#dean corso x male | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

knives-out20 · 3 years

Text

Discrepancy - Dean Corso x Male!OC - #3

Fandom: The Ninth Gate (1999)

Pairing: Ambrósio ‘Ambrose’ Fargas (OC) x Dean Corso

Warnings: Swearing, Faggotry, Spoilers for The Ninth Gate, Flirting, Homoerotism, Sexual phone stuff but not phone sex y’know, Ambrósio has no chill and knows no bounds y’all,

Notes: what is going ON y’all....lmao

Dean lay on the bed of his hotel room in Paris, talking to Ambrósio over the phone. "Ambrósio, how are you holding up?"

"I'm lying down if that answers your question, Dean" Ambrósio answered, definitely wearing a shit-eating grin.

Lying down, Dean thought. "What're you doing?"

"Oh, I dunno...talking to some shady book dealer over the telephone."

"I'm shady?" Dean chuckled. "First I'm out of place, and now I'm shady?"

"Yea, man, what the fuck is with your fucking gray hairs around your ears, you got premature graying or something?" Ambrósio inquired, squinting a bit.

"Have you just been thinking about the hairs around my ears lately?"

"I've been thinking of more than the hair around your ears, Dean."

"My facial hair?" Dean teased.

"More than your hair, man."

Dean grinned, "ever the flirt?"

"I try my best, Corso." Ambrósio rubbed his thigh, biting the edge of his lip.

"You been, uh...back at the house, as of late?"

Ambrósio shrugged. "Carmen let me go back to check it out with her really buff boyfriend, like, wrestler-type buff, Jeronimo's huge."

"Is he setting some high expectations up for me?"

Ambrósio decided to mess with Dean. He put on a puzzled tone, "who said they're for you?"

This caught Dean off-guard, like Ambrósio wanted it to. "Oh- uh, nothing, I just- all this had led me to assume-"

"Chill, man, calm down, I'm playing around" Ambrósio giggled. "It felt a bit...grim, but that's obvious, y'know? I mean, with...the reason why I'm staying with my friends in the first place."

"Yea."

A moment of silence struck the two before Ambrósio asked Dean another question. "Where are you right now?"

Dean's gaze darted around his hotel room. "In a hotel."

"Central?"

Dean slowly licked his lips in thought. "Uhh...Sure." He nodded, pulling out a slip of paper and a pen. "I'm staying at this Hotel Central place nearby, in this room. You can reach me there if you're specific."

"No, no. Out of the country." Dean corrected him.

Ambrósio scoffed, "yea, so where are you?"

"France. Ever been?"

"You offering?"

"Again?"

"I'm assuming that's a no."

Ambrósio broke out into a smile as he leaned back in his seat. "Does adoption not exist in America, or wherever?" He giggled. "I'm adopted, half-Pakistani."

"Ever been?"

"You offering?" Ambrósio joked.

"Don't lose hope" Dean smiled. "If I grow to like you enough, decide I need some sort of companionship in my life, I'll reach out."

"You make it seem like it'll be a privilege to me, to be able to hang out with you. It's quite the opposite."

"Oh, really?"

"Yea. It'll be a privilege to you, or rather anyone, to hang out with me, Ambrósio Fargas."

"That's true. Any new up-comings with your..uh...grandfather?"

"Mmh." Ambrósio hummed in a gloomy way. "Jeronimo has an uncle that's in the funeral business. He'll help with all the funeral stuff for my Avô."

"Wish I could come."

"It's like you want to be out of place, Dean, jeez" Ambrósio laughed.

Dean liked listening to Ambrósio's laughter, even more-so since he caused it. He assumes he just liked that he was able to make Ambrósio smile during this suddenly-dark time in his life, given the abrupt death of Victor and all.

Ambrósio and Dean got hit with another moment of comfortable silence. It seemed to be a running thing between the two men.

"You still lying down?"

"On my bed in Carmen's guest bedroom, yea. Why? You gonna ask me what I'm wearing?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you're still wearing that red shirt."

"I have a damn washing machine, Dean" Ambrósio licked his lips. "It's unbuttoned just like the first time you saw it."

"You wearing those gray pants, too? With the stripes?"

Ambrósio hummed his answer, meaning a 'no." "I'm wearin' some shorts, actually. Switching things up, today. What're you wearing, Corso?"

"Same things from the day you first saw me."

"Not one for changes, eh?" Ambrósio questioned. "Well, no. You probably are, given that Balkan's making you go here 'n' there around the globe for some old books 'n'...whatever. Y'know?"

"Yea," Dean nodded. "I'm really sorry, too, Ambrósio. About your grandfather. I never meant for this to happen to him, I didn't anticipate it like you did, but anticipation really has nothing to do with it." He explained. "I'm sorry."

"It's nothing. My Avô was old as hell anyway, Dean. He was bound to go sometime, but I just...not so soon. He was a good man."

"I'm sure he was, he seemed like it."

Ambrósio smiled. "You're a good man, too."

"Really?"

"Yea." Ambrósio nodded. "You, you- you didn't need to give me your hotel number that night you first came, you didn't need to come inside the house to call for me the other day. You didn't need to make sure I was okay, and gonna be okay. You didn't need to make sure I had some place to stay, or ask for Carmen's number in order to reach me. Hell, you don't need to be talking to me right now" he listed out, admittedly blushing a bit.

"But...I am."

"But you are, exactly. You added me into your little equation when you had the choice to leave me in your memories as Fargas' pretty, queer grandkid."

"'Pretty'?" Dean repeated.

"I'm fucking divine, Dean, it's in my name. Meanwhile, Dean means like...'valley.'"

"Would you describe me as a valley, Ambrose?"

"A valley of weird gray hairs, some round glasses, dark academia, and an angular face."

"You think my face is angular?"

"In a good way, pretty boy."

Dean smirked to himself, dragging his free hand slowly down the side of his face. "You think I'm pretty, too?"

"I thought the flirting made it obvious."

"I'm more than a pretty face, y'know" Dean sassed.

"Well, duh. I'm not shallow" Ambrósio scoffed. "I like when we talk, too, and not just for your voice-"

"You like my voice?"

"I've told you this before!"

Ambrósio chortled. "I don't only listen to Hendrix and Foreigner, Dean, Jesus Christ."

"Who else do you listen to?"

Ambrósio stepped back, towards his staircase. "I could listen to you. You sound like you could do a number on people if you sing."

Dean knowingly shook his head, looking down to hide his smile. "I don't sing, but...thanks."

Dean hummed in agreement. "You mentioned reciting poetry, when I met you."

"Yessir."

"What writers do you like?"

"Aw, damn, uh..." Ambrósio scratched his jaw in thought. "Baudelaire, definitely. And JP Marquand, Oscar Wilde, and Lord Byron. To name a few."

"Quite an array."

"You like?"

"I wouldn't shy away from the names. It's an impressive list."

"Thank you, I know." Ambrósio smiled, proud of himself.

"You still lying down?"

"Yea, what're you doing?"

"Lying down, on my hotel room's bed, talking to the dreamy, divine grandson of Victor Fargas." Dean flirted, stroking his beard.

Ambrósio poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "I am dreamy."

"You really are."

"So..."

"So?"

"So, we're just both lying down, on our beds, talking to each other over the telephone?"

"Why, would you rather be doing something else, with somebody else?" Dean joked.

Ambrósio raised his eyebrows. "I'd rather be doing something else that involves being on a bed, with you...Doing a far more scandalous activity than just talking."

Dean fought back a grin, looking over at the wall. "You're on quite the roll, huh?"

"Whether it be the romantic poets I indulge in, or my natural-born charm, the world may never know."

"I think it's just you, honestly."

"I'm touched." Ambrósio placed his free hand over his chest, where his heart lay underneath. "Oh, also- I figured out another song you remind me of."

"Really? Which?"

"Poison by Alice Cooper. I was gonna say his other song Feed My Frankenstein for the sake of the title and sexual themes, but there's lyrics in there regarding a body part that neither I nor you have...I'm assuming. There's nothing wrong with if you do, though. I have a guy friend with the body part, but he's saving up money to get rid of it."

Dean's eyebrows jumped. "You listen to Alice Cooper?"

"Sometimes, do you?"

"Not really my thing."

"Ah, yes, let me guess." Ambrósio raised a finger in thought. "You enjoy sitting back in leather armchairs, surrounded by dusty, possibly-expensive books and listening to the likes of Debussy, Chopin...I happen to like Tchaikovsky myself, if he's any your style."

Dean laughed softly. "No, not actually. I don't know what I listen to, I don't know if it could be classified as one thing."

"If you ever come back to Portugal, we could listen to my records together 'n' see what you're into" Ambrósio offered.

"Are you asking me out?" Dean joked.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm a gentleman, I'd buy you dinner, first." Ambrósio corrected him. "I'm just flirting your socks of for the time being." He told, sliding a hand through his dark hair; he closed his eyes and gave it a tug, trying to imagine that it was someone else, someone specific, tugging his hair in his bed.

"I'm not wearing any socks right now."

"Task complete." Ambrósio nodded slowly, sure of himself. His smile grew when he heard Dean's slight laugh through the phone.

"Dinner, huh?"

"Yea. Wine, music, candlelight, the whole shebang. Again, a gentleman."

"The sound of it does intrigue me."

"That's the goal" Ambrósio stared up at the ceiling.

"Your activity from before, regarding a bed...What would that include?" Dean didn't know what he was doing, nor what he was hoping to accomplish, but liked the power it held over Ambrósio trying to flirt with him...Well, trying and succeeding, but he liked playing a hard-to-get guy.

"Oh, I'm not entirely sure." Ambrósio partially lied. "Winding, twisting, turning, gyrating, writhing...incessant writhing" he purred. "Perhaps some assorted debaucheries along the way."

"You can be so charming when you want something, eh, Ambrose?"

"Or someone," Ambrósio added. "And I can be so charming, full stop."

"Of course you can."

"Alright, how can I get to you, Dean?" Ambrósio asked him. "Tell me the rules." He whispered through the telephone, Dean stifling a shiver.

"Can I trust you?" Dean playfully rolled his eyes.

"Oh, my dearest Dean, have I given you any reason not to?"

"That's true."

Ambrósio's voice turned into another whisper, "you and I could be as thick as fuckin' thieves. Tell me the rules, Dean." His fingers stroked from his chin to his cheek, a faraway look on his face.

Dean could just imagine the look on Ambrósio's face as they spoke. "First, you gotta tell me if I can call you 'chico' yet."

"Beg for it, like you wanted to" Ambrósio reminded him, free hand trailing down his neck, down his torso.

Dean turned back around, seeing Ambrósio holding onto the opened gate. "What is it, chico? Can I call you ‘chico’?"

“If you ask nicely.”

Dean rolled his eyes knowingly, “save either one of us begging for something from the other for another time.” He finally flirted back.

Dean held a knowing expression on his face. He should've expected this.

"No problem, Ambrose. Can I call you 'chico', yet?"

"Only if you beg like you wanted to." Ambrósio flirted.

Dean looked around in thought, "wouldn't you rather in person?"

"Would either one of us want to travel seventeen-ish hours for you to beg me for something so small in the midst of your big book mission?" Ambrósio rhetorically asked. "You wanna call me 'chico', you gotta do what you suggested. It was your words, not mine, big man."

Dean hummed. "Please?"

"'Please' what?"

Dean giggled quietly. "Please, can I call you 'chico'? Please?" He insisted, "please? Let me call you 'chico', Ambrósio, please."

Ambrósio had a smug look on his face, "you may."

"That was barely any begging."

"Let's save actual begging for some other time, when we're closer together. Okay, amor?"

"Okay, chico."

"I also thought of another song."

"You're full of them for someone who supposedly couldn't think of any."

"Shut up," Ambrósio chuckled. "I Was Made For Loving You."

Dean licked his lips, "by Kiss?"

"You like Kiss?" Ambrósio looked surprised.

"I know Kiss, and I know the song you mentioned. How come I never remind you of any Jimi Hendrix songs?"

"That's not my problem" Ambrósio replied. "I Was Made For Loving You, Dean. Take it or leave it."

"Y'know what, Ambrósio?" Dean inquired. "Maybe you were."

"Not even 'maybe', Dean. I know I am." Ambrósio checked the time. "Listen, I gotta get going, a guy's gotta run. Talk soon?"

"Sure thing, chico."

"Bye, Dean. Stay safe."

"You too."

Ambrósio and Dean hung up their phones, Ambrósio's head spinning of round glasses, prominent cheekbones and smooth voices as he left the bedroom. Whereas Dean stayed where he was, rubbing his thighs with thoughts of dark, soulful eyes, inked-up torsos, and dreamy grandsons.

Both of them just hoped Dean's mission would end quick so the two could talk physically again, or maybe do a greater deal than talking.

#the ninth gate 1999 #the ninth gate #the ninth gate oc #dean corso #dean corso x oc #dean corso x male!oc #dean corso x male #oc #ZAYN oc #zayn malik oc #male oc #oc x male #oc x canon #canon x oc #canon x male #male x male #male x oc #male x canon

15 notes · View notes

italianaradio · 5 years

Text

Javier Bardem: 10 cose che non sai sull’attore

Nuovo post su italianaradio https://www.italianaradio.it/index.php/javier-bardem-10-cose-che-non-sai-sullattore/

Javier Bardem: 10 cose che non sai sull’attore

L’attore ha sempre lavorato sodo per costruire la carriera solida che ha oggi, riuscendo ad imporsi nel cinema hollywoodiano e dando grandi prove di recitazione anche insieme a sua moglie, Penelope Cruz.

Ecco, allora, dieci cose da sapere su Javier Bardem.

Javier Bardem film

1. Javier Bardem: i film e la carriera. La carriera dell’attore spagnolo inizia nel 1974, quando appare da bambino nella serie El picaro. Dopo questa esperienza, ritorna alla recitazione nel 1981 con il film El poderoso influjo de la luna (1981) e la serie Segunda ensenanza (1986), per poi recitare in Le età di Lulù (1990), Amo tu cama rica (1992), Prosciutto prosciutto (1992) e L’amore nuove gravemente alla salute (1996). La sua carriera continua con Carne trémula (1997), Prima che sia notte (2000), Mare dentro (2004), Non è un paese per vecchi (2007), Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008), Biutiful (2010), Mangia prega ama (2010), To the Wonder (2012) e Skyfall (2012). Tra i suoi ultimi lavori vi sono The Couselor – Il procuratore (2013), Madre! (2017), Escobar – Il fascino del male (2017) e Tutti lo sanno (2018).

2. È anche doppiatore e produttore. Nel corso della sua carriera, Javier Bardem ha avuto modo di sperimentare diversi ambiti del cinema. L’attore, infatti, ha vestito i panni del doppiatore per il film Automata (2014). Ma non solo: infatti, ha prodotto anche i film Los lobos de Washington (1999), Invisibles (2007), Hijos de las nubes, la ultima colonia (2012), Bigas x Bigas (2016), Escobar – Il fascino del male e The Kingdom Come (2017).

Javier Bardem sosia

3. L’attore ha trovato il suo sosia in un altro attore. Spesso e volentieri, l’attore spagnolo viene confuso con il collega Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Effettivamente, i due si somigliano molto di visto e ciò li rende facilmente confondibili ad un pubblico con un occhio poco esperto.

Javier Bardem e Penelope Cruz

4. I due attori sono sposati da quasi dieci anni. Javier Bardem e Penelope Cruz si sono conosciuti sul set di Prosciutto Prosciutto nel 1992, ma tra loro non è scattato niente, salvo poi guardarsi con occhi diversi durante le riprese di Vicky Cristina Barcelona nel 2007. I due stanno insieme da allora, si sono sposati nel 2010 e non si sono più lasciati.

5. Hanno due figli. Entrambi gli attori hanno sempre vissuto la loro relazione in maniera privata, senza mai aprirsi troppo sotto i riflettori. Dalla loro unione sono nati i figli Leonardo (nato nel 2011) e Luna (nata nel 2013) e vivono la loro famiglia in maniera riservata e con assoluta pacatezza.

6. Entrambi hanno avuto relazioni precedenti. Per Bardem e la Cruz questa non è la prima relazione seria. L’attore, infatti, ha avuto una relazione con Cristina Payés e pare che si sia frequentato anche con Aitana Sanchez-Gijon, Belén Rueda, Ruth Gabriel e Natalie Portman, mentre lei è stata fidanzata con Nacho Cano, Tom Cruise, Matthew McConaughey e pare si sia frequentata anche con Matt Damon, Nicolas Cage e Orlando Bloom.

Javier Bardem Skyfall

7. Ha legato molto con Daniel Craig. Sul set di Skyfall, Javier Bardem e Daniel Craig hanno legato molto tra loro grazie al loro amore per il rugby. In gioventù, infatti, Craig ha giocato per il Holylake Rugby Football Club a Wirral, nel Merseyside. Bardem, invece, ha giocato per il Club de Rugby del Liceo Frances a Madrid e ha anche giocato nella nazionale giovanile.

8. Ha descritto il suo personaggio come “Un angelo della morte”. Secondo Javier Bardem, il suo personaggio, Raoul Silva, è “Un angelo della morte, una persona molto pulita che sembra essere marcia dentro, ha un obiettivo molto personale, non sta cercando di distruggere il mondo, ed è su una scala in linea con quell’obiettivo. È un uomo che cerca vendetta, si concentra sull’essere focalizzato sull’unica persone che vuole eliminare”.

9. Aveva già ricevuto una proposta per un film di 007. Lo stesso attore spagnolo ha rivelato di aver ricevuto già una proposta per lavorare in un film di Bond, ma aveva rifiutato perché non sentiva che fosse il momento giusto per questa collaborazione e perché, con molta probabilità, stava già lavorando ad un altro progetto. “Questa volta, quando l’ho letto, ho sentito che il materiale era potente e che volevo farne parte”.

Javier Bardem: età e altezza

10. Javier Bardem è nato l’1 marzo del 1969 a Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, nelle Canarie, e la sua altezza complessiva corrisponde a 181 centimetri.

Fonti: IMDb, Forbes

Cinefilos.it – Da chi il cinema lo ama.

Javier Bardem: 10 cose che non sai sull’attore

Javier Bardem è uno degli attori più versatili, brillanti e talentuosi del panorama cinematografico spagnolo ed internazionale, capace di attirare una grande fetta di pubblico composta da tante generazioni diverse. L’attore ha sempre lavorato sodo per costruire la carriera solida che ha oggi, riuscendo ad imporsi nel cinema hollywoodiano e dando grandi prove di recitazione […]

Cinefilos.it – Da chi il cinema lo ama.

Mara Siviero

#News da web

0 notes

knives-out20 · 3 years

Text

Discrepancy - Dean Corso x Male!OC - #2

Fandom: The Ninth Gate (1999)

Pairing: Ambrósio ‘Ambrose’ Fargas (OC) x Dean Corso

Warnings: Swearing, Faggotry, Spoilers for The Ninth Gate, Flirting, Angst kinda, Grief,

Notes: they’re back, deal with it or whatever

Dean opened the door to his hotel room, shirtless and bed-headed.

The strange blonde girl stared back at him.

Dean held onto the blanket he had wrapped around his waist, "what time is it?"

"Early, but you have to go."

"Go? Go where?"

"To Fargas' place.”

"I've already seen Fargas and his fruity little grandson." Dean didn't mean it as an insult more than he meant it as an adjective. He had other adjectives in mind when it came to Ambrósio, but kept those in his head for a reason.

"I think you should see them again."

"What is this, some kind of practical joke? Who are you? What do you know about Fargas and Ambrósio?"

"Get dressed. I'll wait for you outside." The girl didn't answer his questions, instead turning and walking off.

Dean almost didn't do as he was told. If there was a problem with either one of the Fargas', he knew Ambrósio knew to call him at the hotel. But, maybe something popped up in which Ambrósio couldn't call Dean. He thought back to his conversation with Balkan on the telephone the previous night.

"I must have that copy, Mr. Corso. Get it for me." Balkan instructed.

"The old man wouldn't sell it to save his life, he said as much. And the young'un, his grandson, he...well, he said he helps Fargas take care of the books for a reason."

"Did they?"

"Hello?" Dean called, repeating himself when Balkan didn't answer. He hung up the phone and leaned back against the headboard of his bed, deep in thought. Mixtures of the copies discrepancies, red Hawaiian shirts, the blonde girl from the lobby, and tattooed arms, Balkan's suspicious last words, along with special song abilities. Dean figured he had too much on his mind, more than he knew how to handle.

Dean exited the hotel, seeing the girl waiting for him on a strikingly familiar motorcycle. He didn't ask questions and got on, allowing the strange girl to ride him over to the Fargas house.

Once at the house, Dean led the girl up to the front doors and tried ringing the doorbell. Maybe Fargas or his cute grandson would answer the door, along with his various questions.

"Don't bother, Fargas isn't there." The girl told.

Dean turned to face her, "oh really? Then where is he?"

The girl pointed over at the dull fountain, "over there."

Dean hesitantly looked over at the front door, as if expecting for at least Ambrósio to answer it. When nobody came, he shuffled over to the steps.

The girl pointed over at the fountain again.

Dean looked at her suspiciously, then back to the fountain. He walked over to the fountain, and peered into it. "God almighty."

Victor Fargas' dead body lay face-up in the fountain, floating lifelessly as the Koi fish picked at him like vultures on a carcass.

Dean turned to the girl, taking one last look at Victor before marching past her, and to the door. He attempted opening it to get inside, get to the book, or hopefully a breathing Ambrósio.

"You want to get inside?" The girl inquired.

Dean sighed, locking eyes with her. "I had thought about it, yes. If Victor is out there, his grandson is probably in there. His grandson, is he still in there?"

"Yes, but he won't answer, he’s too afraid." The girl looked up at the wall, and began to climb it.

Dean watcher her slip in through the window and get inside, walking over and unlocking the front door for him. He stepped into the Fargas house, stopping when he noticed the girl following him. "You wait here."

The girl obliged.

Dean made his way over to the room full of Victors' books, accidentally stepping on the shattered remains of a glass cup.

Dean took a glass from Victor when it was offered, allowing the old man to pour him some brandy. "What handsome glasses.”

"Yes, my grandson thinks so, too. They're the only ones I have left."

Dean looked into the room of Victors books, walking towards his display from the previous day. "Shit." He cursed, realizing the Fargas copy was missing. Dean turned and saw a strange-looking addition to Fargas' fireplace, creeping over and kneeling down by it.

The Fargas copy.

Dean took it out, inspecting the now-burnt cover and smoking pages. He walked out of the room, and began to call. "Ambrósio? Ambrósio! Ambrósio, it's me, Dean Corso, are you here?" Dean exclaimed, glancing around at the ceilings and by the stairs. "Ambrose, Ambrósio!"

Careful footsteps by the top of the stairs.

Dean let his guard up, cautious. "Ambrósio-?"

"Dean!"

"Ambrósio!"

Ambrósio raced down the stairs, running over to Dean and collapsing into his arms. "Dean, oh my fucking god-" He choked.

Dean wrapped his arms around Ambrósio instinctively, quick to calmly shush him and stroke his hair. "Ambrósio? Are you alright?"

"I was," Ambrósio answered. "One second, my Avô and I were drinking from his pretty blue glasses, the next thing I- I know, he urged me to go upstairs and not let myself be known. I- I- I locked myself in my room and listened by the door, I heard stomping and stuff downstairs, like glass b-breaking."

Dean listened intently, Ambrósio's cologne wafting into his nostrils.

"I heard water, and- and splashing from outside, then a car speeding off. I looked out the window, and- and-" Ambrósio stuttered to a stop, tears welling in his dark eyes.

Dean continued softly shushing him and rubbing his back, noticing that Ambrósio was wearing the same thing from the previous night.

"I wanted to call you, but- but the telephone was broken. I really wanted to, I did-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay" Dean pulled away, hands on Ambrósio's shoulders. "At least you're okay, I'm glad you're still okay."

"Fucking barely, my Avô is dead floating in the f-fucking fountain-!" Ambrósio sobbed, weakly pointing in the direction of the fountain. "I fucking knew something was gonna go bad, and- and- and I knew what to do, I knew I had to call you, 'cause you're a safe zone, but I fucking couldn't, and now the last thing I had to call a fucking family is fucking dead!" He complained.

"You couldn't have done anything, Ambrósio. He told you to go upstairs."

"Avô ushered me upstairs to keep me safe, I could fight for my damned self better than he could, Dean!" Ambrósio pointed out. He exhaled shakily, raking a tatted hand through his hair. "God, fuck-" Ambrósio cursed.

Dean gulped, eyes trailing the floor as he thought of something else. "Do you have anywhere else to go? I'm sure you feel far from safe here, now. You could, come with me, maybe-?"

"Are you kidding?" Ambrósio pulled away from Dean's touch, looking at him with wide eyes. "The little books you and him liked so much are the reason he's fucking gone!"

"That's true, very true."

Ambrósio groaned. "Thanks, but no thanks. I-I'm sure my friends could let me waver with them until this home feels like home, again. God." He shook his head, clutching handfuls of his black hair.

Dean looked as sympathetic as he could. "You're gonna be okay? By yourself, I mean. Once it feels more safer to get back in here."

Ambrósio hummed in an unreadable tone. "I got no choice." He admitted, shrugging. “This is my home, Dean.” Ambrósio sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Fucking Avô, man, with his little demonic baloney books" Ambrósio choked out, shoulders shaking.

Dean glanced behind himself, then back over at Ambrósio. "Listen, is there a friend you definitely know for sure that you can crash with?"

"Uh..." Ambrósio sniffed, wiping his eyes again. "Carmen, she definitely will, she's a real giver. Her and her boyfriend Jeronimo, they'll let me. I guess." He stared down at the floor, grief consuming him.

Dean softly cupped Ambrósio's neck, thumb stroking gently. "Lend me their number, then. I'll make sure I can check in on you every once in a while."

"Why? What do you want with me?" Ambrósio grew grumpy, but perhaps his sudden, impactful loss can make up for it.

Dean shrugged back at him. "I'm worried about you, to say the least. C'mon, Ambrósio, a number for a number." He explained, offering Ambrósio a slip of paper and a pen.

Ambrósio glanced between Dean and the two objects. He gave in, writing down Carmen's number. "Here."

"Thank you." Dean smiled slightly, but it couldn't hide his concern. "Get outta here quick, okay? Hope you don't have too many Hendrix or Foreigner vinyls to pack."

Ambrósio chortled. "I don't only listen to Hendrix and Foreigner, Dean, Jesus Christ."

"Who else do you listen to?"

Ambrósio stepped back, towards his staircase. "I could listen to you. You sound like you could do a number on people if you sing."

Dean knowingly shook his head, looking down to hide his smile. "I don't sing, but...thanks."

Ambrósio scratched his jaw, as if slacking to ask Dean something.

Dean read him like a kids book, and opened his arms. "Do it before I regret it."

Ambrósio broke out into a wide smile, enveloping Dean into a tight hug. "Thank you. Thank you." He whispered, feeling safe for the first time all day.

"No problem, Ambrose. Can I call you 'chico', yet?"

"Only if you beg like you wanted to." Ambrósio flirted.

Dean turned back around, seeing Ambrósio holding onto the opened gate. "What is it, chico? Can I call you ‘chico’?"

“If you ask nicely.”

Dean rolled his eyes knowingly, “save either one of us begging for something from the other for another time.” He finally flirted back.

Dean chuckled, pulling away from the hug. "Never lose the attitude, man."

"Would never dream of it."

The two stood in comfortable silence, gazing at one another.

Then reality took its hold on Dean, who regained his focus. "I should...get going. You'll be fine until your little friends get here?"

"Carmen picks up the phone fast, and Jeronimo drives fast. I can manage in due time...Thank you, again."

"No problem. I'll keep in touch" Dean held up the slip of paper before pocketing it, allowing Ambrósio to escort him out. "Stay safe, Ambrósio."

"No safer than you, Dean." Ambrósio replied, closing and locking the front door.

#the ninth gate #the ninth gate 1999 #the ninth gate oc #ZAYN oc #zayn malik oc #dean corso x oc #dean corso x male #dean corso #dean corso x male!oc #oc #male oc #oc x male #oc x canon #canon x oc #canon x male #male x male #male x canon #male x oc

6 notes · View notes

knives-out20 · 3 years

Text

Meeting Of The Minds

I saw this TikTok trend where it was like "how would your OC react to themselves before trauma?" So I felt like writing it since none of my OC'S are drawn, they're written. Just scroll around to the OC's you guys know.

These will all be MAIN OC'S (but not ALL my main OC's), no side characters like The Buddies+Ramon+MJ, Grimm+Cececlio, any IB OC that isn't Joshua, etc. I will also only do the OC's I have at least written one oneshot/chapter draft for, not any of the ones whose works I haven't started.

Enjoy!

Warnings: The trauma my OC's suffered includes physical abuse, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, rape, death of a loved one/of loved ones, human experimentation, attempted murder, religious trauma, undiagnosed mental illnesses/disorders,

OC's included: Bobby Brightside, Captain Riley Blackwell, Karmel Rosenstein, Lieutenant Joshua Margolis, Maxwell Shelby, Cleophus Elton, Ambrósio Fargas, Robin Fifer, Lord Camilo Van Hellsing,

Robert Duncan Brightside aka Bobby Brightside

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)

Bobby looked down at the child in front of him. The child's hair was shorter, his brown eyes wide and unknowing. Bobby cracked a smile, eyeing the bandage on the kid's chin. "Hey, kid."

Younger Bobby, who still went by Robert, looked back up at him. He's probably four years old, if not then on the verge of turning four. "Hi, mister." Robert answered, He was wearing blue shorts and a blue shirt with a police car on it; Bobby's favourite shirt at the time.

Bobby crouched down to get closer to Robert's height. He slowly reached his hand over to cup Robert's cheek, gulping. "You didn't flinch."

"No...Why would I? You're just tryna touch me." Robert giggled.

Bobby smiled sadly, eyebrows furrowed. "Yea...I'm not gonna do anything t'ya." He agreed. "If anyone touches you in a way that's not soft like this...It's not because of anything you did." He said. "It'll never be your fault."

Robert tilted his head, confused.

Bobby sighed, and decided to change the topic. "Got any friends?"

"Uh-huh!" Robert nodded, excited. "My best friend's name is Monte, have you heard of him?"

Bobby glanced up at the sky, licking his lips. "The name rings a bell, it's unique, Listen- hold onto Monte. Play nice with him, nicer than when you first met him, okay?" He told. "You'll need him in your life. For...a lot of times, 'n' a lot of reasons. Be his best friend like he is yours, okay? And you'll be buddies forever!"

"Okay!" Robert giggled. "I like Monte, a lot."

Bobby looked down at the cop car on Robert's shirt. "Nice shirt." He forced out the compliment, knowing he didn't mean it. Bobby remembers the day he burned that shirt, and got rid of his old police car toys.

"Thanks, mister, my dad got it for me. He said cops are really cool and we should like them!" Robert explained.

"Mhm." Bobby nodded. "Another thing- don't let anyone tell you what to do, say, or think. You are your own person, you like what you like, got it?"

"Yes sir!" Robert nodded.

Bobby didn't really know what else to say.

"Y'know...You kinda look like me!" Robert grinned at what he thought was a funny coincidence. "But- But older, and cooler."

Bobby chuckled, "yea, I guess I do." He shrugged.

"Are you married?" Robert pointed at Bobby's wedding ring.

Bobby smiled down at it. "Yea. Someday, you will be. Trust me."

"Really? To who?"

Bobby gulped thickly, sniffling and tilting his head up. "The...The best person in the whole world." He answered. "The funniest, nicest person you'll ever meet. You won't believe they're real, but they are, kid. They're what makes you, well, you. Just wait a while, you don't meet hi- uh, them, for a while." Bobby smiled, closing his eyes.

Robert gasped, "wow! I get that lucky, huh?" He squealed, jumping up and down.

"Yea, but don't tell anyone." Bobby playfully shushed him, looking back down at Robert and winking. He pat Robert's hair, not really knowing what else to say. Bobby got down on both knees, and outstretched his arms for a hug; Robert wasted no time in accepting the invitation, and hugging him. "You're gonna go far, kid."

Riley Blackwell

Pirates Of The Caribbean (2003-2017)

Riley looked down in front of him.

A young Riley stared back up at him with piercing blue eyes. No older than five years old, maybe six. "You- You look like me."

"What a coincidence, lad, because you look like me."

Little Riley smiled a bit when he noticed older Riley's defining features; a long coat, his many rings, his sword and his dagger poking out from under his coat. "You look like a pirate!"

Riley exhaled slowly through his nose. "I am a pirate, mate. Through and through."

"I've always wanted to become a bloody pirate, and I- I- I know I'll be one, one day." The younger of the two gushed, clapping his hands excitedly. "My older cousin Oscar told me I'd make a super pirate, too."

Riley glanced at his claddagh ring, frowning.

"Are you okay, sir-?" Riley asked his older self, head tilted a bit to the side.

Hasn't Riley heard that before. He balled his left hand into a fist, nodding silently. Riley looked back over at his younger self, and realized something. He, talking to an unknowing younger-him, has the power to tell younger-him to do anything and everything he wants.

Riley can tell this younger-him to give up any plans of a pirate life if he wanted to. If he did, he'd never have his dad try to hang him, and thus never run away and meet Jack and go through everything Jack's made him go through (including the deep depression he fell into after Jack got taken to Davy Jones' Locker). All the pain and anger that was added onto Riley's life after he became a pirate, he could avoid with a few little wise words down to the younger-him he's staring down at. What would a non-pirate life even look like for Riley? Bound to his wealth forever, stuck in Ireland, maybe taking up being a blacksmith like Oscar?

Would he rather that over the never-ending ups and downs of sailing the seas, getting in sword fights, all the added traumatic experiences? All the floods of emotions over the years? Leave Jack be? Could he be able to avoid his pirate paranoia, all the excess anger, intrusive thoughts, maybe everything he thinks is wrong with him?

Whatever it could be, that's up for him to change his fate.

Riley scratched his jaw. "You wanna be a pirate, eh, lad?" He tested the waters, trying to think through what he was going to say. "You dream about it, even?"

"Uh-huh, more than anything! I'd be bloody amazing!" Riley pumped his little fist in the air, looking determined.

"Well, let me bloody tell you something, lad..." Riley got down on one knee, eyebrows raised in an expectant way, to show that he wanted the child to listen. He reached out hesitantly, as if expecting the younger-him to flinch away.

Little Riley stood still.

Riley took a deep breath, putting his hand on little Riley's shoulder.

"Are you gonna say anything, sir-?"

Riley scoffed, "yea, just..." His gaze darted around the ground. Riley knew what he had to do. He locked eyes with the kid that was ready to listen to whatever wise words he had to offer.

Little Riley put his small hand over Riley's, not to take it off his shoulder but just to comfort him, or something along those lines.

"Follow that dream, mate." Riley tore his gaze from his wedding ring to the ground, knowing that this decision was made more for his own good than it was for Jack's sake. He's saying this because a pirate is what Riley is, what he always has been and always will be. "Become a pirate. It's what you are."

"My father tells me I'm a Blackwell." Riley frowned up at, well, himself.

"You won't be one forever, trust me." Riley nodded, pulling his hand away and standing up. "Even if it feels like you will, you bloody won't. Understood?"

Riley squinted up at himself, pointing up at the scar around his neck. "What happened to your neck?"

Riley instinctively unfolded the collar of his black coat, in attempt to hide it. He pursed his lips, pinching the collar between his fingers. "...Don't worry about it. The important thing is, lad, I survived it. I'm a survivor, and this is proof." Riley replied.

"You must be really strong!"

"Yea, that's what my beloved tells me." Riley chuckled dryly. "Strong, a survivor, dashingly handsome- which in turn makes you handsome, seeing as we bear a resemblance to one another."

Riley grinned.

"I just wish I could take it off, or get rid of it...Avoid what made this happen to me." Riley traced his finger along the scar. "But it happened, and it's important that it happened. A lot of things happen for a reason, funnily enough." He ran a hand through his hair in thought. "Enough about that- become a pirate, follow that dream. And...And hang around Oscar more often, okay? As much as you can."

Riley nodded obediently.

"Talk to him more often, learn more from him. Appreciate him more." Riley listed off, playing with his claddagh ring. "Very few people are like he is in the outside world. Nice, and funny, and filled with any human decency. When they come by- and they will come by- grab them and never let go."

Riley was confused, but didn't ask questions. He just wondered if he'll have time to go visit Oscar before his bedtime.

Riley looked down at his younger self, and all he could think of was one thing: naïve. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, teeth clenched.

"Sir?"

"What now?" Riley opened his eyes back up. His blue eyes were more dull, and tired. A mysterious history behind them, and much less hope than this younger Riley had. Almost dead inside, almost.

"Thank you for talking to me. Nobody really ever talks to me except for Oscar, and if Oscar doesn't talk to me then it's the people who work in my house. Think i'll make a lot of friends as a pirate?"

"'Friends.'" Riley mocked. "No matter what other pirates you meet, only one of them will matter. Only one of them will be your best friend, maybe more. He's all you need, everyone else you'll meet will never be as important as him."

Riley nodded, eating the words up.

"You'll enjoy being a pirate nonetheless, though. It gets hard at times, sometimes maybe you'll regret it, you'll want to go back, you'll want so many other bloody f- uh, things. But in the end, you'll stay where you are. You'll stay who you are- a pirate. And it'll be the best thing that's ever happened to you."

Riley beamed, clearly excited. He reached a hand up, holding up his pinkie finger.

Riley crossed his pinkie around younger-Riley's pinkie, like the pinkie promises he used to do with Oscar, and frequently does with Jack.

Satisfied, little Riley pulled his hand away, the claddagh ring feeling cool against his skin in a weirdly comforting way.

Riley pat younger-him's cheek, pulling his hand away quickly to refrain from going in to hug him. He put his hands into the pockets of his coat, staring straight ahead.

Karmel Jordell Rosenstein aka Karmel Rosenstein

X-Men Alternate Timeline (2011-2019)

Karmel fixed his tie, one of the ones that belonged to his dad.

"My father has a tie like that."

"Does he?" Karamel arched a brow, trailing his fingers down his suspenders. "He has a nice taste in ties, then."

"I think they look weird." Younger Karmel admitted, tapping the band-aid on his nose. "I'd never wear them."

Karmel fought back a grin. "What ties do you wear, then?"

"I don't wear ties that much. I'm a teenager, I gotta wear teenage things. But I need ties because we do fancy things a lot." Younger Karmel rubbed the back of his neck. "If I do, it- it's blue or black. Red ones are ugly, and patterned ones are what my father wears." He explained. "...You look better than he does, though."

"Thank you...How close are you to your dad?"

"Pretty close. Him and my mother aren't mean to me, which is good, they're not supposed to be. My mother makes really good challah, and my father taught me how to ride horses 'n' stuff."

"Important traits." Karmel smirked. "Hey, you should, uh...Get your mom to teach you how to make challah like her. Could come in handy, maybe."

"It's just bread." Young Karmel hummed, "maybe, though. Then I won't need to overwork the house servants."

"That's the spirit. You could even grab someone with those skills."

"What? Like a girl?"

Karmel held back a laugh, "yea."

Karmel eyed the older-him that he didn't know was him. "I like your jacket, where'd you get it from?"

"Ah, thanks, but..." Karmel sucked his teeth, tugging his leather jacket. "I can't remember where I got it from, actually. Sorry."

"No worries, mister."

"How old are you, kid?"

"I'm thirteen, I turned thirteen recently."

Karmel both discovered his powers and lost his parents at 13, so he knew how much this younger-him was in for. "Thirteens a tough year."

"So I've been told."

"You'll get through, though, like I did. Weird things happen at thirteen, but just wait for adulthood." Karmel whistled lowly.

"What're you? Occupation-wise?"

"A librarian...ish. I don't need to, though. I got stacks, y'know?" Karmel rubbed his thumb against his pointer and middle finger to gesture at the fact that Karmel still has the Rosenstein money.

"What's so hard about being a librarian?"

"Nothing, it's just...Adulthood. I won't give you the nitty-gritty details, but, uh, taxes 'n' stuff." Karmel's lips formed a line. "What do you wanna be, kid?"

Little Karmel hummed in thought. "Dunno. I wanna open a winery...Rosenstein Winery, or something like that. I'll be a goddamn tycoon!"

Karmel smiled slightly; he forgot all about that old dream of opening up a winery or distillery of the sort. At least he grew up into a gin-drinking alcoholic. "Earns hard cash, eh?"

"My family's rich, I wouldn't need it either way."

Karmel nodded along. "Speaking of gals..."

"Yea?"

"Y'like blondes?" Karmel asked.

"Huh?"

"Blondes won't do you any good, lemme tell you that. Steer..." Karmel cleared his throat. "Steer clear of 'em when you can."

"O...Kay." The younger Karmel slowly nodded. "Any other hair colours I should be wary about?"

"Uh....blue-haired boys are your friends."

"Blue hair? People can have blue hair? You're kidding me."

"Apparently, man. Once in a lifetime stuff, if you get someone with blue hair, keep him." Karmel ran a hand through his hair, chuckling softly. "Blond boys are okay, though."

"You only saying that 'cause we're kinda blond?"

"Maybe." Karmel teased.

"...I'll allow it." The two shared a laugh.

Karmel indulged in the sound of his younger laugh, knowing that that could be one of the last times he'd laugh for years to come. He stopped laughing himself, to take it in.

Joshua Solomon Tobias Margolis aka Joshua Margolis

Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Joshua looked down at himself. "Hey, there."

"Hi!" Younger him greeted, at 16 years old. His hair was lighter and there was no part dangling over the side of his forehead. Joshua's fathers friend was to lay his musty hands on Joshua only one year later, and obviously he had time before he got into military life with Aldo.

"Where're your parents?"

"Talking to my- my- my fathers friend, right now."

"D-Do- Do you like this friend?"

"I- I- I want to, but, um..." Little Joshua grumbled in an uncomfortable manner. "I don't- I don't know, I just can't bring myself to. My bo- uh, my- my best friend, Aldo, said I don't need to force myself to like him."

"Really? My, uh, my boyfriend would agree with him." Joshua smiled down at his younger self, who broke out into a comfortable grin. "If- If someone makes you uncomfortable, or if they're mean, and there's no point in trying to change them, you don't need to, uh, like 'em. It's really that easy, y'know?"

"Yea, but..."

"Yea, I- I know." Joshua nodded. "You'll outgrow that feeling one- one day, trust me. One thing you'll soon understand, and that I'll tell you now so you get a head start, is that, uh...If anyone ever is mean to you, kid, or- or doesn't show you human decency, it isn't your fault. It will never be your fault. They- They- They have the ability to treat you like how you deserve to be treated-"

"Which is?"

"With kindness, and respect. Like a person." Joshua firmly answered. "Nothing inappropriate that could ever happen to you would ever be your fault, got it? You'll never kick-start anything, you'll know this to be true."

"Why are you telling me all this, sir?"

Joshua inhaled sharply. "Dunno...F-Felt like, uh, felt like kids need to be told this more often. I know I- I'd wanted to have, um, heard it when I was around your age." He stammered out, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your little friend, Aldo...He treating you well?"

"Um, boyfriend, actually." The younger Joshua corrected him. "And- And yea, he is. He's so charming!"

"I can only imagine." Joshua nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"He lets me read poetry to him, even the ones I've written- I'll become a poet one day, you know."

"You'll make a, uhm, a fine poet, I imagine."

"Thank you, truly." Joshua paused. "I really do adore Aldo, I- I do. It'd be so lonely without him, sitting in my orchard by myself, uhh, reading by myself...He's quite fun, he- he really is."

"That's good, it's good you have a protective figure like- like that in, uh, in your life. Almost everyone deserves someone there with them, like that. Keep him around."

Maxwell David Shelby aka Maxwell 'Max' Shelby

Peaky Blinders (2013-present)

Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows.

A younger Maxwell looked back at him, hair shorter and eyes wider. This was definitely him sometime before Finn was born. Maxwell's face was rounder, he was obviously shorter and also not a Peaky Blinder yet. He was yet to go through the highs and lows of being a Peaky Blinder, the ups and downs of a difficult romance with Alfie Solomons.

Maxwell squeezed his eyes shut, picturing Alfie in his head with the blind, blue eye and the weird scarring around it. He opened his eyes back up, taking a deep breath. "How are you?"

Maxie shrugged. "Well, I suppose. Mum and dad said we're getting a new sibling soon, so I'm super excited!"

"New siblings are quite exciting, I agree."

"Tommy and Arthur want it to be a boy...Well, everyone except Ada wants it to be a boy."

Maxwell laughed. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen-ish."

"Ah, yes. Exciting time in a man's life."

"You think I'm a man?"

"Would you rather be referred to as a boy?"

Maxie thought for a moment. "...You're right." He nodded. "Even still, I'm not allowed in the Peaky Blinders yet." Maxie frowned.

"Wait for a few more years, mate. You're still fifteen." Maxwell reminded himself. "Don't rush yourself to grow up."

"But when I grow up, I can get myself out there, and meet cute-...cute girls."

"Cute boys."

"I-" Maxie paused, a weight lifting off his shoulders. "...Yea. Cute boys. Do you-?"

Maxwell nodded.

"Have you-?"

"Yes." Maxwell nodded again. "Probably everything you're thinking of, yes."

"Same boy, or-?" Maxie squinted.

"I'm not a male prostitute, mate" Maxwell laughed. "Yes, all the same man. I haven't seen him in a while, but...I'm convinced to get back into contact with him soon." He told.

"What's he like?"

"He's..." Maxwell exhaled by blowing out through his mouth. "He's funny. He's real funny, in a naturally-goofy manner, but sometimes he's funny in situations where I can's laugh in. He's stressful, too, because of some of the things he does. But I can't help but..." He shrugged.

"I understand. It's a lot, right?" Maxie asked.

Maxwell nodded.

"Everything's always a lot." Maxie hummed. "It's always going to be a lot."

"Sometimes it'll be less."

"Either way, I hope I meet a boy who makes it...um...Less, I suppose?" Maxie suggested.

Maxwell inhaled sharply. "Yea, I hope so too." He half-smiled. "What else do you hope for?"

"I hope I find time to read more books..." Maxie pondered. "I hope my family still loves me when they find out I don't like girls."

"Oh, they will." Maxwell nodded. "Some people probably won't, but your family will and that's what matters."

Maxie held a wide smile on his lips, hope in his eyes. "Really? You think so?"

"I know so. Your family definitely loves you very much, a lot of them mean well...It'll just be hard to see it sometimes. Trust me, mate." Maxwell advised.

Maxie nodded, "I suppose so...And you're extremely sure?"

Maxwell counted the rings on his fingers. "Positively."

Cleophus 'Cleo' Elton

Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street (2007)

Cleophus sat down cross-legged in front of 4-year-old Cleo, the 4-year-old he was before Sweeney- previously Benjamin- got wrongly taken away to jail in Australia. The child he was before his father got arrested, and way before his mother died. Just the child he was.

"Are you me?" The kid asked. "You look like me."

"Would- Would you be mad if I was?" Cleophus smiled sheepishly.

Cleo tilted his head. "...No, if you're me I'm glad you don't look ugly."

Cleophus laughed a bit. "Charmed, I am, really. How old are you- we?"

"I'm four, how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Wow!" Cleo's jaw dropped. "I'm almost a whole adult!"

"Yea, almost, sure. Yes." Cleophus' lips twitched. "Technically, I am an adult. Don't let the 'teen' throw you off, don't let it."

Cleo nodded simply. "Am I married?"

Cleophus scoffed. "Slow down, mate. I'm nineteen. I would drink if I could, I'm not- I'm not out here proposing to every pretty person I see, no I'm not."

"How's mum and dad?"

Cleophus' face drooped. "...Mum's happy, I'd like to think. Dad..." He shrugged. "It's up to you."

Cleo decided to not ask questions. "Are you happy?"

Cleophus' head swayed from side to side. "I'm handsome, I can sing, I have money to my- my name...What more could I really need, what could I need?"

"I dunno," Cleo shrugged. "How's Lucy? And her parents?"

"Lucy's happy, most definitely happy with a friend of mine. Her mother...She..." Cleophus scratched at his neck, then tensed the muscles in his hand to stop. "I wouldn't ask about that just yet."

"You're not answering a lot of questions, sir."

"I'd rather you wait to find out the answers, I do," Cleophus sent him an apologetic look. "You still have Mr. Barker, though. And all his- his fantastical little stories that he tells you. You're safe with him."

"That's weird..." Cleo furrowed his eyebrows.

Cleophus shrugged. "Things get weird, they do. But ultimately, you'll be fine, you really will. What matters is I'll be okay in the end, meaning you will, too."

"I will?"

"Yes." Cleophus nodded. "I can't answer everything to you right now, and- and I'm sorry, I am. But...But I mean well by not telling you. You can trust yourself, can't you?"

Cleo hesitated. "Okay!" He nodded, giggling.

Cleophus sighed in relief. He smiled softly at younger-him, hoping his words would hold meaning. Cleophus outstretched his arms, Cleo understanding immediately and hugging him. He hugged- well, himself- a smile still on his face, but it just got wider.

Ambrósio 'Ambrose' Fargas

The Ninth Gate (1999)

Ambrósio buttoned up his red shirt, looking down at teenage him.

"Are you me?" Younger Ambrósio asked, with a baby-face and a single caramel streak in his quiff hair. He was more frequently called Chico at this time.

"You think?" Ambrósio asked sarcastically.

Chico rolled his eyes. "At least I'm still hot."

"You get hotter."

"With what?"

"With age, I don't know." Ambrósio shrugged.

"You still like the music I like?"

"Even more-so, it's part of all you got goin' for you right now."

"Why, what happened?"

"Hey, man, woah." Ambrósio raised his hands, gesturing for Chico to calm down. "Slow your roll, Chico. I'm not giving you all the goddamn deets. You gotta let things happen, you gotta let them affect you 'n' change you, because at the end of the day? You're still kicking. Your music is still kicking, your career is still kicking, you still look good, feel good, you're all fuckin' good."

"What about my family?" Chico kissed his teeth. "I gotta make sure they're good, too. Mãe, Pai, and Avô."

"What'd'you mean the family?" Ambrósio furrowed his eyebrows. "They still fucking love you, no matter what happens to them or you." He grit his teeth, looking away. "They'll be okay as long as you'll be okay, wherever you are and whoever you're with."

"What, like a guy?"

"...Would you accept a white guy?"

"A white guy?!" Chico repeated, then cackling. "What type of white man in the entire world would I bend over backwards for?"

"A really hot one, obviously. He's funny, and a bit mysterious...You'll meet him through Avô. He's a bit weird-lookin' due to a couple physical defining features, but oh, meu deus, hottest man you'll ever meet. Amazing kisser, and he's nice as hell, too, genuinely. Does stuff he ain't gotta do."

"...Are you making this all up-?"

"No, no!" Ambrósio waved his hands. "He's a hundred percent real, trust me, man. Trust yourself. You'll be safe with him, which may seem weird at first, but you'll be safe nonetheless. And- And chill, and actually kinda happy, and at a specific sort of peace that no song could ever even begin to bring you."

Chicho scratched his chin, thinking. "And you're not pulling my leg?"

"I couldn't."

"I'll be happy? Really? Seriously?" Chico asked. "No matter what happens to me?"

"Take it from me...you-? Us?" Ambrósio groaned. "You know what i fuckin' mean."

Chico nodded along.

"And you're sure you can't tell me?"

"I can't tell you shit, what's the matter with you?" Ambrósio playfully rolled his eyes. "How's the family, anyway? I- I live away from 'em, now."

"That kinda sucks." Chico sniffed. "They're fine, Mãe and Pai are both just as happy as you remember. I haven't seen Avô in a bit, but he's doing fine with his books."

Ambrósio smiled to himself. "You still have Santiago?"

"What, the stuffed lion?"

"Yea."

Chico failed at fighting back a smile. "Yea, why, do I get rid of him soon?"

"Not get rid of him, you just...take him off your bed, but you still keep him in your room. That's your best friend, dude. Asides from Carmen, but y'know. No one else could listen to your weird little theories about the true meanings of songs you listen to." Ambrósio rubbed his hands together. "With or without him- but specifically with- you'll be fine. You'll be okay, Ambrose."

Chico nodded.

Robin Fifer

Into The Woods (2014)

Robin ran a hand through his hair, watching the 17-year-old-himself in front of him.

"Are you...?"

"Yes, I am. Upset?"

"No, I don't mind my hair growing...It actually looks quite nice."

"That was the intended outcome." Robin smiled, standing up straight.

"And we grow a bit...what's the scar from?"

Robin pat the scar that went down over his eye. "A bird. Wanna guess what type?"

"There's many types of birds in the world. You allowing me- or yourself- to guess would mean it's one I'm extremely familiar with, yes-?"

Robin nodded, "precisely."

"Is it-...No."

"Yes, it is."

"A robin, truly?"

"Honestly. It stopped hurting very quickly, so do not be afraid."

"I would hope they'd be more kinder towards things with their namesake." The younger Robin giggled.

"Yes, well," adult Robin shrugged. "They aren't sentient enough to know your name...Our name?" He reminded himself.

"You're right about that." Robin agreed. "Do we still go on walks in the future?"

"More-so than I used to." Robin grinned. "Quite grounding, as always. I somehow enjoy it more." He chuckled in a confused manner. "You'll find out why once you're at my point."

"Do I still play the pipe?"

"Never leave home without it." Robin pulled aside his robe, showing the pipe attached to his belt.

"It hasn't changed at all!"

"Almost like magic, right?" Robin dropped his hand. "I'd never let anything happen to this pipe, just like you."

"Of course, it's important to me, especially what it helped me do."

"Yes, precisely."

"How are my parents? Are they still around?" Robin asked, seeing as his parents were yet to die.

"They're peaceful. How are the bakers?"

"Are they still around?"

"Telling you anything spoils the future. How are the bakers?"

"Just like you remember them." Robin furrowed his eyebrows.

"They haven't changed." The older Robin shook his head knowingly. "You become closer to them in the future, and the cute blacksmith." He winked.

Robin blushed lightly. "How close-?"

"Close enough to work under him...Not- Not like that-!" Robin quickly corrected himself. "I could earn money working with him, plus the money I make pipe-playing. It'll be quite stable after a while, I imagine."

"And I even gain a comfortable-looking cloak-rope of some sort..." Robin inspected.

Robin tossed the hood over his head. "With a hood."

"With a hood, wow!" Robin looked up in awe. "So what you're saying is, all in all...I'll be just fine?" He inquired.

"As fine as one can be."

Camilo Kenard Van Hellsing aka Camilo Van Hellsing

Resident Evil 8: Village (2021)

Camilo looked down at himself. "How old are you?"

A tanned boy with shorter dreads and bigger eyes gazed back up at him. "I'm five."

I was five, Camilo thought, only five. "Growing boy, eh?" He crouched down to 5-year-old himself, commonly nicknamed 'Cammie.' "I suppose you'd need to be, to protect a sister."

"Amancia!" Cammie called out. "My younger sister's name is Amancia." He beamed proudly.

Camilo sighed softly, patting the tricorn hat on his head. "Take good care of her, alright?" He instructed. "That goes without saying, but I feel it needed saying."

"I'm the best big brother ever, sir." Cammie told, "I love Amancia, she's so tiny and funny! I gotta watch over her like mum says to."

Camilo smiled slightly. "Good boy." He nodded. "And look after your parents?"

"They look after me, sir, they're my parents."

Camilo gulped. "Yes, but they're your family. You need to take care of your family, or else it's not a bloody family, now, is it?"

Cammie blinked slowly, then nodded along.

"You take care of everyone you love. You love your sister."

"Yea!" Cammie cheered.

"You love your parents?"

"Mhm!"

"Then you take care of them, and anyone else you'll meet that you love. You make sure they know you love them." Camilo advised to his younger self, seeing as his younger self had no idea what was coming.

"Sir, yes sir!"

Camilo giggled to himself. "Your family treating you nicely, mate?" He hummed when his younger self nodded. Camilo could barely remember what life was like before, and he clung to what he could. "Good, good..." He trailed off, thinking of what else to say. "Nothing wrong with you, is there?"

Cammi shrugged, going quiet.

"Ah, don't give me that." Camilo looked away. "Nothing's wrong with you, lad. Nothing ever will be, no matter what anyone tells you." He told. "Trust me on that."

"Trust a pirate?"

"Not a real one, not yet at least." Camilo took his hat off, placing it over his heart. "Trust me, half-pirate's honor."

Cammie hummed in thought. "...Okay!" He nodded.

"Lovely." Camilo put his hat back on, shaking his head a bit to adjust his dreads. He sniffed. "You'll probably be able to sail the seas one day, too, if you'd like."

"Wow, I'd love to!"

"There we go," Camilo outstretched his arms in a presenting manner. "The world's your oyster."

"What the heck does that mean?"

Camilo blinked slowly. "...Never mind, then." He shook his head. "It means you can basically do whatever you want, or something of the like- so I've been told. Whatever you please, as long as it's okay with you and doesn't bring you any harm or land you in any trouble. Savvy?"

Cammie nodded in understanding. "I hope I'll be as cool as you, one day."

Younger me thinks I'm cool. Camilo's face absolutely lit up. "Such a charming young lad, eh?" He rhetorically asked. "You won't even need to try. You'll be cool when you're older."

"Thank you, mister!"

Camilo glanced at the rings on his fingers. He sighed, smile faltering. "Nothings wrong with you, kid. Nothing ever will be, and nothing ever has." Camilo reminded him. "Remember that."

5 notes · View notes