call me angel.

"And I've been a forest fire I am a forest fire And I am the fire and I am the forest And I am a witness watching it." - angel o'connor. 25. bartender at restricted access cabaret.

[angeloconnor]

ABOUT

Full Name: Olivia Way Angel O’Connor

Date of Birth: November 6th, 1997

Age: 25

Gender: Cisfemale

Pronouns: She/Her

Birthplace: Chicago, Illinois 

Religion: Atheist 

Occupation: Bartender at Restricted Access Cabaret 

How long as she been in Bradford Springs: On and off eleven years 

Where does she live?: In Southside with her half-brother Finn O’Connor

WANTED CONNECTIONS | STATS

BIO

TW: death, abuse, drug mention, overdose mention

Diana Way never wanted to be a mother. She knew it before and after the distinct, ill-fated twin lines appeared on the cheap tests she’d picked up from the drugstore. Knew she should’ve put an end to it when the offer was still reasonably on the table, before it was too late. It was a mistake, she’d realized, to tell her mother she was expecting. The woman begged her daughter to make her a grandmother. Looking down at the baby girl in her arms, trapped in a hospital room with her mother by her side and the father of the child nowhere in sight, Diana knew her first instinct was right. 

Olivia Way entered into the world on November 6th, 1998, a chilly, autumn day in Chicago, and Diana felt none of the things a mother should. No love, only a vague sense of resentment. It was a resentment that built the very foundation of the relationship she’d have with her daughter. Olivia, however, never noticed the lack of her mother’s affections. Whatever love Diana couldn’t give, Grandma Lottie gave it in abundance. While Diana kept Olivia at arms length, running out the door and widening the distance as often as she could, it was Lottie who nurtured the growing girl, who showed her love and how to love in return. 

Because the warmth casted by her grandmother was enough to fill the voids in her little life, a father became a foreign concept. Olivia never thought to inquire about him or the reasons why she didn’t have one, not that she would. She was young, too young, to know the ways in which children were brought into the world. Mommy and Grandma Lottie were the only family she knew, but then one day it happened. Diana and Olivia were walking out of the grocery store when he was walking in. He stared at Diana first, his eyes trailing down to Olivia before looking back up at the mother again. The woman’s gaze was steadfast on him, the natural scowl on his face deepening as he passed them by. “Who’s that?” Olivia asked, looking up at her mother as they crossed into the parking lot. “Your father,” Diana said plainly. 

Her father.

Olivia couldn’t wait to tell Grandma Lottie she had one of those. He looked a lot different from them, she’d tell her. Actually, he looked more like their neighbor Ms. Carol, who had blonde hair and blue eyes. Also, she’d tell her how scary he looked.  But the moment she opened her mouth and made the slightest mention of seeing her dad for the first time, Lottie’s demeanor changed. With a frighteningly stern, “You hush, now. Never bring him up again,” Olivia went quiet, nodded, tied it together with a yes ma’am, and cried.

They’d never talk about him again. A few months after her fifth birthday, Olivia was playing in the living room when her mother came home. “Where’s grandma?” Diana asked, and Olivia pointed in the direction of Lottie’s bedroom. Diana headed towards the back, but not before chastising her daughter for not opening her mouth and using her words. A few short seconds later and their lives changed forever. The scream that shattered the sense of security in the home was unlike anything Olivia had heard before. It was piercingly loud and devastatingly heartbroken, the kind of scream that comes from every corner of the body and soul. 

It was a stroke that killed Lottie Way. She’d been dead for just over an hour. Olivia thought she’d been sleeping. 

The sole responsibility of Olivia fell on Diana. The new transition into a different sort of motherhood proved to be more difficult than when she’d first given birth. And in time, Diana grew meaner, her patience somehow even thinner. Without Lottie, Olivia was left to face the full force of her mother’s indifference alone without a safe haven to turn to. More than anything, she missed her grandmother, often wondering when she would come back until one day she realized she never would. 

“What’s my dad like?” Olivia asked out of the blue one day. She would’ve sworn her mother hadn’t heard her if it weren’t for the way the unprompted statement made her pause, even if only for a second. Silence lingered too long, and Olivia knew better than to ask the same thing twice. The hopefulness she felt thinking there might be an answer nearly faded before Diana turned and looked at her. “Do you want to meet him?”

Two days later, Olivia stood excitedly on the doorstep of the unfamiliar home, wearing a backpack that nearly swallowed her with her little suitcase by her side. Diana pounded on the door, turned to her daughter, and promised she’d be right back. There was something she needed to get from the car. By the time the door opened, Olivia turned as the engine came to life and wheels screeched on pavement, watching as her mother drove away. “The fuck do you want?” The stranger at the door pulled her attention back to him. “My dad lives here,” The five year old said, trying to keep her nervous heart steady. 

Patrick O’Connor was a powerful man, and Diana was just another woman who’d gotten caught up in his mess – who got tossed to the side, like the others, when he was done with her. And she’d thrown her daughter right into the lion’s den.

But more than powerful, he was downright evil-spirited. The O’Connor household made the word hostile seem polite, and even on the best of days, it made Diana look like the best mother to ever walk the earth. In her new home, crime was normal, expected. Suddenly, she had siblings, half-siblings who resembled her none but looked out for her nonetheless. An obvious bastard child, still, who stuck out like a sore thumb. The childish thrill that ran through her at the sound of her dad’s Irish accent died almost immediately upon the swiftness of his harsh words. Nothing, however, was harsher than the weight of his fists. One of her saving graces was the fact that Olivia was a girl, and the beatings had been reserved for her brothers. Don’t hit women. It was one of the O’Connor rules, followed by: don’t talk to cops, don’t ask stupid questions, protect the family, and do whatever father says. 

Her other saving grace was Finn. 

Out of the other kids, she’d been drawn to him, found comfort and solace in him. By no means was he a sweet boy. He was a hell-raiser like the rest of them, and nine years her senior, but he made her feel the most safe in a time when she needed it most. But time progressed, and eventually, she didn’t need his safety net. Olivia had been indoctrinated, because after all, she too had O’Connor blood coursing through her veins. She barely flinched at the things she saw, at the things she heard. Hatred touched her heart too soon, but she knew better than to ever disrespect her father. 

By the time she reached seven, the only life she’d come to know shifted again. One day she was home, and the next? She was being taken away by Child Protective Services and placed into foster care along with her siblings. Why? Patrick O’Connor had been arrested for reasons she was still too young to quite understand. This was merely one of the consequences, something meant to save them from their unsuitable home. In saving them, the system’s lack of resources split the siblings up. Fortunately, Olivia had been put into a home with Finn. 

And as it turns out, some of the least desirable homes were far better than the environment they’d been brought up in, and it wasn’t even close. Sometimes they would stay at a place for weeks, sometimes even months, until a year of being wrapped up in the system subtly passed. Finn was getting closer to turning 18, just a year shy of it, but when that day came, he’d get her out of there. That was their agreement. That was the promise, but it was a promise that would be delayed.

Her foster parents got the call first, and reluctantly, they gave the phone to Olivia. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. Immediately, somehow, she knew it was Finn. With a tentative hello, she was met with an I’m so sorry so sincere it scared her. Shortly after, Finn was sentenced to five years in prison. 

It was the second time, the first since her grandma died, that she felt her heart break. She acted out the way hurt kids did, moving from family to family more in a few months than she had in the entire first year. Each time Olivia found herself in a new home, she sent Finn a letter with her updated address so he knew where to find her. But it wasn’t the same. She wanted her brother back. The letters, the phone calls, and the occasional visits weren’t enough. The world grew lonelier and significantly colder without him. It was their dad’s fault, she decided, choosing to let her resentment fester and blossom into full blown loathing. She was glad Finn almost killed their dad, Olivia had told her case worker. She’d just wished he’d succeed and gotten away with it. Later, she’d be diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. 

“I can give you something for that.” Gabe was her latest foster brother, a high school boy who’d been in the system even longer than she had. Olivia, twelve years old now and counting down the days until Finn’s release, was intrigued in whatever he had to offer. He pulled out what looked like a half eaten brownie. She ate it, too much of it she’d realize. After a panic attack that should’ve put the fear of God into her came the best feeling she’d ever felt in her entire life, and she fell in love with it. It was a feeling she’d spend the rest of her life chasing if she had to. 

Pot brownies turned into smoking blunts turned into taking pills she didn’t know the names of, nor did she really care to learn. Not when they worked the way they did, making her feel the way they did. So much so, Olivia even thought she might actually miss Gabe when Finn’s sentence ended. When the day came, she didn’t even think twice about her foster brother. She’d worked out a plan with Finn. As soon as he got out of jail and the coast was clear, he was coming to get her. She threw some clothes and a few necessities into her backpack, even finding Gabe’s stash in his room and shoving it into the bottom of her bag. All the while, she smiled. She was getting her brother back. The moment he pulled up, she was ready.

Angel O’Connor would be her new name. She’s chosen it herself. No real significance. There was an angel on a passing billboard when it was decided she needed a new identity, and O’Connor was a given. They were headed for Bradford Springs, a town about an hour outside of Denver. No one would even think to look for them there. It would be perfect, a chance for them to start anew. 

Then again, the fresh start was easier said than done. If middle school was bad, then high school was an impossible hell. Angel was a problem, and she knew she was a problem. Prided herself on it, even. The behavioral issues didn’t disappear upon crossing the state line into Colorado. In fact, they worsened with age, along with her affinity for drugs. By the time Finn could get a full scope of the situation, it was too late. They fought a lot, despite how much she loved him. She challenged him, pushed back, pressed his buttons, because what the hell did a twenty something year old know about raising a teenage girl? He was just as fucked up as she was, if not more, and barely an adult. Why did she have to listen to him?

But she did listen to him, sometimes, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Finish high school. That’s the promise Angel made to Finn, something he didn’t get to do – not the way he should’ve anyway. And though she barely passed, and though she showed up to graduation too hungover for her age, she walked across the stage in her cap and gown and got the diploma. 

After that, Angel began disappearing for weeks and months at a time. She’d up and go with no real plan, seeing wherever life decided to take her. She fell in love with the quiet roar of the ocean in California. She found herself in New York, in awe that the saying was true. It really was the city that never sleeps. She did some unspeakable things for her first taste of cocaine in Texas. And every now and then, when he crossed her mind, she’d call Finn and let him know she was still alive. In the times in between when she’d find herself back in Bradford Springs, she’d be a little thinner, a little more tired, a lot more covered in stick n poke tattoos she collected like souvenirs, but she’d always be happy to see her big brother. 

And then she woke up, 22 years old, in a hospital bed in New Mexico with no recollection of how she’d gotten there. She blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sterile light. She finally saw him, Finn, sitting in the corner of the room. Without having to say a word, Angel knew. She knew. Her friend made the call, back when she was unsure if the overdose would kill Angel or not. Clearly, it hadn’t, but seeing the tired disappointment on Finn’s face, she wished it had. 

When he dragged her back to Bradford Springs, she didn’t fuss or fight. Angel surrendered peacefully, albeit defeatedly. However, she wanted one thing to be clear. She wasn’t getting clean, had no intention to, and felt no need to lie to Finn about it. She would, on the other hand, be more careful. It’s been almost two years since then, almost two years since she’s been back in town permanently. Working as a bartender at Restricted Access Cabaret, ironically, is the easiest and safest bet, because at least there, someone can keep an eye on her and report back to her brother if need be. But she doesn’t need it. She’s being good, or at least she’s trying.

[angeloconnor]

nixon-gray​:

Maybe, just maybe, if this wasn’t years after the fact, Nixon wouldn’t mind getting punched in the face by Angel O’Connor. Maybe if they were still in the cycle of amazing highs and swooping lows, he’d find it hot. But they weren’t, and yes, he’s to blame but isn’t Angel too? He thinks all of this as he walks behind her, staring a hole in the back of her head. He’s to blame for her vices and not being able to handle them? Fuck no, rule number one know your fucking limits. Nixon’s limit was cradling a passing out body of his girlfriend with stockpiles of cocaine and ketamine and everything else under the sun in the trunk of his car. But she doesn’t seem to care about that, only thinking of herself. 

He flails the hand that she refuses, falling into another sulking walk behind her as his temper begins to work against him. Nixon is all laughs when he thinks it will work for him, but it clearly isn’t now. They’re beyond that. The arguments are now no longer just irking disagreements which can be fixed with a laugh or a kiss. It’s serious now. And he hates it. “Fuck you, Angel.” he calls to her, stopping his journey from following her. “I’m trying to fucking fix things, and you don’t want to.” he then says, thinking that if she doesn’t care about talking to him then he will enjoy his high in peace. “I’d rather get high by my damn self than put up with this shit.” he decides, looking to her as if he’s confused at the person he can see. “You fucking survived, Angel. Would you rather we both be in jail or something? Like I don’t get it.”

-

Words have a tendency of rolling off Angel’s back, usually shrugging them off while figuring she’s been called worse, or she’s heard worse in general. But Nixon has a distinct advantage no else ever seemed to have, because his words, even now, go straight through the well earned armor and crawl right under her skin. “Fuck me?” Angel turns in disbelief, the anger turning back on in her like a switch. “Fuck me?” She rushes towards him, fist balled tight at her side, but she stops short. She doesn’t swing. “You have got to be one of the dumbest motherfuckers alive. Were you worried about going to fucking jail when you broke up with me?” She hates that she’s said it the moment the words leave her mouth. Sounding like a whiny, bitter, nagging ex girlfriend is the last thing she wants to do – with Nix or with anyone. But she can’t stop. It’s everything she’s never said, the details of her betrayal and heartbreak she’s kept too close for too long, and it’s finally spilling out of her. “Okay, great I survived. I should be so fucking grateful, right? But what the fuck about everything after that? You. Left. Me. To. Die. And I still wanted you. I didn’t even care about that. I just wanted you, and I called you, and I called you, and I called you, and when you finally fucking decided to pick up, you broke up with me. Who the fuck does that, Nix? It was me who tried fixing shit from the start. Me. So I don’t want to hear your bullshit about how you’re just trying to fix it now.”

The weight of her foreign vulnerability quickly crashes in on her, embarrassment following after it just as fast, and so she shoves him. Turning on her heels, Angel huffs out a frustrated sigh, her hands moving up into her hair. Don’t you fucking cry, she threatens herself. If she sheds a single tear in front of Nix, she’s going to have to kill him. “You know what?” She turns again, dropping her arms down to her sides. “Fuck you, fuck your drugs. I’m going the fuck home,” She brushes past him, back towards the fence. 

[angeloconnor]

fox-lennox​:

-

Fox has never called himself lucky. In fact, he was always unlucky. Losing his keys or wallet, forgetting to water the plants, leaving headlights on and running the van’s battery flat. He can laugh about it, but he can also laugh at the fact he feels uncharacteristically lucky to call Angel his. He can laugh with her anyway, any day of the week. He’s pretty sure it’s the basics of their relationship, whenever they’re tucked away somewhere just the two of them, they create their own language. Nobody else knows what’s so funny, but they do. Sometimes it’s nothing, or everything. Sometimes it’s just because. He can laugh about how much he loved her, too. It felt like loving a storm, but feeling all the more appreciative that he could be the one to calm it whenever they were by themselves. “Are you mocking me, Angel O’Connor?” Fox laughed and tried to lean up on his elbows, concerned that he’d transfer the drying art to his shirt. His favorite one but it looked much better on Angel anyway, and even better when it slightly traveled upwards. 

His eyeline gravitated straight to the hem and his hands quickly followed to her thighs, smoothing over her bare skin with a soft but needy touch. “Jesus.” he mumbled, having to shake his head through the haze of both the weed and now his not so innocent thoughts. His hands lingered over her when she re-positioned too, until her new location made it impossible to hold her any longer. And Fox’s little hmph said everything about what he felt about having to drop his touch away. He blinked at the blurry vision of Angel appearing upside down, immediately bursting into a string of laughter. “Okay yeah, this is weird.” he chuckled, but was happy enough for his hand to be able to reach up and cup her face again. Not at the same angle he was used to. “Wait, this looked so much easier in Spider-Man.” Fox said as he leaned up, trying to catch a kiss from her lips but aiming slightly too high and getting her nose. “What the fuck? Where are you?” he laughed, trying again, this time a little closer. In the end, he was just dotting kisses all over her the bottom half of her face, not on purpose.

-

“You’re so whiny,” She laughs as she leans over him, his dissatisfaction quite apparent, but she shares it too, her body longing for the touch she too quickly decided to forgo. Angel is, well, no angel, and she’s never claimed to be a saint. Her pleasantly hazy brain spreads its sensitivity through every inch of her, and she could feel every weighted ounce of his gliding hands, every bit of friction his palms caused against her thighs. She feels the phantom weight of their absence, making her wish she had stayed put just a little longer to see how far the reach of his touch would go. The Jesus also hasn’t gone unnoticed, not in the slightest, but Angel is on a mission, she reminds herself. A mission that requires her total concentration, so she must remain focused. Focus, focus, focus, she repeats to herself again and again, but the hit she just took makes it harder. Wait, right. The blunt. Quickly glancing over, she sets it down on a rolling tray instead of on something presumably flammable. She’d hate to get broken up with for setting the Delorean ablaze. That would really fucking suck. But any fear of an end that begins rising in her fades the moment when she looks his way again and his hand gently catches the side of her face. Is it weird to call him her happy place? It’s what he is. An immediate, warm, natural smile spreads across her lips. “It can’t be that–” Her words are interrupted by a kiss to the nose, followed by surprised laughter echoing in the open van. But that surprise settles into giddiness, bright and endlessly happy as uncoordinated kisses fall across the bottom half of her face. “Wait,” Amused, she manages to get the word out in the midst of Fox’s best effort. Slipping her fingers into his hair, Angel eases his head back down into the blanket, and with no use for hesitation, she leans in closer, easily pressing her lips into his. A simple solution, and the soft sigh of satisfaction that leaves her is the proof of her gratitude.

“I don’t how I feel about having your upside down tongue in my mouth, like how would that even work? Did they use tongue?” She asks after being the first to pull away. Angel pauses for a genuine second of thought before shaking her head.”I have an idea. Unrelated to that. What if I just blow the paint dry?” She proposes, already in motion while she speaks as she crawls her way back around and throws a leg across his lap again. Angel tries leaning down again, finding herself still too high up. “Shit, wait,” She laughs again, scooting herself back and giving it another try, her long curls falling over her shoulder and getting in the way. She glances up at him. “Can you hold my hair for me? Thank you,” Angel waits a brief moment and then playfully takes a big, dramatic, overexaggerated breath in and blows it out with as much force she can muster, breaking into laughter directed towards herself. “Sorry,” She says, chuckling for a few seconds more before getting serious. With a bit more mindfulness and care, she blows soft, light air across where the paint meets his chest, tracing her work and sneaking in even gentler kisses in the spaces where his skin remains unstained.

[angeloconnor]

I have this dream that I am hitting my dad with a baseball bat And he is screaming and crying for help And maybe halfway through, it has more to do with me killing him Than it ever did protecting myself And I believe that yeah, Dad, maybe no one is perfect But I believe that you are pushing your luck It just sucks it played out like this, a terrible movie You can tell none of the actors even give a fuck

[angeloconnor]

I don't miss you anymore but sometimes I wonder if you think of me I am prone to being forgotten I have learned that I am relatively easy to leave And I don't care that you lied It was nice to need you like a drug And I don't want to turn back time anymore But I do miss when I thought that I was loved I do miss the thought of being in love

@nixon-gray

[qrwwww-deactivated20250930]

[djo]

@tlounetwork​ | The Last of Us Week 2023 Day 7: Free Choice

[gabriel-ramos]

@angeloconnor

[angeloconnor]

nixon-gray​:

Nixon is confident as ever that this is all an overreaction on Angel’s part. Of course he loved her, and of course he drove away in a panic and fear in New Mexico. Who wouldn’t? He saw his girlfriend slump in an overdose and knew he had enough drugs in his car to take out a rhino. In what possible universe could he have done anything different? Nixon isn’t going to let her talk over him, so he spins to counteract her words and turns straight into her oncoming punch. It gives the exact intended effect, making Nixon’s words falter into nothing but a pained and shocked noise. “Fuck sakes!” he grips his face, watching as Angel marches ahead. He remains there for a few moments, letting the impact register for a moment. “What the hell was that for? Talking? How are gonna get high and not talk?” Nix calls after her, starting up his paces again but he ends up sighing like a spoiled child. He follows in silence for the rest of the way, shoes scuffing against the concrete as he soothes his jaw with his hand. He’s in a quiet sulk for the rest of the walk, hanging back in case Angel wants to take a swing at him. He supposes she isn’t much different, they always managed to find something to argue about but there was never any argument big enough to stop them falling back to one another. It was a tried and tested routine, Nix assumed Angel to be on the same page he is. This was a blip in their story but not one they can’t write over.

It’s only when they reach the parking lot that Nixon takes the lead, climbing over the wall first and then peeping over it to see if she needs help. It takes him a moment to muster the courage and speak again, eyes flicking from the ground and then over the wall back to Angel. “Am I allowed to give you my hand or are you gonna be a bitch about that too?” he asks spitefully, offering it anyways to help her. Silence isn’t something Nix enjoys, it gives too much room for his thoughts to grow in volume so now he’s broken his silent tantrum, he isn’t going to stop. “I could just get high without you, did you think of that? I’m not doing this just because I wanna give free shit away like some idiot.”

-

Angel smiles. It’s the first one to grace her face since her less than fortunate reunion with Nix, but it’s the sound of his pain that brings her a flicker of joy. Admittedly, it does take some of the edge off. Now that she’s gotten it out of her system, she might have a better chance of tolerating him. He’s still an annoying son of a bitch who knows how to push her buttons, who knows just the right words to say to get right up under her skin. It’s a fact that’s changed none, but now, she feels the tiniest bit of vindication, and it feels so damn good. “It’s for being fucking annoying,” Angel shouts loud enough for him to hear without having to turn around and face him. When she’s finally met with silence, that same small joy begins to spread — the indication he’s still trailing behind her is in the sound of his footsteps picking up again across gravel. It’s a small, small victory in comparison to the shit he put her through. After years of him being gone yet feeling the massive weight of his mark on her, it finally feels like she has just an ounce of control or maybe even an upper hand. It’s a weird thing to want, and it doesn’t make sense, but she needs this. That bruise that will undoubtedly form against his skin, that pain that radiates where her fist met his face, it’s nothing when compared to the damage he’s done her, but it’s something. 

Still riding her pseudo high, Angel changes her pace none when Nixon finally emerges from behind to take the lead, her stroll more casual and laid back now than it was when they first stepped foot out of the gas station. Her eyes stay on him as he climbs. Can I help you, is on her lips when he beats her to speaking by begrudgingly offering his assistance. Clearly, she’s struck a nerve. Good. Angel doesn’t mean to laugh at him, but she can’t help it, not when he’s being so completely ridiculous, acting like a goddamn baby. “Nixon, I really don’t give a shit,” She says, beside herself with amusement. What was that supposed to be? Some sort of threat? I could just get high without you. Okay and? She could be doing the same thing. Chuckling still, Angel shakes her head before climbing over the wall without any help at all. She never needed to take his hand back when hopping fences was a regular practice, but she took it anyway because she wanted to. She liked feeling cared for by him, and now there’s no need for it. “Looks like we’re both bitching and sulking, huh?” She grins sarcastically and hops down to her feet, laughing at him, not with him, as she walks ahead again. 

[angeloconnor]

gabriel-ramos​:

Gabe had seen a lot in his years, especially when he had nowhere to call home but the streets. Maybe he was being hopeful that Angel wasn’t that bad and it was just because him and Finn cared about her that it seemed so but watching her rise up from a slumber, well, Gabe was surprised she could get up at all. Still, he pretended to not feel his heart breaking. “I could’ve, I thought about it. Could’ve waddled my ass down to the shooting range too but I thought, you know who’s grumpy ass face I haven’t seen for a while?” he pointed at her with his free hand as his other guided the coffee cup back to his lips for another slurp. “But if you’d rather shoot cans in a backyard, we can do that. Just figured trying to see how many corn dogs we can eat before we go on the teacups seemed like more fun.” A weird idea of fun in most people’s books but this was Gabriel, who cleaned up crimescenes for extra cash on Saturday and then filed the paperwork about the crimescene on Monday. He wasn’t a good example of sanity. “You look kinda ropy though, starting to look like Finn.”

-

A hint of a smile lifts the corner of Angel’s lips as she swats Gabe’s pointed finger away. He’s family. Always has been and likely always will be, and she holds a special place in her heart for those she calls family. It’s no secret she’s never been the best at expressing the love, the appreciation, the gratitude she holds for the people in her life, but the feeling is there. Gabe entered into her life when she was still Olivia, who missed her brother, who’d never known the taste and the allure of drugs. Now, he is here with the mess that is Angel. “Nah, we can go to Mile High,” She says, admittedly enticed by seeing who could handle eating more corn dogs before fighting for their lives on rides. “If you’re calling me ugly just say that,” Angel takes a teasing jab at her brother in his absence as she stands. “We going right now? Should I go grab my shit?” She asks through a yawn as she stretches in full, stooping back into her natural slouch. There was a time when he seemed so big, when she would have to crane her neck to look up at him. Now, they’re eye to eye, their heights varying by a mere inch. 

[angeloconnor]

sheriff-callahan​:

-

When Arthur heard from other officers about the troublesome Angel O’Connor sitting behind bars, he laughed along before disappearing from the conversations completely. Now, he wasn’t a bleeding heart, he’d make sure absolutely nobody thought that of him. But Angel was…well, she could’ve been Casey. If life had been any crueler to his precious daughter, Casey could’ve been sat there right now. All it took was one decision for a domino effect, but still, Arthur was absolutely not a bleeding heart. He soon entered Angel’s cell, pushing his finger to his lips as he then revealed a janitor’s uniform he picked up from the store cupboard. “Looks like it’ll be a little big but…you’re tall, ain’t you?” he whispered, looking her up and down. It was hard to tell. He mumbled a little as he tried making sense of the garment, trying to open up the leg hole as if it was for her head. Giving up, he tossed it at her. “There’s a hat too.” he added, pulling the rolled up cap from his back pocket and also throwing it at her. “I looked it all up and obviously what we’re doing is illegal, but I’ll be able to…change a few things around. Make it a fine, or something, I don’t know. Press a few buttons.” he mumbled again, hands on his hips. Morgan could help him maybe. Or even if he told Dewey everything was filed wrong. Was he being too soft? Probably. “Only because the amount of paperwork this is gonna be is fucking awful and I wanna watch some David Attenborough tonight. I recorded it.” he scoffed, waiting for Angel to pull the overalls on. “Plus, that dumb fucking lawyer Avci would be who we gotta call up for you and I’m not in the mood for his chiseled face tonight.”

-

“What—?” Angel shuts her mouth as soon as she sees Arthur bringing his finger up over his lips. It doesn’t stop her from frowning, her eyes narrowing and brows furrowing into even deeper confusion when the sheriff reveals a uniform fit for a janitor. She watches him, not really sure she follows whatever the hell he’s going on about. If it had been any of the other Larimer County Sheriff Department’s finest, her notoriously short, O’Connor temper might’ve flared with annoyance and landed her in even deeper trouble. Arthur, however, is Arthur. He’s…different to say the least. If her father heard her utter such a thing, he’d roll around in his grave, except the son of a bitch isn’t dead — or at least she doesn’t think so. She would be so lucky. But Sheriff Callahan is unlike pretty much every cop she’s come across. The two of them, they have a history that branches out across a decade. Run ins and slaps on the wrist when her offenses at times warranted consequences a little more serious. She never questioned it, never asked why he wasn’t tough on her or tried to force her into a Beyond Scared Straight situation. Oh well. If he was willing to risk his ass to save hers, who is she to tell him not to? 

It finally registers when the presumably old jumpsuit lands in Angel’s lap. Another Arthur Callahan favor, another time she will not be taking it for granted. She quickly moves up to her feet, trying to figure out the uniform herself. “I’m not—“ She stops herself as she instinctively catches the hat. If it’s between going to jail and wearing the damn thing, the choice is pretty damn obvious. Sighing, she whips her hair into a half assed bun and puts the hat on. This is really happening. She puts one leg in and then the other, hopping into the uniform and pulling it up the rest of the way. It’s obviously too big, but beggars can’t be choosers. He’s right, though. Her height does help. “So what the fuck happens when they notice I’m gone?” Angel asks, keeping her voice down. “It’s not like I’m walking out of this place super casually, and you’re gonna do whatever you do. I’m sneaking out of here in a disguise,” She looks down at the garment hanging off her body and back up again at the sheriff. 

[angeloconnor]

stevie-adler​:

stevie’s been there and done it all, and probably has a few t-shirts and hats to prove it too. there’s a big difference between somebody who’s swept up in the recreational drug hell of parties and good times and somebody who’s running from something. stevie knows angel is the latter, even if the lost lamb isn’t running anywhere fast right now. stevie watches her from a distance, the painfully slow steps and the ghostly sway of angel’s frame. it would be funny if it wasn’t heartbreaking, and stevie feels as if she carries some responsibility for it. she wears her kindest smile as angel approaches, and her arm comes around her adopted daughter with a soft pat onto her back. ‘glad you liked them, honey. i think they’re a bit punk-country. puntry? never even knew it existed.’ she laughs, tilting her head to gauge angel’s reaction times. ‘how you feeling? i don’t need to set up the couch for you do i? don’t mind if i do if you can’t be bothered to get home.’ she suggests harmlessly. 

-

Angel laughs a little longer than necessary, slow and languid laughter filling the hallway she shares with Stevie. Sure, puntry is funny, but it’s not as funny as her hazed brain is making it seem. “Yeah, it’s fucking weird. Learn something new everyday,” She nods her heavy head, her arms moving to wrap around herself for grounding and stability. If she had any sort of self awareness at the moment, she might’ve been embarrassed. Instead, she thinks she’s killing it, playing it cool and acting so normal Stevie must have no idea how much effort it’s taking to focus in on her through spaced out and exaggerated blinks. But being high at The Phoenix isn’t some rarity, as if it’s some sacred, sworn off place where she took a vow to never partake in her little habit. It’s a place for music, of course she’s going to be high, but this is different. There’s no limit, no line she’s drawn to keep from crossing. Out of respect for Stevie and her establishment, Angel would only smoke a blunt out front or out in the alley, keeping the rest off the premises. She doesn’t care anymore, and right now, she’s not sure why she’s ever cared at all. “No, no, no. I’m like good, like really good. I’m good,” Her voice drags. “Why would I – I don’t need to stay on your couch. I’m good.” Shit. Is she saying ‘I’m good’ again?

[angeloconnor]

fox-lennox​:

-

The Delorean had seen many sights, being a trusty steed back in Seattle for the band equipment and friend’s bodies that had passed out before a taxi could arrive. It held up strong for Fox and River’s adventure to Colorado, and now it became his and Angel’s little home away from home. A welcome escape from the city most weekends. It didn’t even matter how often they hit the road, the novelty never wore off and neither did the excitement he always felt knowing they would disappear into their own world together.  He couldn’t tell anyone exactly what it felt like to love Angel O’Connor, because it wasn’t anything he experienced before. He knew they were two extremes of personalities but yet somehow their relationship balanced into a perfect middle ground, where his constant thoughts and her constant anger would be eased equally with each other’s presence. A fair deal if you asked Fox.  He also couldn’t tell anyone exactly how he ended up bare chested and his torso an easel, while Angel claimed his t-shirt as her own. Not that he minded as the tickle of her artwork was making him chuckle, and the high they both shared made the ticklish touches feel even stronger. “I’m trying,” he beamed childishly, and he really was, but even Angel’s touch was able to travel down the paint brush and feel like a tiny and happy jolt of electricity on his skin. Fox forced his smile into a pout at her serious words, nodding with a small flick of curls. “Uhuh, it’s totally serious. I’m taking this as seriously as you, honest.” he teased her softly, watching as she lowered closer to him. His newly freed hand came to cup at her face, instinctively leaning to kiss her until she reminded him of his stained body. Immediately, it was obvious Fox was in a dilemma. His eyes glanced down and then back to Angel, he’d try and lean a little closer but then would look down again to ensure he wasn’t messing up her hard work. It was like a small moment of torture. “Aw come on, how is that fair?” he panicked slightly, now both hands holding Angel’s face gently so she couldn’t move away but it only encouraging his stuck position. “We can do like an upside down kiss and then it won’t mess anything up.” Fox laughed, his lips trying to desperately catch onto Angel’s. 

-

I love you. It’s not the first time those words have crossed her mind. In fact, these days, they seem more frequent, more often, more common than not. She thought it might never happen again, that her first fuck up attempt at love was all she could afford in this life. But it’s happening again, loving again. Angel loves Fox, even though it terrifies her. Instead of outwardly saying it, somehow hoping keeping it private and close will preserve it from inevitable ruin, she has her own way of showing it. Quality time is a love language she’s fluent in, but it’s also in the way her eyes linger tenderly on him for a beat too long — as if she needs a second to process how someone seemingly so unreal is exactly that. He is real, and he is hers, and she loves him. 

An unmistakable yet almost uncharacteristic softness touches her smile, even now as she looks down at Fox, her face cupped between his hands, his ringed fingers. Is it the best in her that only he seems to bring out? It has to be. Her light, airy laughter floats lazily across the breeze as she watches his eyes move from hers, down to his torso, and back up again, watching as the wheels visibly turn in his head. “It isn’t fair,” She simply agrees, messing with him as she turns her head slightly and presses her lips to the side of his hand. It takes everything in her not to say fuck her drying masterpiece and melt into him right then and there, until it became indistinguishable where one began and the other one ended. But how are they supposed to solve their little issue of the wet paint on his chest? He could easily just sit up. Except, she pays no attention to the thought, especially when Fox immediately presents his alternative. Her silent suggestion had been forgotten just as soon as it had surfaced. “Like in Spider-Man?” Angel asks, freeing herself from his gentle entrapment and sitting up straight on his lap, the fabric of his t-shirt she wears riding up her bare thighs. She considers the idea as she takes a quick hit, holding in the smoke and exhaling it before shrugging. “Yeah, sure. Okay,” She grins down at him, easing herself off of Fox and working her way around to the top of his head. Getting into position, she pauses when she looks down at him, her eyes squinting just a bit. “It’s like really fucking trippy looking at you from this angle,” She says, her head slowly tilting to the side as she studies him. “Like in my mind right now, your lips are on your forehead,” Angel adds, explaining herself. Does it make sense? It does make sense. 

[angeloconnor]

Status: closed @kenzievaisman​

Location: Destination Ink 

Angel sits on the tattooing chair with her hands resting lazily in her lap, the residuals of an earlier high still lingering in her. She’s just hanging out with no actual desire to add to the ink that stains her skin, but this is nice, being here with Kenzie. For a second, when there’s a silent gap between her thoughts, it almost feels like old times. Almost. The grudge she held for so long has reduced into near nothingness, but she can’t help the voice at the back of her mind reminding her of the five year void where the woman she considered a sister, the woman she looked up to simply didn’t exist. Who didn’t think enough of her to issue any sort of warning. That was Kenzie’s doing, and though Angel has forgiven her in her own way, it’s not as easy to forget no matter how hard she tries. But she doesn’t dwell on that right now. Now, she clings to the private, slow spreading joy of not only being reunited, but of letting bygones be bygones – almost. “I think I want to get into doing like the whole tattoo apprenticeship thing,” Angel says, a thought she catches herself speaking aloud but makes no effort to stop. “Clearly being a bartender isn’t my fucking calling,” She laughs a little at herself, the corners of her lips settling into a smile.  

[angeloconnor]

[angeloconnor]

Status: closed @fox-lennox​; flashback

Location: Pelican Lake; summer 

Angel’s happy. With Fox, it’s kind of hard not to be. But it’s plain and simple and oddly familiar where she thought it might be foreign. It’s nice, happy. Genuinely happy. Maybe for the first time in her life, and whatever she thought it might have been before, she couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s not just the shrooms and the weed talking, though they are mixing together quite nicely. Nice, summer days are for doing drugs out in nature, and there’s no one she’d rather be doing them with than Fox. She doesn’t remember whose idea it was exactly, nor does she care at this point. Angel just knows it was a damn good one. Now, they’re in the back of the delorean, the van’s doors open to a lakefront view as summer heat creeps in. She’s straddling him, painting the solar system across her boyfriend’s bare chest. Between the sounds of Earth itself, being stoned, and physically feeling the steady rhythm of Fox’s breathing underneath her and the waves it sends through her, Angel’s focus is in overdrive. She’s never felt so connected to the universe and to the present and to nature. This is some real hippie shit, the thought floats lazily across her mind, but it’s the fidgeting that breaks her concentration. “Sit still,” Angel’s easy smile brings laughter to her words. “I’m trying to be a serious artist here,” She says, but instead of sitting straighter, she leans down a little closer to him, dropping her paintbrush off to the side. She reaches for the blunt resting between his fingers to take its place. And when she’s settled back in place, her face not so far from his, her eyes dart about his face, taking a moment to take him in and appreciate all that he is. “Do you think you can lean up and give me a kiss without fucking up my hard work?” She asks with a brighter, sweeter smile.

[angeloconnor]

nixon-gray​:

Nixon can remember when Angel used to be fun. When they’d laugh at everything and when it felt as if the whole world was theirs for the taking. Now she seems hollow and he can’t work out why, and he swears it used to be easier to resolve an argument than it is right now. Nixon may be stupid but he knows better than to wind an arm around her or bury kisses to her neck as a form of an apology. What a stupid thing to argue about, too. A misunderstanding. “So you want to do drugs with me in silence? Is that a new thing?” he teases her, grabbing a cigarette with his teeth and then offering the box out to her while his other hand searches for a light. “Does it make the high last longer or something?” he grins then, knowing that he is skating on thin-ice. Not even skating, he’s jumping on the frozen layer but maybe he wants it to crack so he can plunge into the excited way Angel can make him feel. He’s missed it, even if he’s aware there may be no going back. 

“So you hate me? I don’t hate you.” he challenges her, lighting the cigarette and exhaling with a laugh as he begins to walk. “But that’s cool, we can fight-fuck later then I guess.” he shrugs a shoulder and it’s only the smile that makes it obvious he’s joking. Nixon slowly slides the bag from his pocket, and then nods towards Angel. “If you got any keys we can get this started right now and who knows, by the time we’re done, you might actually be nice to me.” he gestures with his chin further up the street, the big old parking lot that they used to spend many nights in before they ever left Lockwood. It’s sheltered enough, no cameras from what he can remember, or at least comfortable enough corners that are hidden. “I thought our old place is close enough?”

-

“Yes,” Angel says stubbornly, knowing it’s stupid to argue with him, especially over something as silly as whether or not doing drugs in silence is some new thing. It won’t get her anywhere sooner, especially away from him. Still, he’s so goddamn annoying, she can’t help the reaction that rises out of her. “That way, hearing your fucking voice won’t ruin it,” She moves her feet, walking again as she maintains her distance. She folds her arms across her chest, a seemingly permanent scowl nestling between her brows and resting on the corners of her lips. This is stupid, and she’s stupid for doing this. Angel could be halfway home by now, alone and free of her irritation, but she continues trailing her ex as they move further away from the gas station.  A lifetime ago, she would’ve been by his side, laughing and talking, hand in hand and fingers intertwining. The little bit of nostalgia is over the second he opens his mouth again. “Jesus fucking Christ, Nix,” Angel groans, fed up as her words overlaps his. How is he still talking? Why couldn’t he just shut the fuck up and grant her that peace? It’s the very least he could do, but apparently, it’s too much. 

Of course, it’s only natural that Nix pushes it too far. There was a time when a kiss could turn the tension tightly wound in her into passion, when the right touches could find other ways to resolve her anger directed towards him. They used to be ‘fight hard, love harder’ personified, and Angel loved it. The rush of Nixon Gray was just as all consuming as any drug she’d ever laid a hand on, but the casualness of which he brings it up to her now, fight-fuck later, even if it’s nothing more than a joking suggestion, it pisses her off. The rest of whatever he says registers none, her focus narrowing on him as she picks up the pace of her casual gait, taking larger strides to close the distance between them. When she’s within reach, Angel swings at Nix, her knuckles colliding hard against his jaw. It’s the exact kind of catharsis she’s needed. “Fuck you,” She says from the very depths of her soul, venom flowing through her words as she walks past him and in the direction of their old spot “Hurry the fuck up,” She shouts back to him, keeping it moving without turning to see if he’s following her at all.

[angeloconnor]

finn-oconnor​:

.

He waited until she was out of the room to smile at the fact that she’d listened to what he said without arguing or a shitty comment. Of course it was gone by the time she came back with her food. Wouldn’t want her to know he knew he had a small victory. He took a big bite of pizza looking down at his food while he chewed trying to think of the next way to fill the air. Instead she did it for him. He looked up and stopped chewing for a second thinking there might be a punchline but it never came. “Yer feckin’ with me right? I know your work schedule, Ang. Ye are either in yer room or ye come home when I’m in bed or gone.” He gave her a knowing look. “Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot and make me pretend that I’m blind to my surroundings.” Finn shook his head and snatched the beer off the coffee table, sitting back to drink it. He didn’t say anything else, he just looked at her. Like some weird sibling standoff. If he watched her long enough he figured she’d say something or she’d get pissed and leave. There was a fifty-fifty chance for either response. Oh, good, she choose the talking one. He sat up a little and nodded along with her revelation. He frowned when she said their father’s name so casually but he shook it off. “That’s the only new thing? I already knew about it, yeah. Only thing I was pissed about is not hearing about it from you. Why the feck would I care about some old warrants?” It was far from the worst she’d done and he heard she got let off the hook anyways. “Ain’t nothin’ ye want to be clean about like maybe the weight ye losin’ or that piece of shit ex bein’ back and him comin’ to visit you at the club more than once.” He intervened one of the times, but that didn’t need to be said. Finn shook his head at her question. “Nah, I ain’t got nothin’ goin’ on new. Same ol’ shit everyday. Stop deflectin’ and get on back to yer shit.”

-

The way Finn says ‘that’s the only new thing’ makes Angel’s brows furrow some, the tone of it seeming borderline accusatory. Did he know something she didn’t? While he talks, she quietly racks her brain, trying and failing to produce a cause, something, anything. Confusion rests on the tip of her tongue, just shy of expelling itself when he first mentions her weight. Instinctively, she looks down at her arm resting against her leg, doing its part in keeping her plate of pizza from falling. Then Finn mentions Nixon. Shit, fuck, shit, shit, shit. Her face changes none, giving no visual indication of the small panic starting to rise. Angel’s a natural born liar. It’s her second tongue, familiar and fluent. She looks at her brother, looks him in his eyes. “I keep telling him to stay the fuck away from me and leave me alone, but he’s so fucking stupid. He doesn’t listen,” It was partially true. She did tell Nix to stay away from her, at Restricted Access, because it was fucking stupid to show his face at her brother’s establishment, even after Finn had caught him there. But what Angel and Nix did when it’s just the two of them, when they’re far away from the strip club, well, that’s their business. “But he keeps coming, because he knows I’m there, so he keeps trying to get me to talk to him. And it’s not like he’s coming to apologize. He’s always like ‘I don’t understand why you hate me’, ‘I could’ve gone to jail’, ‘it’s not like you –” The frustrated words start rushing out of her until her voice catches at the end, mouth ajar with pause and her lip trembling. Angel’s never been much of a crier despite Nix somehow always bringing it out of her, but she can feel a wave of genuine emotion sweep her in a way she hadn't expected. Why can’t she just say it? It seemed so natural when Nix said it. Sliding the plate to the side, she rests her elbows on her thighs and hides her face in her shirt, a shuddered breath leaving her as tears stream down her face. Fuck, this is embarrassing. If she held an ounce of introspection, she’d know she’s no actress. The tears coming from her comes from a very real place that she’s just currently borrowing from. She would’ve known it’s because being addressed by Finn on the matter of her ex means she’s finally failed him. All those promises she’d made him when he first brought her back to Lockwood, they’re over with. The one line she knew better than to cross, she has crossed it gladly and without consideration. The tears, they’re real, but they’re an I’m sorry disguised as something else. But this thing with Nix, she can’t stop it. The high is better than she ever remembered. Sighing, Angel uncovers her face and sits up straighter, her face void of any emotion. “It’s not like you died,” She sniffles, her voice flat, dull, and matter of fact. “Whatever you think is going on. It’s not.”