also misses this about her. He could be so silly with her. Never annoying or dumb. With her it was endearing. It’s like for a short time he could shed the tough outer shell that has been built over time and just be dorky and fun. Like he got to be a kid again.

“ Was just you and I on a bike driving along the coast. Wasn’t anything special .”

“ That sounds lovely “

“ Yeah it does, doesn’t it”

“ Angel “ her voice is serious again and it scares him a little. “ I know why you broke up with me. I know that you thought that pushing me away and getting out of the relationship, the marriage, was gonna make me chase a dream that I didn’t even really have. Something you thought was bigger than you. Bigger than what we had and could have. You’ve done this with EZ before. You do it a lot. But maybe for once you should stop and think about what you deserve and that maybe you are the dream I’m chasing. Let yourself be happy for once. “

“ I don’t deserve you “

“ Yes you fucking do ! Angel I love you more than I have ever loved another person in my entire life. That has been a fact for years and it’s still a fact. It kills me to know that you deny yourself this happiness because you don’t think you’re worthy. Which isn’t true but even if it was. Suck it up, man. Some things you don’t have to earn. Some things you are just given. No fees. Nothing asked for in exchange. I love you. I love you still “.

There’s a girl inside his house, inside his bed. She’s tangled in his sheets and wearing his shirt. He has gorgeous eyes and luscious curls and a great smile.

And as he walks through the door and into the bedroom he knows that breaking that girls heart might just be the first thing he’ll ever do right in his life.

Her door is cherry red, like the lipstick marks she used to leave on his cheek. The ones EZ and his dad would always tease him about. The ones Angel wore like a trophy.

When he knocks, his mind is silent but his heart is beating a thousand miles an hour.

It doesn’t take a minute for her to open the door and be in his arms and my god, she’s so warm and soft and familiar.

And he still doesn’t think he deserves even a second of her time, an ounce of her love. But if she’s willing to give, who is he to deny ?

Her lips on his is a feeling so familiar and comfortable and yet so exciting still. He never wants to stop feeling this way.

“ You wanna come in ? “ she asks jokingly after they pull away, having to breath after all.

“ Yeah. Yeah I do. And I never wanna say goodbye “

“ You know what ? “ she says and placed another soft kiss on his lips “ maybe you don’t have to. “

The wind is softly blowing through the curtains of the open window. The air is hot and sticky that night and Angel can hardly bear to sleep with even the sheets covering his body. (Y/N) is cuddled into his side, her skin sticking to his like glue. Angel looks down at her, places a kiss on her head and pulls her even closer.

Maybe sometimes we’re granted a little spark of light in times of darkness. Maybe without being deserving of them. Without having done anything to earn them. Maybe we only get them for a little while.

Maybe forever.

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