for angela ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

ꫀׁׅܻve .ᐟ she / her | 20 | lesbian

[petalsofgiarratana]

𝓜͟ASTERLIST

╰► requests open .ᐟ fluff , angst , headcanon , nsfw ( mdni )

ANGELA GIARRATANA

the universe’s cruelest prank

co-parenting as a bit

valentine’s day with angela

love, documented

dirty little secret

sink and drown and die

june, all afternoon

ANGELA’S CHARACTERS

gods demand their due — grace c.

⟮ more to come, list to be updated ⟯

————————————————————————

what i will write:

mainly angela giarratana for now, queer dynamics, angst, hurt/comfort, castmate/smosh universe, alternate universe, domestic, nsfw content ( mdni ), crack fics.

things i won’t write:

men, minors, age gaps involving minors, incest or pseudo-incest, non-consensual, abuse, extreme kinks and fetishes, cheating, real-person hate, graphic violence.

ꪆ୧ ask if unsure !

[petalsofgiarratana]

“JUNE, ALL AFTERNOON”

Pairing: Angela Giarratana x Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warning/s: swearing, kissing, fluff, established relationship

Summary: angela decides you’re going to make your own pride outfits.

HAPPY PRIDE, LOVELIES!!! <333

divider credits: @uzmacchiato

the bottle of glitter exploded like a tiny, iridescent bomb when angela dropped it. “shit!” she exclaimed, staring at the mess coating her forearm like some kind of craft-induced rash. then, without missing a beat, “well, now you have to wear this.”

you blinked at her from across the kitchen table, where you’d been carefully threading rainbow beads onto a string like a normal person. “that's not how consequences work.”

“it’s exactly how consequences work,” angela said, already shaking glitter off her arm and onto the half-finished rainbow jacket between you. little flecks caught the afternoon light, turning the disaster into something almost magical. “you see this? fate. the universe telling us we need more sparkle.”

you groaned, picking a purple sequin out of your hair. “the universe is a dick.”

she grinned, that particular grin that meant trouble—the one where her nose scrunched and her eyes got all bright like she’d just thought of the best worst idea. “yeah, but it’s our dick.” you gave her a disgusted look, but before you could protest, she’d snatched up the hot glue gun again, waving it like a conductor’s baton. “okay, new plan, we are leaning hard into the mess. trust me.”

"oh my god, are you licking crafting supplies now?"

“relax, it’s pva glue, not arsenic” she mumbled around the sticker sheet, then spat it onto the table triumphantly. she plucked a glitter-coated star from the sheet and pressed it directly onto your cheekbone before you could dodge. her thumb lingered, smearing glue slightly. “see? perfect. you’re basically a pride parade snow globe now.”

you reached up to touch the sticker, her fingers intercepted yours, lacing together instead. “nope, let it dry. c’mon, it’s fun!” she squeezed your hand, her own fingers sticky with glue and glitter, the kind of gross that somehow felt endearing when it was her. “remember our deal? first pride together means we go big or go home covered in questionable craft choices.”

you sighed, but it was the kind of sigh that meant i adore you and also you’re ridiculous. “fine. but if i end up with a hot glue mustache again, i’m divorcing you .”

“that was one time,” angela gasped, clutching her chest like you’d just stabbed her. “one time!” she flicked a stray sequin at your nose. “also, you can’d divorce me. we’re not married.”

“semantics,” you muttered, but she was already hip-checking you out of the way to rummage through the disaster zone of your dining table. fabric scraps, half-used sticker sheets, and approximately three thousand loose sequins slid onto the floor in her wake. she emerged triumphant with a roll of neon pink duct tape, holding it up like excalibur. “ah-ha! the pièce de résistance.”

you eyed the tape warily. “angela. no.”

“angela, yes.” she ripped off a strip with her teeth because of course she did, and before you could bolt, she’d slapped it across your chest diagonally like some kind of deranged sash. “there. now you’re officially miss pride 2026.”

you looked down at the duct tape monstrosity now adhered to your favorite tank top. it was crooked. of course it was crooked. “angela,” you said slowly, peeling at the edge with your fingernail. “this is never coming off.”

“that’s the point,” she said, already tearing off another strip to slap haphazardly across her own hoodie. she missed entirely, sticking it to her forearm instead. “fuck. well, now i’m accessorizing.” she flexed her arm, admiring the way the tape caught the light. “see? edgy. avant-garde. fashion”

you snorted, reaching for the scissors to at least trim the fraying edges of your new ‘sash’. “you’re a menace.”

“your menace,” she corrected, leaning in to press a glue-sticky kiss to your temple. she left behind a glittery lip print, you were sure of it. you could feel the sparkles. “and don’t think i didn’t notice you didn’t actually take the tape off.”

the thing about angela was this: she had a way of turning disasters into something you couldn’t help but love. like how the neon duct tape sash was already peeling at the edges, but when you caught your reflection in the microwave door, you didn’t hate it. not with the way she kept glancing over at you, grinning like she’d just won the lottery every time she saw the crooked pink stripe across your chest.

“okay, but hear me out,” she said, grabbing a handful of loose sequins from the table and letting them rain down onto the half-finished jacket between you. “what if we also—“

“no.” you caught her wrist before she could dump another fistful of glitter. “we’re already banned from two michaels locations, angela. i’m not getting us blacklisted from—“

she pouted, which ultimately halted you from finishing your sentence, but her fingers twisted to lace through yours anyway, sticky with glue and probably permanent marker at this point. “you’re no fun.”

“i’m plenty fun,” you muttered, tugging her closer by the captured wrist until she stumbled into your lap. the chair creaked ominously, another casualty of angela’s chaos, probably, but held firm as she laughed, her nose smushing against yours. “i just have standars.”

“oh, standards,” she repeated, mock gasping like you’d said something scandalous. her free hand came up to poke at the duct tape sash, which was already peeling at one corner. “that’s why you’re still wearing this, right? because of your high standards?”

you could’ve bitten back. should’ve, maybe. but the thing about angela was that her grin was contagious, the kind of infectious joy that made your chest ache in the best way. so instead, you leaned forward and caught her bottom lip between your teeth, gentle but just enough to make her squeak. “shut up,” you mumbled against her mouth, and she immediately melted into the kiss like putty, all warm and pliant and still somehow sticky with glue.

when you pulled back, her lips were pinker than the duct tape, her eyes slightly glazed. “wow,” she breathed, dazed. “your standards are really high.”

“yeah, and you,” you said, poking her nose, “are really easy to distract.” she stuck her tongue out at you, but her cheeks were still flushed, her fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like she wanted to pull you back in. you could feel the warmth of her thighs against yours, the way she kept shifting like she couldn't decide whether to stay or go rifling through the craft supplies again.

then the doorbell rang.

angela froze. you both did. her eyes went comically wide. “no,” she whispered. “no, no, no—" she scrambled off your lap so fast the chair nearly toppled over, knocking a pile of sequins onto the floor in a shimmering avalanche. “they’re early.”

“who’s early?” you asked, but she was already sprinting toward the door, skidding on a rogue bead and catching herself on the doorframe with a yelp. you followed, stepping carefully over the minefield of crafting casualties, only to find angela yanking open the door to reveal—

—tommy, arms laden with more craft supplies than any one apartment should legally contain. tommy held up a bag of rainbow pipe cleaners like a peace offering. “i come bearing… more glitter?”

“oh, fuck yes!” angela breathed, grabbing the bag with the reverence of someone receiving sacred texts. she spun back to you, eyes alight with pure, unfiltered mischief. “baby. baby. we can make crowns.”

you groaned, already seeing your peaceful evening of minimal crafting casualties evaporate. “angela, we don’t need—“

“we absolutely need,” she interrupted, dragging tommy inside by the sleeve, balancing a precariously stacked tower of felt sheets and a gallon-sized ziplock full of… you squinted, were those googly eyes…?

you opened your mouth to protest, something about the structural integrity of your dining table, the fact that you still had glitter in places glitter should never be, but tommy’s already dumping the felt onto the disaster zone with a grin. “i brought the good stuff,” he announced, pulling out a pair of fabric scissors shaped like a flamingo. “also, courtney found these in the clearance bin.”

“oh. my. god.” angela gasped, snatching the scissors with the same reverence she’d given the pipe cleaners. she turned to you, eyes sparkling brighter than the glitter currently embedded in your left sock.

“dork,” you chuckled. you can’t even resist anymore.

a/n: i can’t possibly let this month end without giving you guys something <333 i am so sorryyy for disappearing for months, it’s our finals and it has been a super hectic time for me. i promise i will get back to yall’s request as soon as this semester ends. thank you sooo much for your patience and support.

[hipsternumbertwo]

Angela ☎️🤍

[petalsofgiarratana]

screaming over your requests oh my god i love how you guys think !!!!

[petalsofgiarratana]

50 followers wHAT? let me know if you have any requests for ang u guys TYSM! <333

[petalsofgiarratana]

double update to thank you guys for the 35 followers <333

[petalsofgiarratana]

“SINK AND DROWN AND DIE”

Pairing: Angela Giarratana x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: every moment with angela looking at you feels like she might sink and drown and die.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

a song fic heavily inspired by taylor swift’s “gorgeous”

divider credits: @uzmacchiato

you should take it as a compliment that i’m talking to everyone here but you.

angela’s learned how to do this—how to fill a room with her energy without ever directing it at you. it’s a skill she’s perfected over three years. she talks louder when you’re around. she performs bigger. she makes sure everyone knows she’s there, everyone except you. you get the peripheral version of angela, you get the version that’s friendly but distant, engaged but not quite present.

it’s safer this way. if she doesn’t look directly at you, maybe you won’t see what’s actually happening behind her eyes.

you arrive at the office on a wednesday morning, and she’s mid-story with courtney about something stupid that happened to her at the grocery store. she doesn’t pause when you walk in. she doesn’t acknowledge you. she just keeps talking, keeps laughing, keeps being deliberately unaware of the fact that you’ve just set your things down at your desk. she’s perfected the art of pretending you’re not there while being hyperaware of every single thing you do.

and you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in the darkened room.

it happens during a shoot three days later. you’re both in the green room waiting for your scene to be set up, and angela’s sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. you sit down next to her, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. the room is quiet except for the muffled sounds of the crew moving equipment around outside.

she should stay still. she should keep her distance like she always does. but you’re right there, and you’re reading something on your phone that’s apparently hilarious because you’re trying not to laugh, and angela makes a split-second decision to reach over and nudge your shoulder.

“what?” she asks.

you show her, and your hand brushes against hers when you turn the phone toward her. it’s the smallest thing. it’s barely anything. but it feels like touching a live wire. she pulls back too quickly, and you notice. you definitely notice.

“nothing,” you say, and you shift slightly away from her. “just stupid.”

angela feels something twist inside her chest. she’s done it again. she’s tried to reach you, and you’ve retreated. she’s forgotten the rules she set for herself—maintain distance, stay friendly, don’t push.

if you’ve got a girlfriend, i’m jealous of her.

she doesn’t know if you’re seeing anyone. you keep that part of your life private, and it drives her insane. she’s learned to monitor your social media like a detective, looking for clues. the way you interact with certain people. whether you seem happy. whether you’re the kind of person who would ever consider someone like her.

at lunch the next day, she’s sitting with a few cast members, and someone brings up relationships and dating. angela’s trying not to look at you, but she can feel you in the room. she’s always aware of exactly where you are.

“yeah, i’m just not really looking for anything right now,” you say, and angela’s entire body goes tense. “too focused on work and stuff.”

she doesn’t know why she feels relieved. she doesn’t know why the thought of you being single feels like a lifeline and a curse at the same time.

there’s this moment, bright and crystalline and impossible to ignore where she sees your eyes looking in hers, and she feels like she might sink and drown and die.

it’s during a shoot two weeks later. they’re doing a bit where angela has to sit across from you, and you’re supposed to be interviewing each other for some stupid reason. the cameras are rolling, and angela’s in performance mode, being loud and ridiculous like she always is on camera.

but then you ask her something. something that’s actually genuine beneath the bit and she looks at you, and your eyes are so focused on her that the entire world falls away for just a second, for just one moment. it feels like you’re actually seeing her. like you’re actually present with her in a way that’s different from how you are with everyone else.

and then the moment breaks. someone laughs at something on set, and you blink, and the connection snaps. but angela felt it. she knows she felt something.

you’re so gorgeous, i can’t say anything to your face.

the problem is that angela can’t talk to you about this. she can’t sit you down and ask why you’ve been distant since the green room moment. she can’t ask if she imagined the connection during the interview bit. she can’t ask what’s going on in your head because that would require her to admit that she’s been thinking about you constantly, and she’s terrified of what your reaction would be.

so she just has to look at you. has to watch the way you move through the smosh office, the way you’re kind to people, the way you’re genuinely funny even when the cameras aren’t rolling. she has to memorialize all of it and say nothing.

cause look at your face.

angela finds herself doing it more—just looking at you. studying you when you’re not paying attention. the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. the way you furrow your brow when you’re concentrating. the way you tilt your head when someone’s telling you something important.

she wants to tell you that you’re beautiful. she wants to tell you that knowing you has fundamentally changed how she moves through the world. she wants to tell you a thousand things, but she can’t say any of it to your face. can’t let you see what’s actually happening inside her.

so she just looks. until she’s afraid you might see it. and then she ultimately looks away.

and i’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.

there’s anger underneath the yearning. anger at you for being perfect. anger at you for not feeling the same way. anger at you for making her feel things she can’t control. anger at herself for falling in the first place.

she’s angry one night, sitting alone in her apartment, thinking about all the moments where she almost said something. all the times she was brave enough to try and not brave enough to follow through. and she hates it. she hates that you get to just not want her, and she has to live with the consequence of that.

but what can i say? you’re gorgeous.

but what can she really say? nothing. there’s nothing she can say without risking everything. so she doesn’t say anything. she just keeps performing. she keeps maintaining this careful distance that’s supposed to protect both of you.

you make me so happy, it turns back to sad.

the thing about being in love with your coworker is that every good moment is tinged with devastation. you make her laugh during a board af taping, and she’s happy, and then she remembers that you’d make anyone laugh like that, and the sadness crashes in.

she watches you during a challenge pit video, and you’re focused and sharp and genuinely brilliant, and she doesn’t think she’s never been more in love with you. and then it hits her all over again—she’s in love with someone who barely sees her.

there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have.

angela thinks about this constantly. about what it would be like to have you look at her the way she looks at you. about what it would be like to be the person you think about first. about what it would be like to matter to you the way you matter to her.

but she can’t have it. and knowing it’s impossible doesn’t make her stop wanting it. if anything, it makes the wanting sharper, meaner, more devastating.

she stays anyway. she shows up to shoots and maintains her distance and watches you from across rooms. she’s chosen to live in this liminal space where she gets to have you in her life but never in the way she actually wants.

one thursday, she texts you to get coffee. it’s become a routine you have, just the two of you, and angela’s been thinking about this moment for weeks. maybe this will be it. maybe in a quiet coffee shop, she can be brave enough to say something true.

you meet her at some overpriced place, and you sit across from her, and she’s rehearsed this a hundred times in her head, but when you’re actually there, looking at her with those eyes, she can’t remember any of it.

“thanks for always believing in my ideas,” she says, and it comes out smaller than she intended. she’s trying to say more. she’s trying to say: you matter to me. you’re the person i think about. you’re the person i want.

but you just smile and say her ideas are always good, and angela feels the moment slip away from her.

“you okay?” you ask, and there’s genuine concern in your voice, which somehow makes it worse.

“yeah…” she says, and she reaches across the table and squeezes your hand. she holds on for as long as she can. she traces her thumb across your skin like she’s trying to communicate something without words. do you feel this? do you feel anything?

you let her hold your hand for a moment. and then you say you need her—as a friend, as a coworker, as someone in your life—and angela’s heart breaks all over again.

she smiles anyway. she keeps holding your hand. she lets you be the person she needs in her life, even though what she needs is so much more than what you’re able to give.

when she finally lets go, she thinks about all the ways she could have been braver. all the moments where she could have just said it. and she wonders if you have any idea what’s actually happening inside her chest every time you’re near.

probably not. she’s gotten pretty good at hiding it.

she looks at you across the coffee table, and she memorizes this moment the way she memorizes everything about you. the way you’re looking at her right now, present and kind and completely, utterly unaware. and she thinks:

you’re gorgeous.

a/n: i’m kinda liking this song fics thing. i might turn it into a mini series or something. what do you think? <333

[petalsofgiarratana]

“DIRTY LITTLE SECRET”

Pairing: Theatre Major! Angela Giarratana x Music Major! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

a/n: based off this theatre gf x musician gf i saw on tiktok that got deleted i think :( but i just had to write it cause duh! hehe

divider credits: @uzmacchiato

My dirty little secret

Who has to know?

angela giarratana had a voice that could convince you the sky was purple if she really tried, and right now she was using that voice to argue with the dean of students about practice room allocation.

you watch from across the performing arts lobby, guitar case in hand, trying to make yourself invisible. she’s magnificent in her fury all sweeping gestures and theatrical conviction, delivering her points like stage directions. the dean looks mildly terrified. you can’t blame him.

“—and i don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect that a department with three full-time professors deserves more than two practice rooms!” angela’s voice rises to that perfect pitch that always makes people listen, whether they want to or not. “we have 37 majors. 37! do you know how many music majors there are?”

“i… don’t actually—”

“more!” she throws her hands up. “and they somehow manage to hoard four state-of-the-art studios. meanwhile, we’re rehearsing in a converted closet that smells like whatever died in the walls three years ago!”

the dean is definitely going to cave. you can see it happening in real time.

you’d met angela in intro to arts administration last year, a stupid requirement neither of you wanted but both needed. she’d sat next to you on the first day and immediately started making vicious commentary about the professor’s tragic powerpoint presentation. you’d been completely gone on her within twenty minutes. the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous in that effortless way (perpetually messy hair, a laugh that took up all the air in a room) had only made it worse.

now, four months into dating her, you still couldn’t quite believe you’d gotten this lucky.

the catch: basically no one knew.

not because you were hiding it, exactly. but because of the stupid, petty, years-long cold war between the theatre department and the music department. a rivalry that honestly might have cooled down if certain people hadn’t decided to make it a personal crusade.

last tuesday, there’d been an incident with a reserved practice room and a set of theater kids who’d apparently decided to use it for an impromptu sword-fighting workshop. the resulting complaint filing had involved a laminated schedule and approximately seventeen emails to the dean’s office. your friends had been insufferable about it for days.

angela’s friends were equally insufferable, just in the opposite direction. they treated the music department like it was a rival sports team. last week, you’d run into one of her castmates and heard a twenty-minute tirade about how musicians thought they were superior to theater people because of “arbitrary funding structures.”

so you and angela had settled into this weird rhythm of near-constant surveillance and careful distance. you’d perfected the art of the casual hallway pass. you had a signal system for when it was safe to text. you were basically conducting a cold war within a cold war, which was either the most romantic or the most ridiculous thing you’d ever done.

probably both.

the dean finally extracts himself from angela’s presence, looking vaguely traumatized but also like he’s probably going to allocate her another practice room. she’s already heading toward the exit when she sees you, and for a second—just a second—her entire face changes. that soft thing happens to her eyes, and she’s looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room.

then she remembers where she is. her expression resets to practiced indifference, and she breezes past you without acknowledgment, though her pinky finger brushes yours for exactly half a second.

you wait five full minutes before following her out.

her dorm room is on the third floor of the performing arts building, which is its own kind of joke. you have to walk past seventeen different people who might recognize you or know her or potentially care, but she buzzes you in with a theatrical whisper through the door (“quickly, i hear violins approaching”) and you make it inside without incident.

“i got the practice room!” she announces, the second you’re through the door. she’s already stripping off her jacket, flopping onto her bed with the kind of dramaticism that would be annoying if it wasn’t so inherently angela. “also, the dean looks like i’ve personally offended him, so probably don’t go to his office anytime soon.”

“my condolences to him,” you say, dropping your guitar case carefully against her bed. “how did you manage that?”

“passion. conviction. several excellent points about equity in departmental allocation.” she props herself up on her elbows. “and i may have mentioned that i’d heard rumors about the music department planning to claim the performing arts studio for their end-of-semester concert. which, to be clear, i completely made up.”

“angela, that’s psychological warfare.”

“it’s strategy!” she corrects primly. “also, you’re welcome. your friends can probably stop their crusade now. we got the room.”

you settle onto the bed next to her, and she immediately slides closer, her head finding its usual spot on your shoulder. her hair smells like coconut shampoo and something distinctly angela. a theater kid energy and ambition and that underlying chaos she carries around like cologne.

“my friends are terrible.” she say.

“mine are worse.”

“one of mine spent three hours arguing about the ‘artistic integrity’ of a choreography choice,” you counter. “three hours. she had citations.”

you’re both quiet for a moment, the familiar weight of it settling between you, the absurdity of the situation, the injustice that you have to be quiet about this, the way it somehow made everything more intimate anyway.

“my composition is due friday…” you say finally.

“your advanced music theory piece, right. the one that’s currently thirty percent finished.”

“how did you—”

“you told me three days ago while you were having a minor panic attack in my chair. you also cried into my plants.”

“i did not cry!”

“you misted them with your tears of anguish.”

you pull away just far enough to look at her properly. she’s grinning that grin, the one that means she’s messing with you but also that she’s seen you at your absolute worst and still thinks you’re pretty great. it gets you every time.

“i should probably work on it.” you say without moving.

“you absolutely should.”

neither of you move.

“play something for me first?” angela asks, reaching over to grab your guitar case. she sets it on the bed between you like an offering.

you pull out the guitar automatically, your hands knowing the weight of it, the feel of it. you play the piece you’ve been working on, all minor key melancholy and some experimental time signature changes that you’re still not sure about. it’s rough in places, half-formed in others, but angela listens like it’s the most important thing she’s ever heard.

when you finish, she’s quiet for a long moment.

“i used to not understand music,” she says finally. “like, i appreciated it, but i didn’t get it. i thought it was just… sound, you know? pretty patterns. but watching you work on something, seeing how you think about it…” she reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture so tender it makes your chest hurt. “it’s just another way of telling stories. it’s exactly the same as what i do on stage, except you’re using frequencies instead of words.”

“that’s pretty profound, angel.”

“i’m a pretty profound person.” she leans back. “though i’m also currently supposed to be learning thirty pages of shakespeare, so maybe be quiet and let me have existential realizations in peace.”

you spend the next hour in that weird space where she’s muttering through lines while you’re working on chord progressions, existing in parallel creative states. it’s not quite collaboration, but it’s close. sometimes she’ll stop and read you a line, asking if it feels right. sometimes you’ll play her a section and watch her close her eyes to listen. it’s intimate in a way that has nothing to do with physical touch.

though there is some kissing.

it happens around 6pm, when she’s mid monologue and gets frustrated enough to chuck her script onto the nightstand and demand that you “stop making me feel things with your stupid emotional music.”

“wait, wait,” angela mumbles against your mouth, pulling back slightly. “i gotta learn my lines, stop kissing me!”

“the lines can wait, angel.” you say, because they can.

she makes a halfhearted protesting noise but kisses you anyway, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. you can feel her smiling against your lips.

somewhere in the building, someone’s blasting music way too loud. you should care more about that, but angela’s here and warm and solid, and everything else kind of fades into background noise.

your phone buzzes. then again. then three more times in rapid succession.

“oh my god, answer it.” angela groans, pulling away.

you grab your phone and immediately regret it. your friends are losing their collective mind. messages about practice room crisis. messages about strategy. messages asking where you are.

you sigh and flip your phone screen toward angela. she reads the messages and winces.

“okay, in our defense, we reserved that room three weeks ago—”

“the schedule. the color-coded schedule. my friend literally has a chart.”

“your friend needs to find a hobby besides fighting with theatre majors.”

“angela. music is rheir hobby. that’s the whole point.”

she’s trying not to smile, you can tell. “this is such a stupid rivalry.”

“i know.”

“we’re artists. we should be supporting each other.”

“i’m saying!”

you both just lay there, phone still buzzing away, not really caring about any of it anymore. she’s curled into you, her head on your chest, and your fingers are in her hair, and none of the other stuff matters right now. it could all burn down, the rivalry, the secrecy, all of it. but this—her against you in the semi-dark, the sound of her breathing, the weight of her in your arms. this matters.

“this is unsustainable.” you say finally, breaking the silence.

“probably.” angela says back.

you could tell them. you could walk into the dining hall tomorrow and hold her hand and let the chips fall where they may. you could blow the whole thing wide open. instead, you just lay there, breathing her in, thinking about how there’s no timeline where this ends well. there’s also no timeline where you let her go.

she reaches up and kisses you again, soft this time. tender.

“i love this,” she whispers.

you freeze. that’s not something either of you have said before. it hangs in the dark room like a held breath.

“yeah,” you finally say, pulling her closer. “me too.”

your phone is still buzzing. hers probably will be soon. but for now, you’re here, and she’s here, and the rest of the world can wait.

[petalsofgiarratana]

Still patiently waiting for that angela college au btw 🙏🏼

it’s still sitting in my drafts, but will be out this week for sure!

thank u sm for waiting patiently <333

[petalsofgiarratana]

she looks so GOODDD omg i can’t even 😩🤌🤌

and the fanoli at the very last slide oh my fod i just love her

[intheeditingbay]

'it's my life' - angela giarratana

prompt: angela speaks on a podcast about her college days which causes the internet go crazy about your relationship that ended 10 years ago. (social media au)

words: 4.5k

warnings: homophobia

a/n: pics are not 100% accurate obviously but use your imagination pls. this ended up being so much longer than i intended as i became really obsessed with adding the social media aspects, there was at least 10 other 'posts' i was thinking of adding. but i really love the way this came out and i hope ya'll will too.

★

"Hi everyone, My name is Amanda Lehan-Canto and today on 'It's My Life' we have Angela Giarratana, here to talk about, you guessed it her life" Amanda speaks into the podcast microphone, her excitement spreading through the studio as she hosts her very good friend and first ever guest on her new podcast.

"Hiiiiiiii" Angela speaks, waving excitedly at the camera.

"For those of you who are yet to see the first episode or read the description, this podcast is dedicated to giving people in the Film and Production industry a space to share their stories on their own terms" Amanda explains with passion in her voice, this is an idea that she had been working on for a long time and having Angela on is sure to be a great start as she has millions of stories to tell and is an open book.

“I am so excited for this whole project Amanda, it's such an awesome concept and something I know you've been working so hard on. And I'm so excited to be your first guest” Angela smiles, the two of them falling into the flow of conversation, getting into the deep details of Angela’s life and how she got to where she is now.

★

“So Angela, onto your college days, you studied at UCLA and I know you have many stories to tell so I’m going to let you take it away” Amanda states, the two of them had briefly gone through Angela's childhood and teenage days, how she came to love acting and theater and what she thinks her childhood self would think of how her life had turned out to this point. 

“Oh I have stories alright” Angela wiggles her eyebrows, ready to tell stories from what were some of the best days of her life. “My improv and comedy group was really influential in my college days, they were the people I spent most of my time with and I am still close with almost everyone from that group to this day”

Amanda nods as Angela speaks, naturally taking interest and working in her mind to find the questions that would captivate her audience. “Was there anyone that really stuck out to you from that group?” 

Angela thinks for a moment, a light frown forming at her lips when her mind settles on you. Though it’s only seconds of time, she feels like she is reliving every memory that the two of you shared together including the heartbreak that she had endured almost 10 years ago. 

She recovers quickly, a bright smile overtaking her frown as she begins to speak. “During that time I was really close with Y/N, obviously she is a super huge star now, she has been in Marvel movies and many other incredible things. Seeing her reach global stardom has been kind of crazy but really awesome to me” 

“Do you feel like she is still the same as she was in college or that she’s changed a lot since then?” Amanda is genuinely curious seeing Angela had never really mentioned her friendship with you, as much as she is trying to get the best interview for her podcast. 

“I don’t know her now, we haven’t spoken since a few months after graduating. From what I’ve seen her acting has continued to improve over the years and she has been becoming the star I always knew that she would be. But on a personal level the person I know her as is probably not who she is now, the memories I have of her frozen in that period of time” Angela concludes, the conversation moving on swiftly.

★

yourusername Summer days drifting away

Comments

angelagiovanagiarratana Grease mentioned!!!

-> yourusername Only because you wouldn't stop yelling at me to use that as a caption

-> collegefriendusername1 That's so Angie

collegefriendusername2 I'm coming next time

-> yourusername Yessss group lake trip

yourfanusername Y/N's college days were so cute

smoshfanusername1 Anyone else here after the 'It's My Life' podcast??????

-> smoshfanusername2 Yessssssss

yournameandangelafanusername oH MY GOD! I can't believe I didn't know my favs were close in college

See more…

01 July 2013

★

“Now it’s no secret that when you are in college you drink and party and all those fun things” Amanda speaks, steering the conversation. 

“You sound like my mom” Angela laughs, “And are you making sure you are staying safe? Using protection?” she mocks, making herself laugh even more. 

“Rude!” Amanda puffs out, laughing a bit herself.

“But yes I did drink and have some wild nights during college” Angela answers, awaiting Amanda’s response allowing her to progress with the interview. 

“Are there any substantial nights that you remember? One that shaped who you are today, or your college experience?” 

Angela again only thinks of you, she had many drunk nights out during her UCLA days, many of them without you and more crazy than the ones that you shared but her mind keeps pushing her back to you. She gives in to the thoughts and decides to tell that story of your first kiss, a story that she hasn’t told publicly before or to anyone in quite a few years. 

“The night that my ex-girlfriend and I first kissed keeps coming to my mind” The sad smile tugging harshly at her lips as she speaks those words. 

“Ex-girlfriend? It’s the first time I’m hearing of this” Amanda explains, clearly surprised but not trying to derail the conversation but focusing too much on the fact that Angela is admitting publicly to having dated a woman. 

“I don’t really talk about her much, it was really a college thing. Maybe it being our first experiences living away from home and finding comfort in each other made us think that a relationship was what we needed from each other but it didn’t last so I just never really have reason to bring it up” 

“Well fair enough, you have bought up your first kiss though, would you like to elaborate on that?” Amanda continues professional interview style questions, not allowing herself to get hung up on the personal aspect of the situation which is wanting to know each and every detail of this elusive relationship that Angela had. 

“Yeah of course, we both had feelings for each other for a little while both of us were too afraid to admit them. But one night we were partying and apparently we just kind of started kissing and never stopped” Angela laughs at the thought, the two of you being yelled at by your friends to stop kissing, you stumbling back to your dorm together, falling onto your bed where you both ended up sleeping that night even though Angela's bed was just barely across the room. 

“We kissed a lot that night, like a scary amount. I remember that all of our friends had at least 20 photos each, from different angles and locations. That night is particularly memorable not for the night itself but for the morning after, we woke up in bed together, I somehow didn’t realise and had commented on an instagram post of us from the night before telling her to come to me not realising that she was laying in bed next to me” There is a soft smile that frames the way that Angela speaks about these moments, she clearly holds them dearly, wishing that everything could have stayed the way that it was in moments like that one. “She tapped on my shoulder causing me to turn around and we cuddled into each other, that is where she asked me to be her girlfriend, which is why that night drinking is one that I would consider the most influential from my college days” 

“Wow” Amanda says, “That really did change the whole trajectory of your college experience. Have you ever regretted getting into that relationship seeing as it didn’t work out?” She asks sincerely. 

“I try never to regret anything and I certainly don’t regret that. The relationship taught me so much about love and people and even myself. I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I hadn’t had those experiences”.

★

yourusername You know what they say about drunk actions

Comments

angelagiovanagiarratana Sober thoughts babyyyyyyyyyyyy

-> yourusername Are you still drunk my love?

-> angelagiovanagiarratana Why don't you come and find out

-> yourusername As I'm laying right beside you in bed

-> angelagiovanagiarratana Shhhh don't tell them that

smoshfanusername Even if I hadn't watched the podcast I'd be able to tell that this break up hURT!

-> angelafanusername RIGHT??!?!!?? I feel so bad for Angela, even though it been 10 years it's so obvious that the pain still feels fresh whenever she remembers Y/N

See more…

11 November 2013

★

Amanda and Angela pause briefly after the admittance of Angela having a girlfriend to regroup and discuss boundaries for the rest of the episode so as to not make Angela uncomfortable. 

“I hope that if you feel comfortable enough you and I can talk about this some more once we have finished filming, for now though are you okay to continue talking about your relationship and college for the podcast or would you want to steer away from that part of the conversation?” Amanda asks, the two of them having stepped out of the studio to talk privately. 

“I’m happy to continue talking about it, I think it’s a valuable conversation to have and something I’ve kept to myself for long enough, there’s no other place that I’d want to break this news than on your podcast Mandy” Angela speaks to her friend, visibly relax once she agrees to let this part of her life come to light. 

“Can I ask who your girlfriend was?” Amanda asks excitedly. 

“On the podcast? No. Here and now just us two? Of course” Angela is still not ready to tell the world who it was that she was with in college, admitting she even had a girlfriend was scary enough but she knows that if she told the world it was you that the whole thing would blow up more than it is already going to. 

“I respect that. So for personal reference, who was your girlfriend?” 

“Y/N” Angela states simply, bracing for the reaction that she already knows Amanda is going to have. 

“WHAT?! No way!” There is no response from Angela after this. There are many unanswered questions that she knows she will have to face later but for now there is a podcast that she has to finish filming.

★

“Something I think would be really valuable to talk about is your experience being in a relationship with a woman during college, what were the responses from the people around you?” Amanda asked, transitioning seamlessly back into interviewer mode. 

“All of our friends were really supportive” Angela laughs a little, remembering all of the crazy instagram posts from that time, college friends taking any opportunity possible to post photos they had taken of the two of you. “They were constantly posting us on social media and really treating us normally as both their friends and a couple. It was something from that time which I’m really thankful for” 

She pauses for a moment, contemplating speaking a bit more deeply about the subject. “It was my first relationship with a woman and I spent a lot of time questioning my identity: if I was gay or if I had just fallen in love with this person who just so happened to be a girl. Having our friends be really open to us took away a lot of the doubt and shame that I felt internally and made me feel, for a lack of better words, normal” 

“I am really glad that you had those supportive people around you, and for you Angela and everyone watching at home, you are normal, dating who you love is not weird, disgusting or wrong” Amanda adds, trying her best to be sensitive but also spread the message of allyship and supporting the LGBTQIA+ community. 

“Thank you for saying that Amanda. On that though, not everyone was supportive and in this world not everyone always will be. There were a few people around, especially a girl in our dorm block who was very vocal in her hatred for us as a couple and the LGBT community as a whole but the love that we received from our friends and family really drowned out those few hateful people”

★

collegefriendusername1 Goodnight girls

Comments

angelagiovanagiarratana WHEN DID YOU TAKE THIS?

-> collegefriendusername When I tried to get into MY OWN bed and was forced to take the couch

yourusername We're so cute heheheh

-> angelagiovanagiarratana You're the cutest my love

-> yourusername No you're the cutest my love

-> collegefriendusername2 OMG not this again

collegeenemyusername EW how is anyone okay with these disgusting homo's

See more…

28 April 2014

THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED

★

“Let’s get into some work talk” Amanda states cheerily, moving the podcast along. “And by work I mean student short films. One of your most popular ones was your senior film titled ‘It’s always been you’. Can you tell us a little bit about it?” 

“Oh wow” a mixture between a chuckle and a sigh leaves Angela's lips at the mention of the extremely personal and now deeply upsetting short film that you and she created together during your senior year of college. “I didn’t know that many people knew about that film, or that it is popular.” 

“Babe that sapphics are completely obsessed, I’m ‘chronically offline’ and even I know that” Amanda laughs, trying to lighten the mood in the room. 

“Well that is news to me. But yeah that film was my senior film specifically and it was such an awesome project. I worked really closely with each member of production throughout the entire thing and chose to act in it myself” Angela speaks, she knows that she is holding back, that saying it was yours and her story would be too much. “It actually won ‘Best Film’ and the ‘Entertainment Studies Award’ at the UCLA Film Fest and was entered into a few other film festivals including both Cannes and Sundance so that was a whirlwind of a time, all of this happening around the time that I was graduating”  

“It’s really impressive. How was it acting alongside Y/N before she got famous?” Amanda asks, she knows she is pushing it a little with the question but Angela is a professional so she knows how to answer a question the way that she would want and avoid any personal details that she deems ‘too much’. 

“Y/N has always been a phenomenal actress and I told her that many times during college. Getting to work with her was such a great experience and there is no one else in the world that I would have wanted to star with me in that film” Angela answers easily.

★

angelagiovanagiarratana "It was always you" can be streamed on Youtube and Vimeo. UCLA Senior short film. (caption has been edited)

initial caption read: My favourite on and off screen kissing partner. Our short film, "It was always you" is out now, you can watch it on Youtube and Vimeo and also come support us at FilmFest during the first week of April. Thank you to our writers, producer, director, all of the cast and crew and the community that we fostered during every stage of creation. This is the most amazing project I've ever been a part of and I'm so excited that mine and Y/N's vision was able to come to life like this. Getting to share and act in a personal story about queer love is such an honour. Love is Love.

Comments

yourusername Best film I will ever be in

-> angelagiovanagiarratana You are going to be in blockbusters, don't speak too soon.

-> yourusername Nothing will ever top this

collegefriendusername You know you are meant to stop kissing when the director yells cut right?

-> yourusername I've never heard that rule before.. Sounds fake

-> collegefriendusername We have almost 3 hours of cut kissing footage

-> yournameandangelafanusername RELEASE THE FOOTAGE OMG

smoshfanusername1 I watched the film and there is no way that there wasn't an extremely personal aspect to every moment.. Either that or these two are the MOST incredible actors of this generation

-> smoshfanusername2 I'm pretty sure both of those statements are true

See more…

18 October 2014

★

The two continue to speak, some more stories of Angela’s college days being told, including ones of the many different comedy groups and studies that she completed. The questions being asked are a lot easier to answer than ones that pertain to you, her ex girlfriend. 

She is distracted though, clearly having something on her mind and that something is you. She didn’t realise that doing this podcast would bring up so many memories for her and she definitely didn’t expect to be bringing you up in it. 

The relationship the two of you shared is something that she had been able to keep to herself for many years, she has dodged and avoided questions that could be answered by talking about you. For some reason though she wanted to bring you up, she could have easily avoided it, not needing to mention that drunk night that you two shared but she wanted to. She had been holding onto the details of your relationship for so long, not talking to anyone about it, especially not the people who know her now. She had tried to leave that part of her life behind her many times but now that she had mentioned it she felt good, lighter even. 

While she hadn’t and would never share every detail with the world she was somewhat excited that others would finally know a little bit more about her college days and the relationship that changed her entire life.

★

yourusername New year, same love

Comments

angelagiovanagiarratana My new years kiss forever

collegefriendusername You really 'Yes and'ed yourself into a relationship

-> yourusername Yes and it is the best thing I've ever done

smoshfanusername1 Who's here in 2025???

-> yournameandangelafanusername ME! I'm still in shock that these two were a couple I would have never expected it

-> smoshfanusername1 I really am surprised that Y/N has kept all their posts together, there is no doubt from these that they were in a relationship

smoshfanusername2 I would do ANYTHING to know the details of this relationship

-> collegeenemyusername I lived in their dorm block in college, I'm going to go live with all the details I have

See more…

01 January 2015

★

“Something from college we haven’t had the chance to talk about yet is SPRING BREAK” Amanda yells the words in a valley girl accent, causing herself and Angela to giggle together. “Please tell me you have some fun spring break stories?” 

“I don’t really, unfortunately. I only went on a spring break vacation one time and it was with my partner at the time. It was in senior year and the two of us had settled significantly really beginning to focus on our careers and what we were going to do once we finished college” Angela admits, she’s not sure if it will be caught out but she purposely changed from saying girlfriend to partner, leaving out the detail that this spring break trip is the one where she proposed to you. 

“That’s such an Angela thing to do, did you drink on this vacation at all or was this an all work and no play vacation?” Amanda asks. 

“We drank lightly on one night, a few glasses of champagne” Angela stated, those few glasses of champagne being your celebratory drinks from the night you got engaged.

“Looking back it is kind of hilarious, we went to Cancun, which is a spring break party destination. Everyone else around us at the resort was blackout drunk every single day but we sat on the beach practicing lines together but it was a really nice time and I would say that those days of practice helped both of us book some pretty awesome things”

“You went to Cancun and didn’t party?! Oh yeah wow that really is something you would do” Amanda laughs at the situation knowing that when Angela is locked in on work nothing else in the world matters.

★

yourusername Cancun cutie

Comments

angelagiovanagiarratana Spring break done right

-> yourusername Best vacation I've ever been on

collegefriendusername Can't believe y'all didn't invite me

-> yourusername We are too boring for you babes

smoshfanusername IS THAT A RING ON Y/N'S FINGER? THEY WERE ENGAGED????

-> yournameandangelafanusername HOLY SHIT THAT ABSOLUTELY LOOKS LIKE AN ENGAGEMENT RING, THE LORE GOES CRAZY AND WE ARE NEVER GOING TO ACTUALLY KNOW IT I FEAR

See more…

28 March 2015

★

“Let’s wrap up the college talk, with graduation and some post college talk” Amanda starts. “At the time of graduating what did your life look like?” 

“So when I was graduating I really got stuck into auditions and trying to find work in the industry, I did a few commercials and had small TV appearances and I also did a lot of local theater. It was probably the busiest point in my life so far but I was having a great time doing what I love and really trying to find my way in the world.” 

“Was there anything about becoming an ‘adult’ that really shocked you during this time?” Amanada asks, knowing that the transition from traditional schooling to trying to find your own way in the world is sometimes a really tough one. 

“How much relationships change was the biggest one. I think while in school it was really easy to be with friends and my partner and that was able to be where my priorities were without it affecting my education or my future too much as we were all on the same page all the time. Once you leave that, and I think especially in the creative industry where people really take off in all different directions to find their path in life things really change.” Angela begins to answer, remembering the really hard parts of that period of her life where she didn’t see friends as much, everyone was busy or moving away, booking things or finding ways to survive, everything for her changed in an instant. 

“When you were graduating how did you think your life would turn out? And do you think that reality has matched those thoughts?” 

“A lot of things that have happened in my life since graduating I would have never expected. I knew at the time that the industry is tough, I also knew though that I wanted to be part of it more than anything and that I would be willing to work hard to make it however I could, to have the chance to do what I love. In that way I feel like I have lived up to what I thought I would be doing, if not actually moved beyond what I thought I could do. I’m really happy with where I am and the projects that I have and will be a part of and I work a lot but everyday feels like a blessing” Angela speaks a little more on the projects she is working on. 

“The main difference would be my relationships, or especially my romantic relationship. When I graduated I really did see us staying together, our relationship lasting a lifetime, that didn’t happen though. We were living together for the first few months out of college, we had planned to support each other through auditions and castings and be at each other's shows and premieres. But that came to an end really quickly, the reality of adulthood caught up with us, sometimes for weeks at a time we would only see each other in passing and only talk via text. It put a large strain on our relationship and ultimately was one of the main reasons we broke up".

“Oh honey” Amanda sighs, while Angela is doing a great job of handling her emotions and not getting too upset her friend knows her very well and knows just how much she is hurting reliving the memories. 

“It’s okay, everything happens for a reason and that's just how it was meant to be. Looking back though with the wisdom, knowledge and skills that I have now, I’m sure that we could have gotten through those times and if we had, I know that she would have been my forever. There was no bad blood between us, there was just a childish lack of time and patience that neither of us was able to see through at the time.”

★

yourusername This is just the beginning for us

Comments

angelagiovanagiarratana I can't wait to build a future with you

-> yourusername The world is all ours my love

collegefriendusername1 Cutiesssss. Photo creds to me!

-> yourusername Can't wait for you to take our wedding photos

-> collegefriendusername1 Of course!! Have to put my degree to use somehow

angelafanusername If only they knew that this would be the end...

angelagiovanagiarratana I'm sorry for bringing attention to our college days like this. I hope you know that this wasn't my intention.

-> yourusername No need to be sorry Angela, I will never regret this part of my life.

See more…

30 May 2015

★

Once the podcast was released the internet exploded just a little. Fans of Angela and you scouring every inch of social media, finding twitter interactions, instagram comments, all of your old posts and even random photos of you both that had been posted on your families facebook's throughout the years. 

While Angela hadn’t assumed this would happen she was at least prepared when it did, understanding what was going on and why everyone was going crazy. You on the other hand were not versed in social media as much these days, being busy constantly working. So when an influx of comments started popping up on your college instagram posts and news outlets began contacting you to make a comment on your relationship with Angela Giarratana, you were confused to say the least. 

You followed the trail of everything that happened to a podcast that Angela was the guest on. Seeing Angela’s face pop up on your laptop screen made you feel a whole range of emotions. You sat and watched the whole thing being reminded of your college times and for the first time in quite awhile you missed her, you missed her more than you would probably be able to admit. 

In a moment of potentially stupidity you decided to message her, to bridge the gap that you purposely created. You asked her if the two of you could talk, instantly regretting it but you didn't allow yourself to unsend it.

★

[petalsofgiarratana]

31 followers OMG??? thank you guys so much <333

also, my inbox is open so please don’t be shy to send in requests or if you simply just want to say hi. i survived the first week of this semester so i feel the need to reward myself by writing :p

[petalsofgiarratana]

my uni’s about to start its semester again... i really just had to finish all my drafts and the requests, but i might have slower posting schedule now. we’ll see :)

[petalsofgiarratana]

could you do a valentines fic w ang 👀🤍

“LOVE, DOCUMENTED”

Pairing: Angela Giarratana x Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: angela takes you for the most thoughtfully over-planned valentine’s day of your life.

thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoy this despite it being overdue <333

the first time angela accidentally spoils valentine’s day, it’s december.

you’re standing in the kitchen making coffee when she comes up behind you, wraps both arms around your waist, and presses her chin to your shoulder with the kind of intimacy that still makes something warm curl in your chest even after all this time together.

“hey…” she says, “hypothetically.”

you pour the coffee. “hypothetically.”

“if we were going somewhere that required, like, a nice outfit—what’s your version of nice? like, nice-nice? or casual nice?”

you turn enough to look at her. she’s doing the thing where she’s trying to look extremely normal and relaxed, which means she’s incapable of being either. her eyes are a little too bright. “angela.”

“what? it’s hypothetical.”

“it’s december.”

“i’m a very forward-thinking person!”

“you’re a terrible liar is what you are.”

she makes a noise of protest against your shoulder, then immediately ruins it by saying, “okay but would you wear a dress or like a nice top situation, because the vibe i’m thinking is sort of—” she stops. goes very quiet. “fuck!”

“uh-huh.”

“i wasn’t supposed to tell you yet!”

“you weren’t supposed to say any of that.”

she pulls back and points at you very seriously. “we’re going to pretend this conversation didn’t happen.”

“absolutely not.” you shook your head no, already grinning.

angela is just an absolute dork sometimes. you are more than aware of that. but the thing that gets you always, without fail is that she genuinely cannot help it. she’s not playing games. she’s just so excited that it leaks out of her like a cracked window, no matter how hard she tries to keep it shut. you fell in love with that first, probably. the way she lights up from the inside when she cares about something.

and she cares about you so much it’s almost embarrassing to witness.

over the next two months, she spoils more things.

the paint and sip class comes out in january when she’s watching you beat her at cards for the fourth time in a row and she mutters, “this competitive thing you’ve got going is really cute, you know that?” and then, off your raised eyebrow, adds “i think you’re going to have so much fun at the—woah okay. i said nothing. cards!”

the karaoke room slips out at two in the morning in early february when you’re lying tangled together and she’s humming something under her breath and you ask what it is and she says, “it’s from that duet playlist i made—“ and then she physically covers her own mouth with her hand.

you burst out laughing as she groans into the pillow.

“i’m a disaster.” she announces, muffled by cotton.

“you’re my disaster.” you say, and you mean it as a joke but it comes out too soft and she peeks one eye out from the pillow and looks at you like you just handed her something precious.

“yeah,” she says, quietly. “yeah, i am.”

some things, somehow, she manages to keep secret. you don’t find out about it until tonight.

valentine’s day arrives like angela herself, loud and warm.

she shows up at your door at six in the evening with paint on her forearm she definitely didn’t notice, a jar under one arm that’s stuffed so full of folded papers it can barely close, and an expression like she’s been vibrating at a slightly elevated frequency for the past several hours.

“hi!” she says, immediately followed with, “you look so pretty.” oh, she’s smitten for you, alright.

you’re wearing a dress, the nice-nice one. you’d picked it out in december, once you knew what you were dressing for, and you’ll never admit to her how long you stood in front of the mirror.

“hi yourself as well, gorgeous.” you say. “you have paint on your arm.” equally smitten for her nonetheless.

she looks down. “oh my god.” she rubs at it, which does absolutely nothing except spread it a little, and you love her so much it’s physically ridiculous. you take her hand and pull her inside.

the paint and sip class is first. it’s in this small studio with exposed brick and warm lighting and two glasses of wine already waiting for them, and the instructor introduces the evening’s subject, some abstract seascape thing and then angela leans over and whispers, “loser has to do the dishes at the winner’s place for a week.”

you stare at her. “we’re at a paint and sip class.”

“and?”

“the point is to relax and enjoy the—”

“are you scared?”

you pick up your brush.

the thing about angela is that she’s genuinely competitive in a lot of areas. she’ll run a footrace against you with her whole chest. she’ll argue about movie opinions with the intensity of someone whose career depends on it. but painting, apparently, is not ‘her arena’, and you realize about forty minutes in that she’s somehow making hers worse on purpose. smearing colors together in ways that are objectively kind of endearing but definitely not going to win anything.

you catch her watching your canvas. then your face. then she smiles a little and goes back to her deliberate, beautiful mess.

later, in the car, you say, “you lost on purpose.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“angela…”

“i genuinely just have no spatial awareness.”

“you literally paint to past time.”

she’s quiet for exactly two seconds. then she grins, and it’s the kind of grin that splits her whole face open, bright and a little guilty. “you get this look when you’re winning,” she says. “it’s really something.”

“that’s—you tanked a whole competition for a look on my face?”

“i’d do it again.” she says simply.

you look out the window so she doesn’t see you smiling.

the karaoke room is a private booth, just the two of you, with a song catalog the length of a small novel and lighting that cycles through colors every few songs. angela picks “don’t go breaking my heart” first, which, fair. then she picks three more certified cheese classics in a row, and by the time you’re both absolutely murdering pink pony club, you’re laughing so hard you can barely hold the microphone.

she’s a good singer. she doesn’t make a big thing of it. she just sings wholeheartedly, slightly dramatized of course, one hand over her heart on the big notes, and she keeps pointing the mic at you during the harmonies with this look like come on, come on, and you always do, because you cannot say no to her when she looks at you like that. you’re not sure you ever could.

at one point she pulls you up from the small couch and makes you dance with her in the approximately four square feet of floor space available, and she’s warm and laughing in your arms, and she steps on your foot twice and apologizes both times, and you think “god, i would do anything for this person.”

then her phone alarm goes off. she silences it and gets a very focused look on her face.

“sit down, please.” she says. “i have to do something and i need you to not say anything until it’s done.”

“okay, that’s alarming.”

“sit,” she says again, and she’s already unzipping the bag she’s had tucked in the corner of the booth all night. she pulls out a guitar, which in retrospect you maybe should have noticed earlier, and she settles onto the small stool across from you and she is—okay, she’s nervous. genuinely. noticeable in the slight tension around her jaw and the way her fingers move a little deliberately as she adjusts the tuning.

“angel…”

“shh,” she says. “i mean it. just… let me do this.”

and then she plays.

it’s your favorite song. then the next one. then the one you’d mentioned once, in passing, four months ago when it came on the radio, and you’d said you loved it, and you’d thought nothing of it. she remembered. she learned it. she learned all of them.

she plays without looking up most of the time, watching her own hands or some middle distance, and her voice is low and easy and a little rough in the best way, and the colored lights keep cycling through the room, and you don’t say anything for a long time because you genuinely can’t. there’s a specific feeling that lives in your chest when angela makes you feel cared for, this ache-sweet sensation like being held very gently by something warm, and right now it’s so present you think it might crack you open.

when she finishes the last song, she looks up.

“you cried a little.” she says.

“i didn’t.” you say, and your voice ultimately betrays you.

she only gave you a warm smile.

the jar comes out after, back at your place, the two of you on the couch with the remnants of takeout on the coffee table and her legs thrown over yours. she hands it to you and it’s heavy, so many folded slips of paper that it’s practically bursting.

“date jar!” she says. “for the whole year. i put a lot in there. some of them are, like, nice restaurant stuff. most of them are—”

you unfold the nearest one.

rent every muppet movie ever made and watch them all in order and i will make snacks.

“most of them are like that.” angela confirms.

you unfold another one.

drive to the beach at 5am and watch the sunrise and bring coffee and a blanket and complain about waking up early together like two old married people.

your throat does something inconvenient. you look at her. she’s watching you with this soft, earnest attention that she usually tries to bury under bravado.

“there’s one in there about building a blanket fort,” she says. “and one about going to that cat café you mentioned. and one that’s just says ‘pick a country and spend the whole day cooking their food’ because you said that sounded fun once.” she pauses. “i wrote that one down the same night you said it. for the record.”

“my sweet angel… this is—” you don’t have a word for it. “this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever…”

“i have a letter too!” she says quickly, a little too casually, like she’s trying to run past the emotion of it. she digs it out of her jacket pocket. it’s folded a lot, like she’s been carrying it around for a while, refolding it, maybe checking it, maybe almost putting it away a dozen times. “it’s not, i mean, i started it kind of funny. just so you know. but then it got a little.”

“a little?”

“just read it. please..”

the letter starts with: happy valentine’s day, darling. you are objectively my favorite person on the planet, which is saying something because i have met some extremely good dogs.

you laugh out loud at that. she’s smiling at her own knees.

it continues, i’m bad at this. you know that. i’m better at doing than saying. but here’s what i want you to know…

then it’s three paragraphs of her just talking about what you mean to her, how she’d started keeping voice memos in the early months because she wanted to remember every good thing, how your laugh is the sound she likes best in the world, how sometimes she watches you doing something completely ordinary and she thinks, oh. that’s it. that’s the whole thing. how she’s never been good at being careful with herself but with you she feels like she finally understands what it means to want to take care of something.

the last line reads, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i mean that so completely it sort of terrifies me.

happy valentine’s day. please never leave.

you put the letter down and turned to look at her.

“the voice memos are real, by the way.” she says, quieter now. “i have like forty of them. i made you a video. it’s on my phone. do you want to—”

“angel.” your voice is very soft. “come here.”

she does.

she fits herself against your side the way she always does, like she’s been doing it for years, and you press your face into her hair and she wraps an arm around your waist and you sit like that for a minute, just holding each other.

“was it okay?” she asks, after a while. it’s small, the question. for all the confidence she carries through the world like a second skin, she sounds genuinely uncertain now. “was all of it, i mean. was it too much? or not enough? i kept second-guessing the—”

“angel.”

“i just want to know if you liked it. be honest. you can tell me if something—”

“it was perfect.” you say. “all of it. every single thing.”

she exhales. the tension goes out of her all at once, like something released. “okay,” she says. “perfect. okay.”

“did you actually think i wasn’t going to like it?”

“i mean. i wanted it to be perfect. for you.”

you pull back just enough to look at her. she looks back. there’s a smear of paint still on her forearm. her hair’s a little out of place from the karaoke dancing. she’s got the remains of a love letter in her jacket pocket and a jar full of all the things she wants to do with you, every silly and tender thing she’s been thinking about for months.

“hey.” you say.

“hey.” she follows.

“i love you.”

something crosses her face, something soft and enormous. “i love you more. a genuinely stupid amount.”

you laughed and leaned in. your forehead drops to hers. “loving you is really all that’s on my mind.”

“play me another song.” you murmur. “later. when we get to the guitar again.”

“yeah?” her voice is warm. her hand finds the small of your back. “and what are we doing before later?”

you smile against her mouth.

“i’m sure we’ll think of something.”

divider credits: @uzmacchiato

a/n: HAPPY LATE VALENTINE'S LOVELIES! this really is just based off of the headcanon i made

[petalsofgiarratana]

“GODS DEMAND THEIR DUE”

Pairing: Grace Chasity x Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of murder and death, slight religious themes and demons, nightmares, manipulation (well this is npmd so…)

Summary: after sacrificing her chastity to the lords in black, grace realizes they now want the next thing she cherishes most—her best friend.

based on this request. thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoy this <333

grace chasity stopped believing in god somewhere around age sixteen

she’d never said it out loud. never even let herself think it too clearly, because thinking it made it real, and if it was real then what was she? what was any of it, the youth group, the purity ring, the ankle-length skirts? what was the point of being grace chasity, good christian girl, if the whole foundation was just—

nothing.

so she didn’t think it. she just kept going. kept praying, kept preaching, kept telling sarah mulligan her crop top was a sin against god and kept handing out abstinence pamphlets at school dances. kept being grace chasity because grace chasity was the only thing she knew how to be.

the thing about performing faith long enough is that sometimes it starts to feel real. or real enough, anyway. real enough to get through sundays. real enough to sleep at night.

and then max jägerman died and came back and tried to kill everyone, and grace stood in that house and she prayed.

she prayed harder than she’d ever prayed in her life.

nothing happened.

but then she opened the black book. and she called out to whatever was listening. and five gods answered.

five gods who showed up. who spoke to her directly. who looked her in the eye and made her a deal she could actually verify, with terms she could actually track, with power she could actually feel humming through her hands when she touched the book.

five gods who were, undeniably, real.

grace gave them her chastity without hesitating.

and she felt righteous. more righteous than she’d ever felt kneeling in a church pew. more righteous than any prayer she’d ever said to a god who never answered. because this meant something. this was a real sacrifice for a real cause with real results.

max died. the world was saved. grace walked away with the black book in her hands and wiggly’s eye open in the back of her mind, and she thought,oh. oh, this is what faith is supposed to feel like.

so she kept going. kept killling. kept feeding the lords the souls of dirty dudes and sinners and people who were making the world worse just by existing in it. and every time she pressed her hand to the black book and felt that power surge through her, she thought, this is righteous. this is good. this is what i was always supposed to be doing.

the christian god never gave her anything real.

the lords in black gave her everything.

you’ve known grace your whole life, which means you’ve watched every version of her come and go. the seven year old with the communion lace friendship bracelets. the twelve year old who told half the school they were going to hell. the seventeen year old with the abstinence ring and the conviction of someone who’d never once doubted herself.

you’ve never fully bought into any of it. grace knows that. she’s always known that. and she’s always let it slide with you, specifically, in a way she never lets anything slide with anyone else.

everyone else gets the pamphlets. you get a sigh and a “you’re lucky i like you.”

you were there for the max thing. for the black book aand the aftermath. you stood in that house and watched grace become something else entirely, and when it was over you looked at her and said, “okay. what now?”

she’d stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

“what now?” she’d repeated.

“yeah. what do we do now?”

and grace, who always has a plan, who always has an answer, who has never in her life been at a loss for words—just looked at you. and for a second you saw it. the relief. the desperate, overwhelming relief of someone who’d been holding everything alone and suddenly didn’t have to.

“i don’t know.” she’d said.

“okay,” you’d said. “we’ll figure it out.”

that was two months ago. richie’s gone. ruth’s gone. steph and pete are walking around like ghosts. and grace is—

grace is different now. you’ve been trying to put your finger on it for weeks. she’s more focused. more certain. that manic energy she’s always had, the one that used to go into bible study and youth group planning, has been redirected into something sharper.

she’s in her room right now, sitting at her desk, and she’s not doing homework. she’s got the black book open in front of her, and she’s reading it with the same focused intensity she used to reserve for scripture. her lips move slightly. her finger traces lines of text that seem to shift when you look at them directly.

you’re on her floor, back against the bed, watching her without trying to make it obvious.

“you’re staring.” grace says without looking up.

“i’m observing.”

“that’s just staring with more syllables.” she turns a page. the book makes a sound like a sigh. “what do you want?”

“nothing. just thinking.”

“about what?”

“about how you used to read the bible like that.”

grace’s finger stops moving. just for a second. “i still read the bible.”

“do you?”

she closes the black book. carefully. the way she used to close her bible after evening devotions. “the lords aren’t inconsistent with scripture. if you actually read revelations—”

“grace.”

“what?”

“you don’t have to justify it to me.”

she turns to look at you. and there’s something in her expression you can’t quite name, something between relief and guilt and something else entirely. “i’m not justifying anything. i’m explaining.”

“okay.”

“there’s a difference.”

“okay.”

she holds your gaze for a moment longer, then turns back to her desk. picks up a pen. starts writing something in her notebook.

“you should go home soon,” she says. “it’s getting late.”

“i’m fine.”

“i know you’re fine. i’m saying you should go home anyway.” her pen moves across the page. “text me when you get there.”

“grace, you live a block away.”

“text me anyway.”

you look at her, at the set of her shoulders, the careful way she’s holding herself, the black book sitting closed at the corner of her desk and you feel that thing again. that low hum of unease. that sense that grace is managing something she isn’t telling you about.

“is everything okay?” you ask.

“everything’s fine.” too quick.

“grace—”

“everything is fine.” she turns to look at you, and she smiles. warm. familiar. very grace. “go home. text me. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

the dream starts without warning.

you’re in a church that isn’t a church. the pews stretch too high. the ceiling curves wrong. the stained glass shows things you can’t look at directly, shapes that slide away every time you try to focus.

at the altar, where the cross should be, there are five figures.

they’re standing in a circle. looking down at something.

looking down at you.

you’re on the altar. flat on your back. you can’t do anything except stare up at five figures who are discussing you like you’re already gone.

“i want the heart.” the smallest one says. pink pigtails. a lollipop dripping red. his voice is sugar-sweet and deeply, fundamentally wrong. “hearts are the yummiest. so much feeling packed into one little muscle.” he licks the lollipop slowly, eyes fixed on your chest. “i’ve been thinking about it for so long.”

“the eyes!” another voice says, from everywhere and nowhere at once. “i want to see what she sees as it all goes dark. that moment. that’s the best part.”

“her fear…” another one giggles, spinning something in his hands. a watch, ticking backwards. “every single drop of it. wind her up, watch her break. tick tock tick tock—”

“her voice.” said another, cold and flat. like a room with no windows and no doors. “one scream. just one. then silence. permanent silence.”

the fifth one doesn’t speak. tall, dressed in green, smiling with too many teeth. he’s already decided. you can feel it. and that, somehow, is the worst part of all.

the smallest one crouches down beside you. his face is level with yours now. his eyes are vast and black and hungry in a way that has nothing to do with his stomach.

“grace promised us something…” he whispers. his breath smells like sugar and rot and copper. “the thing she loves most.” he tilts his head. studies you the way you’d study something you’ve been waiting a very long time to consume. a slow, deliberate lick of the lollipop, eyes never leaving yours. “she keeps saying not yet. not yet. not yet.” he giggles, soft and horrible. “but she’ll come around. she always comes around. that’s the thing about grace.” he leans closer. close enough that you can see your own reflection in his eyes, small and terrified and very, very small. “she always does what her gods ask in the end.”

he reaches out with one sticky pink finger—

you wake up gasping in your dark room. your heart trying to break out of your chest.

you don’t text grace about the dream.

you’re not sure why. you just know that when you wake up at 3am with nibbly’s breath still warm on your face and the smell of sugar and copper clinging to the inside of your nose, something stops you from reaching for your phone. you lie there instead. stare at the ceiling. try to figure out what exactly is sitting wrong in your stomach.

she’ll come around, nibbly had said. she always does what her gods ask in the end.

you think about grace. about the black book open on her desk. you lie there until the sun comes up.

grace shows up at your door before school with a packed breakfast in her hands. you open it and she looks at your face and says, “you look terrible.”

“good morning.”

“i’m serious! you didn’t sleep.” she holds up the coffee. “let me in. i’ll make toast.”

you step aside. she moves past you into the kitchen like she’s done a thousand times, finds the bread and the toaster without having to look for either of them, and you sit at the table and watch her and try to figure out what it is you’re feeling. she sets the plate in front of you. sits across from you. and she just looks at you. warm and completely present, the way grace has always been with you specifically, in a way she isn’t with anyone else.

“eat.” she says.

you eat. and whatever was sitting wrong in your stomach starts to loosen, because this is grace. your grace. and she’s right here.

she walks you to school. sits with you at lunch. shows up at your locker between classes just to hand you a snack and say “you forgot to eat breakfast properly, the toast doesn’t count” before disappearing back into the crowd. small things. grace things. by the time you get home that afternoon the dream feels distant.

you almost forget about it entirely.

almost.

because grace keeps showing up. not in a way you could point to and say something’s wrong, just… more. more present. more attentive. she notices every little thing. she walks you all the way to your front door instead of just to the end of the street, and when you turn to say goodnight she lingers for just a moment, like she’s making sure of something, before she goes. she comes over on a thursday evening and she sits on your floor with her back against the couch and every so often you catch her looking at you in that long quiet way, the way she reads the black book, like she’s memorizing something.

“what?” you ask, catching her at it.

“nothing.” she looks back down at her notes. “just thinking.”

“about what?”

a pause. “about how you’re the only person who’s never looked at me like i’m too much.”

you don’t know what to say to that. so you just say, “you’re not too much.”

grace doesn’t respond. just turns a page. and you let it go because that’s what you do with grace, you let things go, you’ve been letting things go for eighteen years because pushing grace when she doesn’t want to be pushed is like pushing a wall.

it’s a friday night when she comes over with food and a movie she’s already picked and that particular serene energy that means grace has made peace with something. you watch the movie. she makes commentary about the moral failings of the characters. you argue back. it’s so normal that for two full hours you stop noticing anything at all, and you just sit there on your floor with grace exactly where she’s always been, and you think, this is fine. everything is fine.

then the movie ends and she helps you clean up and instead of leaving she just stays, sitting on your floor with her back against the couch in no particular hurry, and the lamp is low and the house is quiet and grace is looking at the middle distance with that expression she gets when she’s working something out.

“i’ve been thinking about sacrifices.” she says.

you look at her.

“in the bible, the most meaningful ones are always the ones that cost the most. that’s the whole point. it’s not a sacrifice if it doesn’t hurt.” a pause. “abraham understood that. that’s why god stopped him. because he was willing to go through with it.”

“grace—”

“i’m just thinking out loud.” she glances at you and offered a warm smile. completely grace. “don’t worry.”

and the thing is, you almost don’t. because that’s what grace does, she says strange things and then smiles at you like that and the warmth of it is so genuine and so familiar that it smooths everything over. you’ve been letting grace smooth things over your whole life. you’re very good at it by now.

she stands. picks up her bag, careful the way she’s always careful with it lately. “you should sleep.” she says. “you still look tired.”

“grace.”

she looks at you.

“are you okay?”

the smile she gives you is the warmest you’ve ever seen on her. the smile of someone who has made peace with something and is living quietly on the other side of it.

“i’m the best i’ve ever been!” she says.

and she means it. you can tell she means it completely. so you let her go. you listen to her footsteps on the path, the gate clicking shut, and the sudden quietness that follows. and you sit there in your living room in the low light and you feel, despite everything, despite the dream and the strange things grace says and the way she looks at you sometimes, you feel okay. you feel safe. because grace said she’s the best she’s ever been, and grace doesn’t lie to you.

you go to bed.

you sleep soundlessly.

and grace walks home through the hatchetfield night with the black book under her arm and her gods humming steady and certain in the back of her skull, and she doesn’t look back.

she never looks back.

she has always known, in the part of herself that performs faith until it becomes real, that there is only one way this ends.

her gods are hungry. and the thing about hunger—deep, endless hunger, is that anticipation makes everything taste better.

and grace chasity has never, not once in her entire life, failed to give them what they want.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

you’re going to taste so, so sweet.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

divider credits: @uzmacchiato

a/n: i’m not quite sure if i liked the outcome of this, a little scared about it too. but i enjoyed writing it nonetheless! :)

[parasocicle]

messy hair Angela is doing something to me .....

[petalsofgiarratana]

VALENTINE’S DAY WITH ANGELA 🥂💐 (headcanon)

warnings: swearing, sfw + nsfw headcanons by the end ( mdni ) under the second cut

a/n: hey deary! i PROMISE i will provide you a proper valentine’s fic soon, but here’s some headcanon for now please forgive me :((

SFW

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ starts planning for MONTHS because she’s actually incredibly thoughtful when it comes to the people she loves, even if she plays it off

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ genuinely cannot keep the surprise a secret and spoils bits of the plan throughout those months

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ “okay so hypothetically if we went to this place would you wear something nice or—FUCK i wasn’t supposed to tell you yet!”

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ books a couples paint and sip class but makes it a competition but she’s already planning to lose because she loves your competitive smile

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ she gets weirdly nervous giving you your main gift because in her head, everything she does for you has to be perfect. (you love the gift no matter what)

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ writes you a letter that starts funny but ends with something like “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me” and she means it so wholly it makes your chest ache

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ takes a million photos of you because “you look so pretty right now” (she says this every five minutes)

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ learns your favorite songs on guitar and plays it to you all night

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ physically cannot stop touching you. hand on your lower back, fingers linked with yours, playing with your bracelet, tucking hair behind your ear, just constant gentle contact

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ books a private karaoke room for just the two of you and makes you duet all the cheesy love songs

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ creates a jar filled with date ideas for the whole year. some are fancy, most are silly, all are things she knows you’d genuinely enjoy doing together

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ makes a video compilation of voice memos she’s recorded throughout your relationship—joined laughter, “i love yous”, every little shared moment

ֺּׅ𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ ends the night asking “was this okay? did you like it? be honest please.” because for all her confidence, she genuinely just wants you to feel loved in the way that matters to YOU​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ (spoiler: everything was perfect)

————————————————————————

NSFW (MDNI) *edited*

cw: eating out, fingering, aftercare

݁♰ you can mostly tell when she’s in the mood already by the way her eyes glint under the dim light

݁♰ she’s a playful teaser before anything gets serious, her fingers dancing along your inner thighs until you're squirming

݁♰ those innocent touches that cannot leave you from earlier gradually roams your body teasingly as she tests the waters

݁♰ oh she loves every bit of your body, alright

݁♰ dives in eagerly when she eats you out, tongue swirling over your clit with messy enthusiasm, not stopping until your thighs clamp around her head

݁♰ thrives on the wetness, letting your slick coat her lips and chin without a care, licking it up like it's her favorite treat

݁♰ loves to whisper dirty encouragements about how good your pussy feels clenching around her

݁♰ could easily cum from just your moans

݁♰ after you both crash over the edge, angela’s nuzzling into your neck with lazy kisses, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin as you both catch your breaths

݁♰ fetches water or snacks without letting go completely, feeding you bites of chocolate with her fingers

݁♰ will spoon you tighter, leg draped over yours possessively, murmuring how you’re hers and how she’ll always take care of you like this best valentine’s night ever