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muns0n86 · 2 years

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Red Lightning | Eddie Munson x OC (Chapter 2)

Chapter 2: Cursed Times

pairings: eddie x fem!oc

synopsis: With struggle but without much choice, Dana joins her two worlds together by bringing the gang to Eddie, who tells them what he saw last night.

warnings: slightly graphic descriptions of violence

word count: 6434

previous chapter: chapter 1: raining hellfire

a/n: sorry this took so long to get out--got super busy... but anyways here you go lol

Pinned against the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer. Limbs snapped in half. Slack jaw, blood dripping from the sockets of her skull.

Jesus.

I couldn’t stop imagining Chrissy’s body contorted like he had described. My head ached. A chill rippled up my back as I thought back to last night and how I passively noticed her in the gymnasium. She was doing a routine with the cheer squad, all smiles, like always–just like in middle school. I couldn’t imagine that face being the one that Eddie saw. How could a face so gentle and radiant so suddenly become something horrific?

I chewed on the back of my finger. It was about 11 AM now. Eddie’s uncle Wayne must’ve gotten home two hours or so ago from his night shift. But the world was still normal. Kids still fought over who got to play first game. People were outside, driving their cars like the only thing they had to worry about was the traffic that’d come around in the afternoon. Robin and Steve were still next door, alternating breaks to come and bother me–not so much Steve that day but Robin, definitely. I’m not sure what I was expecting.

I hovered my pen over the legal pad, trying to act normal and draw like I usually did. But I couldn't bring myself to think of anything other than Chrissy. So the page remained blank.

Eddie. He was so scared. I didn’t know what to do or say. I mean, what do you say? What was there to say?

“Dana!” Richie burst in through the back door, tugging his work vest on.

“You’re late, Richie–”

“Switch the station to the news!”

There it was. What I was expecting.

As he punched in his time card and came to stand beside me, I pulled the radio at the end of the counter closer to me and turned the dial, cutting the song that was playing short. Some of the young patrons turned around and groaned at the interruption. I raised the volume and stared straight ahead. Through the crackle, a firm, female voice began to form.

“...the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning…”

“Oh, God,” Richie said under his breath. I leaned my elbows against the counter, a fist over my mouth.

“...Police have not yet released the victim’s name, although we are told they are currently in the process of notifying the family…”

At that moment, I expected a squad car to come screeching into the parking lot and a cop to storm in and arrest me. For all they knew, Eddie Munson was no longer just a disruptive young adult. Eddie Munson was now a suspected murderer. And last night… I helped him get away.

“You believe me, right?” His voice was strained.

“Of course, I believe you,” I whispered back, interlacing my fingers with his. Still trembling, he squeezed my hand.

Eddie would never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it–least of all, some student just trying to get high. And the way he described what happened… No human being could have done that. Not anything of this Earth.

“Eddie, you have to go.”

“Where?” He tilted his head toward me but couldn’t look me in the eyes. “Where am I supposed to go?”

I tried to think of any place he could hide out for a few days. It couldn’t be anywhere too close to his trailer, the crime scene, but not anywhere too far that I couldn’t get to him in an emergency. We would have to wait this out. I would be his eyes and ears in Hawkins until something popped its ugly head out. I needed him somewhere safe.

I always knew that I would eventually have to tell him about the goings-on here in Hawkins but I never... I never wanted him to get involved. I never thought that he would get involved. Amidst the chaos, I never really thought of… him. Us… What it could mean if either of us got into trouble.

For the second time that day, last summer came to mind.

The Mindflayer died. The Gate was closed. Miss Byers–Joyce, she wished I’d call her–and Chief Hopper closed that gate. Hopper gave his goddamn life to shut that Gate up. But what if something got left behind? Some tie that wasn’t fully severed? It’s happened before. Knowing our luck, it could damn well happen again.

Suddenly, I remembered.

Hopper’s cabin. He kept El hidden there for months without anyone finding out. Eddie needed to hide someplace like it.

“Rick’s,” I whispered. “Hide at Rick’s.”

Rick Lipton was Eddie’s supplier, who lived down by the lake. Well, used to live down by the lake. That bastard was in prison now, leaving his house behind. Without a supplier inhabiting it, no one had any reason to visit the house anymore.

It was the perfect hiding spot.

In the parking lot, I spotted Dustin and Max riding in on their bikes. They pulled around the Ford Bronco parked outside and left their bikes there on the concrete. I craned my neck as they headed to Family Video. I would’ve brushed it off, since Dustin usually passed by, but when I considered the news and the fact that Max lived right across from the Munson’s, I knew that they knew something was going on.

“Richie, tell Jeff I’m taking five,” I said, getting off the stool and pulling up the counter extension.

“You do it!” He called after me. I shot him a glare. He held eye contact for a second then shrunk back. “Fine.”

I cut through the crowd forming at the counter. They were murmuring about who they thought it was and who they thought might have done it. I swore I heard Eddie’s name.

I stood outside the doors and watched them through the glass. They were all behind the counter. Dustin was on the computer, frantically typing, with Max and Steve hovering over his shoulders while Robin racked up a stack of tapes. They were blabbing over each other. I took a deep breath and walked in, trying my best to act nonchalant.

“It’s our busiest day–”

At the sound of the bell, Steve and Robin turned their heads. “Hey,” Steve said. “You hear the news?”

“Yeah… yeah,” I said, nodding my head.

“You okay?” Robin asked, slamming a fallen sign back up on the counter. “You look like you’re about to barf.”

Dustin and Max snapped their gazes toward me. We shared a knowing glance. By the look in their eyes, it confirmed they knew the murder had to do with Eddie. Dustin’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. Don’t say anything about him and me, I begged them telepathically. Not yet. When they each found out that I was with Eddie, I forced them to swear into secrecy. I needed them to continue their sworn silence. In my head, I told them, It wasn’t him, and hoped that they received the message.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just really shaken up by the news.” I nodded at the computer. “What’s going on?”

Steve picked up a tape and reached around to put it back on the counter. “Dweebs are trying to find that freak Eddie Munson’s… friend’s number or something.”

“They’re messing around, even though it’s our busiest day!” Robin yelled over her shoulder, dramatically shaking a couple tapes in the air.

Dustin returned to his notetaking and Max to her supervising. “Robin, I empathize, I really do but this cannot wait,” he said, scribbling something down.

Steve scrubbed his face in annoyance. “Oh, my God,” he muttered under his breath.

“Calling Eddie’s friends is an emergency?” Robin asked.

“Correct!”

She rolled her eyes.

Steve turned around to face me and Robin. “I think I’m gonna strangle him. Or do either of you want to take first dibs?”

“We could always take turns,” Robin said. I chuckled superficially. More an exhale than a chuckle, really.

Dustin nudged Max. “Fill them in while I do this?”

Steve and Robin spun around and we all stared at Max. Robin spoke first. “Fill us in on what?”

After Max recounted her view of last night’s events, they were all partially caught up to speed: something weird was going on. Dustin suggested we start calling up Eddie’s friends’ and find out what we could. He ripped out the scribbled papers from his notepad and spread them out on the counter, while Steve went to assist another customer that fit the ‘babe’ category.

“I’ll go get the other phone,” I said, stepping out from behind the counter. “It’s just in the office, right?”

Robin confirmed with a nod, one of the phones already tucked between her ear and her shoulder.

“I’ll show you,” Dustin said. As he passed in front of me to walk ahead, he stared in a way that meant We need to talk.

Silently, we entered the office. He rounded the executive desk and gestured for me to do the same, before ducking behind it. I crouched down with him where the desk made contact with the wall. There, the landline was hooked up to the cluttered outlet below. He waved his hands over the bundles of cables, pretending to unravel them.

He raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to initiate conversation.

“It wasn’t him,” I whispered. “He would never…”

He pursed his lips sympathetically. “I know,” he whispered back.

“He came to my house after he drove off.” I shook my head, remembering how badly Eddie was trembling. “You should’ve seen him, Dustin. He was scared. Really scared.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

I nodded.

“They have to know–”

“I know.”

I dropped my eyes to my folded knees and the room went silent again. Dustin moved to actually start unraveling the cords, then he paused to reach under his hat and scratch his head.

“Steve was going to find out eventually.”

I looked him in the eyes again and objected, “That’s not what this is about–”

“Yes, it is–”

“I don’t want him to find out like this!” I flung my hands in the air and let them drop on my lap with a slap. “This would… God, Dustin, years of excuses and not exactly lying but not exactly telling the truth. It would open up a whole can of worms– a giant can of worms I’m not ready to deal with at 12PM on a Saturday in a goddamn Family Video… Shit.” I scoffed in disbelief. I am an awful person.

“What?”

I shook my head. “My boyfriend’s an innocent murder suspect, who needs help, and what I’m worried about right now is having to tell Steve that I am, in fact, dating Eddie Munson.”

“What are you so scared of?” Dustin asked, glancing up at me below the brim of his cap.

This was a question I’d asked myself already–many times before. In the normal context, telling Steve about Eddie scared me because, despite not being the douchebag he was before, I felt like he’d mercilessly judge. In this not-so-normal context, the answer to that question came to me that morning in the form of another question. “What if we can’t find anything to prove that Eddie’s innocent?”

“Dana, we’re gonna–”

“No, it’s different this time, okay? I’ve thought about it. It’s not a kid disappearing, or a secret lab, or a military base under the mall. It looks like a straightforward murder. No cool Russian codes, no climbing through vents. We can’t just chalk it up to a case of mistaken identity or a mall fire. People already hate Eddie and it would need a lot of convincing to turn this shit around. If he goes… I just don’t want to lose Steve in all this, too.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to fix this,” he whispered. “And you should give Steve a little credit. He can be really stupid and stubborn but… I’m sure he’ll understand. They probably wouldn’t act like ol’ chums but, hey, if you told me back in seventh grade that Steve Harrington would be my friend, I would’ve laughed at you.” He shrugged then returned his attention to the tangled wires.

Steve’s upper body appeared over the edge of the desk. “What is taking you guys so long?” He leaned forward. In his hand was a Doctor Zhivago double feature.

“We wouldn’t be taking so long if you or Keith actually kept your wires organized,” Dustin replied, pointing a loop of tangled wire up at him.

Steve pushed off the desk to an upright position then headed back out. “Just hurry up,” he said over his shoulder.

Dustin shook his head and asked, “So you know where Eddie is, right?” He weaved the phone cord out of the tangled mess and unplugged it from the wall.

I nodded.

“The only way we can help Eddie is if they know. If he–” Dustin nodded in Steve’s direction. “--knows.”

“I. Know.”

He bunched the cord in his hands and pulled the phone off of the desk. He stood up. I did the same. Nearly eye to eye we stared at each other, then just as silently as we went in, we left the office without another word.

The only way we can help Eddie is if they know. He was right. He usually was. I was tempted to misdirect them, leave them in the dust while I went to Rick’s alone and tried to figure it all out on my own, but if there’s anything the past few years have taught me, it was that I couldn’t do this alone. If I was going to help Eddie, I would need help. I had no idea what I was doing. Dustin wanted to help. So did Max. Robin seemed a bit more thrilled by the chase but I believe she was willing to help, too. And with Steve… Well, this wasn’t how I wanted them to meet, but if Steve met Eddie, and saw how scared he was, he’d want to help him.

I would tell them.

But… the only information they really needed to know was his whereabouts and his statement, his point of view, right? I tell them where he is, he tells them what happened, then we leave him at Rick’s to do what we apparently always do now–figure this shit out. Leave out the part where he came to my house and climbed up to my window. Leave out the part where it was normal for him to do so because he did that almost every other night. In the grand Scooby Doo scheme of things, what were the odds the topic of me and Eddie would come up?

Robin and Max were working the phones like party line operators while Steve was escorting his latest failed conquest out the door. Dustin took his place beside Robin and set up the phone beside the computer. I remained on the other side of the counter. He shot me a look over his shoulder. I remained silent and thought about what I would say. I would tell them that… he might be at Reefer Rick’s. What the hell is Reefer Rick’s, you ask? Oh, well, you know, drug supplier’s house. How do I know about a drug supplier’s house? Um… Richie smokes. Richie told me about it a couple times. Do I know where it is? I know an approximate location–

Max got off the phone and said, “Guys, I think I got something. Apparently, they’ve seen Eddie sometimes around this guy’s place… Reefer Rick’s?” Oh.

Robin said her goodbyes to whoever was on the phone. “Sounds promising. Where does this Reefer Rick live?” Robin asked.

“See, that’s the thing. No one knows,” Max replied. I knew.

“Dana, you know anything?” Dustin asked, staring me down. Tell them, his eyes said. Just wait, my eyes said back.

I opened my mouth. “I–”

“Why would she know anything?” Steve asked, coming over to the counter. “She doesn’t even know Eddie personally.”

Dustin brushed him off. “Let her answer.”

“I’ve heard of it,” I muttered.

“I didn’t get a last name, though,” Max said.

I started to rattle off my false story. “Richie–”

“Bet the cops know a last name,” Steve said. “If this guy is an actual drug dealer, I guarantee you he’s been busted at some point. Could be he’s in the system.”

“That’s your suggestion, Steve?” Dustin goaded. “The cops?”

Steve shrugged. “I think they should be filled in on what we know, what’s going on.” Christ.

Dustin scoffed. “You think Eddie’s guilty, don’t you?”

“Woah!” Steve flounced his hand around. “I believe in innocent until proven guilty, all that constitutional shit. I just… don’t think we can rule it out.”

Suddenly, my worries about telling Steve melted away. It was one thing to call Eddie a freak. But assume he’s a murderer? I would not wait for him to give his testimony.

“Yes, we can,” I said. “I know he didn’t do it. Because I know him.”

In just a few words, I told them–though more directed at Steve–everything. I told him that Eddie and I were together, have been for a while. I said that he would never do anything like this and that in my years of being with him, I knew it to be true, and that I knew where he was hiding. Nothing beyond that. Steve didn’t say anything, didn’t ask any questions, didn’t show any sign of thought. He just stared at me until Dustin broke the silence, reminding us of the seriousness of the current situation; to which Steve just mumbled, “Uh huh,” in response. I clocked out of work, telling Jeff that I had a family emergency, and met them outside. Steve tossed me his keys and the silence continued as we got into his car.

The silence made the long car ride awkward. The atmosphere within the vehicle felt thick with the awkwardness. A bit of confusion from Robin, some annoyance from Max, as well as Dustin, mingled with the stoic distance of Steve made for a tense ambience. It was usually a bit easier to tell when something was bothering Steve. His emotions always leaked out in his expression. If he was pissed, he looked pissed. If he was sad, he looked sad. If his veins could spell out words to tell people how he felt, they would. He was easy to read. But this time around, he stared out over the hood of the car completely stone-faced, like a dam plugging up water–seemingly unbothered. And nobody dared to speak, just in case their words were the chisel that breaks the dam.

By the time we arrived, I had driven well into the evening. The woods were dark and still, my headlights guiding us down the dirt path. Soft moonlight filtered through the tops of the trees, like sunlight through water. The path seemed never ending. But as it started to become parallel to the edge of the lake, Rick's place emerged from the nothingness. There it was in all its shabbiness. 2121 Holland Road.

I turned into the driveway. We all got out of Steve’s car, flashlights at the ready. The others headed over to the porch, shining their lights through any pane of glass, and I hung back by the hood. I didn’t dare go any closer.

I’ve been here before. Only once. When Rick and Eddie were actually still on good terms.

Black Sabbath blasted in the living room and the smell of cheap beer permeated the night air. Smoke from an assortment of burning substances creeped out the door and into the front yard. College kids were keying cans and young couples sucked faces in dark corners. Eddie slid his hand into my back pocket and pulled me closer to him, leaving his hand there. Tipsy already, I laughed boisterously. He got the move from Sixteen Candles, which I forced him to watch last Tuesday.

“You okay?” He whispered in my ear. His breath fogged against the near-November air and warmed my neck.

I lifted my cup to take a sip and nodded. “Mm.” My hummed response reverberated inside the empty plastic vessel.

He chuckled. “Empty, huh? I’ll go fill it up.”

“No.” I swatted his hand away dramatically. “I’ll do it.”

He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, grinning. “Come on, I’m trying to be chivalrous here!”

“Oh, my knight in shining armor,” I mumbled. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek, leaving a lipstick mark. “But I’m not a damsel in distress. I can fill up my own drink.”

“Alright, you go do that,” he whispered and tapped me on my ass as I walked away.

I raised my cup away from all the prodding elbows and shoved my way to the dining room. Jenna and Benji were cheering on Gareth as he stuffed his cheeks with peanuts. He got to about 35 before he started gagging and had to spit them all out into an empty chip bowl by the window. They keeled over laughing as I ladled some more punch into my cup.

We had a short discussion about the last Hellfire session when chanting drifted in from outside. “Fight, fight, fight!”

“Holy shit!” Gareth exclaimed. Jenna and Benji joined him and peered out the window. I set my cup down on the table and peered over their shoulders.

A fight appeared to have broken out in the front yard, a circle of people surrounding them and egging them on. In the spaces between the bodies, I caught a glimpse of Eddie’s red flannel. Shit.

Yelling drowned out Black Sabbath and everyone seemed to sober up enough to absorb the fight. I struggled to break into the circle and by the time I did, Eddie was getting up from straddling his pinned opponent. He wiped the blood off from under his nose and jerked the shoulders of his flannel back on. On the ground, Rick was limp, his face battered up, and his shirt torn. Blood sputtered out the sides of his mouth.

Eddie bent over. “Talk about my mom or my girl like that ever again…” He scoffed, a smug look on his face, and spit on the grass. He stepped over Rick’s body and walked in my direction.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

Without answering, he took my hand and led me to the truck. In a second, we were barrelling down the road. And when the house disappeared from the rearview mirror, he pulled over.

“Goddamn– Piece of shit–” He seethed, slapping his hand against the wheel.

I reached out and wiped the lipstick still on his cheek, which was now swelling up. “Eddie… What happened?”

He froze under my touch. “Rick was…” He sighed and lolled his head back against the headrest. “Rick is drunk. He said some shit.”

“About me… and your mom?”

He rubbed the corner of his eye and sniffled. “Yeah.”

Eddie’s mom passed away long before I had the chance to meet her but by how much he talked about her and how he talked about her, it was like I knew her personally. He told me many stories of the fun they had together before she passed, his dad got arrested, and he got dumped at Wayne’s. He missed her deeply.

Rick must’ve said something truly fucked up to warrant that beating.

Eddie would still go to Rick’s after that, but never for long and definitely not for the night, only to pick up supplies.

I assessed the house. It was even shittier than I remembered it. Rusted water stains streaked the gutters, the result of months of unattended to gunk blocking the flow of rain. Piles of leaves stuck out above the edge and some brown sludge had overflowed onto the ground below. The front door still had a wreath from–I assumed–last fall, when Rick was arrested. I scoffed at his attempt to make the place homey.

Dustin kept ringing the doorbell.

“Okay,” Steve mumbled, finally speaking. “Well, that’s settled. I guess he’s not here.”

“He’s here,” I said, lowering my flashlight to the porch.

Dustin pounded on the door. “Eddie! It’s Dustin! Look, we just wanna talk, okay? No cops, I swear. We just wanna help… Eddie!”

Robin and I shushed him.

“Rick!” Dustin yodeled. “Reefer Riiiick!”

“Dustin!” Steve and I yelled in unison. I continued, “Rick isn’t here. He was arrested last year.”

Steve turned his flashlight at me. “And you didn’t think to tell us that in the car or before we started yapping our heads off?”

“I didn’t think it was important, we’re just here for Eddie. And the house is obviously abandoned,” I retorted.

He hiked up his shoulders and threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know what a drug dealer’s house looks like!”

“Well, welcome to the real world, Steven!”

He bounced his head mockingly. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Miss Dungeons and Dragons–”

“Oh, my God! I’m sorry I missed one game! Lucas has three more years of high school, there will be others!”

“Christ! It’s not just about the game–”

“I know that! But–”

“Shut up!” Dustin screamed. He definitely picked that up from Eddie. “Can we help Eddie first and then you two can argue like children?”

Steve rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the front door. I dropped my glare. Max rounded the corner again and stared at the four of us, confused.

“Did you find anything?” Dustin asked, breaking the silence.

Max nodded toward the other side of the house. I joined her where she stood and upon seeing the boathouse, I jogged ahead of them. I had no idea there was a boathouse. If Eddie wasn’t in the house, the boathouse was second best.

“Dana, wait up!” Steve called after me.

The boathouse was dank and smelled of mildew. The wooden planks of the floor were swollen from the moisture and they creaked under my feet. Squinting in the darkness, I scanned my surroundings with my flashlight. Frayed ropes hung from the beams, ladders leaned against the tin walls, and all sorts of boating junk were strewn about the place in a discombobulated manner. In the center was a parked boat with a black and blue tarp covering the top. I brushed past a table that had a bottle of beer, some open bags of chips, and an M&M packet. Oh, shit. I didn’t think to give him some food before he left. Thankfully, Rick left behind some snacks along with his house.

Something behind me shifted and clanged against the metal wall. I spun around, screaming. The flashlight’s beam landed on an oar by the entry that had tipped over and slumped against the doorway. Then came the rustle of the tarps. I turned back around, screaming again. Emerging from under the tarps in the boat was Eddie, who had a finger raised to his lips.

The others burst into the boathouse, calling my name. Steve, at the helm, armed himself with the oar by the door and gave a guttural scream–reminiscent of how he screamed last summer at the Russian guard before attacking him. But before Steve had a chance to make a move, Eddie pulled me behind him, grabbed the beer bottle, and smashed it on the edge of the boat.

“Woah, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” Steve cried out.

He rushed Steve and pushed him against the wall, pressing the jagged end against Steve’s throat. I screamed and shambled after him.

“Eddie, stop!” I yelled, grabbing his shoulder and pulling myself up to him. I gripped the edge of his denim vest, trying to pull him away, as I wrapped my other hand around his wrist. A few feet away, opposite of me, Dustin pleaded with Eddie. I eyed the bottle and Steve eyed me, panicked and silently pleading. Eddie looked at me, too. His eyes were wide, like they had been the last time I saw him. “It’s Harrington, it’s Harrington,” I huffed, out of breath. “Middle school Harrington. Steve.”

“He’s not gonna hurt you!” Dustin called out. “Steve, maybe drop the oar?”

Steve strained his neck. “Oh, yeah, Dustin? Drop the oar? Drop the goddamn oar?”

“He has a bottle on your neck! Drop. The. Oar!” I shouted into his face.

Steve relented and the oar clattered on the ground. Eddie’s cheek twitched from the noise. He glanced at me once more for confirmation–to which I nodded–before eventually pulling back. Steve went limp and I caught him before he slid down to the floor.

“You okay?” I whispered, hauling him back to his feet. I rested my hand on his chest. His heart was beating against his ribs.

Steve shook his head faintly, avoiding eye contact, then moved my hands off him. He sagged against the table and rubbed his hand against his throat. As Robin came up to evaluate him, I slumped against the wall where he had just been and caught my breath. The cool of the tin felt nice against the tension building in my head. My eyes traveled to Eddie, who’d sunken to the floor. He white-knuckled the neck of the shattered bottle and, with his other, he wrung his wrist where I had grabbed him.

Crouched down in front of him, Dustin spoke to Eddie in a slow, controlled manner and raised his hand to signal forward Max and Robin. They approached slowly, like Eddie was a wild animal. With his frazzled hair and the feral, glazed-over look in his eyes, he kind of reminded me of a lion.

“We just want to talk,” Dustin said. He reached for the bottle but Eddie recoiled.

“Dustin,” I whispered. “Give him a second.”

He took a deep breath then continued, “We’re here to help.”

“Dana told us what happened,” Robin said, “But we want to hear about it from you.”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Eddie muttered. He gaped up at me like a lost kid.

I rested the tips of my fingers on his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have asked for their help if I knew they wouldn’t.”

“So…” Max said, “Try us.”

Eddie talked us through Chrissy’s death, like he had in my room–slowly, intimately, reliving it again in his mind. He gave us all the gory details that couldn’t be made up. And just like I had listened, there were no interruptions, no questions. When he was finished, we couldn’t do anything but stare.

“You all think I’m crazy, don’t you?” He scoffed.

“No,” Dustin whispered. “We don’t think you’re crazy–”

“Don’t bullshit me, man! I know how it sounds–”

I took hold of his hands. “Eddie. They believe you, okay? Just like I do.” Everything that I’ve done to try and protect him from this was unraveling. “Three years ago, when Will Byers was missing, I came into school with a giant burn on my arm. I said it was because I’m a shit cook. It wasn’t.” But now that he was involved, keeping him out of the loop would’ve only made things worse. I sighed. “There are… things going on in Hawkins that you don’t know about. But we do–we’ve witnessed it, we’ve fought it, we’ve killed some of it. And we think that what happened with Chrissy may have something to do with what’s been going on the past few years.”

We explained the concept of the Upside Down to him and our experiences with it. The dark particles, imprints pressing in from the walls, Democreatures. We asked him for any physical evidence that might indicate a connection to the Upside Down. But besides the supernatural horrificness of Chrissy’s death, zip, nada, zilch.

“No, man, like I told Dana. There was nothing you could see or… touch,” Eddie said. He shifted uncomfortably on the crate. “I tried to wake her. She couldn’t move. It was like she… She was in a trance or something.”

“Or under a spell,” Dustin said.

Eddie looked him in the eyes. “A curse.”

“Vecna’s curse,” Dustin added.

“Who’s Vecna?” Steve asked.

Dustin’s breathing became jagged. “An undead creature of great power.”

“A spell caster,” Eddie muttered.

“A dark wizard,” Dustin said.

“An executioner,” I whispered.

After promising Eddie that we’d bring over a walkie and some food as soon as we could the following day, I trailed behind the group as we headed back to the car. Before going through the door, Eddie caught my hand and clasped it tightly. I looked back at him. His eyes were looking down at our rings.

On our right ring fingers, we wore matching rings–a little silver thing that resembled two slingshots holding up a gray-speckled black stone. There was no real rhyme or reason as to how we got it. It was my junior year, we were an hour out of town, hanging out at some mall to kill time before a concert. We were walking around a jewelry store, acting like money was no issue for us and, frankly, getting some weird stares. I pointed out a ring on the display, said it looked cool, and then went to get some pretzels for us. I didn’t think much of it. When I met back up with him at the atrium, there he was with a new ring added to his knuckles and a ring box he must’ve shelled out an extra $20 for. He gave it to me without a word. No explanation or anything. He wasn’t proposing, I knew that. But I didn’t bother asking.

Though, one night, about a year later, I figured it out.

Mom was out of town for the week, some stupid thing I couldn’t recall. We laid in my bed. A gentle breeze was blowing in through the window and the sounds of crickets and croaking frogs mingled with our heavy breathing. We didn’t talk–just stared at each other in the partial darkness, catching our breath. I could barely make out the tattoos on his chest. I didn’t get the chance to turn on a lamp as we stumbled into my room, so we were left bathed in the weak light pouring in from the hallway. We were hot and sticky and his bangs clung to his forehead from the sweat. With his back adjacent to the window, he loomed over me, his elbow propped up on the pillow next to my head. The beads of sweat on his shoulders were illuminated by the distant moonlight. His hand was cupping my chin, lazily caressing my cheek with his finger. I stared intently as he glanced between his hand and my eyes. I was in awe of the way his big eyes caught the light.

Then I realized why he bought those rings.

There, in the dark, his eyes–usually a nearly hazel color–were black, glinting with gray specks of light.

Mine must’ve looked just like his. Two gray-speckled black stones.

Without taking his hand away from my face, I wrapped my hand around his fingers, feeling his ring against my palm, and smiled.

“How are you feeling?” I asked softly.

“Like a goddamn pussy,” he said. He glanced over my shoulder then looked me in the eyes. “Meanwhile you’re like… some… Amazonian woman who’s not freaking out at all.”

“Hey.” I squeezed his hand. “I am freaked out. But you’re here now so I can’t afford to be freaking out. Not externally, at least.”

He kissed me. Gently, tenderly. Lingering.

Someone honked the car horn. Steve I guessed. Maybe Dustin.

“I gotta go,” I whispered against his lips.

“Hurry back, please,” he whispered back.

The ride back was not as awkward as the ride to Rick’s. Dustin, Max, and Robin sat in the backseat theorizing back and forth about what Vecna could be, what we had to do, what we could do. But while they chatted away, in the front seats, Steve had reverted back to his stoic disposition and I went quiet again, too.

This wasn’t how I wanted them to meet. Steve going to smack Eddie with an oar and Eddie going for Steve’s jugular didn’t exactly help for first impressions, either. I tried not to let my mind linger on it too long. This wasn’t important right now. Without the usual evidence of Upside Down evil, we had no idea what we were in for.

We pulled into the shared parking lot of Family Video and The Palace. After agreeing to meet up first thing tomorrow, Dustin and Max took off on their bikes, leaving me, Steve, and Robin to our devices.

I went around to my car and unlocked the door. “Goodni-”

“Ah, crap, I forgot my house key inside,” Robin said, patting down her jacket and pockets.

“Here.” Steve tossed her the keys for Family Video. “Don’t forget about the alarm!” He called after her.

“Won’t forget this time,” she said, tapping her temple. She laughed. “Dana, did we ever tell you about that?–”

“Robin, just get your keys,” Steve muttered.

Steve and I watched her turn on the lights and punch in the security system code behind the counter. With a grin, she gave us a thumbs up. We returned the gesture with forced smiles and continued to watch her as she went down the hallway leading to what I assumed was the employee cubby area, like we had in The Palace. In the silence, Steve and I quickly glanced at each other, then stared at random targets.

At the same time we started to speak, “So– Oh, sorry–”

“You go first,” he said quickly.

As hard as I tried not to think about it, I said the first thing on my mind. “This isn’t how I wanted you guys to meet.”

The fluorescent light coming from within Family Video was harsh against the night, casting shadows that split his face in two. Steve stared silently. His eyes were widened a bit and his mouth was open like he had something to say. Then Robin emerged from the doors.

“Alright, got my keys,” Robin said. Steve shut his mouth. “Oh, were you about to say something? I can go back inside, if you want to finish talking–”

“No, just lock up,” Steve said. He hesitated to look at me again. “Get home safe, Dana.”

I pressed my lips together tightly, then smiled. “Yeah, you, too. ‘Night.”

Later that night, I would lie awake until 3AM and dream about holding Eddie’s hand while we waited with Steve outside Family Video, where Robin had once again forgotten her house keys.

#eddie munson #eddie x oc #EDDIE MY BELOVED #joseph quinn #joe quinn #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steve harrington #friends #found family #robin buckley #dustin henderson #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson fanfic

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this-life-so-far · 3 years

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Title 1

Growing Up: The Early Years

The earliest memory I have of growing up is being in the back of my dad’s white GMC truck and hearing the opening guitar riff of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” being blared on the cheap speakers that were in the back seat with me and my sister. I’ll never forget just looking out the window and being “happy” when hearing the music and not having to care about what was going on in my family. In this memory I have, I vividly remember my father driving down the mountain heading towards Marion NC. In my eyes, the window was the perfect frame for a stage and every blade of grass that was outside the window were dying fans wanting to meet me. It’s odd that I’ve recently just started thinking about this memory lately, however it seems to be one of the few memories I can think of from my childhood that actually aren’t filled with some kind of dread. Whether that’s good or bad, it’s honest. There’s a certain innocence behind the memory and I think that’s why I cherish it so dearly. Within the innocence is something magical and I think I’ve always carried that feeling with me throughout my life.

Growing up, my family was poor. We lived in an old run-down trailer that had holes in the floors and busted-out windows that had plastic put over them to makeshift a window. We never had money, sometimes no food and sometimes no love. I know my parents tried their hardest and I’m just grateful that they provided a roof over our heads. The trailer would decline in shape over the years, but growing up in it, I never noticed how poor we were at certain times. I had toys, I had video games, but sometimes I wouldn’t have food. The necessity that any child shouldn’t have to worry about; however, one thing that I had was music. Music would become, and still is, the foundation of how I view the world in many different ways. One of my fondest memories was when my mother surprised my sister one Christmas with a CD/Cassette player. The CD player was the nicest thing in our trailer for the longest time. Along with the CD player, my mother bought her a bunch of CDs from one of those weird subscription services that were in the back of magazines in the late 90s. My mother and dad had picked out a bunch of 80s hair -metal CDs from the 20 something CDs you got from this subscription service. After seeing all of the Def Leppard, ZZ Top, and Guns N Roses CDs that were littered through the box, my sister came across her portion of the CDs. My sister’s portion of the CDs consisted of Spice Girls, NSYNC, Jordan Knight, Britney Spears, and a CD that she quickly tossed away that would later become one of my most prized possessions which was a Backstreet Boys CD.

After my sister neglected the CD for some time, I would slowly start listening to it and getting that feeling I had looking out the window of my dad’s truck and pretending there was an arena of people out there waiting for me. When I would hear songs like “As Long As You Love Me” or “Quit Playing Games with my Heart” I would dance and sing in my home and people would notice me. I never had that much attention growing up, so imagine what was going through the mind of a six-year-old performing in front of his family and them actually noticing. It was an escape and one that I was proud of. If I got sad (which happened a lot during my childhood) I would put on songs like “All I Have to Give” or “I’ll Never Break Your Heart” and just sit back and think about how it felt like I lost something. I was a six-year-old kid at the time who couldn’t have lost too much besides a Power Rangers toy or a Pokémon card, however, I remember hearing these ballads and becoming sad. I knew there was some emotion of love coming from the songs, but I didn’t know what it meant to me. I’m not even sure how to describe the feeling now, I just knew if things were bad in the home; I could put on the slow songs and hideaway crying while singing the chorus and if things were good, I could put on the “funky” songs and dance and be the center of attention. It was the music that helped me escape the chaos of everyday life. Even at this young age, I was ready to “woo” the girl of my dreams into

My mother was always my biggest fan. When she was in her right mind, there was no one else in the world that could make me feel as special as she could make me feel. I loved more than my mother, but when she was on one of her binges, she quickly became my biggest enemy. I can remember so many nights watching my mom pass out on the floor, in a restaurant, or even falling asleep standing upright while cooking for me and my sister. I would find out later in my life that my mother used substances to keep her away from her past. Thankfully instead of turning to substances like my mother to hide from the ugly past, I turned to music and that helped keep me straight through a lot of rough times in my life. My mother did love me with everything she had in her. I have no doubts about that. I just wish that I could’ve had the mother I knew she could be all the time. She was someone who is special. I believe that if she didn’t have an addiction that she would’ve turned out to be someone who could’ve made a difference in the world. She was kind, beautiful, intelligent, and everything that I strive to be to this day still, however, she carried around a burden that never got any easier to carry.

Even as a child, I wanted to help my mom carry that burden, no matter the cost. I remember being young and my mother asking me to help her look for my father’s pain pills. I knew that if I found them and she took some of them, she would play with me and be the “super-mom” I knew she was capable of being. Needless to say, many days when my dad was at work and my sister was at my grandparent’s home, me and my mother would spend the entire day tearing up our small little trailer apart looking for that magical little orange bottle of pills. I knew every time she would find them. You would hear a little giggle that was followed by the sounds of pills shaking back and forth in the bottle. I’ll always remember those giggles and the little smiles. I knew my mother was happy finding the pills and I was just happy that she was happy. I wanted a playmate during this time. I never had friends over because even at the age of 6ish I was embarrassed by our house and the conditions we lived in, so I needed a playmate and someone to watch me sing and dance for them.

I was always afraid of my dad. I’m not sure exactly why. He never was intentionally mean to me or my sister, he was just never really involved either. My father would come home from work and go straight to his bedroom and shut the door. It seemed like the only time he was up; he was fussing with my mother about the pills she had found and taken. I never appreciated that from my father in the younger part of childhood. I thought he was trying to make my mother not love me any more by not letting her have the pills that transformed her into “super-mom.” I really wish I had more to say about my father during this part of my childhood, however, it just seems like he wasn’t involved with me or my sister until a little later in our lives. I just know that if you made him mad and he came at you with the belt, he would be the s#!t out of you (there’s no nicer way to put it.) If that ever happened, it was time to cuddle up to the speaker of my sister’s CD player and cut on a ballad by Backstreet Boys. I used music to self-heal myself even back then. By the time we would get our whippings from our father, my mother could be found passed out somewhere. No one was there for us.

My sister was gone a lot during this time. She spent a lot of time with my grandparents during the summer days and almost every weekend with them during school time. I always loved my sister. I still love her and miss her like crazy. I know that with all of my heart. I’m just not sure how I felt about her growing up during this part of my childhood. My sister was made out to be a “golden child” of the entire family. She was pretty, nice, very smart, and she could actually sing too. She even had her own glamour shots done during this time and was deemed to be “destined for greatness” according to our peers. This left me estranged. How could I have any attention on me when she was that damn good? It wasn’t fair. She was better than me on all levels. I just felt like a forgotten puppy that someone left behind because they couldn’t care for it anymore. All I needed now was for someone to throw me in a van and take me away from my home and put me in a strange place (that would happen a little later.) I honestly don’t know if my sister ever knew how I felt about her growing up around this time. She would later protect me from a lot of evil caused by my parents, but during this time period of my childhood, she was my biggest enemy.

That never seemed to deter me from finding new ways to find attention. I know it sounds selfish, but as a kid, I craved love and affection. I needed it so I could build a solid foundation for my future self. I remember being younger and drawing a cartoon. I’m honestly not sure what the cartoon was but my mother was blown away by the ability I had to draw at a young age. After I amazed her with one of my cartoons, I just kept drawing. I remember vividly drawing pictures of Pokémon, SpongeBob, and even members of Backstreet Boys just hoping for her approval. I would spend hours on these drawings and once I completed them, I would rush to my parents to show them off. Years later when going through their things after a move, I would find where they saved some pictures I drew of Link from Legend of Zelda and that’s always meant a lot to me. They were quick to dismiss them, but they never threw them away to my knowledge. It was a weird dynamic, getting behind the scenes love, just give it to me now like they were with my sister damn it. I needed it to be stable because all around there were constant moments of doubt.

Within times of doubt, there was always something that kept me going. Just the tiniest little thing that would make me feel an endless amount of love. One night I remember vividly was my mother driving me around looking for Pokémon cards. She didn’t have a license and didn’t really drive often, but she knew how much I wanted them after getting my first Arcanine card from a girl in 1st grade and she took the risk to drive me around Spruce Pine looking for them. I was scared because looking now it’s questionable whether she was even sober when driving around with me in the front seat, but I just remember so vividly using passing lights from the neighborhood and town to light the card up so I could continue to look at the card. The card is long gone in my collection, but that memory is priceless because it just reminds me that my mother and father did have pure hearts despite the substance abuse issues.

There substance abuse issues would later lead to domestic discord and violence. One of the earliest encounters I remember from this time in my youth was when me and my father went to a yard sale. At the yard sale, I found some Mario Kart toys. The toys were of Bowser and Yoshi inside their karts if you were wondering. I was just in awe because Mario Kart 64 was a game my family always played together and to have toys based on the game, seemed like a foreign concept to me for some reason. I was eager to get back home to show my mother the toys, and when me and my father arrived home, I ran in to show off the toys. My mother acted like she cared but as soon as my father walked in, they started arguing. The arguing went on for some time, but I didn’t pay attention to it. I took my toys in the hallway and began playing with them. The stretch of hallway connecting my parent’s room to the living room was Rainbow Road and I was insisting on playing on this makeshift track for as long as possible.

After some time of arguing in the living room, my father decided he had enough and took off to his bedroom. Within moments my mother was chasing behind him and berating him to the fullest of her lung capacity. After my father slammed the door in my mother’s face, my mother went off and ran and got a butcher’s knife out of the kitchen and started charging at the door. My father had opened the door to see what my mother was doing and the next thing I know; she’s charging at him yelling “I’m going to slit your goddamn throat Pat.” I feared for my father and began screaming and crying. My father shut the door and locked it and after minutes of my mother kicking at the door, then finally she started stabbing the door with the knife. This was after my father had put his body up against the door to hold it shut so my mother couldn’t get into the room. I was crying and running away leaving my precious Mario Kart toys in the floor and after some time my mother quit stabbing the door and left the area. I don’t remember anything after that hardly other than my father putting up stickers and Pokémon poster on the bedroom door so DSS wouldn’t see the stab marks on the door. It’s so bizarre how you can remember the confrontation but can’t remember hardly anything about the cool-down period.

Thankfully no Mario Kart toys were harmed during this incident, only a child’s sanity. Times like these were the reason I truly hated my sister while we were growing up. She got to be away at my grandparent’s home, and I was stuck in the middle of the chaos. Don’t get me wrong, there were weekends that were perfect for a child to enjoy, but those weekends would get drowned out by the weekends I just mentioned in this incident. I had no protection during these incidents, but somehow, I was the one going to each parent to try and cheer them up. It’s just so cruel and unfair that I felt I had to be a support for both parents and try to pretend that everything was okay, especially while my sister was taking her weekend trips to Wal-Mart and restaurants with my grandparents. She was also getting NSYNC shirts too from them, where the hell was my Backstreet Boys shirt.

#self help #foster care #childhood

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

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Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Mew!

Commissions: Not right now but maybe at some point in the future when I improve.

Social Media: Tumblr: @nicetomeetmew Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nicetomeetmew/

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

I'm Mew and that's pretty much the only nickname I have on the interweb (although I was known as Brandy for a while but that's a very long story). I like drawing, writing, singing, baking, video games and messing about with my melodica. My favourite colour is black but I've recent had a fondness for purple and dark pink. My favourite animal is wolves but I also love sharks!

What got you into creating? what inspires you to keep creating?

I got into art because I kept seeing so many amazing pieces online and I kept thinking to myself: "wow I wish I could do that." I mean I still can't, but I'm trying and it's fun! And as for writing: it's actually my mum who got me into it and inspires me to keep going; whether it's fanfiction or an original work.

What's your creative process like?

Honestly I'm so new to this art stuff, I just start throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks (metaphorically, but that actually sounds kind of fun!). The only thing that's consistent is that I always end up covering my page with random shapes before I start. I think scribbling helps me get my thoughts in order and figure out where to start.

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I mostly use my tablet for drawing, but I like mucking about with chalk and oil paints for fun.

Is there a specific scene wrote that you are particularly proud of?

"On paper, she was perfectly lovely. Her skin was clear and fair, her hair fell in long gold ringlets around her face, and she moved with such elegance and grace she might as well be floating. But that was on paper. In reality… 'HEY! Are you listening?!'"

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing or art?

Hmm... honestly I find myself inspired by almost every artist I see. There's so much unique and gorgeous art out there and I think that taught me that everyone is different and that my art is never going to look like someone else's; because it's mine.

What got you into writing or art?

I just wanted to be able to do something. I have all sorts of thoughts going on in my head and using all the energy to create something seemed like a good way to go (that was actually my mum's idea).

What's your favorite part of the creative process?

I love character planning. I probably love it a little too much. I have a whole notebook book dedicated to backstories and headcanons and all that fun stuff. Nothing brings me more joy than creating a whole new life. I think I spend far too much time on the planning but hey ho. It's fun.

What's your least favorite part of the creative process?

Excluding my character plans: I hate following a plan. If I it so much easier just to fling words at a page, then mess around with them until the make sense and I'm happy with them. I tried planning out a whole story once and long story short, my notebook ended up in next door's garden.

What's your favorite type of scene to write?

I think I find it hard to find the line between "what I enjoy writing" and "what I'm good at writing". But I'd have to say, while it's scarce in most of the stuff I write these days, I love me a nice little emotional comfort scene. Hugs. Tears. Platonic kisses. *Rubs hands together gleefully* yesss.

What's the hardest for you to create?

As much as I enjoy fluffy scenes I find them an absolute nightmare to write because my brain immediately says "make them all suffer." I like angst, I really do but it's a bit of annoying when you're trying to finally write something happy for a character an then before you know it everything has gone to hell. Example: Character A has just won some big award, he patched things up with his bestie and things are finally turning aroun- his house is on fire, his mother ran off and he is now homeless and caring for his baby sister on the streets. And yes I came up with that off the top of my head. It's a real problem is you ask me.

What fandoms do you enjoy creating for?

I don't share all the stuff I draw and write but there are a bunch of fandoms I enjoy creating for mainly: Linked Universe: not one, not two, but nine Links? Yes please. I love brotherly bonding so much. Fire Emblem Three Houses: is probably the fandom where I love creating about ships the most. Sylvix sustains me as much as Dimileth does. Kid Icarus Uprising: Dark Pit. That is all. Legend of Zelda: Do I love theorising about the BotW sequel and writing about it? Yes I do. Very much. Pokémon: Writing about teenagers traveling the land with adorable and cool creature is as fun as you'd expect it to be. And I fit shipping in there too (Haudion and FerrisWheelShipping sustains my soul). Animal Crossing: The only fandom I only draw for. Tiny lil animal friends I just... yes.

What's the work you are most proud of?

In my BotW 2 deprived state a wrote a lil fic called Don't Be Afraid, based on the very little we know from the trailer. I put off posting it for weeks but I finally mustered of the courage to do it because at the end of the day, whether people like it or not, I'm proud of it. https://nicetomeetmew.tumblr.com/post/619037409470971904/dont-be-afraid

Where do you post your finished works?

I don't post a lot of my writing (okay I've posted it twice in my whole life heh) but it's pretty much just on my Tumblr. Although I do have ao3 and I have a longer fic in the works which I plan of posting there (eventually). https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicetomeetmew

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

The only art I've really shared so far is the Links from LU as Sailor Scouts (Sailor Links if you will). And, fun fact, that all stemmed from a simple discussion about what if Wild had a magical girl transformation when he changed gear with the Sheikah Slate. So I draw him doing the Sailor Moon pose in his Vai clothes and that's that, right? Nope. Next day I was watching Sailor Moon and I couldn't stop thinking about Sailor Wild so that next thing you know I'm drawing Wind as Sailor Mercury and then I'm making a list of the Links as Sailor Scouts and The Sailor Links was born. I even drew Fi as Luna. So a full month was filled with a project that was inspired by one simple discussion. And I'm eternally grateful because it was an absolute blast to do (drawing Time with a tiara is just as fun as you'd imagine).

#Meet the Creator #lu train2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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fy-enhypen · 3 years

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“I want to show everyone I can keep growing” - NI-KI

NI-KI was rushing around but showed no signs of tiring out. He found the basketball hoop and kept taking shots until he made a basket and, whenever he could find the time, practiced his moves for the cover dance video. Until he achieved what he was going for. Your Korean has gotten a lot better.

NI-KI: I guess it’s because when I was a trainee I learned a lot from watching reality shows and audition shows like I-LAND, and the other members also taught me a bunch. We discuss a lot before filming anything. If there’s some grammar or words I don’t know, I go right to JAY, since he’s good at Japanese. I don’t have a hard time in everyday life, but sometimes I get help from others while filming when there’s something I’m not sure about.

I guess you must have had many opportunities to take in not only the language but also the culture.

NI-KI: The food culture is very different; I can’t really eat spicy food. I like boiled mandu with meat inside so I’ve eaten a lot of those. (laughs) I think I learned a lot about Korean history and traditional culture when I went to Gyeongbokgung Palace.

The modern hanbok Jung Kook from BTS gifted you is also symbolic of Korea’s heritage.

NI-KI: Yes, you’re right. I thought it was cool when I first got it because I was also learning another part of the culture, plus I was happy to receive a gift from him. I still wear it every day. (laughs) My teammates save their gifts for special occasions, but now I wear mine way more than any clothes I’ve ever worn. It feels like I get good energy from it.

Was there a reason you came here after performing as a kid dancer in Japan?

NI-KI: I saw some idols including SHINEE for the first time at the Tokyo Dome when I was in grade school—not only dancing, but performing while singing, and that really stuck in my mind. After that, I was determined to become an artist like them and be the one on that stage someday. So now, here I am, in Korea. Actually, the dance moves I learned when I first came to Korea were totally different from what I was used to doing. The singing was, too, so I felt I wasn’t good enough so I practiced every single day. Any time I learned a new move while I was a trainee, I made sure to practice it until it was perfect before the next class.

You had a bit of a crisis while practicing for your debut: You were sent to the GROUND on I-LAND. When you became the dance representative and lost, you held back your tears even as the others were crying, until the producers came to cheer you up, and then you finally burst into tears.

NI-KI: I felt terrible for losing, but I didn’t want my teammates to see me cry, so I held it in. But when the producers suddenly showed up … I was thinking how there were so many things that didn’t turn out well since starting I-LAND and had no idea what to do, but then the producers said we did a good job and suddenly I started crying too.

NI-KI: Up until that point, even though I wasn’t sure if I could debut, I just wanted to make sure I had no regrets, so I tried my best to show everyone who supported me how much I had grown. In the end, when all seven of us put our arms around each other’s shoulders, I thought, “Wow, we’re really debuting!” Looking back now, I think it was fate for us to be together. I’m happy to have been able to debut with them.

What’s it like to live with six older team members?

NI-KI: We take care of each other when we’re having a hard time or feeling sad. Our sense of teamwork is getting better every day, too. The others are still really considerate towards me, especially JAY, who I could easily communicate with by speaking Japanese. Now we use Korean except for when we’re joking around.

During the debut show, you said you feel closest to JUNGWON.

NI-KI: I think it’s easiest to talk with him because we’re the closest in age. They all take a joke well—I love to joke around—but JUNGWON is especially good about my pranks.

But you share a room with someone else. (laughs)

NI-KI: SUNOO and I sleep in the same room. There wasn’t much of a chance to be close with JUNGWON during I-LAND, and SUNOO and I shared a room back then, too, so I got used to sleeping with him.

The other members often brag on TV or social media about you, the youngest member. How do you feel when you hear them complimenting you like that?

NI-KI: It’s a little bit embarrassing. (laughs) I still have a long way to go, so I feel kind of self-conscious when they talk me up that much. But still, I like it when they say I dance well. Sometimes I feel like, “I nailed it this time,” and it feels good when I hear them say it, too.

You feel embarrassed when you receive compliments, but you give them out to the other members often. In the “Given-Taken” reaction video, you clap and tell them again and again how great they look.

NI-KI: I love to compliment my teammates. I’ll usually just say whatever’s on my mind. The music video really was that cool, and also touching. It was physically draining, filming for three days, but the video turned out so amazing that I felt like I became a fan, too, after seeing it.

While watching the video together, the other members saw your scenes and said it was all freestyle and that it was mind-blowing to see on the day. What did you aim to express?

NI-KI: I wanted to make a strong impression with my dancing in all the scenes, so I talked it over with the performance director and danced freestyle to make it look natural. I added a dark atmosphere to the “Dusk-Dawn” trailer by intentionally twisting my back like a zombie. I wanted to make a completely new character for the music video for the lead single. I was reminded of a movie I saw before, but I wanted to show people something that was my own.

In “Given-Taken,” you break free from the chain around your feet and float in midair, singing the lyrics, “Between giving and taking / It’s time for my proving.” What did these lyrics mean to you?

NI-KI: I’m still having a hard time with that. (laughs) Hmm … I imagined myself struggling between what I was given and what I had taken. The “given” part makes me think of everyone who supported me and my debut, and also maybe my talent and luck. And I have “taken” the debut by running towards my goal. When I was on I-LAND I worried whether I would be able to debut or not, but these days I worry whether I can do a good job as a member of ENHYPEN.

So you’re still worrying, even after your debut.

NI-KI: I was especially nervous and prepared a lot for the debut show since it was our first ever performance. I couldn’t actually meet the fans because of COVID-19, but I was really happy we could at least see their faces. I wanted to really thank everyone who watched our performance. When we went back home after the show, JUNGWON and I talked about how, “Even though we had some hard times leading up to our debut, it was touching to meet our fans through that surprise video.” And then fell asleep at around four in the morning. That’s the time I usually go to bed, and I always read the letters I got when I was on I-LAND before I fall asleep, even though I’m tired. They always give me strength.

Did looking at the fan reactions to your debut also give you strength?

NI-KI: It felt good when I read one comment saying it exceeded their expectations. There were some negative reactions, too, but I try to see those comments in a positive light. It makes me think how I can practice hard and put on an even better performance next time.

The fans also give you cute nicknames. Which one is your favorite?

NI-KI: Boongeoppang. If they draw a picture of NI-KI, I hope that a picture of a little fish shaped pastry is included too. (laughs) For me, it’s all about the red bean boongeoppang. The other flavors are good, too, but I like the simplicity of the red bean kind. I eat them head first. I like Puma, too. Some fans posted pictures of me, comparing when I started I-LAND and when we finished, and said I look like a puma.

That explains why you use the leopard emoji every time you post on the Internet. It looks like a puma.

NI-KI: I communicate online a lot since it’s impossible to meet people face to face right now. I’ll do my best to repay all the people who have supported me until now. I’ll keep that in mind when we perform. And I hope ENGENE and ENHYPEN can finally meet as one. I think it’ll be more fun to perform for them after not being able to meet them for so long. I imagine our fun future performances whenever we practice. When we get a chance to see them in person, the very first thing I want to do is thank them.

What does this future performance you see when you practice look like?

NI-KI: I remember how incredibly beautiful the lights in the audience looked from the stage, when I found my dream. I want the light from everyone’s light sticks to shine on me like they did then. And I think it’ll give me a boost when I hear all of them cheering. I want to put on a wonderful show for our fans—a performance that we can all enjoy together, where we can communicate with the fans, like if we ride around the whole arena giving out gifts like autographed balls or something.

You’ve said many times, “Dance is everything to me.” What exactly does dancing mean to you?

NI-KI: When I was three years old, my dad showed me a concert video. I remember how after that I would watch that video alone for, like, five hours every day, just practicing. That’s how much I liked dancing, and I want to keep dancing forever. I think that’s the most important feeling in my life.

What do you like most, other than dancing?

NI-KI: Microphones. Headset microphones. Even before I dreamed of becoming an idol, I saw performers wearing those headsets and thought that I wanted to wear one someday. I imagined myself with my own microphone and in-ear monitors, so now they’re very valuable things to me.

And your childhood dreams came true. Now, imagining further into the future, what kind of artist do you want to be remembered as?

NI-KI: An artist who gives a lot of people good energy, happiness, and can move them. I want to leave people with a lingering impression. My hope is that I can keep growing in every way.

#201226 #enhypen #niki #t: weverse #t: interview

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captainchrisfics · 5 years

Text

“I told you so.”

About: Requested by @intrepidandabitcrazy , Chris has a thing for saying he told you so, specifically to the first person pov narrator he has a thing for, too. Between their close friendship, working together, and other relationships all standing in the way, pining after each other without realizing becomes commonplace. Full of angst, fluff, and some sexier scenes, but I wouldn’t call it nsfw personally. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 6,373 (Which is… shocking. Doesn’t feel like it imo but apologies in advance)

A/N: If you couldn’t tell by the word count, I enjoyed this prompt particularly. Thank you for submitting it and waiting so patiently during my break! It’s nice to be back :)

“I told you so!” Chris cheered, holding me tight to his chest as we jumped up and down in celebration. He was my first call when I got off the phone with my agent, prompting him to show up at my door with flowers and a bottle of champagne in his hands in no time. I’d just landed the role that everyone kept calling my big break and, while I didn’t want to get my hopes too high, I was already so far above the clouds. It was the lead in a movie Chris was directing and starring in as well, which already brought attention to the project. It was nerve-wracking so having him here and a bottle of France’s finest to take my mind off of it was a welcomed surprise.

Chris spun me one more time before setting me down. As much as I was looking forward to this project, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to spend more time with him, too. We met on the set of a teen movie what felt like a lifetime ago and haven’t been able to shake each other since, even after his career skyrocketed Chris among the stars. I couldn’t wait to work with my best friend again. I missed laughing over lunch breaks, all the sleepovers in each other’s trailers, creating more bloopers than we could count. It made the long hours feel shorter when Chris was next door rather than a rushed FaceTime call away, which had been the case more often than not lately.

Chris put the bottle he brought in the fridge and pulled out a beer for each of us instead. “Purely symbolic,” he explained, cracking his can open while he slid mine across the counter. “This is more our speed,” I agreed, cheersing our aluminum so hard they sloshed together. “Can’t believe we’re going to work with each other again-” Chris was cut off by my ringtone. It was my boyfriend, which caused a stone to drop in the bottom of my stomach, sending ripples of a feeling like I was doing something wrong to wash over me like waves.

I didn’t have any reason to feel guilty, I reminded myself, as I answered. “Hey,” I said, trying to mask the way I cleared the weirdness in my throat. “You got the job?” he responded, disregarding all pleasantries. When I confirmed it, instead of being happy for me, he was upset. Mad that I hadn’t told him. Angry that, while he was reading about the biggest news of my career on a headline, I was cracking open a cold one with Chris. Suspicious of Chris’s presence when the article claimed I was only cast because of our close relationship, to be an on-set booty call rather than an actress.

“Look, I know you said it’s not my business,” Chris said before I even pulled the phone away from my cheek, referencing one of the many arguments we had about why this guy was still hanging around. “But he’s a dick,” he finished, staring at me intently with a furrowed brow. The celebratory atmosphere was sucked out of the room, leaving Chris and me in a vacuum of air that felt too thick to breathe. I bit my lip, looking down at the drink in my hand to avoid the intensity in those blue eyes. I shrugged him off.

“I didn’t just get the part because we’re friends, right?” I fed into my insecurity, looking anywhere but his eyes until Chris reached across the counter. He tilted my head up by my chin, his crystal clear blue eyes transparent with honesty and imploring me to believe him. “I wasn’t the only one at the audition table and everyone who was agreed on two things,” Chris said softly but still with so much sureness. “This part was all but made for you and you played it like it was. That’s why everyone, including and not solely me, wanted you to have the part.” I smiled up at him in thanks as he tugged his hand from my chin and hesitated for a second, leaving it hovering in the air between us until he took the leap to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear quickly before retreating completely. It was intimate and gentle until he cleared his throat with a scratchy cough.

Chris shook his head and insisted, “Anyone who says otherwise will see they’re wrong once the movie’s out, including your prick of a boyfriend.” I shoved his shoulder gently, letting Chris know he should tread lightly. Chris only brushed it off with a roll of his eyes. “Honestly, it’s perfect for you. The whole time I was reading the script, I was picturing you already,” he said offhandedly, washing down the lump in his throat with a swig from his beer.

That piqued my interest. I watched my can as I twirled it in circles on the counter before looking up at Chris through my eyelashes. “You envisioned me as your love interest, huh?” I teased, my eyebrows perked along with the corners of my lips. This wasn’t a slip of the tongue he’d live down soon. A lot of people mistook us as a couple and everyone else said we’d make a good one, which was always something we found funny. It just wasn’t how it was between the two of us.

My eyes were drawn to the way his muscles grew stiff under his tight t-shirt. “That’s not what I meant,” Chris scoffed. For an award-winning actor, it was a sorry attempt pretending to be discreet. “What, are you nervous about kissing me?” I cooed jokingly, leaning towards him with obnoxiously puckered lips. “More like dreading catching your cooties,” he shot back, contorting his face to show faux disgust.

“I’m just excited to work together again,” I said, allowing for the change in the subject we so desperately needed. I walked around the island to bump hips with Chris, wrapping my arm around his waist while he reached across my shoulders and hugged me into his side. “Same here,” he said, smiling down at me. “We did some stupid shit to each other. Remember that time I put toothpaste in your Oreos on set?” I reminisced about our constant prank war which terrorized nearly the whole studio. Chris tightened his grip on me as he sighed and said, “Yeah, I can’t wait to get back to it.”

Before I realized what was happening, Chris popped his pointer finger into his mouth and then shoved into my ear- a callback to a prank I pulled many on him times before. “Evans!” I scolded in a gasp, drawing my hand to my heart. “I’m gonna kill you!” I screeched, but he took off and was out of my reach in seconds. Chris cackled as he ran down my hallway, stopping as he laughed too hard to continue. His hand rested over his left pec as he doubled over in laughter and his eyes squeezed tight, leaving him vulnerable to attack. I sent our bodies tumbling as I tackled him for payback, leaving the two of us tangled together and laughing until we cried on my floor.

“Told you so,” Chris said when he pulled away. My eyes fluttered open to see the goofy grin on his face, complemented by the rosy blush turning his cheeks redder by the second. My eyes nearly popped, so wide from the utter shock of what had just happened. “Yeah, that was pretty weird,” I laughed forcefully, trying to brush the awkwardness off. While I was too worried over playing my role just right, it didn’t occur to me that being Chris’s character’s love interest would be something that felt more paramount when the day of our makeout scene crept up.

I laid awake in my hotel bed, trying to sleep knowing tired puffy eyes wouldn’t go well with the firetruck red my face would turn the second Chris put his lips on mine. Hell, my skin felt feverish just thinking about it. I wrote it off as nothing more than nerves. I mean, tearing your best friend’s shirt off while attacking each other with your tongues, knowing everyone who thought you were secretly dating would pick apart every detail down to the passion, would make anyone apprehensive, right?

I’d been around this thought spiral so many times I was sure my tracks had worn a rut into my mind so deep I wasn’t about to pull myself out anytime soon until Chris showed up with a rope, ready to rescue me. He knocked on my door so soft with uncertainty I wasn’t sure I really heard it at first. Chris leaned against the frame in nothing but his loose pajama bottoms, his anxiety so evident it felt like I was looking in a mirror. “Can I kiss you?” he said like a confession, the words tumbling past his lips before he could think to seal them shut. I felt my jaw hit the poorly cleaned floral-patterned carpet. Chris stood up straighter like he’d just been shocked with electricity by his own words. “I am so sorry, that came out wrong,” he stammered. “I’m just kinda nervous about tomorrow and I thought maybe a professional platonic trial run without cameras and people staring would help break the ice, but if you don’t want to it’s totally okay of course I understand. This was stupid anyway-”

“Come in,” I accepted his invitation, if only to stop the utterly embarrassing rambling he’d resorted to. Definitely not because I was maybe even more fevered than Chris. And it had nothing to do with how soft the skin of his taut muscles seemed to be or how I was hyper-focused on the way I thought it would make my fingertips tingle if they would be so lucky to run along the dips of his abs. “I couldn’t sleep either,” I tried to reassure him as I closed the door behind Chris, eyes glued to his bare back as he walked toward my bed. Hips ticking from side to side like he was keeping time with each step, the muscles of his back rippling with each stretch as he climbed onto the mattress.

“This is going to be so weird. You’re not gonna like it,” Chris commented once I joined him on top of the sheets, still disheveled from my tossing and turning. I shrugged, bringing up how many on-screen kisses we’ve both had in the past. It couldn’t be that different or so I thought. It was a part of the job. “We’ve never kissed each other before though,” he countered, head cocked to one side in contemplation. His rosy, chapped lips hung open like an open door of invitation.

I took that as my opportunity. Fast and sudden, like I was trying to rip off the bandaid, I leaned in. He tasted like fresh toothpaste and the nerves of turning in an exam you weren’t too sure about. Chris was measured and reserved as he slowed me down, keeping his hands on my knees for balance. I laced my fingers together behind his neck as we sunk into the kiss so they wouldn’t be tempted to go any lower, trying to follow his lead. Then his fingers traced up my thighs slowly, like he was giving me a chance to stop him if I wanted, and then they slipped underneath the hem of my top, inching it up until his palms rested comfortably on the curve of my hips. My hands gravitated up, evidence that the floating I felt was real, and became tangled in his dark hair still damp from his shower.

I fell backward onto the bed, begging Chris to follow without saying so. He hovered over me, holding onto my hip so tightly it was like he was trying to make sure I was real. That this wasn’t the dream it seemed to be. Even though the script said it was supposed to be rushed and hungry as if we needed to devour each other, we took it slow. More like we were exploring, testing the waters before setting sail. In a fit of daring recklessness, I dragged a nail down his torso, outlining his defined muscles until I reached his obliques and hooked my fingertips under his waistband. My hips bucked up to meet Chris’s despite my better judgement, feeling him pressing hard against me to my surprise. He didn’t show any embarrassment if he felt it, we were so close there wasn’t any room for it between us. His tongue grazed my bottom lip and snuck by mine, eliciting a gasp from me. It wasn’t out of surprise or offense as much as Chris seemed to just suck the air out of me, leaving me breathless and empty without him as quickly as we’d started.

He was right, it was weird. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I did. Chris smoothed my shirt back down and smiled sheepishly as he stood in the doorway again on his way out. His eyes kept darting to the bed and part of me hoped he’d confess to being reluctant to leave so he could stay, but he seemed anxious to go as well. Torn between my room and the hotel hallway, Chris stared at me like he was looking for the same thing I was.

“It’s been nice working with you,” I joked half-heartedly, reminding the both of us that this was purely professional. Chris chuckled as he flattened his hair back down, not wanting it to dry the way it lay after my hands tore through it. “Yeah, all work no play,” he agreed with a tight smile before sighing indignantly. Chris leaned toward me, causing my heart to do some flips an Olympic gymnastics coach would be proud of until it plummeted when his lips landed on my cheek instead. He didn’t pull away for a beat too long, like he was thinking about something else.

“Goodnight,” he whispered with hesitation barely an inch from my ear, evoking goosebumps all over my skin. He wanted to say something else. “How much I liked it scares me too,” I croaked, even though instead it sounded like, “Sweet dreams.” He looked at me with empathetic eyes that said he understood as he added a “You too.” Chris tried to stall further with a scratch of the back of his neck, still not completely relegated to the hallway even when I closed the door and shut him out. “Do I even have to say I told you so?” Chris slurred in a sing-songy voice, re-occupying his stool next to mine at the bar with a slip of paper between his fingers. We’d been sitting there when he noticed a girl he thought was really pretty. Apparently, she worked as a makeup artist on one of his Marvel movies and he never got the courage to ask her out. Until he spotted her from across the room and claimed it was some sort of fate that brought them together.

“I think I should go talk to her,” he said, spinning in his chair without the balance to keep himself upright against the momentum. “Do you think I should go talk to her?” Chris inquired in a low tone, looking for some validation. “No,” I said without thinking like it was automatic. An involuntary, instinctual reaction in the same way that your leg kicks when the doctor hits your knee. He frowned against the tip of his beer while taking a swig. Chris cleared his throat, obviously a little rattled, and asked why. I didn’t have an answer though. I looked at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, trying to find the words to explain the feeling in the pit of my stomach.

My boyfriend returned from the bathroom. Unaware of the awkward air filling us, he wrapped his arm around me sloppily and tried to insert himself into the conversation. Chris turned to me with a tightened jaw, irritated by his presence. It was supposed to be just the two of us after all. But then my boyfriend asked where I was going and insisted that he could use a drink, though I knew it was because he was insecure about my relationship with Chris. He never liked when we hung out alone.

Chris slammed his beer down on the bar with a newfound fervor. “You still have him,” he said with a complete disregard for my boyfriend’s attempt at making conversation, jutting his jaw out in a pout. “So you don’t have a good reason why I can’t have someone, too.” Chris stormed away, stumbling as he tried to walk in a straight line. Over his shoulder, he grumbled, “I’m gonna get her number.”

And he did, just like he told me he would. I wanted to be happy for Chris. Since we’d known each other, neither of us had been in a long term relationship. Even when we were with someone, it always seemed to feel like they were the one who was third-wheeling. But then I met my boyfriend, things got serious, and Chris has been acting like the jealous odd man out ever since. I reassured myself that it was good that he was putting himself out there so we could both have other people, like he said.

Still, it didn’t ease the feeling I couldn’t identify simmering the pit of my stomach. It was like I felt everything in me bubbling as it came to a boil, but I tried not to read into it. After all, it may have just been the whiskey. Brown liquor always upset my stomach, I reminded myself in spite of the heaviness in my chest and the thoughts of what occurred to me were jealousy which failed to corroborate this excuse.

“That’s great,” I said, faking a smile. Either Chris’s eyesight was too blurry from the alcohol to pick up on my facade or he was too distracted by the way his new girl was side-eyeing him sexily from across the room as she flipped her long hair in his direction. New girl implied there was an old one and then I realized it might be me, which I certainly was not or at least I didn’t think so, but I mean maybe I was how was I supposed to know? That doubt alone was enough to send me into a spiral.

“I want to go home,” I spit out, all too suddenly in Chris’s perspective. I craned my neck into my boyfriend’s side, who was already standing up and eager to leave. He stuck his hand in my back pocket, which Chris stared at with his eyes cast down and an uninhibited scowl. “C’mon,” I urged him, though he stood sturdy like a tree planted in place. Chris shook his head. Usually, he walked back with me to the place my boyfriend and I started to share since it was pretty close to the bar and slept off his hangover. Then this crooked, devilish smirk crept onto his face as he caught the piercing eye of the girl from before and he informed me of his other plans.

“Get home safe then,” I said stiffly. I crossed my arms over my chest and stuck my chin up a little. “You have fun with yours and I’ll do the same with mine,” Chris promised like it was a punishment, for who I don’t know. “Oh, I will,” I said with narrowed eyes as I stabbed my pointer finger into his chest, suddenly overcome with a fit of anger I couldn’t explain. “Isn’t that right, babe?” My boyfriend shook his head and dragged me out of the bar, insisting all I needed was to go to sleep.

On the walk home, as I ranted about Chris’s nerve and his audacity to shove his sex life in my face, my boyfriend stopped short of our apartment. “Why do you care so much about who he sleeps with?” he asked clearly exasperated, a fury of his own evidently boiling just below the surface. “Look, it’s obvious you have feelings for him. I’m getting sick of the up and down, of being in love and so sure you’re just as in this as I am. And then I see you around Chris and I’m not so sure. If you’re leading me on and you want to be with him, just say so. We can end it now,” my boyfriend said, his voice rising with each word like a kettle.

I shook my head meekly. “No… it’s not like that. I don’t want that,” I said, feeling so feeble under the weight of his accusatory stare. “I want you. Only you,” I insisted, though I wasn’t too sure who I was trying to prove that to at this point. I was starting to suspect I was the one who needed the reassurance. It didn’t matter though, Chris didn’t want me anyway. So I kissed my boyfriend with everything I had left in me to convince him of it, too. We stumbled backward, falling into each other like you’re supposed to. But his touch wasn’t the same as Chris’s, making my skin tingle with every bit of contact. His kiss wasn’t like Chris’s either, we didn’t move together in the same way and he didn’t taste as sweet. He wasn’t able to make me feel the same way, like my heart was ready to explode from my chest. He just wasn’t Chris.

“Why would I say I told you so?” Chris said as he wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in a hug so tight I thought I heard a rib crack. It was late and he looked tired, but he answered my call without a second ring when I tried to reach out.

My boyfriend- well, ex now. My ex and I got into a row over Chris. Again. It’d been a few months since he first blatantly confronted me about it outside the bar, and it only snowballed from there, growing bigger and gaining momentum until it finally exploded. He couldn’t take the rumors of me cheating on him with Chris anymore, which were worsened since the release of our movie.

He trusted me enough to know they weren’t true, but he was certain I wanted them to be. He couldn’t unsee a love in my eyes when I looked at Chris he didn’t feel. He couldn’t shake how I lit up when Chris walked into the room he was already in. He couldn’t ignore it anymore and he insisted I needed to stop doing the same. I still persisted that he was wrong and if he was really so sure of it he should break up with me himself. Then he did.

I left our apartment with an overnight bag and Chris on speed dial. I explained it all to him on my way over and, by the time he asked me to spend the night so he’d know I was safe, I was already at his front door telling him he could gloat about being right as he usually did. “Go ahead and just say it already, you told me so,” I choked out, trying to get a reign on the tears threatening to stampede.

“You need a friend not a smart ass right now,” Chris said softly before kissing the top of my head and pulling me inside. I saw the girl he took home from the bar curled up on his couch under a blanket they’d been sharing, shooting daggers at me with her eyes. Then the crushing reality of their burgeoning relationship hit me like a ton of bricks sitting heavy on top of my already oppressed chest.

“Can I speak to you, Chris?” she said steadily, the venom seething from her words still apparent. He nodded and took the time to set me up with the tv remote and another blanket as she hovered with crossed arms, tapping her foot impatiently. I avoided her by gluing my eyes to the movie they’d had on already, though I still felt her lethal gaze. Chris followed her down the hall until I heard what sounded like the furthest door slam shut.

They weren’t gone for long before I heard the door being ripped open so hard it hit the wall. Chris’s girlfriend came storming down the hall with her purse slung over her shoulder and angry lines etched into her expression. She stopped short of the front door and backtracked until she was face to face with me, jabbing a pointed finger into my face. “This is your fault,” she spit at me. “If you didn’t have Chris so far up your ass when you don’t even bother to give him anything in return he’d have room for other women in his life.” She looked at me with wide eyes, expecting a fight. Some sort of comeback. Maybe even just a little bit of a challenge. Instead, she was met with my surprise. “He’ll get sick of it and leave you too, you know,” she tried again to provoke some sort reaction capable to satisfy whatever bloodlust was coursing through her. Instead, she got nothing other than my inability to do anything but sit there and stare back until she grunted with dissatisfaction and left with the slam of another door echoing behind her.

“Chris I didn’t-“ I started, but was muffled by his chest. In mere seconds he’d reached the couch and cradled me in his arms, dragging a heavy hand over my hair soothingly. I wanted him to know I was sorry for screwing yet another relationship up in less than a day, let alone his. I wanted to tell him I shouldn’t have been here in the first place considering how angry it always made my boyfriend when I ran to Chris when things get tough. Now I made them tough for him too and I had no one to blame but myself. He had no one to blame but me either. I wanted him to know I understood that I’ve been playing with him like a yo-yo. Up when it was just the two of us, when we could share a drink without thinking about who was missing because nobody really was, when we could kiss until we couldn’t breathe and call it work so we could ignore the repercussions or implications. Down when he wasn’t really the one I got to go home with at the end of the night and he was left thinking about what I was doing with my boyfriend while I compulsively wondered what I could be doing with Chris, when our friendship became a ticking time-bomb threatening every other serious relationship in our lives. Now it had exploded and I was left with Chris among the wreckage finally realizing that I was the one who caused all the damage.

Chris looked worn as a result of his creased forehead as he stood before me, pinching in between his nose. Tired of the up and down. This was the part where he’d yell at me to get out, realize that I’m the reason he’s alone now, refuse to have anything to do with me as he realized she was right too. Instead, Chris turned to me with a sigh, putting on a tired smile that didn’t strike me as particularly disingenuous. “I know,” Chris said, his tone forgiving and full of tenderness. “Don’t apologize for anything and don’t listen to her either. I’d never waste my time on anyone who’d treat you like that and neither should you,” he reassured me only slightly, which served as a stark reminder that Chris may not actually be able to read my mind. If he could, he’d know there was so much more to be upset about than some girl saying mean things to me. The issue was that they were true.

Chris sat on the couch angled toward the tv and tugged me into his lap, wrapping a blanket around the two of us like a cocoon shielding out the rest of the world and keeping us safe inside. “We don’t have to worry about the rest of it right now. Let’s just watch some trashy reality tv and be grateful our lives aren’t that terrible, huh?” Chris proposed with a tipped eyebrow and a soft, gentle smile tucked in between the dark beard that was starting to outgrow his face.

I accepted, snatching the bowl of popcorn from the table and resting it in my lap. After all, it was tempting to try to find some normalcy after the night we’ve had. Chris reached and I thought he was going to take a handful of the snack until his hand found the other side of my him instead of the inside of the bowl. Chris wrapped both arms around me in a hug from behind and pulled me as close to his chest as he possibly could. He rested his chin on my shoulder, scratching my cheek with his beard and filling my senses with Chris. He smelled like fresh mountain air where you could really breathe for once and the excitement of a football game’s crowded stands amidst the fans of the winning team. Chris’s heart beat fast against my back. It wasn’t comforting in a calming kind of way since it seemed to flutter as fast as a hummingbird, but it brought me peace to know he was feeling it too. Just as excited as I was. Instead of questioning it too much, I snuggled deeper into his chest, conscious of how we fit like puzzle pieces.

“I think Kourtney is my favorite. She just seems the most normal,” Chris said quietly given his proximity and somehow completely normally amidst everything else. “I think I like Kim better,” I said, following his lead and tossing a few pieces of popcorn into my mouth. Chris gave me a quizzical look to which I elaborated, “It’s the drama.”

He nodded in understanding before hanging his mouth open and nudging my shoulder with his chin, asking for some popcorn for himself. “Only if you catch it,” I insisted, a mischievous smirk playing on my lips. Chris told me I was on, freeing me to crawl to the other side of the couch for some yardage. He missed the first but caught the second with a resounding cheer from the crowd, being just the two of us. Chris jumped up and pumped a fist into the air before betting me he could catch it from a farther distance.

The next morning I woke up to see Chris just inches away, looking like a dream with all of the affection in the world swimming in his ocean eyes. He was staring at me like he was in just as much disbelief as me, the corners of his pink lips turned up in a small smirk. “This is the best way to wake up,” Chris sighed wistfully. His morning breath hit me like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t as bad as his post-coffee breath yet, hinting that he hadn’t been up too long. “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch,” he confessed like he’d been waiting to tell me this whole time. “Or rather, what wouldn’t have.”

Then I remembered waking up, propped on the toilet in the middle of Chris scrubbing at my face with some makeup wipes I’d left in his guest bathroom. He grew sheepish when he realized and said, “I know how much you hate sleeping with all this shit still on, but I didn’t want to wake you up. I’ve got an old jersey and some new boxers for you to sleep in. Honestly, I’m really glad you woke up before I had to figure the whole changing thing out,” Chris rambled as he scratched the back of his neck nervously, backing up until he bumped into the towel rack as if he was recoiling before this had the chance to backfire.

I realized it all in that moment. With Chris crouching in front of me on his bathroom floor, a dirty wipe in his hand and his eyes pleading me not to think he’d overstepped his bounds and my heart just bursting with thanks for him, that I really loved him. I couldn’t write it off as platonic anymore, suppress my feelings while fearing that he may not reciprocate, worry about risking our friendship, or pretend that any other reason I could think of to keep us apart meant more to me than us being together. Even with my brain still foggy from sleep, it was as simple as that. All I could do was be honest and hope Chris felt the same. So I reached out to caress his scruffy cheek, my arm moving through the air between us like it was molasses. “Thank you,” I said with a shaky breath so quietly that it could’ve been drowned out if the sink dripped at the right second.

Chris froze like a deer in headlights about to be hit. Or maybe he was nervous that I’d be the one scared away by any sudden movements. “Chris,” I said seriously, tiredness still evident in my scratchy throat. “I love you.” I forced every ounce of passion and confidence I could muster into those three words, hoping he could feel even a fraction of it as my eyes bored into his. We’ve said those words to each other a million times before, but never with this sort of gravity. Never with the feeling so strong and sure in my chest, never feeling like I was floating in the utter empty nothingness of space. So vulnerable out in the open, bare and alone.

Chris furrowed his brow and scrunched his nose, looking at me like I had three heads. “Yeah, you know I love you too,” he said in confusion, taken aback by my sincerity. I shook my head and tried again, knowing nothing was going to stop me from saying it now. Not after all of this time. “You don’t get it, Chris. I really love you,” I said again, stressing it even more now. I probably seemed insane, sitting on Chris’s toilet with an old Patriots jersey balled on my lap and staring at him so hard my eyes started to ache in an attempt to profess my feelings for him. “It’s okay if it isn’t mutual I just had to say it-” I started, feeling like I was still drifting into space as my tether to him floated in the other direction.

Until Chris broke out into a grin so big looking at him made my cheeks hurt, pulling me back into his orbit in a hurtling ball of excited fire. He held my hand on his cheek, bringing it down and lacing our fingers together. “You really love me?” he asked incredulously, looking between our entwined hands and my bobbing head like it was too good to be true. “I really love you too. Fuck, you don’t know how good it feels to say that,” Chris admitted, sighing like the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders as he squeezed my hand even tighter. “I think I do,” I giggled.

He looked at me one more time before gathering my cheeks in his strong hands, pressing his lips hard against mine. It was thrilling and comfortable and exhilarating and familiar in only the way Chris was to me, completely free of everything else. Every invasive article, every judgment from another, every nervous insecurity, every single thing that had been standing between us seemed to melt away in our heat. It felt like we were a sun, tumbling together as we shot through space in a series of small explosions amounting to a hot bomb of life-giving light.

Chris fell to his knees in between my legs as I balled his shirt in my fist, pulling him as close to me as I possibly could. The kiss was considerate and slow, still finding our way out to open waters but relishing in the unabashed adventure of each other even more so than the first time we kissed. This was completely different. We couldn’t pretend to be people we weren’t playing out a romantic scene. It was really Chris who was tangling his fingers in my hair of his own volition, it was entirely up to me when I wrapped my legs around his hips. Now it was just the two of us. Chris and I.

I liked the sound of that, maybe even more the next morning. Standing in Chris’s bedroom, wearing nothing other than his Patriots jersey and watching our reflections in the full-length mirror as he crept up behind me, wrapping his strong arms around my waist and placing a kiss on the top of my messy bedhead.

“How're pancakes for breakfast?” he asked, although I suspected my only other option would be a nice bowl of cereal Chris couldn’t burn. I laid my arms over his, holding hands in a messy dog pile of fingers. “I’d like that,” I responded. “Do you have-”

“Blueberries? Yes, just for you,” he finished my sentence. Chris didn’t move to the kitchen. Instead, he stayed standing there with me, watching ourselves as he swayed slowly in the mirror. Barely being able to tell where Chris ended and I started, we were completely at peace together for the first time in what I hadn’t realized was a long time.

“You really love me too, huh?” I asked, looking down at our interlocked hands. I didn’t think I’d love the picture of his big hands, calloused from countless football matches, dwarfing my own as they laced together as much as I do. Chris shrugged like he couldn’t believe it either, a funny smile playing on his lips letting me know a witty response was just on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I told you so. Didn’t I?” he crooned, breaking out into a grin so big it crinkled his eyes.

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

Text

Idle Hands Are an Angel’s Plaything by mattzerella_sticks

Three cases - man kills wife. woman steals from where she works. employee kills their boss. They shouldn't have anything in common. Except all three suspects claim they have no memory of committing the crimes they're charged with. Sounds exactly like a case for the Winchesters.

Three days investigating, however, and they're drawing blanks. Nothing adds up in any way that makes these crimes align into a neat box. Dean's ready to call it quits, but humors Sam and Cas by agreeing to interview a few more people. However he soon starts to believe this town has something pertaining to their expertise when he suddenly finds himself its next victim.

Will they manage to defeat the monster without Dean doing something he'll regret? Or will the only way to free himself is to let go of the chains he forced himself into long ago?

For the @supernaturaltropecelebration and their amazing Halloween Challenge!

Kevin grunts in his sleep, trying to wake up from the strangest nightmare. Blinking into consciousness he finds himself in a different position than when he fell asleep. Instead of his eyes adjusting to see his beige ceiling, he stares into the bloodshot stare of his wife Darla. His hands at her throat, grip slack.

“Darla?” he whispers, hands moving to her shoulders. Shaking, he asks again, “Darla?” More panicked, twitching fingers returned to check for his wife’s pulse. A sob crawls from his chest as he realizes nothing beats against his touch.

“No, Darla,” he whispers, rolling off her and collapsing back onto his side of the bed. “How did this happen…”

His hands stay frozen at his sides until he works through his shock and calls the police.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Impala pulls into the diner parking lot, fitting in between a rusted truck and a Prius. Dean sneers at the latter car as he gets out, “Fuckin’ douche mobiles…”

“Dean,” Sam sighs from the other side, “focus.”

“Why? We have jack shit anyway.”

“There’s got to be something tying these crimes together!”

“Yeah, humanity ,” he scoffs, leaning against his Baby’s hood, “Listen, I’m not sure if there's anything happening here that falls under ourjurisdiction, okay?”

Sam rolls his eyes, dialing up the softness in his features. Resembling more labradoodle than man, he asks, “Can we go over it all one last time?”

Dean tries to resist, but he succumbs to his brother’s masterful manipulation. “Fine. But let’s at least grab a booth before it gets too crowded, okay?”

Nodding, Sam moves away from the car and over to the diner. Dean turns to Castiel, the angel perched on the hood as well. A silent observer to their bickering. “You think there’s any foundation under the house Sam’s building?”

Head skewed to the side, Castiel squints at him. “While these events are muddled and pedestrian… you two have had less to go off of.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, tapping Baby’s roof twice, “we have.” He pushes himself off, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “Come on, otherwise Sam’ll order us all salads.”

“I’d like some fries.”

“Well you can order your damned fries when we get inside.”

They walk together, barely an inch of space between them. Castiel’s arm brushes against his with each step, each time making the blush burning his neck to grow hotter. He could move away, but Dean chooses to stay on his path. Reasoning that Castiel should be the one to do so, finally learn about the personal space bubble he frequently bursts. Eleven years, countless battles, and all of pop culture downloaded into his mind in the span of a second and Dean still has to tell him how if he can feel his breath when he talks Castiel isn’t far enough away.

Sam arches an unimpressed brow when they enter, handing them their menus. “Took you long enough?”

“Bite me, Sammy.”

“I’d rather the food. Less calories.”

Dean exaggerates a frown, Sam copying him. Castiel elbows him in the side, glancing between the two. With a sigh he drops the argument, burying his head into the menu. Keeping silent when his brother and angel carry on the conversation. Only surfacing when the waitress swings by asking for their order.

As expected Sam orders a salad, while Dean opts for a BLT and Castiel asks for his fries. Once the waitress is out of earshot, Sam looks to him. “So,” he starts, “can we go over the case now ?”

Tamping down his comments, Dean nods wordlessly. He fiddles with one of the napkins, bending and crumpling the edges before smoothing them. The urge to tear them up spikes, but Dean ignores it. Not in the mood for one of Sam’s lectures about wasting napkins.

“Now the reason we came here over going home was because of the first incident, where a woman was arrested for murdering her co-worker. Although from how she told it to the press, it wasn’t her.”

“Except,” Dean cuts in, “while Cas and I interviewed her, you checked the footage and didn’t see her eyes flash.” What Sam saw, and related to them, was how Kristie twisted the oxygen valve in the storage shed enough that its contents would hiss open. So when her boss, Mark, went for a quick smoke break, the tossed match would ignite the canister and obliterate the shed, everything and every one in it.

“And from our conversation,” Castiel adds, “she didn’t seem too regretful of her co-worker’s death.”

Kristie confided that bad blood existed between her and Mark. That he offered to help her with her diving suit near constantly, made suggestive comments and harassed her often for a date. “I mean why should I be blamed?” Kristie asked, “He was the idiot who kept smoking near oxygen tanks even when Larry told him again and again to find somewhere else to take his breaks! All I was doing was counting our inventory… sometimes I’m just on autopilot, y’know, it’s so boring… anyone could have made that mistake!”

“But then there were the others,” Sam continues, swiping around on his tablet. He shows the articles he pulled. “Banker who transferred over a hundred thousand into her own account and the man who strangled his wife in their bed.”

“Doesn’t mean there’s a shifter though.”

“Three instances where people claim they have no memory of committing a crime?” Sam scoffs, “Might not be a shifter but it’s something .”

“What else could it be, Sam?” Dean rolls his eyes, “Cursed object? All three of the perps didn’t mention buying or finding anything strange, and I doubt one of those could travel so far in a few days. Especially since none of them travelled in the same circles. Witches? There’s no pattern - usually it’s either murder or theft, they don’t do both!”

“So maybe we need to work harder,” Sam growls, slapping Dean’s hands, “and quit it! I thought I told you how much I hate when you do that.”

Dean frowns, following Sam’s gaze to see the sprinkling of napkin shreds all around him. He drops the rest of it, whipping wide eyes up at his brother. “Sorry,” he says, “must have lost focus or something…”

Sam sucks in a sharp breath, judging him silently through his pointed expression. Feeling guilty, Dean ducks his hands under the table.

“As I was saying,” Sam says, “There’s probably something we’re missing… or we’re not considering. Usually we’ve at least spoken to a witness or a family friend at this point, but with how every day there seems to be a new crime we hadn’t had the chance to.”

Dean snorts, “They should really change their town motto. Most exciting hamlet on the bay…”

“I agree with Sam,” Castiel says, “we’ve learned nothing from simply combing through crime scenes or questioning the suspects.”

“At least we’re all on the same page about that,” Dean hums, eyeing the waitress as she sways closer with their food. “Case talk over with, now’s time to eat!”

The waitress arrives as Sam readies an objection. Unable to raise a protest, Sam swallows back his words to make room for his salad. She hands each boy their order, taking extra care when giving Castiel his. “Now would you like anything else?” she asks them, eyes trained on his angel.

Castiel smiles at her. “No thank you, we’re good.”

“Are you sure?”

A tornado whips up in his stomach, upending the trailers of his emotions settled there. His jaw tenses, fingers flexing as he watches her flick her ponytail to the side. A voice whispers for him to trail fingers through Castiel’s hair and repeat what his angel said, to glare at her until she walks away.

He doesn’t do any of that; instead hissing a breath out his nose and digging into his sandwich.

She leaves soon enough, with a promise to return at a moment’s notice. Dean sulks into his burger, cheeks puffed up as he eats.

The others at the table discuss their plan while they eat, every few beats looking to Dean for his input. With his mouth almost always stuffed Dean didn’t talk. Each time Sam found him with gnashing teeth and crumbled foodstuff his lips curled ever downwards. Castiel seemed confused at Dean’s sudden mood shift, unknowing to what caused him to withdraw.

Unfortunately the sandwich, as large as it was, couldn’t last forever. And his voracious appetite meant he finishes far faster than everyone else. Sam still has half his leaves on his plate, speaking more than he ate, while Castiel picked at his fries.

Now without any sort of shield, his brother expects him to participate. Dean nods and answers when needed, but completely checks out of the conversation.

It’s not like him to do so on a hunt. However it’s their third straight one after a salt n’ burn and a harrowing ghoul hunt. Where Dean was almost intimately familiar with what a spike tasted like, if Castiel hadn’t burst in at the eleventh hour. White shirt sticky with sweat and stained with dirt, hair damp against his forehead. Apparently the ghoul tricked his angel, smothering him under six feet of dirt at a play to take him off the field.

“I dug myself free and came straight here,” Castiel explained as he untied Dean, “I couldn’t waste a second, especially on something as mundane as appearances.”

At least, that’s what Dean thought he said. His mind was too focused on the image of Castiel kneeling in front of him, chest heaving and glistening, fingers dancing around the rope. He only started paying attention when Sam rushed in, gun aimed at thin air.

“Nice of you to show up,” Dean barked, shoving the rope off of him and stepping away from Castiel with a blush, “What were you doing? Thinking about what you could turn my room into when you became an only child?”

Neither Sam nor Castiel laughed. Which made for a very awkward ride back to the motel. The atmosphere so stifling between them Dean escaped to the bathroom. Washing away the ghoul stink and rubbing one to the earlier scene. Imagining if Sam hadn’t burst in.

As good as it felt he regrets it only because it gave the others space to find another hunt and overrule his whining.

“Dean?”

He surfaces from his memories and into the present, blinking at Castiel. “Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

Dean studies the furrowed brow on his angel’s face. Mirroring the expression, he asks, “Why shouldn’t it be?”

Castiel’s frown deepens, and his head skews to the side again. “Because your hand has been on my knee for quite some time.”

Blanching, Dean whips his gaze to where Castiel claimed his hand rested. Like he said, it lays on Castiel’s knee in a picture of innocent affection. He flicks his eyes up to Castiel, and then to Sam. His brother watches with amused interest.

“Of course my hand’s there,” Dean says, thinking quick, “I - uh… I’ve been trying to get you to scoot over so I can go to the bathroom.”

Face smoothing immediately, Castiel sighs. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because,” he jerks a thumb at Sam, “didn’t want to interrupt this one while he was on a roll.” With Sam’s bitchface in the background Castiel moves so Dean can stand. He winks with fake mirth, “Won’t be long.” Then Dean speeds away to the bathroom, hands buried in his pockets and face stoic.

The diner’s bathrooms are single occupants, and Dean finds both the men’s and gender neutral bathroom locked. Sighing, he sags against a nearby wall and plays with his phone. Trying not to focus on the feel of Castiel’s knee in his hand.

Why it was there Dean couldn’t answer, nor did he need an answer. Otherwise Dean will have to confront a host of problems he isn’t in the mood to face. Not wanting to think about it any longer, he chalks it up to exhaustion. Dean then distracts himself by pulling up a game, hoping with each row of Tetris he clears he can believe his excuse.

While deciding where to shove a T-piece, Dean overhears a nearby conversation.

“Can you believe how sad Tony sounds in this caption?”

“I know, but can you blame him? Broken up like that…”

Dean pauses his game, interest piqued. Shuffling to the side, he spies their waitress conversing with another girl at the last booth. Taking a break from working, she chats with her friend with no fear of being found by her boss.

“Who would’ve guessed Felicia was faking it all this time…” her friend says, taking her phone back. “Like did you hear from Jessica?”

“No, why? What does she know?”

“From what she told me - and this is from what Bea told her - that they were having this sleepover. Bea woke up to Felicia spooning her, and her hands were… y’know .”

“ No! ”

“Which, you’d think Bea would’ve woken up screaming!”

“I know I would’ve,” their waitress says, “y’know Creepy Josh tried something like that with me during a party the other night? Lucky I wasn’t too wasted to stab my key into his hand.”

“So that’s why he wore that bandage throughout the show,” her friend says, “I thought it was a character choice.”

“No, that dildo has no character.”

“Anyway, Bea was super into Felicia’s touch. Has had the hots for her for awhile, apparently. Her own best friend .”

“And Felicia felt the same?”

“Apparently…” her friend glances behind, Dean watching as she extends her neck as far as it can go. Whipping around, she smirks, “Speaking of hands and feeling up … who are those two snacks in your section.”

Dean tracks where she looks, shuddering as logic points to only one table - his . “I know,” their waitress gushes, “you don’t see faces like those in this crummy town.”

Her friend nods. “When I walked in I nearly dropped to the floor at the sight of the guy with the long hair.”

“Sure he’s nice,” their waitress says, “but did you not see the daddy in the trench coat?”

“Really? A trench coat?”

“What! He makes it work,” she defends Castiel’s fashion, “Besides, he has this air about him like… he could take real good care of me…”

Rolling her eyes, her friend grabs for her soda. “I doubt he’s gonna be the sugar daddy of your dreams, Monica.”

Monica sighs. “A girl can dream can’t she…”

Dean glares at her from his hiding spot. A girl cannot dream, he thinks, especially if that’s what her dreams are about. His grip tightens on his phone, the plastic digging into his skin. The bathroom door opens and startles him from his spiraling.

Faced with an empty bathroom, Dean remembers what he came to do. He shakes off the annoyance and hurries into it, going through the motions as he calms his racing heart. Stands in front of the mirror as he repeats to himself, “It’s stupid… don’t let it bother you.”

The voice from earlier returns, whispering again. “It’s not stupid… allow yourself to feel…”

His hands squeeze the porcelain sink as Dean wonders why his inner voice decided to take on a grating southern twang.

“Dean?” Castiel knocks on the door, “Dean? Are you in here?”

Broken from the spell, he turns to the door. He opens it, his angel on the other side. “Yeah?”

“You were gone for a long time,” Castiel says, “Sam’s paying… we’re heading out.” Castiel’s hand twitches at his side, reaching out to him. “Are you okay -?”

“Peachy, Cas,” he says, stepping around the concerned touch, “Police station coffee just hitting s’all… let’s hurry and clear this mess up so we’re not stuck here another night.”

Castiel nods, guiding Dean from the bathrooms and towards the exit where Sam waits. On their way there they pass Monica, cleaning their table. She leers at Castiel, obviously raking her gaze over him.

Impulsively Dean presses his hand against Castiel’s lower back and pushes him forward. “Pick up the pace,” he says loudly, “can’t keep Sam waiting, angel.” Ignoring Castiel’s look of confusion, Dean focuses instead on the bewildered expression Monica creates. Holds his head up a little higher.

“Isn’t that… better…”

“Isn’t what better, Cas?”

“I… I didn’t say anything, Dean,” his mouth thins worryingly, “are you sure you’re okay?”

Unconvincingly Dean mutters, “Like I said, Cas… damned peachy .”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean loses his footing almost immediately after climbing onto the fishing boat. He stumbles forward, nearly falling on his face. If it weren’t for Castiel’s firm hold on his arm he would have known what poopdeck tastes like.

“Rough waters today,” Jim, the captain, tells them, “if you ain’t got your sea legs than you won’t stand much of a chance, son…”

“I’ll manage…” Dean huffs, flattening his suit jacket with nervous hands. He glances at Castiel, pouting at how unruffled he seems by the waves. “How are you not affected?”

Castiel smirks, “Angel grace is a good substitute for ‘ sea legs ’.”

“Whatever,” he says, “you can let go now.”

The fingers around his bicep tighten, a rush of pleasure shooting up his spine. “I think it would be best if I help steady you.”

Blushing, Dean snaps his mouth shut with a click. He looks to the waiting captain, pinched dimples on full display. “So, about your crew member, Kevin Johannsen?”

“Johannsen was a real good fisherman,” Jim starts, leading them towards a pile of nets. Jim picks one up and begins folding as he talks. “Had this uncanny ability to guess wherever the most fish were in an open sea. One day he pointed to a patch and said ‘cast there’ and we nearly capsized from the amount of fish we hauled in! It’s a real shame to hear what happened…”

“Yes, well, that’s why we’re here,” Dean says, “We just wanted to see if Kevin had been acting strange in the last couple of days.”

“Strange?” Jim asks, “What do you mean strange?”

“Exhibiting unusual behavior,” Castiel clarifies, stepping closer. “Doing or saying anything that might have seemed out of the ordinary… maybe he found something while fishing that he kept for himself?”

“No,” Jim answers, “no, can’t say that he has. Any garbage we dredge up gets tossed back into the sea where we found it… and as for Kevin himself he was as normal as he always was. Cursing out the Patriots, drinking the same amount of beers he always did, telling the same jokes …”

Dean arches a brow, the word like a dangling string he felt drawn to pull. “Jokes? Kevin was a regular comedian?”

“Well, he weren’t a Jerry Seinfeld or a Sam Kinison, but he knew how to make us all chuckle every now and then,” Jim says, turning to his crew, “isn’t that right boys?”

There’s muddled agreement. One man, made burlier by his fleece-lined denim jacket, gives them more information. “Kevin liked repeating what he saw on TV, stole a joke or two from Family Guy. Liked doing that Borat thing…”

“Borat thing?” Castiel asks.

Dean rolls his eyes, “It’s this actor… ‘My wife’?”

“Yeah,” the man says, “he liked that one a lot.”

“Although,” another crewman speaks up, “he sounded more and more like the Honeymooners in the past few months.”

Dean latches onto that, hackles raised. He explores it further, hoping the dark rock sinking in his gut was right. “Kevin having problems at home?”

“Not anymore than the average guy,” Jim shrugs, “Complained about Darla more than ever, though…”

“How so?”

The burly man explains how Kevin found his marriage growing stale, and had taken to flirting with one of the girls who sold their fish. “Kept saying how he wished he didn’t marry Darla right out of high school, had more time to sow his seeds,” he tells them, “That if he could he would get rid of Darla and immediately go after Michelle. Pretended to call up hitmen or asked questions about how fast a person could sink to the bottom of the ocean…”

“And,” Dean rubs at his forehead, pressing against the growing headache, “you were all surprised to hear that this guy murdered his wife?”

Jim scowls. “He wasn’t like any of those disturbed people you see on the news. Kevin was normal, like one of us. It was just jokes between boys.”

“Jokes that led to a woman’s death,” Castiel growls, barely containing the venomous glow dripping from his glare.

“Hey!” Jim objects, “We didn’t tell Kevin to do what he did -”

“No, but you allowed him an open forum to discuss it,” Castiel says, “treated his very obvious threats as silly make believe. In what way could joking about murder be acceptable in any work space? You should have fired him and, at the very least, alerted Darla to what her husband was saying.”

“Why would we have done that?” Jim asks, “We all thought it would blow over. He wasn’t the first man to wish he wasn’t married, we’ve all been in that position once or twice.”

“Yet Kevin was the only one who took extreme measures,” he challenges, “If I were you I would think long and hard about the learned behaviors of how women are treated, especially how easily violence towards them is overlooked.”

Each member of the crew wore a mixture of shame and anger, all directed at Castiel.

Sensing the turn of the interview, Dean lays a hand against Castiel’s chest and pushes him backwards. “I think this is where we’ll take our leave,” he chuckles, “thanks for your time.”

Ignoring his angel’s protests Dean hurries them off the boat, waiting until they’re far enough away on the docks to talk.

“I can’t believe those men,” Castiel huffs, “treating those threats as something harmless like a joke -”

“Hate to break it to you Cas,” Dean says, “but that’s all men.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to accept it. Why did you make us run away like that?”

“Because as much as I hate what they said,” he sighs, “I know when to pick my battles.”

“No you don’t.”

“Fine, I know how to pick your battles.”

“They wouldn’t have been able to hurt me,” Castiel tells him, “But I could have taught them a lesson or two…”

The hand still glued to his arm clenches tighter, Dean wincing in pain. Underneath that, though, a current of heat stings his lower body. His dick stiffens and rises somewhat in his pants, adding to the already intense blush coloring his cheeks.

Noticing Dean’s pained expression Castiel cools his anger and releases him. “Sorry,” he says, “I… I forgot my hand was there.”

“S’okay, Cas,” Dean chuckles, “Next time take your frustrations out by writing your local representative…”

“Do we have one? I thought since we don’t vote…”

“...Never mind, Cas. Let’s just go call Sammy and tell him it was a bust.”

They shuffle over to the Impala, at a distance uncommon to their friendship. Dean wants to reach over and calm his angel, express further how unsettled he was by the others’ callous remarks. Remind Castiel that even in all the whirling madness there are a few voices of sanity trying to help others listen to reason. Only some people prefer having their ears stuffed up, comfortable with the silence. And most don’t want to rock the boat and mess up what already works.

Like Dean. Because as much as he wants to hold his angel all he uses his hand for is to open Baby’s door, start the engine, and call his brother.

He picks up on the third ring. “I was just about to call you.”

“You find anything?”

“No,” Sam sighs, “I think you might be right about this one…”

Dean tempers his grin, only allowing a tiny fraction of it show. “What makes you think that?” he asks.

Sam explains what he managed to uncover while snooping around the bank. How Linda was on the fast track to unemployment, her boss showing him the letter of termination they planned. Her co-worker Sandy told Sam how Linda complained about having issues with money. “Apparently she was buried deep in debt after some serious online gambling,” he says, “So we have a motive.”

He reigns in the ‘I told you so’, instead saying, “Same here. Ol’ Kev talked pretty heavily about not wanting his wife around anymore…”

A surge of warmth rocks over him from the thought of wrapping up the case quickly. While it’s an odd feeling to have when discussing murder, making him sound so flippant, he doesn’t care. Picturing his bed in the Bunker gives him tingles, especially when his imagination adds the perfect cherry by placing Castiel atop of his covers.

In the fantasy Dean drops his bags and glides in, kneeling at his bedside. Gently caresses Castiel’s face, the feel of his stubbles so real under his fingertips. As if the welcome relief of a case closed hit him now, while they tie up their loose ends. His angel would then flutter his lashes and whisper.

“...Dean?”

He bites his lip, “In a second, Cas - I’m on the phone.” Adjusting himself in his seat, Dean focuses on the conversation with his brother. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“That I’ll meet you at the motel and we can hit the road as soon as you want -”

“ Dean !”

“ What ?”

He whips around to face Castiel, a hush heavying his tongue. Instead of firing the command Dean chokes on it while taking in the scene.

Castiel stares with wide eyes, Dean’s hand softly cupping his chin. Thumb brushing the cleft, visible beneath the stubble, and his fingers press against his firm jaw. His angel’s plush lips part slightly, as if too stunned to attempt another sound. Dean mimics him, as he cannot understand how his hand got there nor why he hasn’t pulled away.

Sam’s on the other end, asking for Dean again. Wondering what’s happening. A yell, louder than all the rest, cuts through the static playing in Dean’s mind. He jumps, hand flying from Castiel’s face like it burned.

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam huffs, “what the hell is going on over there?”

He wonders the same thing. Suddenly Dean remembers how his hand found itself onto Castiel’s knee in the diner, and the way he pressed it possessively against Castiel’s back. Then the suspects’ testimonies filter their way in as well, all boiling to the same point.

Dean rubs his hand across his forehead, dimples flashing at him from the rearview mirror. “Looks like the road’s gonna have to wait another day, Sam.”

“Dean? What do you mean?”

“Turns out this case is exactly in our wheelhouse.” He ends the call, promising to explain more when they meet at the motel. Signing off, Dean drops his phone onto his lap and tightens his grip on the wheel. Dean speaks to the windshield, not trusting himself to look at his angel. “You good?”

“I am fine,” Castiel starts, concern bleeding through his gruff voice, “But are you…?”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Dean rushes out, neck hot.

“Funny. You sound exactly like everyone else we’ve come across.” He doesn’t need to see to know Castiel arches his brow while he talks, the sass translating perfectly.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m not lying. I… it was like my hand had a mind of its own.”

“I believe you.”

“Because I wouldn’t do that,” his mouth won’t shut up, “unless you wanted me to, it’s kinda creepy and -”

“Dean,” Castiel cuts him off, hand laid across his thigh, “it’s okay.”

Throat dry, he roughly swallows against the heart that jumped up there. Faced with either addressing the problem or ignoring it, Dean relies on where he has the most experience. He shifts into drive and speeds away from the docks. Silent the entire ride to the motel.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam shifts his gaze between the two, expression wrinkled with suspicion. He glowers at them, hunched over on the chair. “Explain to me again why you changed your mind on this?”

Dean glances at Castiel briefly, his angel sitting next to him on the bed. “I just,” he starts, wringing his hands, “I think that we might have missed something important.”

“Which is…?”

He huffs, physically withdrawing from the conversation so he can think.

Even with how fast Dean drove, Sam beat them to the motel. Waiting for them with twisted brows. Hoping they could shed some light on the stilted and urgent ending to the earlier conversation. Unfortunately Dean could only give half-formed answers, bathed in vagueness. He relied on trust to get Sam to accept the bull he force-fed him.

Sam knocked away every spoon.

“Dean?”

“Dean seems to be suffering under the effects of possession.”

He glares at his angel, lips trembling. Castiel returns a softer gaze, smiling with his eyes. “All of those arrested admitted to not remembering what they did, yet each had motives for doing what was done,” Castiel says, “Either they were filmed committing these actions or had their fingerprints found at the scene of the crime… we believe it must be a ghost forcing people to act on impulses or desires they usually ignore. And Dean is the ghost’s next victim.”

“Really?” Sam says, turning to Dean, “Is that true?”

Dean’s head bobs side to side before sighing. “Yeah, discussed it in the car,” he lies.

“So you’re possessed?”

“Looks like it.”

“What’d the ghost make you do?”

“What?”

Sam crosses his arms, straightening to a more imposing level. “You’d have to have done something you wouldn’t have done. Acted on an impulse… what was it?”

Once more he skirts the truth with his brother. Grinning wide enough his teeth nearly jump out of his mouth, Dean says, “Saw something really sexy down by the docks and started rubbing my junk like no tomorrow… almost got caught for public indecency.”

It’s a gamble that works in his favor. Sam’s nose scrunches in disgust and he cries, “Gross, Dean. God!”

“Hey you wanted to know!”

“Ugh,” Sam stands, spinning on his heel, “Whatever. Go wash your hands, pervert. Then you’re gonna help me and Cas with research.”

Dean nods, pushing off the bed. He looks to Castiel and mouths a quick thanks. His angel winks in return, sending Dean off to the bathroom to wash his hands and will away the blush staining his cheeks.

When he comes back Sam won’t look him in the eye and Castiel moved further up the bed, scrolling through his phone. Dean digs around for his laptop and sits by his angel’s feet. Close enough to not raise Sam’s suspicions but far from any temptation his hands might succumb to.

A healthy dose of fear bubbles inside at the image of his hand creeping, without his knowledge, over to Castiel to play with his feet. He shudders and shifts so his legs dangle off the side, face turned even further away. It doesn’t stop him from being very aware of his hands. Jumping with each twitch and worrying whether it was him or the ghost that wanted him to click a link or scratch an itch.

He wasn’t much help in terms of research.

In the third hour of Dean staring more at his hands than his laptop, Sam cries from nearby, “I think I got something!”

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. “What is it?”

Sam beckons them closer, “So get this…” He waits until Dean and Castiel are hovering behind before continuing. “Apparently the town was the home base for this motivational speaker in the 80’s. Really weird guy by the name of Benjamin Moreley.”

“A motivational speaker?” Castiel asks, “What’s that?”

“They get paid through the nose to shout a few words and come up with catchphrases,” Dean tells him, “All in an effort to get people to ‘ change ’. It’s a real racket, especially these days.”

“And back then, too,” Sam says, “over the years Moreley’s messages became some kind of movement, real cult-like. Anyway… listen to this clip from one of his speeches and see if it strikes a nerve.”

Sam unmutes the video, starting it from a minute in. He hits play, allowing Moreley to live again. Benjamin walks across a makeshift stage, soaking up the applause. Dean uses those few seconds to scan and judge the conman. Takes in the ruddy face, sweating profusely under the heavy lights. A hankey with a rich, purple color held tight in his fist, matching his shirt. His suit was white and stained in certain areas. The crowd watching him didn’t find Moreley as pathetic as Dean does, fawning over him loudly.

“Because it is when we take hold of what we want,” Moreley says, southern twang grating but unfortunately familiar, “fight against all the brainwashing society has forced upon us, to fit into their perfect little boxes, that we can truly be happy. The Id is our most basic part of ourselves - fundamental to our needs and desires. Why should we ignore it when doing so makes us miserable. We should be waking up every day with a goal of making each day better for yourself than the last. Looking at every opportunity, asking ourselves ‘does this make me happy’? And if it does, great… go for it. If the answer’s ‘no’... then don’t do it! Somebody else will!”

“Wow,” Dean snorts, “guy sounds like a grade-A douche…”

The laptop snaps shut without warning, Dean’s hand flat against it.

“Dean, what the -?” “I didn’t do that,” Dean says, “I didn’t mean to…”

Castiel huffs, “I guess this answers our question.”

Dean draws his hand to his chest, rubbing it. He frowns, “How’d the bastard die?”

“In all his speeches about giving into your impulses,” Sam says, “he forgot to mention the consequences. He was sued by a few followers for the expected - lost jobs and spouses leaving. Moreley’s defense was that they were happy in the moment, and that’s all that mattered. Halfway through the trial, though, his wife burst in with a gun and shot him while he was testifying.”

He whistles, “Damn…”

“Apparently Moreley was giving into his own temptations,” Sam shrugs, “sleeping with a few of his followers. When his wife found out she decided to lean into his teachings. Took her revenge then swiftly shot herself, too. It was all detailed in this comprehensive article they wrote following the case, even had copies of the wife’s suicide note.”

“If Benjamin Moreley’s ghost is haunting people,” Castiel asks, “where is his body buried?”

“Close by.” Sam re-opens his laptop, scrolling towards the end of the article. “In this huge mausoleum at the center of the Joseph M. Whorly Cemetery. It’s an hour outside of town.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Dean asks, “Let’s get a move on!”

“Dean…”

He bites his lip at his brother’s tone, not caring for it one bit. “Sam,” Dean sighs, “come on -”

“You shouldn’t be going,” Sam rushes, “if you’re possessed then you’re a liability.”

“I’m not gonna let a damned ghost stop me from doing my job!”

“We all saw what happened, Dean!” Sam drags a hand across his face, wiping away the aggravation. “Listen, what if it were me who was possessed? Would you want me coming along on this hunt, doing whatever the ghost is doing to you?”

His mind runs away with the prompt, painting a scene that makes Dean’s blood boil. Sam’s hands on Castiel’s knee, caressing Castiel’s face. Fingers that weren’t his carding through his angel’s hair or tiptoeing down his chest. Finally catching up to his thoughts Dean sneaks a peek at his hand to find it drifting towards Castiel.

Dean shoves it into his pocket, face hot with embarrassment. “I’d want you far away,” he mutters, “so, so far away.”

Sam arches a brow, worried by this display. Dean prepares for his brother to ask another question, saved only by Castiel clearing his throat.

“As much as I agree not having Dean on this hunt,” he starts, “what if the ghost hurts Dean in our absence. Who knows how much his power has grown since the first attack, he could seriously hurt himself.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “what do we do about that?” Dean isn’t worried the ghost will hurt him, confident in his own control against the wannabe Manson. But he doesn’t want to sit on the bench for the rest of the case.

Sam thinks for a moment, grin unfurling when he finds an idea. Dean’s skin crawls at the gleam lighting up his brother’s eyes.

“I think I have the perfect solution…”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Stupid motivational speaker ghost,” Dean mumbles, knocking his head against the motel divider for the umpteenth time, “why’d you have to latch onto me? Wasn’t there some other unlucky sucker you could’ve found?” His arms sag overhead, wrists pulling against the silver cuffs as far as they can give.

Sam’s solution was simple and made the most sense. Dean still complained the entire time.

“Listen if this all works as planned, we'll be freeing you in no time,” Sam said. After testing the cuffs above Dean’s head, making sure they wouldn’t break the divider, he hid the key. Ignorant to Dean’s protests all the while.

“You better hope so,” Dean huffed, “If this isn’t the right ghost then I think the next impulse I’ll have is shaving your head while you sleep!”

Sam hitched the bag over his shoulder, looking to Castiel. “Ready to go?”

Castiel, who stood at the wayside watching Dean’s imprisonment, finally tore his gaze away from Dean. “Yes.” They left without glancing behind, especially when Dean whined about how his nose itched.

A quarter of an hour later, Dean only had himself for company and his nose continued to irritate him. He shifts, ass numb from the awkward angle he was stuck in. “Couldn’t they have left me with a pillow to sit on or something…?”

Suddenly the sound of the doorknob turning cuts across the room. Dean whirls around to face it, confused as to who it could be. Sam and Castiel should still be driving to the cemetery. If it was housekeeping, which Dean hoped weren’t the case, then Dean better have a good excuse to use.

Luckily Castiel is on the other side of it.

Dean relaxes slightly. “Cas,” he says, “What’re you doing here?”

“Well, Sam and I were a couple of blocks away from the motel when I realized this wouldn’t be the most preventative measure,” Castiel explains, shutting the door behind him, “The ghost could use its strength to break the chain, or worse, your bones in such a way to slip your hands free and hurt you. So I suggested one of us staying here, with you, while the other goes to the cemetery. Since it’s a mausoleum we won’t need to dig… Sam agreed.”

“And he let you take babysitting point?”

Castiel shrugged, smiling. “If the ghost does have abnormal strength, then at least I will be able to match it.” He carries a nearby chair over to face Dean, sitting on it. “As we all know, I’m very powerful in my own right.”

The wink sets off a chain reaction. Reminds Dean of the earlier display on the docks, and the effect it caused within him. His dick stiffens again as he pictures Castiel pinning his wrists in one hand and using the other to squeeze his crotch. Dean’s hands spasm against their chain, twitching for freedom and Castiel.

Things became much more complicated than they were when Dean was alone.

Dean lapses into silence, trying to regain control over his hands. The longer Castiel stares at him, unblinking, the less his hands listen to him. Castiel’s presence produces a hypnotic orbit, where every time Dean thinks he’s free his eyes get sucked in again.

Suddenly Castiel leans forward, elbows perched on his knees. “Y’know, I rather prefer you like this.”

He wets his lips, voice raspy. “Like what?” Dean asks.

“Cuffed,” he says, foot tapping rhythmically, “can’t run away… can’t distract… cannot hide, like you usually do whenever a situation becomes too… intimate .” His hands slowly slide down his thighs and rest on his knees, Dean tracking the movement. “If I wanted to I could ask you a question - any question - and you’d have to answer it, wouldn’t you?”

Dean neither confirms nor denies.

“You are patient, though. Could probably wait out the awkwardness until Sam returns…” Castiel chuckles, “Funny, how of the three of us only youwere possessed. Like the ghost knew you had these... hidden desires. Do you have them, Dean? Would you like to touch me?”

He spasms, weak enough that a groan eaks past his lips.

Castiel grins, gaze darkening. “Your hand on my knee… on my back… my chest… as brief as they were, they all felt rather… nice .”

Startled, Dean’s jaw drops at the admission.

His angel carries on, straightening against the chair. “I could’ve asked you to keep them there, told you it was okay. Except you wouldn’t have responded well at all. You’d panic and then make a joke, act as if your affectionate gestures were anything but - especially in front of Sam. Keep up appearances… you can’t do that now, can you? The ghost has removed all pretense - for your hands at least. Your mouth, however, can still deny. But do you want to? Is it worth denying any longer?”

Dean struggles to laugh away Castiel’s suggestion. Except with the intensity of his angel’s stare and the heavy words he spoke, Dean finds little will to carry on the charade. Unburdening himself from his doubts and fears, he shrugs, “I guess it isn’t. It’s… tiring.”

“Would you like to touch me?”

“... Absolutely .”

He attempts to reach for him, only can’t get far with the cuffs still on. Castiel sighs, clucking his tongue at Dean.

“You can’t do that right now, unfortunately,” he says, stretching his leg until his foot is pressed against Dean’s crotch, “But there are other… pointsof contact .” Castiel steps down on Dean’s crotch, lightning flashing behind his eyes as Dean’s legs spasm. The rattling of the chains against the divider gets drowned out by heavy breathing.

Dean bucks against Castiel’s foot. “More!”

“In due time,” Castiel tells him, dragging his foot away, “We’ve been through so much, though… so many years of pining behind closed doors… why should we blow it all in fifteen minutes?” He drops to the floor on his knees, kicking the chair away. Crawling until barely an inch of space exists between their faces.

Castiel’s breath ghosts against his lips. Dean tips his head to capture them, only for Castiel’s thumb to dig into his chin. “No,” he whispers, “not yet. Only when I say so, understand?” When Dean doesn’t respond Castiel pinches a nipple. “Understand?”

“Yes!” he yelps, blood rushing to his dick.

“Good.”

Pulling away from his face and chest, Castiel rests on his haunches as his hands trace the seams of his jeans. “This must not be comfortable for you, can it?” he asks, smirking, “I can take it off if you desire?”

Dean nods, not trusting his voice. Except Castiel pinches him again, on his thigh. “Please,” he pants, “Please, Cas.”

“It is no problem…” He unties his boots, pulling them off to spend more time removing his socks. Peeling each one off slowly, scraping his blunt nail up the soles of his feet as the black fabric comes off. Once more his legs jump and dance uncontrollably. “Ticklish,” Castiel notes, “I’ll remember that…” Moving on Castiel drifts up to the belt, playing with the buckle. He unbuckles and re-buckles the accessory so many times Dean feels lightheaded from the bloodloss. Satisfied, finally, Castiel whips the belt off and snaps it. “Later,” he promises, setting it off to the side.

His fingers deftly unbutton his jeans, tugging them and his boxers away until Castiel exposes his ass and legs to the motel carpeting. Folding his jeans allows Dean the chance to gasp in as much air as he can before Castiel shoves him under again. He glances at his bare legs and exposed crotch, notices how his heavy dick rests in the middle of his bramble-like pubes. With only his shirt on Dean resembles Winnie the Pooh, and his knees scoot closer as if to shield himself.

Castiel guides them to where they were, frowning. “Why are you trying to hide again, Dean?”

He bites his lip, blushing. “Cause I look -”

“Amazing.”

“What?”

Castiel places his hands on Dean’s thighs and splays his bowlegs while dipping close to Dean’s face again. “You look amazing,” he places a kiss to Dean’s chin, “gorgeous,” another to his cheek, “awe-inspiring, lovely,” two to his eyelids, “miraculous,” pecks his nose, “and sexy .” Finally Castiel embraces Dean’s lips, tongue immediately poking past them for a taste.

Dean’s wrists burn from how the cuffs cut into them, keeping him from tugging Castiel’s hair or squeezing his biceps. His angel enjoys Dean’s struggle, though, breaking the kiss to laugh.

“This isn’t your time to touch,” Castiel says, “When it is, I will let you know. Until then… allow me to explore .”

They must have different understandings of what the word ‘explore’ means. Because to Dean it feels like torture . Unable to participate, passively watch Castiel comb over every piece of his body. Moan while Castiel nibbles his ear and tugs at his hair. Vision dizzying while Castiel twists his nipples and laves at his navel. His cock, stiff like a frozen popsicle, leaks precum without being touched at all. Castiel circles it: scratching his thighs, squeezing his balls, and breathing on its tip. All Dean can do is jerk forward, except he never makes contact. His angel tips backwards every time.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, “good little hunters are patient .”

“Patient?”

“You can wait a little longer, can’t you?” Castiel asks, brow arched devilishly, “Especially since I’m making this so good for you.”

“Too good,” Dean whines, “Let me… please, let me…”

“Let you what, Dean?” he asks, “Like I said, you cannot touch -”

“N-no,” Dean interrupts, “Let me… let me…”

“I’m waiting.”

“ Come .”

Castiel considers the request, thumbs kneading the skin under his thighs. Hums a maddening melody that sends shivers racing up and down Dean’s spine. “You have had a rough day, haven’t you,” he says, “It's not easy giving up control… I guess you may come. But -” his left hand slips into Dean’s asscrack and presses against his hole, “Allow me to help you along.”

“Of course, Cas,” Dean sighs, fluttering around Castiel’s thumb, “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Please…”

“I didn’t think Dean Winchester would be the one to beg…”

“Only for you, angel,” Dean babbles, “I want to be the only one for you… so bad.”

“How bad?” Castiel asks, right hand squeezing his dick, “How long ?”

“Don’t know,” he answers, “One day I blinked and-and all I wanted to do was have you near me. Have you on me. You told me once that you built me from the ground up? Well I want you to tear me the fuck down - up - whatever . Crash through my walls like a fucking wrecking ball until there’s nothing but debris. And then build me again.”

“Are you always this demanding with your partners?”

Dean chuckles, “Only the ones who’ve kept me dangling at the edge for far too long.”

“Then stop talking,” Castiel commands, “and let me push you over.”

He dies there, bare assed and on the cusp of an orgasm. At least, that’s what it felt like. Because one second he was staring at a glowing Castiel and in a blink Dean floated over his own body. Saw how glazed over his eyes became, barely a ring of green around the overly black pupils, and the specks of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Compared the nakedness of his own body to how clothed Castiel still was. Lost in the immense pleasure, Dean barely noticed how Castiel hadn’t removed his layers. Yet with his entire being one delightful static he could take in the little details. Dean floats on a cloud of pure delight as Castiel pumps his dripping dick with abandon. Giggles while Castiel kisses against his chest, rucking up the sweaty shirt he wears.

Soon the static turns into a lightning storm, the cloud he rests on darkening. Dean is struck by a stray bolt, piercing his spirit and waking him from his spell. His body groans with the need for release. His wrists bleed from how they’ve rubbed the metal cuffs. Huffing, Dean begs his angel, “Can I… Oh please, please, please, Castiel, can I…?”

Castiel nods, “Of course.”

The divider snaps in two, Dean’s hands raking through Castiel’s hair. His fingertips twitch with newfound freedom. Overwhelmed by the different choices, Dean feels drunk. His nails scrape against Castiel’s scalp, down his neck and across his trench coat. He grips the jacket as the giddiness fades into his riptide-like orgasm.

Come shoots from his dick without warning, ripping a roar out from a primal part of Dean’s being. His legs bounce and his vision dangerously fades for a moment. Dean shuts down, sagging onto Castiel’s shoulder. In the next beat his systems reboot, and he gasps for breath.

“Cas,” he breathes, “ Casssssss … CasCasCasCasCasCasCasCas-”

“I’m right here, Dean,” Castiel whispers, stroking his head, “You were so good… so good.”

Dean chuckles, chains rattling. “Don’t know ‘bout that,” he shrugs, “I touched you…”

“I said it was okay, didn’t I?”

He sighs. “This is all really okay with you?”

Castiel halts, the suddenness scaring Dean. Makes him fear he said something wrong, especially when his angel draws back and cups his hands in his face. “Dean,” Castiel says, “There are no words to describe how okay I am with all of this. I am post-verbal, completely. Nothing in English, Enochian, or any other language can come close to describing the fire that burns inside for you. I only…” He ducks his gaze, sheepish for the first time since he entered, “I only hope that whatever… this was… it wasn’t an ending, or a means to an end. It’s a beginning . Is that… what you want?”

Dean’s face hurts from how wide his grin stretches. “You kidding?” he laughs, “I’m not going anywhere . Chuck himself couldn’t write me out of your life, or vice versa. What we did now, it ain’t no ‘Once Upon a Time’... but I’ll be damned if we don’t get the ‘Happily Ever After’ we deserve.”

Their foreheads knock into each other so Dean can only see Castiel’s face. Studies the gentle blue waves of his eyes, peaceful enough to lull him to sleep. His blinks slow and lengthen, lids heavier each time.

Castiel huffs. “You’re tired.”

“No I’m not,” Dean yawns, straightening against the divider. “I can still go. I have to…” he glances at Castiel’s crotch, “it’d be selfish if you did all that and I konk out like some pillow princess.”

“I won’t mind, Dean,” he tells him, “Don’t feel obligated. Besides… we have the time.”

Dean startles, lips parting. “Yeah… yeah, I guess we do.”

“Lay down, Dean. Relax…” Castiel guides Dean’s head to the side, laying it on the jeans he folded earlier. Then his angel follows, wrapping his arm around Dean. Castiel’s chest blanketed his back, easing Dean into unconsciousness.

Before his eyes closed, Dean wrapped both his hands around Castiel’s, squeezing it. “I’m so happy…”

“As am I. Now rest… I’ll be here when you wake up…”

Dean sleeps the easiest he has in years.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wakes with the slam of the front door, a frightful breath rushing into his body. Dean jumps to a sitting position, staring wildly at his brother.

Sam gapes down at him, bag plopping beside him as his grip slackened considerably. Skin pale, his brother’s hazel eyes fade to grey as he processes the sight in front of him. Dean uses the time to take his still shackled hands and pulled his shirt over his junk. “Cas,” he hisses, “Cas, wake up!”

Castiel growls from behind him. “I’m not asleep, Dean.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Angels don’t sleep.”

“Oh, then you chose to let Sam walk in without warning me?”

His angel perks up, squinting an eye open to see the younger Winchester standing in front of the still open door like a zombie. Flying to his feet, Castiel stumbles over to the bed. “Sam?” he gasps, “What are - what are you doing back so soon?”

Watching Castiel panic sets Sam off. Realizing what he walked in on, he claps a hand over his eyes and spins on his heel. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I left you two alone!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Sam, but how else were we supposed to pass the time?”

Sam splutters, shoulders tensing. “I can’t believe you two were here… while I had to salt ‘n’ burn all by myself!”

“I apologize for the deception, Sam,” Castiel blushes, “if you had known exactly what impulses Moreley made Dean act on, then you would have seen how prudent it was that I stayed here.”

Curiosity piqued, Sam cranes his neck to the side and peeks in. He won’t look at Dean, still pantless. Instead he focuses on Castiel. “His impulses?”

Dean sighs. “Cas here was more magnetic than usual… my hands couldn’t stay away?”

Sam’s eyes rolled heavenward, the hand hovering nearby steeples at his temple. “Could you please put on pants if you’re going to be an idiot?”

“It’s kinda hard when you’re handcuffed…” Dean bites his lip, faltering somewhat. “This… you’re not upset, are you?”

“Kinda,” Sam admits, terrifying Dean, “I mean I was worrying the ghost was gonna make you hurt yourself when all it wanted was for you to fool around with your best friend? I could’ve left you two in the car if that were the case… at least I wouldn’t have been alone.”

Dean’s heart calms at the confession. Glancing over at Castiel, however, he sees his angel’s expression dim. Sensing what needs to be done, Dean clears his throat. “Actually,” he says, “we weren’t… fooling around.”

Sam turns to him, shocked. “What?”

“Me and Cas,” Dean continues, smiling, “it was more than that, Sam. Deeper and… shit. Like, you might see me holding his hand without needing some wackadoo ghost prompting me. So I’m asking again… you’re not upset, right?”

“Dean, I…” Sam offers him a smile, “no, I could never… I’m happy for you two.” He looks between them. “Happy, but also traumatized… I didn’t need to see your dick.”

Dean pulls his shirt further over his junk. “There were more important things than getting dressed… at the time.”

“If you give us a few minutes,” Castiel says, “we can have this place as clean as you left it -”

“Nope,” Sam cuts him off, groping around for his duffle, “you could bathe this entire place in a blacklight and there wouldn’t be a bright spot, I still won’t be able to sleep. I’m gonna see if there’s another room or… sleep in the Impala. You two can have this room.”

He almost leaves until Dean calls for him. “Where’d you put the handcuff key?”

“Bedside drawer!” Sam shuts the door behind him, Dean and Castiel alone again.

Dean stands, moving towards the drawer. Finding the key, he makes quick work of unlocking them. He chucks them to the wayside and rubs his ruined wrists.

Castiel glides over, gently bringing Dean’s wrists close. He lightly brushes his lips against the skin there, a rush of electricity crackling against it. The tiny wounds and cuts heal themselves, the red skin fading into its usual color.

“Nice.”

“So?” Castiel says, “How are you feeling? Are your hands your own again?”

Dean shrugs, laying his hands against Castiel’s shoulders. “Kinda hard to tell… I don’t have any other impulses I’m ignoring at the moment?”

Castiel raises a brow. “Really? None?”

“Okay… maybe one.”

“What is it?”

He shoves Castiel against the bed, scrambling on top of him. Legs spread wide to straddle his angel. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I chose to do that.”

Castiel chuckles, “Was that it?”

Dean kisses him, rolling his crotch so it rubbed against his angel’s tenting slacks. “Not even close… I’ve got a lot of pent-up frustration I need to work through.”

“Well we have the time, Dean.”

“We do, don’t we?” Dean sighs, “We finally do.” They kiss again, Dean’s hands sliding away from Castiel’s wrists to cup his jaw. The stubble scrapes delightfully against his palms, reminding Dean that as fantastical the chain of events were, it’s all real. He and Castiel actually came together and the world didn’t end.

Rather, it felt like his world was only beginning.

#Supernatural #Spn #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Supernatural fanfic #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Sam Winchester #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #Supernatural Trope Celebration #SPNTC #SPNTC Halloween 2019

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samscait · 4 years

Text

Trust Me

I stared blankly at the line in my script. I had been going over the same scene, alone in my trailer, for the past 40 minutes. I wasn’t retaining a thing, and my mind was all over the place with memories of a sleepless night. I read it again, and stared into my vanity mirror. What the fuck, Balfe. It was a single sentence.

“I’ve asked Brianna–”

My mind blanked again. I picked up my phone and saw an unread message.

Dusty Rose: Christ, if Matthew doesn’t stop crying. He screams every time we sit him on Sleepy.

Without acknowledging Sam’s message, I typed my own.

Come to my trailer when you’re done with the scene. I’m distracted and need to talk through something with you. Maybe running the lines together will help.

Dusty Rose: K. I have 20 minutes or so for a reset.

I closed my eyes and fluffed out my flat wig hair. Shit, I was tired and could use a pick me up. Where was that PA with the fucking coffee? I folded my legs up indian style, closing in on myself in the salon chair I was sitting in in front of the mirror. I arched my back, stretching my arms high out over my head and rolled my head around. It was going to be a long night.

I folded my arms on my head, closed my eyes, and ran through the line again.

“I’ve asked Brianna to draw some portraits for us. Of all of them, especially Jemmy.”

I was taken out of my reverie by the sound of an elephant wearing boots, stomping and scraping, as the screen door slammed shut behind me.

“Is really it necessary to make that much noise?” I said without moving or opening my eyes.

“It rained a bit. Would ye prefer I left the muddy boots on?”

I opened my eyes and chuckled at the sight of Sam stumbling around and pulling the heavy boots off in one tug, nearly losing his balance.

“What’s the deal? What are we rehearsing? I’m not sure if i’m in the headspace to go over that last block again at the moment.”

I gave him a weak smile. “It’s silly really, but it’s just the short scene before the window. My mind’s been elsewhere and I need someone to keep me in the moment.”

He walked over to where I was sitting and propped against the counter, facing me. Looking over, he picked up the script and analyzed the page I was on. He raised his eyes to look at me, brows hitting the ceiling.

“Ye have two lines?”

“....yes,” I hesitated, lifting my chin up a bit.

“Where is Caitríona and what did ye do with her?” He gave me an incredulous look, tilting his head to the side.

I rolled my eyes and let out a small snicker.

“What’s going on up there?” He said, and swatted the side of my head with the script.

I sighed and covered my eyes with my arms once more, afraid that I had reached the point of exhaustion where I may actually shed tears.

“Hey. Balfe.” A more serious tone this time, I thought.

Letting out another big sigh, I let my arms fall to the arms of the chair, and steeled my expression. His face softened while he waited for an answer.

“There’s just… a lot going on at home. A lot going on here. A lot to prep for and scenes I'm nervous about. I didn’t sleep well. My mind is racing and I’m having a hard time focusing.”

He gave me a sympathetic smile, which morphed into a more serious “Jamie look.” I always found it funny how he could switch Jamie on and off like that.

“That’s a braw notion, Sassenach.”

He smiled at me and lifted one eyebrow.

“I remembered you for 20 years, Mo Chridhe. No pictures at all, hm. But it does help.” He gave a smirk, no doubt at the confidence he had in delivering a well practiced line.

He lifted my hand and pressed it to his lips, lingering for a moment. Sam or Jamie now? We held eye contact, and for a moment, my mind was clear and everything stood still. His expression was soft and warm. The bloody man was always so concerned with how I was feeling. So in tune. Always my calm center, and always making sure I was okay– even if he was mostly to blame for the turbulence at home. But he didn’t need to know that.

“What are you doing?” I said, scoffing, then trying (and failing) to yank my hand away.

He held his grip and tugged at my hand, as he took a step back, and pulled me to my feet. He pulled me close with his hands on my hips and I stood there, looking up at him, frozen, unsure what to do. And then his hands went lower, cupping my ass and lifting me. Before I knew what was happening I was being placed on the counter with him standing close between my legs. He stood still for a moment, giving me time to move, or push him away. I felt myself fighting to give into another moment that felt rather intimate, considering our current dynamic.

He ran a soothing hand up and down my back, while the other ran up the outside of my leg. Finger tips ever so lightly tracing from ankle to the back of my knee, until they stopped, disappearing under my robe and on top of my thigh. He leaned in, laying his palm flat on the top of my thigh, and spreading his fingertips dangerously close to where I wanted them. His lips hovered closely to my ear and his breath was hot, tickling and raising the baby hairs on my skin.

“Onions.”

I let out a cackle. This was not where I thought things were going.

“Garlic. Mmm. Something hot,” he continued. “Hm...peppercorns, aye. Cloves.”

I pulled back, giving him a questioning look. He wiggled his eyebrows and answered by placing a soft kiss on the skin underneath my left ear.

“Are we still running lines?” I asked, as I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“Aren’t we?

I pulled back and swatted at him. “Don’t do that.”

He grinned like a devil.

“Sam–” shaking my head, I moved to get down from the counter. “Your driver will be back here any moment.”

He placed a hand on the low part of my stomach to stop me and lowered his head to meet my eyes. “Trust me?”

I hesitated as I felt the fingertips inch closer to the inside of my leg. His hand was now completely under my robe. I felt his thumb brush down and stroke my thigh lazily. As he placed his other hand on my lower back and pulled me aflush with him, wedging my legs further apart.

I looked him dead in the eye, holding eye contact to the point where it was nearly uncomfortable, but he didn’t break. He held my gaze as the hand on my thigh began to move towards my center. He dipped a single, dexterous finger into my wetness, sliding it upwards and swirling around the swelling nub with the lightest pressure. My mouth fell open and his reaction mirrored mine, as I sucked in a heavy breath of air. I heard him let out a low whimper, as a second finger joined in, this time pressing further. I relished in the feel of him moving torturously slow, and struggled to keep our eyes locked.

My lids lowered and he planted a hand at the base of my hair, tugging hard enough to cause me to to open my eyes further.

“Let me make you feel good,” he breathed into my mouth, but all I could manage was a sob.

I held his eyes once again, as I watched him drop to his knees, one at a time, and hike my leg over his shoulder. He dragged his tongue up the inside of my knee, pausing to look at me for a moment, then continued up, before he placed his hot mouth over my center and ran his tongue bottom to top.

Sam picked up his pace, urgently swirling, licking, and sucking. Moving to the spot that he had carefully practiced so many times before, sending me into my undoing. I threw my head backwards, slamming it in the cabinet hanging above and letting out an ungodly moan.

His hand flew up to silence me and I dipped his fingers into my mouth, sucking and following his pace. I heard him growl and let out a low “fuck” myself, as bright spots began to appear, and I couldn’t focus on anything but my completion.

Looking up at me, he spread me open with his fingers and suddenly the pressure of his tongue was too much. I reeled forward as my hand jumped to the top of his head and my fingers dug into his hair, but I wasn’t sure if I was stopping him or pulling him closer. He flicked his tongue over me, once, twice, and I launched forward again.

“Let go, Cait,” he breathed. And I did, feeling all the tension leave my body.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there on the counter, with my eyes closed and resting my head against the cabinets. When I did finally open my eyes, rather regretfully, I was alone and my phone was buzzing across the table at the end of the trailer. I hopped down and padded over to it.

How do we keep ending up here? I thought to myself, running a hand over my face and through my hair. So much for clearing your fucking mind, Balfe.

Dusty Rose: You knocked out for a bit and I’m due back on set. PA is bringing that coffee.

Thank you, I replied.

I watched the three dots appear on the iMessage screen; then disappear. They appeared again, this time staying on the screen for what felt like a lifetime…

I heard a knock and turned to open the door to see Kerry, my makeup artist.

“Hey, Caitríona! Ready to get into makeup?”

I gave her a warm smile and nodded.

I looked down at my phone again. His reply never came through.

#OutlanderFanfic #Outlander #FanFic #OutlanderRPF #SamCait #SamCaitFanFic #SamHeughan #CaitrionaBalfe #SamsCaitFic

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tiggyloo · 5 years

Text

art direction and detective pikachu

I’ve seen vague posts and had short conversations about this with friends, but I really want to write it out.

Most of us are pretty excited about the Detective Pikachu movie, including myself. It looks like a fun, interesting, and especially unique Pokemon movie and I will most likely be seeing it when it comes out. However, I frankly won’t be able to enjoy it to the fullest due to one thing in particular: its art direction.

What do I mean by that?

I mean that the art direction is ALL OVER THE PLACE.

Art direction is, to me and many others, the most important part of any project. It’s what ties everything together within a world, it’s what makes a world interesting. Visually appealing, unique, and consistent art direction is everything. It’s what first draws someone’s attention. If the art direction in a show, a movie, a video game, any visual thing, doesn’t come together, if it isn’t consistent, it ruins an experience. And sometimes even that isn’t enough.

In video games especially (and also quite commonly in movies now) the art direction might be consistent but it’s...not much else. For some reason, a lot of [mostly Triple A and larger “indie”(?)] video game companies have decided that “art direction” means “make it look as realistic as possible”. And I’ll tell you what; that? Is boring as hell. Same with movies. It’s why I’m not interested in most “live action” movies, whether they be comedy, action/thriller, romance, or any other combination of genres. They’re just visually boring.

What’s really frustrating to me about this is that you can have realistic graphics/visuals and still have visually appealing and/or unique art direction. (I.E. Video Games: Shadow of the Tomb Raider, Assassin’s Creed, Red Dead Redemption | Movies: The Matrix (I guess works as an example for this?), World War Z, Mad Max (from what scenes/images I’ve seen of it lol))

With Detective Pikachu, the art direction takes an obviously realistic route, given the fact that it’s, you know, live action. And it’s certainly a unique direction. But the problem here is that the art direction just hasn’t convinced me in the slightest that those Pokemon are real animals, all in the same universe.

And what do I mean by that?

If you told me that Pokemon like Charizard, Bulbasaur, Lickitung, Mr. Mime, etc. were “real” animals I’d say, okay, sure, why not? They look like actual animals in that universe, more or less. Now, what do those Pokemon have in common? Why do I see them as fitting in within that world?

They don’t have fur. And that’s really the thing I want to talk about here in regards to the movie’s art direction. The Pokemon with fur don’t work.

We’ll start with the star Pokemon: Pikachu. Pikachu has been described since its creation to be a “mouse Pokemon”. A rodent. However, when I see what Pikachu looks like in this movie, I don’t see "mouse”, I see fluffy plush toy-thing come to life. I also see “cat”.

The way his fur is rendered isn’t that of a mouse or really any small (or many larger) rodent that I know of. The fur is too long, too soft, too plush. His face looks more like a cat than it does some kind of rodent. The nose and mouth are feline in nature, and that’s strange to me.

That’s not a “mouse pokemon”. It’s not a bad design, no, and it’s certainly cute. But “mouse pokemon”? That’s what Pikachu is and what it always has been, and for the artists to simply ignore that doesn’t feel right to me. It also just doesn’t look right to me.

here is a picture of a mouse. It has much shorter, more wiry and flatter fur that follows the form of its body instead of sticking out like it does on Pikachu. THIS is what I always imagined Pikachu to look like were it to be “real”. It’s what the cartoon always looked like. The only longer fur to ever really be shown on Pikachus is a tuft of fur on their heads (See: Sparky). Never have I thought of Pikachu being fluffy in any way before. Its character design never ever told me that.

When I see the DP Pikachu I don’t see an animal that exists as an animal in that world. It doesn’t look like a real animal. It just looks like a really fluffy toy.

Also the tail?

I’m not really sure what’s going on with that fur. But anyway-

How about we talk about Growlithe.

My first response to this was “Um.” My second was “is that supposed to be a dog?”

I mean I guess it kind of looks like a dog. But more as if you described what a dog looked like to someone who had never seen a dog and then told them to draw it.

Growlithes are really cute pokemon, but these? These aren’t cute. They look dirty. The fur lays on the body weird, the longer fur on the head especially confuses me. The fur doesn’t travel along the body the way a dog’s fur does. Even a dirty dog. It’s stiff, chunky. Please give them a bath.

Also apparently this is what Arcanine looks like?

I don’t remember seeing this in a trailer, and googling showed me like, DP themed pokemon cards??? No clue. But regardless, this looks okay! The head/snout shape is a little off, but overall it LOOKS GOOD! The way the fur looks here, how it shapes and falls over the body, that’s what it should look like. Why couldn’t Growlithe look more like like this? Why can’t Pikachu look like this? They don’t even look like they belong in the same movie.

Next: Pyduck!

Yeah That’s A Duck.

At least they didn’t give it fur, I guess. But they did their best to make it look like they did.

My biggest issue with this is that it doesn’t look like a water bird. They just took Psyduck and made it “real”, badly. I mean, its name is Psyduck for Pete’s sake, at least try to make it look like a duck. It doesn’t even have to look like an adult duck. If it looked more like this in face/feather texture it’d be fine

And that’s probably what it’s SUPPOSED to look like. A young duck. But instead they gave it short stubby feathers that look too much like fur and a much too thick bill (even compared to the original cartoon design).

Last one I want to talk about because if I continued with other pokemon Snorlax,Flareon,etc I’d be writing for like three hours: Aipom

good christ was is that thing

You’re telling me that that’s an Aipom. That thing. Is an Aipom.

Not only does it not look like an Aipom in anything but color, it doesn’t even look like a monkey. And what’s up with its teeth?

If they wanted to convince me that this thing is a real animal within this universe living alongside all these other animals they should have:

1. Actually used monkeys as references when designing it? Because they obviously didn’t

2. Given it, hands?? And not weird nubs??? Nubs don’t work on monkeys in a realistic setting what the hell it looks deformed

3. Not...given is perfectly straight, shiny, white human teeth.

All those things look fine on its original cartoon design, but LORD in heaven this thing is a absolute monstrosity.

The thing about all these and many of the other furred pokemon (Snorlax being a REALLY big culprit) is that the artists just...didn’t look at real life animals enough. They clearly focused on just the Pokemons’ cartoon designs, took those, and “made them real” while making the minimum amount of changes. You can’t just...take a cartoon and make it real. That never works.

All of these different designs work when in context of the shows or the games because the shows and the games have a coherent art direction made specifically for the media they’re presented in. They were never meant to exist in a realistic setting like this.

It always requires some kind of adaptions, some changes, adjustments to the original design, just something when making a cartoon look real. And they didn’t do that here. And the best part about all this?

They got RJ Palmer (website linked in source) to work on the project. RJ is an amazing artist/illustrator, one of my favorites, who is probably best known for his “realistic Pokemon”. His stuff has been reposted a few dozen times on this website alone, with or (usually) without credit, and the majority of pokemon fans have probably seen at least one piece.

The most influence he’s had with these movie designs that I’ve seen has been the Charizard. I saw that Charizard in the trailer and knew it was RJ’s. But if not for that Charizard (and the fact that he said he worked on this movie of course), I would have never known he had any part in this.

Compare the above to his art that I’m about to show you (I specifically chose Pokemon appearing in the movie for convenience’s sake, but I highly recommend that you check out his other realistic Pokemon art as well), and tell me that, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that this guy worked on this movie.

Just to name a few.

And yeah, obviously I don’t, and never will, expect Nintendo/Game Freak to go this far. But at the same time, if you’re going to get THIS artist to work on your Pokemon movie, the least you could do is make it LOOK like he worked on the gosh darn movie!

The art direction he has in his work is beautiful. All of these creatures look like Pokemon while also being influenced and actually looking like real animals. And following that more with the movie’s art direction would have done nothing but improve it. It certainly would have been more convincing for me and many others.

I obviously don’t want them to look exactly like RJ’s artwork, but the designs do need to be more uniform, and following the practices RJ clearly does would have helped that.

All that said, RJ is rightfully excited and proud of this project. It’s looking like it’ll be a wonderful movie.

I just wish the art direction was better.

#pokemon #detective pikachu #I'm sure I'll enjoy this movie but I just wish I could enjoy it MORE #character design

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pinupgalore-lanadelrey · 6 years

Text

lake placid, aka era

LAKE PLACID

Yes, definitely. I was a different sort of child, as half the children are. They are or they aren’t. I was in that category of being free-spirited [laughs].

I go back now to visit my grandma and grandpa, but it’s not really somewhere I’ve spent a lot of time, not since I was 14. It’s beautiful. It’s a vacation destination. Olympics. It’s small, 2,800 people [laughs] it’s very different from here.

It was boring. That town is crazy, too. I was a bad girl, but I’m good now. I guess I have some bad tendencies. I don’t like to do hurtful things, but I am drawn to the wild side. I love riding motorcycles; I love rollercoasters; I do like adrenaline. But I’ve also found true happiness when I was living in New York and working with other people in that way that we’ve talked about. So, I don’t know. But I don’t feel at odds with it.

They didn’t have too much music around, but they actually both had really nice voices. My dad wrote country songs for fun, and my mom sang for fun. My dad liked the Beach Boys, my mom liked Carly Simon, but we didn’t really listen to them; we just put the radio on -- whatever would be on the radio.

I would write fiction on my own time, and I liked writing in school. I thought that was one of the less offensive school subjects, so that was fun for me. I transitioned to singing when I picked up the guitar. I’ve never been good at the guitar -- always been bad -- but it did help me write for the first four years.

I wondered if you wrote -- your lyrics are so narrative. They sound like stories. I’ve been in New York now seven years, and it’s been a really long road, so the parts of my life that I draw from lyrically are maybe the more dramatic segments of the time that I’ve been here. But they are all true.

Do you feel like you struggled when you moved to New York? Yeah, it was difficult, as it is for everyone. Maybe myself a little bit more, but that was my own fault.

SCHOOL

I didn’t live at school, I lived where I could and studied what I enjoyed studying. I took what I wanted from that education but was making my first record at the same time. I don’t know anyone from school. I was just leading a different life. I was really interested in writing and other things.

Lana Del Rey: I was social, just in a different way. I loved my teachers. I feel like kids can be hard to get along with sometimes and I don’t know anyone from my school I’ve been to. I’m sure they were nice.

Lana Del Rey: No, I didn’t feel ostracized. I just had different priorities. I was reading and writing. I was pursuing my own education [laughs] which paid off, I’ve learned so many different things.

What does metaphysics entail?

It’s not as complicated as it sounds. There’s different branches so it depends on which branch you’re studying. If you’re studying something like cosmogony, you’re studying about the origins of the universe, and how reality came to be reality. Like this space that we’re sitting in now -- how did we come to inhabit this place? And why this reality strikes us as it is. I studied that up in the Bronx.

Well, I lived in the Bronx for four years. I lived in Brooklyn for like four years after that. I always consider myself to have a serious street side, even when I was in high school. I mean, I was pretty crazy. Everyone I knew was really crazy.

I define myself eccentric psychologically but in the interviews that it’s often misunderstood. Maybe because my life had a lot of transformations, more transitions. My life has gone through various incarnations, mostly transitions. But I don’t consider myself to be someone very provocative or radical – I embrace a lot of traditional things. But I believe in alternative lifestyles and in alternative relationships.

Yes, exactly like Twin Peaks. I was hoping to get out and get to New York because that felt like heaven. I like going to the corner store and tell you that a man [in Spanish], “Hello beautiful, how are you? ‘.

_________________________________________________

I remember for the short time we lived together in NYC, I used to come home from work and see the entire wall of our studio apartment covered in weird tropical backdrops from the Party City store. There would be tinsel everywhere and streamers taped to the walls and I was furious because it looked like the most bizarre amateur movie set, plus I was worried for your sanity because I couldn’t see where you were going with all of it. Looking back though, your obsession with strange nick knacks and Hawaiian embellishments were like little hints of colors to come for future sounds and videos. Yeah, of course I remember those days. You hated my electric fishtank which gave me endless amusement. (She winks!)

For the record, I loved that fish tank, you gave it to me for my 19th birthday. I believe the inadvertant theme was ‘Chinatown.’ Now, I know you don’t love to talk about this because journalists have sort of mythologized your past but let’s talk about the trailer park you lived in for a few years- I shot you there when you were 22 and continued to shoot you there for a couple years while you were writing and entertaining and wrapping up your album with David Kahne. You were so sweet and happy that you had your very own place to write and reside in, and extra money from that $10,000 indie contract. It was also a sad time for you because you separated from Steven Mertens who had originally produced that record and who was your boyfriend at the time. I don’t really have to ask you this because as your sister, I think I already know, but would you say this was your most enriching time as an artist and happiest time in New York (despite the split from Steven.) [Smile] Yes.

Do you remember decorating David Kahne’s studio? I remember sitting next to a decorative Urn during one of your recording sessions. Even now, you’ll bring ribbons or bows or specific iconography to recording sessions. How important is it that your space reflects your personal style or headspace? I honestly haven’t thought about that in so long. I used to have to have some sort of talisman with me if I was writing. Something connected to the lyrics like a sparkle jumprope or a golden compact mirror- at the time it was really important. Now I have internalized so much of what I’ve come to love that I don’t think about it as much any more.

I loved New York. When I was there it was almost my sole source of inspiration, more than any other man, writer or rapper, but it’s harder for me to get around now. I used to take late night walks over the Williamsburg Bridge, go to all the 24 hour diners with $5 and beg the waiters to let me stay all night in exchange for the purchase of one giant slice of chocolate cake. I would sit for hours and read about interesting people like Karl Lagerfeld and listen to books on tape by Tony Robins to keep me company. I would take the D train to Coney Island, take the D train back to the Bronx where I lived on Hughes Avenue.

I did move into a trailer park when I made my first record. I got ten grand from Five Points Records and moved into Manhattan Mobile Home in New Jersey. And I was happy, because I was doing it for myself. There was a white trash element in the way there was a time that I didn’t want to be a part of mainstream society because I thought it was gross. I was trying to carve my own piece of the pie in a creative way that I kind of knew how. And I thought it was cool to be living by myself and working with a famous producer. I was excited about the future at the time.

Like when I was working with my first producer David Kahne and I was in that mobile home for two years. I was between there and Williamsburg and I had a boyfriend then. It was a very happy time.

I was doing open mic nights in the city with my guitar at Layla Lounge, Galapagos, where those places are open. Same place every girl singer was playing. One of many tragic Lower East side songstresses, oh dear! What must they think? And I met really nice people. Everyone in Brooklyn was doing a folk thing, and I was in that camp, singing sort of jazz. I entered a songwriting competition, I didn’t win, and one of the judges on the panel was an A&R man at a record label that had no other acts and I signed to them. We sent my demo out to five people and David Kahne got back to me that day, and said I think you’re amazing I want to start with you tomorrow. He was like my Harvard reach school, I couldn’t believe it. I was really excited. It was the first time anyone of any importance said I was good and I ran with that validation for a long time.

“I was always writing little songs, but nothing I liked then. When I left school I wanted to do music because I thought I was good at it and I wanted to do something that I loved. So my uncle taught me to play guitar and I did these little shows, just me and my guitar, singing and playing the five chords that I knew.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In her years in New York, working “odd jobs” and “helping out in the community, in alcohol and drug awareness programs” and playing the singer-songwriter open-mic circuit.

Just going to open-mic nights and things like that. It was mostly in Brooklyn. It was a folk scene. When I was 19, I signed to an independent record label. I was the only act on their roster, and then that record was shelved. After that, I still wanted to sing, but I started focusing on being an active member of my community.

In fact, she seems to be retracting more and more from public view, after buying a house in Los Angeles with her brother and sister.

There was an older song that you've never heard called "Pawn Shop Blues". [sings] "In the name of higher consciousness / I let the best man I met go / Because it's nice to love and be loved but it's better to know all you can know." Because I remember I'd met someone so special and famous but I knew he wasn't enlightened about how to be a good person. I knew it would get in the way of me becoming a nice person. That's a difficult choice to make.

How did you meet this famous person? Um, it was in a self-help group. [laughs]. He wasn't that famous. I justthought he was famous…

TV famous or movie star famous? Rock star famous. Just middle of the road ish. To me he was famous because I didn't know anyone who was wildly recognisable. I remember thinking it was exciting at the time.

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thefieryeclipse · 6 years

Photo

“The end of a noodle disappeared into Peter's lips before they lifted at the working corner. The smile was one of understanding, a winsome gesture that made the drying paint on his face catch the light and a drop of sauce on his mouth sparkle. “Simpler times, right?” Sylar wasn't sure if he should venture into such sensitive waters. Instead, he leaned over and helped himself to another piece of Peter's meal, gesturing to the state of what had once been an immaculate counter-top. “You really are terrible at this.” He smirked.”

This drawing has been a long time in the works, and I couldn't be happier to share it now! It's a second collaboration between myself and Yajanele, whose beautiful colouring skills continue to blow me away. If you want to check out more of her works, here's her profile over on Deviantart. Thank you very much for your time and talent, Yajanele <3

This is a scene from chapter 12 of "Tongues of Fire", waaay back when the world was easier and the guys had no idea what was ahead of them... X) The fic is available on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net if you haven't read it yet or want to catch up. I hope you enjoy this work, and I always appreciate feedback if you have the time to share ^.^

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595302/chapters/17284150

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12070735/1/Tongues-of-Fire

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7s9M6yHCZs0

#primatech #peter petrelli #sylar #fanfiction #heroesnet #nbcheroes #tongues of fire #fanart #fan art #fanfic

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jpat82 · 6 years

Text

Bad Plan

CHAPTER 1: part 2

5am came way to soon. I sat in the make up chair, feeling like a zombie. The lady putting my make up on was a chatty lady, who to honest should lay off the caffeine pills.

“You know what I mean though?" She asked.

“Yep." It was all I could muster out, not even sure what I was agreeing to. Who cares though, I sipping on my Starbucks like it was life saving miracle drink that it was.

“Morning Renee." I heard that amazing accent come from somewhere behind me.

“Morning Karl." I sounded half dead.

“Someone not a morning person?" He asked sitting in the chair next to me.

“Not one bit." I took another sip of my coffee. "And if Satan were to find out I cheated again and grabbed coffee he would probably attempt my death for the hundredth time."

“Your secret is safe with me." He joked. "So, you remember your lines?"

“I have to talk? I thought I was just supposed to show up."

“Well, that is part of it."

“I think so, I'm still trying to figure out how I drove here to be honest."

“I think we all are." The morning went by in a blur with me trying say the phrase 'Kirk, red alert, we are on stand by. Commander, next order.' Which for some reason my brain kept going red Kirk alert. Yeah, after a dozen or so tries they decided a break was in order.

I went back to my trailer, being ticked off with myself.

“For some reason I can't even say the simplest phrase. 'Kirk, red alert.' With out stumbling over the words or saying them backwards. Oh btw, Benedict is in this movie." I sent my sister a quick text, a knock at the door snapped me back to reality.

“Come in."

“You okay?" Karl had followed me.

“Yeah, just irritated with myself. It's the stupidest thing to get tripped up over." I flopped back in the chair next to me.

“Hey, I get that." He stated leaning against the counter across from me. "It's nothing to get mad about."

“Sure you say that, but you've been at this a while. And your first movie wasn't a major motion picture, not that this is what I was going for but I still don't want to suck at this." I stood up and walked to the fridge, I grabbed an energy drink out.

“Your very correct, everyone gets tripped though. You'll be fine, your doing fine now." He reassured me, a knock on the door grabbed our attention.

“Come in, your just being nice." I replied, Chris came in.

“What if you just say Captian, red alert." He asked.

“I can't just say what I want."

“Why not?" Chris asked, leaning his hip against the door way. "We all do it every now and then.

“That's you, not me." I thought about how arrogant that sounded. "You're a seasoned actor, I'm a nobody."

“So, I'm sure simon's not going to care if you switch Kirk to captain." Chris responded, eyeing my energy drink, I motioned to my fridge. He excitedly rummaged to find himself one.

“Well, I just texted him." Karl announced, finally looking up from his phone. "Chris, your trainer is going to kill you for that."

“Well worth it." He stated after a long drink, ear to ear grin played across his face. Karl gave me a look as I drank from mine.

“Hey, I disobey mine everyday. So satan should just get used it." I shrugged as Simon walked in. The little trailer was getting crowded quite rapidly.

“Hey girly, I've heard you've been having problems with one of the lines." He looked tired, "if it's to much trouble go ahead and switch the wording."

“I'll be fine," I was getting annoyed with this, damn it I was going to say the line if killed me now. "I just needed to let my brain wake up."

A buzzing sound let us know that break time was over. We all got back on set and found our places. True to my word, I just needed to let my brain wake up and I finished the scene without anymore hiccups.

Filming went well, my sister responded to my text telling me how jealous she was that I was working with Benedict. The fact he was reprising his role as Kahn was weird, but it was more for a flashback then a major role this time.

After I was done filming for the day I had to go spend a couple hours going through hand to hand training. Not going to lie, it's pretty bad ass that they were training me instead of subbing me out with someone else.

“So, we are going to partner you up with who your going to fight in this scene." He told me as we stretched. So the whole thing went down that I was being forced by an enemy race to fight my own crew. Brain washed into helping the alien race, which was commanded by Tom, Loki anyone?

“Who am I sparring with?" I asked looking around, over stretching my arms. Being double jointed had its perks, for one dislocation doesn't happen often.

“Mr. Urban." He was very formal, for the first month he referred to me as Miss Winter. I had to win a bet to get him to stop. "But let's go while we wait."

We spent the next two hours sparring, throwing and blocking. Yes, it was all preplanned, but he wanted it to look real. Which meant I still ended up taking a hit or two on accident. Karl showed up just as the trainer was leaving.

“Sorry, I got caught up." He apologized sincerely.

“It's alright, man. I just have to go, I have a prior engagement. The two of can hang around and practice though." And out the door he ran. Suddenly I felt very awkward. Shorts and sports bra, I had given up on shoes a month ago. I couldn't move around in them and make it look fluid.

“Hey kid," he dropped his gym bag on the floor, I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Kid? Really, he's only ten years older then me. "Ready?"

“Sure, but shouldn't you, I don't know, stretch first? I mean getting up there in your age a could fall mess up your hip." I quipped back. A coy smile played across his face. Oh yes, I just went there. "You started it."

“Your right I did." He suddenly sprang forward with a striking kick, I side stepped last minute as he caught me off guard. "Let's see if you have the endurance to keep up."

We both had been practicing the same set a moves for a long time. This was the first time we had done them together. I found myself tripping over my feet and forgetting what came next. Karl could see my frustration, especially after being kicked in the same leg for the third time because I kept forgetting to roll out of the way.

“Why am I sucking at this? I just went through all of this with Mike and didn't mess up once!" I sat on my ass, head in my hands. He just shook his head at me.

“It's like a dance, you are used to Mike’s moves. Even if it's the same steps over and over again." He reached down and pulled me to my feet. "Your not used to how I move, your body it's trying to figure it out and the brain is trying to keep up."

He went throw each punch, and kick toward me at a slower speed. Allowing me time to dodge and strike back.

“He became routine, comfortable." He stated as he grabbed my hand and pulled my feet with his. "Fighting is just as intimate as dancing, bodies respond differently to differently people." This is where his character was to render mine unconscious. "Shall we try it again?"

“Uh, sure?" Super hot guy, extremely sexy voice and body to body contact and your asking me if I want to go at this again?

*****

I walked into my house hours later, sore and tired. The last thing I wanted to do was walk up the stairs to my room. My sister and I live in a five bedroom Victorian home, so the stairs are narrow and steep. I wandered into the kitchen and made some hot peppermint tea.

“How was filming?" Her voice bubbled over, I jumped as she startled me.

“Ow!" I groaned. I motioned her to follow as I made way upstairs to the large bathroom.

“So?" She asked as she handed me the Epsom salts.

“Long, so very long. And painful." I responded drawing a hot bath. "I never realized how much energy it took not just to remember lines, but to be someone other then myself." She followed me to my room as I gathered my stuff.

“Why do you hurt then?" She grabbed my bathrobe I had dropped.

“There's a fight scene, I needed to go over it one more time before we film. Though I get a gut feeling I'll be doing that first thing in the morning."

“Ok, well, tell me more when your done." She backed out as I disrobed and lowered myself in. Steam curled around me and the heat penetrated my sore muscles. My phone went off on the edge of the tub.

‘How ya feelin', kid? That last throw, it looked like you took it wrong' it was from Karl. I sipped my tea and leaned my head back.

‘Feel great, like I could do that a million times.' I responded, letting the water work it's wonders. 'However on an unrelated note do you know any amazing chiropractors?'

‘I was about ask if you serious, cause you didn't move for a while after that.'

‘Yeah, that one sucked. Tomorrow is going to be painful.' It kinda felt odd to be texting Karl just cause of who he was but at the same time it felt really normal.

‘Just take a hot bath with some Epsom salts and take some Motrin. It will still hurt tomorrow but hopefully not as bad.' I laughed to myself.

‘Already doing that dr but thanks for the advise.'

‘Ha ha! Nice joke. I feel horrible, btw'

‘Why? Not your fault I twisted wrong.'

‘Still, I feel bad. Can I please get you a coffee tomorrow morning?' I couldn't help but smile.

‘Sure, sounds good.' My sister knocked on the bathroom door.

“You need anything?" She asked.

“Some Motrin."

******

I woke the next morning feel stiff, it hurt to move but I had a job to do and I needed to get going. I stopped by the kitchen and took Motrin and put a heat pack on my back before I left the house.

I stopped by make up and wardrobe before I found a nice place out of the way to stretch out my sore muscles before I did anything else. It felt amazing and painful at the same time as I was stretching.

“Morning kid." Ah my coffee was here. I threw a look over my shoulder, Karl was carrying two cups of coffee.

“Morning Urban." I walked over, taking my coffee as he handed it to me.

“How you feeling?" Concern washed over his face.

“Stiff, alittle bit of pain." I took a long sip, rejoicing in the caffeine.

“You took something for it, right?"

“Nah, I though I'd wellow in the pain. Of course I took something, Dr." Might as well call it like I see it.

“Well in that case, I'm going to have argue with you on working today." His natural accent disappeared, replaced with one that had a slight southern drawl to it. He had instantly snapped into McCoy without notice.

“Okay, the whole dropping your accent thing freaks me out." I responded going back to stretching.

“And why is that? You've already admitted you didn't even realize it was me when you first met me because I have an accent."

“Because, sir, I have gotten used to you talking normally when your not acting and it sounds odd now." I leaned to the side and then down. My back seized for a mintue, and I lurched.

“Hey now, take it easy." He was right behind me, hands on my waist. "Don't injure yourself further before we even start today."

“I'm fine, really." I stated, trying to get the fact he was touching me out of my head.

“You know you keep using that word, I don't think you know what it means." He whispered into my ear, Tom and Zachary had walked up and Karl had let go of my waist. Leaving me slightly confused.

“Morning boys." I announced, grabbing my foot and bringing it my hip from behind me.

“Good morning, Renee." Tom replied, Zachary just nodded and took a long drink from his coffee mug, looks like I wasn't the only one who didn't care much for mornings.

@kitkatkl

#karl urban fanfic #karl ubran x ofc #karl urban #star trek cast #badplan

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gojaimas · 6 years

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Chapter 35 Comment Replies

csgt: “Oh, I forgot to mention it in the past chapter, but I definitely got the feeling that Ben having a new normal watch and Gwen replacing the charm with a normal locket means the definitive end of the ‘hero’ part of their story”

Yeah, pretty much. They’re moving on to new stages in their lives as they grow up.

csgt: “So Lucy is now developing real feelings for both Ben and Gwen? Ohhh, that complicates things… Maybe she will find someone else and get over them? Even though now I’m seeing the chances of ‘Bwenucy’ happening raise a little (maybe 5 percent now instead of 1 percent?)”

Things are a little more complicated now. People have been noticing for a while that there is a chance of the story going in the Bwency direction, so this probably made it seem more likely to everyone. You’ll just have to see how it plays out over the rest of the year.

Davidscrazy234: “If this was made into a live action show, like Arrow and The Flash which cast person would u choose for Ben, Gwen, and Lucy?”

Ooh, there’s a fun question! Let’s see…

For Ben, I’d go with David Mazouz, AKA young Bruce Wayne in Gotham. The scenes where he’s partying and pretending to be a spoiled rich kid makes me think he could totally pull off Ben, plus beating the crap out of bad guys is right up his alley.

For Gwen, I’d say Sadie Sink, AKA Max from the second season of Stranger Things. I’ll admit it’s mostly because she’s a fierce redhead, but she seems talented enough to pull off a character who’s pretty much the exact opposite of Max as well.

And then for Lucy, I’d pick Elsie Fisher, AKA the voice of Agnes in the Despicable Me movies. She did a live action film with Bo Burnham recently too. She’s such a sweet girl and just seems like a constant ray of sunshine, I think she’d be perfect for Lucy.

These actors are 15-17 years old now, so I guess it could only work as a sequel to my story at this point, but they would’ve been perfect for it if the series had started like 4 or 5 years ago.

Guest: “I have a question- is Gwen shorter than Ben in this story? Otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to lean into his chest without having her butt stick out awkwardly.”

Haha, yes, Ben is the taller one now. Gwen used to be taller than him, but he hit his growth spurt and surpassed her, which I sort of eluded to a couple times in Year 3. I remember Ben Ten Thousand being really tall, so I figured this was how they would turn out. The drawing I did of them for the story image is a little closer to what I imagine their current relative heights are now.

Guest: “I’m like the track you’re heading with. Lucy was only featured in one episode in the original and she had so much potential, I always kept an eye out for her. Her characteristics stood out. The wedding when Ben danced with Gwen and then Lucy were really sweet moments. Came for a Bwen fanfic but I’m also in love with Lucy.”

You and me both, my friend. Lucy wasn’t even in the character list for Ben 10 fanfictions until I started this story. If nothing else comes from it, I hope people start to like her a bit more.

Jagcity: “Just a little side inquiry, it seems that Frank loves his daughter (or at least checks up on her) more than Natalie does; I guess Gwen’s mom is simply the stern and frowny type.”

Gwen’s dad is a softie, sort of a typical doting father. Her mom is much more strict, but she’s definitely the one who pushes her to succeed more, which Gwen is mature enough to be thankful for. Ben still finds Natalie mean and scary, and it confuses him that Gwen doesn’t seem to see her that way at all.

Guest: “that bathroom scene was the first time we’ve seen Lucy expressing her true intentions and emotions behind her cherrful happy go lucky mask and she seems to be conflicted… she cares for others which is why she wants Ben and Gwen to be there for each other but at the same, even though I can’t say she’s human, she’s got emotions. She’s just better at hiding it like Ben.”

We have seen her “mask” slip before, which I think is a good way to put it. Back in the summer of Year 2, she broke down because Joel and Camille were missing. That was an unrelated matter, but I hope it effectively foreshadowed how Lucy might not always be the cheerful, happy go lucky girl she appears to be.

Guest: “This was a really effective chapter and it only was that way because of the events and progression leading up to it.”

THANK YOU! Yes! Now you all know why I had to write a story the length of a Harry Potter book before reaching this point. I hope the payoff was worth the wait.

Guest: “I don’t know how to root for right now, it’s like Toradora all over again.”

I’m really glad you brought up Toradora, which is hands down one of the best romance anime out there. It wasn’t one of the biggest inspirations for my story (which would probably be Oreimo in addition to Little Moments), but I can definitely see the similarities.

Guest: “Since you mentioned you’re in college, what’re your aspirations and plans for the future? You’d do great as a author, writer for animes, characters and novels judging by what I’ve seen from you. You seem to have an interest in gaming so you could have a certain paths on that or just take it as a way to kill time. Whatever you’re gonna be in the future you sure as hell are gonna be successful”

Thank you for saying so! I actually graduated about a year ago, but I started writing this story while I was still in college. I’m currently working as an engineer at a medical device company. I have no real training or experience as an author, so I’ll probably just stick with fanfiction as a hobby for now. I’m also learning to draw in the anime art style, so maybe I’ll try making a fan manga at some point as well. In the past, I’ve competed in really low level Super Smash Bros and Magic the Gathering tournaments, but I couldn’t see myself making a career out of it. In about a year or two, I plan to decide if I wanna stick with what I’m doing or go back to school for a bit to transition into something else. I have a friend who got into the game design industry after he graduated, which is something I would love to do as well. Becoming a teacher is another option since I like working with kids and I used to tutor other students in math, science, and programming, plus my aunt is a middle school math teacher. I also have a friend who got into writing for television after he graduated. I was mostly joking, but I already made him promise that if he ever somehow makes it big and gets his own cartoon, he’ll let me voice the villain since I’m “basically already the villain in his life.” I know a lot of my readers are in college, so I just wanna say to all of you that life can be pretty cool after you graduate, and I hope you all do as well as my friends and I have.

Guest: “Do you think Joel is dead in the Last of Us Part 2”

I don’t think so. Wasn’t he in the trailer? Either way, I know I’m gonna play the shit out of that game the second it comes out.

Guest: “God. Been reading from December and this story’s at the TOP of the Ben 10 fanfic section, well deserved. Gosh bless”

Is it really? Awesome! Also, I thought it was funny how you start the comment with “God” and then switch to “Gosh bless” at the end. Lucy prefers “Glob” because she’s a fan of Adventure Time.

Guest: “‘Shut up and put your hands around me’ Gwen is such a tsundere lmao”

Haha, absolutely! I love tsunderes. Totally my type.

Guest: “Since you haven’t seen Alien Force... did you by any chance check out Omniverse since some flashbacks involve the friendship Gwen, Lucy and Ben.”

I only watched a few episodes of Omniverse. I even specifically sought out the episodes that had Lucy in them because I wanted more of her. The show didn’t really appeal to me, but I enjoyed the episodes I saw and the Lucy ones were helpful for crafting her character in my story.

Guest: “We all know Ben and Gwen are gonna end up together and you also mentioned you might write epilogue one shots would it be possible to also write a optionn B) alternative ending where Ben and Lucy got together or would that not fit with the course of the story you’re taking in? Just like how they did Amigami SS, in each 5 episodes, they pair the MC with a girl in alternative ways and timelines of course to see how it would’ve played out. I feel bad for Lucy to be left out and as much as I love Bwen as she does, wish she had her chance too.”

The Bwen ending and the Bwency ending are the only ones that are really on the table right now. I will say that the ending is one of those two options, but I am willing to write an alternate ending for the other one. It’s hard to imagine a Ben/Lucy ending that wouldn’t be completely soul-crushing for Gwen, but I might consider giving it a shot.

Guest: “‘Beeeeeeeen! You...you...You're doing it wrong!’ ‘Give it a rest Dweeb, I'm doing the best I can.’ ‘Ahhhhhhh...Ouch! Wrong hole, Doofus! Do you even know what you're doing down there!?’ ‘Maybe I should've just asked Lucy for help...’”

Hey! How did you get my manuscript for Year 5?? I mean, uh...get this filth out of my Christian Minecraft server.

Guest: “Just wondering, but is this a purely Bwen fic? It seems kinda sad that I read 200K words thinking that Lucy doesn't really stand a chance. I was wondering how much of a jump it would take for all three of them to get together but it doesn't really matter anyways since you already finished writing this work. I just found this piece about 3 days ago and I gotta say I'm enjoying it quite a bit. I look forward to reading what kind of ending you have in store for these characters.”

It’s not purely a Bwen fic. It was my intention for everyone to know Ben and Gwen were going to end up together from the start, but for it to be unclear at this point if Lucy will be involved with them as well. Some of my readers are more convinced it will happen than others, but like I said earlier, I am willing to write both endings. Only one of them is written right now though.

#Comments

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fy-enhypen · 3 years

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“I want to sing and dance for many people” - Jake

JAKE set the following goals for his 20s: to show a more mature version of himself to everyone watching him and to become someone the younger members can turn to when in need of help. You have finally debuted.

JAKE: Our debut seems like yesterday, but time flew by because we had a jam-packed schedule from day one. All I think about these days is working hard.

How was the preparation for your debut?

JAKE: I had to work harder than the others because I’ve only been a trainee for nine months. I didn’t want to lag behind. Once we debut, our dance performances have to be perfectly synchronized, and there are fancams too, so everyone can tell whether we’re good or not. I thought a lot about my dancing and singing because I wanted to show everyone that I made progress during the two months of preparation for our debut.

You ranked first in the producers’ evaluation for the first time with “Flicker” on I-LAND. It must have felt special performing it again on the DEBUT SHOW. What did you want to emphasize during your solo shot on stage?

JAKE: HEESEUNG performed the first part of “Flicker” really well on I-LAND. So I asked him for advice and thought a lot about the gestures, expressions, and choreography to find my own style. Whenever I raised my eyebrows or slightly lifted my head, I made sure to put on more relaxed expressions and vibes. I think the relaxed expressions and gestures are what make a performance stand out, so I try to make my gestures look as relaxed as possible.

How do you practice those gestures?

JAKE: In fact, the gestures I do on stage are often different from when I practice them in front of the mirror. The gestures come out naturally under the stage lighting, with the vibe, and in my costumes. I never even thought about flapping the jacket lapel when I was practicing because I didn’t have the jacket on during practice, but it came out naturally on stage.

Then was your impression of a puppy at the end of the performance of “10 Months” also improvised?

JAKE: I love puppies, and I take it as a compliment when people tell me I look like a puppy. “10 Months” is about a 10-month-old puppy, so I thought the impression would go well with the song. (laughs) I did it on the spot, but I thought a little bit about how I should do it before I went on stage.

JAKE: Watching performance videos help me the most since I haven’t had much stage experience yet. There have been so many idol group performances with diverse concepts. Because I watch so many of them, I’ve become more mindful of the concepts when thinking about performances, and I try to copy the expressions of the idols that staged those performances. I watch the videos of YEONJUN from TOMORROW X TOGETHER to pick up the playful expressions. I want to look like I’m enjoying the performance, but also cute at the same time.

You must have tried to look natural and cool when you were filming the “Given-Taken” music video, too.

JAKE: It was changed on the set of the music video during filming, but made my hands relaxed while filming. I like the relaxed look. V from BTS gives me a lot of inspiration because he is so good at that and because he looks awesome. I want to be like him. That’s my goal. (laughs)

In your first close-up scene from the “Given-Taken” music video, you stand face-to-face with JAY. You two look great in the music video, but it might have been awkward since you are so close.

JAKE: It was very awkward. I couldn’t hold in my laughter to the point where I wanted to apologize to the director, so I actually looked a little bit to the side instead. I couldn’t help but laugh when I looked at his face. (laughs) We filmed without making eye contact or looking at each other’s faces. You know how we appear on the music video one by one? We also filmed many scenes where we face sideways, but I think they were taken out because we laughed so much.

You are not a big fan of scary things, but the “Given-Taken” music video was filmed in the forest late at night.

JAKE: I’m not that afraid of ghosts. I’m more afraid of people than ghosts, and I think I’m more scared of horror movies about people than ghosts.

You seemed terrified of bugs, though. (laughs)

JAKE: Wow. I have so many bad memories of bugs. I’ve had enough of giant bugs when I lived in Australia. (laughs)

It looked like there were a lot of bugs when you were filming the music video. It must have been difficult to focus.

JAKE: I really hate bugs, but I put up with it because we had to film. I thought I shouldn’t look scared because the director and many other staff members were waiting.

What did you think the music video was about when you were shooting it?

JAKE: It’s not easy to analyze “Given-Taken,” and I think it has a deep meaning. I think the song describes the determination or fear we have as we enter the new world after I-LAND, so I tried to be mindful of that when filming the music video. I didn’t want my gestures to suggest that the song can only be interpreted in one way. I wanted to leave room for interpretation for the fans. It wasn’t easy because it was my first time filming a music video, but I did my best.

The parts you sing in “Given-Taken” have many high notes. How did you practice singing?

JAKE: From the day after our debut was decided, I’ve been recording every single day, and I think that helped a lot. I was able to hear my voice from an objective point of view, and I thought I needed to change the way I vocalize. Even when I speak, I tend to be breathy, so my voice sounds a bit weak when I’m singing. I asked the producer how I could resonate, project, and sound more solid, and I learned a lot. I also tried to look for solutions on my own.

Your narration signaled the beginning of the team ENHYPEN. What did you want to express through the narration?

JAKE: I believe narrations should be able to draw people in. They should tie the whole album together. The title song “Given-Taken” is dark, and I thought it adequately described the fear and complicated feelings that arise when heading toward a new world so that’s the feel I tried to express.

It must have been difficult since it was your first time recording a narration.

JAKE: The producers and I worked really hard, and the members would tell me that I went into the studio with lots of energy and then came out looking exhausted. (laughs) It was my first time narrating, and there were many parts that were just my voice without any background music. There were so many things I had to be mindful of, like how to bring out the right emotion. So I would set a heavy tone in the studio with no lights on, and brought up a lot of different thoughts. You usually stand when you’re recording, but I sat down sometimes because it took so long. But I think my narration in the first trailer turned out pretty well because I did it after I got some practice from recording the Intro and Outro.

Your Australian accent from the narration received a lot of attention. What was it like living in Australia?

JAKE: Life in Australia was the definition of a chill life. I would get off school at three, and I didn’t have many things to do. The pace of life in Australia is slower, and you have a lot of time to think. So I found the Korean culture very different, with everything being done so quickly. I liked being busy and having a routine while living as a trainee for nine months in Korea, but these days, I sometimes miss the relaxed atmosphere of Australia. (laughs)

I heard you became a trainee after passing the global audition with the odds of 500:1.

JAKE: I found that out when I watched the show. Until the morning of the audition , I still debated whether to go or not. But my dad suggested we give it a shot, so I went without thinking too much about it and I sang Justin Bieber’s “Love Yourself.”

Were there any challenges to adapting to life as a trainee?

JAKE: Honestly speaking, I never knew it would be that hard. (laughs) It was okay on the days when I had lessons, but when I didn’t, I didn’t know what I should be doing all day long. But I prepared for the monthly performance tests, got lessons, and became more interested in dancing and singing. I think that’s when I started making a lot of progress.

You also got a lot of attention on I-LAND for consistently making progress.

JAKE: I spend a lot of time thinking about the feedback I receive, and I think I was able to make progress because I focused on fixing my problems. I try to think that if I keep thinking about ways to improve my performance, I’ll be able to perform better next time. And whenever I’m rehearsing or performing on stage, I don’t worry too much about it, and I try not to. I’m going to be on many different stages from now. I try to enjoy myself because I think I make fewer mistakes throughout the performance when I’m truly having fun. When I moved to Korea from Australia, I had to transfer to a Korean school, and that along with becoming a trainee was completely new to me, so it wasn’t easy at first. But once I got used to my life as a trainee, it was fine.

Moving to Korea to become a trainee must have been a big decision.

JAKE: I made the bold choice to leave behind a lot of things in Australia to come here. My parents and I were very concerned because the path of a trainee is rife with uncertainties that can disappear all of a sudden. But when I get hooked on something, I have to see it through to the end. I think about it all day and become obsessive. (laughs) Ever since I started dreaming of becoming an idol, my goal was to debut no matter what. So even when people told me that being a trainee will be difficult, I thought of it as a step toward my dream.

ENHYPEN must hold a special meaning for you.

JAKE: Enhypen will be a part of me for the rest of my life, and I really think of the members as family. You know, BTS is famous for their strong teamwork and a tight-knit relationship, and it shows in their videos. We want to follow their example.

You said that you get along with SUNGHOON very well because you’re the same MBTI type and have a lot in common.

JAKE: We depend on each other a lot. We have so much in common, and he has even more things on his mind. When we were choosing our in-ear monitors, he thought it over for three more days (laughs). It’s interesting because he often reminds me of myself before my personality changed. We share the same blood type and MBTI type. So when he is concerned about something, I often tell him what I would have wanted to hear if I had been in his situation.

The members born in 2002 will enter your 20s very soon.

JAKE: This year has been very hectic for me, moving to Korea and becoming a trainee, and the next thing I know, I’m almost an adult. Honestly, I don’t have big expectations and haven’t given much thought about it, but I’m happy that I’m becoming an adult with the members who were born in 2002, like me.

What do you want your 20s to be like?

JAKE: Above all, I’m an artist now, and I feel a sense of anxiety and tension about the fact that many people are watching me. So I’m determined to show a more mature version of myself. I’m 19, which means I’m the second oldest member of the team. Many of the members are younger than me, but they seem to think I’m cute, and honestly speaking, I don’t think I’m acting like an older member either (laughs). So I want to become close to them, and be someone they can turn to when they’re feeling down.

Then as a member of ENHYPEN, what kind of artist do you want to be?

JAKE: I was an ordinary teenager until a year ago, and even now, I don’t think I’m very different from other people. I just think of myself as a performer and a musician. So I want to sing and dance for many people.

There are fans out there who love your performance and music.

JAKE: This is still very new to me, and honestly, I’m so grateful and I don’t think this feeling will ever go away. (laughs) It’s my first time having fans, and I’m absolutely overwhelmed. It was my birthday a while ago, and I’ve never received so many congratulations from so many people. I was really grateful. I was all alone in the practice studio on my last birthday, calling and texting my family, but this year, I was so happy to see not only my family but so many fans rooting for me and sending me love.

It’s a shame you can’t meet them in person right now.

JAKE: Like I said, I dreamed of becoming an idol watching idol group performances, and I dreamed of going on stage at a concert and screaming and shouting with the fans. I don’t know when that’ll be, but when I finally get to perform in front of our fans, I think I’ll be unimaginably happy.

#201225 #enhypen #jake #t: weverse #t: interview

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captainchrisfics · 5 years

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Endgame Interviews and Special News

About: As per the request of @rororo06 , Chris Evans and the (first person pov) reader are married and going through a round of press interviews, although the plot of Endgame isn’t the only thing they’re worried about spoiling (hope you don’t mind that addition to the plot!)

Words: 2,600

A/N: Featuring the lowest key hint at what could possibly be considered a spoiler, lines lifted straight from Chris and RDJ’s dialogue in The Avengers, and a reference to a quote from my favorite author, Jandy Nelson.

“So, this is potentially the last time we’ll see the two of you in the MCU. I’d imagine that feels pretty weird, huh?” The interviewer asked, sitting a little closer to us in her chair that looked so much comfier than the folding ones Chris and I have been sitting in all day. I felt bad for omitting her name from my memory. I really did try to remember, but this is our seventh question session of the day and there reaches a point where they all kind of blur together and you forget things. I made an effort to push the thought of exactly why forgetfulness was plaguing me way worse than usual out of my mind in the hopes that it wouldn’t accidentally slip from my mind to my mouth during this Q and A.

“I think I can speak for the both of us when I say that after shooting so many of these, getting back on set sort of feels like coming home,” Chris said with his Boston accent accentuating his vowels in a way I would’ve laughed at if it were just the two of us. “Granted, it’s in the same weird way a high school reunion does.” The interviewer giggled at that and tried to hide her blush behind her notes, but I’ve gotten pretty good at catching the flirty eyes women gave my husband and how their voices raised a couple octaves around him. I couldn’t blame her, Chris has always had this disarming charm about him and I was secure enough to know he wasn’t entrancing her intentionally. Chris intertwined his arm with the one I had sitting on his armrest, never knowing where the blurry boundary of my personal space ended and his began, and held my hand. “What do you think, babe?” he asked, turning his baby blues to me with his attention and perching one eyebrow higher than the other. I nodded in agreement and added, “We’ve watched them grow so much over the years, it feels more like sending our kid to college.”

The interviewer cleared her throat and turned to me, more serious now. “I mean, I grew up watching these movies over the last decade. Being one of the first female heroes in the series, you’re someone little girls everywhere have been looking up to for a long time now,” she said, eyes boring into mine the way they do when conveying the kind of admiration someone had when they saw you as a hero, despite the fact that all I did was pretend to be one. The appreciation people who could see a reflection of themselves in your mirror, one that the screen didn’t show them too often, wasn’t something I’d ever get used to. “Thank you,” I said earnestly, placing a hand over hers. “I can only take so much responsibility, though. The most amazing women in this industry from the cast to crew work on these movies, standing alongside them has been one of the biggest honors.”

Chris smiled down at me as I spoke and stretched to wrap his arm around me and I leaned into his side comfortably, giving into the giant magnet always pulling us together. “Your relationship has been something so many fans loved seeing develop on and off screen as well. Any clue as to how your characters will be affected by the Endgame?” she asked, tucking one index card behind another. I started twisting my wedding ring around my finger unconsciously, thinking about how crucial this franchise was in bringing us together for the first time in a while, with a new sense of nostalgia. It wasn’t a secret that our contracts were up and, as excited as we both were to move on to new projects, there was a bitterness sprinkled in with the sweet when I thought about hanging up our superhero costumes for the last time.

Chris was established as Captain America in his origin story, but I was a new addition on the set of The Avengers. Still, the role wasn’t as second nature to him then as it is now. He didn’t feel as though the shield felt right on his arm. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to Chris, but that’s not why I invited him back to my trailer after a particularly stiff scene, even though when he tells the story it’s because his blue eyes and high cheekbones ignited an irrevocable love for him within me and a burning need (not desire, need) to be in his presence every moment I could. It was an exceptionally humid day, made worse by our heat-trapping supersuits, which grew into a sticky summer night spent sat in my trailer going over our lines for hours on end. There was something I noticed about the way Chris was carrying himself during our scenes together that was so unnatural, I just hoped to help him grow more comfortable with me so the camera wouldn’t pick up on whatever was bugging him next time we were on set.

We were at this part where everyone’s arguing, shouting over one another while Loki’s scepter glowed behind them. Chris and I were standing a little too close for comfort, sandwiched together by the counters in my thin trailer, which made it increasingly difficult to stay in character. “Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam?” I said with faux nonchalance in reference to Bruce’s growing temper, slapping my hand on his broad shoulder. Chris shook the script in his hand to stiffen the pages, staring at it intently before turning to me with a dramatically furrowed brow and tight jaw. He slapped my hand away, shoulders heaving as he breathed heavily with acted anger, and said, “You know damn well why so back off.” Chris took a small but threatening step toward me, looming just inches away. Although the harsh lines of his bone structure and intensity in his stare made Chris that much more intimidating, I tried to rely on my character’s own unabashed smugness as I rolled my shoulders back and crossed my arms, playing his challenger. “Oh,” I said, eyes dragging from the frown on his lips to meet those gorgeous blue eyes. I tried to step back, as the script directed, but my back hit the cabinet. “I’m starting to want you to make me,” I said lowly, conscious of my breath fanning across his face.

Instead of saying his next line, Chris threw his script down on the tabletop. He closed what was left of the little space between us by reaching out and caressing my cheek. His other hand slipped behind me, resting on the small of my back. Our chests rose and fell together, brushing against each other with every breath. His eyes searched mine, looking for permission. When his mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying and failing to find the words, I kissed him. It was slow at first, soft and uncertain as our mouths melded together, but before I knew it everything was on fire. I felt hot, every inch of skin Chris touched burned for his attention again. So did he, with the way his blood rushing turned his skin into a radiator. I wasn’t thinking about it as Chris pushed his hips into mine and sucked on the skin of my neck, leading me to the trailer’s sorry excuse for a mattress, but I read somewhere that when people fall in love they burst into flames, which I think is as true as the sky being blue.

Although, watching the movies now, it’s clear there was always some sort of tension between us if you know what you’re looking for. In the scenes we shot before that day, Chris stood straighter around me and puffed out his chest while I walked with an embarrassingly prominent sway in my hips. After though, even by the next morning, it was clear to everyone we’d grown more comfortable together. We found our rhythm and it showed, causing the directors to pursue an on-screen relationship between our characters. Chris and I didn’t complain too much about getting paid to do what we already were anyway.

“Would you agree?” Chris inquired, tracing the tip of his thumb along my shoulder to regain my attention. I nodded absentmindedly, focusing on trying to keep the blush in my cheeks to a minimum. My hand floated to where it rested on my stomach without me noticing while I was reminiscing, which I pulled away quickly and prayed no one would notice in the recording’s shoulders-up shot. “So I think we’ll see a new side of Steve,” Chris reiterated the point I’d missed. “At this point, I’d say he’s willing to stop at nothing to get her back after she got dusted in Infinity War,” he elaborated, moving the light line his finger brushed against my shoulder a little higher to draw shapes on my exposed skin, sending shivers down my spine. Chris either didn’t know or didn’t acknowledge the effect he was having on me as he kept talking without breaking the interviewer’s eye contact. “It’ll be interesting to see how he handles really losing everything for the second time now.”

She nodded solemnly and gave his words a minute to hang on suspense in the air before leaning toward me as she shifted her attention again. “Your chemistry is so clear on screen, you two get along effortlessly. I was wondering if it’s like that in real life as well?” I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at the assumption, knowing that suppressing my anger every time I had to pick up the socks Chris strewn all over the apartment since he refused to put them in the laundry each time he peeled off another pair sure as hell wasn’t even close to resembling effortlessness. “Sorry, it’s just… of course it isn’t,” I said, causing Chris to feign hurt as he pressed his hand to his heart and joked about me twisting the knife. “No, really. We’re real people. We fight over the stupidest things,” I insisted. Chris nodded, bringing up how the third world war almost broke out in our kitchen this morning after I discovered he finished my favorite cereal and put the box back. I fired back by mentioning the time he lost the screaming match over whether we should record the Patriots game or the premiere of my favorite show.

“At the end of the day, I love him,” I said, as Chris placed his hand over mine. “It’s like stumbling through the house when you’re sloppy drunk,” I paused to allow Chris the time to throw his head back in the laughter I knew was coming, the kind that pulled his hand to his pec as he sunk into his seat. “Really,” I implored once he finished. “Sometimes it’s dark and you have no clue where you’re going, but you figure it out. It isn’t perfect, you forget to take your makeup off, we fight, but you put on your pajamas and choose to land on your soft bed instead of the floor, which feels like exactly where you’re supposed to be. It’s where you fit in the world but you have to make it work, too.” I turned to Chris who met me with a quick peck on the lips. The interviewer cooed, calling that the sweetest thing she’d ever heard though her tone told me that wasn’t the case. “You wouldn’t think it was so cute if you poured your heart and soul out in your vows and she stood at the altar and compared you to a drunk night in front of your whole family,” Chris dramatically pinched in between his eyes to drive the joke home to the woman across from us, who genuinely believed him for a second until we both burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry on Marvel’s publicists’ behalf,” I apologized, wiping a tear from my eye. “They really should know better than to put us together for these things, being twenty-two movies deep and all.” The interviewer chuckled lightly and I could tell her patience was running thin as she tried to reign Chris and I back in. She asked the usual concluding question: if there was anything more we could say about Endgame without losing our jobs.

“Whatever you’re expecting, I guarantee you’ll still be surprised,” I promised. The interviewer raised her eyebrows and laughed, joking about how ominous that sounded. I just shrugged, letting my answer speak for itself in an attempt to be mysterious. And to avoid breaking my contract, spoiling the movie, and being sent to that training camp they made Ruffalo attend. Chris contemplated the question a little more than I did before saying, “It’s definitely an ode to the fans, which is my favorite thing about it. I’ll guarantee,” he said, shooting me a pointing look coupled with a knee-weakening smirk, “that they’ll love watching it as much as we loved making it.”

Chris thanked the interviewer and excused himself to the snack table while I shook her hand. We were only afforded short breaks between shots, which he intended to make the most of by stuffing as many grapes into his mouth as possible. I met him there and took a donut that disappeared in mere minutes. “You know what else I really loved making?” Chris whispered to me with incisive eyes aimed at my stomach, taking advantage of our few moments alone today to poke fun at me. “That’s such a weird thing to say,” I remarked, crinkling my nose at his comment. “I know,” he laughed, popping another grape into his mouth. Before swallowing he cocked his head toward me and said, “You know what’s worse? I actually almost said that.” I rolled my eyes as I giggled at him. “Imagine if that’s how everyone found out we’re pregnant,” I entertained the idea, laughing harder at the absurdity. I could just imagine the YouTube comments now. Maybe even an E! News headline that went something like: Chris Evans Spoils Pregnancy Instead of Endgame. Chris shrugged sheepishly, taking a step toward me as he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. “I can’t help it, I’m just so excited,” he grinned down at me, staring at me with soft eyes. My gaze met his, making me melt from the inside out. “Me too,” I said quietly, wrapping my arm around his waist and bumping our hips together as we fused. “Don’t you think it’d be a fun way to tell everyone? Like hey guys, we’ve got some special news- here’s the link to our pregnancy announcement!” Chris tried to get me to give in. “It’s still way too early and-” I started, until the director cut me off.

“You two, back on set!” he called Chris and me back to our chairs to start the next round of interrogation. This time the interviewer was a young kid who gaped at us with a grin so big it looked like it ached. He was dressed as Captain America, which Chris kept insisting would be our baby’s first Halloween costume, so I knew he was about to be putty in this boy’s hands. “Don’t slip now,” I reminded him, shooting Chris a threatening look. His head ping-ponged between me and this kid who sat in a folding chair, legs dangling above the floor. “But-” he started, until I squeezed his hand a little harder than necessary to prove my point. “Fine, but this is harder than not spoiling the movie, you know?” Chris groaned playfully before walking toward his seat again, ready for another Endgame interview.

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scrawnydutchman · 4 years

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My Animation Journey: Thomas van Kampen

Hey everyone! It’s been a VERY long time since I updated my blog, huh?

So for this post I thought I would do something a little different. For those who don’t know, I’m a professional animator. I have been for about two years now. I’ve worked on shows like Trailer Park Boys: The Animated Series, Care Bears: Unlock the Magic and Curious George. I’ve also been a part of a few other projects before that like the crowdfunded feature film Dawgtown. Reason I bring all of this up is I figured it might be helpful to some folks if they knew how exactly I got to this position. Nowadays it feels like if you throw a rock you’ll more than likely hit an aspiring professional artist, but for as many as there may be a lot of them aren’t actually sure if they can make it due to a number of doubts. Maybe they can’t afford schooling. Maybe they aren’t in a region where the industry is prominent. Maybe they just don’t know what they have to do to get studio attention. I personally feel that the story of how I broke in to the industry is pretty unique so my hope is that reading it might help many an aspiring artist gain confidence and maybe even fill in the blanks for their own story. So without further ado, let’s start at the beginning.

Part 1: The Beginning

My entire life I’ve always been a storyteller. When I was in elementary school I used to make little comic books out of stapled pieces of printer paper and hand them out to my classmates. In high school I wrote a 100 page fantasy novel and wrote/directed a play in drama class. My grades were never all that good, but I always scored high in art and creative writing projects. Here’s a comedy skit I put together back in high school with my friends (warning: incoming cringe):

youtube

As a testament to my love for storytelling, I thought for a very long time my destiny lied in live action film making. But that didn’t exactly pan out the way I hoped. For one, I was rejected from my nearby institute’s video production course 3 times. For another, I didn’t exactly have all the skills necessary to direct a production involving multiple people. Film proved to be a difficult path for me because I couldn’t work around peoples’ schedules and I couldn’t find the locations I wanted for the types of stories I wanted to tell. Best I could ever do was comedy skits. All this compounded failure left me drifting for a little while after high school.

But then, on my 18th birthday, my dad pulled me aside to give me a proposal. He said that since 18 is such a milestone, he and my mom wanted to do something extra special for my gift. He told me I have two options: I can either get $100 dollars to spend on whatever I want . . . or, if I had something in mind for starting a career, he would spend as high as $800.

Obviously I wanted to take the latter. But I wasn’t sure what to do. Film wasn’t panning out. My mom and dad at the time tried to pressure me into app development and computer coding because they seemed like safe ventures, but I couldn’t entertain something like that. Whatever it is I chose, it had to allow me to tell the stories that I wanted to tell.

Then, it hit me. I suddenly remembered hearing about this animation program called “Toon Boom” back in high school comm tech. So I thought “why don’t I do animation?”. After all, I could already draw. Plus, with animation you don’t have ANY of the limitations of live action. You can create anything you can imagine with animation and you can make everything yourself from the comfort of your room. I knew it was going to be a time consuming thing, but after a bit of soul searching I knew this is what I wanted for myself. So I told my dad about it and he managed to find a student copy of toon boom animate for cheap on Ebay (back when it didn’t go by Harmony). So I got that for my birthday and got to work. I still have my very first cartoon here:

youtube

Oh yeah, it’s awful. I had a VERY rudimentary understanding of how animation worked. I drew everything haphazardly with my mouse. I didn’t know how to use motion tweens all that well so in some places I just copy pasted assets and rotated the drawings slightly. I stole copyrighted music (which miraculously I haven’t been caught for yet). I recorded the dialogue on my phone. Worst of all, I didn’t even know how to properly compress my video. Believe it or not, this took me a month and a half to make.

But you know what? Everyone I knew loved it. My feed blew up and everyone made a point to tell me how funny they thought it was. I remember my dad saying “toon boom seems like a good investment!” Needless to say, the positive reinforcement was very encouraging.

I’m hoping the takeaway here is two things:

1. Knowing what you want in life is a deep, soul searching process, but once you find it, committing to it isn’t all that hard, even if it’s tedious as hell.

2. The best way to get started in anything is to just, well . . . get started. Make something. ANYTHING. even if it’s not that great. For as poorly as this cartoon has aged, it resulted in me getting my very first commission from my brother where he asked me to make a music video for his band. It also resulted in me getting a drawing tablet for Christmas later that year. Even bad content is better than having nothing in your repertoire at all. Try getting your ideas out no matter what.

This boost in confidence eventually resulted in me going for making long form content. I wrote, animated, edited, voice acted and directed TWO episodes of a show featuring the character you see in my very first cartoon. The first episode took me half a year to create and the second took me a WHOLE YEAR. But you know what? I was showing clear signs of improving all the way.

Here are the episodes:

youtube

Part 2: Making connections

So at this point, my motivation to break my way into the arts was in full throttle. I was SURE that animation is what I wanted to do in life. Making little shorts was cool and all, but I still needed to learn how to get professional attention. So there’s a number of things I did:

For starters, I needed to know what employers were looking for when I apply for a job. I remember way back, around the time i was halfway through making episode 2 of the Peacock, I was talking to a friend of my brother’s at his birthday party. I told him I wanted to pursue animation professionally (I believe this was after we were talking about the music video I made for my brother) and he said that he knew a guy in Vancouver who was doing 3D animation. I asked for his name and then later that night looked him up on Facebook. Once I was sure I was talking to the right guy, I wrote him a lengthy message about how much breaking into animation would mean to me. He told me that he was visiting my home town for a little while anyway and he generously donated his time to answer my questions about the industry over coffee. He told me all about demo reels and how I would need to structure it and what kind of knowledge that studios were looking for and all that type of stuff. I was also recommended to talk to another professional in my home town and she told me to get started on a portfolio website. So I took everything they were telling me and started applying it.

my niece told me about this organization in my hometown that she found out about through the grapevine. This place called the “Quickdraw Animation Society”. It was this organization dedicated to helping local artists find their voice and gain the skills necessary to make their own animated films. I thought this was perfect!! College was sort of off the table for me since my dad highly encouraged getting an education at this trade school and he told me he wouldn’t pay for an education that didn’t guarantee a job at the end (and looking back knowing the kind of debt i could have fallen into, I kind of side with him on that one). But Quickdraw was offering animation courses for cheap! Even i could afford it on my part time retail salary! So I took Quickdraw’s classes and used them as a vehicle to start making even more of my own projects.

Here’s just one of several short animations I made while studying under Quickdraw:

youtube

But my involvement with Quickdraw didn’t stop there. I made a point to volunteer for them in their move and their fundraising efforts and their little animation showcases. I made a point to REALLY get involved with their community. That ended up being arguably the most instrumental decision in my career. After a while I got done making my very first Demo Reel. I was ready to start officially applying for jobs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fx5OHGfYz-4

I know this reel doesn’t seem like much, but believe it or not, with the help of the Quickdraw Animation Society, this reel ended up getting me my first two major animation gigs.

The takeaway here is: get involved with a community. Reach out to people. Get yourself out there. Don’t be afraid to ask professionals questions and accept that a lot of this is going to involve relying on the kindness of strangers. Nobody gets anywhere without somebody helping them.

Part 3: Thomas the Freelancer

After I completed my very first demo reel, as fate would have it Quickdraw began emailing me among others about new job opportunities popping up. The first time they informed me of a job post, it was somebody looking for an artist to create animated backgrounds for a stage play performance of “Curious George”. I was among the very first to send my application and this was the very first time I used my demo reel to try and land a job. The next day, their recruiter contacted me on the phone and started with “thank you for including a demo reel instead of putting the illness on me to track down your work like other applicants”. See how important a demo reel is? I ended up creating every background for every scene of that play, which was projected onto the screen behind the performers as they did their thing.

After that, Quickdraw informed me of ANOTHER job post. This time it was a children’s book author in Edmonton looking for an animator to help her win an animated film pitch contest. The winners of this contest would get a grant of $10,000 to create their animated short which would then be featured on Telus’ Storyhive platform. I sent her my demo reel and she brought me on to help put together the assets we needed to make the cut. And guess what? We were among the few who were selected to earn the $10,000. This resulted in me flying for the VERY FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE to Vancouver, where we would attend a workshop detailing the conditions of the contest. I also happened to meet even more animation friends on the plane (they were sitting right across from me and were other winners of the Storyhive competition).

In the following months I would dedicate almost ALL my free time to this short film. I even quit my part time job so i could commit to it full time (a decision my dad was thrilled about, I’m sure). I did all the storyboarding, background design, character design and animation BY MYSELF. If anything in the development cycle was visual related, I was the guy that did it, taking notes from my directors all along the way. In hindsight, I definitely should have asked for more help since the final product has a few flaws, but this is still a milestone achievement in my career.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmTuwIeEoqA

At this point, I had somewhat made a name for myself. I had credentials. I had recommendations from clients. Gerry Mouse would go on to be featured in multiple film festivals: My film festival debut in fact. As you can imagine, my ego was at an all time high. After the film released I updated my demo reel again and felt like I was ready to officially start applying for full time studio work in the industry.

As I would come to find . . . it wouldn’t be that easy.

Part 4: The Dry Spell

Gerry Mouse was the last big success of mine for quite some time. What followed was an entire year of doing ‘freelance work’ . . . .which is a polite way of saying I was mostly unemployed with only a few small gigs inbetween. I was relentlessly applying for studios all over Canada, hoping SOMEBODY would give me the time of day. In some places, a few studios even offered me the chance to do a test . . . but due to circumstances that I’m honestly embarrassed about in retrospect, I either failed them or couldn’t complete them at all. My dad eventually started pressuring me to get any kind of employment I could get my hands on, but even trying to find work in low requirement fields was proving to be fruitless. I was getting depressed, which was compounded on by the fact that I had gone through a hard break up around that time as well. it wasn’t ALL bad though. Around that time I made another short film called “A Lovely Stroll”, which would later be featured in both the Florida Animation Festival AND the Open World Animation Festival (which is kind of like my debut as a writer and director, not just the crews animation lead).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afN2v3pBiqQ

It was also around this time where I got a month long remote gig from a studio in Toronto that was . . . honestly? Best paying gig I ever got to this day. It’s too bad that never amounted to anything bigger. I also started doing a wee bit of animation for Dawgtown too, but that eventually ran dry due to production complications. The bulk of that time was just spent by me being depressed and uncertain about the future, earning what ever money I could with small commissions here and there.

Then, within my endless pushing of applications hoping for any studio in all of Canada to notice me, I happened to send an application to Copernicus Studios in Halifax, Nova Scotia. The human resources department responded to my application saying that they weren’t hiring at the time, but they were gearing up to recruit for something that summer and may contact me again with the opportunity to do a test months down the line.

And that’s exactly what they did.

When I received the animation test from Copernicus, I was more determined than ever. I was going to dedicate as much time as I possibly could to making this test look the best it could be. I remember spending VERY late nights being very paranoid about every little detail and frantically looking up whatever I didn’t know about Toon Boom at the time. After I submitted my test, I was counting down the days for their response.

They got back to me in a reasonable amount of time and asked if I would be interested in a video interview. I was freaking out and wanted to make ABSOLUTELY sure I could impress. I cleaned up as well as I could and made sure to answer all their questions honestly and concisely.

And then . . . they officially offered me a role on the production. You can’t imagine the rush of joy that went through me when I first read that email. After years of grinding and twiddling my thumbs I finally broke my glass ceiling. The idea of a random kid from Alberta breaking into a niche industry like that with no college education was unheard of. They told me in the video interview that the contract was for a Netflix animated adaptation of a classic adult Canadian sitcom. At the time I thought it was going to be Corner Gas. It turned out to be Trailer Park Boys. Once we got the news, I celebrated with all my family and friends and my dad and I planned my move to Halifax; a city on the complete opposite side of the country.

This next bit has nothing to do with the animation stuff, I just think it’s an interesting tidbit to share:

At first, my dad and I were struggling to find a place for me to live in the city. The problem was that my new contract wanted me to start in late May, but every lease of every apartment naturally wants you to start living there the first of the month. But, the biggest stroke of luck in the universe would happen to me. My dad happened to call one apartment’s office and explained to them what my situation was and they said

“funny you should mention that . . .I have two tenants here in my office RIGHT NOW that are looking for somebody to sublease for them and they need to be moved out by May 25th. If Tom subleases for them he can be in there before June no problem.”

WHAT. ARE. THE. CHANCES. OF. THAT??????

My apartment’s previous tenants were super nice too. for a thousand dollars they gave me their double sized bed, their microwave, their working desk, their couch, their vacuum cleaner and a bunch of other things to help me get started. They also went out of their way to get me nice things like a laundry card with $20 on it, a map of Halifax, a cupboard stocked up with insta-noodles, some cheap cutlery and bowls. . . . they went super out of their way to be nice to me on my first move and I’ll never forget that.

At the time I thought a stroke of luck like that was a sign from God that I was pursuing my destiny. To this day I think that still might be true. My takeaway here is don’t give up no matter what. Even if things seem uncertain at times, perseverance and tenacity will pay off in the end.

So with that, I said goodbye to my family and friends and moved to Halifax to begin my adult life as a full time PROFESSIONAL animator. I felt like I could take on anything.

And that . . . wasn’t 100% true.

Part 5: Growing Pains

I was very excited to work on my first studio production in house and it was through this contract that I met some of my closest friends ever. I learned more about toon boom and animation in 3 months than I did in 3 years of freelancing. But it wasn’t all fun and games. In fact, a lot of it was VERY VERY stressful and I ended up making more mistakes than I care to admit. In retrospect it’s easy to forgive myself because that’s just what happens when you’re that green, especially with a journey as unorthodox as mine, but at the time I did NOT take it well at ALL. See, at this point I was 100% motivated to be the best artist I could possibly be. As far as I was concerned not much else in life mattered that much. And that made me toxic. I had a hard time emotionally with taking criticism for my work. I started getting argumentative with my friends. I overworked myself. I tried to have a sense of humor for my problems but the self deprecating jokes only made me feel worse. What followed was nearly 2 years of feeling what the industry pros call “imposter syndrome”. I had it BAD. But luckily, I get by with a little help from my friends. I started opening up about what I was going through and luckily the people around me have been very reassuring about my right to be where I am. But the feelings of inadequacy DID end up leaving a dent in my work at the time and by the time Copernicus was recruiting for another toon boom show, I was not one of the few selected. But there WAS an alternative. They had just opened up some positions for their flash show (which was Care Bears: Unlock the Magic). They gave me the opportunity to do the flash test and I accepted. At the time I didn’t know very much about Flash . . . like, at all . . . but I sat down to learn as much about it as I could in the week that I had and I had done JUST well enough on the test to get myself another contract. From then on I spent nearly a year mastering Flash. Then, I was eventually brought on to Curious George to help on shadows and revisions. Then, shortly after, Copernicus asked me if I’d be interested in doing the builds test. I said yes, learned a bunch of stuff on the fly and got that job too. That’s what I’m doing right now.

The takeaway here is more an important lesson for when you DO make it rather than your journey to that point. When you break into the industry, you’re going to be met with a LOT of challenges. this industry is highly competitive and highly demanding. It’s not enough to be a skilled artist; you also have to have the grit to be a dependable team member. Matter of fact, at a time when my skill wasn’t cutting it, my grit was what helped keep me from washing out. And also, don’t be afraid to try new things. In an industry as volatile as animation being a jack of all trades is a HUGE selling point.

My advice is stay determined and, more importantly . . .try not to let failure get to your heart. keep your head up, allow yourself to heal, and forgive your mistakes. You’re not always going to stick the landing, but that’s okay. If you stick with it, you’ll still come out of that situation with more than when you entered.

Conclusion:

So why did I share all of this? I shared it because I know a lot of young, aspiring artists out there are uncertain about their future. I know you might feel like you can’t do it because you don’t know everything or you don’t have all the right credentials or you might screw things up if you try. I want you to listen to your heart and pursue what you want anyway. If I can make it, you can too. And take pride in the story of your journey. If you succeed, even given your circumstances, your story will be valuable in a way that mine couldn’t possibly be. I know a lot of my success has to deal with inordinate luck and I will forever be grateful for that, but I will always be just as grateful that I had the fortitude for when times were at their toughest. Go out there. Make what you want to make. Do whatever you can to learn the basics even if you can’t go to college. Ask for help. Get as involved with a community as you can. Whatever you start, stick with it. Be patient. Embrace challenge. Take those leaps of faith. Finally . . . forgive yourself for the times that you fail.

To finish off this post, here is a montage representing my animation journey from 2014-2020. Best of luck, all you artists out there

https://www.facebook.com/tom.vankampen/posts/10221173577866185

#animation #2dart #2d animation #toonboom #cartoon #career advice

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