( PEDRO PASCAL. FORTY FIVE. CIS MAN. HE/HIM. ) in texas, ÁNGEL MOLINA is known to most as THIRTEEN. they have been riding with the diablos for TWENTY years. they’re originally from STRATON and the ENFORCER is known to be very SOBERSIDED & JADED but the other club members will tell you they are LOYAL & UNWAVERING. as the years go by, they’ve gained a lot of respect in the club and around town. they’re usually at MISS GINA'S, working as a COOK. they rarely ever drive a car but when they do I’LL BE SEEING YOU by BILLIE HOLIDAY is usually heard blasting. ( midnight cups of black coffee, old medals and army regalia in a box under the bed, fingernails stained orange with tobacco, a rosary dangling off the handlebars of your bike, tattoos with stories you don’t tell. ) [ rome. 21+. cst. they/he. ] / TW: ALCOHOLISM, GUNS.
you’ve been running for as long as you can remember. you were a boy on the wrong side of the tracks with an itch in your bones to break the rules. other boys, older and wiser, taught you how to live free and die hard on the great open road. the first time your hands gripped the handles of a motorcycle, your feet could barely touch the pedals — but you took to it like a champ. you knew from the second the world around you seemed to slow, no matter how fast you were going, that this would be a dragon you’d spend the rest of your life chasing. these older boys influenced you further down this reckless and delinquent path and, soon enough, you were bobbing and weaving past the cops in stolen vehicles at the ripe age of thirteen.
soon enough, daddy dearest caught wise. what a mess you got yourself into. him and your mother spent nights screaming at the top of their lungs, missing sleep over figuring out how exactly they were going to deal with you. eventually, the dust settled. you had to cope for every kid’s worst nightmare: military school. there, you ate, slept, and shit routine. it carved a man out of you like michelangelo with a chisel. they taught you that you exist in this world to be a man with a gun, and who were you to complain when you read the letters your mother sent exclaiming how proud she was of you?
you signed the army’s papers the moment you graduated and advanced through their ranks as a skilled and decorated marksman. after your first deployment, however, a switch seemed to flip. it became harder to ignore the panic attacks that bordered on cardiac arrest, the sudden bouts of uncontrollable sobbing, and the nights spent drinking you can’t remember. before you knew it, the discharge papers were filed and all of those medals didn’t mean shit anymore.
things changed when you arrived back in straton. everything felt smaller, your father was six feet underground, and your mother remodeled the kitchen. the lack of routine and incessant quiet made your skin crawl, so who’s surprised that it didn’t take long for a dog like you to get back to his old tricks? despite what would become a new job ( that you hated ) and a new home ( an apartment the size of a shoebox ), you came to realize that you couldn’t live without a purpose. what was the natural solution to this? staying too late at bars you had no reason staying late at, making friends who all seemed to have devilish little tattoos, and spending the money you made flipping stolen cars on a jet black harley. you named her abeline.
HEADCANONS
ángel has tattoos just about everywhere but his hands and his face. most of them being regrettable. he will not be taking anybody on a tattoo tour any time soon.
the only thing that brings him real joy outside of church and his bike is his dog. his name is beaker, he’s a rescue german shepard, and he’s a handful. let me know if your muse can dog sit lmao.
he has piss poor luck in the man department. every single crush he’s had on a man has been a fruitless endeavor. for the last five years of his life he’s been single because he doesn’t even want to bother anymore.
he works on his uncle’s farm a few times a month but despite dressing and sounding like a cowboy straight from the rodeo, he doesn’t spend much time around cattle or horses. he’s like a cowboy if his bike was his horse.
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
titsay
baratheonpilled
jbbartram-illu
