#yeah otherwise here's a sketch that i started a few days ago
Text
not my best work because it's half-scribbled but! Queen Roona on her horsey (a Guarlara)
#i don't think i picked the same tone as usual for her hands i think i picked the wrong one of the two#i can't remember which I used... i thought it was this one? maybe the blue just makes it seem off. I need to work on colour theory#anyway. if anyone has suggestions on what to do about the white face paint for non-white queens please let me know. i know we saw some#on screen but. im not sure if that was. yknow. an okay way to go about it. considering star wars loves its racism.#so if anyone has suggestions im more than welcome to take them!#yeah otherwise here's a sketch that i started a few days ago#and then picked back up when i remembered it existed and only did the bare minimum hehe#queen roona#star wars oc#star wars#my oc#my art#mimse art#mimse ocs#EDIT OH MY GOD I FORGOT HER LOVELY LITTLE MOLE ON HER CHEEK#:'( her pretty mole...
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
Art and Ice - Ground Rules
Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.
Summery: Bucky and Doodle spend some quality time together.
This might a 2 or 3 parter (it's gonna be more because cannot help myself). College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that trope and couldn't help myself)
Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Bucky is a playboy. Flirting. Mentions of not eating or drinking for a hours (ADHD Brain)
Word Court: 2859
Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! ❤️
Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, without my express permission, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3
Catch up here: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 ❤️
You didn’t see Barnes the next day, which wasn’t surprising, it was Friday night after a win so celebration extended into the start of the weekend. Saturday was much the same, you toiled away in the art room in front of a large sketch pad trying to get something together while your canvas dried.
You also had a small piece you were working on for a gallery wall you were doing for a local gallery that was happening once the semester ended. So your plate was full and adding the insistent nagging from your brain to find Barnes, your patience was wearing thin.
You threw the paint brush at the sink, it sailed in a smooth arche before clattering in the paint covered sink. You ran your hands over your face and groaned as you leaned forward, elbows planted in the table. Your mind is running amuck and making you lose patience.
“Doodle,” the new brush you were holding snapped in your tense grip as you looked up, startled. Barnes was standing at the door holding a bag that smelled delicious and your stomach growled. You may have forgotten to take a break and eat.
“Barnes,” you said, your tone tense. His eyebrow quirked up as he walked in and placed the bag down a few feet away.
“Are you okay,” your hand kinda hurt from snapping the brush a moment ago, and your head was killing you with a raging headache. Which might be because you haven’t eaten in a while or because you were thirsty. You took a deep breath and nodded.
“Yeah, just a little stressed,” you answered. The smell of the food in the bag makes your mouth water and your stomach twist in an uncomfortable way. “What can I do for you?”
“You weren’t at practice all weekend. Nat said you were hauled up in the art room,” he said nonchalantly, you just stared at him. “And I figured I would stop by and check on my favourite girl,” he said confidently, and you rolled your eyes in response. Your stomach decided that moment was the best time to make its presence known and grumbled loudly. Your cheeks immediately darkened in embarrassment.
“And she said you most likely didn’t eat,” the look on his face caught you off guard, he had a look of genuine concern etched on his features. “She knows you well,” he mused, his tongue poked between his teeth as he winked at you. You leaned back against your chair and extended your hand and gestured to the chair across from you, prompting him to sit. He took a seat across from you and smiled. “I hope you like burgers,” he said as he pulled the bag over.
“I don’t mind them, are they from Gus’s?” You asked, he nodded.
“I wasn’t sure what you drank so I got water,” he added, pulling a couple water bottles out of his gym bag. You smiled and chuckled a little at how thoughtful he was being.
“Waters fine,” you accepted the bottle and cracked it open and drank half it one go. He eyed you suspiciously and you gulped down hard. “I get lost in what I’m doing and sometimes forget to eat or drink,” you mumbled under his intense gaze.
“That’s not healthy,” he muttered, pulling out a burger and handing it to you. You accepted and opened it up, taking a bite and biting back the moan you almost let out.
“I know, but when I’m in the zone. I just don’t realise how much time passes,” you said softly, he nodded and you two ate the food in a comfortable silence.
“Thank you,” you said as you threw out the garbage and sat back down.
“No problem, can’t let ya starve,” he chuckled and rubbed his chin in his hand. “What’s ya working on?” He asked and looked at the few pieces shattered behind you and a shadow box a few feet away from you.
“Uh, a project for an art exhibit once schools out,” you answered.
“Mind if I work on some homework? It’s quieter here than my house,” you raised an eyebrow at him, that was unexpected. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing, don’t mind me,” you said as you looked down to work on the piece for the shadow box. Your eyes drifted up every now and then as you observed him working on what looked to be some kind of science homework.
His eyes wandered over your frame every now and then as he took in your look of complete concentration as you worked with a small piece of clay. He couldn’t help but appreciate the dedication you had toward your craft.
“What are you working on?” You asked after some time.
“Science homework,” he gave you a cheeky smile. You gave him a deadpan expression. “It’s space stuff,” he answered.
“What about space stuff?” You asked, genuine curiosity laced your tone.
“I’m learning about stars,” he tilted the book he was reading, it was open to a diagram of a star.
“Oh neat!” You took a closer look at the diagrams and then looked back at him. He was rubbing his neck with a sheepish look on his face. “I did a project a couple years ago on Saturn,” you pulled your phone out and showed him a picture.
“Wow, you did a fantastic job,” he took your phone for a moment to get a closer look at it. “Wait, that looks familiar,” he looked up at you again. “That looks like the one in the observatory.”
“That’s because it is,” you chuckled. His eyes widened a little and his smile broadened.
“I made out with a girl right next to it,” he chuckled and your smile dropped and you busied yourself with another piece of clay.
“That’s great,” you forced out through the firm line your mouth was now set in.
“Why do you do that?” He asked suddenly, noticing your immediate change in demeanour. You looked up and your eyes narrowed at him.
“Do what?”
“That? Get all closed off when I say something you don’t like,” he asked.
“Because I really didn’t need to know you made out with a girl next to my art piece,” you stated. “I was told if I have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
“I’m not a child, I can handle criticism,” he defended.
“That’s not the point. Have you ever once sat down and just chatted with a girl without the expectation of sex afterwards?” You asked, your tone very genuine. He sat back in his chair and looked anywhere but your face.
“No. Not in a long time,” his answer caught you guard. You were expecting some snide comment or a lie. When you looked at his face, he looked completely sincere. You took a deep breath knowing the answer to the question you were about to ask.
“Is that why you’re here now?” You didn’t recognize the voice that asked the question. It was soft and meek, nothing like your usual cadence. He didn’t answer right away, and based on the look on his face he didn’t really know what to say or how to answer.
“Honestly,” he took a deep breath and looked at his hands. “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. At first definitely. The first time I spoke to you it was. But I don’t know,” his rambling gave away how honest he was being. “I still want to,” he paused, “to still sleep with you. I also want to hang out with you. And get to know you.”
You couldn’t help the slight upturn of your lip as you released a long inhale, “thank you for being honest.”
“I might be a prick. But at least I’m an honest one,” he tried to joke. His smile dropped when you didn’t laugh. “So where does that leave us now?”
“I don’t know Barnes. I don’t want to sleep with you. But I don’t want you to take that as a challenge to get me to sleep with you. If you truly want to be friends, and we get to know one another with no ulterior motives, then we can do that,” you didn’t want to sugar coat it. You also didn’t have the balls to admit you had a tiny crush on him because that would go straight to his dick and this conversation would be pointless.
“Well to start you could start calling me Bucky, Barnes is so detached,” he gave you a small smile.
“Well that was the point,” you chuckled. “But okay, Bucky.” His smile grew larger and he pumped his fist in the air.
“I’m still calling you Doodle though,” he said, his tone serious as he stared at you.
“That’s fine, I guess,” you chuckled while rolling your eyes at him.
“So how much of my piece is finished?” He asked, you couldn’t help but laugh and pointed over your shoulder to the large canvas behind you. “That’s empty.”
“I know. I have to get some practice sketches done first before I paint on the big canvas,” you decided to not mention the two you ruined.
“Can I see the practice sketches?” He asked hopefully.
“Sure,” you relented and passed the sketch pad over and watched him look at it.
“How do you do that?” He asked, passing it back a moment later.
“Draw?” You raised an eyebrow at him. He nodded. “I just do, it takes a lot of practice and effort. I could ask the same of you, how do you skate so effortlessly?”
He smiled for a moment before answering, “I guess it’s the same. I just get on the ice and go. The moment I lace my skates up and I hit the ice everything else just fades away, it’s just me, my stick and the puck.”
“For me, I pick up the pen, or brush and just start somewhere and get lost in it. It’s me, the brush and the canvas,” you finished.
“Hey,” he was serious now, that caught your attention fully as you looked at him, “I wanted to apologise for what I said the other day…”
“Bucky,” you reached out and placed your smaller hand on his gently as you cut him off, “stop, it’s okay. We both said things that weren’t very nice. For what it’s worth.” You looked into his eyes sincerely, “I’m sorry too. It’s behind us now.”
He smiled and nodded, “okay Doodle.”
That conversation was the catalyst to your developing and lively friendship with Bucky, when the team wasn’t travelling for the away games over the next week he would sit in the art room and do his homework while you worked on the art projects you had due.
It was Thursday night, Bucky was just getting to the art studio after practice when he saw you hunched over your sketch pad, your hands in your hair and you were sniffling. He entered and quickly threw his gym bag down and came around the table and crouched down next to you. He placed his hand on your forearm, trying not to startle you too much. You jumped anyway since you didn’t hear him come in, you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to notice anything else.
“Doodle,” he said softly. “Everything okay?” You shook your head and slumped into his chest, that caught him off guard, he quickly wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back as you cried into his chest. As quickly as you collapsed into him you pulled back and shook your head.
“I’m sorry,” you blurted out and placed your head in your hands. Bucky was a little stunned at how quickly your demeanour changed.
“It's okay,” he stood and took his usual seat across from you. “Wanna talk about it?” You let out an exaggerated sigh and sniffled loudly.
“My art professor is a bitch,” you groaned. “And I have a bunch more projects due and she’s just awful. If I didn’t need this course to graduate I would have dropped it.” You pressed your cheek against the table and closed your eyes.
“What did she do?” Bucky asked.
“After class she decided to tell me she doesn’t know why I bother trying, and that the school was foolish to offer, a no talent, wannabe one of the only full ride scholarships offered for the arts,” you were crying again. You had spent years honing your craft, and fought tooth and nail for the scholarship that allowed you to attend school here.
“She’s probably just jealous,” you laughed at that, Nat had said the same thing when you texted her earlier about what happened.
“I have an appointment with the head of the department tomorrow afternoon. This isn’t the first time she’s been awful to me,” you didn’t see his fist clench and the momentary anger flash across his face as you said that.
“I wouldn’t listen to her Doodle,” Bucky reached across the table and patted your arm gently. “Your art is awesome, and you’re incredibly talented,” he finished. You smiled against the table and lifted your head up to send him a thankful look.
“Thanks Bucky, that means a lot,” you sighed and whipped your eyes with the back of your hand and rolled your shoulders. “I got some stuff done on your portrait,” you said, your voice still a little coarse, but you felt a lot better. His face lit and his full attention was on the covered canvas behind you. You stood and pulled the cover off and showed him, you had some of the out lining done, the positioning and scale perfect. You felt very proud of it so far.
“Holy shit Doodle,” Bucky stood and got closer to admire the outlining. “You know, once this is done, you should get them to let you display it in the sports annex,” he had a smug tone as he said this. You chuckled and rolled your eyes.
“Maybe if you bat your eyelashes at the department head, and ask him really nicely, he’ll let me,” you bumped your hip into his and smirked up at him. He smiled down at you and the softness in his eye made your heart skip a beat, you quickly cleared your throat and moved from him to grab a pencil.
“I’m going to work my homework, and stay out of your way,” Bucky said softly as he moved from your side to sit down again. You smiled looking down at your feet before you started to do some more outlining.
His eyes would shift from his homework every so often and they would rove over your body. He knew he didn’t have a shot in hell at getting you to agree to sleeping with him, you made that clear and he was really trying to make sure he kept that at the forefront of his mind when he was around you because he really did want to be friends with you.
But those leggings you wore hugged the curve of your ass so perfectly it was making it difficult. He felt his mouth dry out a little as he watched you rock from side to side as you drew on the canvas, and he involuntarily let a low whistle when you stretched up and exposed some of the soft skin of your back.
You immediately turned and looked at him with a raised brow and squinted at him, full judgement. “Barnes,” you were warning him, he raised his hands up in surrender.
“Not my fault you look amazing, it's a crime,” he defended himself with a cocky tone. You couldn’t stop the blush that crawled up your neck and on to your cheeks.
“You’re insufferable,” you groaned, turning your back to him again, the blush still strong on your cheeks. He laughed loudly, before going back to his homework. You couldn’t keep the little smile off your face, you knew he used that line on countless girls, and it was probably a line he used often to get in their pants, but damn he was such a smooth talker, and he said all the right things in the right tones. You hated that you longed for his compliments.
It was quiet for a while longer, just the sounds of pencils on paper and canvas filling the air.
“Hey Doodle,” you hummed in response, not wanting to look away. “There is a final game just before playoffs, it's here, do you think you’ll come?”
“I thought Nat said you guys were done with the home games now,” you still didn’t look at him, trying to make sure your scale was correct.
“This one isn’t a regular season game, but I think you’ll really enjoy it,” he was being incredibly cryptic about whatever it is. You turned now, and raised an eyebrow at him.
“Then what is it?” You asked as you eyed him.
“Surprise, but I promise you’ll love it,” he sounded so earnest that you couldn’t help but believe him.
“Okay,” I chuckled. “I’ll go,” you relented, trying to hide your genuine excitement.
Taglist: @vicmc624, @calwitch, @learisa, @aaqua-tofana
Feel free to send me a message if you have a request or would like more, or would like to be added to the tag list ❤️
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky imagine#bucky x reader#fluff#bucky x you#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes hockey player#hockeyplayer!bucky x artist!reader#college!bucky#college fic#college au#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes x doodle
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
Meet Aislinn - Soriel Fanchild
>Please do not re-post or use my work in any way without my permission! Re-blogging is ok. Thanks!<
(CHARACTER INFO BELOW!)
My "first" art post of the year! Honestly, this kind of art is something I always shied away from making, at least regarding posting it online… but, I guess here we are! Nothing wrong with going into the new year trying out something new. Allow me to introduce to you, Aislinn! She is my attempt at an Undertale fankid for Toriel x Sans (because yes, Soriel is amazing and I love it so much).
The concept of this character actually dates back years ago as a little collaboration between me and a family member. I never was planning to make her known about, but during Soriel Week 2023 (so back in August), I decided why not? Thus, I started updating her design and did a sketch. However, during that time Soriel Week 2023 was ending and I got too busy until I eventually forgot about this kiddo. That is, until a few days ago when I got inspired by that same family member and decided “you know what, sure let’s just do this for fun”! So yeah, here she is!
I did have fun drawing/designing her, but I also think it is a little bit tricky when creating fan characters because, at least for me, I want them to feel like a natural inclusion to the world they are supposed to be from. I think overall I did good though at this goal!
Anyways, if you are interested in hearing more about her character, the family/story dynamics, and my design process, then keep on reading! Otherwise, I think she turned out cute and this was a fun little project to work on! I wouldn’t be opposed to drawing her again or even with other family members, but I think it will ultimately depend on if people would want to see that. Oh, and if you have any questions about her you want to ask that I don’t have answered below, then feel free to ask me! C:
🤍💙💜🤍💙💜
So… if you are reading this, then you are wanting to learn more, yeah? Well, buckle up because boy do I have a lot to share!
Does Aislinn exist within an AU/alternate timeline?
Well, I feel it would be more appropriate to consider her inclusion as being part of an alternative timeline because it’s more so my head canons/my take on a possibility of what could happen after the events of a pacifist timeline if Toriel and Sans end up together. Like, there isn’t anything drastically changed to what we know from canon other than me throwing some head canons into a pacifist timeline, so it feels incorrect to me to call it an AU. Do I have a name then for this alternate timeline? I guess if anything, you could consider her inclusion as a follow up to the stories/events told in my other Undertale alternative timeline, Scrapbooktale.
Why the name Aislinn? Why not use a font for her name?
Well, technically if you google “Aislinn font”, there is a font that I think fits her pretty well. But basically, Aislinn’s name means “dream or vision”, which I felt tied back to things in Undertale like “hopes and dreams” (Asriel) and just how like I feel that with monster kind being freed, they are able to pursue their dreams. Toriel and Sans are both shown to be very family-oriented, so why wouldn’t a possible dream of theirs be to extend their family? That’s where my inspiration came from. Her nicknames are Linn and Linny.
Does she speak using a font like Sans and Papyrus?
Nope.
More information regarding your design process for her?
So going into more details regarding her physical design, her head and part of her neck is completely bone like Sans and her hands are also skeletal. The only thing on her face that has fur is her little floofy eyebrows! The rest of her body is more like Toriels. She wears a big, green headband/bow as I decided that I wanted to give her some sort of visual element that would give the illusion of ears. I knew that I wanted to give her horns, but instead of just giving her horns that look like what Toriel has, I thought it would be cool to give her horns that resemble Sanses Gaster Blasters. Her eyes in shape are more like her moms, but they are just more so glowing pupils like Sans has (or in her case, glowing ring lights). Her eye color has a slight blue tint to it as I was inspired by Toriel’s official Nendroid design, which has blue eyes. One of Aislinn's most treasured items is her gold flower hair clip that was given to her by Frisk. She always keeps it clipped on her favorite headband/bow.
How old is she? How tall is she?
I find it hard to give an exact age for her because how monsters age is a bit… unknown in terms of canon? But if I had to give her some sort of age, Aislinn is 5 years old, and I think Frisk would be roughly 14 years old around this time. As for her height... well she is just a lil kiddo, so of course she is rather short! I imagine when she gets older though, she would be taller than Frisk.
What is her personality? Likes and Dislikes?
Aislinn is cautious and sometimes can come off as shy. While she loves her family, their antics definitely freak her out from time to time.
She is very polite thanks mainly to Toriel. Sans tries to loosen her up a bit, but it is something Aislinn just can’t help!
She tends to keep to herself.
She can be very curious and playful, but won’t do anything that she deems unsafe (unless convinced). Because of her age though, she still struggles with understanding sometimes what is actually considered safe and unsafe.
Her favorite color is green, and her favorite food is snail pizza.
Some of her hobbies include playing with her toy trumpet, drawing, reading and hearing stories, and playing/hanging out with Frisk.
She likes puns and jokes. However, she is terrible at making them.
Aislinn dislikes fighting and dangerous situations. She also does not enjoy getting super messy.
Aislinn and Frisk's Relationship
Aislinn idolizes Frisk. Even though she has a hard time understanding them sometimes (especially regarding all the shenanigans Frisk seems to get into) Aislinn still thinks that Frisk is the coolest person in the world. She loves hearing about Frisk’s adventures, especially the ones of their time Underground. Even though Frisk has a hard time understanding kids close to their age or younger, they still enjoy hanging out with Aislinn and sometimes envy her naïve nature. When Aislinn was a baby, though initially excited, Frisk ended up having a hard time of feeling like the "lesser child" since they are adopted and struggle with self worth. Luckily, thanks to Sans and Toriel, Frisk began to learn over time that they are just as loved and cared for as Aislinn. Though sometimes, they may fall back into this mindset. On the other hand, Aislinn sometimes feels like she isn't good enough compared to Frisk. After all, she is the sibling of the human who changed history by freeing monster kind! Aislinn and Frisk really do love each other though at the end of the day.
Aislinn and Sanses Relationship
I am someone who head canons that Sans raised Papyrus and later on helped to raise Frisk after marrying Toriel. By the time Aislinn comes into the picture, Sans is a natural at the whole dad thing... or at least, he likes to hope so. For Sans, it definitely helps to have such a cool wife by his side and to have a kid this time around who is a lot more chilled out. Sans finds that raising Aislinn has actually been way easier than raising Papyrus, and especially Frisk mainly due to Aislinn staying out of trouble. That being said, Sans sometimes worries that he is not doing enough with Aislinn considering how much he seems to be keeping an eye on Frisk, because wow that kid is always getting into trouble and next thing he knows he is asking "uh kid, how did you end up flooding the bathroom... again"? He does make an effort though to make sure that Aislinn knows that he cares for her, and he tries to set aside time from all of the commotion around the house just for her. Though Aislinn is terrible at telling joke, Sans will always be proud at her attempt to tell one. Sans is the one who got Aislinn into trying out a musical instrument (her toy trumpet). He also came up with her nicknames Linn and Linny. Sans will call her baby bones, just as he did for Papyrus and still does for Frisk.
Aislinn and Toriel's Relationship
Aislinn really looks up to Toriel with how she presents herself. Graceful, polite, elegant, and sometimes just goofy. While Sans may be stuck watching Frisk all the time from almost doing god knows what, Toriel is the one who makes sure to keep more of an eye on Aislinn. Toriel enjoys teaching Aislinn things throughout the day, such as "72 uses for snails". Aislinn loves it when Toriel reads her stories, even if sometimes she does not understand what the heck is even going on in said story. When it comes to needing emotional support, Aislinn will usually go to Toriel first.
Aislinn's Magic
Her magic consists of fire magic that is shaped like bones (so instead of a typical fire ball, it’s a “fire ball” that is bone shaped)! She has no blasters like Sans, nor can she teleport like he does. She can however use dark blue magic (gravity manipulation) like Sans. She can only use this magic to make someone still for a small amount of time. She cannot use this magic to push or move anyone. Aislinn also has the ability to use green (healing) magic, but is not really good at it. The most she can heal is up to 0.5-1hp, but over time as she gets older and learns her magic better, she will be able to heal just as well as Toriel does! At her current age, Aislinn's magic is still pretty weak and she is still learning how to use it properly.
🤍💙💜🤍💙💜
PHEW! Ok, I think that is all the main information I wanted to cover. But yeah, if you have any questions or want to learn more, then please feel free to ask! 💜
#undertale#undertale fanart#undertale fankid#scrapbooktale#undertale scrapbooktale#undertale fanchild#soriel#undertale soriel#soriel fankid#soriel fanchild#Undertale Aislinn#Undertale Family#Undertale soriel fankid#soriel fankid aislinn#undertale oc#writing that description up took like 2 hours my gosh
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
AvA AUs (Virored)
So a little while ago I made a summary of my main AvA/AvM AU/headcanon thing, if you haven't seen it and you want to it's here.
That one is what I use for most things, and I try to keep it close to canon just with a few of my own interpretations and such. If you ask any of the AvA characters anything on my blog, I'm usually going to answer with the one linked above unless you specify that the character is from one of these AUs XD
That said, I have a few smaller, more canon-divergent AUs, generally focused on one or two characters each. And, hey, why not share those too? And since I don't think I have the motivation or ideas to make cohesive stories for all four, I'm going to give you a summary of each!
However since each of these is gonna take some time and be decently long to write, I'm just gonna be posting one at a time - let's say starting with Red's, then Mango's, then Green's, then Dark's. But I will give you this little sketch to make guesses from until the other three are posted :) I'll try to make one a day but no promises there.
Edit: Hehhh nvm I'll make the others some time but idk the exact schedule I'm too busy sorry XD
(Note: All of these operate using my old headcanons for the most part unless otherwise specified, so for example there still isn't shipping in any of these. Haven't decided if the jewelry still applies for any of these but it does it's not very plot important anyway XD)
Virored AU
(originated from a dream)
I have so many dreams about AvA and a few of them ended up having cohesive enough plots that I spent some time to figure them out more and make them into AUs. This was one of them XD
This takes place some time after both AvA 5 and AvM 30, along with it being in a universe where Dark is on Chosen and the CG's side now. There, however, are some existing virobots, who have started running around destroying things now that they're not getting any more commands from Dark's bracers.
Dark, Chosen, and the CG decided to team up to either shut down or outright destroy any remaining virobots, but during one of those fights, Red got bitten.
Now virobots in this AU can get stronger and smarter by eating code, and this guy in particular was pretty successful. So it decided that, instead of deleting Red and probably getting killed by the rest of the CG, it just jumped inside Red's code like how virobots can infest the computer.
Yeah Red's getting possessed for a fourth time, this kid can't catch a break.
But anyways, since the virobot was taking its time doing any actual possession - it's probably harder to take over a living creature anyway - Red and the CG just decided they were very lucky that nothing too bad happened and went home to patch themselves up and rest.
And that night, the virobot took over. Virored escaped back into the internet to continue their destruction and rally together more virobots, they themselves regrowing virobot-like claws and a venomous mandible from the mixed stick-figure-and-virobot code.
The rest of the CG quickly started trying to track Virored down, getting Chosen and Dark's help (although low-empathy Dark was mostly just annoyed that Virored's stealing Dark's old brand -v-) to find and stop them faster. However, this took them quite a while with quite some difficulty, as Virored was fully aware they were likely being tracked and was actively avoiding them.
In the meantime, though, Virored went back to running around rampant and destroying things - even killing people - just this time, with a new body and new intelligence, able to gather more virobots together into a collective swarm.
However, after a few weeks of this - Virored and their swarm invading a town, leaving after whatever destruction they've caused, then the rest of the CG, Dark, and Chosen tracking them there - the group finally cornered Virored.
And, after a battle, Chosen was able to separate Red and the virobot controlling them.
However, this didn't quite lead to everything being solved. For one, during those weeks, the virobot had still been eating away at Red's code. While they kept their mind mostly intact, their physical body was a different story.
Chosen wanted Orange to help with the separation, since Orange has healing powers, but they still had no clue how they were supposed to invoke those since they still had no memory of how it happened last time, so instead Chosen just had to do it themselves (cause that's not Dark's expertise either) and try to make sure Red would still have enough code left to survive.
This left Red, even after some time (and potions from Blue) to recover, with scars wherever the virobot claws and mandible used to be. Scars that, after a few days, began to grow back into the same claws and fang they used to have.
These odd physical traits were the clearest pieces of what the virobot code and time of possession left behind, though Red still had all the memories of what happened during those few weeks. And, as Virored had bitten and killed people before, those weren't exactly the happiest of memories.
But Red still was free from the possession, none of their friends had been bitten during the fight, so there was at least an okay ending there.
I'm pretty sure all the towns and cities banned Red from going back tho
Well idk, hope you enjoyed my weird dream-au ramble, if you wanna know more about it feel free to either ask me or ask the character involved XD If you do ask the character please specify that this is from the AU (and preferably whether it's in the middle of it or in the aftermath) so I know who to respond with tho ^-^
I'll be trying to write the other three soon!
#alan becker#animator vs animation#animation vs minecraft#virored au#red#virobots#the dark lord#the chosen one#orange#the second coming#cw mention of death#cw possession#part of why i made this is cause i really wanted to draw the virored design#but if i sent it to anyone without an explanation of the story they'd be confused#but if i sent only one au story that also feels weird#cause i have many#btw if you have any theories on the other three before i write them also pls tell :)
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
gentle haze
Some days, all you need is a field of soft grass and flowers and the endless twilight sky.
In these lands it's plentiful, a dime a dozen, nearly every island you to go will have a sea of flowers and gentle soft greenery to lay down in and enjoy the orange-pink hues of the sky. It wraps around you like a blanket, far away enough that it doesn't smother but close enough to matter.
Maybe that's why this is the last peaceful place they know of. You can't be mad here, not for too long; the permanent daydream of it all is too heavy. Smothering everything that's too much, refusing to let emotions someone can't rein in become the problem that causes their downfall.
It's never advanced much, either. Not much of a reason to, what with the plentiful resources and fertile land. A few public gardens is enough to keep the population fed, and there's nothing that would force everyone to need a home, so those who don't simply keep a small airship to travel and their favorite things.
He keeps his beloved feather hat, journal, and favorite pen all in the safely locked compartment on the front of the ship. It's in the perfect spot to open, pull out his journal and pen, and start writing, seated in the corner of the wood with a cushion or three propped up.
Sometimes he sketches. Sometimes he writes. Sometimes he just sits there, hugging both things close to his chest, and smiles.
Chi-chi usually finds him when he's like this, watching the sunset.
"Chi-chi found you."
"That you did."
He smiles placidly, closing his eyes. The haze lets him enjoy this time while the young girl climbs onto his boat, knowing what's about to come. If it weren't there he might feel the force of her eyes drilling holes through his spine, but as it stands everything is perfectly serene. "Chi-chi wants to know something."
"Go on, then."
"Why did Feather come here?"
"I thought it looked nice. Gentle, peaceful, nice place to nap."
"That is stupid. Everywhere is like that."
"I suppose. This one in particular caught my eye."
The girl must end up sitting on something nearby, because she pauses for quite a while and when she speaks the source of the sound is slightly different. "Chi-chi doesn't understand that."
"Do you ever have those inexplicable feelings? The kind of thing your subconscious picks up on and goes 'oh, yeah, we should go there because I vaguely recognize this tree' or something, and you go there because you just feel like it?"
"Chi-chi has never had that kind of feeling."
"Well, I can't explain it otherwise, so."
"Chi-chi and Feather are at an impasse."
"It appears that way."
If he were to open his eyes, he'd see the swirling shadows around the girl. How her very presence swirls and consumes the magic that keeps this place gentle and soft. How her very existence threatens the end for this peaceful little realm.
"Chi-chi knows you are lying."
"I know."
"Does Feather know he is lying?"
"Whatever do you mean by that?"
As usual, she's too astute. Everyone else is blinded by clouds and the evening sun, but she sees through it all. Because surely somewhere deep he did know why he came here, even if he forgot that reason after a while. Memories are easy to surface once they've been drilled into your skull a thousand times.
Maybe he could've forgotten. But his own mind won't let him forget, drilling it over and over and over again into its place on the wall, never letting the picture get crooked or distorted or even framing it.
Blood covers his hands. He's drowning in the sensation. Two eyeballs look up at him, no longer in their sockets. A knife is somewhere, discarded long ago. So is a gun.
So are his lungs.
"Chi-chi thinks Feather is being very silly about all this."
"Am I now?"
She gets up, dusting off her skirt. "This place has always been cloaked in shadow. You just can't see it."
And just like that, she leaves, wandering off again. He'd ask if she's going to harass anyone else, but he knows it's just going to be him.
He'd ask if she knows anyplace nearby for good food, but he knows it's just him and Chi-chi in here.
0 notes
Text
loved you once, part two [angel reyes x fem!reader]
A/N: Muahahahaha. IT’S HERE!I know, it’s been over a month. And I’m really sorry for that. But HOLY SHIT, the traction “loved you once’ got was way more than anything I could ever have imagined or expected. I am just so grateful to everyone for reading. For the people I’ve met and gotten to know since engaging in the Mayans fandom and posting fic. Honestly, this wouldn’t exist without you.
For this part, as before I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit and added some elements from season three in here. You’ll know them when you see them. Also, if you can tell me where Frida’s date comes from, you win a cookie, and maybe a hug from me.
Part one was based on "Loved You Once" by Clara Mae, this part was definitely moreso based on "You Broke Me First" by Tate McRae. And "After Hours" by the Weeknd. Honestly, the playlist for this fic is a sad, horny mess. You wanna cry, but feel confusedly turned on by it? I may drop the link.
As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile).
Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (aka Frida -- as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.); also slight Frida x other, and slight Coco x Frida.
Word Count: 23.4K (I KNOW, OKAY?) of ANGST! Half-baked simile and overbaked metaphor. Heartbreak swathed in honey-sweetness, and biting frustration. But maybe, ultimately, the balm of peace?
Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, descriptions of sex, fingering, oral (female receiving) so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry). This honestly feels just like a compendium of heartbreak.
Summary: You and Angel have been broken up for a while. After the ill-fated run-in at the patch party, will you continue on as you have? Or is it the push you both needed to reconnect? Angel loved you once; will you love him again?
Read part one here.
---
It doesn't snow in Santo Padre.
It's not that you enjoyed being cold, or particularly wanted snow. But a part of you had always romanticized the concept of a “classic” winter -- the feeling of crystalline fluff tumbling from the heavens to dust your cheeks and lashes, bathing your surroundings in an ocean of chilly silver-white. Of retreating from the exterior world's glacial crispness and into the warmth of your home, bathed in an orange-golden glow, the cinnamon-y scent of something baking.
Of falling into the arms of your beloved, someone who would seep the chill from your bones with his warm embrace, kissing the tip of your cold nose. Who would admire the snowflakes caught in your lashes before they melted away as he presses his lips to yours. Cherishing you and cradling your cheeks as he does so, like you're the snowflake he's afraid will melt away.
But it doesn't snow in Santo Padre. Your idyllic winter fantasy is not to be. No snowflakes, no cinnamon; even the man of your reality is, in truth, much harsher than that of any winter chill you could’ve dreamt up on your own.
In the real world, your romance with Angel bloomed, despite the dying light of mid-January. And nearly a year later, it felt like the true harshness of winter had come to your doorstep when you were, quite literally, left out in the cold. Not exactly the stuff of dreams. You know what they say, be careful what you wish for. This frigid winter was inhospitable, and worse than you could have ever imagined.
The stinging numbness of Angel’s harsh treatment of you and subsequent departure left you with frostbitten limbs and an icy heart.
The chill had subsided, had melted away from your bones some in the passing months...
Until a few weeks ago. At that damned patch party that you were foolish enough to attend, despite knowing full well who would be in attendance.
That had gone famously.
Aneesa had come by the next day to drop off your gear, your books, and a wad of cash you’d tried to push off, but that she’d insisted was from Bishop for the night’s work.
“So you are alive,” she’d snipped, her annoyed expression melting into one of sympathy when she’d taken in the shadowed look in your eyes, the sunken nature of your shoulders. How you’d shed your party clothes for one of Angel’s old t-shirts he’d left at your place and never come by to reclaim, something you hadn’t done in a while. And if you were honest with yourself (something you were a little afraid to be in this moment of weakness), you knew it was wildly unhealthy to still have it-- let alone to take comfort in wearing it. To want to take comfort in anything to do with Angel.
Though Aneesa hadn’t been in the room when it had all gone down, otherwise occupied with Gilly, she’d heard more than enough from Coco and EZ, Gaby standing to the side with an empathetic expression as EZ recounted how Angel had basically run you off the property in his insistence to speak to you. How you’d looked ready to burst.
You’d apologized, of course, for not responding to her texts and calls. For worrying her. She’d waved the apologies away, opting to scoop you into her signature warm embrace. But it wasn’t just Aneesa.
The texts from that night went unanswered, despite the near-constant buzzing of your phone.
It had nothing on the buzzing of the thoughts in your own head, replaying just what-the-fuck had happened at that party.
“I care, Frida.”
“... and if I wanted you back?”
“Please, querida.”
Frida, this. Querida, that. Honestly, it was too much.
You were smart to get out of there. You were right to get out of there. You’d said what you’d needed to say in that moment, even if it didn’t scratch the surface of everything you’d wanted to say to Angel since he tossed your shit in a box all those months ago.
You’d almost thought you were back in mid-winter, with the chill that had resided in your bones after you’d gone home, hands shaking and clammy with the nerves from confronting Angel. Your skin felt like it was vibrating on a different frequency. Nauseous. And as you’d slid into bed that night, all you could feel was the cavernously empty side of your bed, threatening to swallow you whole. And not for the first time did you wish it would snow. It would be warmer than the perpetual bleak chill you felt everywhere since Angel had left you.
Now, in the sweltering heat of late summer, the season’s defiant final push before it shunts away into cooler autumn, you find yourself back in your shop. Ever-grateful for central air as you watch the waxy sunshine and passersby through the glass door.
You were leaned over the counter, idly sketching, when the telltale ding signalled the shop’s door opening.
As you looked up and saw just who was making his way in, ever-present gentle thunk and squeak of his boots meeting the linoleum, you were struck with visions of your life a year and a half ago, when this very sight had been what started it all.
A sight that should have been a welcome one -- your man walking into your workplace to greet you on a break with a kiss on the cheek; or, at the very least, what should have been a cherished memory -- the ineluctable meeting with the person you’d thought you’d spend the rest of your life with … all of it was tainted now by the actual sight of him walking to the counter for the first time in a long time (but not nearly long enough, given everything), hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were fixed on his feet as he put them one in front of the other on his way to where you stood.
There was no easy lean on the counter. No self-confident rapping of his ringed knuckles against the hardwood. No smirking grin.
The Angel before you was a sulking shell of the man who had blown into your life a year and a half ago with his practiced flirtation and his warm, ochre eyes. Maybe 'Clara Forever' should have been more of a red flag than you'd originally lent it. But you weren't reading between the lines then, content with perusing the beauty of the surface poetry that was the man you'd met.
The man now? Between the lines was all you were reading. How could you trust the surface? After everything. This man was mussed hair and tired eyes, overgrown scruff and rumpled jeans you were sure he’d rolled out of bed in. Despite his disheveled appearance, your guard was still up. You knew how easily Angel slipped beneath your skin, like pin-pricking bolts of easy silk gliding seamlessly into your bloodstream, taking you over before you even knew he was wrapping you up, away, and into himself.
To say you were grateful for the buffer the counter provided between the two of you would be a massive understatement. It may as well be Everest, because there was no damned way you were going to let him scale it and press his way even further into your day, let alone back into your life.
You were silent as you watched Angel unstuff his large hands from the pockets of his kutte and shift a little from foot to foot. You crossed your arms over your chest, flexing in your impatience, and waited for him to speak.
He looked up at you, sullen eyes meeting your shrewd ones for the first time since that night on the clubhouse porch.
Oh. And Angel’s eyes had always held so much emotion. You knew you’d said it before, thought it before -- Angel’s feelings were his worst-kept secret, ever bubbling beneath the surface but inevitably bursting through like greenery through the cracks of stone. Spilling molten lava.
Bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.
Today, they were glistening; but not with rage or definitive humor. You saw shame. You saw remorse. You had half a mind to tell Angel just where he could shove those feelings, and then he spoke, cracking the brittle, tense silence between the two of you with the gravelly timbre of his voice
“You, uhhhh, got any space for me today?” You had to hand it to him, Angel’s question was unexpected; his eyes left yours to take in the empty chairs at the back of the shop.
You shuddered a little with your exhaling sigh, internally bemoaning the fact that you were alone to face this as you chewed over just how you could answer. Olí had gone to the bakery a few blocks down to procure some late-morning cafecito. You immediately thought of texting him, begging him to come back and save you from the inherent awkwardness of this situation. But you knew he was likely caught in the line of the belated rush. And eager to flirt with the barista.
On your own again, then. Left to battle with your own emotions, and to face the minefield that were Angel’s. To face the consequences your admittedly-childish and flippant exit the night of the party had wrought. And if you were honest with yourself, you were not ready for this. Not quite ready to face the music (music that, to you, sounded like every clichéd, sad song you’d played ad nauseum since Angel had pushed you aside, causing you to unintentionally meet the quotient of every breakup truism).
What was it they said? Clichés are clichés for a reason?
You pulled yourself from the mire of your own thoughts with the sluggish carefulness of a child unsticking their boots from thick mud, hating the way Angel’s eyes shone now with hopefulness as he awaited your answer.
Was he fucking serious?
You uncrossed your arms, sighing loudly now before you answered him.
"My books are full," you said simply, shrugging. “Sorry.” Though you clearly weren’t, your clipped words plinking through the tense air like chips of ice.
Angel looked around the empty shop, eyebrows lifting as he took in the underlying meaning to your statement.
“You got no one in here,” he responded, trying to keep his instant and rushing frustration at the situation at bay. He’d come here to try to talk to you. To hopefully appease your mood by coming to your turf to do so. Make something easy for you. Couldn’t you see that?
You stood unmoving, studying him keenly, almost like you were wagering with yourself on just how long it would take his frustrations to boil over.
You weren’t about to cave so easily.
“Dunno what to tell you, Angel,” he’d quirked up at the way you said his name, almost like a little puppy, and you tried not to let yet another icy shard wedge its way into your heart at his behest, slightly disgusted with yourself for how you defaulted to the desire to smooth the wrinkle from his brow, to cup his cheeks and kiss away the worry you saw behind his eyes. Even after everything, your first instinct -- your first desire -- was to nurture him. But you told yourself since the patch party that you would be resolute.
Even if on the inside your heart was frozen, but your resolve was melting.
“My books are full,” you repeated, holding up the datebook where you kept your schedule and making a show of flipping through the obviously-sparsely scheduled pages. “No room for you here.”
The line across Angel’s quizzical brow deepend, ochre eyes hardening into a slate frown. His upper lip curled slightly in annoyance, and as he caught his breath on the inhale, you could see him physically resist the urge to snap at you.
“A lotta white on those pages, querida,” he bit out, starting to lean forward in the direction of the counter, weight on the balls of his feet.
You closed the pages to your datebook primly, placing it on the counter and folding your hands over where the book rested.
“No sé a qué te refieres.” I don’t know what you mean. You gestured at the empty chair behind you. “Business is booming. Now, if you want something done, Olí has openings next week. Or I can have him call you if he has a cancellation. Other than that, I surely can’t help you,” you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes.
You may have sounded tough -- cold and distant to your own ears, even. Angel may have been convinced. But you knew that if you looked him in the eye now, he would see the cracks in the already thin veneer that was your display of disinterest. Better to keep your head down, so to speak. Lest he see just how false your sense of bravado truly was.
“Frida …” Angel slowly reached across the counter, holding out an arm to touch yours.
You took a deliberate step back, just out of his arm’s reach, your eyes blazing now as he curled his fingers back and dropped his hand once more to his side. You shook your head.
“Am I speaking something you don’t? I already said I can’t help you." You pointed to the door, “That’s your cue to go. I have a client waiting.”
You'd had to hand it to yourself. Despite the depression-gymnastics your insides were doing, you were putting up a good front.
With that, you jabbed the finger pointing at the door, now over your shoulder at your empty chair.
You were nothing if not adamant. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. At the very least, he’d deserved that.
Angel exhaled, rolling his eyes a little at your unwillingness to engage with him, before holding his hands up in surrender, retreating.
Your heart was pounding in time with his steps to the exit. Were you really going to let him walk away -- keep walking away -- from you? Was he really going to say nothing else?
Angel gave you one last look before turning on his heel and making his way toward the exit of the shop.
You don’t know what possessed you to say it. Maybe your inner masochist wasn’t done playing “Operation” with your feelings -- perhaps it was the gnarling, twisting fear you felt at seeing him walk away again, and maybe this time for good. But, as Angel reached the door, you called out,
“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.”
Fuck. And you were doing so well.
Angel glanced over his shoulder at you, full brows raised in mild surprise at your flimsy olive branch, wrapped in reference to your first meeting. He nodded mildly to acknowledge he’d heard what you’d said, his shoulders shifting beneath his kutte as he pushed the door open and walked back out into the hazy heat.
Huh. Guess you had more to say to him, after all.
----
"¿Flores, Angelito? ¿Para mi?" You asked in mild surprise, a little giggle bubbling from your lips as you took in the man before you with his short-sleeved flannel beneath the kutte, his thick, ringed fingers clutched around the bunched stems of an impressive-looking bouquet.
The few dates you had been on with Angel at this point were all sweet. You’d never had much of a sweet tooth, but … there was a first time for everything. And Angel Reyes made you want to indulge.
He had texted you the night before, asking if you'd like to meet him at the park the next day for some coffee, and maybe a walk.
"A walk?" You'd teased. "So old-fashioned, Angelito. Will we be supervised on this walk?" You drummed your nails against your thigh while you awaited his response, the bubbles in the corner of your screen popping up to indicate Angel was answering.
"Not the first time I've been told I needed adult supervision. But I think you're up to the task," he'd answered. Followed by a "winking" emoji.
Before you could type a similarly-cheeky response, he was typing again. A double-text.
"No need to involve anyone else in our business."
You chuckled at that. You'd give Angel Reyes that one. He certainly was charming.
He'd met you as planned the next morning, proffering you the cluster of blooms. An unexpected gift.
"¡Que bonita!" You accepted the bouquet, admiring the starshine sprigs of queen Anne's lace that were nestled between the soft pink pastel peonies and crisp swaths of greenery. You stood, rocking up to your tiptoes to press a kiss to Angel's cheek. "Gracias, guapo."
As you dropped back onto your feet, you took in the mildly flustered expression on Angel's face, rewarding him with another light giggle.
"Yeah, well…" Angel scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck. He had a habit of that, you noted. Was he nervous? "Seemed right, right? Since I've got flowers from you, and all.." he trailed.
"I love them, Angel," you assured. "You didn't have to get me anything. I was just happy to have coffee with you."
On that note, you turned to the bench you had been waiting on, two cups of still-piping coffee in the little corrugated to-go carrier. You plucked one from its nest and handed it to Angel, popping the little plastic flip-top on the lip of the cup, blowing on it a tad to cool it, before handing it to Angel.
You’d done it so seamlessly, he wondered if you truly realized what you had done, a cute little gesture of caring that -- the more he thought about in hindsight, the more he realized -- were the kind of gestures that exemplified and embodied you. He couldn’t help but stare down from his height in admiration of you.
“I assume you take it black?” you chirped. “If not, I grabbed packets,” you gestured at the little four-cup carrier, packets of cream and sweetener stuffed into one of the empty holders.
He chuckled a bit at that, taking a small moment to admire you the moment you turned back toward the bench, your beauty in the late-morning sun as it streaked solar beams making your hair shine like a resplendent halo, the aura of it soft and reflective against the apples of your cheeks, ethereal.
He appreciatively noted your own tattoos, streaks of ink awash against your skin and flashing beneath the ridden-up sleeves of your hoodie as you reached forward to grab your own cup from the carrier.
You deposited the empty holder and packets into the trash, bringing your own cup to your lips and turning back toward Angel,
“Shall we?” You tilted your head toward the path encircling the park.
Angel took deep sips of his coffee, seemingly immune to the heat, and savoring the rich flavor as you walked by his side.
Asbestos mouth, you thought, amused with yourself and your thought at Angel’s ability to slug the piping hot liquid without even flinching.
For his part, Angel appreciated that you didn’t feel the need to compulsively fill the silence-- content to sip your respective “wake-up” cups, walking side-by-side and enjoying the sun’s tender, teasing warmth while basking in the other’s company.
Angel didn’t know what made him say it, but in this moment, with you looking so perfect as you did, it felt like the moment to share a little piece of himself,
“My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid, ya know?”
You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, not breaking your stride, “That’s sweet,” you acknowledged. “I can just imagine you and Ezekiel running her ragged while you play. Do you and she ever come back here together?"
Angel balked at your question. It struck him in moments like these, just how truly new you were to the self-contained corner of the universe that was Santo Padre, a vacuous and arid black hole that the rest of space and time forgot. It didn’t occur to him that there was anyone in town who didn’t know what had happened to Marisol Reyes.
He stopped walking, unsure how to answer your question. You caught on to the change in pace, turning to meet him where he stood.
“She, uh… she’s dead,” he said, softly and simply. He couldn’t deny the truth, and certainly didn’t see the point in being dishonest about it.
“Oh,” you breathed. “Shit, Angel, I-- I’m so sorry,” you quickly wrapped your arms around him, mindful not to spill your coffee on him as you brought your hands around his waist. “I didn’t -- I didn’t mean to ask … I didn’t know.”
At first, Angel’s body had stiffened when you made contact with his torso. But he quickly relaxed into the hug, tilting his chin down to rest atop your head, bringing one arm around to gently pat your back, to reassure you that your innocent question hadn’t done any harm.
“S'okay, querida, it happened a while ago. Like you said, you didn’t know.”
The two of you gently parted from your embrace, you leaning forward to run a reassuring hand over his bicep, genuine empathy emanating in the gesture.
“Well, this isn’t heavy at all,” as you withdrew from Angel, you hunched your shoulders at the mild discomfort you felt having brought up something painful for him. “Nothing like some light conversation on a casual coffee date,” you chuckled nervously.
Angel had the good grace to smile at that, his easy expression a gesture of mercy on your flip-flopping conscience.
“I mean,” you carried on, “I know you don’t know me all that well, but… if you ever want to talk, ever need anything, I’m here. I didn’t mean to dig at any old wounds,” you murmured, sincerely, but sheepishly.
“Really, querida, it’s OK,” he reassured. “I didn’t bring it up to be … depressing, or nothing... I have nothing but good memories with her here,” Angel took a long sip of his coffee, nodding at you slightly and resuming his previous pace.
He pointed over to the swings on the other side of the large lawn, “She used to push me and EZ. Would cheer for us when we got higher. And ... if Pop was working late, and we wanted to play, she’d grab his glove and bring it to play catch with us, even if the damn thing was too big for her hands,” Angel smiled as he looked over at the lawn. “She woulda liked you, you know?”
He nodded to himself in assurance at his own words, confident in his assessment of your character through the lens of his mother’s memory.
Your breath caught at that, taken with the compliment. You smiled gently when Angel turned to face you again.
“It would have been an honor to know her,” you said, sincerely. “Sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”
“She was,” Angel agreed, easily slipping his hand into yours as the two of you continued to walk, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “I just hope I never lose that. Never forget her.”
Angel’s words gave you pause, struck with your default instinct to nurture. You were no stranger to loss. Who was, really? Not wishing that pain upon anybody, you imparted wisdom that had, in turn, been impressed upon you in your own similarly-sad moments:
“You won’t,” you assured, taking your hand from his, trailing your fingers up his wrist and to his forearm, tracing your thumb over the sprig of rosemary you had etched into his skin a few weeks prior. “¿Por recuerdo, sí? For remembrance? You remember her in moments like these, where you share her with others. That’s not something you’ll lose, Angelito. Because she lives on in you. And your brother.”
Angel was silent for a moment.
Worried you had somehow overstepped -- when weren’t you feeling that way with Angel? Could you ever just mind your own business without spilling clichés like some kind of poetic dimestore vending machine, or a stale-ass fortune cookie? He hadn’t asked for you to --
But Angel hadn’t said anything to put you down. As a matter of fact, he was just standing there… looking at you with that face again. What did that face mean?
Angel regarded you with a peachy-hued gaze of adoration, your words stirring something in him. But when weren’t they? Would everything you said always make him feel this way? He had learned from the day you’d met, and your first date, that you were thoughtful. Generous with your thoughts and your empathy. Willing to give to others, but reserved with your own heart.
And as he held your gaze, he was lightning-struck with the desire to make you feel safe enough to share your everything with him; wanted to kiss your pretty mouth and share every story from his life with you. Wanted to leech any pain from your pretty bones and replace it with the security of his affection.
The thought might have scared him, if he had given them a second longer in that moment. Never before had he truly desired to share these things with another.
You were dangerous that way, Angel decided. A real sleeper hit.
He tilted his head down, bringing his free hand to gently graze the high part of your waist with his fingertips, pressing his lips softly to yours.
Every kiss with Angel was a novel experience, a lesson buried in a newly-cracked book you couldn't wait to turn every page of. He kissed fully, sweetly. At times, he kissed like the languid, steady pour of warm, thick syrup over waffles, overwhelming your every pore. Other times, he kissed like a bonfire -- passionate, smoky, hazy and stuttering in its fervor to reach the height of its burn.
Now, he kissed you like honey, spliced with a crisp zing of orange zest, all sweetness and light. His hand on your waist a grounding reminder of your place on this earth beside him. But the longer you tasted it -- the heavier it became, filling you with a rush of sugary affectations, awash with your desire.
You break the kiss to cut the cloying taste, just as much as you'd needed air.
Angel’s gaze upon you as you broke apart was heavy-lidded and weighted with some emotion you couldn’t (or wouldn’t dare, just yet) to name… his full lips dragged into a low, lazy smirk, watching as you giggled lightly, nervously.
“So …” you trailed, making a vague gesture toward your stomach. “The butterflies. Not just a first date thing with you. Good to know,” you nodded, more to yourself than to him.
A genuine little barking laugh escaped Angel’s lips at that, his amusement and rush of adoration for you compelling him to bend down once more and press a soft kiss to the side of your head.
“You are something, Frida.”
The two of you resumed your walk, you teasingly bumped your hips into Angel’s as you spoke again,
“Since we’re sharing about when we were kids -- I always wanted to be a dancer, you know? My dad used to take me to classes. But I was… fucking awful,” you giggled. “I was better with my hands than on my feet.”
"I'm sure you are," Angel snickered, quicker than you were...
Your eyes widened when you realized what you’d said,
“I -- not like that. You know damn well what I mean,” you made a vague gesture in the air like you were holding a pen and sketching. "You know I'm good with my hands. I freehanded that, didn't I?"
You nodded toward Angel’s arm once more.
“Sí, sí, you’re Frida, after all,” Angel decided not to make a joke at your accidental double-entendre. “It's your hand, but it's also your eye. Your spirit.”
And if Angel was more honest with himself -- and with you -- in that moment, he could have gone on -- “And in your heart, something inscrutable.” Not that he was one for too much, too soon with any woman.
"--But I'm sure you can dance Frida," Angel continued, gently knocking your shoulder with his own as the two of you continued to walk.
"And how would you know that?" You teased. "I'm only left feet." As if to demonstrate your own self-deprecating point, you swung one foot behind yourself in a reverse-kick as you walked, an attempt to softly, jokingly kick Angel’s behind. But you’d woefully miscalculated the height differential between the two of you, your leg not extending high enough to reach its target, causing you to stumble and pitch off-balance.
Angel scooped you in one arm before you could even begin to fall.
“Already tryna kick my ass? Damn, mama, I try to compliment you and this is what I get?”
Angel’s arm was warm around your waist, the result of his successful rescue to keep you from falling. Maybe you were glad with the stunt you’d pulled, if it resulted in him scooping you into his arms like something out of an old movie.
“Yeah, well I may not be able to kick your ass now. But give me time,” your voice had taken on a breathy quality, overwhelmed by Angel’s proximity to you. “But I did tell you I couldn't dance.”
“Whatever that was aside,” Angel shrugged before replying, as simply and matter-of-factly as though he was telling you the sky was blue, “I know you’d be a hell of a dancer.” He gazed down at where you were held against him before continuing,
"How could something about you not be beautiful?"
---
Now, you were squirming in your seat as you sat in one of your favorite restaurants in town, the familiar ambience not enough to assuage your nerves. Not only were you unused to the feeling of the summer dress and heeled wedges you had donned for the first time in your post-Angel months, you were similarly unused to the company.
Even if the man across from you had been the perfect gentleman thus far.
Christopher was suave, sleek in his black button-up and expensive-looking dress pants, tattoo peeking from the buttoned collar of his shirt, adorning his throat in a way you found regal. He was far too overdressed for this mid-level, casual dining. But you figured that on the first few dates, you should keep it light. A cup of coffee here, a quick lunch at a food truck there.
The two of you had met when you were perusing your options, mulling over your selection of the perfect avocado at the supermarket. You didn’t see the man on the other side of the display, reaching for the same fruit as you, and you brushed hands. The two of you chuckled and made light conversation, and then went on your merry errand-running ways. Perhaps it would have ended there if you didn’t see him two days later at the bookstore.
At that point, you had to say something. You took note of the novel in his hands, and by the end of the encounter, he had smoothly asked you to coffee on your next day off. You had liked his firm handshake when he had introduced himself, and the warmth behind his eyes. His smooth voice that sounded like a crime, too suave and beautiful to be legal.
Had the whole thing been a little rom-com for your taste? Sure.
Were you a little afraid to get out there again after the absolute shitshow the last few months had been? No shit, Sherlock.
Were you keenly aware of the way Christopher’s dark eyes danced with mischief the same way Angel’s did? That he had the same keeled, low-pitch to his voice?
Fuck that. You weren’t going to shoot yourself (and someone else) in the foot because you were too busy lugging around heavy, distinctly Angel-shaped baggage. You resolved to give Chistopher an actual chance.
And this was the first time you had sat down indoors together for a prolonged period. The first date-date.
To say Aneesa was ecstatic when you told her about your plans with Christopher would be an understatement.
“Girl, you know he’s gonna treat you. That man is smooth as hell, darling,” she called from the depths of your closet, mocking Christopher’s deep voice that you had relayed to her in your recap of the encounter, while she tossed out dress after dress in her mission to dress you in what she dubbed “the date ‘fit to end all date ‘fits.”
She had outdone herself. You felt gorgeous.
And while there were no homemade sandwiches, and your favorite worn jeans were tucked away at home, you had to admit that Christopher was doing one hell of a job at making you feel wooed. And maybe Aneesa was right when she said that maybe “new” was a good thing.
You and Christopher had laughed your way through dinner. He didn’t talk much about his work, but was very interested in hearing about your job, and seeing photos of finished pieces from your ‘gram.
“Damn, mama, you drew that?” He asked appreciatively. “You got an eye for the beautiful things.”
You felt heat rush through your cheeks and down across your collarbones at his words, preening beneath his smoky praises.
"Well, I'm out with you, aren't I?" You flirted back gently, smiling into your glass of wine.
The easy smirk Christopher rewarded you with was swoon-worthy to say the least.
Who was she? You were impressed with yourself. Gone was the fumbling girl rife with awkward, unintentional double entendre that you were with Angel. This Frida was a smooth motherfucker, making a man like Chris smile.
He, in turn, showed you photos of his son, beaming with pride while he talked about his son’s winning science fair project.
He had confided in you that, normally, talk of a kid on the first date could be a deal-breaker.
“But you seem like the kinda woman who ain’t afraid of an up-front man,” he had said.
If he only knew.
As the date was winding down, Christopher gave you a kiss on the cheek as he departed the table to use the restroom while awaiting the check.
You smiled to yourself, using the moment alone to glance down at your phone, basking in the champagne-warm, fizzy feeling of a date gone well. Of mutual attraction and reciprocal attention. When you looked up and out of the glass doors of the restaurant you saw him. The champagne feeling gone, dousing you like ice-water; as quickly and sharply as it had come, it was gone.
And he saw you, too.
Oh fuck.
Through the glass, Angel appraised your sundress, your makeup, your styled hair. You saw the decision on his face the moment it was made.
He fucking wouldn’t.
Oh, but he fucking would. Ever one to place his heart before his own head, Angel reached for the handle, entering the restaurant and making a beeline for you, past the hostess stand. Until his biker boots carried him to your table, where he noted the napkin tossed on Christopher’s side of the table, the companion chair slightly pulled back.
He glanced at the empty plates on the table before raking his eyes up your crossed legs beneath the table, and up to yours, taking in the blaze resonant in your gaze.
Fuck, you were hot when you were mad.
Not giving him a chance to speak, you piped up first, voice hard and laced with boxcutter edges and vinegar,
“You need to leave, Angel,” you seethed.
It was apparent to Angel, even in his slightly-tipsy haze (you hadn’t caught onto his mild impairment, thank God) just what you were trying to get him away from. You were on a date. And it wasn’t beneath Angel, he would admit, to make you sweat a little. Especially after you had brushed him off a few days ago in the tattoo parlour. Petty as fuck, and he knew it. Coco would certainly have told him so.
He pulled Christopher’s chair back even further from the table, lowering himself and spreading his legs out comfortably, leaning back in his chair, head tilted back obnoxiously to appraise you further.
“You look good, dulce. What’s got you so dressed up and out and about on a Friday night?” He lilted his voice in a crudely teasing way, like he was mocking you for making yourself feel pretty.
You would not let him have this one, too. Not after the shitshow of a patch party. Isn’t it funny how you could barely bring yourselves to look the other in the eyes then? Too afraid to broach feelings, content to instead skate around them with all the grace of Bambi on ice. But this town was too small for you to hide from him for the rest of your life. And you were well-past sheepish aches and pains and trying to spare Angel's feelings; no, you were on the road to well and truly pissed.
The pulse and magnetism between you and Angel was always strong, a source of perpetual warmth for you. But it was you he had left behind, in the whispering grip of a ghost. And you? You refused to be that girl on the clubhouse porch forever.
Now, your blazing eyes met his slightly-glazed, blasé ones.
Was he … drunk?
Fuck this.
“I’m not gonna tell you again, Angel,” you warned. “That isn’t your chair. You can go.”
“‘You can go,'" Angel mimicked your words, echoing what you had said to him just now, and of when he dropped by your shop. He giggled. “Bit of a broken record, Frida. Maybe I’m just here to get dinner?”
You crossed your arms over your chest, tired of Angel’s games, and thinking that Christopher was likely due to return at any moment.
“Then get your food. If that’s what you're here for, it has nothing to do with me. No reason for you to sit here.”
Your usually patient nature was fading fast, the ice Angel had bestowed you with in his departure hardening your demeanor into someone he barely recognized. If he had been more himself, maybe that would have been cause for distress. But he was in petty, childish, drunk-Angel mode. The Angel his brother had often chastised him for being. The Angel his brother had laid into him for being after his behavior at the patch party, leaving you to the proverbial wolves while Andres had insulted you. The Angel who was hurt. Who tended to lash out.
That Angel ever-so-delicately chose to ignore your just-left-of-polite plea for him to leave.
“So, you dressin’ up for dinner with Aneesa? Or … wait… is this a date, amor? You dating? Maybe I’m just tryna to talk to you?”
A cool hand met your shoulder, a protective arm sweeping over you from behind where you sat. Christopher had reappeared, standing protectively over the back of your chair.
“And if it is?” Christopher’s voice was smooth, even and deadly-cool in a way that made you shudder a little.
This was all getting a little “West Side Story” for you. And you had to break it up before something worse could happen. You would not let Angel ruin the first date you had been on since him. Let alone the first decent date.
“It’s OK, Christopher. Angel was just leaving,” you nodded at him in what you’d hoped was a reassuring manner. For his part, Christopher didn’t flinch at Angel’s antics, and didn’t remove his arm from the back of your chair.
“C’mon, Frida. I told you, I just wanted to talk. You can’t give me a few minutes?” Angel’s voice had lost its teasing demeanor, bald and glaring.
You glanced between Angel and Christopher, now thoroughly uncomfortable with the trajectory this night had taken. If Aneesa ever asked, this would be one of the top reasons you’d choose not to date in a small town. Who's dick didn't you step on when you left your house?
You opened your mouth to answer, to politely brush Angel off and resume your date with Christopher, when Christopher surprised you by speaking first.
“Do you want to talk to him, mama?” Christopher’s arm was still resting reassuringly on your shoulder. You glanced between the two again, unsure of what to say.
Your pause seemed to be enough for Christopher, taking in the raw emotion behind your eyes as you looked at the slick, kutte-wearing man that was in his seat. Your hesitation and apparent emotion filling in the gaps about just who this person must be to you.
“Tell you what, darling,” Christopher said, sharp eyes never leaving Angel’s as he spoke to you, “I gotta take a quick call,” Christopher gestured to the sidewalk beyond the glass doors. “I’ll be right out there, give you a few minutes. But if he doesn't leave when you want him to,” he looked directly in Angel’s eyes now, “I’ll be back. I owe you dessert, anyway.”
You swallowed heavily at Christopher’s words, a kind of sick relief washing over you as you nodded. Was he just that understanding? The demeanour around him had an air of what you would describe as … deadly. While his words were a balm to you, they were clearly a threat to Angel. But maybe that was just you being too dramatic. He was a smooth-talker, is all.
Christopher took your nod as acquiescence to his compromise, pecking a quick, light kiss to your cheek and striding casually toward the door. The absence of his warm arm now rendering you unpleasantly naked beneath Angel’s gaze.
“Weeeeeell,” Angel drawled, turning to look over his shoulder, eyes following Christopher as he strode just to the other side of the glass. “That’s who you’re going out with? He. Seems. Nice. Cheerful, too. You sure know how to pick ‘em, querida.”
“Is that really a joke you wanna be making, Angelito?” You sneered. “What the fuck do you want?”
“I told you,” Angel said lightly. “To talk.”
You sighed, rubbing your temples, carelessly dropping the napkin that had been resting on your lap on the table, a not-so-subtle white flag. You looked pointedly at Angel, urging him to continue.
“I meant what I said at the party,” Angel started.
Strike one, Angelito. Mentioning the party was not the way to go.
“Which part did you mean?” You asked, voice taking on a tinge of faux-sweetness. “The part where your hand practically up some girl’s ass the entire night? Or the part where you let that guy shit-talk my work? Or maybe it was the part where after all that, you cornered me with nobody around to tell me you loved me?”
Angel flinched.
“I deserve that,” he said.
Strike two. Too little, too late.
“You deserve more than that, Angel,” you chastised. “And now you’re still trying to take from me. Date-crashing? You tryna fuck this up for me, too? Haven’t you done enough fucking? So, what is it about me that says you can walk all over me? Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?”
Shit. You’d said it at the party, and you were telling yourself again now -- you would not cry in front of Angel. So, why were there hot little slivers poking the corners of your eyes? Your heart felt heavy, sick. It was getting to be a familiar sensation -- like a friend who showed up to crash at the worst possible time.
The appearance of your tears was sobering to Angel. He reached toward your side of the table in an attempt to brush your hand, to offer you some kind of comfort, even though he was the one you wanted to be comforted from.
“No, Angel,” you wiped your cheeks and placed your hands in your lap, out of his reach. “Why aren’t you listening to me? You tell me. How much more could you possibly take from me? There's nothing left,” you shuddered, sucking uneven air between your teeth before gesturing at his state. “I don’t care if you’re drunk, I don’t care if you’re broken. You can’t just walk in here like nothing, trying to tell me the same shit that didn’t land the first time. To what? To give you my heart back when y-you broke it -- broke me -- first? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
Angel was stunned. But, as is the default, Angel deflected. His genuine remorse at your words buried beneath his childish need to lash out, like a child buries toys in a sandbox to spite the friend he won’t share with.
“That's why you're out with that … What was his name? Chad? Tim? Awfully shiny duds that dude had on,” Angel continued, “He's so… not me."
Strike. Fucking. Three.
"Possibly one of his best qualities," you snipped, venomously. “But this isn’t about him, and don’t act like it is. You keep trying this thing where you just want me to hear your broken record bullshit about how you want me back, how you wanna talk. But then you don’t say any shit of substance And you certainly don’t hear a goddamn word I say back to you. That tells me you aren’t really ready to talk. And you don’t give a shit if I’m ready, either,” you bit. “I tried, Angel. To tell you a little bit of what I’m feeling? You don’t wanna hear it. You just want me to hear you -- even if you say nothing.”
A little flurry of movement caught the corner of your eye, turning your head to see the waiter hovering awkwardly, clearly confused that the man sitting across from you was not the man he had seen you with all evening.
You pushed back from your seat, standing and beckoning for the waiter to come over.
"He's got the check," you gestured at Angel.
You patted Angel’s leather-clad shoulder as you walked past him, toward the door. “Thanks, amor. Real classy of you, paying for a girl’s date, and all.”
Ice cold.
You walked out of the restaurant as Christopher hung up his phone, turning to see the door swinging shut behind you, and you walking toward him. His sharp brow arched questioningly at your sudden appearance, opening his mouth to ask about the bill.
“It’s taken care of,” you breezed before he could ask, “Let’s go. You said something about ice cream?” You looped your arm through his as the two of you made your way down the block.
Inside the restaurant, Angel’s phone buzzed with a text from Coco asking him where the fuck he was, and what the fuck he was doing.
But his mind was swimming. The verbal truths you’d laid into him wriggling beneath his skin to take residence in the part of his brain that kept him up at night.
He looked down at his texts again. He honestly didn’t know how to answer.
---
Then, after a bad night, there was nothing more you wanted than to see Angel, his presence always a balm to your frazzled nerves. His easy, (at times) childlike demeanor was refreshing, and brought a light into your day that you now realized had been long missing before you had moved down here.
You were sitting on the couch in your living room, feet up on your coffee table, wearing your favorite joggers and oversized tee, the epitome of comfort.
You had a crappy reality TV show on in the background while you tilted your head back, sheetmask on, the cooling gel seeping into your pores. Cleansing your face and your soul.
You had texted Angel to come over. After this shit-show of a day, you could use the company. You understood it was late. You understood he may not be able to come over right away -- club shit. And wasn’t there always?
“Hasta pronto, Frida,” his last text had read. See you soon.
That was over 45 minutes ago. You were antsy. You’d had a long day. Some dude at a consultation had rubbed you the wrong way -- the two of you not communicating your respective ideas together well. The idea that your artist’s brain couldn’t match his vision to deliver something itched at you, wrinkled your brain. You’d had no choice but to refer him to Oli. On top of that, he’d been leery with you.
Your hands were tired, the fine bones in your fingers aching. And you sure as shit didn’t want to answer any more emails or DMs. You just wanted to lie here, sheetmask on. Unbothered. Your boyfriend’s presence would be a bonus, but he was late.
Somewhere between your next episode of “90 Day Fiancee” and your umpteenth sigh, you heard it -- the telltale rumble of Angel’s bike making its way down your otherwise quiet street.
At the gentle rap on your door, you solidified your puddle of comfortable bones long enough to slip off of your couch and make your way down the hall, unlatching it and opening the door, only to be greeted with the rapidly-horrified face of your boyfriend.
“Jesus fuck!” Angel yelped.
Your body jolted at the shock of his shout, hand coming to your chest.
“Sorry, Frida, didn’t mean to scare you, but…” he gestured at your face. “What the fuck is that?”
Oh.
You brought your hand up to where the silvery-grey sheetmask was still resting atop your skin. You sighed, peeling the mask from your face slowly, revealing your dewy skin beneath.
“Sorry about that,” you chuckled, your heartbeat returning to normal.
You turned and made your way back down the hall, beckoning for Angel to follow, which he did, shutting the door of your place behind him.
“Sorry about that,” you called over your shoulder as you tossed the mask in the trash beneath your sink. “I kinda forgot it was there.”
“Not for nothing, Frida, but that’s a hell of a home defense system.”
At the question in your eyes, Angel continued, kicking his boots off and shuffling his way into your living room.
“If any serial killer ever shows up to fuck with you? All you gotta do is answer the door like that. He’ll think another murderer is already here,” at that he sucked air thorugh his teeth like Hannibal Lecter. “Hellooooo, Clarice,” he mimicked, laughing at his own joke and popping the button on his jeans to make himself comfortable as he slouched on the couch.
“Bien,” you agreed, between a flurry of giggles. “Too many cooks in the kitchen, and all that. Brilliant, Angelito.”
You popped open your freezer to grab your jade roller, subsequently grabbing Angel a beer from the fridge.
“Sorry I’m late,” Angel called from the other room. “Club shit ran long. Plus, you sounded kinda down when you messaged me. So I had to make a stop.”
You peeked into the living room in time to see Angel pull a crinkling plastic bag of mini peanut butter cups from the deep pocket of his kutte, plopping the bag onto the coffee table. “I come bearing gifts.”
You smiled to yourself in the kitchen, pleased as punch with Angel’s thoughtful gesture. You popped the cap on Angel’s beer, turning to bring the drink to him, simultaneously rolling the jade over your face in your other hand.
“Gracias, amor,” he accepted the beer from you. “What’s this now?” He beckoned at the roller in your hands.
“It’s to help rub the product from the mask into my skin, plus it’s nice and cold -- keeps my face from getting puffy,” you explained.
“I don’t understand why you females think you need alla that shit,” he said, taking a sip of your beer, turning his attention to your TV. Not that he would ever admit it, but he was following along the trainwreck of season six of “90 Day Fiancee” with you. Had his own couples he loved to hate.
“We females,” you emphasized, “just aren’t afraid to prioritize self care, unlike you big, bad bikers. Seriously, Angelito, when was the last time you washed your face with something other than hand soap, or --” you gave an exaggerated shudder to drive home your point, “that shitty 16-in-one body wash/engine oil I know you keep in your shower.”
Angel gave your shoulder a teasing little shove, ”Man, shut up. I bring you chocolate, and this is how you treat me?”
Flirtation and sexual chemistry come easy to Angel. He was always blessed with an easy social grace, and women seemed to eat up the flirtatious attention. But anything more serious, and he becomes a blushing little boy, all shuffling feet, nervous smiles and awkward stuttering. There was some of that with you, he wouldn’t lie. But with you? Everything had a way of feeling so natural.
“Oh, gracias, beautiful, generous, benevolent Angelito, god among men,” your voice was dramatic, teasing, you mocked bowing to him.
“Okay, that’s enough outta you,” you grabbed your wrist, tugging you into his lap, tracing tickling fingers up your sides, causing you to writhe, shrieking through chiming laughter.
Angel’s beer long-abandoned on the coffee table, your jade roller now dropped somewhere on the floor, you gazed into Angel’s face from your place reclining across his lap, chest heaving with the exertion of being tickled and laughing too much.
For his part, Angel was looking down at you, brow softened in fondness for the woman before him, lightly trailing his hand along your cheeks.
No one was laughing now, and the noise of the TV became an unimportant, staticky hum somewhere in the background to the moment you and Angel found yourselves in.
You don’t know how you ended up beneath Angel on your couch. You were even less certain just when the two of you had absconded with your clothes.
All you knew was that the heavy drag of him inside of you was resplendent, beyond words. Was it always like this with him?
And you? You were a brazen little thing, all gasping moans and dragging fingernails, urging Angel on with pleas and fluttering lashes. Your dedication to marking Angel’s back was admirable, and it’s not like he could honestly say he minded. He’d bear the battlescars of a night with you for eternity, if he could.
As Angel thrust into you, all you could think about -- beyond the heated urgency of the way he was making you feel, was that he was perfect.
The two of you basked in the after, awash in the blue-white glow of the TV screen still playing before you, skin now slightly sweaty and glistening in its own right, catching your breath together. The synchronicity of it all … music to you.
You were both unfocused in your respective gaze’s on the television, just content to lie next to one another. Angel was stretched out on the couch behind you, unwrapping peanut butter cups, handing them to you piece by piece. This last one, he had pressed directly to your lips, which you had wrapped around the tips of his fingers, tongue following, as you accepted the candy.
“Don’t start, Frida. I don’t know that I have the strength,” Angel said, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
“Just once more, Angelito? You know I’ve had a hard day,” you hmm’d.
“Evil woman,” he chuckled, reaching for you again.
“You love it,” you gasped at the feeling of his fingers making their way once more to your center.
“Yeah,” he rasped, eyes trained on your face as he played your body. “I fuckin’ do.”
Somewhere between rounds two and three, you had managed to talk Angel into wearing a face mask of his own, promising that he would “feel so much better for it.”
He had acquiesced, of course, never able to tell you no. But made you promise under pain of death that you would never reveal that he had done something so girly to any one of his brothers.
You had agreed, but taken out your phone to snap a quick pic. Angel shirtless, tattoos illuminated against his skin in the ambient lighting of your living room, with a sheet mask on his face was too good not to capture.
“I swear, Frida,” he began, mock-threateningly, “If that ends up on the ‘gram…”
You shook your head.
“Don’t worry, Angelito. This one’s just for me. And… maybe for Coco, if I’ve had enough tequila.”
So, the butterflies… Always gonna be there with you, huh?
---
A few days after your date, Coco had texted you.
“Leti needs a ride to work on Tuesday, and I have a yard shift. I hate to ask, but can you take her?”
“Sure,” you’d agreed. Following up with another message, “Do I pick her up from your place?”
“She’s coming with me to the yard. She likes to hang in the office with Chucky,” he’d responded.
Well, shit.
If you’d known that this favor had come with the condition that you return to the yard -- to anywhere within the vicinity of that god-forsaken clubhouse, you probably would have refused. But you knew Coco was struggling to balance his club life with his relationship with his daughter. And you liked Leti.
“You got it,” you responded. Cringing to yourself at just how you were going to pull this off and get out of there without anyone else talking to you. But texting Coco back to ask who else was on the yard shift with him would be too obvious. And kinda rude. He knew who you were hoping to avoid.
Not much got past Johnny “Coco” Cruz.
So, Tuesday afternoon found you rolling over to the yard, hoping to swoop Leti and make a quick getaway.
Luck, like time, was a bitch of a woman. And never seemed to be on your side in the keen moments you’d hoped she would be. Because as you pulled your car into the dusty lot abutting the scrapyard, who do you see?
Coco, in his snapback and yard uniform, was laboring with a large piece of metal. Ezekiel appeared to be fluttering in and out of the clubhouse, the clinking of glasses from inside reaching your ears when the door opened.
Angel and … of fucking course … Andres were across the yard from Coco, standing over a junker and exchanging words.
You sighed, rolling your shoulders and steeling yourself for whatever this was about to be as you got out of your car.
The sound of your door opening and shutting was enough to draw nearly every eye in the yard to you, Angel freezing in his spot from the other side of the lot
As you began to stride over to where Coco was standing, EZ bound down from the clubhouse steps, intercepting you and greeting you with a warm hug. You smiled easily at the younger Reyes brother, holding your hand up to your eyes to shade your face as you looked up at his smiling face, him already talking to you a mile-a-minute.
From across the yard, Angel observed the interaction. After you’d met the club initially, and met EZ, Angel was content to say that he could appreciate how well you got along with everyone. How well-liked you were by each of the men, especially his brother.
You two discussed literature, art, and liked to talk shit to each other, friendship in its purest form. Somewhere between Faust and the floodgates, Angel had watched on as you spilled over in your excitement speaking to EZ. Faust and Proust. Did Angel know what -- or was it who?? -- the fuck a "Faust" was? No. But he'd drown himself in literary references that already made him feel over his head if it meant he got to sit back and just take in how well you'd gelled with his family, with Ezekiel. In another life he supposed he'd be jealous that you had so much in common with his brother. But you didn't look at Ezekiel the way you looked at him.
Even Angel could see it. And if he couldn’t, Coco was quick to remind him.
“She only got eyes for you, mano,” Coco had told him, quietly, resolutely.
EZ had left you now, gone back to the clubhouse for something. As you made your way to Coco, hugging him in spite of his obvious hesitance.
Angel heard him protest against your attentions -- “I’m covered in grease, ma.”
You’d hugged him anyway. He’d melted into your embrace, smiling softly. Angel had confided to Coco that he had seen you a few days ago on a date. Coco’s eyes had clouded over with something as Angel spoke, but passed through his features quickly, like a summer storm, before clearing. Resuming listening to Angel. The conversation… hadn’t gone well.
“Back again, huh?” Andres had said from Angel’s side, gesturing lightly to where you stood with Coco. He nudged Angel’s side. “You taking another crack at that?”
Angel ignored his question.
“I think she’s here to pick up Coco’s kid,” he said simply, turning his attention back to the junker. Choosing to stay out of the situation, as Andres had left the car and was now striding across the lot to you.
“No hug for me, jaina?”
You’d frozen in place at the voice behind you, Coco’s quicksilver eyes darting to over your shoulder, where Andres now stood, narrowing at the man’s question.
You recovered quickly.
“Sorry,” you breezed, turning to face Andres. Noting the way his panther tattoo peeked out from the tank the man was wearing. You would never say you hated any piece you did, per se. But you weren’t about to post this one, wanting no association with it, or the man who bore it. Even if it was perfectly fine work. “Coco really was covered in grease. It’s pretty gross. I think I’m good,” you diverted, nudging Coco’s ribs and smiling to ease the tension.
Andres shrugged, the blow to his pride obvious in the way his face twisted and his eyes narrowed at how closely you stood to the lithe ex-military man next to you.
Coco eased through the conversation, patting your arm comfortingly, his eyes finding yours as he spoke, “I’mma go get Leti, OK? I’ll be right back.”
You were a little distraught at the idea that Coco would leave you with this man, knowing how he had spoken to you before. But you supposed if he could hurry this interaction along and go get his daughter, it might not be so bad.
“So,” you turned, schooling your facial features into a mask of cool indifference as you faced Andres, who was now addressing you. “We didn’t get to finish what we started the other night,” was all he said.
“Didn’t we?” You asked, tilting your head, nodding toward Andres’s tattoo. “I think we finished. It healed nicely.”
Andres rolled his eyes a little at you, as though you were slow.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He took a step toward you.
Was this guy for real? Was he not getting it, or did he just not care?
You took a step in kind back from Andres, your anger flaring. “So what did you mean?” you asked. “You mean the bit before I gave you free ink, where you insulted my work? Or the bit after I gave you free ink, where you just insulted me?”
You could see the faint twitch in Andres’s face as you called him out. His patience clearly wearing thin. A man not used to hearing no when it was told to him.
“That’s what I always liked about you,” he gritted out, smiling fakely, “you got that reaaaal fiery attitude. Not just any guy would put up with it,” he said, as though he was trying to give you advice.
“I dunno what you mean by ‘always,’” you said, politely, your own fake smile screwed into place. “If you excuse me, I’m gonna go find Leti.”
As you made to leave, Andres lunged forward, gripping your wrist.
"You really don't remember me?" Andres pressed, "C'mon, chiquita, don't be like that."
"I really don't," you snipped, whipping your wrist out of his grip. You were a little shorter with him than you usually were with people, even in your more frustrated moments. But he really was pissing you off. "Sorry if that's a blow to the ego, or whatever, but I didn't really make it a habit of looking at other guys when I was with someone else."
Andres snorted, tone no longer teasing, eyes dark and flat. You turned to face him again at the undignified sound he had made, noting his cool, angry features.
"If only that 'someone else' had shown you the same courtesy," he snarled, swatting at your wrist now instead of reaching for it.
"Hey, man, leave her the fuck alone." You turned to see EZ and Coco striding across the yard with Leti in tow, making their way toward you. Out of the corner of your eye, Angel was also making his way over, shoulders tense.
EZ turned to you, taking in your crestfallen expression and the way you were suddenly very interested in your shoes.
"You okay, hermanita?" EZ asked, large hand gentle on your shoulder.
You nodded, sheepishly. Hating the way you seemed so small in that moment. This man was nothing, to you, or otherwise. And he’d managed to make you feel like you were nothing, too.
You tried to find your voice again as you spoke, quiet at first, “Andres was just apologizing to me for the way he was rude at the patch party,” you turned to look at him, your eyes blazing now, “weren’t you?”
Coco snorted.
Andres narrowed his eyes, glaring at Coco, who held up his hands as if to say, “what can ya do?”
“Best apologize,” Coco rasped, now pulling on a cigarette that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. “One does not fuck with Frida,” Coco exhaled. “Unwise, mano.” He gestured to you, “She’s got that scary tia energy.”
EZ’s hand was still resting protectively on your shoulder as you crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for Andres’s apology, now that you’d put him on the spot in front of his brother. Angel watched the entire exchange like a snake coiled to strike.
He knew he had fucked up by not saying shit as Andres dug at you at the patch party. It had been roiling beneath his skin, his blood bubbling and waiting to burst forth. Waiting for a chance to put the fucker in his place.
“Yeah,” Andres gritted through his teeth, fake smile ready to crack at any moment. “Sorry about that. Too much to drink, and all.” His voice was flat. Devoid of any real remorse, as you knew it would be.
“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I hope you enjoy the ink. It’s the last you’ll be getting from me.”
Andres’s eye twitched before the dam broke on his childish rage, “Why you gotta be such a fuckin’ bitch? No wonder Angel fucked around on you -- that smart-ass mouth is gonna get you slapped.”
He made to step toward you again, EZ and Coco stood before you, protectively, blocking you from Andres’s approach.
But Andres could reach you, Angel had gripped his shoulder, turning him around and landing a punch square to his jaw.
“Man, what the fuck,” Andres swore, spitting a wad of blood at the toe of Angel’s boot. “What the fuck did you hit me for?”
Angel cracked his knuckles, shaking his wrist and his hand out from the impact of his hit to Andres’s face, readying himself to strike again if he needed to.
“You don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that,” he squared up, shoving Andres in the shoulder. “Listen to me, new patch. I’ll explain the rules -- you don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. You don’t even think about her.”
Angel’s shoulders were heaving as he worked himself up more, stalking toward Andres, like a jungle cat, coiled muscle beneath his skin ready to unleash.
“Nod so I know you understand,” he bellowed in Andres’s direction, pointing a thick finger accusingly into his face, rewarded with Andres's curt nod.
EZ gently removed himself from your side, coming to grab Angel and whisper into his ear, calming him.
“Hey, man,” EZ reasoned, “Now’s not the time. You guys can settle this later. Cage.”
Angel nodded, breathing heavily through his nostrils and willing himself to calm down as he turned to you, locking eyes with you again, only to be met with an imperceptible look on your face. Had he fucked this up even further now? You had never looked at him like that.
You shook your head, breaking the moment and stepping from behind Coco to go meet Leti where she was standing a comfortable distance away from the whole scene.
“We gotta go,” you said, hurriedly grabbing Leti’s hand and marching off toward your car with the girl in tow.
You buckled yourselves in and drove away from the lot in a cloud of dust. Hoping you could just leave it all behind. The further you got from the gates, the easier you could breathe. You drove in silence, as Leti watched you, assessing. Before she broke the silence.
"We all miss you, you know," Leti said, softly, from her place in the passenger seat. "Just because Angel let you go doesn't mean we wanted to lose you, too. And fuck Andres. He’s a fuckin’ clown."
Leti's words were a wave of molten-hot guilt washing over you, burning your synapses and hardening over any residual anger and sadness you'd felt over the confrontation that had just happened. You knew some of what Leti had been through. How she, so like yourself, was reticent to form bonds with new people. How she'd routinely felt abandoned by those she let herself care about -- and you felt you'd now done the same.
"I'm so sorry, Leti," you implored, looking into the girl’s doe eyes, flecked with amber-gold and layered with wisdom and emotion. Her gaze heavy and so like her father’s. Nothing slipped past them. "I never meant to hurt you, to leave you."
"I-it's just … I miss you, is all," she murmured, twisting her long hair around her finger. "I know EZ misses you. He talks about you all the time. And … and my dad, too. Coco doesn't talk about it alot, but I think that says more than if he tried to put it in words. I know for a fact he misses you. Was pretty pissy with Angel for a while after everything went down."
You smiled gently, leaning forward across the console to give Leti a soft hug.
“I really am sorry, Leti. I promise I’ll be around more,” you broke the hug, rubbing her arm as you pulled away. “You and Coco are welcome to come over for dinner anytime. I’ll cook for you. Just tell Coco no smoking in the house, cierto? And don’t tell Coco I said so, but you can come hang with me in the shop, if you want. Been slow lately. You can come do homework someplace quiet..”
She chuckled lightly, nodding and promising to text you about coffee plans as she got out of the car.
You mulled over Leti’s words as you drove away. Maybe cutting everyone other than Aneesa out flatly wasn't the way to go. It's possible you had made a mistake there, though it's not like Leti hadn't confirmed that she understood why you did what you did. And it's not like other people wouldn't have done the same in your shoes. Even still, perhaps re-cracking open the "Angel" chapter of your life had its benefits, if only to once more let in the friends you had made along the way.
Your departing words to Leti ringing in your ears long after you’d parked at home,
"I'll reach out to the guys more, too," you confirmed. "I didn't mean to leave everyone hanging."
I know you, you're like this. When shit don't go your way, you needed me to fix it.
And like me, I did, but I ran out of every reason.
---
The cracks of the next morning’s light streaming through the slats on his window were barely perceptible to Angel in his haze. The kind of stupor that comes when you’ve effectively straddled the line between two worlds -- Angel reluctantly bids farewell to the gentle caress of sleep, even if it was imperfect and restless; and begrudgingly greets the world of the waking, frowning beneath a heavily-furrowed brow at the grey-orange sun.
Through the warming beams of light that streamed in isolated splashes across his skin and the bedspread, he could still imagine, half in dreams, that the warmth was you curled beside him, all soft curves, your thigh slotted between his, your sleep-mussed hair, his shirt riding up your form just so as you snoozed, and oh, your sweet, half-awake smiles. But the alternating cool spots of shade from the slats were the chilly reminder of your absence, of the ghost of your touch long gone cold. And as Angel shook himself more evermore awake and into the latter world, he wished he could return to the amorphous and hazy, staticky embrace of his dreams.
Where life was a little more kind. Where there was a little more you. You were haunting him. Did memories, both experienced in your past together and the hypothetical potential “memories” of an unmet future, plague you, as well? Never to be? Did you dream of him? Or was he your nightmare? He supposed he’d never know, and knew had given up the right to ask.
Put myself to sleep, just so I can get closer to you inside my dreams ...
It was a truth that was bitter, acrid, and hard to swallow. Or was that just his morning breath? Angel licked his lips, tasting the post-sleep stale dryness on his tongue, pushing himself out his side of the bed and toward the door -- for coffee or his toothbrush, he hadn’t decided. But the need to make a decision was cut short with an unexpected event--
A pounding at his door. Three raps from a heavy fist on the other side of his shitty apartment’s excuse for a door.
“Angel!” The shout through the wooden barrier that followed the persistent banging was unmistakably his obnoxious younger brother, come to pester him about what had gone down yesterday. Likely with a peace offering of some sort, as was EZ’s way.
Angel sighed, rolling his neck to both sides until he was satisfied with the resulting crack, not bothering to tug on a shirt or socks as he padded his way through the cool, empty apartment.
He fixed his signature scowling look of annoyance that EZ was so accustomed to to his face before swinging open the door.
One of EZ’s bearpaw-like fists was still raised, fixed to rap against the door again if necessary. The other clutched a carrier with two to-go cups of coffee from EZ’s favorite shop. The one down the street from yours. The one with the cute barista.
EZ, for his part, looked a little sheepish at the exaggeratedly grumpy look on his older brother’s face, his gilded, mossy eyes widening in a show of good-natured surprise. He recovered quickly, shouldering his way into Angel’s apartment, placing the to-go carrier with Angel’s coffee on his coffee table and flopping on one end of Angel’s couch, the leather giving a groan beneath his weight.
“By all means, bro, make yourself at fuckin’ home,” Angel groused, smacking his lips and turning to swipe the cup of coffee off of the table.
“You’re welcome,” EZ smarted, eyebrows raised at Angel guzzling the fresh coffee like the heat was nothing. What was it you had called it?
Ah, asbestos mouth. EZ had heard the moniker pass through your lips on more than one occasion and found it to be apt as applied to his taciturn older brother.
“So,” Angel said between sips of nuclear caffeine. “What? Any particular reason you’re banging on my door at ...” Angel trailed off, clearly unsure what time it actually was.
“At 11:00 a.m.?” EZ supplied, sarcastically, “You’re right, Angel. It’s practically dawn.”
“Man, shut up,” Angel groused, “What do you want?”
“Who says I want anything,” EZ asked?
“This coffee’s got a string attached to it,” Angel shrugged, shuffling over to the couch and sitting a respectable distance from his annoying younger brother.
“We gotta talk about yesterday,” EZ supplied, finishing his sentence over Angel’s exaggerated groan and eye-rolling.
“Wasn’t the point of yesterday that it’s done, little brother?”
“Between you and Andres, maybe,” EZ said. “But not between you and me. After that shit you pulled at brunch with Gaby a few days ago, and now this, with Frida...”
Angel took another sip of his coffee, his annoyance doubling at the increasingly lighter weight of the cup in his hands and at his brother’s pestering.
“So, what? You wanna try and beat the shit outta me, too?” Angel asked. “Didn’t work out so well for Andres, did it?”
“Look, Angel, I’m not trying to say I understand why you did what you did, fucking with Frida and Adelita. Because I don’t. And I gotta be honest -- after how yesterday went down, I understand it even less. And Coco agrees with me --”
“Oh, great,” Angel rolled his eyes, cutting his brother off. “You gotta stop going to the Church of Coco, man. What’d he tell you this time?”
“That you’re fucking your way through your pain,” EZ parroted, mimicking Coco’s signature throaty breeze, “and you won’t stop until you feel something,” he shrugged, resuming his normal voice as he continued. “I don’t know about alla that, but --”
"It was too … domestic," Angel cut EZ off, shaking his head, more at himself than his brother. "Can you really see me with all that shit? Drinking coffee in bed together on a Sunday morning until we're old? Nah, bro … that ain't me. Adelita, the chaos. That's me."
"It could be you, Angel," EZ protested. "The only person saying you can't have the Sunday coffee life is you."
“I'd just… I'd just fuck it up,” Angel sighed, dropping his forehead into his palm, his elbow on his knee.
EZ continued drinking his coffee, pausing before delivering the blow.
“I got news for you, bro,” he said between his prim little sips. “You did fuck it up.”
Angel tch’d in annoyance at his brother, carding his hands through his hair and smoothing the thick strand that seemed to always threaten to fall over his eyes. For good measure, he tossed EZ that wicked side-eye only that only Angel and his mother had ever been able to truly perfect.
“You think I don’t know that? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
Angel takes another pull of his coffee, now just the overly-concentrated dregs at the bottom of the cup, lightly grimacing at the beverage’s bitterness. EZ knew Angel took his coffee black, of course it would be the kind of thing his little brother would remember. But, in truth, given the way this conversation was turning, the literal sensation of bitterness on his tongue was almost too much for Angel to bear. He’d almost preferred it if EZ had forgotten his order -- watered the drink down with cream and (dare he say it?) sugar, and called it a day. Because at least it would be easier to swallow than the harsh truths and bile that were currently stewing inside of Angel, waiting to be given a voice. And it didn’t seem that EZ was in any kind of charitable mood when it came to pulling punches, either.
Angel took in his brother’s profile from his perched place at the end of the couch: EZ’s legs were spread in a show of comfort, but shoulders tensed, like he was waiting to fight Angel every step of the way, no matter where this conversation was headed. Angel supposed he’d deserved that.
For as fiercely protective as little Ezekiel was of his big brother, he was -- annoyingly so -- protective of the woman he’d dubbed his hermanita. A soft spot for you, the artsy girl with ink-stained fingers who would press lent books into his baby brother’s hands insistently, all the books you could bear to part with. Always there for Ezekiel with a patient ear and arms that would do their best to wrap around his broad shoulders.
Angel was struck again with the heavy weight-- the sinking stone in his gut that -- in theory-- should pull him to the bottom of the river he found himself awash in. Drowning is a sort of grounding, yes? But no… he just drifted further and further down the bank, carried in the foaming rapids by the pressing weight of his choices. In addition to that weight, his guilt prickled. Once again with the realization that his decisions had affected not only his love with you, but your relationship with Ezekiel, as well. How incredibly short-sighted he'd been with it all, playing fast and loose with the lives of everyone he'd loved.
Angel sighed before he spoke again,
“No one ever tells you, do they?” EZ perked up at that, looking at his brother with his brows furrowed in puppylike-confusion.
“No one ever tells you just how insecure it all makes you feel,” Angel supplied. “Love. They write a million songs about how perfect it all is -- how it’s supposed to be some kind of divine answer. Birds singing, an’ shit. Or they talk about how it rips your fuckin’ heart out, but they…” Angel pauses to chuckle, “They never tell you how when you’ve got it, you feel both so… happy it’s yours. But terrified at the same time that it never. Really. Belongs to you.”
He shook his head, meeting his brother’s eyes again, his own swimming with the glimmer of emotion long-kept down. EZ leaned across the couch, placing a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, nodding at him in acquiescence, encouragement to keep going.
“I-I know what I did, and I know everyone wants an answer… Why did I do it? Why-why did I let it all go down like that? But what answer would ever be good enough? I hurt her, and that’s the end of it. I was fuckin’ stupid, all because I was scared. I had her, and I knew I shouldn’t have had her at all. And I’m just so fuckin’ … sorry.”
He sighed, breath shuddering. Opting to fill the now-still air in his apartment with another bitter slug of shitty coffee while EZ pondered what to say in response.
EZ shifted on the couch, leather creaking beneath him as he weighed what to tell his brother.
“I- I don’t know what the answer here is, Angel,” EZ finally admitted. “I get that it’s scary. Fuck yeah, it is. But that’s no excuse --”
“I know that,” Angel snapped.
EZ held his hands up in surrender, placating the red dragon-heat that was his brother’s quick temper before it could rise.
“I know you do,” EZ spoke softly, “I know, man. But it’s not that simple. You should probably tell her, ya know? What you just told me. But even if you did, she’d be within her right not to hear it. Or not to want to fix shit with you, or take your apology. And you? Gotta accept it.”
EZ brushed imaginary dirt from the thigh of his jeans before speaking again,
“Sucks,” he sighed through his nose. “I dunno if I’d be madder at her for taking you back or for not taking you back. But, uh, even if she doesn’t, that doesn’t mean you won’t find it again, Angel. You just gotta decide whether you wanna try here -- and accept the outcome no matter what she decides. You owe her that. But one thing’s for sure … you should actually try talkin’ to her.”
Angel had the faraway look in his eye of a man either deep in thought, or someone not listening entirely, staring through the far wall as EZ had spoken to him. Maybe he didn’t look it, but he’d heard every word, turning them over again in his mind before swallowing them somewhere deep in his gut, internalizing wisdom from someone who was younger than him, but who’d undoubtedly lived through more than most people. EZ was good for that kind of bereft wisdom -- disconnected in its logic coming from someone like EZ, but completely sensical when you understood the depth of the boy’s character and empathy. Not for the first time in his life, Angel was grateful for Ezekiel.
He smiled weakly at his little brother, acceptance cracking through the little cracked crescent grin, “Mom would’ve liked her, huh?”
EZ smiled at his brother in return, facile and genuine, as only Ezekiel’s grins could be.
---
I swear, for a while I would stare at my phone just to see your name, but now that it's there, I don't really know what to say…
Across town, EZ had left Angel’s, and the latter, now alone in his apartment and buzzing with EZ's words, was typing a text to you. And here you are … looking down at your phone between gathering your laundry and stacking clean dishes. You saw Angel’s name pop up next to the little text bubble on your homescreen, causing you to pause in your chores.
Huh. Unexpected Should you open it?
After everything that had gone down yesterday at the scrapyard, and the shitty attempt a few days prior to fuck up your date-- were you ready now to have the conversation you knew you and Angel were dancing around for the better part of several months? Ready to breach the seemingly impenetrable wall of silence? Feelings like the ones you held for Angel had a way of not being able to stay buried for too long. And you knew you could never truly move on, never would be able to give the icy shards wedged between your ribs and into your heart a chance to heal. Not unless you and Angel got it all out into the open.
And with the circumstances the way they were, with everything that had gone down -- how many women in your position could say they'd had the same opportunity?
How did the old saying go? What three things cannot long be hidden? The sun. The moon. And the truth.
The truth was, to you, the sun and moon rose and set on Angel.
The truth was, you had bitten off a few barbs and spat them at Angel in the few moments you’d shared with him since he tossed you from his apartment all those months ago. You weren't a perfect person. But it’s damn well what he deserved, after what he did. You weren’t wrong about that. The fact that everyone, and Angel’s father, were angry at him for the way things had gone down told you that you were not the one in the wrong.
The truth was, Angel had fucked up. Not only with his infidelity and the way he had tipped you from his life, with blunt hands tearing haphazardly at the roots… but he had insulted you, your work, and stood idly by and allowed others to do the same.
He knew it, and you knew it. And you had both been petty.
But now that the wound was open, and the skin around it raw and heated, pulsing with its own heartbeat -- how could you ever give it a chance to heal if you didn't try to close it?
There was nothing saying that if you read Angel’s message, if you heard him out, and you got the chance to say your own piece, that you had to forgive him. And if it meant moving on? Maybe it was the step you needed to take.
Like burning a candle to the end. Or, yes, wrapping a wound. Or perhaps like covering an old tattoo. Clara Forever?
You unlocked your phone, sliding open your texts, taking a deep breath as you did so.
“I just wanted you to know I heard what you said,” Angel’s text read. “I do wanna talk to you, Frida. But only when you’re ready to talk to me. If you ever are. I just want to hear you out. Even if I know you never have to accept my apology.”
Well.
You looked down at your phone. You read Angel's text. Re-read it.
You'd be lying to yourself if you didn't acknowledge that everything that had gone down hadn't been building to this.
You brought your thumbs to the glass, beginning to type,
"I'm off tomorrow at six. You can come by after."
There. Short, sweet, and to the point.
Your phone pinged in your hand. Glancing down at it, you saw two words in response,
"Gracias, Frida."
"Don't thank me yet."
You put your phone down flat on the counter.
The truth was, you still loved Angel Reyes. And you weren't sure whether your rage outweighed your ardor. And this scared the shit out of you.
When Angel rolled up the next day at ten after six, you were slightly annoyed. In the beginning of your relationship, he had been incredibly punctual, likely borne out of eagerness to see you. As time wore on, Angel's timeliness waned. At the time, you had assumed it had everything to do with his commitments to the club, and had remained understanding. With the benefit of hindsight, however, you now knew that it likely wasn't always the club.
You didn't know anything about Adelita, save for her relationship to Angel. And you intended to keep it that way. But a nastier part of your brain was intensely curious.
Did she make Angel laugh? Was she smarter than you? Prettier than you? She had to be beautiful, just like Angel was beautiful. The thought made your heart ache.
When she kissed Angel, did she taste your lips on his? Did she know about you now? Did she hold more of Angel's heart than you had?
If you were more like her, would Angel have chosen you?
You knew you wouldn't ask Angel any of these questions -- what did they always say? Don't ask something you don't really want the answers to?
You slept easier at night keeping the idea of Adelita just that -- an amorphous, question mark-shaped idea. Knowing Angel's part in it all was more than enough.
Easier. You said you slept easier. Not well. You dreamt of Angel far too often to say you slept well. You dreamt of the feel of his hair between your fingers, both in a gentle and comforting pass, and in the harsh tugging borne of passion. You dreamt of the feel of his warm skin against yours. You dreamt of days spent swimming in the ocean, him lifting you up to twirl you through the water, like a sea sprite, a deity meant to be worshipped. Perhaps most cruelly, you sometimes dreamt of a future. Your memories blended with your dreams at the cruel, twisting hands of hazy sleep. Never to be.
And when Angel arrived at your place shortly after you had returned home from closing the shop, your gut, your brain, and your heart were all writhing in their own respective dances, never in sync with one another, and rendering your nerves completely fried.
You opened the door, beckoning Angel in. You stopped yourself from moving to help remove the kutte from his shoulders and hanging it by the door, freezing your hands in the middle of raising to do just that, dropping them awkwardly by your sides again.
If Angel noticed, he hadn't said anything.
He shuffled into your place, likely surveying what had changed since he had last been there. To his surprise? Not much. You still had candles everywhere, casting everything in a warm glow. Your overstuffed chairs were still draped in cozy blankets and piled with brightly-patterned throw pillows. The bookcase in the corner of your living room was still packed to the edges, stacks of additional books on the floor at the foot. Your potted green plants made the room look simultaneously larger and smaller. Your dedication to maximalism was admirable.
You loved what you loved, even if you didn't have the space. In your heart, or otherwise.
Angel breathed in the familiar cinnamon-orange scent that was your place, its permanent residence in his mind sending a zip through his heart.
You shuffled past Angel, into your living room and making your way toward the kitchen, offering Angel a drink, which he declined.
You shrugged. "Suit yourself."
You made your way into the kitchen, opening a cabinet that Angel knew contained a precarious tower of stacked coffee mugs. Like a personal game of Jenga only you could win, you plucked your desired mug, and closed the cabinet before the dangerous clinking of the remaining mugs could turn disastrous.
You prepared a cup of tea while Angel stood at the carpeted edge of your living room, unsure of just how comfortable he was allowed to make himself in this space that -- while just as chaotically orderly and distinctly you as he remembered it -- seemed to be purged of any remembrance of him.
Stirring honey into your mug of tea and blowing on it, you watched Angel over the rim of your mug. Watched him observe your space, and waited for him to speak.
You tilted your head toward the open door of your bedroom, breaking the silence first,
“I, uhhh, I’ve been working all day. I’m just gonna change real fast.” You shuffled your feet into the carpet, padding softly into your room and pushing the door softly shut.
You slipped out of your jeans and into soft sweats and an oversized tee. Maybe if you felt more comfortable, you could stave off some of the awkwardness. Maybe letting Angel back into your space wasn’t the best idea.
After changing, you took a moment -- sat on your bed, elbows balanced on your knees and head in your hands … you took a few deep breaths, lit a candle. Your palms felt clammier by the second, knowing that Angel was out there waiting for your re-emergence.
You don’t know how long you were sitting on the edge of your bed, just breathing. Preparing yourself.
A soft knock on your bedroom door broke your dazed thoughts. You looked up, seeing Angel through the widening crack in the door, fist raised, his knuckle rapping softly on your bedroom door.
You locked eyes for moment before Angel chuckled sheepishly to himself, shuffling his feet in your doorway,
“I, uh, thought you might’ve jumped out the window,” he chuckled lightly.
Leave it to Angel to find a way to lighten the heavy mood that had descended upon your space. You managed to crack a small smile, corner of your mouth tilting up just-so in that way he had always found endearing.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” you shrugged, patting the space next to you, acquiescing to allow Angel to sit.
He crossed your room, exhaling heavily as he took a seat next to you on the bed.
Now that you were seated so closely to Angel in the low light of your bedroom, you looked at his face, taking him in. Really looking at him for the first time in months. Trying to ignore the pricking feelings of trauma that were doing their best to bubble beneath the surface and consume you --- had Angel not broken your heart in a manner so like this? Seated next to one another on the end of his bed while he told you, in no uncertain terms, that he was done with you? The thought made a sick wave of nausea wash through you. You wiped your perpetually-sweaty hands along the thighs of your sweats.
You had survived the last encounter like this, hadn't you? Honestly, what more could he do to you?
For his part, Angel was silent next to you, surveying the space of your room as he had in your living room. The familiar clutter greeted him -- a stack of books and a coffee mug on your bedside. A sketchbook never too far from reach. The comforter beneath him as pillowy as he remembered. He shuddered a sigh.
You decided to take conversational mercy on him,
"Go ahead,” you beckoned. “Say what you have to. But just know I meant what I said at the party. I don't need shit from you. You telling me what you want to say is for you. And when it's done, you're going to give me what I deserve and listen to me. We need to put this behind us. I’m not going to be looking over my shoulder for you for the rest of my life, Angel.” What had started as a murmur grew fiercer with each word.
"That's fair, querida," was all he offered. Your words to him each time you had spoken since the party were evermore forceful. He was used to gentle Frida. It wasn't often that the turn of your tide was leveled against him. Not often he was forced to bear the brunt of your storm when you were upset.
He could see what Coco meant. It was unwise to make you angry
He turned his body slightly to face yours, looking down at your hands as though he was contemplating attempting to hold one. His fingers twitched where his hands rested along his thighs. Better just to crack the ice, become submerged in frozen water. Take the shock out of it now, even if he wasn't sure where to begin, now that he faced you.
“I”m not really sure what I can tell you that’ll make it better,” he admitted.
You sighed.
“I’m not looking for you to make it better, Angel. There is no more better. Whatever you want to say, you say it,” you pressed. “We’re past better. We’re not together. you were clear about that. You don’t have to spare my feelings, I’m not your girl.”
Angel flinched, almost imperceptibly, at your last statement. He knew you weren’t together, knew you weren’t his. Hell, he’d been busy in the months since you’d been broken up. Busy chasing Adelita. Busy with other women when it didn’t work out with Adelita. Busy acting like a jackass with Andres. Busy with club nonsense. But hearing you say that you weren’t his girl?
It made Angel’s heart ache in a way he wasn’t expecting.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. At your scoff, he shook his head. “Really. After Adelita told me she was pregnant … I thought it was easier just to let you go. I needed to be there for her, for the kid. Even if it meant -- even if it meant losing you.”
“Easier for who? For you?” Your voice was soft. You hated that, once again, you felt like the crystalline girl Angel’s heartbreak had rendered you. Worried that the slightest thing would shatter you once more.
Angel chucked again, but there was no humor behind it. His eyes looked flat, as though he wasn’t really focusing on anything.
“For both of us, I guess. It’s stupid. I thought if I just -- cut you out … we would both be better. But … that ain’t what happened. I just made us both miserable. I made you hate me. And now ... She's gone. And so are you,” Angel’s voice was low, cracked.
The weight of his words, coupled with the gravelly pitch of his voice was making you feel restless, itchy. Grit like pebbly grains of sand you would roll between your fingers on days at the beach, palpable and pronounced.
“A-and,” you interjected, “how did you meet her? When did you meet her?”
Angel’s eyes darted to meet yours again, finding a swimming emotion he was getting better at putting his finger on. You only looked like that when you were getting lost in negative thoughts, awash in a sad song. Or when he was breaking your heart. He hated that look on your face. Hate that it marred your beautiful features into baleful melancholy.
“Club shit,” was all he’d said. “We were mixed up in some shit with the rebels. We were helping each other. W-we connected. It just … happened.”
You whipped your head at that last bit, eyes hardening. Angel’s hands came up, defensively.
“I know. Everyone says that, don’t they? It’s true… and I -- I really didn’t mean to hurt you. When I found out she was pregnant, I thought I was doing the right thing. By her. And by you,” he sucked air in through his teeth before releasing the breath in a huff of air. “I was wrong, Frida. I made every wrong choice, and I’m sorry.”
Angel carded his hands through his hair, tugging the ends lightly in his frustration.
“I-- I just been going through some shit lately. And then ... Ezekiel tried to serve us brunch, and I was an asshole.”
He looked at you, only to meet your puzzled gaze.
“Brunch?” You queried, wrinkling your nose lightly. “Since when are you a brunch kinda guy, Angelito?”
“I really ain’t,” he said. “And you?”
“I like brunch just fine,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.
“That’s not what I mean, Frida, and you know it,” he said. “But we can get back to that later.” He took in your loose sweats, the way you had been picking your nails, the bags beneath your eyes. You had looked so beautiful, so perfect and untouchable, at the patch party the other night. And now -- in your room, all pretense stripped away, Angel could see the real you … behind the professional and put-together front. The tired girl with a broken heart. And he felt the residual ache in his chest that had taken residence left of his heart ever since the day he had put your stuff in a box and left it outside of his door.
“I know you have something you want to say to me, too, Frida. Your turn. How are you feeling?”
You laughed hollowly, your eyes fixed on the doorway to your room, half expecting Angel to get up and go.
“I’ve been better, Angel,” you deadpanned, swiveling to look at him, and finding him still seated next to you. “Ya know? It’s been a tough couple of days? Between that disaster of a party and whatever the hell went down the other day… but this town is too small for us to just try to ignore each other, and I do like it here.” You rubbed your eyes, the air between the two of you filling with silence that never used to be so awkward.
“That can’t be all you gotta say,” Angel pressed. “C’mon, Frida. Tell me how you’re feeling. I was… I was awful to you.”
The candle in the corner of the room sputtered, causing momentary, flickering shadows to dance along the walls of your room. Your safe, homey space felt full of shadows and ghosts, words unspoken between the two of you threatening to burst forth, your closet brimming with proverbial skeletons.
And you were just so tired. And now Angel was pressing you? You weren’t sure if the heat was from your sweats, the proximity of the man next to you, that you had turned up the thermostat too high. Or the fact that you were still so fucking angry.
“You want to know how I’m feeling, Angel?” You tugged on the ends of your hair, running your hands down the thighs of your sweats once more. Were you always so sweaty? “I appreciate you telling me the truth. Finally. And for apologizing, I guess.”
Tears were pricking at your eyes, the heat blazing in your cheeks matching the heat in the room.
"But you made me look stupid. Like someone in need of pity," you sucked air in through your teeth. "I fucking hate pity, Angel. It's just misplaced empathy. A useless emotion. And you’d think I’d just wear that mess? For everyone to see? At the party. At the yard. Everyone just feeling sorry for me. For months. Because of you.”
The ache in Angel’s chest intensified. Awash in a wave of hot shame. Was it always so hot in this room? You were right. And weren’t you always? You never were that girl, and he had sent you down the river like you meant nothing, your artist’s hands crushed beneath the washed stones of his choices. He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done, apparently --
“And after everything? The way it went down? You made me feel like … I don’t know … Like you were punishing me,” your voice cracked, sobs and tears imminent through the dam you had erected. “Like I loved you more than you loved me, and you knew it… like you wanted to make me pay for that.”
“Frida …” Angel turned his body toward yours fully now, closing the space between the two fo you and cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the silvery hot tears that were slipping down your face, sick that he had caused them. Sick that he had even made you think that what you were saying was true. “It wasn’t like that,” he assured.
“And the shittiest part is,” you hiccuped around your words, “you can’t even tell me give me the comfort of a cliche -- you can’t honestly tell me ‘it meant nothing,’ or that it was a ‘one-time thing,’ because none of that is true, is it? You care about her -- you had a child with her. You love her. And here I thought I could take what you did, take you, fold you up and tuck you away, like a note you pass in school. And I can’t. I just can’t.”
You tilted your face downward now as your tears fell, allowing your face to be fully cupped by Angel’s warm, calloused hands. Even now, you were still amazed at how tender his touch was, despite his rough exterior. All he wanted now was to comfort you, to touch you and bring your eyes to his again. To remind you of his love for you. Once. Now. Always?
“Frida, it wasn’t like that. They were my selfish, stupid choices. Mine. And I was scared. Scared of how much I wanted … everything with you. And it wasn’t right. I told you -- I … been going through some shit.”
“Scared,” you murmured. Turning your face in Angel’s hands, causing your lips to brush over his fingers. You leaned back, effectively releasing your face from the trace of his touch.
“Isn’t it remarkable how secure and insecure you can simultaneously feel when you’ve found someone worth loving? I felt it, too. With you it's now I knew you were the one,” You said. Angel straightened in shock, at how, though you weren’t present for his conversation yesterday with Ezekiel, you parroted his feelings he had confided in his brother back to him. Always on the same page. His full lips pursed as you continued.
“We can’t keep using what happened to hurt each other. I’m done with that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry you felt the way you did. I’m sorry you felt like you needed to look elsewhere. And I hope you find what you're looking for,” you hated how soft your voice sounded to your own ears. Hadn't you meant to be forceful, angry? You sniffled. “Because, despite everything that’s happened... You are someone worth loving, Angelito.”
"No, Frida," he shook his head softly before looking at you again, eyes glittering. "You are. Someone deserving of more.”
Your breath caught in your chest at his words, taking this moment to look into his ochre eyes once more. You wanted to commit to your memory just how they swirl like melting chocolate and promises in low candlelight.
And, oh. Angel was made to be seen like this, you’d thought. The dim candlelight giving everything in your room a pleasant glow and slightly-blurry edges. He looked like his namesake. And how ironic was that, really? Considering the context of your conversation.
It's easy these days, you thought, for you to get carried away by your own feelings... While you searched desperately in the emotional rubble for your muse, Angel, the truth of it tore you to shreds with blunt fingernails -- knowing he was out in the world -- running freely and carelessly. Running away with your imagination. With your hope. With the pieces of your heart that had survived the blitzing storm he had put you through. With the pieces of your heart that had belonged to him. That you feared may always belong to him.
Looking at Angel now, in the low-lit steadfast luminescence of your room, shadows flickering agreeably across his angular cheekbones. He was sculpted. Made to be admired in perpetuity. Artist that you were, it ached. It stung. The knowledge that your hands were not the ones that had molded him into the man sat beside you. A man molded, instead, by his own choices.
All you could do was watch as those wrong decisions drifted lazily down the river, only to become a torrent, Angel caught in the current. The waves lapped loudly, sloppily against riverbanks of better judgment, but Angel is never quite washed ashore. No, as you watched, he slipped down the river, out of your fingertips and toward something you're too fearful to quantify. Away from you.
You want the river to carry him back to you. To home. But you know it never will.
Angel has two choices now: To drown under the weight of his path this river has wrought; or to swim.
As you sit beside him in the growing heat of your room, you hope he chooses to swim. Even if it’s not to where you stand.
"So, is that what’s next?” You asked, wiping your eyes.
At Angel’s puzzled look, you carried on,
"You're asking for it back," you whispered. “Or you’re going to. My heart? You may not have said it like that, exactly, but it's what you want. Like you don't know how bad it all hurt me, even if you say you know, I don't think you ever will. And even if I wanted to give it to you, I don't know if there's enough of it left."
You wrung your hands together, awaiting Angel’s response. You looked up at him through your lashes, clumped together with the tears that had escaped during your confessional.
His molten eyes were soft on your form, swallowing before he spoke again.
“I was such an asshole… to you. And at that stupid brunch … to Gaby. But it was all just … too much. I mean, she was wearing mom’s apron…” Angel shook his head. “And all I could think of … Even with Adelita out there, with her and my boy gone, outta my life… all I could think of was how it should be you wearing the stupid apron. It should be me giving you my mother’s ring. And I was so angry at Ezekiel for having all of that. For having what I wanted … wanted with you.”
If there was any air left in the room, it was certainly all gone now. All that was left was heat, no air or space between the two of you. Just stagnant air and the weight of words, both said and unsaid. And if Angel had said these words to you more than a year ago? Maybe they would sound different to your ears. Melodious, even.
Now, all you could think to do was comfort. Ever the nurturer. What else could you do, really, after he'd said that? You shook your head gently, lacing your fingers through Angel’s and squeezing.
“It’s not that he has something you don’t, or that you can’t have, Angel… What EZ and Gabriela have is what they have. It’s theirs. You’ll have yours. Someday.”
Silence descended upon the room once more. The warm scent of orange-cinnamon from your candle permeated the room, the ever-present heat between you and Angel banishing all thoughts of romantic winter from your mind.
“I just wanna say, again, Frida… how sorry I am for what happened at the party. For what happened with Andres. It was fucked up of me,” Angel’s tongue passed over his lips. “Did I answer all of your burning questions?”
You reached over, trailing your fingers over the tattoo you had given Angel what felt like a lifetime ago. His eyes followed the trajectory of your fingers, his nerves alight at the feeling of your starlit, feathery touch on his skin once more.
"Just one left.” Your eyes locked with his, unwavering. “Who am I to you, really?" You ask, the edge your silken voice had taken on slides beneath Angel's skin clumsily, like crumbling shards of glass. "What did I mean?"
Angel tries not to look at you now. Tries, but fails. His dark eyes meet your downcast ones once more, hates that they are once more glimmering with unshed tears waiting to fall. Hating that once again, he's the cause of the dreary blue tinge shading what should have been your sunny, hopeful worldview. Awash with the sunsets he would take you to see.
And if there was any time for blossoming truth, for a sprig of rosemary remembrance of sacred feeling, it was now.
"You're the love of my life," he finally admits, exhaling heavily. "That's just it, ain't it? Always you. And not that I have any right to ask you now -- But I need to know, Frida. Am I yours?"
Any air left was sucked from the room in one fell swoop, leaving you with the stuffy and sticky discomfort of Angel's question and the weight of his heated gaze on you, waiting for something, anything to fall from your pretty lips.
And what a question it was.
You knew the answer, of course. You reach up to brush your thumb tenderly across Angel’s sculpted cheek, as though you could be the one molding it, nodding before verbalizing your answer,
"You've always been the love of my life. Had my heart. I'm yours, But, I think I know now… that you were never truly mine. Even if you say it now. You have a heart that's not so easily won, Angelito. That's something I wish I'd learned sooner, wish I could've taken from you… from all of this."
All Angel could do was shake his head, the crease in his brow deepening at your words.
"Ever the poet, Frida."
"I thought I was a 'shit' poet?" You teased gently, recalling his words to you when he’d texted you to ask you out for the first time.
Angel chuckled, the grit and honey in his voice washing over you, a wave of silken heat, his eyes are fixed upon yours intently, leaning forward and bringing his hands to trace along your neck, your jaw, dragging his thumb over the full, pillowy part of your bottom lip.
“You did win it, Frida,” was all he said.
The rush of warm, fluttery feeling swam through your body, prickling you like sparkling, popping champagne. Angel’s eyes tracked yours, down to where his thumb was dragging across your lip. Your eyes slipped shut, lashes fluttering.
You could feel it rushing back. Everything Angel had ever made you feel -- the ardor, the frustration, the crushing weight of the river wild. Heat bloomed across your cheeks and down your chest, between your thighs and through the fingertips that you had brought to grip Angel’s biceps.
His declaration of love, of melted marshmallow and warm cocoa -- made you crave him in a way you had long thought gone.
You pressed your lips to kiss the tip of Angel’s thumb. You were rewarded with a reciprocal, sucking in of air on Angel’s part.
He held his breath momentarily before surging forward and capturing your lips with his full ones.
You were awash in the memory of every kiss shared with Angel. Of how he’d made you feel in your full-hearted moments together. Rich and full, like morning coffee. Hazy and sweet, like cherry smoke.
Angel’s kiss makes you feel dizzy, fizzing and dissolving simultaneously, like a Mento in a glass of Coke. Volatile and thrumming, both erupting and disappearing so fast, you were afraid you’d never have the chance to process exactly what it made you feel.
It might be okay, you reasoned to yourself -- if you could hold Angel just for one more night, feel his body pressed against yours. It felt like a good idea in this moment, just to hold him for one night only.
Your lips pressed against one another, his hand cupping your jaw trailing back to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging it -- causing your kiss to break. Angel trailed his lips from yours, down and along your jaw.
Angel’s grip firmed, turning your head further as he continued his attention down your neck, giving you a view of the chair next to your closet where you had haphazardly thrown Angel’s t-shirt when you had worn it last, a symbol of comfort now worn-out.
You laid back, Angel following, surging over you and pressing you into your cloudlike comforter. His hips rolled into yours, his teeth now scraping gently along the slope of your neck.
At the gasp you emitted, Angel felt himself harden in his jeans. He'd thought he'd never hear that sound from you again. And replaying the memory of it in his head? Not enough. He rolled his hips into yours again, again, as you dragged your thighs up Angel’s sides, locking your legs around his hips. He trailed warm hand down to caress your breast through your soft t-shirt, leaving a heated trail in its wake.
“Oh, Angel,” you gasped, rolling your hips to meet his.
“Can I kiss you like this, amor?” Angel rasped, “I’ll make you feel good.”
He took in the heat behind your eyes, the kiss-swollen state of your lips when he broke from them. The creeping heat he felt from beneath your collar in his position atop you, and the way your breasts heaved beneath your shirt.
The thread of resolve you were hanging by seemed to dissolve, leaving you unraveled and threadbare, naked before the man you swore would be your forever. The ache you felt between your legs burned crimson, cloudy and acrid. You tasted Angel’s kiss, tasted him, on your tongue.
You were never more aware of the dimensions of your body than when Angel had his hands on you, tracing and gripping every curve, the touch of places you don't think to touch yourself, strange but pleasurable as you relished in the trace of his rough fingertips against your smooth skin. He slid his hands down your waist, hips and into the loose waistband of your sweats, sliding them down your legs as he went.
Angel played your body with temerity, a confidence, and before you knew it, your lower half was bare before him. He pushed the soft, loose fabric of your t-shirt up and over your chest, trailing his lips over your now-exposed skin, bringing his other hand to cup your breast, circling the pad of his thumb over your nipple.
You gasped and groaned beneath Angel’s attention. Gripping at the hem of his shirt, you tugged it up and over his head, trailing your hands down his firm, thick torso.
Angel was reticent to deprive himself of your touch after not having had it for so long. The touch of your nimble, artist’s fingers trailing over the lines of his body made Angel feel like an instrument being plucked to a tune that made both his and your body sing. He thought he would never feel it again.
But this moment? This was about you.
Angel gripped your wrists, firmly planting your hands next to your head, following the trajectory and leaning over you with his full body. Releasing your wrists, Angel firmly pressed his lips to yours again, his tongue swiping past your lips and invading your mouth. Hot, needy, dirty.
Ange tore his mouth from yours, his lips trailing lower and lower down your body, kissing your hips, nipping at your hipbone, causing you to yelp and buck your hips.
The action drew Angel’s attention, lifting his lips from your body, his eyes meeting yours.
“I missed you, baby. Did you miss me? Sweet girl...” His voice was lower than you think you’d ever heard it, dangerously so.
Bringing his hand down to cup your mound, he traced his fingers through your slick folds.
“Ah-Angel,” you gasped, tilting your head back at the blissful feel of Angel’s touch. As quickly as his touch had come, he withdrew it, causing your eyes to snap open, fixed on him and full of fire.
“You know how this works, querida. I won’t touch you unless you answer me,” he taunted, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly over where you’d wanted him most, staunch in his refusal to commit to the touch.
“God, Angel, yes,” You gasped. “P-please.”
Angel rewarded you, prising apart your legs and sliding down your body, tracing a teasing lick of his tongue through your folds, increasing in pace and intensity at the noises passing through your lips.
"I d-do miss you,” you sighed, starting to roll your hips against Angel’s tongue. “I miss the way you touch me… the way you fuck me.”
God. It was hot, the way you talked, the way you gave yourself over to him.
Stars and firecrackers popped behind your eyes at Angel’s attention, cinnamon heat seeping through your bones, writhing and twisting at the way Angel strung his way through your body. Unable to justify the concept of being left alone, you tugged up at Angel’s jaw, forcing him to look up at you. Met with your wanton gaze, Angel licks his lips at the sight of you and slides back up your body with a grace that defies his size.
Now level with you once more, he gripped your jaw, turning your head to the side and attacked your neck, your breasts with renewed vigor, grinding his denim-clad hardness against your naked core, the painful drag of the fabric turning pleasurable.
With your gaze turned toward the wall, you were once again greeted with the sight of Angel’s rumpled t-shirt on the chair by your closet. An object of comfort, threads and strings tying you to a past life.
What were you doing? Taking comfort in something that you couldn’t, in good conscience, call your own?
The rumpled shirt seemed to be mocking you, taunting you. Reminding you that, once again, you were seeking clinging to something you shouldn't. Seeking solace in things -- people -- that you shouldn't.
Apart from Christopher's warm, sly, sensational goodnight kiss the other day, Angel's was the first touch you'd experienced like this since, well, Angel… How easy it was to slip back into your feelings for him, get caught up in him.
I'd give it all just to hold you close, sorry that I broke your heart...
You shouldn’t be doing this.
“Angel,” you prised his lips from your body. “St-stop.”
Angel’s eyes were wild, hair mussed and lips swollen.
“What, querida?”
“Angel,” you sighed again, sliding your shirt down and coming to sit up. “We can’t be doing this.”
Angel slouched next to you with a huff, trailing his fingers down your arm.
“Why not?”
You sighed. After all this time, the feeling of Angel so close to you was everything you thought you wanted. But everything that had been said? The water beneath your respective bridges? Angel was still awash, had not come to rest on any bank. And you were still waiting on the shore -- now certain that all you would mold from the riverbank clay were memories and half-baked dreams.
“We’re not together,” you breathed, leaning over the bed to pick up your sweats and tug them back on. “And that’s not what this is. We're too old for platitudes, and happy endings are for children's stories. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you know this is wrong.”
“Querida -- I want…" Angel started, before turning away, leaning over his thighs and tugging his hands through his hair… his distress with how he had let himself get so out of control with you was mounting. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.
“What? Angel,” you touched your hand to his still-bare shoulder. “What do you want?”
"A second chance…?" Angel's normally smooth voice trailed at the end, transforming his desire into a question, fading into the silence of the room. He shifted his shoulders, turning his body to once more face yours, but not quite meeting your eyes.
You let his words hang in silence for a moment, weighing how you wanted to respond.
“Say something, Frida.”
"I knew you'd say that," you chuckled drily. "I know you, you're like this. But second chances become third, fourth, fifth. I can't trust you. What did you expect me to say?"
Angel opened his mouth to answer before catching sight of the expression on your face, twisted into proverbial knots. Even now, you were being far more gracious than he had any right to expect. He closed his mouth again, sighing.
"I don't know, dulce."
"I do,” you shook your head. “You expected me to say 'yes,' " you reached across the bed to one more lace your fingers through his. "I know you. But what does it say about me that I want to? It would be so like me, wouldn't it?"
You squeezed Angel's fingers tenderly in your grip, awarding him a flickering, wan smile.
Angel's voice cracked when he spoke again, "Then say yes, Frida. Let me prove it to you. Prove that we’re meant to be together."
"And would you? Would you take me back if I did that to you? If I had someone else's child? While we were together?"
Angel was silent at that, not having considered the reversal of roles. In truth, though you knew him, he knew you, too. It would be so wildly out of character, how would he have been expected to consider it?
"You think you might, because you love me. But, see, Angelito, I don't think you would. So how can you sit there and say we're two people who are meant to be when we don't even love each other the same? Love doesn't come in pieces, amor. You held my heart in your hands. And you crushed it. Let it crumble into nothing, like sand. Like I meant nothing."
“But this--” Angel gestured between the two of you, eyes lingering on the skin of your neck where his mouth had been, tracing his fingers over your kiss-swollen lips.
“--Can’t happen.” Tears were rising to your eyes again.
Goddamnit. Couldn’t you get through one conversation with him without crying?
“Maybe we are meant to be. And maybe we'll find our way back to one another. But right now? I -- I don't think I can. But more importantly, I don't think we should. And please hear me when I tell you how much it breaks my heart to say that."
Your heart was burning, but your skin was ice. Dream, they call desire. And he could hear the heartbreak in your voice. Always stupidly genuine.
Angel was stock-still, and as you took in his prone form, eyes tracing to his face -- you saw a lone tear slip down his cheek, shaking his head.
"I miss you, you know?" He chuckled, no humor in his soft, velvet voice.
"I know."
You were in a fugue state, the rumble of Angel’s bike retreating down the street barely registering as you were processing as you retreated to your bed, the room and your sheets noticeably cooler in Angel’s absence. The room feeling too large without him in it.
As you settled into bed, you noticed it -- Angel’s old shirt, still on your chair.
You hadn’t thought to return it.
---
The following week found you back in the shop, preparing for your mid-afternoon appointment. You had wiped down the table, changed the wrapping, and were now idly jotting as you waited. Thoughts on one person in particular.
The bell above the shop door dinged, causing you to look up from the poem you were penning on the lime-green sticky you kept a stack of near your work station.
Your one o'clock was right on time.
And you were greeted with the sight of Angel striding in with two cups of caffeine, offering one two you as he rested his ringed hand on the counter.
“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.”
Since Angel had departed your place in the middle of the night a week ago, the words between the two of you having had time to simmer and settle, allowing you to process the weight of it all.
For his part, Angel had given you space. Hadn’t said anything past texting you to tell you he had made it home safely.
In the days that had followed, you had cautiously cracked the ice between the two of you, hoping to assuage any awkwardness and rebuild some kind of friendly connection removed from the physical. It was probably better that way. Messaging him idly to ask about his day. Not that you had shared with Angel, but you were also texting Christopher.
Angel had called the shop, asking if you were available to help him with something he’d wanted to do. Something special, he’d said.
“Something for Ezekiel,” Angel told you. “He’s been through alot lately, with Gaby and the club and everything … been through alot with me lately. Now feels like the right time”
You had, of course, readily agreed. Eager and honored to help Angel with a tribute to his brother. The texts between the two of you changed to exchanges of ideas, you sending him screenshots of your sketches before the two of you had decided on a design that fit.
You accepted the cup of coffee from Angel gratefully and with a gentle smile, beckoning him behind the counter. Coffee truly was a love language.
“You can sit in the chair and lean forward, or you can lie on the table. Both are clean. Dealer’s choice,” you said between sips.
Angel nodded, slugging the last of his coffee and placing the cup down before slipping his shirt over his torso, baring his back to you as he sat in the chair, leaning forward and twisting his abdomen to bare his shoulder blade to you.
The tawny patch of skin on his shoulder, above the large Mayans tribute that covered the expanse of his back, seemed like the perfect place for something for EZ, the angel (ha ha) on his shoulder and guiding influence in one another’s lives.
You cleaned and bic’d the area, stenciling your design into the space and getting your kit ready to begin.
Angel watched what he could of you from the corner of his eye, a resonant ache blooming through his chest at the familiarity of this scene. Of you, all business, touching his skin, preparing to impart a piece of yourself that he would wear on his body for the rest of his days.
You queued up your playlist, the sounds of motown flowing through the shop as you hummed along idly.
In this moment, Angel knew … he was still in love with you. Likely always would be. You had been far too gracious with him, as you always were -- in the way you had treated him the other night. No mention of your “almost” encounter, for which he was grateful. And he knew he was correct in his assessment of you when you had first started dating -- it was in your nature.
“You mind?” Angel broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, gesturing at the journal-like sketchbook you had left near your station.
You shook your head in acquiescence, “No. But it’s kind of a mess in there lately,” you acknowledged. “Shit poet, and all.”
“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Angel barked a laugh. “I didn’t insult your poetry, Frida, you did.”
“Ever the self-deprecating, starving artist,” you sighed dramatically.
Angel took that as his cue, flipping through the pages of your book. One page felt particularly heavy beneath his fingers. He flipped to it, to be met with dried, pressed flowers that had been delicately glued to the pages, the page covered in a plastic slipsheet -- the dried, dusky pink of peony petals were affixed to the page next to a swath of a white, lacy-looking bloom.
Around the flowers were sketches of hands that looked suspiciously like Angel’s own, down to the tattoos, and idle lines of poetry.
Angel furrowed his brows as he glanced at the flowers again.
“You got those flowers for me,” you acknowledged, looking over his shoulder to see the page of your book he had settled on. “One of our first dates, when we went to the park. I’m not sure if you remember.”
Angel’s throat caught in a way that both annoyed and unsettled him. How were you always doing this to him?
“Recuerdo, Frida,” he breathed. “Lo recuerdo todo.”
You patted his arm gently, resuming your work.
“I like pressing flowers. It takes a while, but the end result is worth it.”
You pinched your brows in concentration as you drew along the stenciled lines you’d previously etched into Angel’s shoulder blade, gun buzzing. You began to fill in the minimalist rising sun that was now filling the shoulder blade, stippling the interior as you went, the effect giving the sun an almost stucco-like finish that looked breathtaking against Angel’s golden skin.
Angel allowed you to continue you work in silence, the weight of the past few days with you settling into his bones. He had pleaded with you, endeared himself to you so much that he had lost his voice. His bones filling with the words he wished he could verbalize.
He was slowly arriving at that place of acceptance -- Santo Padre was a small town. He would see you. And it appeared that you could now stomach his presence, but he wouldn’t push his luck. Seeing you alone. Hell, even seeing you with someone else, was better than not seeing you at all.
But once thing was clear -- you were someone who would always be in his life, his memories, his heart.
Angel was lost in his thoughts; you were focused on your work. The only thing that gave any indication as to the passage of time in the room where you two found yourselves was the evolution of your playlist passing through tracks.
Isn’t that how it always was with Angel? Time stood still.
As you finished his tattoo, you snapped a quick pic for your work Insta -- and maybe, selfishly, for yourself, to admire, too. It’s true, what you had felt all those months ago, and again a week ago -- Angel Reyes was your muse.
Made to be admired in perpetuity.
You cleaned and wrapped it, pushing back wordlessly from your seat and making your way to the front as Angel gingerly tugged his shirt back over his head. Quoting the rate over your shoulder, you put Angel's aftercare bag together. But not before slipping the lime sticky in.
“Is that it?” Angel asked, arriving at the front counter, kutte once again in place..
“C’mon, Angelito, you know you get the friends-and-family rate,” you shrugged.
"And is that what we are, querida? Friends?” Angel's voice had none of the bravado it held when he had first spoken these words to you the day you'd met. Now it was cotton soft and carefully tinged with hope. He leaned over the counter.
You shrugged again.
"I guess we'll see, won't we?" You tilted the corner of your lips in a gentle, wan half-smile.
"One day with you, and already friends again?” Angel breezed. You shrugged lightly in response, as he continued, “Or maybe the day after that? A man can hope, Frida."
“You know what they say, Angelito,” your voice was soft, but he’d recognize the teasing lilt anywhere. He’d heard it so often at the breaking dawn of your relationship. Kindness, with a hint of subtle flirtation. It was just how you were. “Hope springs eternal.”
Angel nodded, tossing a few bills on the counter and gently rapping his ringed-knuckles against the counter, a he was wont to do. He smiled gently at you, all glimmering white teeth and high cheeks.
As Angel walked away, head down and focused on his phone now as he headed out the door and toward his bike, you watched him leave. Your elbow on the counter and head propped in your hand.
You wondered when Angel would discover the sticky, recalling the words you had written on it.
my stark moments of clarity
between hazy and woebegone memory
(thanks to spilled red wine) --
are still marked
by the firm hand of your bruising ardor.
Your phone buzzed, breaking you from your reverie as you looked down at the name flashing on the screen, an easy grin blooming across your features.
“Well, hey,” you greeted. Unable to keep the happy chirp from your voice at hearing from him again so soon.
“Hey, mama,” he greeted in that smooth, throaty rasp of his you adored. “You busy later?”
---
Tagging: @cinewhore @superhoeva @blessedboo @rebeccasficrecs @themarcusmoreno @joannasteez @justanotherblonde23 @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @huliabitch @ifimayhaveaword @flightlessangelwings @phoenixhalliwell @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @steeeeeeeviebb @ciriswife @witching-hour @lo-la-bu-ro @doloreschanal @rosieposie0624 @diaryofkali @skyesthebomb @artsymaddie @helli4nthus @xonickibaby @melancholyy-hill @jeonsblackgf-writes @dyke--grayson @pettyprocrastination @moonlight-prose @velvetmel0n @luckyharley1903 @miss-nori85 @ticosas @withmyteeth @chibsytelford @whatupitshuff @themusingofagothicsoul @the-purity-pen @belowva @mayansxlover @emmaveale123 @maddie-georges @kijahslove @supertiffybee @jettia @spnaquakindgdom @abysshaven @starrynite7114 @thesandbeneathmytoes @cyarikashakira @calif0rnia-lovers
#loved you once#it's here#loved you once part two#and it's SO LONG#i'm SO SORRY#angel reyes x reader#angel reyes x you#angel reyes x frida#angel x frida#angel reyes x oc#angel reyes x fem!reader#angel reyes agnst#angel reyes smut#mayans mc fic#mayans fic#mayans mc#mayans#angel reyes#clayton cardenas#my writing#rachel reynolds#angel reyes headcanon
445 notes
·
View notes
Text
Special piece.
Tattoo artist! Sukuna x f!reader
I just had random thoughts about Sukuna, I mean the usual so here's this hope you enjoy reading. Also this is based on my Tattoo artist! Sukuna series here's the masterlist for that.
Warnings: Language, usage of the word babe that's all.
Consultations were always Sukuna's least favourite part of his job. Not only because some people took long to voice their ideas, but because some are way too indecisive, they either want too many things packed in a tattoo or they hover all over the place trying to chose from roses to skulls. Boring.
The girl that walked in five minutes ago was no different and even though she hadn't even been in his shop for that long she was already getting on his nerves not being able to choose a design for him to draw so he could get this over with, and much to Sukuna's dismay she also had a friend with her that stirred her away every time she came close to making a final decision.
Nanami had told him that she already had a very specific design in mind otherwise Sukuna wouldn't be wasting his time and maybe the fact that he woke up next to y/n again helped him enough not to give the girls his usual pissy attitude.
"How about a micro tattoo? It would look so good on you." The girls friend chirped up making Sukuna's eye twitch.
"I won't do that, pick something else, if you're having trouble I can just give you a flash book with my work and we can tweak something to make it different." Sukuna offered, his tone was very much bored and indifferent, all he wanted was for this to be over with.
"Yeah that would be nice." The girl infront of him said. She was around his age, early to mid twenties and by the looks of it she had lots of work done, her right arm was covered and she wanted to start her left too.
Sukuna momentarily left his booth to fetch the flash book from the reception and he was already planning to charge the girl, whose name he didn't really care to remember, extra just for annoying him.
Walking back to his booth, he found both girls staring at the pictures he had framed on his wall, specifically y/n's original sketch of the shrine she wanted. Sukuna still called her lines crooked all the time, especially when y/n and him eat lunch in his booth. The picture next to it was one of y/n's arm, by now not only the shrine and the fox covered it but lots more of his designs.
Y/n had always told him with a chuckle that having a picture of her arm was creepy, but Sukuna always justified it saying that it inspires him and he has a picture of them together on his desk cause he knows she's a bit on the shier side. Not to mention Gojo would give them hell had he seen that picture of them together hanging on the wall and both y/n and Sukuna didn't want to deal with him.
"That one, I want that one."
The girl confidently spoke and Sukuna's gears had already been grinding for a while.
"Not that one, here pick something else." He simply said, with a slightly more intimidating tone as he handed her the flash book.
"But I want that one, why can't I have it?"
Whining was his the worst thing to Sukuna pair it with an entitled costumer and you can see smoke coming out his ears.
"That was a piece for someone special, you can't have it, either pick something else or leave."
Y/n once again came through Domains front door, Nanami greeted her at the reception and as usual everyone was working since there was lots of buzzing in the shop.
"Hey Kento, I brought takeout for everyone, hope you guys like Thai food." She said with a smile, dropping the bags at the reception counter. "You shouldn't have y/n we could've ordered something in." Nanami was his usual self talking about paying her back and y/n only laughed.
"Oh come on, I wanted to, everyone's still working?"
"Yeah, everyone's tattooing, Sukuna's doing a consultation and it's not going that we-"
Before Nanami could finish his sentence some girls voice was heard saying
"Aren't you a tattoo artist? You're supposed to do what I ask you to."
And there was Sukuna, he had came out front having decided that even the extra charging he planned to do wouldn't help him deal with that headache of a client. His face said it all and y/n could tell he was done with whoever pressed him.
The two girls came to y/n's field of view and she was now wondering what they asked for that Sukuna was so pissed. She just gave him a smile telling him to hang in there in her own way and Sukuna's whole face lit up just by her presence.
"Just why won't you do it? That's the one I wanted." Ah, why must his moment be ruined that rudely.
"I already told you, now, out." His voice was as stern as ever, y/n didn't interfere, that was his business he can run it however he pleases.
The two girls let out an annoyed huff before one of them turned their attention to y/n
"Just go somewhere else, this guy won't do what you'd want anyway."
"Oh I'll do whatever she asks of me, now get the fuck out of here."
Finally some piece, just as the door closed, Nanami begun to laugh under his breath having heard all the commotion from before.
Sukuna took y/n under his arm giving her a quick kiss, his expression that previously looked like he would blow up any second, softened to a half smile his now lazy half lidded eyes that settled on y/n's face.
"How's your day dollface?"
"Pretty good, hopefully about to be better, how's yours?" That smile of hers never failed to make his insides melt away.
"Pretty shitty, untill you showed up."
Who knew that anyone could get Sukuna this warm and cuddly? Well if you asked his co workers they would've told you that there's no way in hell anyone can make Sukuna mellow with their presence, but y/n was probably the exception that justifies the rule.
"Babe, did you also get these red velvet cupcakes from the bakery downtown?"
Sukuna asked, eyes lit like a kid on Christmas.
"Have I ever forgotten? I got you the ones with the pink frosting you were eyeing too."
Y/n said her smile matching Sukuna's and her heart hummering like it always did when he smiled, that was the least she could do for all the perfect dates he's taken her and all the perfect food he's cooked for her not to mention the gorgeous work that he put on her body, his ink by now creeped up her shoulder.
"That's my girl!"
Sukuna said with a proud tone as his arm pulled her closer to his side.
"So, what did she ask for?"
Y/n pressed not having a clue what could've gotten him so riled up, but he just hummed and took another bite of his cupcake, like he always did after a meal.
"Was it watercolour?"
Sukuna shook his head no, making y/n more curious.
"Micro tattoo?"
Again same answer.
"Then how bad of an idea could it be?"
Y/n asked, her voice was playful as she genuinely wondered if someone asked for Jimmy neutron's head merged with a tiger again.
"She asked for your shrine, I'd never give someone your shitty lines." Sukuna answered half laughing, and y/n did too, that running joke always found its way back.
But y/n knew Sukuna considered all of the tattoos he'd given her one of a kind and an extension of herself, he wasn't about to hand what's hers to someone else no matter how much tweaking he did, these pieces were y/n's and y/n's only.
Bonus Domain shenanigans:
"Y/n brought food? I heard something about cupcakes too." Gojo spoke suspiciously looking at his co-workers. They all ate with y/n about an hour ago but he was too busy finishing up a piece of his, full colour new school takes time.
Sukuna warned them that if they told Gojo about the cupcakes, he would either fire them or tattoo them a stupid design he thought of. The second option sounded terrifying, so after exchanging a few looks Geto was the one to speak up.
"No man, she did bring Thai thought, maybe you misheared, here I left yours on Nanami's desk." The calmness in Geto's voice always helped him seem like he could never lie, making him the best to handle a very nosey Gojo.
All was good, Gojo didn't ask again and was stuffing his face with the food y/n brought, Sukuna should thank her for making his mouthy friend zip it for more than a minute.
That was untill..
"Y/N TOLD ME SHE BROUGHT RED VELVET CUPCAKES."
Yuuji bursting through the front door ruined everything.
"You liars"
Gojo said before racing to the fridge they kept sodas with Yuuji in toe.
"You lay a finger on MY cupcakes, I'll gut you both."
#jjk sukuna#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x reader#jjk oneshot#au ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x you#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#sukuna#sukuna fluff#au sukuna#tattoo artist sukuna
549 notes
·
View notes
Text
Day 3 - Identities
Day1 - Day2 - Day3 - Day4
Marinette had been living with the waynes for over a month now. The reason? Tom and Sabine sent her away to her biological father. Apparently To Dupain was not her biological, but Bruce Wayne was.
Marinette had a sliver of hope, A really, really thin one. Which had faltered by the month.
Marinette had defeated Hawk Moth with Chat Noir. Apparently Plagg found the brooches along with two sleeping kwamis accidentally. At night when Gabriel and Natalie were asleep, He had stolen the miraculous. On the patrol that night, Chat had told her that the miraculous were right under their noses. He gave her the two brooches and told her that Plagg had found the brooches in his father’s study. He told her that Gabriel was Hawk moth and Natalie was Mayura. Then he de-transformed and handed her the ring saying that he wanted to continue his life as a civilian.
Later that week it was announced that Chat noir found out who Hawk Moth was and he had stolen the miraculous at night. He then said that Gabriel and Natalie were the Villians. He then revealed himself saying that he was innocent, and he had no idea that his father was Hawk moth. Marinette had thought that with Hawkmoth gone she could beat Lila, But no, it Backfired. That was the reason she was Shipped off. Like an object. She was replaced just like an object.
Her only wish was to die. But she had tried to do that multiple times. Someone always managed to save her. So no, that option was unavailable. She had thought that she would finally be able to die in Gotham by sucide, But no, Selina, Cassandra or Jason always managed to save her.
By now she had started to see the woman as a mother figure. The Waynes hated her. They didn’t even listen to her side of the story. Only Cass and Jason had seen that there was more to the story. Selina and Alfred too, of course. The waynes saw her with disgust. They laid out certain rules.
And of course she figured out they were Bat family. She may not be from Gotham, but she wasn’t certainly stupid. She had to admit, The Waynes were really good at hiding the Batfam thingy. But what gave them away? Misplaced Batarangs by Tim. Then Tikki had also found the cave. She wasn’t stupid, Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne were good friends and certainly Batman and Superman. The people of Justice league stopped by often at the Manor too.
Speaking of the Justice League, They had given her an offer to join the League, but she declined. They had given her a satellite phone for emergencies to contact the league. They had praised her high and low. Batman was even Concerned for her when he found out her age range. Concerned! If they knew that Ladybug was their new sibling who was claimed to be a bully, she’d be declared a threat and her take Miraculous away.
Her routine was the same. Wake up. Eat breakfast in silence as she was being glared at. Study something. Do commissions while talking to her boyfriend, Luka and the others. Eat Lunch while being glared at. Study the Grimoire with Alfred. Sketch some designs while talking to Selina and Cass. Draw illustrations while Jason talks. Eat dinner in Silence. Stay up till 3 am doing commissions. Sleep.
Last week she had introduced Luka to Cass, Selina, Jason and Alfred. It went really well. Especially when Jason found out he was Jagged Stone’s son.
She was thinking how she could step up her game with the Waynes. In her thoughts she didn’t see Selina coming in.
“What are you thinking about Kitten ?” Selina asks, seeing the half sketched dress.
“Gah! Selina don’t scare me like that! Anyway I was thinking, ``What do I do to annoy the waynes?” Marinette asks the Master of scheming Cat-woman.
“Hmm, what about going to your true self? Being in headphones, ignoring them, Snide answers, and stuff like that?” Selina says thoughtfully.
“Selina, that's brilliant! You’re the best Mom!” Marinette says. She covers her mouth with her hand realizing what she said.
“Aww, Com’ere Kit. I love you.” Selina says softly.
“You’re not mad?” Marinette hesitantly asks.
“Of course not!” She says.
“You’ll be more of a mother than Sabine will ever be to me.” Marinette says with a small voice and hugs the older woman.
Then the Chaos was unleashed. Whenever the Waynes wanted to ask her something she’d ignore them and she always had her headphones on.
- - - - - - - -
“Marinette, tell me why did you hurt the poor girl?” Bruce asks in a stern voice. Of course Mari didn’t hear him because of the blaring music.
“Marinette, Why did you hurt the poor girl?” Bruce asks again, obviously annoyed.
“MARINETTE-” He was cut off from Alfred of course.
“If I may Master Bruce,” he says, earning a nod. He gently taps the girl’s shoulder. Marinette moves her hair away and removes her Airpod. The music is loud enough for everybody to hear.Meanwhile Bruce flushes in embarrassment. “Miss, Your father wants to ask you something.” Marinette nods. She turns to her Father.
“What?” She asks.
“I asked, Why did you hurt the poor girl marinette, around two months ago?” He asks, patience bearing thin.
“Oh? I didn’t know that I could make a clone of myself and Send one to the fencing class and the other to beat her up at the Seine?” She says in a bored tone. Jason and Cass, not being able to hold their laughter any longer, burst out laughing.
Later that night they checked her attendance, sure enough she was in the fencing class.
- - - - - -
One day Marinette got a call from the Justice league, Stating an emergency. She quickly transformed to Ladybug and Portalled to the Watchtower.
“Ladybug, welcome to the Watchtower,” Wonder Woman welcomed, standing at the head of a group of heroes. Interestingly enough, Batman and all of his brood were among them. Nightwing, Red Robin, Black Bat, and Robin and the others.
“Wonder Woman,” she greeted back. “What’s the problem?”
“Your former partner has been kidnapped.”
Ladybug’s face turned pale, but she took a deep breath instead of panicking. “What do we know?”
“Ra’s al Ghul has taken the former Chat Noir in an attempt to convince the Guardian of the Miraculous to turn over the jewels to him,” Batman reported.
Her face turned up into a snarl. “The League of Assassins,” she spat.
They were surprised that she knew Ra’s. But they hid it well.
“I take it you understand why we cannot allow the Miraculous to be surrendered to his control,” Batman continued.
Wonder Woman stepped in before Ladybug could reply. “Ladybug, we need you to tell us who the Guardian is so that we may protect them.”
Ladybug let out a cold laugh. Shivers ran down everyone’s spine. “Wonder Woman, you misunderstand. The Order of the Miraculous is all but dead. I’m all that’s left. You want the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous?” She spread her arms wide. “You’re looking at her. And Ra’s al Ghul can have them over my dead body. ”
The gathered heroes looked stunned. “Now where is Adrien?”
Red robin started, recovering first. “You’re not going alone.”
“You’re right,” Ladybug cut in. “I’m not. I’m gathering my team.”
“What Red Robin meant to say is that Batman and his assembled partners are going with you,” Wonder Woman soothed. “They have experience dealing with Ra’s and would be a great asset.”
“I’ll be back in ten minutes, at the most.” She said. Everyone nodded. She portalled away to gather her team.
Five minutes later a portal opened and stepped out Honey bee, Dragoness and Cobra in the Glory. The portal snapped shut when Ladybug entered.
“This is not enough! We’re dealing with Ra’s al Ghul and the league here!” Ladybug said. “We need her. She’s the last resort if we lose!” Dragoness exclaimed. The Justice league was confused. Who were they talking about?
“You’re right. Bee, you’re the only one who knows where she is. You’re her best friend. I can't find her in all of paris!” Ladybug asks, turning to Honey bee.
“You’re right, I do. It’ll be easy to find her. She’ll be in her room. She’s always Isolated, so don’t worry about getting caught.” Honey Bee answers.
“Isolation! I thought I told her to Socialize!” Ladybug exclaims.
“Yeah, but her family treats her like a pariah except some people. But Ladybug I don’t know if she’ll be able to fight.” Honey bee says.
“Rossi?”
“Rossi.”
“Now location please.” Ladybug says.
“Right. Wayne Manor, Gotham, New Jersey.” Honeybee whispers. Earning surprised looks from Ladybug and the Supers.
“Alright.” Ladybug portals away. This was all staged of course. She had recently found a spell to make a clone of herself.
“Why won't the hero be able to fight? She’s a hero!” Batman exclaims.
“Depression, you overgrown furry, Depression. She’s tried committing sucide several times. We saved her.” This earns many shocked looks.
Cue opening a portal. All of the Paris heroes Gasps. All in glory Multimouse is standing there.
When Honey Bee saw Multimouse, she gasped and enveloped her in a hug, muttering French endearments and saying how much she’d missed her. Dragoness stole Multimouse for a hug next before passing her on to Viperion who also received an extra peck on the lips in return, while Ladybug watched with a soft smile.
With Kaalki involved, it was child’s play to get into the assassin stronghold. Team Miraculous filled the gaps and worked seamlessly in their own right, simply a step away from Gotham’s Bats. They beat assassins on their own. The Bats just watched in awe.
It didn’t take them long to make their way to Ra’s.
The man wore a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he greeted him from his throne. A bruised and bloodied but otherwise intact Adrien was being restrained on the dias a few feet away.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Team Miraculous,” Ra’s mused, looking down the line. His eyes paused on Multimouse and his expression shifted to intense amusement. “And if it isn’t the latest in the Detective’s brood. I suppose heroics truly do run in the family after all.”
A number of shocked and confused gazes snapped to Multimouse, who simply stared at him down with cold eyes growling quietly.
“And yet she isn’t why we’re here,” Ladybug cut in coldly, shoving that problem in a box for later.
Ra’s shifted his oily attention to her. “Yes, I believe I requested the Guardian, young Bug.”
“And here I am,” Ladybug said simply. “But I will never cede the Miraculous to you.”
“Well, then I suppose the Blonde Cat dies.” The assassin near Adrien tried to kill him only to turn to orange smoke. Ra’s growls when he realizes he was tricked.
“Your reign is over. Your crimes won’t continue much longer. Tell me, just how long have you been using the Pits to keep yourself alive?”
“Goodbye, Ra’s al Ghul,” Ladybug intoned. “We’ll leave you to what remains of your empire.” She turned and motioned for the Fox to open the portal to the Watchtower. The Bats followed behind.
Adrien was at the fringes, attempting to escape a hero that was trying to get him to the Medbay for medical attention. He only had eyes for Multimouse.
“Marinette!” he called.
The Bats were shocked at both the name and the blatant outing of a secret identity.
Adrien broke free from his wounds. “Marinette, I’m so sorry,” he said brokenly.
It was quiet for a moment. “I take it they told you why I left, then,” Multimouse said, carefully devoid of emotion.
“I never thought-”
“Don’t, Adrien,” Queen Bee snapped.
Adrien gaped at his friend, shocked at the venom her words carried against him.
“But her Lies, they weren't hurting anyone!”
“How?” Multimouse snapped, her voice cracking. She took a deep breath. “How was it different? Because you told me I had to ‘take the high road?’ Because her lies would unravel themselves? Because she wasn’t hurting anyone? Bullshit, Adrien! They were hurting me!”
“She followed your advice at first,” Queen Bee said sharply. “She shouldn’t have, but you were her friend and she trusted you. By the time she realized that it had been a mistake, it was too late. Everyone else was in too deep and you did nothing . When Mari tried to tell everyone that they were being lied to, she was made to look like a liar. A bully.”
“Do you realize that the rest of us had people on watchlists?” Ryuko said bluntly. “People at risk of Akumatization that could bring the city to its knees. Aurore, because of Stormy Weather II. Ondine, because of Syren. But do you know who was on top?” She let the silence sit. “Marinette. Marinette was on top of that list. The only reason she was above Ladybug was because Marinette was drowning. But any time she tried to get through to the others, Lila hit back harder and you would ask Mari to back down. Because we don’t want to upset Lila, right? We don’t want her to become an akuma. Again.”
“My parents believed her, Adrien,” Multimouse said quietly. “They sent me away because I was ‘out of control’. I’m treated like a criminal where I am now! So I’m sorry, Adrien, but I can’t forgive you. You said you didn’t want to live with more lies, but then you stopped telling the truth when it threatened your ‘peace’. Even when that ‘peace’ might have ruined my life.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “But you know what they say, right? Never meet your heroes.” She turned and looked straight at Batman. “They’ll always just disappoint you.”
- - - - - - - -
The next week was tense at the Wayne manor. But eventually they apologised to marinette. She became close with them. She and her family then sent lawsuits to the Akuma class.
The saying is true then. “All’s well that ends well.”
@maribat-bdbwm
83 notes
·
View notes
Note
The blorbo meme for your own OCs? (ones for specific fandom worlds or otherwise)
Ojhfhsdbhjg I will gladly!
(Note: There are a mixture of Steven Universe and Breath of the Wild OCs in here. I'll add photos after OC mentions so y'all have an idea of who I'm talking about. Most of these will be WIPs/sketches. Tbh some I've probably barely talked about on this blog, but let's go XD)
“Blorbo” Character Ask Meme
____
My blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most):
At the moment? Aryll Haywood, my version of Link's sister. Of all my OCs, she invades my thoughts the most, and is- quite honestly- probably the most fleshed out of all of the characters I've ever created. I think it helps that the very essence of her setting gave her an obvious life conflict to bounce off of... aka the loss of her entire town and family to the Calamity. There's a lot of juice to play with there, in imagining how an 11 year old girl would try (and fail) to cope with that. I can't wait to eventually share her full story- just a few days ago, I started officially writing the prologue for that long fic of mine!
My scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped):
ASDshgjhdg is it a crime to ALSO say Aryll for this one? I would very much love to pick her up in my arms and swing her around like a parent with a tineee precious baby ;w;;;;;;;
Not really sure I have any other OCs who would count as "baby," a lot of the others are downright snarky motherfuckers, lmao.
My scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave):
I've grown quite attached to Arwel Haywood (Link and Aryll's father) while writing a bit of fic from his POV, (A FIC I STILL NEED TO FINISH, auUGHHHH! ! !!!!), and feel I don't think about him as much as I should. I need to flesh out his personality a bit more. So far, though... I am big uWU at the thought of him just,,, really, really loving his kids. I think he does have the tendency to push Link too hard too young with their training, and perhaps spends time with his son just a tad more than his daughter due to their shared interest in swordplay, but oh god does he do his genuine best with them, and I am HUGE a aAAA
(Not my art, but a preliminary Hero Forge model I did of him)
My glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week):
Taafeite, a fusion of my OC Jean Maverick and Steven Universe. They don't show up in their world very often- thus "obscure fave-" but when they do, it's sure to be quite a show. They're a big personality and very much enjoy being in the spotlight. Please don't underestimate their weapon. It may look like a glorified pizza cutter staff, but that bitch is fucking sharp.
My poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave):
Hmm. I don't think any of my SU or BotW OCs fit this category. The only OC I have that even remotely fits is... a VERY old pull... Aster, a Gravity Falls multiverse OC I had at one point but never did anything concrete with. Aster... was the one who was a mercenary working for Bill, charged with hunting Ford down during those 30 years he was lost in the multiverse. They... definitely kill, and definitely do MANY morally wrong things, but there's a depressing backstory to be told, and they eventually do experience Character Development™ and become a less Problematic person, ahahah.
(this art is old as Balls, i'm so sorry)
My horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason):
Jean Maverick. I, uh... outright amputate one of their legs in end-game content that I will probably never write out in full, so saying this is not a spoiler. I put them through so much bullshit, lmao. Trauma... self-loathing... I yeet them into the Gem war at one point... more trauma... meeting their mother WHILE experiencing trauma... homoerotic encounters with foes... oh yeah, they've got it all, shshgdhkkl
My eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell):
jhhjsbdgj absolutely Morganite. Aka Jean's nemesis. Aka a gay ass motherfucker who was so lovesick for the concept of a romance that had long died in the war that she tried touching the sun and got burned. I kinda gave her a really depressing backstory, but she commits war crimes and is GemRacist™ though, which is why she's going to superhell. Byeee!
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rubian Soulmate AU
I finally finished writing it ahhhh
I eventually decided that I was going for a sketch-style writing for this. Just short bits and pieces here and there, piecing together some scenes, but not fully fleshed out into a storyline (it coincides with the original story mostly anyway)
So here it is! Enjoy!
This is a Liam and Ruby Soulmate AU requested by an anon (possibly @thedarkestcrew?) ask, in which damage done to one half of the soulmate pair would translate to the other half.
Word count: 4400
===
Liam
“Where did all these bruises come from?”
I was driving through Highway 95 in Maryland when I noticed the bruises crowning my knuckles. They just…appeared, like petals floating to the surface of water. It is possible that I punched something—or someone—at some point in the last few days, or tripped and fell, and using…my fists to break the fall? But I don’t recall doing any of that.
Then again, my head hadn’t been the most reliable in these past few weeks, either.
They weren’t the first. A couple of weeks ago, I woke up with a cut on my upper arm, and the blood drenched half of my sleeve, but the sleeve wasn’t torn or cut, so it couldn’t have been me… Another one came a few days after that, when I was driving, and a sudden searing pain came to my wrist, like I was burnt by a frying pan, but that part of my skin wasn’t even touching anything. The list goes on.
I think I’m going insane.
Some people…some who are lucky enough to find their soulmates, found themselves with identical wounds on them, because when one half of that bond gets hurt, the other one suffers, too. Mom’s bruises never translated onto our birth dad. Maybe that was why he was so okay with hurting her. It wasn’t until she met Harry, did that magic—or curse—work on both of them.
But that’s exactly that—it only happens after you’ve met the person. If I’ve somehow met her, and didn’t know who she was, then I’ve really screwed up. Big time.
It couldn’t have been anyone in Caledonia, otherwise I would’ve known. No one from home, either. There weren’t even that many of us left. Could it be someone from East River? For some reason, I just couldn’t be sure… There’re this weird quality in my memory when I think of East River, glowing tinge surrounding everything, blurring details, and flaring up the edges, making it hard to see for too long.
Also, if I met her in East River, why isn’t she with me?
If she’s really out there, I felt sorry for all the pain I’ve caused her in the past few days. When I narrowly escaped that group of Skip Tracers, my arms were all cut up, real pretty. I can’t imagine the horror she must have felt when her arms just, out of nowhere, started spontaneously bleeding half of her blood out.
I really ought to take better care of myself, even if it’s just for her sake.
When I crossed the state boarder into Pennsylvania, I managed to find an old payphone, and left a voice mail for my brother to let him know where I am, and that I’m coming his way. I didn’t want to—asking for Cole’s help was one of the few things that I genuinely want to avoid—but I’m really desperate.
The truth is, just imagining him gloating about this—about me needing his help—was almost enough to make me turn around. Think about the last time I asked for his help… didn’t work out so well, did it? But whatever Cole has to offer, whatever nightmare I have to live through going back to the League, is better than being hauled back into the camp.
I don’t think they’d actually take me back into a camp, anyway.
When I got passed the wrong Wilmington, I briefly glimpsed the road sign that read US 13, and a voice suddenly rang in my head.
Turn off here. It urged.
The feeling was distinctly different from my reluctance to meet Cole—it was a drive, asking me to go somewhere, rather than run from somewhere.
Whatever it was, I can’t listen, no matter how hard I wanted to, no matter how it warmed my heart just thinking about that impulse, like it would lead me home, even though I had no idea how.
I got into the city of Philadelphia, and found my brother’s apartment soon enough. When I got into his building, a woman threw me a sideway glance that made my hair stood on their ends.
Please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me… I muttered in my head while I pressed the buzzer. The door swung opened, and I was snatched inside by a forceful arm.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Cole snarled before I could even lay eyes on him properly. “Why didn’t you call me when you got here?”
He looked much better than me, that much was clear. Cole never had any wound that wasn’t his own, and from the looks of him, he hadn’t seen much action lately. His hair was clean-cut, brushed neatly away from his face. He was wearing a white shirt and dark blue jeans, with metal-frame glasses which were clearly without diopters to finish the look. In this getup, you’d expect him to be a graduate student in U Penn, not a high school dropout.
“I… I didn’t have any money to place a call.” I muttered, feeling my voice getting smaller. Gosh, I hated this. I hated that I felt like a child again. I took off my jacket, and hung it on the peg right next to his. They were two identical black leather jackets, which Mom bought us years ago—she got them a couple of sizes bigger than we were at the time, in anticipation that we would eventually grow into them. Cole did, whereas I felt like I still hadn’t.
Cole let out a long and harsh breath, and gave me a scan head to toe. “You’ve seen better days.” He commented eventually, a subtle amusement in his tone. “Even for you, this is a bit excessive…” He gingerly lifted my right wrist, and got a good look at my forearm, all cut up.
You don’t say. I wanted to retort, but didn’t. “What are you doing in Philly?” I asked as I retracted my hand.
Cole raised an eyebrow. “You really want to know?”
Maybe not. “I’d probably know eventually, wouldn’t I?” I said.
He scratched his chin, frowning. “You know what this means, right? You know where we’re going?”
“Look, if I could just find Mom and Harry…” I began, but he raised his hand and stopped me.
“No,” He snapped, “We don’t have that kind of time. My assignment here is done. I’m being extracted at midnight, which is in less than four hours, and if you think I’d let you out running into the wild and being hauled into a camp again, you’d have another thought coming.”
Choose me. I remembered the subtext of what Cole said that night when he left home, and now it was ringing in a different tone. Now I don’t have a choice.
“All right.” I sighed. “Whatever you say.”
He frowned deeper. But it took him a while to say something. “Look, I know the last time you came with me, it didn’t end so well, but things are turning around.” He said, palms down, pacifying. “I promise, just stick it out a few months.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
He bit his lip. “I just do. Trust me.” He said, then gave me a tight smile, “Tell you what, I’ll go get us something to eat, and you clearly need a shower.” He took off his glasses, grabbed the keys, then, as if remembered something, added with a grin, “Do not, drown in the bathtub.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes.
Before he could open the door, though, I stopped him. “Cole,” I began, but didn’t really know how to finish.
“Yeah?” He prompted.
“Have we...” I caught myself just for a moment. What am I doing? “...have we ever been to Virginia Beach?”
Because that…memory? was so vivid, that I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there, calling me at every moment I so much as allowed my mind to idle for a second. But it also had that bright glare around it, like it didn’t really belong to me, like I was seeing it through a mirror, into a different dimension where we were all happier people.
Cole was there, looking exactly like how he was now, but Claire was also there, and that didn’t make any sense…
“No…?” Cole said, “We lived in Wilmington. We went to Wrightsville, remember?”
Of course I do, but… I shook my head. “It’s just… I kept seeing this…memory, that we were there, and Claire was there, too…”
Cole pressed his lips tight. I know mentioning Claire’s name would probably put him on edge, but it’s not like I have other people to talk about her with anyway. A part of me wanted to be a bit mean about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t have the strength.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, voice rigid. “Just go take your shower. I’ll be back with the food.”
And he left, leaving me alone in his white and bare apartment.
I still couldn’t be sure that it was a good idea coming here. If I’m being honest with myself, it wasn’t even about my negative view on the League, or what it had turned my brother into, but that…I’m not sure how to be his brother anymore. I’m not even sure that he needs a brother.
Hell. Looking around this place, I got the feeling that a brother wasn’t the only thing he didn’t need. But then again, knowing how Cole kept his room, it was maybe a good thing that he had so few belongings here. This place…it didn’t even feel like someone actually live here; there were so few things breaking the white of the walls, it was almost glaring to my eyes.
I first went to check his bed, to see if he still has that weird habit—falling asleep with cigarettes still in his hand. His bedsheet looked clean enough; nothing charred. No ashtray, either. Maybe he quit.
Satisfied, I went to grab a t-shirt and a pair of pants from his closet, and dived into the pressurized water in his shower.
I can’t remember when was the last time I had running water. Probably…when I was in the League’s safe house? Gosh. My skin is so filthy, the water only started running clean after a good ten minutes of scrubbing, and I was scrubbing hard.
I was extra careful when I cleaned my arms, though. Not particularly because I was scared of pain, but more that I didn’t want to hurt this…person who might share this unfortunate connection with me, however low the chance might be. I didn’t want to make her suffer even more—somehow, I knew it was a her, for reasons I couldn’t quite put into words.
When I got out of the shower, I felt like my entire body had been turned inside out. My skin was glowing pink against the white tiling of Cole’s bathroom. He is an inch or two taller than me—which was sore to admit, but hey, I went through puberty in a lot worse condition than he did—so his pants hung a little too long around my ankles.
Then I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror. Damn, I looked awful. The dark shadows under my eyes were so purple, they looked almost black. Not to mention the countless scratches and bruises. There was a new one on my left cheek, just above the jawline. Whether it was mine or hers, I didn’t know.
Just as I threw the towel over my head, and started rubbing the water away from my hair, I heard it—siren. It began from a distance, a low wailing, but it was enough to set every hair on my back on its end. As I flew out of Cole’s shower, grabbed my jacket, and rushed to the window side, the siren got closer—and multiplied. The sound of them were like a harmony from hell.
Should I run? Should I stay?
I should run.
Even though they might not be coming for me, I knew better than to push my luck—it hadn’t really been on my side recently, and that woman who looked at me a second too long when I got in the building was probably proving me right. I threw the apartment door open, and on a second thought, ran for the roof instead of the ground floor.
I can reconvene with Cole later. I need to stay out of sight now. Cole’s a smart guy, he knows what to do in a situation like this.
It had started raining. I tripped on a mossy patch on the rooftop, and almost broke my jaw, but I stood up and kept running. I pushed myself over the ledge of the next building, and sprinted for the fire escape on the far end. The sound of the first bullet fired almost made me lose my bearing when I lowered myself onto the metal shaft.
They are on the other side. There were two fully populated buildings between me and those bullets, and they were firing at someone else—which means I’m not who they’re after. These are all good news.
Right?
Since when had I been that lucky after I turned twelve?
I pulled the hood of the jacket over my head, and dove into the shadow of the next alley. The gunfire had stopped, which meant that they probably got whoever they were after. I took the long way around the block, trying to get a hang of the situation, getting an idea of where I could find Cole without being spotted—
Oh, I found him alright.
Fuck. No. Fuck.
I only caught sight of him for a second before they slammed the back of that van shut, and in that brief second, he looked up, and he saw me.
No.
Christ. No. I… I got him caught. I did… I did this… Why didn’t I warn him? Why didn’t I go to him as soon as I heard the siren?
What have I done?
If you’re caught, you’re disavowed. I still remembered that phrase like it was etched into my skull. If anything encapsulates what I hate about the League the most, this is it. And now, Cole is going to be another casualty under that cold hard rule. The thought almost made my knees buckled, but instead of crashing down, I up and ran.
I ran. From this nightmare of my own making.
+++
Ruby
“Ruby!”
The scream came before the punch could land. I didn’t register what was happening in that first moment, not until the blood was dripping down my elbows, and staining the blue mats under us.
“Go to the infirmary!” Coach Johnson ordered, and I gladly obeyed. I could hear the whispering judgements forming even before I left the training room—what was that? What’s wrong with her? Where did those come from?
I knew exactly where they came from.
If Chubs was here, he’d likely yell at me for not getting these wounds taken care of immediately, but I simply…couldn’t. I ran for the shower stall, being careful not to stain the curtain, and turn on the tap.
With the water pouring out the showerhead, steaming up every bit of air around me, blurring my vision, I finally let the tears fall.
My arms didn’t hurt that much. At least, not as much as my heart. The bruises were bearable—who doesn’t get those occasionally living in the wild? I got one every other day even just from the training. But these cuts…he was in danger. Maybe he only got away with it within an inch of his life.
The only consolation I had was that I wasn’t mortally wounded, which meant he wasn’t, either. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t regret my decision of letting him go every second of every day.
If I did that to protect him, all these wounds and bruises only proved how wrong I was, how in vain my suffering had been.
“Ruby?” Cate’s voice.
I swallowed hard before answering. “Yes?”
“Are you all right?” She asked, standing outside of my stall.
“Yes.” I lied.
“Coach Johnson said you were hurt—” She didn’t buy it. “Look, if you don’t want to go to the infirmary, I can take a look—”
“I’m fine.” I cut her off. The timer on the tap beeped, warning me that the water would start running cold. My blood was dripping down from my fingers, dropping into the shallow water on the concrete floor like roses blooming in the snow.
“Ruby, I can see the blood.” Cate said dryly, then softer, coaxing. “Come out, please. Let me dress your wounds.”
Only if I could just close my eyes, and pretend for a second that the person who was waiting for me with antiseptic was Chubs, not Cate. If only I could pretend that these wounds were mine, not of the boy that I dreamt of every night for the past few months.
If only I could pretend that they were here with me, or that I wasn’t here at all.
I sighed, and brushed the curtain open. To Cate’s credit, she didn’t flinch at the sight of me. “Oh, Ruby…” She said with a tone like I was a stray cat ready to be put down. She reached out, and gingerly lifted my hand to get a better look at my arm.
“Press on it.” She handed me a towel, and sat down on the bench before patting the empty space beside her, motioning for me to join her.
I did as she said as she tore open a paper package. “This is going to hurt a little…” She gently dabbed the fabric square on my wounds, and I hissed out of reflex. I hated this. I hated showing her my weakness, and I guessed, in a weird way, she understood that. She didn’t comment on any of it, only continued to wrap my arms up in silence.
“There.” When she’s done, both of my forearms were wrapped entirely in gauzes.
“Th…thank you.” I managed to choke out.
She gave me a tender smile. “Don’t mention it.” She stood up, collecting the empty packages off the bench, and turned to leave.
Before she was out of the door, however, she turned around, and said, “You know, you get those wounds together, and you heal together, too.” She paused for a second, “You’re…not entirely helpless in this situation.”
Ten minutes after she left, I was still sitting on that bench, pondering her words. I didn’t even know what she said was true, but if it was, it meant that when I took care of myself, I took care of him, too. That, somehow, didn’t seem so bad.
I wondered how Cate knew that. She and Rob were clearly not soulmates, and I didn’t even know why she would want to date him, even without considering that fact. Rob—ruthless, arrogant, hateful—was everything opposite to what she seemed to hold dear.
But then again, she probably didn’t understand why someone would find their soulmate only to let them go on their own.
That day when I let Liam go, I made a decision that I would be whoever the League wants me to be, and make it so that they wouldn’t miss him. And for the longest time, I had kept to that promise. But not today, not now.
I just want to be myself again, even if it’s just for a moment.
So I brushed open the curtain to the stall, and allowed myself to be vulnerable again, for everyone and no one to see.
+++
His eyes traveled from my face to where the water had collected on my chest, and I raised my arms just that much higher.
His mouth half-opened for what I was sure to be a snide remark, but whatever it was never managed to pass his lips. His face froze, brows drew together, and he reached out. Before I could shift away—to where though, I had no idea; my back was already against the wall—he grabbed my wrist, and lifted my arm.
“It was you.” Cole said with a tone of half astonishment, half…anger?
“What was?” I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to hide how much I felt like a kid being caught red-handed, stealing candy bars.
He threw me a “really?” look. “Don’t insult my intelligence.” He snapped, “These are Liam’s, aren’t they?”
I almost asked “how do you know”, but that would confirm his suspicion. “What makes you say that?” I asked instead.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not playing games with you.” He huffed, “Soulmates should stick together. What were you thinking sending him out into the wild? Do you have any idea how dangerous he is to you? Or you to him? The poor bastard doesn’t even know you exist!”
“And as long as I stay in the League, that fact shall remain.” I said, more resolute and calmer than I thought possible.
He blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Look, I don’t care what kind of sainthood complex you have going on, I’m telling you—you are not doing either of you any favors, and if you think this is somehow a good idea, I beg you, think again, because you definitely look smarter than this.”
“What do you know?” I retorted, finally couldn’t keep the lid on my anger anymore. “Do you have any idea how much he hates it here? How hard he was trying to avoid this place before you drag him into this mess?”
Cole really laughed. “You think I don’t know?” He raised an eyebrow at me, and I met his glare head on. “I was the one that let him go when he got away that first time.” He tried to brush his hair back with his hand, but it gave out a weird flex before he could reach his head. “And I’ve seen enough soulmates pairs in my life to know that I never want one. Have you any idea what would happen to him if you were injured when he was on the run? Soulmates stick together so they don’t double their chances on dying, but I guess no one ever set your logic straight, did they?”
My head was so flushed with anger that I actually let him finished.
“Go find him.” Cole snapped. “And for Christ’s sake, stay together this time.”
+++
Liam
“I didn’t need freedom; I needed you!” I half-screamed, trying to get the frustration out past the chaos raging in my head. How could I—? How could she—? What the hell—?
On the receiving end of my scream, Ruby’s face was painted with grief, lined with tears that almost made my anger buckle. Almost.
“Did you just…not want to be with me anymore?” Facing her silence, my pain came out softer eventually. Please, just tell me, and I will leave you alone.
“No…” She choked out. “I… I was wrong.” She swallowed hard before continuing, and despite the anger still roaming my vein, I wanted to reach out and touch her. “We should…we should stay together. I knew I couldn’t bear to see you with the League, see them take away all the good in you that I love…”
“Is that how you think of me?” I snapped before I realized what I was doing, “That I am so weak that the League is bound to break me?”
“No!” She shook her head violently, “No, I don’t think you are weak… If anything, I think you are much stronger than me. But I was weak.” She finally looked back at me, her green eyes gleaming in the dim light of this dust-covered room. “I’m so sorry.”
Before I could react to what she said—I didn’t even know what I was going to say or do—the sound of a gunshot broke every single thought clean out of my head.
Ruby was running before I could do anything about it. She pushed the door of the shop open, and another shot blew open the window on the outside, shattering the glass all over the floor.
“Ruby!” I shouted as I dodged, crouching with my hands over my ears, but she was already up and running again, out of the door and behind the woman that was escaping the scene—with a gun in her hands.
“Ruby, stop!” I shouted again, got on my feet to catch her, but I never manage. I skidded on the broken glass, and fell, hands first, into the shards.
I heard her hiss. She stopped dead on her way, and whirled around to find me on the floor, holding my right hand on my laps, pressing it against the fabric of my jeans to try and stop the bleeding.
The blood was dripping down to her fingers. As she walked slowly towards me, the red, looking almost black, dropped on the dust-covered floor, leaving a spotting route, marking her path. When she knelt down beside me, finally close enough to touch me, I found that she was smiling. A totally mirthless, wry and painful smile.
“Give me your hand.” She said softly, almost like a whisper.
“You should treat yours first.” I said, trying to catch her hand, to see how much of a damage I’d done.
“We only need to treat one of us.” She let out a small breath, almost like something caught there. “We get them together, and we heal them together, too.”
That, somehow, broke through all the mess in my head and reached my mind. I let her take my arm, and carefully wrap her scarf on my hand, all the while her words played on repeat in my head.
We get them together, and we heal them together, too.
When she was done wrapping my hand up, the wounds on her hand stopped bleeding, too. I didn’t know why—I wasn’t even completely over that anger or frustration—but when she placed her hand in mine, a tender “there” escaping her lips, all I wanted to do was kiss her.
Instead, I gently enveloped my fingers around her hand. “There.” I said, pressing my good hand over hers.
And we stayed in that silent, that touch, just a little while longer.
+++
#tdm#the darkest minds#ruby daly#Liam Stewart#rubiam#soulmate AU#request#fanfic#writing#Cole Stewart#cate connor
64 notes
·
View notes
Photo
*Slowly walks up to you, cradling this*
*Gently sets it down in fromt of you*
*SPRIN TS THE FUCK AEWAY IN PANIC*
Okay anyways hi I’m back after like, months lol, sorry about that (but I’m not actually back because I’m busy trying not to die because of school-work and trying to work on some MAP parts. I literally said five days ago on my yt channel “Hi I’m back now!! :-D” and school just said “no <3″ which, um, rude. So yeah I might come on and occasionally come post something but I’m really not gonna be coming on here to be active
OKAY OKAY but I need to explain these sketches because they will be suuuper confusing without context, I am very aware, yes, so there’s an explanation (+ some extra art and a non-shaded version of the stuff above) under the cut :-)
BASICALLY, @lulzyrobot made this AU of Pokémon Sword and Shield and now I have brain rot because of it. Also this AU will indeed be confusing to those who have no knowledge about sword and shield so here’s a skippable paragraph about the game:
(OBVIOUSLY SPOILERS BELOW)
Basically, SwSh is just a Pokémon game (no surprise there) and its gimmick or whatever is Dynamax, which turns Pokémon like. Really fucking large. (Some of them can also Gigantamax which changes their appearance as well as size, but we don’t care about that here bc it really isn’t relevant). In all gyms (except one, Spikemouth) there are power spots, which are needed for a Pokémon to Dynamax. If they’re not close to a power spot, they can’t do it. There are also power spots in the Wild Area (which is, you guessed it, an area in the game). At one point in the game, the villain -- Chairman Rose -- starts up something called “the Darkest Day”, which happened before in the Galarian region (which is where everything takes place), in hopes of getting infinite energy for them or something like that (really makes no sense but like ok pop off ig). To do this, he basically uses these things called Wishing Stars -- which are what allows Pokémon to Dynamax -- to summon a Pokémon called Eternatus. In-game, you basically just summon two other legendaries (Zacian and Zamazenta -- they’re on the cover of the games) and fight Eternatus and then catch the fucker. That’s all context you need for this AU so let’s move on to that now:
The AU is basically that Eternatus sends out a powerful blast which fuses trainers with Pokémon, to varying degrees. The closer to a power spot you are, the more likely you are to get it bad. If you’re far enough from one you won’t be affected at all. A person can merge with multiple Pokémon, but the more of them, the harder it is to not go wild. If you merge with a wild Pokémon, you’ll become a Wild Trainer (and those basically act like, well, wild Pokémon).
If you want more info (which you do want, trust me on this), here’s a post made by the creator themself!! https://lulzyrobot.tumblr.com/post/610890677032747008/pokemon-dynamorph-au-masterpost
OKAY ANYWAY, back onto this specific sketch (wow I really went on a rampage there lol)
I decided to Dynamorph my trainersona(??????) (btw, both the Dynamorph version AND the “human” version are WIPs, I’m not completely happy with either of them) and this was the resuulltttt
- Their name is Robin (because I’m a bastard that does self-insert ships with no shame)
- They merged with their Arcanine (and I’m considering also adding a wild Lycanroc, both so I can give them Epic Claws™ and so that their whole extremely volatile nature makes any sense)
- They have some REAL trouble keeping themself in check. Like. They’re constantly on the edge between becoming a Wild Trainer and being “normal”
- Because I am, like I said, a bastard who does self-ships without any shame they are together with Piers. yes I am a simp for him.
- Robin has their select group of friends (made up of all gym leaders minus Opal because they have no idea what the fuck is up with her, as well as Marnie, Hop and Leon. No they don’t give a shit about Bede) which they are super protective of. They have to be reminded that they can all handle themselves, because they might otherwise become a bit possessive.
- While they are a raging storm you do NOT want to get involved with in any way to anybody outside their friend group, they are really nice to be around when they really care about you. They may be pretty stubborn, but they always do what they think is best for their loved ones. On multiple occasions, they’ve gone out to collect any sorts of gifts they can find that they think their friends will enjoy. They are super gentle and kind with Hop and Marnie (which, by the way, they’d literally die for either of them) and they’re overall a good friend/partner. Their main flaw here is their temperament and somewhat possessive nature.
- If anybody did something to even moderately hurt any of their friends... hoo boy, you do NOT want to do that. They’ve nearly killed people for leaving so much as a scratch on their loved ones, and have to be physically dragged away so they won’t really kill somebody.
- However. Despite really, truly believing they'd never, under ANY circumstances, hurt ANY of their friends... they’re wrong about that. The only ones they could truly never purposely cause harm to would be Piers, Marnie and Hop. Yes, it would take A LOT for them to hurt any of the others (like, they’d only hurt the others if they tried to, idk, kill them or something. Or if they tried or actually did kill somebody else in their close circle) but it could hypothetically happen.
- If they ever were to see Rose, he’d probably be torn to shreds on sight. Literally nothing would be able to stop them.
- While it’s near impossible for anybody they don’t care about to calm them down, it’s pretty easy for especially Hop, Marnie, Piers, Raihan, Leon and Milo (and the others, but less so for them lol).
- They were right by a power spot, like they were about to step into a den, when the blast happened so they were. Really fucking affected by it. They stayed in the Wild Area for a while after that, searching for their Arcanine who had “mysteriously vanished”, before they transformed. They were basically a Wild Trainer for at least a month before Piers found them and managed to get them to remember who they actually were over the course of two days. It was,, really concerning when they’d at first been texting him pretty much non-stop to update him on what was going on with them just to then go radio silent for a few days, especially since people had begun transforming at that point. Haha angst go brrr
- You must ignore how their clothes still kind of fit despite them growing to be both more ~muscular~ and tall and how it’s not dirty for the sake of my convenience ok
Ok I think that’s all? woah that was a long post lmao
Anyways, here’s the promised extra art (first one is the same sketch without any shading and that stuff (buT I MISSED ONE, I DIDN’T REMOVE THE SHADING FROM ONE I AM SORRY LOL), second is Robin as just a regular trainer)
Oh also some context for some of the sketches:
Bottom one where they’re screaming “yOU mOthErFuCKeR” is what their reaction would be to one of their loved ones being killed
The one with Milo is Robin just. Being near him. After probably having some sort of panic or anxiety attack because they’re worried about everyone. Because Milo is a really calming person to be around.
Top one in the middle is Robin just patting the red eye-lens-things Raihan got from his Flygon because they find it to be Very Entertaining to just pat them for no reason at all.
The ones where they’re hugging Marnie would take place right after they come back to Spikemouth after their month(s) as a Wild Trainer. They still weren’t used to being around people (and much less BEHAVING like a PERSON) so they were pretty awkward about Marnie hugging them.
The one where they’re surrounded by darkness to the right and kneeling forward is them in the middle of their “transformation” after the blast happened.
Fiery ones at the top right are just Robin being pissed as fuck lol
(Still haven’t decided if this will be the “official” team of Pokemon I have, but it’s cool for now. Also yes, I added an extra Pokemon to my “team” who isn't actually a battle-Pokémon or whatever. I NEED APPLETUNS EMOTIONAL SUPPORT OKAY)
#dynamorph au#dynamorph#Pokémon#pokemon swsh#pokemon sword and shield#piers#pokemon piers#raihan#pokemon raihan#hop#pokemon hop#milo#pokemon milo#marnie#pokemon marnie#leon#pokemon leon#inteleon#cinderace#sylveon#appletun#arcanine#gengar#clefable#yes my gengar and clefable are dating what about it#yes I gave all my pokemon matching accessories what about it#self ship#you can't stop me#this is my world and you're all just living in it#(that was a joke I've started to make jokes playing myself up way too much to be serious instead of self-deprecating jokes)
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
the memories are all i have
henry finds an old relic from the past, and it brings back memories of his dad. basically, this is inspired by a headcanon of mine.
read it on AO3
The book is heavy and covered in dust when Henry picks it up. It was in one of the boxes of things he hasn’t yet decided if he will bring with him to America. When he dusts it off, the title, written in intricate gold letters, becomes visible:
The Complete Collection of Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen.
Henry’s breath catches in his throat as he is filled with recognition. This book… He opens it, to find that the pages have gone stiff and yellow with age. This book must be nearly as old as himself. He can’t remember when he got it, but he must have been really young.
The pages don’t make any sound as he flips through it, stopping nearly halfway through. The title of each story is written in beautiful cursive letters and accompanied by a little illustration. This one is of a swan, floating peacefully on a lake, its head held up in an elegant and prideful manner. It’s beautiful, and he’s seen it a million times before.
-
“Daddy, will you read to me?”
Henry is just tall enough for his head to poke up behind his dad’s desk. What he’s doing looks important and adult-y and incredibly boring. What he should be doing is reading to Henry. Or playing with Henry. Bea is at a sleepover with her school friends, and the palace seems empty and sad, with nothing fun for him to do.
His dad smiles apologetically. “Sorry, love,” he says. “I have so much to do. How about later?”
“Pwease?” Henry says. He’s perfectly capable of pronouncing the word correctly, but his experience tells him he’s more likely to get what he wants when adults find him adorable.
It looks like an internal battle is taking place in his dad’s head, and he doesn’t sound as certain when he says: “I’ll read to you before bed like I always do, I promise. But I haven’t got time right now, baby. I’m sorry.”
Henry pouts and looks up at his dad with the biggest puppy eyes he can muster. There’s not much his big blue eyes and full, rosy cheeks can’t accomplish. “But I wanna read now, daddy,” he pleads.
“Oh, how can I say no to you?” His dad sighs, defeated. He chuckles and shakes his head, getting up from his desk chair. “Fine. You pick out a book and I’ll read to you, but just for a bit, okay? Daddy is very busy.”
The book is almost too heavy for Henry to carry, but he manages to get it to the sitting room. He crawls onto his dad’s lap, nestling himself between two big, strong arms.
They flip through the pages together, and Henry stops him at the story of the ugly duckling. The illustration of the swan is what caught his eye the first time he saw it. But the story itself has gripped him ever since his dad first read it to him. The little duckling who grows up feeling wrong, misplaced... For some reason, it resonates with him. His favourite part is the ending, when the ugly duckling grows into a beautiful swan and finds a place it truly belongs. Henry doesn’t feel like he belongs in this palace. Everything here is too perfect. But right here, in his dad’s arms, he feels at home.
His dad starts reading: “It was so beautiful out in the country, it was summer- the wheat fields were golden, the oats were green, and down among the green meadows the hay was stacked …”
Henry can already picture the scene. The beautiful countryside on a summer day, surely the most peaceful place to be. He closes his eyes and immerses himself in the story, allowing his dad’s voice to carry him far away.
-
“Will you read to me?”
The typical hospital sounds - machines beeping, hurried footsteps along the hallway, uncomfortable silences - have all faded into the background by now. It’s just the two of them, Henry and his dad.
It’s difficult to look at him, his dad who has always been the strongest and bravest person Henry knows, in a hospital bed looking weak and exhausted. He doesn’t look like himself, Henry thinks. His face is pale and sunken, and he has been rapidly losing weight lately. There doesn’t seem to be much of him left, and it hurts to look at, so Henry picks up the book of fairy tales from his nightstand. He found it on a shelf a few days ago, collecting dust, and he figured maybe his dad would like it if he read aloud to him. It seems like returning a favour, almost.
“Which story do you want me to read?” He asks softly.
“Hmm.” His dad closes his eyes, and is silent for so long Henry thinks he might’ve fallen asleep. He’s about to put the book away when his dad finally answers: “That one you always loved as a child… The ugly duckling, right?”
Henry tries to smile. “Yeah.” He doesn’t need to look in the registry for the page number: Even after all these years, he remembers what page it begins on. He can’t do what his dad used to do; make the stories come to life so it feels like you’re there, so instead, he lets his voice be a warm and comforting presence in the otherwise sterile room.
Halfway through the story, he feels his dad’s hand on his own and looks up. “Do you want me to stop?” He asks.
His dad shakes his head. “No, just… You know I love you, right?”
“Oh.” Henry takes his hand. “I love you too, dad.”
“And, you know, if you ever think that there’s something… some part of you that I would be disappointed in or that would make me love you any less… Just know that’s not the case. I will always love you no matter what, baby.”
Henry feels his stomach drop. Does his dad know? How could he? No one knows, not even Bea. “I, er…” He doesn’t know what to say, so he just gives his dad’s hand a gentle squeeze and continues reading.
He doesn’t get far before his dad is fast asleep. It’s the last time he’s alone with him.
-
“Henry, sweetheart?”
The voice carries Henry swiftly and mercilessly back to reality. Alex is standing in the doorway. His eyebrows crease in a concerned look when Henry turns to face him.
“What's wrong, baby?” In a few long strides, Alex crosses the room to where Henry is standing, still holding the book.
Henry looks down at the heavy book in his hands, still opened at the page where the ugly duckling begins. He follows the sketched lines of the swan carefully, mostly to avoid looking at Alex. “Nothing,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.”
Alex brings up his hand to stroke Henry’s hair. “It doesn’t look that way,” he says, but when Henry stays quiet, he lets it go. “Found anything worth keeping?” He half gestures to the book in Henry’s hands.
He nods, looking from the book to Alex. His deep brown eyes, looking at Henry with a mix of love and concern. He sighs, lowering his eyes to the book again. “I wish I’d told him,” he says abruptly.
“Huh?”
“I wish I’d come out to him.”
Alex brushes a hand along his arm. “Who? Your dad?”
Henry nods. “At the time it didn’t seem relevant, or… Well, I guess part of me was scared of how he would take it. And there was so little time left. I never really mustered up the courage, I guess? But… I don’t know.” He bites his lip, willing the tears back. “In the hospital, when he was really sick… It seemed like he was trying to hint at it. Maybe that’s wishful thinking, or maybe he was just confused and disoriented from all the meds and the pain and… I don’t know. But if I could go back in time and change one thing, I think I would’ve told him.”
Alex seems unsure of what to say. He reaches up to place a soft kiss on Henry’s cheek. “I’m sure he would’ve been proud of where you are today.”
Henry nods, forcing a half-hearted smile. “I hope so,” he says. “And to answer your question, yes, I’m keeping the book.”
He closes it, carefully studying the intricate gold writings on the deep blue cover. The memories it holds are far too important to be lost.
#this is my first time posting a fic in this fandom so pls be nice#henry fox mountchristen windsor#prince henry of wales#arthur fox#alex claremont diaz#firstprince#rwrb#red white and royal blue#rwrb fanfic
98 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Quick Meeting Pt. 1
Damian is in Paris as an exchange student when an Akuma strikes he runs in to help as a civilian. that is until something catches his eye.
-----------------------------
ok here's my literal first time writing a oneshot or any sort of fic so I did my best, the grammar probably isn’t great but I think its pretty good. Anyway this idea just came to me so enjoy! Also thanks @ozmav for the inspiration from you Maribat au!
Read part 2 here
Part 3 here
Part 4 here
Edit: Read both parts on Ao3,
“I can’t believe I’m saying this but I actually miss Drake.” Damian Wayne's tired voice moaned in the phone, “it’s so boring here, no one to bicker with and no crime to fight.” The youngest Wayne had been in Paris for two days for his exchange program, Bruce thought it was a good idea for the boy to actually go and experience a normal teenage life.
There was a loud snicker on the other end of the line, “Oh I’m sure it couldn’t be that bad Damian, I mean they have some of the best pastries ever.” Damian could practically hear the boys stomach growl, “speaking of which while you’re there you have to check out the Dupain-Cheng bakery, it’s not the biggest one in town but dad brought back some of their macaroons one time and they were the best I’d ever had.”
“I’ll take the suggestion Jon, might as well do something while I’m here.” Damian was just about to make another quip about how it was too sunny when panicked screams filled the air, “I’ve gotta go talk later.” He hung up the phone to the protests of Jon and started running towards the center of chaos.
He got to the Eiffel Tower cursing Bruce for not letting him bring the robin suit, nevertheless he started helping people get out of the way. Something this big could not be good for civilians. As he was helping one young woman up he noticed a girl in red and black spandex running on the rooftops coming his way. He was taken aback. Paris doesn’t have heroes he thought with a start. She mesmerized him, with her flips and twirls is she a Grayson? Now that was a terrifying thought. He was so captivated by her he didn’t even notice the huge chunk of concrete that was flying his way until it was falling right above him, he braced for impact until someone tackled him out of the way. The roll on the ground made small rips in his clothing but overall he wasn’t harmed, they came to a stop with Damian laying below someone with his hands pinned above his head. He looked up to see the girl in red. Her bluebell eyes were shining from behind the mask she wore, her blue-black hair was in pigtails with ribbon coming from them, Damian blushed.
“I was handling it, I didn’t need your help.” He said cooly, he may not have been in costume but he didn’t need her help.
“Yeah because a giant concrete slab almost crushing you is, how did you put it, having things under control.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm, it was enough to make Damian laugh.
“Ok, ok you’ve got me there, but I can handle myself. There are other civilians who need your help more than I do.” He looked back at her and holy shit she’s beautiful. He had noticed her beauty before but on a second pass he saw how her eyes were dancing with amusement while still holding concern over his well being.
“Civilians? Interesting choice of words.”
Damian cursed himself, civilians was a vigilante word, not one most normal people would’ve used in this situation.
The girl was about to ask him another question when the round thing at her waist gave off a ring. The male voice came through saying “Ladybug where are you, this isn’t really the purrfect time to ditch me.” Both she and Damian let out a sigh at the bad pun, she grabbed the device and said “I’m on my way Chat, got sidetracked by a civilian in danger, but apparently he can handle himself.” Her partner might not have picked up on the mockery but Damian did. Normally he’d be offended but something about her made him know she meant it all in jest.
“Ok I’ve gotta get going and so should you. There’s an akuma shelter two blocks that way,” she pointed “I’d suggest getting there as fast as you can. Bugout!” With that she was gone, and Damian was looking at empty space with starstruck eyes.
-----------------------
Marinette sat at the back of the room pointedly ignoring the crowd below. Lila was telling some tale or another about how she “knew the Waynes personally after all she gets invited to the gala every year.” Alya the ever faithful servant looked up at Marinette and said “see how good Lila is! She even gets invited to the Wayne gala, why do you insist on bullying her.” Marinette just ignored her continuing to sketch in her book. Well sketch and think.
The boy with dark hair was still on her mind, and Marinette was really wishing she had gotten his name. Not that Marinette Dupain-Cheng could just start talking to him out of the blue, that’d give away her identity as Ladybug. Maybe though Marinette could’ve just bumped into him “accidently” of course. She really hoped he had found that akuma shelter even though he said he could handle himself, the fact he had been standing there still as a statue as a cement slab came flying towards him wasn’t really a vote of confidence. She kept seeing his piercing green eyes when they looked into hers, first with shock then with something else. She blushed a little bit at that particular thought.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t notice her former friend was next to her until she put her hand down on the sketchbook, right above the silhouette Marinette had been drawing of the black haired boy. “Have you even been listening to a word I’ve said Marinette? Seriously how could you be so rude?” Alya said sharply.
“In fact Alya I was not, if it was important you should know to tap me while I’m sketching otherwise I won't hear you, since I get so into it.” Marinette responded calmly, turning to look at her former friend.
“Well if that’s the case then your sketchbook is just gonna have to go until you learn some manners Meanette.” Alya grabbed her note book and started moving back towards Lila.
“Hey give it back.” Marinette said, leaping up from her seat. She was a pacifist but drew the line at having her stuff stolen. She went down to where Alya was to try and get back her sketchbook when Alya just held it higher. Marinette jumped to try and get it and Alya just moved her hand, eventually throwing it to Kim, then Rose, until the entire class was in on the giant game of keep away. Each student would tear a page a little bit every time they got the book until the pages were barely even stuck to the binding anymore. Marinette bounced between them trying to grab her book back but each student kept it clearly out of her reach, Chloe and Adrien were both out sick so there was no one else to help Marinette get her book back. The game ended when Lila threw the book at the door. Hard. so when it made contact with the opening door. All the pages flew out and scattered around the door frame.
Marinette was holding back tears as she went near the door to start gathering up the papers mentally planning to call her mom in order to go home early. She reached out blindly to pages closer to a door when a calloused hand met her own.
“Here. Let me help.” He said, his voice kind and warm.
“Thank…. Thank you.” she sniffled out, the tears were becoming harder and harder to hide.
Soon they had picked up all the papers, the class long forgotten. Marinette and the boy stood up, she was about to thank him again when familiar green eyes looked into hers and all the words she was about to say got stuck in her throat. She tried stuttering out a few sentences, her face turning red. Thankfully he looked as stunned as she was. Does he know I’m her? Marinette thought.
“I’m Damian.” He finally said although his voice was a little less confident than it was a few minutes ago.
“Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She responded.
#marinette x batfam#marinette dupain cheng#maribat#maridami#damienette#damianette#marinette x damian#miraculous x dc#ml class salt#a little Alya salt
661 notes
·
View notes
Text
Crystal Heart Chapter Four - HYDRA Attack
Tony's POV
Weeks passed, Fury and Hill finally got their heads out of their asses and decided that the safest place for Melanie once she left the hospital was Avengers Tower. (Which Steve and I could have told them the day after we rescued the kid)
The day we brought Melanie home, she followed Steve around like a lost puppy, afraid of being alone. Though over the weeks that followed, as she slowly got to know the rest of the Avengers, her confidence grew.
Then One night, she wandered down to my workshop.
Steve was on a solo mission, Peter was on Patrol and I was working. I had`nt slept for two days and was onto my sixth cup of coffee for the night when the door to my workshop opened.
"Pete, that you Underoos?" I asked, Peter often came to the workshop when he finished patrol.
"Ummm, It's me Mr. Stark," Said a voice that was Obviously not Peter.
I turned around from the workbench and Melanie stood in the doorway. looking terrified.
"What's wrong Mel?" I asked, gesturing that it was okay for her to come in.
"I... I had a bad dream."
I reached for a rag and wiped the grease off my hands before walking over and putting my arm around the girl, "You wanna talk about it?"
"But..." she started, but I cut her off, "I know what a bad dream is Mel. I've had a few myself." I said, "You can tell me. It's ok.
She took a deep breath, "It was about... HYDRA...They... they turned me... turned me into some kinda...Puppet... and I... I hurt Steve..." She burst into tears and wrapped her arms around my neck, "Mr. Stark, I hurt him so bad... and you... didn't want me anymore... "
"Oh mellie... That's not gonna happen. I promise. I will always want you around." I said, pulling her into a hug.
"But I..." she broke down into tears again, "But I was so scared... I don't wanna go back... I was so scared..."
"It's ok Mel. It's gonna be ok." I said, "Come on, let's get you back to bed."
I pulled the girl close to my side and walked her back to her room, tucking her back into her bed.
"I'm Sorry Mr. Stark," Melanie whimpered as I adjusted the blanket over her.
"What for?" I asked.
"For coming down to the workshop. I know You were busy and I... couldn't even..." Melanie was crying again, she rolled over, facing away from me as if ashamed by her tears.
"Come on Mel, It's ok, It's not your fault." I soothed, "You know that, right?
"I-I know." Melanie sniffled.
"You can come down to the workshop anytime, day or night." I said, "I'm always gonna be here for you. We all will."
Melanie sniffed again. "Promise?"
"Promise."
Melanie rolled back over, looking at me with tears in her eyes. "Thank you Mr. Stark." she said, "For everything."
"You're welcome Mellie."
"Will... will you stay for a bit? Till I fall asleep?"
"Sure," I said, more than a little surprised at the request. I settled in the chair beside Melanie's bed. My Project could wait a while. "Get some sleep kiddo, I'll keep you safe."
I must have dozed off at one point because the next thing I knew, it was the next morning and Peter was nudging me awake. After I rushed my Spider-ling to school, I returned to my project, only to find Melanie waiting for me in the workshop. She was sitting in what Steve called his "Sketching corner," an armchair and coffee table with pencils, a pile of loose drawing paper and a sketchbook.
"What's going on Mel?" I asked.
"Ummm, I wanted to thank you, for last night," Melanie said, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face.
"You`re welcome kid, I know how real those nightmares can feel," I replied.
suddenly, Melanie's heterochromatic eyes went as wide as saucers, "Mr Stark, Steve needs help."
"Miss Peters is correct sir," JARVIS confirmed, "Captain Rogers is upstairs, he appears to be ill."
We both grimaced at the news, "We should hurry," I said, grabbing Melanie by the hand and leading her upstairs. Cursing under my breath the whole way. Steve never gets sick. Ever. Something was seriously wrong.
My fears were confirmed when we got to the penthouse and found Steve throwing up into the toilet; he looked terrible. His blond hair was soaked in sweat, practically plastered to his forehead, and his big blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle.
"Steve, Steve," I said, kneeling beside him "You look awful sweetheart."
"Tony, is Melanie okay?" Steve asked, breathing heavily.
"She's fine, she and i've been down in the workshop," I replied. combing my fingers through his damp hair.
"they`re.... coming for... her, you have... to protect her.."
"And leave you here bringing your guts up? No way."
"I`ll Be fine, this is the serum, it's getting the poison out of my system."
"Poison?" I asked, alarmed.
"I`ll explain later, just keep her safe. Please Tony,"
"I promise, I will." I kissed his pale cheek before getting to my feet and leaving to find Melanie. she was waiting just outside.
"Melanie, we need to talk," I said.
She nodded, her Heterochromatic eyes full of fear and concern.
I took her by the hand and led her into the Laundry, "Do you remember that first day at the hospital? Where Peter hid you when HYDRA agents came looking for you?"
Melanie nodded, "In the Bathtub," she replied.
"Well today`s a little bit different," I said.
Melanie seemed to understand what i was implying and clambered into the Laundry basket. I quickly arranged the clothes so she was concealed from the outside and placed a blanket on top of her.
"one of us`ll come and get you when it`s safe `kay?"
Melanie made a little sound of acknowledgement.
The basket was beside the dryer, so I turned on a load. Figuring that the noise would conceal Melanie`s breathing and keep her warm at the same time.
When i closed the lid to the basket, Goose positioned herself on top of it.
"Goose, Stay. Protect her," I instructed
"Meow," Said goose.
By the time I`d called my suit, Steve was staggering into the living room.
"Melanie?" he asked.
"Safe, Goose`s on guard duty" I replied, "You sure you`re okay?"
Steve took two steps towards me and nearly fell over in a heap. I caught him and eased him onto the ground, (thanks to the Armour, i never would have been strong enough otherwise)
"m'ok." Steve said "I lost my focus for a moment, that's all." He stared at up at me, blue eyes glassy.
"Yeah no, You're far from ok." I replied, "You need to sit this one out."
"Can't.." Steve protested, "I promised Mel... I'd Protect.. her."
"That's a promise we all made," I reminded, but before I could continue, A Bomb broke through the Skylight, Flooding the room with Gas.
My Helmet closed immediately, and I sent out the Avengers Assemble code before looking down at Steve. His super-immunity was busy fighting whatever these Lunatics had poisoned him with, thereby lowering his resistance to the gas.
"Come on Capsicle, Stay with me," I said as I started to drag him out of the Gas cloud. When we retreated to the hall, My fiancé had passed out, but he was still breathing.
Before i knew it, The rest of the Team had gathered around us.
"F***! What happened?" Natasha asked.
"Some Lunatic poisoned him," I replied, "And then HYDRA tossed a gas bomb through the skylight. Bucky, can you get him down to Medbay?" I asked.
Bucky nodded, and I watched as he grabbed Steve and supported him. About a year ago, I wouldn't have trusted my fiancé`s best friend as far as I could throw him. But after he saved Peter's life from A Vengeful Green Goblin. It forced me to admit that maybe i was wrong.
"Where`s Melanie?" Clint signed as Bucky disappeared down the fire escape.
L-a-u-n-d-r-y B-a-s-k-e-t G-o-o-s-e I signed back.
Clint Saluted and ran off.
As I charged my repulsers, The memory of last night, and Melanie's distraught, terrified face flashed before my eyes. taking a deep breath, I prepared for the battle ahead. Those Asses were not going to take My girl away.
#the crystal heart saga#stony#iron dad#iron dad and spider son#Crystal heart#marvel fanfic series#marvel fanfic#whump#Steve Rogers whump#deaf clint barton#goose the cat#goose the flerken
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
dress you up, dress you down ch. 3 - business casual
aka the Tie Fic. Chapter two here.
Also on Ao3
00000
“Wait, wait, go back,” Katherine says, barely holding back a laugh. “Jack keeps doing what?”
“So, he’ll start getting ready, right?” Davey explains, gesturing with his free hand. “And then, right in the middle, he’ll get distracted or start telling a story or ask me a question, and end up just standing there for ages with his pants half buttoned or his shirt hanging open, like it’s totally fine, no big deal.”
Davey glances left and right to make sure the road is clear, then continues on, Katherine’s hand tucked companionably in the crook of his arm as they walk along.
“It’s driving me crazy, Kath, I am this close to losing my mind,” Davey says, thoroughly caught up in getting this all off his chest. “It’s a miracle I’ve gotten through these last few weeks without throwing myself off the fire escape; no one should be expected to withstand the full force of Jack Kelly first thing in the morning, it’s too much to ask of any one person. And I can’t even just try to avoid looking at him, because if Jack notices he always starts asking me if I’m okay or if anything’s wrong and I can’t say, ‘oh, no, Jack, I’m fine, it’s just that you’re too pretty for this mortal plane and I’m kind of struggling to exist in your presence’ because obviously, so then I have to make something up—“
“You aren’t a good liar,” Katherine comments.
“—And I’m not a good liar!” Davey exclaims. “And I’m definitely not a good liar when Jack is looking at me with his stupid, soft brown, puppy dog eyes and his dumb, messy, adorable hair, or when he says ‘Dave’ in that voice and I just— I cannot express enough how difficult it is to convince Jack that there’s nothing wrong with me when I can barely look him in the face.”
Katherine doesn’t even attempt to stifle her next snort of laughter, the sound bursting out of her.
“It’s not funny, Katherine!” Davey says. “I had to start using Les as a human shield just to get through the morning!”
“No, it’s pretty funny,” Katherine disagrees, shoulders shaking.
Davey huffs out a breath.
“I don’t feel like you’re appreciating the gravity of the situation,” he grumbles.
“Oh, boo hoo, a pretty boy likes to stand around your bedroom half naked, giving you plenty of opportunity to ogle at him uninterrupted,” Katherine says, rolling her eyes at him. “What an incredible hardship you’re facing.”
Davey flushes.
“...I don’t ogle at him,” he mutters.
Katherine raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t!” Davey insists. “I can barely keep from embarrassing myself when I’m doing my best not to look at him—I’d have spontaneously combusted by now, otherwise.”
“Uh huh,” Katherine hums, pinning him with a knowing look. “Right.”
“This is your fault, you know,” Davey continues quickly before Katherine can press any further. “I was perfectly content with my life as it was, but no, you wanted him to have nice work clothes and now I’m the one that has to deal with how painfully good Jack looks in a tie on a regular basis.”
“He’s actually wearing it?” Katherine says, surprised. “Given the stink he put up while we were picking it out, I figured we’d hardly ever see him in it unless one of us made him wear it.”
“Well, I wish I could make him stop wearing it,” Davey grouses. “I swear he does it just to torture me—the damn thing is practically haunting my dreams at this point. I’m pretty sure I could fix him up with one hand behind my back, he wears it so often.”
“Wait,” Katherine starts slowly, her expression caught somewhere between judgement and glee. “Have you been.... tying Jack’s tie for him?”
“He doesn’t know how!” Davey protests, face flushing a touch deeper. “He doesn’t know how and I haven’t had time to teach him yet, so I always have to— Stop laughing!” Davey sputters, swatting at Katherine’s shoulder when she devolves into a flurry of giggles. “It’s nothing, it’s not a big deal.”
He decides not to mention the fact that, whenever he goes to fix Jack’s tie, he swears he can feel the weight of Jack’s gaze like a physical presence—almost thrilling in its intimacy, like the warmth of a hand on his cheek or the feeling of fingers carding gently through his hair—except that whenever he works up the nerve to check, Jack’s always looking somewhere else, casual as can be.
How he can’t tell if it’s actually happening or if it’s a figment of his imagination, the sparking tension that seems to flash and flare between them, how he has no idea what he’d do if he actually caught Jack’s gaze in these moments, but that just wondering about it sends his heart beating a few paces faster.
Even if he wanted to try to explain it, he’s not sure if he could put it all into words.
Thankfully, Katherine doesn’t seem to have picked up on his sudden bout of introspection; she nudges Davey playfully in the ribs.
“Sure it isn’t,” she says, clearly delighting in his embarrassment. “Please, tell me more about how you and Jack have built an entire morning routine together—“
“Oh, look, we’re here,” Davey hurriedly interrupts.
The doors to The World stand as tall and imposing as ever, though the effect is softened somewhat by the flood of workers rushing out of them, heading out into the city for their lunch break.
Davey and Katherine linger on the sidewalk, waiting for Jack to come out and meet them, but he never appears.
“He should be here by now, shouldn’t he?” Davey asks, after a few minutes pass by with no sign of Jack.
“Lunch started ten minutes ago,” Katherine confirms. “If he doesn’t hurry, he’s not going to have time to eat.”
“He probably got caught up in one of his art inspirations,” Davey says with a shrug. “I bet he didn’t even notice the bell ringing.”
“Then let’s go fetch him, shall we?” Katherine says, stepping confidently into the building, tugging Davey along behind her.
Davey’s been to The World several times by now, but he still isn’t all that comfortable being inside the building, always feeling distinctly out of place. Katherine, of course, walks right in like she owns the place, which she sort of does, leading the way through the lobby and up the main staircase until they reach the floor for the Art Department.
They find Jack right where they thought he would be, seated at his desk with a pen in hand, deeply engrossed in his latest series of sketches and totally unaware of the world around him... including the small gaggle of his coworkers standing just off to the side, whispering and giggling amongst themselves as they watch him work.
A small part of Davey’s brain can’t blame them for staring: Jack makes for quite the sight in his dark slacks and matching vest, a crisp white button up tucked underneath. He’s become a bit disheveled in the hours since Davey last saw him—his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened slightly, exposing the line of his forearms and a hint of skin at his collar—and he wears it incredibly well, looking far more handsome than he has any right to after half a day’s work.
The rest of his brain, however, stands at attention—a fierce, heated sort of irritation prickling just under his skin. Davey feels himself slow to an uneasy stop, a frown pulling at his features.
He happens to catch the eye of one of them: a young woman who appears to be about his age, with blue eyes and dark, curly hair, stepping out of the crowd as if about to approach Jack at his desk. Davey’s not sure what his expression does in this moment, but when their gazes meet she freezes, her cheeks flushing a touch pink as she ducks her head, and she quickly returns to the safety of the crowd.
“Typical Jack,” Katherine says with a soft shake of her head. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the flock of admirers waiting in the wings. “Okay, let’s grab him and get out of here—“
“I’ve got it,” Davey says abruptly, stepping forward.
Jack doesn’t acknowledge his approach, utterly focused on adding a few precise bits of shading to the cartoon he’s hunched over. His fingers are dotted with ink stains, his hair a little ruffled from where he’s been running his hands through it, and Davey feels himself soften at the sight of him, that sharp edge of annoyance fading as quickly as it appeared.
Mindful of not startling Jack while he has a pen in his hand, Davey carefully calls out, “Jackie?”
Jack glances up, distracted, and then does a double take, his expression quickly turning sheepish.
“Aw, hell, is it lunch already?” Jack asks, setting his pen down.
“At the same time as always,” Davey confirms, leaning against the corner of Jack’s desk. “Figures you’d get so caught up in a project that you ignore your stomach.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says with a grin, pushing his chair back. “I know, don’t start.”
He stands up and stretches—full bodied, with both arms over his head—giving Davey a long, generous look at just how well everything he’s wearing is tailored to him.
“Where’s Kath?” Jack says, oblivious to the way Davey’s eyes are riveted to the subtle flex of his shoulders and chest as he shakes the stiffness out of his hands. “Is she meetin’ us there or...?”
“No, we walked here together,” Davey says, clearing his throat. “We’re just waiting on you, Jackie, love.”
The endearment slips past his lips of its own accord, far too affectionate and far too honest.
Jack stills, blinking at him in open surprise, clearly catching his mistake. Then his expression shifts, a bright flicker of warmth lighting up his face.
“So, let’s get a move on,” Jack says with a soft smile, blessedly allowing the moment to pass without comment; Davey lets out the breath he’d been holding, relieved. “At this rate, I’m not gonna have any time to eat.”
“And whose fault is that, hmm?” Davey says, trying for something casual, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. “What, you didn’t notice everyone else leaving all of the sudden?”
“Shuddup,” Jack says. “You know I don’t mean’ta get distracted. An’, hey, everybody ain’t left yet.”
Jack gestures to where a few of his coworkers are still standing, who try to seem as though they haven’t been watching when they realize Jack is looking at them. Davey’s earlier frown returns with a vengeance.
“See, it ain’t just me,” Jack says.
“I thought we were getting a move on,” Davey says lightly, hooking two fingers under the front of Jack’s vest and tugging slightly to get his attention. Jack’s eyes snap back to his with a speed Davey can only describe as gratifying. “Lunch isn’t going to buy itself.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jack murmurs, allowing himself to be steered back towards the staircase. “Where’re we goin’?”
“It’s Kath’s turn to pick,” Davey says.
“So uptown, somewhere weird and expensive that she won’t let us help pay for,” Jack surmises.
“She promised not to pick anything too strange anymore after last time,” Davey offers, though he’s a bit apprehensive himself. “It won’t be that bad... probably.”
Jack snorts. “It’s the probably that I’m worried about.”
“Buck up, Jackie,” Davey says, curling his hand around Jack’s forearm. “If I have to eat it, you have to eat it.”
“Hey, Jack,” Katherine says once they’re close enough, hitting Davey with another knowing look when Jack steps forward to hug her. Davey bites his lip, gaze falling guiltily to the floor. “Ready to go?”
“You mean, am I ready for your latest poisonin’ attempt?” Jack asks. “Sure, if that’s what’cha wanna call it.”
“I was not poisoning you!” Katherine volleys back. “Those were a delicacy—”
“They was disgustin’, that’s what they was,” Jack replies. “So what’s on the table today, O’ Queen of The World? Sautéed rose petals? A single black bean roasted over an open flame? The left claw of the rare Chesapeake lobster?”
“Why do I even bother?” Katherine dramatically laments, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You uncouth swine.”
“You’re the one that dated me.”
“A momentary lapse in judgement, I assure you.”
“Hey!”
As they head back downstairs, Davey can’t help but throw one last parting glance over his shoulder—Jack’s crowd of admirers has mostly dispersed, the various workers going back to their desks to eat or sulk now that there’s no one to gawk at—and surge of satisfaction rushes through him, unbidden, yet undeniable.
“Dave!” Jack calls, he and Katherine having made it most of the way down the staircase in the meantime. “What’re you doin’? C’mon!”
“Sorry,” Davey says, hurrying after them.
“What, there somethin’ interestin’ goin’ on up there?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “Somethin’ caught your eye?”
“No, Jackie” Davey says simply, not quite able to resist a smile. “Nothing at all.”
00000
Chapter four here
Tags!
@yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy
#newsies#javid#jack kelly#davey jacobs#the tie fic#*final cut#*editor's note#*the writing desk#tease series#jealous Davey is right up there with flustered Davey tbh#listen: i love them
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
Snaxsquatch
This is directly inspired by my in game experience in catching sight of the Snaxsquatch and then approaching it, thinking it was one of the villagers and then it melting into the ground before I could get a good look at it. I spent a while trying to get it to reappear and even now during my second play through, every time I'm in that area I look down into the alcove with my camera, hoping it's there. It sadly never is though. I decided to turn the fic into a Filbo/Buddy thing because why not?
~
Stepping out of the cave, Buddy looked up. … But alas, the sky was still crystal-clear blue. There were a couple wispy clouds but nothing that had much of a chance of yielding rain any time soon. Waiting around for it wasn’t the best use of their time but… it was the last snac they needed to document in Flavor Falls. Supposedly anyway, there could be more, the entire island was still largely unexplored after all. So there could easily be…
“Sandopede, sandopede, sandopede…”
Coming to a stop, their eyes naturally followed the sandopede as it crossed right in front of them in its seemingly never-ending loop. It was weird how so many snax resorted to running or flying around in a loop, almost like they wanted to be caught. Perhaps later Buddy should ask Floofty about…
Someone stood at the end of the little alcove they’d fallen in when first arriving upon the island. At this distance and with their back to Buddy it was hard to tell who it might be. But if they were out here it had to be for a reason.
Abandoning their prior path, Buddy jumped down to the lower level. They then crossed the stream and ascended the hill to the alcove, taking a breath great whoever it was. They didn’t get a single word out though because that was not a grumpus!
Its large googly eyes locked onto Buddy, sending a chill down their spine. Despite that they were already scrambling to lift their camera. They were too slow though, the thing disappeared, seemingly melting into the ground, before they could even get it in the view finder. … Dammit!
Their fur bristling with fear and anticipation, they glanced around, both hoping and fearing that it might’ve reappeared elsewhere. … But no, whatever that thing had been was gone now. Shaking it off, they held their camera at the ready, just in case, as they approached the spot it had been standing.
No trace of it remained, not even a single footprint. It was rock and grass so that made sense but was disappointing nonetheless. They hadn’t gotten a good look at it but it had definitely been grumpus shaped and perhaps made of bugsnax? It was hard to say for sure with how brief their glimpse had been.
There was a good chance it whatever it had been was the thing Beffica had seen that night a couple weeks ago. Buddy had already been intrigued by that mystery but now that they’d seen it themself, it was a whole other story. They had to document it, simply had to. And since bugsnax seemed to like to hang out in one place – and that was probably what it was given how no other native creatures had been spotted on the island – it was probably still around here somewhere, perhaps watching them. That thought made their fur prickle with fear again but… no matter. They wouldn’t rest until they’d found, scanned, and officially documented whatever it was.
A week or so later and back at Snaxburg
“Hey Gramble,” Filbo said as he poked his head into the barn. Gramble looked up from whatever bugsnax he was tending to, giving him a slightly suspicious look. It hurt a little but… it was understandable so Filbo continued. “Have you seen Buddy around lately?”
“Nope. They ain’t been by when I wasn’t around to drop off any new little ones for a while now neither.” Which meant they hadn’t been back to Snaxburg at all because they always had something to donate to Gramble’s barn every time they returned to town.
“They’ve never been gone this long before.” They hadn’t really been gone for a super long time but previously the longest they’d been away from town without returning for even a short while was like two or three days. And given how Liz and Eggabell were still missing after disappearing… “I’m starting to get a little worried.”
Gramble suddenly looked nervous too. “Well what do you want me to do about it?”
“I don’t know. Help me go find them maybe?” Filbo didn’t exactly trust himself to find them on his own otherwise he’d have gone off to do so already.
“I would but… I can’t be away from my little ones that long. Someone would break in and eat them for sure.” That was unfortunately probably a fair point.
“Right, yeah, uh… I guess I’ll go ask the others for help then.” Buddy was friends with everyone here so surely getting a search party going wouldn’t be too hard.
-
It turned to Snorpy had placed a tracking device on them, making determining their location in Flavor Falls a breeze. But… “They didn’t respond when I tried to contact them earlier today for I too was starting to get worried. I was thinking of sending Chandlo out to go find them if they didn’t return by nightfall tonight.”
“No need for that. I can handle it,” Filbo said even though he was not at all confident that he could handle even that. But Flavor Falls was the least dangerous place on the island other than Snaxburg so he’d probably be fine. It’d be chance to possibly prove himself a little.
“Very well then,” Snorpy replied with nod. “I suppose I shall see both you later then. Be careful though, you never know what might be out there.” That sounded a bit forbidding but… Snorpy was just like that so Filbo wasn’t going to worry about it.
-
It wasn’t until he was halfway there that the realization that things might not be so safe hit him. Surely there had to be a reason Buddy had been gone for so long. It was possible something had attacked them and they were hurt or perhaps worse. What would he do if he when he found Buddy they were…
The distinct sound of a snaxscope snapping a picture made him jump a little and drew his gaze upward. Buddy stood atop a steep hill, looking down at him, their camera still raised. Oh thank grump, they were okay.
“Hey, Buddy.” He smiled, lifting a paw in a small wave to hide his relief.
“Hello, Filbo.” Buddy lowered their camera and jumped down off the hill with seemingly no concern for their own safety. “What are you doing out here?” As they approached it became hard to miss the heavy bags under bloodshot eyes. Clearly they hadn’t slept in a while.
“Looking for you. You’re been gone for a while and I was starting to get a bit worried.” And apparently, given their appearance, he’d had a right to be. “So… you okay?”
That gave Buddy pause as they opened their mouth as if to speak but said nothing for a solid few seconds before finally speaking, looking Filbo right in the eye as they did so. “You’re amazing and I would kill someone for you if you asked me to.”
Now it was Filbo’s turn to be taken aback. Who said that kind of thing in general but especially to someone like him? He wasn’t all that great or amazing and nobody should be killing anyone at his request. Also that was something he very much did not want. But before he could gather himself enough to say that or anything really…
“But anyway,” their tone now matter-of-fact as if they hadn’t just said something super weird, Buddy broke eye contact as they shifted their backpack around to start digging through it, “the reason I’ve been out here so long is I’m hunting what I’ve decided to call a Snaxsquatch. It’s shaped like a grumpus but made of smaller bugsnax… I think. I only saw it for a split second before it melted into the ground. Which is why I couldn’t get a picture of it. I’ve been trying to get to reappear or root out its hiding spot ever since. I may have gotten a bit wrapped up in. But I did capture what I think might be a footprint it left.” They pulled out their notebook, flipping it open and holding it out so Filbo could see.
On one page was some writing, repeating most of what Buddy had just said. Beneath it was a sketch of a shadowy grumpus shape with googly eyes much like the bugsnax’s but bigger. On the other page was a photo of a grassy patch that did indeed look kind of like something large had stepped there.
With a shiver, Filbo glanced all around them. Thankfully whatever it was didn’t seem to be around right now. “Surely if something like that was on the island, especially this part of it, we would’ve seen it by now, right?”
Buddy closed their journal and slipped it into their pack and shifted it around onto their back again. “We have seen it. Or at least Beffica and Gramble saw it. But I think this one’s smarter than most bugsnax. Which is why we haven’t seen it much. It’s hiding somewhere, probably watching us.” Their face and tone seemed to indicate that idea excited them somehow. “I’m going to find it though.” If anyone could, it was probably them, right? But…
“Maybe you should rest first though. You look pretty uh… tired.”
“I can rest after I find it.” They started to turn away, probably to return to their hunt it. Filbo couldn’t let them do that though, both for their sake as well as his own because returning to town alone knowing something could be out there watching him was not something he had any desire to do.
“It seems to be taking a long time though. And… and… what about Lizbert and Eggabell? You still haven’t found them yet. And what about the rest of the town too? We’re kind of uh, depending on you.” Probably more than was fair.
They froze before snapping back around to face Filbo again. “Shit, you’re right. After I got that quick glimpse of it I just go so excited to find another cryptid I guess I forgot about everything else. … Whoops, sorry. I’ll hunt it down afterfinding Lizbert.” They turned and started fast walking back towards town. “I’ll get back on that right now. Thanks for coming out here to find me.”
Filbo scrambled to catch up, almost having to run to keep up with their walking pace. “You’ll get some rest first though, right?” Because they looked like they needed it and because in general they didn’t seem to rest as much as they should. And if Filbo was already out here checking up on them he might as well also take the opportunity to encourage them to take care of themself too.
They turned their head to look at him. “If you insist, I suppose I could use a nap.”
“Awesome.” And for once in his life Filbo had actually succeeded at something. He’d found Buddy and was bringing him back to town and had convinced them to take another much needed rest. Not a grand achievement or anything but he’d take it.
21 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
boomartist
Boom
mazm-imagines
Ask MazM!
yumesuripu
YumeSuripu ☁️🌟
malistairesimp
life main 🌱
tabellae-rex-in-sui
"Dost feel it, bitch?"