#it looks bad because its a sketch leave me alone

[invadrz1m]

Um. Am I too late too the murder drones bus guys...

[quitealotofsodapop]

Hey Mac, we thought you were dead;

Sequel to this post on Macaque being back in the "Century Stone Egg Au".

After the pregnant Monkey King breaks his shock, he'd run to embrace Macaque, even if he'd just been super close to clawing his eye out (again) and that they're last meeting was a huge fight. He only holds back because he's honestly a little scared/worried how and why Macaque is there. Wukong is immediately trying to apolgise for his violent reaction, but Macaque just laughes out; "Nah, it's my fault. Should've asked first." It's only with the shadow monkeys' breathy, almost *fond* laughter that Wukong realises that Mac is truly there for peace. Mac's interaction with PIF further confirms this.

The reincarnation gang + the dragon couple are super sketched out though. Pigsy is the one to loudly ask "How do you know it's him and not some weird copycat?", mostly cus he's legit worried for Wukong in this moment. Somebody's dead partner don't just show up one day!

Wukong responds with his Gold Vision + its hard to fake the way Mac smells. The gang still refuse to leave the two alone together until they recieve a decent explaination.

The fact that Macaque literally looks like he crawled out of the grave quickly gives everybody a bad feeling, and they def force Mac to sit down and explain how tf he came back to life before he's even allowed smell Wukong.

Macaque: "I may have agreed to do something... kinda stupid in hindsight." Wukong, : "Mac... look at me. What did you do?" Macaque: "...ok don't be mad." Wukong: "I'm preemptively seething." Macaque: "I accepted a deal from the White Bone Spirit." Wukong: "I'M FURIOUS!!!" *starts throwing whatever's closest at Mac* Macaque, dodges a pillow: "Pfff! Calm down, it's not like I'm actually gonna do it! She brought me back to life to release her from a tomb or something and I chucked the key away the second I got back." The whole Room: "..." Wukong: "Mihou... thats the stupidiest thing you could have done!" *summons hair clones to throw stuff at Mac* Macaque, now failing to dodge fruit: "OW! Why are you upset!? We both know nothing good will come of letting that demon free!" PIF: "Mihou, if this Bone Demon was able to bring you back from the dead, then she has the power to track you down and recind her offer." Macaque: "...so you're saying that I have to fufill her deal, or I might get dragged back to Diyu?" Wukong and PIF, at the same time: "YES!!!" Macaque: "Shit." The Whole Room: *covering Red and Mei's ears* "LANGUAGE!!" Tang: "You should work on that before the baby gets here.

Oh you better believe Mac's in the doghouse until they can figure out how to resolve the LBD business deal. PIF calls up her lawyer to go over the exact terms and conditions.

Fire Star: "Ok, I've got good news and bad news." Macaque: "Bad news first." Fire Star: "The Lady Bone Demon's geas is airtight. You will have to open her tomb *slash* free her spirit in order to keep your place in this mortal realm - less you be recalled at a later date for a task of similar value or until she makes you redundant." Pigsy: "Translate for the non-lawyers please." Fire Star: "Either he does it, or she makes him do it, or she just takes his soul." Macaque: "Shit." Wukong & PIF: *glaring daggers at Mac* Macaque: "So what's the good news?" Fire Star, slyly: "Those are the only conditions to the geas. There's a reason you need lawyers for these kind of things nowadays. She didn't stipulate say... where to release her. Or whom would be present to greet her when her tomb opens." Everyone: *shares similar delighted/scheming looks* (*a few hours + a few calls to a worried Nezha later*) Macaque: *unlocks LBD's tomb* LBD: "Freedom! Freedom! Fr-" All of Wukong's allies in the Heavenly Army + Diyu officials:

LBD: "Oh bother."

As the Bone Demon gets carted away for conspiracy to destroy the world, she gets yelled at by all of the Underworld/Diyu officials that now have to deal with the fallout of her actions.

King Yama: "Do you understand how much paperwork I have to do to mark this monkey as alive!? He doesn't have a death date! It's been blotted out! I'll be correcting his files for months!!" Macaque: *high fives Fire Star for the solid lawyer-ing*

As far as Hell/Diyu is concerned, Macaque performed a service and was paid upfront. They don't want the headache of trying to take him back if his mate (someone who's trashed Hell before) wants to keep him.

Wukong is still super-mad at Mac for a variety of reasons, don't get hom wrong. But he's atleast glad in the moment to have his mate back. And glad that LBD is gone for the forseeable future.

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse part 5.2

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve. CW: contains references to past abuse

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3

5.2 We can get buzzed up here!

Eddie lit himself a joint, because his hands were shaking, and returned to sweating over ideas. The chambermaid came and went, and then yet another knock had him jumping out of his skin.

“Eddie?”

Steve! It was only 2pm.

Turned out he’d got a day off. He was through the doors unbuttoning his shirt, before Eddie remembered his notes all over the floor:

“What’s this?” asked Steve.

Eddie was about to invoke the ‘Don’t-poke-the-grizzly’ rule, when Steve—already on his knees exploring—picked up Eddie’s single completed sketch.

“You gotta be kidding,” said Steve. “Is this me?”

“Uuuuh, it’s a fae warlock.”

“Wearing hot-pants?”

“It’s for this goddamn video game I co-created.” Eddie looped a strand of hair around a finger and peeked from behind it, blushing. “You might’ve inspired me, Honey.”

Steve snapped his gaping mouth shut, returning his attention to the sketch. “I dig the pointy ears. And the tail. That could be fun, huh? Seriously, tho’—did you have to give me such a crappy hair day?”

It’s you after a long night of debauched sex. I worship that messed-up look.

“Sorry?” offered Eddie.

Steve stuck out his tongue. “A game, huh? So that’s how you hit the big time. Is this dude a goodie or a baddie?”

Honestly, Eddie hadn’t even figured where his fae warlock fitted in, if at all. His face was still burning, so he muttered: “Chaotic neutral, Sugar.”

After that, the grizzly was pretty much lying on its back asking for belly rubs. So Eddie kneeled down beside Steve and came clean about how he needed fresh ideas but was totally blocked creatively. Apart from doodling fantasy versions of Steve, that was. Fortunately, real life Steve turned out to be a mighty fine listener.

“Help me wrap my thick skull around this,” said Steve, when Eddie’s sob story dried up. “The first game was inspired by your geek-game fantasy world. Your good guys fight goblins and super-powerful evil mages and dragons and shit.”

“And liches,” added Eddie. He never got why people forgot the liches. “I didn’t rip it all straight out of D and D. I’ve pulled a Tolkein too–you know, stole ideas from mythology and olde worlde history and shit.”

“Riiiight,” said Steve. “Like, it’s kinda obvious how you get a new twist. Why don’t you set the second game in the real world.”

“Steve, it’s not sci-fi. It’s a total fantasy game.”

“So what? All this hooey would be waaaay scarier if it bled into the real world. Then your heroes would have to power up with magic juju to protect their friends, younger siblings, and grannies and shit, and… Okay, it’s total garbage. I’ll shut up.”

“You put yourself down too much.” Eddie didn’t hate the idea… and Jesus, his hands were shaking worse than ever now. He totally needed Steve out of that unbuttoned shirt, which slipped deliciously off one shoulder.  “Look, I’ll talk to Dustin and Suzie about it. They’re my co-creators, the brainy ones.”

Steve’s delighted grin tugged a small smile from Eddie. He jumped up, and Eddie scrambled after. 

Steve said, “Hey, why don’t we go out for a drink or something?”

Eddie’s arms, which he’d looped around Steve, grew rigid. “We can get buzzed up here.”

“Yeah, but… I dunno, it’ll be like a date or something.”

A knee-jerk silent scream of horror ripped Eddie’s nerves ragged: “It’s your day off. Go knock yourself out, Babe. I ain’t coming.”

“If you wanna be alone, say so.” Steve wriggled free and backed away. “Or if you don’t want to be seen around with me… Screw it, please yourself.” 

He turned to leave. Eddie literally sprinted around him, blocking his path. “Look, it’s me, not you. I’m a freak, okay? I’m not a fan of the big, bad world right now. I don’t really wanna—”

“You don’t have to explain, man.” Steve wearily pushed his gelled hair from his eyes.

Eddie tented his hands in prayer. “I do. I owe you that. Listen, I believe I’ve got a teeny touch of agoraphobia.”

“Huh?”

“Fear of the great outdoors? Crowded places?”

“Oh.” Steve’s eyes stretched wide. “That sucks.”

“I really, really don’t want you to go. Please, Steve, stay? We can hang out, eat trash—”

“—have sex?” Steve rolled his eyes, faintly snickered. “All right. If the routine ain’t broke, why fix it.”

Eddie’s relief nearly set his knees sagging. In truth, he was genuinely gagging for Steve to stay because Steve wanted to. He chickened out of saying it, though. Instead, he snickered too, steadying his nerve and his shakes by firmly grasping Steve’s butt:

“If you let me indulge a freakshow kink, I got an extra two-hundred bucks for ya.”

…

Eddie leaned forward to whisper his ‘freakshow kink’ into Steve’s ear. Steve bit his lip to the point of pain.

He prayed he wasn’t going to have to remind Eddie about his no breath-play rule. He figured he could be flexible on a few welts and bruises—perhaps because hurting Steve seemed such an unlikely thing for Eddie to ask for. Then he remembered the smashed pillar that first night…

“I wanna play with your ass, Stevie,” whispered Eddie. Huh? That’s not exactly a newsflash. “I got a little something I wanna fill you up inside with.”

“Bring it on.” Steve grabbed a handful of Eddie’s hair, and dived into a kiss, working it mechanically.

Butt plugs. Steve had used them in the past himself, as another way to loosen himself up before impatient clients. He’d stopped, because it always gave nasty-ass bastards nasty-ass ideas: “So you’re that kinda dirty little slut, are you?”

He’d had some real evil shit shoved inside him—metal dildos, ones with weird nodules. Some douchebag Brit aristocrat once nearly did him permanent damage with some great truncheon that felt thick as his arm.

Eddie broke the kiss first. Steve plastered on a very professional smile to disguise how his stomach flipped: “Love it, Eds. But, uh, nothing that stretches me too bad, okay?”

“What?” Eddie actually squeaked. “Shit, I should’ve been plain. You ain’t getting nothing bigger than my tongue inside you.”

“You wanna eat me out?” Steve wrinkled his nose. “I’m pretty sure I’ve said this before— you do realise you’re the one paying?”

“My treat, darlin’, literally—you’re gonna taste so sweet.” He leaned to husk in Steve’s ear again. “I ordered waffles for breakfast. Saved the whole jug of maple syrup.”

“It’s gonna get sticky.”

“I sure hope so, Stevie.”

Steve sprawled belly down on Eddie’s bed, while Eddie trickled lukewarm syrup up his thighs and across his butt. He moaned, splayed his legs, focussing on the smooth drag of the silk covers against his dick. Trouble was, for some reason, he’d still got slight jitters. Heck, he’d had nightmare experiences with hot wax as well as butt plugs.

He glanced back.

Eddie… It was Eddie. Eddie was… one of the nicest guys he’d ever known. Eddie’s eyes were always kind, and…

“All right, Stevie?” 

“Hell, yeah.” He thrust ass up, angling his knees inward so the cheeks split wide.

Eddie began to lick, leisurely stroking up Steve’s syrup-smeared thighs, setting Steve squirming. 

“Mmmmm, mmmmm, Honey-pie.” Eddie sounded so stupidly delighted, he shunted Steve’s bad experiences into the darkest corners of his memory. “You likey?”

“I fucking love it.”

Eddie dabbed teasingly close to the back of Steve’s balls, then lathed back up toward Steve’s hole. He genuinely slurped at the syrup, and the stuttering suction sent each of Steve’s raw nerve-endings wild. By the time Eddie tongued lightly around Steve’s rim, Steve gasped, whimpered—too much sensation, all of it driving him nuts. His dick was as dripping as his maple-drenched ass.

“Can I go deeper?” asked Eddie, voice muffled, breath scorching.

“Jesus, pleeease.” Steve was now begging for real. Screw that, demanding: “Eat me out already!”

...

6.1 on tumblr

Chapter 6 on AO3 tumblr link coming soon!

I've added a hashtag #thefreakinthepenthouse for ease of finding the earlier parts. I can also tag if anybody is interested... please let me know.

Thank you for reading. Likes reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

[donnabenevientosimpingzone]

Complex feelings and absolute pandemonium about my mental health aside- going back to reread and look at old posts to relive memories (mostly the very bad cuz I was not a good person when I was in the fandom and am beyond embarrassed about it-) has been an absolute disaster of a healing journey.

May be redrawing some old sketches as a checkpoint of that, so comic updates are going to slow.

I ask that everyone remain polite to my wishes and not tag anyone who you see my art addressing. For example if a draw or redraw fanart from a fanfic, do not reblog tagging the author.

Most certainly I am not remembered fondly by those people, and that’s okay.

In my answer to the Donna headcannons ask, I included one very specific relationship headcannon. It’s not a coincidence- that was me. Back when I was part of this fandom during its peak- I was that lil toxic jerk that ruined shit for other people. I have no excuses for this- young and dumb, pretherapy, unknowingly, flat out being stupid- it doesn’t excuse my actions. As much as I wanted to be a good person- I was not- I did good things- but at my core I was rotting. I still am tending to parts of it.

People are going to remember me as that lil toxic jerk. That’s why I hope ya’ll respect my wishes as I redraw old stuff. Everyone deserves to enjoy their passions without someone, something- a memory- ruining it (again) for them.

I’m sharing these redraws because there’s a story here I hope people take inspiration from. Whether the story is about forgiving others for their past mistakes, learning that you’re not alone, or embracing your embarrassments- that’s different for every person. If that story is lost on people, I have every right to delete it all.

And as for that headcannon, Donna has and always will be the person who trekked beside me through this hellscape that is my mind. As I’ve written stories and drawn more where she gets that happy ending, I see a road for myself- as corny as that could have possibly sounded. There are weights I carry that I must learn to let go- memories of people who have come into my life for a season and changed me forever that probably even despise me now- and one of them is going to be Donna eventually.

Eventually.

For now she’s still very much on the forefront of my mind lmao.

Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk<3

And for you, you know who you are- the one who was the largest victim of my toxic foolery and had the unfortunate responsibility where I crashed upon you from tumblr dms and just wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone because of your work- if you’re by any slim possible fucking chance you’re reading this: thank you for moving on. It sounds so silly, but abandoning me was the right choice, despite all my abandonment issues. I cannot ask for forgiveness after the manipulative bullshit I did to you- the best that I can ask is that your best is an even better person then before for those that’ll have the blessing to be let into your life. Which, from what I’ve read on the latest update to said work, I am reassured you have.

[spaceorphan18]

State of the WiPs

Okay, so I realize I'm somewhat notorious for having a thousand projects going on at once. But I took a look, and when it comes to my writing, it's not as bad as it may seem? Anyway, not that there's much interest in this other than my own, I just felt like I'd write about it anyway...

So, out of the 66 works I have on Ao3 - 15 of them are incomplete. That means only a 1/4 of what I've started I haven't finished (yet)... We can break this down into a few categories...

Things I will (probably) never finish

The Ancient Office Things ::

This stuff is so old that I barely remember writing it. I brought it over from another website just for completion sake; so that I could have all my writing in one place. But, no, I'll never be going back to this stuff.

Dunder Mifflin, This Is Pam

Different Perspectives

One Week --- this is actually the first fanfic I ever wrote (and published), and, I mean, I could chop off the last chapter and call it complete, as it does come to an ending point if I ever felt the need.

The Old MCU Things ::

Okay, so while I've never really left the MCU fandom, I did kind of stop writing fic for it. And this is really when my unfinished reputation really started to happen, because I did start creating a ton of things and never really went anywhere with them. I do have a half a mind to take them all down, and leave it for if/when I ever feel inspired to come back to it, since most of it is just a bunch of first chapters of things...

Misplaced

The Ensemble

A Summer Holiday

Faking It --- the thing about this one is that it's really just a collection of stand alones. There really is no beginning or ending, it's more like a short story collection, left open for possibilities.

The Glee Stuff I Probably Won't Be Touching ::

Black Kitty -- Back in the day, I had this funny idea about a Glee/OMGCheck Please crossover. It was amusing at the time. And should have been maybe a sketch? Out of all my unfinished things, this is my least favorite. I kind of hate it. But every time I threaten to take it down, people yell at me, lol. And yes, I know I could orphan it - but I don't like having my work out there that I no longer have control of. So I'm stuck with this abomination.

The CrossRhodes Saga -- I still have all my notes for this noir piece, and I honestly still love the idea. This is one that I might actually take down and start fresh with because it deserves actual attention. Plus, I think I'm a better writer now than when I first wrote this and would want to rework it.

Changed For the Better -- This was one of those Christmas challenges that, honestly, I hated doing. I don't think it's a bad story, but it never really worked for me. I feel bad that this one literally is half unfinished. Maybe some day I'll there will be a spark there to do something with it, but doubtful.

The Smut Challenge -- *sigh* I mean, part of me almost does want to work on this again, because the thought of having 365 short stories of smut is kind of hilarious to me. But writing this became really tedious after a while. Do you know how hard it is to keep smut interesting? I still have all my notes, so who knows, maybe.

Actual Open Projects

In The City That We Love -- I probably should have not posted this until I was ready to actually focus on it. The nice thing is that this first chapter stands on its own relatively nicely. It was going to be the thing I work on after Head Over Feet is done, but I keep getting distracted by other fandoms, so I'm not sure if and when I'll come back to it. But I still love the idea enough to keep it open.

The Spaces In-Between -- This has been open and barely worked on for years, but I don't think I'll ever really close the door on it. Maybe it'll be nicer when I have more distance and I come at the show feeling fresher about it after not seeing it for quite a while. I guess we'll see.

Head Over Feet -- Yeah, I know. I am dragging my feet on this one. Bless the people actually who've been with me on this one for literal years. I didn't mean for it to take so long, but that year in Indiana really put a damper on me writing anything, and I struggled. But, I will finish this fic. It was a passion project for so long that I couldn't not. I even have the next chapter half written and all organized and ready to go. I just need more time and less distractions :P But please don't give up on this one.

Double Date -- Hey, it's the Bridgerton fic that I'm currently working on! And yes, it's occupying all of my time at the moment. I promised myself that before I started anything new - this was getting done. And I'm holding myself to that.

Things Yet to Come

Believe it or not, there are things I've refrained from publishing. Honestly, I've been trying to keep focus (especially the last few months) and work on one thing at a time.

The X-Men Projects :: So, there are two bigger ideas that I want to do. First, I have nearly a novel length Romy fic that I've detailed outlined and I love. I LOVE this idea so much. I did start to write it (and then totally got distracted by Bridgerton, oops). But I think so I don't fall into the trap of the Marvel stuff, I want to wait to publish it. I think maybe I'll post it when it's done, done, which will be nice for people who are concerned about my track record.

The second idea, though, I have started, but have been smart about it. One-shots! I figure instead of having one story that cover's the whole Romy spectrum, i'd post little one-shots that came to me. And while this feels like a big project to me -- I'm not leaving people hanging, as the one-shots are very much intentionally stand alone moments in time.

The Bridgerton Projects :: Honestly, I have a bunch of them. And while a good handful are one-shots, I promised myself to work on one thing at a time, so not to feel overwhelmed. And I think that's working.

If nothing else... it feels nice to be creative again. And I am writing pretty regularly, which I couldn't say was happening the last couple of years, especially when I was in the dark place that was Indiana, lol.

[apersonthatexistsonthisplanet]

I spent an embarrassing amount of time looking at Yanqing hcs, scrolling through tumblr intros, and I’m proud to say i don’t know how to start an account

I did a little sketch of one of two of my children, so I’m going to introduce them ( I’m stupidly obsessed with creating ocs ) Either way, meet Ageha :) He has a whole document, linked below, but I need to ramble about him.

Ageha, if you’re a TLDR person, is a funny little guy that’s a sword but then becomes a human because well, the blacksmith that made him felt silly and then decided to infuse him with some spirit. But his creator is also in debt! With the IPC! Big surprise there, and then his creator decided to use him as payment for his debt because well, he decided to go see the holy gates.

If you’ve made it this far, congrats :D. I’ll start to talk about all the details and stuff now. Ageha is specifically a “蝴蝶双刀“，or you can say “蝴蝶之剑” if you want to be fancy. In English, it means dual butterfly knives, small knives for close combat. Concept seems familiar? No, I didn’t get inspired by soul eater, it’s the fanfic soul steel on ao3. Go check it out, it’s one of my favourites as a yanqing fan :). Although he is usually meant for close combat, he has a special design, a small little orb in the middle of the hilt. It’s meant for storing blood, and his sword form can take on different shapes and sizes based on the amount of blood stored.

I found this picture on Pinterest, but I’d love if if anyone could tell me where this came from. Basically, this is his entire weapon concept. Like any metal, he rusts if he goes without combat for too long, he kind of just becomes slower and less reactive in general XD. So then, being sealed away is kind of a punishment to him bc he becomes laggy.

Ageha was found by Pearl, and then kind of just fell in love at first sight, but not the romantic love, its more like mesmerised. Think of him as Argenti but instead of Idrila it’s Pearl. Or anything beautiful in general. He loves beauty, but of course he’s not as expressive as Argenti. As a part of the Strategic investment Department, he’s more used as a negotiation item than actual work. So he gets passed around, attacks people, carries out stuff that can help in investment. He doesn’t really mind it, but he gets really curious and tries to understand the deals that Jade or Aventurine carries out even if he’s uneducated and can’t understand anything. The only thing he knows how to do is barter and argue.

I also love the Xianzhou, so obviously he’s been to it before. He’s mainly there in Penacony tho. In Xianzhou, he’s more of running around trying to listen to rumours and look at sword designs than actually carrying out his work. The negotiations didn’t go well on his side, but based on the other people’s reactions, it didn’t seem that bad when Jade stepped in. ( Yanqing was baffled. The officials were confused. Jing Yuan was struggling to understand his words. All he did was shout at them while swinging around his arms. He wasn’t even speaking a language. )

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have any trauma, it’s just abandonment issues. The boy doesn’t want to be abandoned like a weapon, he wants to be of use to the IPC ( as if he wasn’t brought in to pay off a debt ) and he was offered a choice to leave some years ago, he just decided to stay because Pearl was there. Not like Pearl actually treats him well, he’s just weird and attached. He’s the type to start crying if you leave him alone for too long at the side of the road.

Yea but evidently if he doesn’t have trauma someone else must have taken over his trauma. That poor unlucky soul’s my other oc, he’s called Esperanza. He used to be Lucian but then I decided to split him off from the original oc he was based off of. I’ll link his document below, but keep in mind it’s not updated. I love foxians, I like the idea of Mara-struck yanqing, boom Mara-struck foxian that’s actually drunk squirrels in disguise.

I’m aware foxians don’t usually live long enough to be affected by Mara, they die around 300(?) years, while like long life species can live up to thousands of years. But I like to think that his family has something akin to progressive ageing. Basically, from a certain age onwards, they start ageing much faster. Instead of one year, they age something like ten years, so they become much more prone to Mara. This guy went and got sad about it, then decided to end the entire bloodline so no one would have to suffer anymore whilst he was affected by Mara. He basically went, “This sucks, I can’t believe the whole’s family’s crazy, we should all die together.” But then thier family doctor came by and saw him and stopped him ( really should’ve let him die )

He stepped onto the path of nihility, became an emo self-annihilator, went to a doctor of chaos, ruined the poor guy’s whole office and wrecked it, then ran out crying. Esperanza returned to the Xianzhou, where his entire family has been running away from for years cause it makes their condition that much worse. He doesn’t really get why they’ve been running away from these silly little ships for so long and now he kinds of just wanders the streets homeless and sleeping on the streets half drunk on soulglad and confused on what’s he’s doing half the day. In case you’re curious on how he survives, he snatches food from people. He’s still healthy enough to commit minor crimes.

Anyways, that’s the end of my ramble for now. If you’re curious about my head cannons, if you want to see me write something, if you have questions about my ocs, feel free to ask away (?) If its related to Yanqing, I’ll actually come sprinting over at a speed you think impossible. I don’t know how tumblr works, so I’d appreciate it if someone summarised the important things i need to know or what i should be careful about here :Kneel: Please, I’m very lost. Is apersonthatexistsonthisplanet supposed to be my username? Sorry for any errors, I don’t know what I’m writing.

Documents: Ageha: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1izlrKAsflk0s8GEzoMvzgVXKYHrXkVX5e9tEqZKEc3M/edit

Esperanza: https://docs.google.com/document/d/11ipNYMKhMi27Pork38Ecu_74OhcKbwS4CwPb1-UGytM/edit

[adultswim2021]

Robot Chicken #73: “Maurice Was Caught” | August 2, 2009 - 11:30PM | S04E12

Sometimes I feel like my hatred of this show is thawing over time, but this episode really wore on me. The highlight of the episode was still a D+ at best. That was the Simon Belmont one, where the realities of using a whip as a weapon are highlighted. A fairly funny premise that didn’t overstay its welcome? Okay, fine. I’ll write about it semi-positively on my bad blog about cartoons. You win, Robot Chicken. You win. 

As for the rest: There’s an Annie (of old-ass comic strip fame) sketch where it’s like that MTV Program Super Sweet 16. I applaud Robot Chicken for not having the voice just be Seth Green doing his patented “stupid bitch” voice; they actually hired an actress for it. The writing isn’t much better than those other sketches where they make fun of teen celebrities. Could have been worse, I guess. 

There’s a sketch that’s like War Games, but it’s the Nerd playing a Lord of the Rings game. He nukes Canada trying to find a cheat code online. The government waterboards him until he finally implicates the middle east as a potential target. This technically qualifies as satire. It predictably ends with a prison rape joke, which technically qualifies as lame writing.

A lot of these sketches are fairly short, running around a minute each. Usually it’s easy to single out three “longish” sketches, and I guess I already have. There’s one where Sesame Street and Wall Street collide when Kermit the Frog’s cousin Gordon the Gecko shows up. There’s one where a scientist shows off a bunch of failed jetpack tests. There’s one where Petroleum Pete sings a song about the virtues of using fossil fuels. That last guy is sorta meant to resemble the Sinclair logo, I’m guessing. I thought maybe he was a real guy. That one hurts because it’s also musically bad. That was this one, goodnight! 

EPHEMERA CORNER: 

Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! - Season Three DVD (August 4, 2009)

The worst season of Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job nevertheless receives as good of a release as any other season, with deleted scenes and extended sketches. The best bits on here are the half-hour version of the Muscles for Bones episode, and the complete Gettin’ It Dunn full-length ‘sode.

I read a review of this to remind me what was on it and was reminded that C.O.R.B.S. received a video commentary on adultswim.com. I also remember Jim and Derrick getting the same treatment, which I touched on in that episode’s write-up. It’s a shame those commentaries are lost to time. Dino’s Moral Orel commentaries made it to the Australian DVD for Moral Orel, but the rest are fucking toast.

MAIL BAG

Hey leave Wil alone! If you play nice with him he might send you a free case of Stone Farking Wheaton W00tStout.

Jesus fucking Christ, man. You made me look this up to see if it was real and I was very disappointed at what I found. Everything that turd does makes me want to you-know-what (TOILETFLUSH.ogg)

[ant1quarian]

Massacre(Sans) x Reader Headcannons

Very rough sketch, so ignore the fact it’s crap. It’s just a concept sketch. ^

NOTE: MURDERTALE!Sans (or Dust) does not belong to me at ALL. Similarly, but not the same, Eldritch!MURDERTALE!Sans doesn’t belong COMPLETELY to me, as it is an AU of someone else's AU, but the character concept is mine.

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood/death, genocide, having a genocidal maniac as a boyfriend, weapons(?), dude’s got a sharp tail so I guess that counts? Also Angst, I think???

So, with that out of the way, incase you didn’t know, I’ve got “Eldritch” versions of the Sans’ and Papyrus’ AU’s… meaning that there’s a Eldritch version of every Sans and Papyrus I’ve come across, and every one I’ve made.

For more clarity on what, exactly, an Eldritch Skeleton is, there’s a post on my account that will tell you all about my little idea and its concepts.

Massacre, your datemate in this scenario, is the Eldritch version of Dust- or “Murder Sans”. So do enjoy.

- Okay, first off, this dude is EXTREMELY anti-social, and HIGHLY genocidal- even more so than the unEldritch version of him. 

- So how, in the ever-living shit, did this even happen in the first place?

- Anyway

- Starting with things that would be nice in this relationship…

- Well, he’s actually very kind. Not verbally- he doesn’t speak very often- but he’s always looking out for you. You’re his datemate, how can he not?

- Protective, yes, and this can be rather frustrating sometimes because he does, at times, tend to go overboard

- But for a dude who’s now immune to RESETS and has killed everyone he ever cared about just for peace of mind from the lil’ shit that slaughtered them all over and over, I’m actually shocked he hasn’t put you on complete house arrest.

- If he’s in this relationship with you, he is completely serious about it.

- Manz isn’t the type to fuck around. He’s straight-up, and is often viewed to be brutally honest. 

- He no longer cares about how anyone sees him, or how much really bad shit he’s done, he just takes it in his stride.

- Cocky at times, and proud underneath the hood that overshadows his entire face. He’s a Elskel (Eldritch Skeleton), it’s in their magic makeup.

- This being said, he sort of holds you on a pedestal, so he has no problems doing anything you ask at any given moment.

- … Within reason, of course.

- Now, onto the negative things you’ll have to deal with in the relationship- because lets be honest, no true relationship is completely without flaws.

- … When I said he was antisocial..? I actually meant that you should not, under any circumstances, force him to go out in a large crowd or even leave him alone for too long in a crowded place.

- I mean, unless you want to come back to a bunch of gorey shit and unrecognisable corpses everywhere because his instincts kicked in.

- HOWEVER, even if you do come back to that, he’ll literally just act like a guilty puppy. The sight of you coming back- his datemate, which he could not hurt IN THE SLIGHTEST (intentionally, that is) without feeling like he’s willingly tearing his soul (or, therefore, lack of) in two- and he’ll just rub the back of his skull with one of his undoubtedly blood-covered hands and grimace.

- Know that he loves you unconditionally, alright? He doesn’t usually say it- in fact, he doesn’t usually talk- but he really, really does.

- This being said, do not bring up Papyrus.

- For an explaination, y’know how Dust’s Papyrus encourages him to kill more?

- Well Massacre has gone so far that his Papyrus is literally deathly afraid of him.

- You will NOT catch this phantom in the same vicinity as Massacre, even though he has to be a certain distance away to even exist (because he runs off of Massacre’s magic).

- Although Massacre doesn’t mind explaining about his biology- how his void magic works ‘n all that stuff- he really doesn’t like bringing up his past in an in-depth sense.

- As passingly mentioned before, he doesn’t feel guilt for his actions- with his LV, he literally can’t. But he doesn’t like to think of it, because it reminds him of the little shit that he slaughtered hundreds of thousands of times over and over until they finally gave up. (It came to a point where the reset would literally just revive them and throw them back into their save area, but it wouldn’t return anything to life and it couldn’t change the code or the values of LV or EXP. Therefore, Massacre became fully resistant to ALL and ANY RESET used.)

- In other words, it makes him real pissed off, makes him miss Papyrus, and sharpens his instincts to a point where he becomes aloof for several days.

- Oh, and that leads us to our next thing.

- When you guys argue, expect the silent treatment. I mean, he’s usually real quiet ‘n shit, but broseph will straight up just ignore you.

- He knows it’s bad, but for the love of fuck he can’t let his pride and stubbornness go for the life of him.

- So unless you initiate it- or he sees you crying about it (In which all of his sins will begin to crawl on his back…) don’t expect him to apologise.

- There are exceptions to this- like if he realises he was in the wrong (but, like, really in the wrong)- then he will.

- Similarly, if some skeleton or monster brings it to his attention that he’s just being fucking stupid- specifically his younger(?), less-genocidal counterpart, Dust- then he will apologise.

- When he apologises, it’s a spur of the moment thing, but it’s always when you two are alone. And he will apologise for every single small thing he realised he was being petty and prideful about, down to the very last miniscule detail (Like stealing a chip from a bag of your favourite chips you were eating, for example). 

- Generally, it’d go something like this:

It had been at least a week since your argument with Massacre, and it had been at least a week since he’d decided he was going to completely ignore your existence.

Let’s just say, you never knew how much of a stubborn, prideful, tall shit your ever-loving, mass-genocidal datemate could be.

You were tired of it, but you, too, were stubborn. Far too stubborn to walk up to him and force him to apologise for being overreactive about going out with your friends that one night and staying out a couple hours later than when you said you’d get home.

You grimaced lightly, remembering the severely pissed off look he’d had in his eyes when he’d come to get you from where you guys were hanging out.

Considering the crowd, you were shocked that he’d even gone through with it without even murdering someone… or at least you were somewhat sure that he hadn’t.

Massacre was very easily capable of stealthily killing someone. So you could never be completely sure.

Shadows covered the large majority of the messy room you were in, moonlight streaming through the windows, catching on the soft grey curtains. On most of the flat, unused surfaces lay a fine layer of dust. Neither you or Massacre got caught up in a cleaning spree strong enough to get rid of it.

Faintly, you remember walking into the room to see him staring silently at the dust. Must have reminded him of something in his past.

Shifting on the comfortable, plush blankets underneath you, you took in a deep breath, feeling a weird mixture of irritation and comfort run throughout your system.

Massacre's scent clinged strongly to many things he came in contact with- even more so than any regular Elskel or Skeleton. An unusual metallic smell mixed with a hint of dampness and woodsmoke.

A presence not far behind you made you slowly roll over, only to see the all-too-familiar silhouette of your datemate leaning against the doorframe, both his arms crossed as his deadly-sharp tail shifted slightly from where it was loosely wrapped around his leg.

A heavy silence hung in the air like thick, black smoke. You stared emptily at Massacre, waiting for him to speak. His eyelights studied your face, the unusual but pretty contrast of blue against red catching your eye like they always did. Finally, a gentle sigh was pulled from his throat before he cleared it- how so, you’d asked once, considering it was bone. His answer had simply been “magic.”- and spoke. When he did, his voice was slightly rough and edged from underuse. Despite this, it managed to be that comforting baritone that you’d come to love.

“‘M sorry,” Massacre muttered, staring down at the paper in his hands which had a list of all of the things he’d done that was stupid, “I’m sorry for takin’ you away from your time with your friends ‘cause you didn’t come home when y’ said ya would. ‘M sorry for killin’ that dude the other week ‘cause of the way he was lookin’ at ya. ‘M sorry for acting out rashly without thought. ‘M sorry I’ve been gone so much ‘cause I've been busy a bunch lately. ‘M sorry I ate the bit of your favourite food the other week ‘cause I was too lazy to go grocery shopping ‘r to order from UT’s Grillby-”

He stopped, his eyelights abruptly shooting up to your smiling form when you cleared your throat. Both of your eyebrows were raised, a smirk ever present on your face. He knew you found this part of the apology adorable, and the very thought of you finding him- Dust’s far more genocidal, far more dangerous counterpart- adorable sent a fuzzy feeling alight in his SOUL and a purple, glowing blush to his cheekbones.

Suddenly, Massacre found the hardwood underfoot very interesting.

“You’re alright. Wish you’d apologise sooner, though,” You smiled at him, both arms spread as you invited him for cuddles, “And I was in the wrong this time, I should have at least messaged you to tell you that I was going to stay with them later. Though, you really have to stop with this whole ‘Ignoring-you-now’ thing. It gets tiring.”

Massacre hesitated for a moment before walking over to the bed, flicking the door closed behind him with his tail, before flopping onto your shared bed and placing his chin atop your head as he wrapped you up in a hug, “‘M sorry. I’ll try not to.”

You brushed the dust off of his turtleneck before it could go up your nose with a little chuckle, “It’s alright. Can we just sleep now, please?”

Massacre could not have been more happy to comply, the surprising weight of his arm around you comforting the both of you. Minutes before you fell into your own sleep, you could hear the soft, deep snores coming from him, gently rattling his ribcage.

With a final smile, you let sleep have you, giving into that heavy feeling that readily consumed your body.

- Yeah anyway, just a thought. (P.S, that was NOT meant to be that long.)

- ANYWAY

- Another negative- or positive, if you have insomnia or any sort of trouble sleeping- is the fact that, how his Void magic works, is that it consumes the magic of other sources around him, right?

- Which means, effectively, that his soul feeds off of yours. This often ends in you being quite tired after an hour or so of straight physical contact.

- This being said, once you two SOULBOND? There’ll be enough magic in between the both of you that having loads of physical contact with him doesn’t tire either of you out unless both of you want it to happen. (In other words, it becomes like a switch. You could turn it on or off.)

- Yeah, I think that’s about it.

Have fun with your new skeleboy! (Or Elskeboy? Dunno man. You choose)

[thmgau]

CHAPTER 6 - BANANA STRIKE BACK [wattpad link]

---

Coming to consciousness, Cherry found herself in a near-empty room, tied up in a chair. The last thing they remembered were last night’s events, when the bananas got them. She had thrown her sword to save Leslie, but got caught by the bananas herself. They knew Leslie was a kind soul. Cherry knew they’d be back to save her.

But right now, Cherry was gonna have to deal with being tied up in a really uncomfortable chair.

“Maybe I can try to untie myself..” they thought. As they fiddled with the rope tying their wrists together, the door handle jingled a bit. Cherry stopped what she was doing instantly as Pim entered the room.

“Well, well, well.. look at what we have here!” Pim said, spinning the Bananainator in his hands. “Alright, asshole. Cut to the chase. Just do the thing.” “Oh, you mean the thing where I turn you into a banana? I wasn’t planning on doing that to you... yet.”

Cherry raised an eyebrow. “Yet?”

“You see,” Pim hummed. “You’re here as bait.” “Bait?” “I know you have friends. Remember when you all came to eat here just 2 days ago? You all were wearing those little necklaces.” “What do the necklaces have to do with anything anyway?” “Friends often wear matching necklaces to symbolize their friendship. At least, that’s how it is where I’m from.” “Does everyone where you’re from wear stupid banana costumes too or are you the outlier there?”

Pim gasped, as if he were offended. “A COSTUME? You think this is a COSTUME?”

“What else would it be?” “Uh.. my SKIN?” “You’re.. a banana?” “Well, half-banana, if we’re going off technicalities. My mom’s a human. My dad’s a banana.” “I don’t even want to think about the logistics of that- hold on a minute. Don’t you run a banana restaurant?” “Yes? Cannibalism’s legal where I’m from, it’s fine.” “Alright, not gonna question the morality of that. Why am I here as ‘bait’ anyhow?” “Oh, c’mon, I just went over that. You’re here as bait so I can turn you & your friends into bananas! Simple as that.” “Why bananas, though? Like, couldn’t you just kill us?” “Why would I kill a potential employee? That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” “..Potential employee?” “I’m sure you’ve noticed the lack of employees here, yeah? I turn people into bananas so they work here at the restaurant & then I can take over capitalism!”

Cherry was dumbfounded. “...what?”

“You heard me. I’m going to take over capitalism!” “..first of all, you can’t take over capitalism. Second of all, why take over capitalism? Capitalism sucks bad, dude.” “Why do you want to know?” “Because what the fuck else am I supposed to do?” “Oh, I don’t know.. stay silent, maybe?” “Whatever. Better than talking to you, anyway.”

“Rude.” Pim crossed his arms. “Not like you’ll be needing to speak for much longer. I’m about to let the bananas out into the city. Soon enough your little friends will be crawling their way back to this place. Better get comfortable!”

With that, Pim left the room & shut the door, leaving Cherry alone to her own devices.

-

Leslie had stayed awake all night long.

Energy drinks & coffee mugs were scattered all across their apartment. One of those mini-whiteboards was on the coffee table, with incomprehensible writing & sketches on it. Various other papers laid around as well, with even more incomprehensible writings. Its laptop was sitting on the couch, with multiple tabs open all to the varying degree of “how to fight bananas”.

Leslie had to get Cherry back. It was racking its brain with any ideas - anything at all - to get its friend back. They were afraid Juniper, Nora, & Kalani wouldn’t believe them. Cherry getting kidnapped by bananas? It was absurd!

As they scribbled something down on another piece of paper, an alarm went off on their phone. They pulled out their phone to check it.

Class was in 15 minutes.

“SHIT!” it yelled, grabbing its laptop & the charger in a frenzy. They ran out of their apartment faster than they ever had.

-

“So, what’s the plan?” “Uh.. I dunno.”

Juniper & Nora were relaxing in Kalani’s apartment. Juniper was sprawled across the couch, while Nora sat in the recliner. Kalani was hovering (not literally) over the couch, with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“I guess we could watch TV.” Nora shrugged. “Not like we have classes today anyway.” “Sounds like a plan to me.” Juniper grabbed the TV remote & flipped the TV on, flipping through the channels.

“Have any of you heard from Cherry or Leslie lately?” “No. Last I saw them was yesterday at the mall.” “Same here. Usually Les sends us a good morning text, but.. nothing.” “That’s strange.

Juniper stopped flipping the channels. Ze had landed on the news station.

“The news? Really?” “Leslie was gonna break into that banana restaurant, weren’t they? Maybe they’re on the news.” “Alright.”

The news reporter appeared on screen, along with some footage of bananas with arms & legs walking around.

“Good morning, Cincinnati! Today we have some concerning news for you. Starting around 3:47 AM last night, people have reported seeing human-sized bananas walking around the city. Most of them seem to not be doing much harm, but others have reported that the bananas have broken into homes & buildings. We recommend you don’t go out today, & lock your doors, but if you must then please stay safe.”

Kalani, Nora, & Juniper looked at each other.

“What?” “I’m as confused as you are.”

Kalani thought about it for a second.

“The book!” he exclaimed.

Juniper & Nora turned to look at him.

“The book?” “The book said we had to ‘maintain the balance between good & evil’! Maybe this is our chance to do that!” “Oh, you’re right!” “Let me go get the book! Hold on!”

Kalani rushed to the other room.

“You really think someone would write a prophecy about fighting bananas?” “Maybe the bananas are just a stepping stone to something bigger. Something more dangerous.” “Like what?” “I dunno. I’ve never been a prophesied hero before.”

Kalani ran back into the room, book in hand. She opened it up & flipped through a couple of the pages.

“What are you looking for?” “How to get back into those sick outfits.” “You forgot already?” “Hey, not everyone has a perfect memory like you.” “My memory isn’t perfect!” “Didn’t you memorize 150 digits of Pi once?” “I did. Not anymore.” “Fair. How do we get back into the outfits?” “Just pull on the necklace.”

At once, all three of them pulled on their necklaces. They were in their magical girl outfits once again.

“Alright! What’s the plan now?” “I guess we go & find the source of the bananas.” “But where is the source of the bananas?” “I don’t know! That’s why we have to find it!” “Let’s go do that then!”

-

“AAGH! SOMEONE HELP!”

As Leslie rushed to class, they heard a scream ring out from their classroom.

They swung the doors open. Natalie was the only human there, cowering in the corner. A couple of bananas were surrounding her. Leslie had no idea how the bananas ended up getting to college campus, but nonetheless, it knew what to do.

Pulling on their necklace, they got back into their magical girl outfit, with their scythes in hand. They ran up & sliced the bananas in half. Natalie looked at Leslie with relief in her face.

“Oh, thank you- Leslie?” “Um.. hey.” “Out of everyone who could have saved me, I was not expecting it to be you.” “Well, y’know.. hold on, what are you wearing?”

Now that Natalie wasn’t surrounded by bananas, Leslie could see her outfit clearly. It was similar to the magical girl outfits, but everything that was white about the outfit was now black, & Natalie’s tie, skirt, gloves, & shoes were purple. She was also holding a small hammer in her hand, very obviously painted over with purple paint.

“Oh, uh..” Natalie stammered. “This was.. supposed to be a surprise. I was gonna rob a Walmart today after class, & you & your magical girl friends would show up, & I was gonna have a cool villain monologue &-” “Is that a.. squeaky hammer as a weapon?” “UM. NOO. IT’S A NORMAL HAMMER.”

Leslie took the hammer out of Natalie’s hands & hit it against the wall. It made a squeaky sound.

“Yup. Squeaky hammer.” Leslie yawned, handing the hammer back to Natalie. “Well- it’s all I had! Shut up!” “Ok, whatever you say.” “Anyways, what’s up with those banana guys?”

Leslie rubbed its eyes. “Um.. so Cherry & I broke into that new banana restaurant last night &-” “What new banana restaurant?” “Y’know.. Banana Man’s Banana Land?” “Haven’t heard of it.” “Oh well. We broke in there last night & found out that the owner was, like, turning people into bananas, & then we had to fight off the bananas & then Cherry got taken by the bananas &-”

Leslie yawned in the middle of their sentence.

“& I’ve, um.. been up all night trying to come up with a plan to get her back.” “You pulled an all-nighter? Jeez, no wonder you’re tired.”

Natalie spun the squeaky hammer around in her hands. “How about we make a truce? For now.” “A.. truce?” “I can’t fight you in the state you’re currently in. Not to mention, the bananas.. So we’re forming a truce!” “Um... ok.” “Alright! Let’s go, trucie!”

-

“Did I ever tell you guys my sibling’s coming back to Cincinnati?” “They are?”

Juniper & Kalani were in the back of Nora’s car, driving around. They were still looking for the source of the bananas walking around the city. They thought it would be nice to have some conversation so it’s not boring.

“Yea, they said somethin’ about dropping out of college.” Nora explained. “I get it.” Juniper nodded. “College can be stressful sometimes.” “When are they comin’ back?” Kalani asked. “Oh, sometime tomorrow. I’ll have to go pick them up from the airport.” “Ah. Good luck.” “Thanks-”

Nora was interrupted by her stomach growling. “Oh, maybe we should get some breakfast, huh?” “How about we go back to that banana restaurant? The food there was pretty g-” “THE BANANA RESTAURANT!” Kalani perked up. “That might be where the bananas are coming from!” “Oh, you’re right!! How did we not think of it before?!” “To the banana restaurant we go!”

-

It had probably been a few hours. Cherry couldn’t tell how long she had been here, & everything hurt a lot. Their limbs were starting to go numb due to the lack of blood flow.

“Oh, that’s it!” she grumbled to herself. “I’m getting myself outta here!”

They attempted to untie the rope binding their wrists together. It was kind of difficult, considering they couldn’t see what they were doing. After a couple of minutes, Cherry had successfully freed her wrists!

“Finally!” she sighed, shaking her hands to get the blood flowing again. “Alright, now I gotta get the legs free.. let’s do this.”

Once their hands felt normal again, they went to work on untying the ropes around their ankles. It was easier this time, now that Cherry could actually see what she was doing. She got the knot untied in no time.

Finally, after who knows how long, Cherry was able to stand up! Sitting in a chair all tied up in a skirt was incredibly uncomfortable. They pulled on their tie & poofed back into the hoodie they were wearing before.

“Alrighty..” she stretched. “Let’s see if there’s any way outta this stupid room.”

Now that they weren’t tied up in a chair, Cherry could get a good look around the room. There was a door, but Cherry assumed there was a good chance it was locked, & she did not want to attempt to lockpick anything again.

There was a desk to the side, covered in old newspapers & diagrams. Cherry walked up to it, hoping it could give them some clues on how to escape. She grabbed one of the newspapers. It was from sometime in 2019, based in a place that Cherry had never heard of.

“BANANA ECONOMY IN SHAMBLES!” the front page of the newspaper read.

“Banana economy?” Cherry wondered. This intrigued her, so she kept reading.

The newspaper talked about the economic crash of the banana society. Cherry didn’t even know there was a banana society.

There was another newspaper right under it, published about a week after the first newspaper. The headline on this one read, “HUMAN ECONOMY DOING FINE.”

“Why are bananas getting news on how humans are doing?”

Cherry thought back to what Pim had said about himself early.

“My mom’s a human. My dad’s a banana.”he had said. That means Pim could easily pass as a human, which he had! Cherry & the others had simply just thought he was wearing a banana costume.

“He must have moved here because our economy was better..” Cherry mumbled. “Still not sure what he means by ‘taking over capitalism,’ though.”

At that moment, they heard the door opening. Cherry quickly threw the newspaper back on the desk as Pim entered the room, Bananainator in hand.

“HEY!” Pim yelled, aiming the Bananainator at Cherry. “How’d you escape?!” “You kind of suck ass at tying knots, dude.” Cherry replied, tugging on her necklace & transforming back into Hero Mode.

“Ohh, you’re gonna pay for this!” “I’d like to see you try!”

-

Despite all the bananas walking around the city, it was actually quite a nice day. There was a mild breeze, but it was sunny, & everyone knows sunny weather is the perfect time for motorcycle rides.

Leslie sat on the back of Natalie’s motorcycle, fighting off any bananas that got close (which was few, due to the speed of the motorcycle). The velocity of the motorcycle was enough to keep Leslie from passing out.

Earlier in the classroom, after the truce was made, Natalie mentioned that she had a motorcycle they could use to get to the banana restaurant & save Cherry. As Leslie’s only other form of transport at the moment was walking, they agreed to hitch a ride on the motorcycle.

“So.. you ride this motorcycle to class?” “Of course! Way faster than walking.” “Alright.”

It was silent for a second.

“It’s a nice motorcycle.” Leslie said. “Thanks!” Natalie grinned. “Got it for my 18th.” “Sweet.”

Natalie pulled up into a parking spot at Banana Man’s Banana Land & stopped the motorcycle. “We’re here.” she nodded, hopping off of the motorcycle seat.

As Leslie hopped off of the motorcycle as well, another car pulled up into the parking lot as well. Leslie recognized it as Nora’s car instantly, due to the parking ticket on the windshield wiper that Nora had flipped over on its back & wrote “NORA’S CAR” on.

Nora, Juniper, & Kalani exited the car & spotted Leslie.

“Les!!” the three of them exclaimed, running over to it. “Oh, hey!” Leslie waved. “Are you ok?” Juniper asked. “Yea, I’m.. I’m fine.” Leslie said, yawning.

“Your friend here stayed up all night long.” Natalie leaned against her motorcycle. “They never would have gotten here if it weren’t for me.”

“Jesus, Les. You must be exhausted.” “Wait a minute,” Nora glanced at Natalie. “Aren’t you the girl who stole our book yesterday & demanded to join us?” “Yea. That was me.” Natalie shrugged. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Nora, Juniper, & Kalani summoned their weapons.

“Oh.”

“Hey, wait,” Leslie said. “We have a truce.” “A truce?” “Yea, me & Leslie here formed a truce. Once we’re all done with this banana business, your group & I are back to being rivals.” “We’re rivals?” “Listen, I was gonna do this whole thing where I robbed a Walmart & had a big villain speech & it was gonna be cool!” “I see. Does this have anything to do with the almost-matching outfit?” “Yes. I made it myself, in fact!” “Oh, you did? That’s cool.” “Thanks. Self-taught.”

“Alright, enough small-talk.” Leslie stretched. “Cherry’s in that restaurant & we need to save her.” “Cherry’s in there?” “It’s a long story, but she’s in trouble.” “Well, we have no time to waste, then! Let’s go!”

-

Either it was the adrenaline or the fact that she would be turned into a banana if she fucked up here, but Cherry was handling her sword better. Not completely better, but it was fine for the time being.

Pim was attempting to shoot Cherry with the Bananainator, but they were blocking every shot with their sword.

“Why won’t you just give UP already?!” Pim yelled, firing another shot from the Bananainator “I don’t give up very easily.” Cherry responded, blocking the shot with her sword. “Plus, I’m a big fan of not being a banana.”

Pim fired a few more shots, but Cherry blocked all three of them, albeit barely. The two of them had been at this for a while, & Cherry was noticeably getting more & more worn out.

“You’re getting tired!” Pim grinned. “Might wanna take a rest for a second!” “& let my guard down? No thanks.” “You know, overworking yourself is very- OW!”

A hammer flew into the room, hitting Pim directly in the back of the head. It made a squeaky noise as it hit the ground.

“Who did that?!” he yelled, turning around. “That’s what you get, banana boy!”

There stood Natalie, with a grin on her face. Behind her stood Nora, Juniper, Kalani, & Leslie.

“You’re gonna PAY FOR THAT!” Pim turned his aim toward Natalie. “Try me, bitch!”

Pim fired a shot. Natalie ducked, along with everyone else, & hit the window in the main room, shattering it.

“OH, YOU-”

Natalie ran off before Pim could finish his sentence.

“HEY, WAIT! GET BACK HERE!”

Pim shoved past everyone else & ran up the stairs to chase after Natalie. The other 4 went down & over to Cherry.

“Cherry!!” Leslie smiled, embracing her. “Les! You came back!” “Of course I did! I spent all night trying to come up with a plan to save you!” “All night? Jesus, Les, we are getting you a nap after this is done.” “Speaking of.. this situation, we’ve got some fighting to do!” “Yeah! Let’s kick some banana ass!”

The group started heading up the stairs.

“So what’s the banana guy’s deal anyway?” “Oh, Pim? Turns out he’s using this restaurant as a front to take over capitalism. Also, that’s not a banana costume.” “He wants to take over capitalism? That’s not possible!” “That’s what I was saying!” “Are we just skimming over the part where you said he wasn’t wearing a banana costume?” “Oh, yea, his mom’s a human & his dad’s a banana.” “That sounds disgusting. & also genetically not possible.” “Don’t we share 50% of DNA with bananas?” “Yea, I guess so.”

They arrived back upstairs to the main area of the restaurant. Pim was trying to shoot Natalie with his Bananainator, but she was dodging every shot.

“WHY WON’T YOU STOP DODGING?!” “Why won’t you stop having bad aim?” “I- SHUT UP!”

The group looked toward each other.

“So what’s the plan?” Kalani asked. “He seems to rely on that Bananainator he has too much.” Cherry said. “If we can disarm him & break it, he won’t be able to fight back.” “What about the other, uh.. banana guys around?” “I dunno. I guess we just fend them off?” “Sounds good to me!”

Kalani aimed her wand at Pim, who was busy trying to hit Natalie with the Bananainator.

“Just as a warning, this is the first time I’ve ever used this thing.” “Some training before-hand would have been nice, wouldn’t it?” “Yeah.”

Kalani fired a magic blast at Pim. It hit him smack-right in the face.

“OW!” he hissed, turning his attention toward Kalani. He fired the Bananainator at Kalani, but Juniper slid in & blocked the beam with eir spear, sending it flying into the sky.

“So that’s how you wanna be, huh?” Pim scoffed. He snapped his fingers a couple times. “BACKUP! BAAAAACKUP!!!”

All at once, a few dozen bananas approached Pim. He pointed at the group. “Get them!” he commanded.

The bananas turned toward the group.

“Ah, shit, here we go again.” “Again?!” “Don’t worry about it.”

The group readied their weapons as the bananas raced toward them.

Cherry, despite being tired from blocking Pim’s attacks earlier, still had some fight left in them, & was slicing some bananas in half. Nora used her whip to push back some of the bananas, & even cut some of them. Leslie used its scythes to dice the banana in half. Juniper was stabbing bananas with pheir spear, & Kalani used his wand to send magic blasts at the bananas.

As Leslie sliced a banana in half, they noticed that Natalie was being surrounded by bananas. Pim had his Bananainator aimed at Natalie, & there was no way she could avoid it.

They had to act fast.

Pim had his finger on the trigger. Leslie ran over to where he was standing, scythes in hand. Its plan was to use one of its scythes to flick the Bananainator out of his hands. However, there was a rock on the ground & Leslie had tripped, their scythe cutting deep into Pim’s glove.

“OUCH!” he shrieked, dropping the Bananainator on the ground.

Leslie swiftly grabbed the Bananainator from the ground & rolled over, standing up. Pim noticed this very quickly.

“HEY!” he yelled. “Give that BACK!”

Leslie smiled as it threw the Bananainator into the ground as hard as it could, shattering the device into various pieces.

“NO!!” Pim screamed, running over to the now-broken Bananainator.

All of a sudden, all of the faceless bananas (the ones that weren’t dead, anyway) all transformed back into humans. They looked around, confused & unaware.

“Where am I?” “Why the fuck am I in a parking lot?” “How’d I get here??”

The group just kind of glanced at each other, not wanting to explain that everyone had just been turned into bananas.

“Uh.. don’t worry about it!” Juniper gave a thumbs up to everyone. “Just go home! Everything’s normal now.”

Everyone just shrugged & walked away.

Pim was grasping at the remains of his Bananainator. “My plan.. it’s RUINED!!” he sobbed. “Damn. That sounds like a skill issue.”

Pim glared at the group (+ Natalie), tears in his eyes.

“Just you wait until my BOYFRIEND hears about this! I’ll have my revenge on you, just you wait & see!!” Pim yelled, running away.

The group looked at each other.

“Well.. we did it.” “We did! Isn’t that neat?” “Yeah!”

“So, Natalie..” Leslie looked at her. “Does this mean our truce is over?” “Oh! Uh.. yeah! No more truce! From now on, I’ll be your worst enemy! Mwahahaha!!” “Alright, you have fun with that.” “See ya later, heroes!” Natalie chuckled, hopping on her motorcycle & riding off.

Cherry sighed, leaning against the wall of the building. “So... I guess we’re officially heroes then, huh?” “I.. guess so, yeah. We just kind of saved the world.” “Well, we didn’t save the world. We saved capitalism, which is frankly worse, but who cares?” “Let’s just ignore the capitalism part & say we saved the city, huh?” “Yeah. Let’s go with that. C’mon, let’s head home.” “Alright! Nap time!”

So, they all got back into Nora’s car & drove back to their dorms, with the thought of their heroic actions in the back of their minds. They had saved the day! But.. what would come next, they wondered?

They were sure it would be fine, whatever it was.

[verbo-s-e]

june 27, 2023 4:32 pm

i don’t get it. 

i really don’t. 

in an effort to not run to my journal and go back to speaking to you like i’m used to, but - not in that way - i’m here. go figure. is it really any different? yes. it really is that different. i’m really great at reasoning [lying to] with myself. 

how - why - is it that even after removing you/me, i still feel so guilty, so torn up and tortured? why am i still crying myself to sleep and seeing you in my dreams where everything is normal. everything is fine. you’re just there, staring at me, smug and warm and so inviting. how easy it would be to run back into your arms. tell you, never mind, never mind, never mind! i made it all up! we can be friends! we can sew our worlds back together. but the needle is dull. i’m out of thread and this scar tissue can’t take anymore sutures. face it girl, we’ve coded on the table. there’s no saving us now.

pathetic, i scold myself. and then i’m feeling guilty again for being unkind to myself. i promised grace and gentleness. something i was always telling you, but never listening to myself. its a viscous cycle. a pattern. its our thing. and i seem to be the only one who recognizes it. which is why we’re here.

there is something fundamentally abnormal about our dynamic. this lands easily in a positive and negative way. the positive: i don’t have the time or space to go there. the negative: to start, every time i leave my house i’m instantly filled with dread and anxiety - am i going to run into you? are our cars going to pass each other by like two ships in the night? will i have to pretend to not see you? to look through you? like you did me all those times? all those years? would be the fair thing, no? or what about the grocery store? i scan the parking lot to make sure you’re not there. thankfully, your car is easily identifiable. 

i’m so scared to see you. become faced with those brown eyes questioning and analyzing my countenance for clues. i’ve never been good at poker so one look and i’m toast. burnt toast.

in the wake of my severance, memories have been flooding me - the good the bad the in between. what’s currently on rotation on the big screen in my head? 

easy.

third weekend of november, a friends birthday weekend. all close pals invited. friday night started off with a show at a warehouse. things felts so....normal. GOOD dare i say. then, like the change of the weather not some twelve hours later for birthday pals brunch, you wouldn’t even look at me. let alone speak to me. it’s like i wasn’t there. i thought it was just me that saw/felt it. but no. 

no. 

birthday brunch became a birthday picnic on the beach some many hours later and there was still so much weirdness. imagine a circle of friends gathered around a campfire, just minus the campfire and there we all are. topics of sunflowers became topics of rivers and there you went. you went there. a quick side eye glance with the birthday person that meant we both caught it. we both heard it and would file it away to be discussed later. you, directly across from me speaking a deeply personal truth of my own -- it felt like i was looking at a mirror with everything i’ve known and felt reflected back at me. 

but my brain had whiplash. and now, like then, i shake my forever changing colored head as if it’s an etch a sketch, trying to undo the intrusive thought. intrusive memory. 

i guess what i’m saying is: i don’t understand how you don’t understand. because where i’m standing - it’s been so fucking obvious. 

[emcant]

Batfic concept: What I Learned On My Summer Vacation

Several disclaimers: I have never actually written a fanfic. I'm a hair too old and sheltered to have gotten both into it and good at it; my skill set does not reflect my age, and I'd like to rectify that.

Batman: TAS swept me off my feet about five years ago. Ever since I fall asleep thinking about the blorbos, and I can't sleep tonight. One of the other can'ts that my handle refers to is "draw" - I'd like to learn, mostly to sketch these out. But I have already seen such an explosion of talent since rejoining tumblr that I think this is better offered to you as is. Please, take this and run with it! You can do a better job than I can.

The Jarley dynamic is 1000% radioactive and I do not condone it in the slightest - but I grew up in a verbally ab*sive household. I have heard my parents say things to me that the Joker says to her. I live for early Harley's little "this isn't right" moments, her gradual but ever growing realization that she's worth more. I'm thrilled she got written out and into happiness, but I recognize her most- and need her most- under this specific kind of duress.

Word count: Up to you (nsfw also up to you)

Pairing: the Joker/Harley Quinn

Summary:

Dick, as Nightwing, gives a presentation in the Batcave about his new intel on the Joker and Harley. He evidently just tangled with them and returned unhurt. He's as confused as anyone else, and is frankly unsure he has any valuable new info. Mostly he's here to talk it out.

A few days earlier, much to his chagrin, he got called away from something important to speed after a crime in progress. This is early Nightwing as well; he is less than pleased at still being at Bruce's beck and call. Facing traffic on the main roads, he elects to speed through a back road on the way to a campsite. This works grandly - until he encounters an RV with an open passenger side door. Unable to stop the bike in time, he slams into the door with enough force to pull it off of its hinges. He flies, briefly, and lands firmly on his back.

And all that's around him is laughter. Briefly. It cuts short, and into a vehement "Do NOT do that!" the second he tries to sit up. Eyes focusing, he takes in the Joker, smothering giggles outside the driver's side, and Harley looking terrified and approaching him like he's a wounded animal. Neither of them are costumed.

This situation is the last thing any of them want. All of them assume that Dick's been concussed. Harley eases him out of his helmet; the Joker passes him a pair of sunglasses off of his person. Even though he's costumed and likely has a wallet on him, they are suspiciously un-keen to figure out who he is. The Joker disappears with the bike and helmet, hurls them over the side of the road and empties an entire clip of bullets into them with a silenced pistol, partly as a message but mostly from frustration. Harley retrieves or constructs a neck brace for Dick and opens a side door to let the hyenas out. With her around, they leave him alone.

On the Joker's return, they very gently get Dick into the master bed, and proceed down the road as they had been. Dick is conscious but extremely confused. They mostly talk to each other: this sucks and they both hate it, but "we agreed". Dick asks: What did they agree? This is their vacation: no business, and business includes winding each other up. No raised voices, no manhandling, no insults - if someone gets pissed off, they're to walk it off and come back happy. As far as they're concerned, they've just got an extra guest now; they won't do anything bad to him because, for all intents and purposes, Batman doesn't even exist. Both of them hate this but are trying to make it work.

Mostly, they came out to see a rarer meteor shower, so they have the rest of the day and all of daylight tomorrow as time to kill. Things ensue. Teaching Bud and Lou new tricks (they nip the Joker hard enough to draw blood but he's too proud that they pulled it off to notice), teaching Harley to count cards (she insists on making it strip poker when she wins), Harley teaching the Joker some basic acrobatics (he sucks and won't take Dick's input), figuring out a grill, day drinking. Consistently, there are opportunities for them to lash out at each other; as consistently, the instigator walks off and the other person talks to Dick about something else. Dick reflects that this side of them feels like visiting an aunt and uncle, but ones that are better seen in small doses.

(Side plot?: the Joker realizes that if he gets sunburned enough, he will not be recognizable, and achieves this in about 15 minutes. Now, like Dick and Harley, he can walk off camp without worrying about getting identified, and gloats about it a bit - but every motion hurts.)

(Side HCs: the RV is Chief O'Hara's retirement gift to himself. Also, this is the Joker's birthday weekend, so Harley might have gifts of a certain nature ready for him once they get to bed.)

Finally the meteor shower arrives. Dick has been stuck lying on his back this entire time - they are all a bit frightened to move his neck. More gently than you might expect, the rogues ease him outside so he doesn't miss the show. Why so gentle? Well, they've both been concussed (likely by him), and again, this is a vacation. He ought to be living it up too.

They watch the stars and talk about how the biggest privilege in Gotham is to be able to get out of Gotham. You really can't even see the night sky most of the time. They talk about their dads and what they wanted for them, and how frequently wrong that felt. They drink. (After a bit Dick presses them: really, nothing illegal? - then retrieves rolling papers and a small amount of weed from his costume. The Joker just about dies laughing. They share.)

Dick retires to the camper's bedroom again. The Joker and Harley set up cots under a mosquito net and sleep under them with the hyenas (maybe after doing some things that Dick really didn't need to overhear). The Joker wakes up to the hyenas whining, and briefly thinks that they can't figure out that they're already outside... until he sees a smoke plume in the distance. The bike! Worried that the road is closed, he hustles everyone into the RV and drives out of there like a bat out of hell. As they move, it becomes clear that they're passing into a forest fire. He must have set off a spark when he shot out the fuel tank.

And the facade falls. He comes clean. Harley didn't know he'd been packing this whole time: "what are you, crazy?". They shout at each other the rest of the way off the site - but ultimately come out unscathed, dropping Dick at the first city bus stop they see. Uncaring again. In media res.

But Dick feels different. Weird. Not like he's grown, necessarily, but like he's seen something he didn't know existed. If they can have passably normal times outside of the life, why can't he? He deserves happiness too - and, he realizes, his is almost certainly more genuine.

His presentation ends, in so many words, with "that was strange but I'm fine".

[piastrinorris]

can i request eddiexreader where the reader is also lowkey considered a freak, she's a painter and plays dnd and wants to join hellfire? thank you! no worries if not!

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 735

You're listening to your Walkman as you sketch out your latest piece to paint when you're home. The sound quality of you taping a recording of your favourite album from the family record player isn't the best, but it's still listenable.

Something hits your headphones, knocking them askew. You look up to see a group of preppy girls standing around you, already laughing behind their hands. You simply smile sarcastically and carry on, hand on your headphones to readjust them when you hear, "Oh my god, isn't it pathetic? The way she tries so hard to act like she doesn't care. So transparent."

You shrug, "Don't know what to tell you, dude. Just go on and do your thing. I'll do mine. Never the two shall meet."

"Why do you talk so weird?" Another girl asks.

"Didn't you hear your little friend? Everything I do is in the desperate attempts that you girls will come over, disturb my peaceful existence and just harass me until I can't take any more," you reply monotonously.

"You think you're better than everyone just because you like your tiny, specific, insignificant things? Get real," the first girl scoffs. "It doesn't make you special, sweetie. Nobody's gonna pick you."

"Good! Let them leave me alone! God," you pull your headphones back on and turn away from them. The poor quality music doesn't drown out their laughs as they leave. You're back in the zone until someone taps you on the shoulder. You look up to see Eddie Munson's smiling face. "Can I help you?" you ask scathingly, now that you're not in the mood, as you remove your headphones entirely and pause your cassette player.

"Whoa, whoa," he holds his hands up, stepping back once, twice, before pulling up the seat opposite to you. "Just here to check on a fellow misfit."

"I don't need checking up on, thank you," you reply. "Just... Go on back to your little boys' club, it's fine."

He frowns, "Come on, you can't fool me. You and I, we're kindred spirits. You can talk to me." He looks down at your book, and points at one of your warm-up doodles. "Cat Lord? Nice. Haven't utilised him yet."

"Yeah, well. Neutral aligned, doesn't really care much for people, only cats. Doesn't sound like a bad life if you ask me," you shrug, and Eddie chuckles.

"C'mon, not all people suck that much," Eddie chimes.

Head still bent over your sketchbook, you look up at him. "Let me guess, you're the exception?"

"Well, I don't wanna brag, but..." He stretches out. "I've caught you peeking into the Hellfire clubhouse once or twice. I don't think you'd be doing that if you weren't curious." A deep blush forms across your cheeks, and it doesn't go unnoticed. "Hey, look up at me, I wanna see something."

You move to face him, closing your book and crossing your arms on the table. "Alright, fine. What?"

Eddie toys with his hair for a second before also leaning in to grin widely at you as he mutters quietly, "Kiss me if I'm wrong, but I think you want into Hellfire."

Your whole face turns bright red. "Excuse me?!"

His smile somehow gets even bigger as he leans back, "Knew it. All you ever had to do was ask." He rests an elbow on the table, lifting his fist up to lay his cheek on as he looks at you.

You can't bring yourself to look at him, because ever since he propositioned you to kiss him, you can't stop focusing on his lips. "Like I said earlier. It's a whole boys' club. I've not exactly seen any girls at your table."

Eddie shakes his head. "We've had oneshots with female players before. But you're right, someone's gotta be the first to stick around for a whole campaign. And I'd be honoured to have you be that for us."

You sigh in defeat. "Yeah. Alright, fine, you got me. If you really want me there, I'd... Actually kinda love to join."

Eddie does a little victory dance in his place. It's actually quite cute in its own awkward way. "Have you got a character in mind? I'd love to talk backstory with you sometime... Amongst other things," he leans back in closer to you.

Just as it was starting to cool off, your blushing makes a comeback. "I'd... Kinda love that, too."

[riku-writings]

ADMIRATION

Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x Fem! Reader

Summary: Reader likes to fantasize about The Home Economics Club Leader's Hands.

Warnings: Smut with a smol plot, Fingering.

A/n: I am not really sorry about this ꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡,,, inspired by that one megumi oneshot in wattpad that i read ages ago. . .((edited hundred times since i just realized now that some of the smut parts were messed up even though i checked it multiple times,,, I'm sorry for the confusion i hope i got the order right ಠ,_｣ಠ)

Wc; 2k

It started with just an innocent admiration of him being a charming dude, that's all. The guy's a good student, an overall husband material with his sewing and cooking skills. He was heaven sent with his overall visual ( dyed hair, piercings and his eyebrow slits). Everyone knows he's a delinquent because of that Pehyan dude who would fight with Yasuda-San just to excuse mitsuya out of the club. Despite his delinquent bg, Mitsuya was respectful and patient. Making every girl and boy swoon over him.

A bad boy with a soft hubby side. Best of both worlds they would say.

You were part of it. The Home Economics Club, they were lying if the whole club wasn't a simping club for the one and only Mitsuya Takashi. It was only yasuda and you who took the club for extra credits. The others well, you could say they were there to see him. Eitherway everyone was cooperative and hardworking.

Not only were you with him in that club. You were his classmate. Even better, his seatmate. You always get a view of his charming side profile.

You find yourself just staring at his features, from his long lashes to his pointed nose, down to his lips. Sometimes his tongue would dart out, out of pure concentration. (You noticed this whenever you try and get his attention to check your work in the club)

Your eyes always latching itself down to his hands. Not that you're a complete freak but you appreciate it. Like if someone asked you what body part attract you the most. You would definitely answer, hands.

His hands were the prettiest especially when its enclosed with those rings that has a cross engrave on it. It was veiny, fingers elongated and a bit bony. Nails cleanly cut. His wrist always had a silver bracelet on it. You don't know why was that attractive.

You had an unpopular opinion that it was soft to touch. You wonder if your thoughts were true. You can feel yourself blush at the thought of him just holding your hand.

You can't help it but you just stare at them with pure admiration. Due to this, you noticed how he liked twirling a pen around his middle and index finger. Fascinated, you tried it once, though you failed. You not knowing he was looking at your failed attempts. Grinning.

"y/n are you listening?" A voice called pulling you out of your own embarassing thoughts. You look up at the owner of the hands you've been staring at for a while now.

"U-uhm yes?"

"Tell me how did you end up with this then?" Mitsuya raises his brow, your messed up fabric lifted up by him. The girls around you giggled at your clumsy behaviour. You retrieved it. "Ehm, I'm sorry leader can you explain it again?"

"Alright, listen this time dummy" He says with a teasing grin, ruffling your hair gently. He sat next to you. Using the seam ripper to remove your mistakes. You just stared at his fingers pointing at where you should redo it.

You wondered how he would shove it in your mo—

You mentally slapped yourself. As you crossed your legs together at the sudden image that came over your mind. "You okay? y/n?" Mitsuya stared at you noticing how you pressed your thighs together. "Hmhm" You responded.

"Leader! can you check this?" Another called out for mitsuya. He stood up and pats your shoulder.

"alright, I'll leave it to you then" He smiled.

The next days you tried to scold your mind for having intrusive thoughts of Mitsuya and his hands. Unfortunately, your mind developed a sudden kink with it. Making every imaginary situation more. . . . lewd.

"Hey Y/n! Hold up your hand" Your classmate suddenly called you lifting his hand towards yours. You knew exactly what he was trying to do, since he's been busy tryna do that with the other girls this morning. "Eh? I don't want to." You replied.

"Bet if mitsuya did it, y/n would do it!" Another classmate of yours shouted from the back. You raised your middle finger, continuing on cramming your homework.

"Leader~ Can you do that for us~" The boys teasingly called mitsuya. Who was back from his lunch raising an eyebrow at them. Hands pocketed "Do what?"

"We're just comparing hand sizes" They shrugged lifting up their hands. "Y/n won't let us~~"

"Eh? Stop bothering y/n." Mitsuya say in his deep voice his feet landing a hit on their butts, before proceeding to you. The men in the back groaned.

Bending to meet your gaze. He grinned "Now you owe me, work on your missed templates with me later" The lilac haired boy reminded. You just rolled your eyes on him mocking a tongue out. He chuckled. "And I thought you just saved me, leader."

You stayed with him in the club room. Doing your templates beside him. Him just handstitching a bunny like doll. The room slowly darkening as the sun sets. He turned on a lamp beside his table. Slowly the other girls started to leave the club room, waving their goodbye's to Mitsuya.

"Hmmmm you've been spacing out lately, are you okay?" He coughed softly referring to your messed up works recently. Eyes going to you.

"Me? spacing out?" You acted dumb, you scoffed in a fake manner. Brushing your hair with your fingers to shake off your stiffening state.

Not meeting any of his gaze, you just continued to sketch.

Did he figure it out? Did he catch me staring at his hands? Nah I need to stop overthinking.

"Alright then." Silence invaded the whole club room again. Your eyes roamed around realizing the rest of the girls left already leaving you two alone.

"Hold your hand up." Mitsuya suddenly commanded. Eyes going to him, you raised your brow. "I wanna know— our hand difference." He explained raising his hand infront of you. Placing his doll down the table.

"You know the boys in our class are just a bunch of perverts right?" Speaking like a fucking hypocrite, your actions didn't match up with your words. Almost instinctively, you faced him holding them up. He pressed his against yours.

Your insides melt at this gesture. Your theory confirmed that he has actually, soft hands.

"You have cute small hands" His lips curled up, slowly his fingers intertwined with yours, locking it with his. "Well yours rough" You lied, cheeks burning as you looked at your connected hands. "Is that so?"

Abruptly, mitsuya pulled you close to him. Making your other hand rest on top of his shoulder. His face centimeters away yours. Lips almost brushing.

"So is this what they're trying to do with you?" He asks in a low voice his eyes piercing through you. Craning his neck, curious.

"Yeah. . . " You broke eye contact. "Good thing I stopped them." He chuckled, eyes closing. He leaned back. Patting your head.

Funnily, that interaction with him didn't stop your thoughts. Actually it made your whole dirty secret worse. Just seeing him tapping his fingers on his lips as his chin rested on his palm. Made your mind run thoughts about the things his hands would do to you.

You leaned back looking around the morning peace in the clubroom. You were always the first one to go here. Since it's more quiet that way.

You closed your eyes craning your neck side to side. Loosening up a bit.

What would his fingers feel wrapped around your neck— no. no.

You shifted on your seat, pressing your thighs together. Mentally slapping yourself.

Changing your attention, your sight caught your pen. Picking it up you tried to do that cool trick again. Trying to twirl it around in between your middle and index finger.

"Ohhh you're trying to do it again?" Mitsuya popped out of nowhere. You jolted a bit, making him laugh. You clearly didn't see him coming in.

He hovered behind you, his chest pressed on your back as he rested his hand on your desk right beside yours. He leaned in observing your half-done project. "Again?" You asked head turning towards his face.

"Well I saw you trying to do this"

He pulled his other hand up grabbing your pen, his fingers did it in ease. "no need to brag leader-san" You tell him grabbing your pen back. "Looks like you're gonna stay with me again later" Mitsuya mentioned pointing at your work.

After classes you proceeded to your clubroom already, knowing you're gonna take so long with your project. Though you were greeted by yasuda leaving you with her tasks because apparently she also had friday plans like the others. The others always had friday plans that it would leave you, yasuda and mitsuya with the work.

"It's okay yasuda-san! I promise to clean up and remind leader to lock the door!" You assured her, she then finally nodded. "Fine fine— Also don't let that slimy delinquent distract leader" She added, you nodded giving her a big thumbs up, she then waved her hands leaving you all alone with the mess of excess papers and fabric from this morning.

You tied your hair as you clean up the place before doing your own project. You actually sat on the front desk as you look around feeling satisfied. Finally continuing your hand stitch. (You gave up after breaking 3 needles into half with your machine.)

You stay seated on the front desk, comfortably doing your own project. Humming a few songs here in there. The door then slid open.

"I'm guessing yasuda san has plans?" Mitsuya came in seeing you on his desk. "yup" You nodded eyes focused on your stitch. Sudden fingers gripped your knees.

"You should stop manspreading in that skirt" He scolded you pushing your knees together. You shivered at his touch against your skin. Due to this sudden awareness of his hand still gripping your lower thighs— you accidentally pricked your finger on a needle.

"Ouch." You hissed as you saw your finger starts to ooze out blood. "You're so clumsy" Mitsuya clicked his tongue removing the cloth on your hands bringing it down to the side. He grabbed your hand and started sucking on your finger.

"U-uhm" You widened your eyes as you saw the sight of mitsuya sucking your index finger. You blushed profusely at this. "Eh? I- I — you didn't have to do that" He finally let go of your finger.

"I don't have bandages on me—plus that always does the trick" He says wiping it. You just nodded looking around. "Tsk what is it that got you distracted again hm?" He questions furrowing his brows he leaned closer to you. He layed his hands on the table, locking you in.

"Ugh you really want me to say it huh?" You groaned. He craned his neck to the side. Waiting for you to continue. "Okay— I may have a small admiration towards your hands. . ."

"Admiration?"

"Well it was honestly innocent at first until it got all dirty and as much as I wanted to get it out of my head you suddenly do things to me"

"And what was my hands doing?"

"Mitsuya . . "

"No dove tell me" He said as the choice of endearment shoot straight to your core. Making you shift on your seat.

"hm shoving it in my mou—"

Mitsuya shoved his middle and index finger inside your mouth. Your cheeks burn at the sudden action. His other hand held your waist, holding you closer. "You like this?" He asked with hooded eyes. Your tongue twirled around his finger, he slowly discarded them letting out a popping sound as it came out of your lips. Feeling your chest warmed up down to your lower belly.

"Is this why you're so distracted lately? because you're too busy thinking about my hands?" He then held your chin with his fingers as he hummed. Lips inching closer to yours. You just nodded feeling feverish. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Once again you nodded. You can feel the growing lust underneath your skirt. Pressing your thighs together to relief the heat. Mitsuya following the movement. His eyes went back to pierce through yours.

"Say please" He smugly commanded. You pouted.

He taps your lips. Wetting it with your own spit.

"Please kiss me."

Mitsuya leaned in to claim your lips, you lightly gasped as his lips finally touch yours. Closing your eyes, you melt into his kiss. He smirked at his before his hand on your waist went up to your hair tie, pulling it to let your hair flow against your shoulders.

He then licked your lips, instinctively you opened your mouth allowing him to enter his warm wet muscle inside. You whimpered at this, feeling your feverish state get warmer. Spreading all over your body. He caressed your cheek as he kissed you deeper. His other hand caressing your side, slightly brushing up against your chest. You hummed against his lips.

Biting onto your bottom lip he licked it. Before leaning back, placing a soft kiss on yours before taking in your whole panting visual.

"Do you want me to touch you, dove?" He questions, his thumb now pressing onto your bottom lip. His left hand went down on your thighs, softly pinching them.

"Please touch me, takashi"

With that his fingers indulged inside the band of your damp underwear. "Hm you're so wet, princess" He hummed letting his finger brushed up against your folds. You squirmed under his touch, your pussy clenching around nothing.

"Is this what you're thinking about in class?" He whispered next to your ear, placing a hot kiss on your cheek. You nodded, biting onto your red lips. As his middle finger continued to slide so easily with your wet slick. Up and down teasing both of your sensitive clit and your pleading hole.

You then felt the pad of his fingers teasing circles on your entrance, you looked at him with glossed eyes. He licked his lips seeing you practically begging for it.

His other hand held the back of your knees spreading your legs to gain more access. You leaned back supporting your weight with your hands.

Letting your skirt ride up, He bit his lips as he saw your ruined flimsy panties with his hand in it. You just looked at him with a pout wanting his fingers to penetrate your hole. "Please" You plead him trying to grind into his hand. Without caution he plunged his two fingers in your heat.

You bit back a moan. "Don't hold back now, dove." He said with a smug as he felt your hole clench around his fingers. "I-I can't takashi" You say feeling little under him. He chuckled at your pouting lips before placing a kiss on them. "Acting shy now huh"

Mitsuya curled his fingers inside making you squirm. "Don't move." He warned before pounding his hand into your writhing pussy. His long fingers hitting your soft spot almost immediately. You moaned letting your forehead clash itself against his. "You're taking my fingers so well baby. So noisy" He said referring to the slick slapping sounds of your wet pussy. You blushed at this ashamed on how you were making a mess on his hands.

"Aa you're so lewd— bet you've touched yourself multiple times thinking about this" He said adding another finger in your hole easily. You sobbed at the sudden feeling of fullnes inside "Hmm too much"

"Too much? you're a good girl you can take it" He says kissing your cheek once agaib. He thrusted his three fingers into your hole curling it up to feel your spongey walls clenching into him tighter.

"Mmn t-takashi—k-kiss" You mumbled feeling yourself itching up to your own orgasm.

"You want a kiss baby hm?" He hummed as his thrusts got harder and faster. Knuckles deep, the tip of his fingers hitting your sensitive spot. You purred nodding, He kissed your lips deeply making your moans muffled. You felt hot inside you as you panted trying to comprehend everything that he was doing to you. With that you felt your orgasm continue to build up. Your head leaned back breaking off his kiss, grinding back into his hand. Mitsuya felt yourself tighten continuing to hit on your sweet spot. Your own wetness beginning to drip down.

His thumb finally taking notice of your abandoned nub. He played with it. You squirmed as you feel it burn against his thumb.

"'m close" You squeak biting onto your lips. "Go on baby cum on my fingers" He said littering kisses on your neck, hands pounding into you harshly. With those words and his thumb rubbing your sensitive clit. Your thighs started to fidget. You closing your eyes shut as you panted.

You came onto his fingers. You let out a whiny moan as His fingers slowly ride out your high.

"Good girl" He said pulling his fingers out your panties. Your eyes opened seeing him cleaning his fingers clean with his tongue. He smirked as you lolled your tongue out. He placed his fingers on your tongue, letting you lick and suck them clean.

"You look so pretty like that, dove" He say as you finished pulling his fingers out popping out of your lips. He held your waist with his arms, moving you closer again. Leaning in to kiss you softly this time on your forehead. "How was that?"

"Better than what I imagined actually"

"C'mon it looks like we have friday plans too" Mitsuya said kissing your lips. Bringing you down the table. You smiled.

[venelona]

So, Franstober’s over

I did it aaaa I still can’t believe it XD Initial plan was to have most of it as sketches because I didn’t think I’d have enough drawing juices to draw complete pieces for a month... but then I just. Forgot that LOL

Again, huge thanks to @uhhbananafrappe for the prompts and so many new ideas 💗💕✨ if you can drop by her blog and her kofi page, so much amazing stuff that’s been inspiring me for more than 5 years

So yeah after month of non-stop drawing I’ll most probably take a break XD I put on hold every project I was in the middle of to do franstober and I’d like to get back to them, even tho all of them are sacred secrets I can’t post

But there’s a second reason for this post... my birthday is soon!

Yeah 4th of November is my Birthday and I have a tiny wish

Please give me feedback for my art

It comes and goes for a few months now, but sometimes I feel very discouraged/sad from lack of concrete feedback on my drawings. I do a picture that I think is the best picture I’ve ever done and get zero comments, or I try something new, something so different that if I incorporate it into my art it will change it fundamentally, and get nothin’. 

Don’t misunderstand me, getting general compliments is very flattering, and I appreciate each and every one, as well each and every one person who leaves them!! The thing is- I really want to improve my art, and without help of other’s I’ll just be moving in circles for a long time.

So, no need to write be happy birthday wishes on my big day. Here’s my wish -

please send me which of my drawing/doodles/comics/gifts is your favorite, and why

in the comments, in the inbox, just in dms - the ‘why’ part can be anything - the way i lined it, the coloring, the lighting, the way I drew a neck or colored an eye, or it was a fanart for something you love, or even for you- maybe its the feelings conveyed, or, if its a comic, maybe its the way frames are structured or just a story-

and don’t come saying ‘all of your art’. this will make me feel sadder for reasons i can’t quite express myself. please please please just pick one

Though I’d appreciate if you actually picked two! Bonus points if you pick from my overall art, and then from latest Franstober art! It contains more of the stand alone pieces, as well as a lot of experiments. I’d be very happy to hear which franstober piece people liked the best, and it would also help me a ton!

(I’ll link all my franstober drawings below the cut)

So yeah. My inbox is open, my dm’s are open, my little box is waiting and I’d really appreciate your comments, more than you know 💕 Lots of people will probably think less of me now, demanding attention, but... It’s for my birthday, let me be petty for my birthday!!! and i’ll take curing my sadness and improving my art over being looked down upon

Thank you for reading this monologue haha. Here’s All my franstober 2021:

i posted this before making list on accident bear with me

Day 1 - Nest - Songfell (by ikustioa / songfell-ut )

Day 2 - Bonds - Error Sans x Frisk

Day 3 - Secret - Taboo love (inspired by yoralim)

Day 4 - Tired - Horrortale (Horror and his dogs)

Day 5 - Private - Storyfell

Day 6 - Public - Reapertale

Day 7 - Ride - Underfell (Based on my Bad To The Bone comic)

Day 8 - Blind - Dancefell

Day 9 - Experiment - Underlab (by sharkowskii)

Day 10 - Chase - Outertale

Day 11 - Soft - Overtale (version by nuvex)

Day 12 - Seed - Parasitetale (by bloowe-blu)

Day 13 - Color - Fresh Sans x Fresh Frisk

Day 14 - Hate - Dusttale

Day 15 - Love - Flowerfell

Day 16 - Money - Mermaid (Aqua by uhhbananafrappe) Sans x Frisk

Day 17 - Hangover - Swapfell

Day 18 - Jealous - Kingdom of the Crystal Sky (by kodizzzle)

Day 19 - Video - Undergate (by saturnbela)

Day 20 - Warp - Nightmare Sans x Frisk

Day 21 - Riddle - Underswap

Day 22 - Punishment - Lockfell (by me/ lockfell)

Day 23 - Reward - Dancetale

Day 24 - Collar - Underfell

Day 25 - Quiet - Aftertale (by loverofpiggies)

Day 26 - Stay - Lamia (Cobalt by uhhbananafrappe) Sans x Frisk

Day 27 - Steel - Undertale

Day 28 - Regret - Mage Blue x Frisk (based on my Mage Blue comic)

Day 29 - Tease - Mafiatale

Day 30 - Broken - Check & Mate (by me/ undertale-check-and-mate)

Day 31 - Caged - Undertale

[sirwolficus]

i wanna know like everything about your spiderverse. like what's the friend group dynamics? how did peter get bit? is mj still the love interest, or is harry involved? what's the full extent peter's powers (like organic or homemade webs, etc)? i am just so intrigued!!!

BOY LET ME TELL YOU I AM MORE THAN HAPPY TO TELL YOU ABOUT IT!!!!!!!! this time i have sketches to add in aswell lmao

harry, peter and mj are very much a trio, all three of them arent popular and are kind of seen as 'background characters' if that makes sense, but theyre all like that for different reasons - peter is super socially awkward, mj doesnt like talking to most people, and harry is looked at as the rich white boy so people are intimidated by him but also make a lot of assumptions about him, doesnt help that he always looks exhausted and pissed off

harry and peter were childhood friends and then eventually peter met mj and kind of wouldnt leave him alone so they were all brought together as the geek brigade

its a fun dynamic to work with because you have peter, awkward and really smart, mj thats more energetic but morally grey, and harry that loves making his dad's life harder and making his friends happy.

mj is DEFINITELY the love interest, as much as i do enjoy harry/peter in this universe they view each other as brothers in everything but blood, since theyve basically spent their entire lives knowing each other. mj is excitable and maybe a little bit of a bad influence and that draws peter right in - and, with mj, he really appreciates the kindness and patience that peter has

im still thinking of the origin story for pete's powers, i have the vague idea though - he still gets bit while on a tour of an oscorp facility, but not because hes on a school trip, more like the internship tour that was happening in Amazing Spiderman (the first andrew garfield movie i mean) because peter is really smart and with a best friend like harry he actually gets cool science opportunities.

his powers are more or less the same - climb up walls, spidey sense, etc etc. im toying with the idea of organic webs (because i LOVE THAT CONCEPT) but i also adore the idea of peter making all of his webs by hand and making all these spider man-gadgets!! he can jump really far lengths (think of that spider that like. jumps on its prey yes i did spider research for this stupid universe) and he also has an incredible sense of hearing and can feel the vibrations of the world around him if he focuses (not echolocation; spiders can sense vibrations through their hair and slits over their body) - this does mean he can get overwhelmed very easily, but hey at least he doesnt really need glasses anymore. kind of. he still needs them to read

i!!! actually!!! had an idea that maybe he has some kind of spider-venom??? but i have no fuckin clue how id incorporate that like. would he fuckin bite people??? no he wouldnt thats rude and frankly unsanitary peter knows better than to bite random people. probably wont use it but its an idea i had bouncing around in my head for a bit

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

And so you didn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oliver here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?" He pressed.

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you think of that one?” 

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

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

Um, wow.

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

All you could do was nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

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

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

You rolled your eyes. 

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

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

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed puzzled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

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

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

Cheeky.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a hard no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

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

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

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

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

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

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

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

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

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

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

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

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

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

What the fuck.  

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

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

That stung.

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

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

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

That was you, ever the professional. 

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

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

“You got it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

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

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

“Boy?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel chuckled a little at that.

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath was shuddering now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

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

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on then, baby." 

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he would, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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