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dropsofletters · 3 years

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how to lose someone in seven steps? | ten

— summary: when she gets the opportunity to record her first music video, she doesn’t expect the director to be this enigmatic and vain. ten throws his head back, squinting his eyes at her mere presence, inspecting her every move, and she feels like threatening him. it shouldn’t be that hard to fulfill her promise of breaking his heart.

— title: how to lose someone in seven steps? — pairing: ten x reader — genre: music video producer!au ; bet!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; love experiment!au — type: fluff ; romance ; humor ; drama ; angst — word count: 10,850 — playlist: no blueberries – dpr ian (ft. cl and dpr live) ; diamonds – rihanna ; love me less – max ; my my my – troye sivan ; fever – dua lipa ; ex – sik-k (ft. chacha malone) — note: you have to read the prologue before reading this route.

One would say that she has never gone through heartbreak. One meaning…she says it all the damn time. It’s what she manages to let out with a cramped smile on her face, hands expanding for further emphasizing. Heartbreak is not my thing.

It’s the thing she told herself with one of the last men she dated (Or is it ‘saw’, ‘went out with’? This generation has changed the terms exponentially), when she pulled the straps of her dress up her shoulders, knowing that inside his heart there was someone else. The blood of a singer told her to go for passion—to fight the competition like a champion would, but love is not a matter of winning. It never is. It’s about how much you can lose in one go, and if you’re smart enough, you’ll rationalize the pieces to share with several people. Give out one? Forget it’s ever coming back.

The hairstylist—and it’s so weird to say this without a giddy feeling inside her chest—pulls at her hair harshly enough for her eyebrows to raise the slightest. A face lift wasn’t necessary, but she might as well start thinking about one in the future with the amount of stress that has piled up inside her at the mention of a music video recording. The short woman manages to smile, cheeks puffed out in ways that makes the speckles of pink on her cheeks glisten under the harsh lights of the preparation room. Staff goes around and comes around, like flies on a summer day, while Hao, her manager, keeps looking down at his phone like a maniac.

She reaches forward, trying her hardest not to confuse her migraine with the headache induced by the pull of her hair. This ponytail is so high up her head that she may as well start using it as an antenna, old school style, to get some signal. Instead, her fingertips wrap around Hao’s hand, pulling it down to have him looking at her. “Hey, care to be my friend and my manager at the same time and help me feel less like…?” Looking around, she lowers her voice. “Like shit?”

For the first time in a while, Hao doesn’t look like a father. His khaki shorts have been exchanged for something far more presentable—a suit that fits him like a glove, his hair pushed away from his face in elegance. His hand comes forward to rub her cheek softly, only to hear a hiss from the stylist.

“Don’t touch her makeup.” For someone as small as the stylist, she surely has some bite to her. Hao’s hand pulls away as if she was made of electricity, rubbing his fingers together in hopes of not having any leftover makeup on his fingertips. The makeup, however, makes her feel different. It’s the vision of the director, she knows this much, of the new record label that had taken up on her with the promise of a contract only if this song does well. The thick eyeliner on her eyelids looks much better than anything she had tried—eyes elongated, almost cat-like, as if she’s ready to eat the world just by glaring around.

“You’re going to do fine.” Hao instructs, a wave of his hand coming soon after. “Besides, I called one of your friends to come here and support you through all this,” One of her many friends, whose tears have become one with her skin, whose smiles are glimpses of her soul—whose tastes have come merged with her in some way or another. Friendship is such a beautiful thing. “Since I’m shit at it. Don’t ask me who it is, though, because I literally can’t tell the difference between any of them.”

“Genius.” She replies, feeling once again a tug at her hair before an elastic band wrapped around the strands. Harshly. “Ah, Siyeon…could you try to go softer on me?”

“No.” Siyeon says, a tiny smile to her face. “This ponytail has to stay in place so the director sees if it’s a good look. I need to do my best so I don’t have to think about any other styling.”

“…Good.” Though, she can’t say anything else. At this point, the director sounds awfully like a dictator. “If you don’t know who is coming to support me, how did you contact them?”

“I just press one of the many numbers I have.” Hao turns his screen to showcase it to her, and she can’t muffle the laughter that escapes her lips.

“Who the fuck is ‘Friend Number Three’?”

“She was parking, so I imagine we’ll figure it out in a second.”

“Hao,” Her voice is tiny as she starts, eyes drifting to the person in the mirror. It’s not her—it’s a version of herself she hasn’t seen often. Thick leather jacket draped on her shoulders in a way that tugs them down, accompanied by a floral button down that were pushed inside her—surprise, leather—pants. Well-hidden, stylish, with no flaws flourishing just yet; she looks different, all thanks to Siyeon’s work. “How is it that you manage a bunch of artists but can’t remember the name of my seven friends? I’m your favorite represented artist.”

Not that he had openly said it without being in a drunken blur, but he doesn’t deny it. She is, indeed, his favorite. Perhaps, reminding her of his daughter that lives with her mother, far away from the country, never once sparing him a glance for not having a future. It’s been years since Hao has tried to demonstrate his broken family that he is a good manager. “They’re just too chatty. I can’t remember any of their personalities exactly.”

“Look at those thighs! Damn, girl, we’re going to have to get you on Tinder before all that beauty is wasted.”

When the opportunity rises to run away, she always opts not to. The world is harsh at it is, but it seems a hell of a lot less like a burden when people like Angela made their ways through her life. With her bangs perfectly placed over her forehead, a blue sweater cladding her body, she holds a cake on her hands. Pearly white but with sprinkles in blue, the same shade as the icing on top that reads ‘congratulations!’ along with her name.

Because, relationships end in heartbreak—they are unnecessary findings that we thirst for because they are, apparently, much different from friendship, but friendship is exponentially better. Angela came to her life in the form of a baker in one of the first spots she performed in for some money—her guitar case was opened as she played miraculously, and just when Angela went out to ask her to cut it out, she stopped herself. Instead, they relished in a deep conversation about music that sooner than later translated into meetings as friends.

“You’re friend number three!” She utters with a smile on her face, though not quite being able to move her face with the tightness of her hairstyle. Instead, Angela holds the cake on one hand, the other wrapping around her shoulder to press a kiss to her highlighter-coated cheek.

“The makeup!” Siyeon screeches, both hands reaching her face comically, and the blinding lights by the vanity make her look even funnier. Angela pulls away with uncertainty on her face, widening her eyes comically before humming.

“I understand…sorry.” She whispers, soon after recomposing herself to let Hao hug her from the side. Her eyes look up at the older male, her straight teeth perched in a shy smile. “You didn’t know my name, right?”

“…Angela?” Hao hesitates, and the woman in question groans comically.

“Hey, at least he remembered!” She defends her manager, feeling one last tug at her hair until Siyeon pats both hands on her shoulders.

“You’re ready.”

When standing up from her seat, she watches as Angela and Hao talk comically. The woman must be at least thirteen years older than Angela, if not more, and yet she argues with him as if he’s one of the workers at her bakery. “Name all our friend group, come on!”

“Too many people.” His lips wrap around the words comically, lowering himself slightly to come face to face with this cake. “And what is this cake for?”

“Our star is finally getting her first music video. I’m just getting on the bandwagon before she rockets into stardom.” Angela’s trust goes over the roof. She’s stubborn—even for the good things. No one can get through her mind when an idea has settled inside her brain.

“Oh, stop it.” She says, silently licking her lips as she watches the dulcet treat in front of her. Would it be a good idea to eat cake when her lips are tainted in the deepest shade of red? She can already hear Siyeon screaming inside her head. “You’re talking as if I’m the next Lady Gaga.”

“You’re not the next anyone,” Angela says. “You’re the new you.”

“Poetic.” Though, she can’t quite imagine herself to be more than she already is. For one, she has been practically living off having her guitar case opened anywhere she goes, singing to her heart’s content, never once meeting the deadlines of her life. Planning done a mess, she roams this world like an archive, searching for the will of continuing with this dream. Hao is one of the few people that reminded her she has a future in this, and maybe, that has to deal with the fact that he actually gets paid from what she does. “I don’t think I can have a slice right now, though. Got my makeup done and all.”

“It’s okay.” Angela chirps, putting the cake down on a vanity before sighing. “I’ll keep it here until you’re over with the recording.”

Hao shakes his head then, letting go of Angela. “Oh no, the recording’s not today.”

“You said recording.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Look it up,” Hao indicates, pointing at her phone. “I didn’t say recording.”

But Angela, as always, never once wanting to be wrong, shakes her head. “I don’t need to. I’m sure you said recording—”

“Either way…” She interrupts, knowing damn well that Angela is an excellent friend, and even better at baking, but extremely bad at having anyone try to change her mind. “I’m just going to meet the director and see if my styling is right for his vision. He’ll explain the schedule today and whatnot.”

Angela’s brown eyes become anchors to her body, pulling away to squint at her. “You look cute.” She says, though, she hears that from every single one of her friends. Sometimes, when she’s feeling her worst, she starts to believe everyone in a liar—you’re a nice singer, you have a great future ahead, you’re beautiful. All fucking lies when the time is wrong. “I feel like you’re one of those…one of those grunge kids.”

“Oh no, this is not grunge.” She answers, pointing at her outfit. “This is something very movie-esque. Not grunge, definitely.”

“Maybe, you have a future as a movie star.”

She rolls her eyes at Angela’s antics. Her positivism meets that of a mother’s sometimes. “Where? A porno?”

“Oh my God, no!” Angela swats her hand over her shoulder, only lifting her gaze when they hear her name being called. Not by Siyeon, but by one of the staff members—if she recalls correctly, the director’s assistant, Hong. With a twirl of his fingers, calling her over, she starts moving, Angela following right after her. “You’re learning a little too much from Yifei.”

She chuckles, knowing damn well that Yifei is the jokester of the group. “Maybe, I have more of a future as a comedian.”

“Hold your horses, Joker.”

“…Are you trying to tell me I’m going to go batshit crazy if people don’t laugh at my jokes? Because, that’s what the Joker did.”

“I’m telling you…” Angela trails her voice, her sneakers a nice companion to the click of the heels in her boots. “That you’re going to do fine in whatever you put your mind into.” The warmth of her words reaches her in a way that has a smile appearing on her face. Praise isn’t that bad after all.

“Thank you, Ang—”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—”

“What?”

Angela’s hand tightens around her own when Hong opens the door to the director’s office, her nails digging into her skin as she watches the man in front of them. A black button down leaves the first few buttons open to welcome his taut chest, a leather jacket half thrown over one shoulder, falling off the other for the zippers on the sleeves to meet his ripped jeans. His long black hair curls a bit onto itself at the edges, damp from humidity, though his face is the most impressive. A nicely structured nose that makes the edges of his face even better to look at, twinkling eyes and thin lips. Rosy, at that.

“That’s my ex.” Angela whispers, only to have looking over her shoulder. Hong, whose bleached blonde hair barely reaches his ears and stands at least a foot taller than the director, may be her ex in this situation.

“Hong?”

“What? No.” Angela frowns deeply, lifting one hand in the air to greet her past lover. “Ten, how’s it been?”

The covers are blown at that moment—actually, shot away and straight through her heart when she watches the director stare at Angela in recognition, battling to put a smile on his face that doesn’t look panicked or angry. He moves forward the slightest, crossing both arms over his chest before replying. “Angela, long time no see. May I ask what are you doing here?”

Ten.

Wait.

That name sounds like something she has heard before…

Four months ago, drunken night, Ten was in a picture Angela had showed her on her phone and she had promised to break his heart at the time. Not that she was thinking straight, really, this man probably shatters the souls of millions of people on the daily—someone that good looking is, at least, a Greek god of sorts.

“I’m supporting my friend, considering she was about to meet the director of her new music video.” Angela replies, watching as Ten’s eyebrows lift on his forehead, albeit a bit stuck in his own thoughts.

“Mhm, alright.” Ten says, opening the door of his office with delicate motions of his body, as if balance exists within him, only to continue his train of thoughts. “But Angela can’t come inside. I have a recording in an hour and I have to make this quick.”

“That’s okay.” Angela replies quickly, pulling her hand away from her before mumbling softly. “Get ready to deal with the most stubborn asshole you’ve ever met.”

And that, coming from Angela, baker bridezilla that is not actually getting married to start with, just is the first big, twinkling, red light that comes with Ten.

###

Magic died the day sentimentalism did. When break-ups started to happen though texts, or when kids stopped living the best ages of their lives to be on social media, or try to be adults. Magic relished on its death when people stopped caring for others, when seeing someone falling on the floor was more of a call out for laughter than a reason to help them stand up. Magic died within her, somehow, someway, in a road to utter lack of empathy. She knows that, in order to come out of life as a champion, she had to protect herself over all.

So, why is it, that when seated on that elongated table at Ten’s office, she feels like there is some mystic power that is held over her? Beauty in the form of him, in the white and black decorations but how he spices them up. There is good and there is bad. There is sadness that meets his happiness, in the somberness of the black and the speckles of colors that he has in family pictures and in some drawings that he holds up on the walls. Something about him…something about him calls out for interest, even when the last time she saw him, just one week ago, he was quickened with his words, never once looking at her, never once stopping to breathe.

This time around, her face is not pulled by a ponytail and she remains as makeup-less as possible, tapping her fingers against the table and watching Hao and Hong speak within themselves about some music videos that they enjoy. On the other hand, she has kept herself quiet, letting herself relish on the feeling of just not feeling at all. It’s the limbo of life, when she doesn’t know if she should be happy or sad, and she decides to be numb. Comfortable, sure, but not exactly good for a musician.

The doors open at that moment, a little bit over the time they were supposed to meet—twenty-four minutes, if she’s getting technical here—, but she can’t help but think that Ten is, truly, a favorite of destiny and the world. The speckles of rain that patter against his coat, gray to be exact, almost look like snowflakes, glistening under the harsh lights of his office. His hair is pulled away from his face by a ponytail, some of the strands falling on the back of his neck or his forehead, though his eyes are left a mystery as he keeps a pair of red and retro sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Ten says, a rumble to his voice as he moves further inside the office. “I was looking for my sketchbook and my drawing board for the music video. We need to go over the visuals, the cameras, and everything of that sort before we start the recording in three days.”

Not even a ‘hello’ from him, as unreachable as possible. The icy walls of Ten’s heart somewhat make her feel more intrigued, like the tattoos that scatter on his slim arms when he pulls his coat down and is left on his tank top. He turns on the heater without asking, and she decides to be the polite one in the situation. “Good afternoon, Ten. How are you?”

“Mhm, I don’t know. I asked for an iced coffee after waiting in line for twenty minutes, and the ice has melted off so now it’s dirty coffee water in my cup.” He instructs, putting down his sketchbook and putting up his drawing board on a stencil to be able to showcase it. He pulls his sunglasses down, then, settling them on the table before sighing. “There was no parking spot…because someone decided to park on my designated parking lot—” He cuts himself short then, lifting an eyebrow when he looks at her. “What about you, superstar?”

There is some edge to his tone, and she doesn’t know if it’s a challenge or an annoyance. “I’m good.”

“Good, because I had a whole epiphany when we talked last week—” Ten moves the stencil closer to the table, showing the drawing board with expertise. The style is one to envy, intelligent and complicated in its drawing form, showing different shots, words written to further indicate the details of the music video. “Your song is very pop-y. I liked it, don’t worry. But I think that to make you stand out more in the pop stance, we have to hit the scene with something strong. Maybe, the absurdity of life for someone whose head is locked onto itself. Very science-fiction, mind-based…”

Something about Ten when he has his mind roaming is that, at times, he stops to smile at himself. Pride fills the imagery of what he has imagined, and she’s captured by the way he has twisted the vision of her song into a whole daydream. The kind of nightmare that people love to watch in the form of a music video, but would be a heart-taker if only they went through it. Ten’s idea speaks about losing one self in the middle of our own thoughts, when it’s hard to divide regret from deciding, love from hate—and it’s her. So much that she finds herself enraptured in his thoughts, and for a moment, she thinks she can give her little penny.

“I think we shouldn’t make the music video that dark, though. Like, the idea of a filter on the entire music video would only further emphasize what we’re already showing. It’s a bad idea.” Her tone is serious, leaning over the table to speak properly to Ten, and the man stops pointing at the drawing board to chuckle.

“If we leave everything in a light tone, it’s going to look like a trip dream. We don’t want people to think it’s a video about the aftermath of cocaine, but something serious instead.” Ten replies, eager to open his mouth and explain the end of the video, but she still holds onto her thought.

“It’s a pop song, if we make it too dark, it’ll be too risqué for a debut—”

“But if we make it too light, the idea of the song will be lost and you will be one step closer to being a LMFAO wannabe.”

The stare-off continues for a few seconds, and she has to laugh as she shakes her head. “Listen, I know you’re the expert here, but I don’t think it would look cute.”

“You’re awfully like Angela when you want to, you know that?” Ten spits out, annoyance creeping up on him when he breathes through his nose and speaks again. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve done videos like this before and people love a good storytelling music video.”

Though, her mind is not in that argument anymore. “Why would you say that? You dated Angela, that’s not my fault. You don’t get to diminish people just because they don’t think exactly like you do.”

“A—Alright! Let’s all calm down.” Hao is already up on his feet, ready to launch herself forward if she keeps running her mouth to put one hand over her mouth to stop her. She doesn’t.

Ten gives her one of those smiles that will forever be engraved inside her brain, perhaps for being annoying or for being breathtaking. “That’s exactly what she does. Mrs. Perfect just loved saying everything I did was not good enough, and you’re doing the exact same thing even though you’re just a newbie.”

Ouch. “W—Well, I haven’t seen your name around a lot either.”

“Really? All the music videos I’ve directed in United States and Asia beg to say otherwise.” Ten breathes out, patting his ponytail before clearing his throat. “Listen, I don’t want to fight with you, but the filter is staying. Otherwise, it will look poorly done—”

Four months ago, Angela spoke about how much of a vain asshole he was—and there is nothing she wants more than to show him how much power she could have over him if only she put her mind into it. Make his life difficult, insufferable, just as he’s doing right now for her. “You’re insufferable, aren’t you?” She whispers, well aware that Hao has finally gone to her side of the table and already placed a hand over her mouth.

“I—I’m sorry, she didn’t mean it!” Hao’s apologies are already background music to the tension between Ten and her. She looks at him. He stares right back. Brightness and darkness becoming one, the twinkle on his eye danger beyond all.

“Don’t apologize for her. It’s okay.” Ten indicates, swatting his hand in the air to lay it on the table, leaning his weight forward. Instead, he talks directly to her. “I’m insufferable?”

Pulling Hao’s hand away from her mouth, she replies: “Why? Want me to say it again?”

“No.” Ten adds. “I just want to remind you I’m insufferable now, but I can be even worse.”

Going on with his explanations, she finds herself speechless—but mentally, she’s chatting herself up about how much she hates Ten. How the fuck did Angela date someone like him?

###

“You know,” Hao’s hair is already gray—with some hair-dye, sometimes, he tries to return it to its dark color, but the gray strands appear every once in a while—but it may turn bone white with how much stress is read on his expression. Their usual café does not serve him as a relaxation method, much more when he continues with his dilemma. “I’ve done all I fucking can to get you here, and now that we’re two days away from getting you to record your music video, you decide it’s a good idea to drink lemonade like a maniac and fight Ten in the process.”

The straw in between her lips slips from her hold when she looks up, and it’s true—this is her second glass of lemonade, relishing on the sweetness and sourness of it all, and it may damage her throat, but it’s what she craves right now. “Hao, it will be fine. I’m just not letting that asshole talk to me as if I’m stupid.”

The white and cream walls of the café contrast with the harsh sigh that rips from his throat, running his hands over his face, playing around with his cheeks a bit. “Listen, stop drinking lemonade and listen to yourself for a second,” He says. “He’s one of the most famous music directors at this moment…and he does a damn good job at it. You’re set to succeed and, still, you want to fuck it up.”

“That man is crazy!” She completes her sentence with some hand motions, looking down at her lemonade and pondering if she should drink another one. Does she want to go to the bathroom for the entirety of the night, or, would she rather just control her nervousness? After all, she’ll have a big shoot in two days. “I’m all about self-confidence and positivity, about self-love, too, but I’m sure if Ten could be cloned, he’d choose to date himself.”

Hao tilts his head to the side at that moment. “I mean, if I looked like him, I would definitely date myself, too.” He replies, laughter following his statement before he places one hand over hers, stopping her from taking her glass of lemonade once again. “Hey, hear me out. I’m serious. I don’t want you to fail on your dream only to end up giving a hand-job for five bucks in some bar downtown because no one wants to listen to your voice anymore.”

Harsh, the hostility in his voice comes from a place of deep worry—but there is nothing to worry about. If Ten is as sensible as a flower when it comes to honesty, then that’s his fault. “Why am I the one that ends up giving a hand-job in some bar downtown when he’s the one that treated me like shit?”

“Because you weren’t so polite, either!” Hao replies. “You could’ve easily lifted your hand,” And he does. “And said—” Then, he changes his tone to one that matches hers. Maybe, a bit lower. “Excuse me, Ten, I think we could arrange a lighter tone in the filter because it would look better, in my opinion. May we add some colors? I’m not too experienced in this, but I would like for my opinion to be taken into consideration for this.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Three times and a few more before she says. “And that is what I would never say. What do I do after? Kiss his feet? Call him my master?”

“That’s being polite. You’re at a workplace.”

“I’m the artist.”

“And you’re a newbie.”

“And?” She drags her voice, eyes widening. “Madonna was once a newbie. Beyoncé was once a newbie. Do you think Beyoncé has no say in what goes in her music videos?”

Patience is Hao’s best virtue, maybe, or he really is mostly like a father figure to her. “Well then, produce something as good as Lemonade or as Single Ladies, and we won’t even need Ten to start with.”

She throws her head back, looking up at the white ceiling with anger flushing from inside of her. Ten, a masterpiece from the outside, a piece of garbage on the inside. A trashcan has less odor than his personality. Whatever. “Why are you so in love with Ten all of the sudden?”

“I’m not in love with Ten. I’m in love with the opportunity that means having him as your director. You’re set to a good start, that’s all I want for you.”

Her heart melts, dripping onto the center of her body, leaving her with a smile on her face. Why ask for richness when she already has the best, she could ever ask for right here, in her life? “Thanks, Hao.” She replies, wrapping her fingers around his hand and tightening her hold. “We’re going to skyrocket in this business, just—just let me sit Ten down in his place when he really needs to. Just some ass-flatting so he knows how to treat me.”

“Watch out—”

She rolls her eyes then. “I’ll be fine. I won’t attack him if he doesn’t attack me. I’m a revengeful person, not a stupid one.”

“Questionable.”

“Hao.”

“So, now that we’ve settled that.” The man stands up then, downing the rest of her lemonade in one go before snapping his fingers together. “I’m getting you some tea for those vocal cords. I need a high note.”

###

Wild hair, dampened almost romantically, makes her skin glimmer with goosebumps as the coldness of the night hits her in the abandoned building that Ten has set his mind recording the first scene into. Everyone knew that it was going to be this cold, sporting coats over coats, sweaters, holding cups of hot chocolate or coffee. Instead, she’s the artist that has to stand looking at Ten from up-close as he explains to Hong and herself what they’re going to do for the first scene.

The sleeves of Ten’s sweater trail down his hands, keeping him covered even past the jacket on his shoulders. With his gelled back hair, he’s an ode to trouble. The kind of people most lovers run away from in fear of being caught up in his trap. With his tongue in between his lips, Ten concentrates on what one of the staffs talks about—the lights and how they’re going to fall on certain angles to make the shadows more appealing and more fitted for her face. She doesn’t understand much, but what she does understand is the beauty of Ten’s features when he brings his cup of coffee up to his lips.

Ten is a poem made person—those that twist in between the good and the bad, and sometimes, when she looks at him, she can’t tell if he’s deeply saddened or in love with the world. Not that she should care, if anything, Ten is bitter about people not painting the world how he wants it. Or, that’s what she wants to believe when he catches her staring at him.

“I want you to act as if your song is stuck in your head and it…you want it to get it out of there. Dance to your will, but I want you to touch your head a lot, maybe play with your hair?”

“I wasn’t given a choreography, Ten.” She replies, silently cursing the cold as she blows raspberries onto her hands. With an eye-roll of his own, Ten’s cup is given to her with one brief movement, the man moving his shoulders a bit as he speaks.

“We’re recording the first verse here, I’ll tell you when to stop, but I had thought something like this. Not a choreography, just common sense. Feeling the music, as one would say.” The wind blows on his hair when Ten lets his voice romantically wrap around the lyrics of her song, motions matching that of a dance as he makes it visually perceivable that he can’t stand whatever is going on inside his head—this insecurity, this limbo that she talks about in her song. With his legs strutting as if he’s on a runway, she hums.

“I’ll see what I can do,” She answers, taking a sip of Ten’s coffee before being delighted by the taste. He makes good choices when it’s not iced coffee. “You can sing, though.”

“…A normal amount. Anyone can sing.” Ten says, ready to go over to the staff in charge of the fans that will blow at her hair and make her seem the slightest bit more stylish. She doesn’t know, she has never been in front of the cameras, and maybe that’s why she goes after Ten.

“No. You actually sing and dance. How—?”

“I used to watch MTV a hell of a lot when I was younger.” Ten breathes out, the wind curling onto his words and leaving an imprint of white onto it. A kiss from him that is visible for the world. “…And I would sing along to all these songs, learn some dance steps. I was in dancing classes for a while, but I got more interested about the behind-the-scenes stuff. Art meets art, you know.”

But he never does look at her, not even when she lowers her face to look right at his eyes. He only inspects her for a second before returning his gaze to the fans, checking them one by one. “It’s even more surprising that you learned the lyrics to my song.”

“You’re not a shitty artist. At least, not as shitty as you get when something doesn’t go your way.”

Fuck this dude.

Honestly.

Or, rather, don’t think about fucking this dude, because she feels her knees buckling up a bit when a smile appears on the corner of his lips.

“Speak for yourself!”

“I am.”

“You are so conceited.”

“That’s the Angela in you speaking. If you go meet someone with the predisposition of feeling like you know them and their flaws, you’ll find them.” Ten shrugs his shoulders then, turning around to look at her without noticing how their chests flush together, pressed to one another and yet, powerful enough to make her give a step back. “I’m confident about what I’m talking about. Never conceited. If I know what I’m doing, I just say it out loud.”

“First and foremost, my opinions about you are not levelled by what Angela has said about you to me.” But they do play around to certain extent. After all, she initially thought Ten was vain without even getting to know him. Fuck him and his nice logic. She puffs her chest out to defend herself, one hand on her waist. “And secondly, I am also confident about what I think about, thank you very much.”

“Good for you.” Ten answers, and the curtness of his reply has her pressing her lips together. This man will make her end up in anger management. “Anyways. Are you a fan of Christina Aguilera?”

“Her voice…” She has to breathe in for a second. “To die for. Why?”

“I need you to have the confidence she had for the ‘Dirty’ music video.”

The gasp that leaves her in unexpectedly loud, making some of the staff look at her as if she’s a fish out of the water. “She is fucking Christina Aguilera, how am I going to challenge Chris—?”

“You’re you. Challenge your inner diva.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Ten, do I look like a diva to you?”

“No, your inner self is a denied track for ‘Nevermind’ by Nirvana—but hey, I need some troubled diva to come through. Your outer self is badass right now, keep that.”

“What do you mean a denied track?” She asks, though, she can’t help but show a smile on her features, and Ten simply has to laugh at her antics.

“As troublesome as Kurt and Courtney together, but somehow, it’s appealing.” Throwing her head back, she lets the sarcasm in his voice get to her.

“I am not troublesome.”

“All musicians are.”

“What about music video directors, huh?” She asks, moving over to the center of the cameras as she throws a look at him. The redness of her lips captures his attention for a second, or maybe, he’s just concentrating on what she is saying. “I’m sure that there’s some emotional, Panic! At The Disco scene era, loving asshole under all that bite you have.”

He hums, sitting down on his director chair before speaking loudly. “I don’t know, figure it out, Christina.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so difficult to talk to, Brendon.”

“I’d rather be Ryan.” Ten corrects, and a smile appears on her face. Huh, so he really did watch MTV back in the day. “He wrote all the songs in the first album. That’s more of a mastermind for the era you’re talking about.”

“So much for telling me I’m the Nirvana denied track made person.”

“…Well, I got the bite and the diva out of you, didn’t I?”

That’s the day she realizes that Ten has more than just a vain side to him, that when he’s seated on his throne in the shape of a director’s chair, he’s much easier to talk to. That his knowledge in music, for the first time in a person she has met, matches hers and she doesn’t quite hate talking to him when it’s about that. It’s annoying, sure, but it’s better than what they started with.

###

“How much do you think I would make if I sold pictures of my feet?”

Shishi’s questions are always something to look forward to, much more when her face is stained in red and a glass of wine is on one hand, checking her phone while talking to Angela and her. Her YouTube video is uninteresting in this girl’s night-out turned sleepover, mostly because all three of them are too tipsy to go anywhere else, and Angela’s place is always the tidiest of the bunch.

“Depends.” She says, lifting her own glass of wine and taking a sip of it. “I don’t think I’ve openly talked to someone about foot fetishes, but…like, is it sexier if the toes are stubbier or like, is it hotter if they are slim toes? Do they have to be hairy toes?”

Angela puts her glass of wine down with a continued, harsh slap against her thighs. “You say toe one more time and I’m going to put my actual toe down your throat for being so disgusting.”

Shishi raises her hand slowly, as if she’s in the middle of class and wants to ask a question, so Angela can look her way. “If you do put your toe down her throat, can I record it and sell it on the internet so I can buy a Levi Ackerman body pillow?”

The answer comes from both Angela and herself at the same time: “No, Shishi!”

With mostly silence overtaking the room as Shishi roams the deepest of information about foot fetishes and the cost of feet pictures online, and Angela says she’s going to prepare some food to take some of the tipsiness away, she opts to enter Instagram. Not that she does that much often—and she can already hear Hao scolding her for it inside her head, for she should have a social media following, but the standards of normality that exist in such social media site really do get to her. There’s only so much she can stand before it actually starts playing with her head.

She brings her thumb up to her mouth to nibble on it softly, rushing through her scrolling to get to the latest picture and clicking her tongue when only seeing one picture of her interest. Though, to be unexpectedly convenient, Instagram suggests some people to follow for her, and much to her lack of knowledge, the appearance of Ten’s name and a small, circular picture of him is enough of an invitation for her to tap on his profile.

The last time she saw Ten was three weeks ago, and in less than a week, her music video would be released for the world to see. With some promotion, of course, not that she has quite paid attention to that without feeling like bawling. But, something about his profile makes her feel more connected to him. Only because he’s as immaculate on his social media as he is with his music videos, and he does look damn fine in every picture that she taps onto.

Now, one of the finest things that could be created in this life is the combination of fries and ketchup…and Ten challenges that. Head on. Face first. He puts all foods to shame, even the wine on her hand, with how fine he seems to be on every picture, and maybe it’s the liquid courage trailing after her actions that has her clicking the follow button and looking through his stories.

Because, let’s be honest—he’s annoying. He was annoying as all hell. But there is a double standard to that…he’s awfully uncapable of making himself be liked personality-wise when he’s working, but if he shuts his lips for one single second, he’s a dream come true.

He is asking for questions on his story, and her fingers move fast simply to jot down an innocent inquiry: “Favorite MV to direct?”

The answer comes less than fifteen minutes later, when Shishi’s head is laying on her lap and the smell of pasta has her stomach growling and asking for garlic bread as soon as possible. Her mouth watering, imagining the perfect bread siding past her lips for her to take a bite—

The image is black, but the answer is enough of a hit on the face for her to sit up straighter. “Yours.” He replied, with a tongue-out emoji after.

This man is the sole reason she doesn’t know the difference between sexual tension and absolute hatred.

To: @tenlee_1001

You’re joking.

And the three dots that appear soon after have her biting down on her lip.

From: @tenlee_1001

Maybe, stalker.

To: @tenlee_1001

I’m not stalking you.

From: @tenlee_1001

Said, the liar.

To: @tenlee_1001

You’re lucky I’m too drunk to reply to that.

How’s it been?

From: @tenlee_1001

Good.

How have you been?

To: @tenlee_1001

Hungry.

Angela’s making pasta right now and I can’t wait.

From: @tenlee_1001

Are you and Angela always tied to the hip?

To: @tenlee_1001

Not really.

Does that bother you?

From: @tenlee_1001

She’s nice.

Sometimes, two nice people just can’t be together.

To: @tenlee_1001

Are you meant to be the other half of that statement?

From: @tenlee_1001

Yeah, haha.

I’m nicer than you think.

To: @tenlee_1001

Prove it.

From: @tenlee_1001

I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

To: @tenlee_1001

Said, the nicest guy on earth.

From: @tenlee_1001

Ah, fuck you.

All the people I’ve dated said I’m the nicest guy they’ve met.

Maybe, it’s the garlic in the air, the wine on her hand, or Shishi’s heavy head on her lap that dizzies her when she says:

To: @tenlee_1001

Then, take me out on a date.

Or, are you chicken?

It’s been a while since she has talked to a man like this, and, for fuck’s sake, she’s supposed to be hating this man. Throwing her phone on the cushion beside her, she tries to stifle her screech. Okay, sure, it will be okay, things could be worse—

And then, her phone vibrates and it takes her a second for her to check it.

From: @tenlee_1001

Okay. Let me just plan something.

I’ll take you out next Friday.

It’s a date, Aguilera.

To: @tenlee_1001

…Okay, Ryan.

And not exactly Gosling.

From: @tenlee_1001

Is that supposed to hurt me?

To: @tenlee_1001

No.

Because not all guys can be Ryan Gosling.

Maybe, she’s too tipsy to be having this conversation, but when she sees Ten has just followed her on Instagram, she knows it’s game over for her.

###

Eloquently dangerous is the worst kind of trouble a lover looks for. In the shape of Ten seated on the driver’s seat, legs parted and both of his hands resting on the lower part of the steering wheel. When he picked her up, the stiff conversation tightened around their necks, leaving them speechless—but music unites them again. After all, it’s the reason why they met and why they’re going out on this date to start with.

According to Ten, whose long hair is enough of a call-out for her to lean herself to the side to be able to talk to him from a closer position and still, wish she could rake her fingers through it, there is a restaurant forty minutes away from her place that is to die for. Thai, he said, and she’s not about to contradict him on that. On the way there, Ten’s conversation lingers within her with interest, enough for her to nod her head along to the beat of ‘Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)’ by Nancy Sinatra.

“This song makes me feel like I’m in a post-apocalyptic world and I’m looking for revenge.” She says, eyes staring at his profile. What a blessing it would be to call the smile on his face hers, but it isn’t. His short-sleeved button down moves a bit over his collarbone, just when he throws a glance over his shoulder.

“That’s the mentality of a director.” Ten indicates, though he licks his lips and waits for the last few seconds of the song to pass by. “I don’t listen to it that much, even when it’s in my playlist, but it mostly reminds me of this scenery…an ex going to a wedding and killing the bride just because of jealousy. The secret to not letting go and how twisted it can be.” He shrugs soon after. “That’s the meaning of the song, in my opinion.”

“Damn.” She replies, a hiss following her statement as she sits down straighter. “Are you that type of ex?”

“Of course not.” His voice is rapid to defend himself, before clearing his throat. “But you should know more about me as an ex, considering you’re good friends with Angela.”

She remembers Angela being full of Ten’s shit, the way she deleted all their pictures in the blink of an eye before locking herself in her job. She doesn’t exactly recall anything else other than knowing Ten is— “She told me you were vain.”

“…Fuck.” He chuckles then, though a bit dark in the process. “I am not vain, we were just two stubborn people who got into a relationship without really knowing each other.”

The last part hits home, and she has to bite her bottom lip when she starts to hear the tune to Alicia Keys’ ‘Show Me Love’, perhaps featured by Miguel, but her mind can’t come up with the truest answer at this moment. “I understand that. Relationships are really fucking difficult. You ignore all the red flags just to get with someone.”

“That sounds awfully like someone remembering their ex.” Ten says, a hum to his tone in the form of a song.

“I don’t remember him much. Too overconfident for how bad of a lover he was.” She tells him, and a smile spreads across his face when he passes a green light.

“Is that a connotation for what I’m thinking about?”

“You know, I’m just saying, at least you had something serious with Angela.” For a second, her mind lingers in the nights in hotel rooms, always being picked up by a man simply to end anywhere but a place to have a date in. Tangled in between his sheets, getting lost in his physique, in the way his lips wrapped around her and how much he seemed to desire her. Desire is not the same as love. “You didn’t have to deal with a guy who seemed to like everyone and you. I was a little toy for a guy and that’s the thing I regret the most.”

“Shit.” Ten curses, raising both eyebrows before shaking his head. “What made you fall for an asshole like that?”

“He was a web designer. I thought that a nerdy guy mixed with a gym-rat body is what I wanted.” She answers, bringing laughter up Ten’s chest, his eyes wrapping up in their magic, enigmatic stance. “He was afraid of commitment, I think he had daddy issues, too. I met him because he went to one of my shows in a bar downtown.”

“And you became friends with benefits?”

“Are we really friends if I know nothing about him other than his body?”

“Damn.”

The lyrics embrace her ears and enter her brain when, indeed, Miguel’s voice fills the air and much to her surprise, she does know this song—

Without realizing, she tries to remember the lyrics, mumbling some of the words and jumbling the others, and Ten hates this enough to shake his head, lifting one hand in the air to instruct the tempo to her. “It’s ‘you gon’ show me love like, like you tried it—’, two likes, honey.”

At the mention of such a nickname, she has to push his shoulder sightly. “Honey?”

“Why? Did your little asshole ex call you that?”

“He was not my ex.”

“He’s an ex if he got to be with you.”

“Why? Jealous?” Quirking an eyebrow, she is surprised when she sees Ten shrugging.

“I shouldn’t be jealous when I know that, if I really put my mind into it, I can do a much better job than him at winning you over.”

She has to hiss at this moment. “I don’t buy it; I feel like you still hate me.”

The car starts going slower by the time Ten gives her a reply. “If I really hated you, would I have taken you out on a date?”

“Maybe, you’re just planning to take me out to this horrid place and—”

“Oh, no, no, no, no.”

The car comes to an abrupt halt at that moment, and Ten’s head lulls against the steering wheel at the same time that a groan creeps up his vocal cords. “What happened?” The car is still on, however, so it must not be the engine fucking their date up.

“Didn’t you feel that?” She shakes her head then. “You’re dead inside. I think one of the wheels has, I don’t know, like a nail piercing through it.”

When Ten gets out of the car, right after turning off the car, she’s left in complete darkness—and she hates it. Why is it that when everything is going well for them, a wheel decides to just fucking deflate and almost kill them? At least, they’re in a somewhat safe street. “Ten, hold up—” She says, taking her phone out of her pocket to shine a light onto the wheel he is inspecting, trying not to let her eyes trail down to his toned legs. “We can call someone and they’ll get here in no time, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a Friday night. It’s even more difficult to get someone to help us at this time.” Ten instructs, and she decides to lighten things up in the worst way possible.

“It seems like you’re not that good of a driver, considering you know what to do in this situation—”

Ten sends a glare over his shoulder, some strands of his hair passing over his face, and she has to give him a cramped smile. “I am a good driver.”

“It was a joke!”

He manages to give her a short laugh before bringing his own phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling a friend that can come help us out.” And he does, his back becoming the main image he sees, his slim body but nicely squared shoulders making her scrunch up her nose and close her eyes tightly. There’s always something going on between them, ain’t it?

Sitting down on the sidewalk, she lets the coldness seep through her jeans, staring at the city lights that are even more beautiful than the harsh one from her phone. She turns it off, but uses her phone to distract herself in a different way. Music must be the only way she can relax herself, a breath in and a breath out as she looks through her playlist.

But nothing sits right with her, only listening to a few seconds before she switches the song to something else. However, a presence makes itself known by her side, no longer talking to his friend but, instead, sending an eye over to her phone and letting his finger roam over the screen.

“I like this one.” And she has to cackle at the choice of songs. Definitely something of the like that is expected from him, ‘34+35’ by Ariana Grande fills the air in between them, and much to her surprise, Ten knows how to sing along to some of the lyrics.

“Are you trying to hint at something?” She jokes around, dipping her feet in the water just because she can, and the warmth of him by her side isn’t quite as unpleasant in this winter blues.

If she could see his cheeks, she would be able to tell that they are tinted deep red, and that the small, almost inaudible laugh that leaves him is one of the most beautiful sounds she has ever been welcomed to. “I’m not saying anything. You’re the one being dirty-minded.”

“Oh, come on, the song is definitely about—”

“She says: ‘love me ‘til the daylight’.”

“What the fuck? No!” She corrects, giggling a bit when Ten drapes his coat on top of both their bodies, mingling closer until his perfume becomes a drug she can’t get enough of. “She says: ‘fuck me ‘til the daylight’.”

“Too much to say on a first date, you know?” Ten conquers, and she has to laugh directly at his face.

“We’re not getting it on tonight, Ten.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t say we were going to! You brought it up.”

“Whatever.” She replies, resting her head on his shoulder before sighing deeply. “When is your friend coming?”

“In an hour, if he’s lucky.” Ten instructs, and she doesn’t want to look disappointed, but Ten had painted the restaurant they were going to go to as the best thing in this world—

“I’m hungry.” Her lips puff out in a bit of a pout as he speaks, and Ten takes this as a cue to take the car keys, lock the device before standing up, leaving his coat over her shoulders.

His hand extends, an anchor for her to take, messing up with her temper when he waves his fingers and invites her in a way that makes her heart beat like a fool’s. It’s been too damn long since she’s felt like this. “There’s a convenience store nearby…and, I don’t know, maybe we could buy some burgers and fries in the way there? Eat somewhere less cold, too.”

When their fingers interlock, she thinks she gets a grasp of exactly why Angela had rushed into a relationship with him. He’s magic in its truest form. “Fries sound amazing right now.”

They start walking, though the conversation never dies down. “Do you like do dip them in ice cream, ketchup or mayonnaise?”

“People dip it in mayonnaise?”

“That’s less chaotic than the ones that dip it in mustard.”

“…The end of the world is near.”

His laughter is nicely welcomed, a blanket for her to keep herself warm in this cold night. Though, his hands and his coat do as much, as well.

###

With Angela’s Yorkshire Terrier held up on her arms, the dog licking up her face for the umpteenth time and probably doing his best to take off the rest of her makeup, not managing to steal a kiss from her when she moves her face around in the way to the vet, she continues talking to her friend with intention. Five days after her last date with Ten, and the first one at that, and she can’t seem to stop running her mouth about it.

“Really, Ange. I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to break his heart when he was an absolute sweetheart—” She says, the harsh sunshine falling on top of her face, and this dog is adorable, much more now that he doesn’t know that he’s going to get his mandatory shots, but if he continues licking her face, she may lose the skin of her cheek. “Did you know that he loves Alicia Keys? And that he loves drawing? He’s so stylish, too, and he’s so open about talking about himself.”

“Because he loves himself.” Angela interrupts, placing the keys of her car inside her purse before sending a smile her way. Before she could say anything, Angela speaks up. “But I’m happy for you, babe. We both know that you deserve someone who treats you right. Even if it’s my ex.”

At the mention of such a title, she has to stop her rambling. “You’re okay with it, right?”

“Of course.” And the truthfulness of her tone has her releasing a sigh from the depths of her worry. “I’m not insecure, honey. Not even jealous. Ten is nothing for me now. I don’t like him, but I don’t like him for me. As long as he treats you right, we’re okay.”

Though, she does feel a bit of curiousness about the relationship that ensued in between the two, but maybe that’s too early to talk about when she has only been talking to him through the phone, planning dates, meeting up in the briefest of moments when they both have time. After all, her song is doing good and now, she’s recording an album—

Her phone rings at that moment, eyes opening widely when she hears the specific ringtone she has for Hao. “Angela, take your dog. That’s Hao calling.” Though, the woman doesn’t relent when she passes the sweet dog over to her. Her phone fits her hand perfectly when she picks up the call, ear welcoming the sound of Hao’s familiar voice. “Hao, Hao, what’s up?”

“Nothing much…” His voice trails, but it’s unusual for him to call just because. Just when she continues walking in the parking lot, Hao decides to say something. “But you’re going to be opening show for the tour of one of the biggest artists in this country, that’s all that’s happening right now. Not much.”

If she could scream right now, she would.

Her hand spreads on top of her face, jelly on toast, made to be there. Shivers going up her neck, body paralyzed in her spot, her free arm going up to raise into the air—feel the wind, the sun, let it ravish her as her dreams give a glimpse of becoming true. The fever of stardom and success rips a squeal out of her, twirling on her own spot as words of thankfulness become one with the air around her. For once, she feels like an artist—like her voice can be heard, heart healed by the heel of the world and how it twists around to her favor.

“I’m going on tour!” She finally screams, happiness meeting her lungs, breathing in a way that doesn’t feel cramped. The world is good for once, and Angela’s smile matches her own.

###

The worst part of it all is saying goodbye to something that didn’t happen.

Her friends know about fashion more than she does, a red jacket draped over an almost all-black outfit, while they all wear clothing that seems to be fitted for the party in her honor. Well, not in her honor at all—but for the main artist of the world tour that will start in no less than a week from now, such short notice, and she was invited in the process. The elongated hallways of the hotel the party will take place in, extra expensive at that, barely do much to conceal the laughter that bubbles from her friend-group or the sound of their singing to their latest single, well over a million views in YouTube as of now, and directed by then.

She hasn’t told him. It’s that one thing that she doesn’t know if she should talk about or not. Whenever they eat together, she feels like telling him…but she stops herself for some reason. It’s the brink of not knowing if he cares or if it would hurt him, but the world knows what it is doing. With her boots hitting the tiles with expertise, she doesn’t expect to hear her name being called, with such a soft and nice tone that she already knows whose it is.

When she looks over her shoulder, her friends stopping their singing and laughing to stare at the scene displayed in front of them, Ten rests his back against one of the bathroom doors near the entrance to the main salon for the party. With a bun laying on top of his head, the strands of his black hair falling behind his neck, she’s surprised to see him so put together—white button down, trousers, and a poised look on his face when he says:

“Congratulations. Not that you told me but…I’m so happy you’re going on tour.” Her heart races at that moment, not caring that Angela is there, that her friends are glancing at Ten and speaking between themselves as she moves with certainty, taking her place in front of him and grasping his hands in both of hers, eyes shifting to every portion of his face. The face of a man she wants to have, but can’t.

“T—Ten, uh, I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t care. It’s nothing against you, really, but since we don’t have anything serious yet—”

“I’m not mad.” He says, a small smile on his face. “Why would I be mad when this is all you have ever asked for?”

A halo exists over him, and she doesn’t know why she hated him on the first place at this moment. Perfection in the form of a man that she can’t get to know so well right now, simply because her career is launching and so is his. “Well, you’re more used to travelling than I am. After all, you’re always all around for shootings and director stuff that I don’t know about—”

“It’s damn fun. Seeing the world that way…you’ll love it.” Ten whispers, sending one look over to her group of friends before lowering his voice. “Can you just tell them to leave?”

“Yeah.” She says, looking at her friends before speaking up. “Get it going, there’s a party waiting for you!”

In between whispers of their own and some looks at them, she doesn’t realize that Ten’s hands have taken place on her waist, bringing her closer to inspect her features. Looking at her as if she’s the only woman in the world, when she had thought he had only seen himself all along— “I wish you would’ve told me, though. I was invited by Hao and got the news thanks to him.”

Hao is either really blessed or the unluckiest man alive. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. After all, I—” She mumbles, swallowing thickly after. “I wanted to try things out for you. With you. Ah, you know—”

“There’s always ‘later’. Maybe not now, but maybe, we’re just meant to connect in some other time of our lives.” His words make her cling closer to him, fists tangling onto his shirt, taking more of him— “And until then, live your dream and I’ll live mine. The gratitude of being the best version of ourselves is more important right now.”

When she leans her head forward, his lips come in contact with the bridge of her nose, breathing softly, a silent confession, a plea to let go of the world for one night and be there with each other. One of their latest nights together, of the impossibility of minutes as they glare at them from the clock and ask them to pull away.

“I wish we could’ve gotten a real chance.” She whispers, laying her head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist as his thumbs draw on her back.

“We’ll get to try later.”

Later sounds like forever when he is right there, within her reach, and yet so far away. The promise of a goodbye is shadowed by the trials of continuing with their connection. That, maybe, losing time with him was her worst mistake, the reason why it shatters her heart—

But later is also a moment, a moment that will welcome her after tour.

#ten scenarios #ten #wayv scenarios #wayv #nct scenarios #nct #writing #wayv angst #wayv fluff #wayv au #ten angst #ten fluff #ten au #how to lose someone in seven steps?

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aestheticaxolotl · 3 years

Text

Let’s Talk About Neal The Eel

Lets talk about Rat-Daddy, I mean Neal the Eel

Let me start with Neal, using the Carmen Sandiego Wiki to break him down as a whole, starting with appearance and personality (Excluding the comments around his action in the show). I am biased here, Neal is my favorite character in the god damned show. I will stand by this rat till I die.

I may or may not go into ship fodder but that may just have to be a thing for another day.

Neal is a tall man with a thin lanky frame and greasy black hair. He has buck teeth with a slight gap between, usually resting over his bottom lip. His skin is very pale, almost grey, and he has purple bags under his eyes.

All I have to say is this boy is tired, probably anemic, I have reason to believe that Neal the Eel is both anemic and hypermobile ( a heritable connective tissue disorder that affects the joints and ligaments in a person's body. It comes in different degrees of severity, the least being similar to double-jointedness). There is no age stated but I am willing to bet he’s around 30-35, due to his aged face lines and his Faculty audition (NGL I would have loved to see him as Faculty). Not gonna lie, the buck teeth is why I’ve been lovingly calling him a rat. I’ve seen many buck teeth in my day but this is the first time I ever really loved it. I think the greasy detail is just due to the slippery aesthetic. But I can appreciate that.

For personality we do not have a lot to go on, but what we do have is VERY revealing about the depths and flaws of his character.

Neal is described as "conniving and loyal to a fault" by Doctor Bellum. During fights, he has an affinity for making puns and teasing his opponent. Despite his goofy nature, he is a competent operative, having been able to outplay both Shadowsan and Carmen in combat— additionally having been considered a potential faculty member by Bellum. He is later revealed in the fourth season to be extremely laidback and easygoing, since he did not care about getting his mind wiped, getting fish dumped on him, or defecting from V.I.L.E.

As you all know by now, (Unless you are new), I marked the most important details in the bold font. As we do not have much to work with, a lot of details are bolded, I really hope what I put out is up to standard!

Neal is described as "conniving and loyal to a fault”

Now, I’m taking into account that he has a reason to be ‘loyal to a fault’. If you have read my headcanon you will know that I strongly think Neal came from a circus or some form of freak show, we know how flexible this man is and there is no way that it just happened. I imagine that the loyal to a fault is to Dr. Bellum, who wanted him on faculty. But WHY? I’ll touch on that soon. We do see that the man is loyal and is very clever during points in the show. So perhaps there is some connection to Bellum that we as an audience have not yet seen, through technology or something. He seems to enjoy technology, but not on the same level that Bellum does, this really stumps me and I would LOVE to hear what y’all have to say about it!

He has an affinity for making puns and teasing his opponent

Need I remind you all that Neal the eel is a HUG GOOF BALL?!? *Goes to laugh in the corner for a second* Okay, now, he makes a lot of jokes and has fun with his job and I can really respect that. I have not seen a character that has as much FUN at work as Neal does. That’s why he is so fun to watch on the screen, he’s having fun the way that our others are not. He’s poking fun at Carmen and Shadowsan, HE ASKS IF SHADOWSAN JOINS THE SOVIOT UNION. I Mean that was amazing. All his puns are centered around him being slick, and there is a LOT that one can do with that. I also noticed that Neal nicknames the people he is working with, I can only really see him calling Lady Dokuso “Slippy Micky” as being playful banter, that she seems to ENJOY by calling him “ unagi”, which translates to eel. And I love that a character like Neal comes across as enjoyable and annoying at the same time, do I even need to mention that Mimebomb seems to absolutely HATE Neal? He’s slimy and annoying and tells bad puns. It’s amazing that dynamics that one character can have that spices up other characters too!

He is a competent operative, having been able to outplay both Shadowsan and Carmen in combat

Now. This detail does go back to the teasing of the opponent area of this character essay. Neal is able to outplay Carmen and Shadowsan in combat, that shows some major skill, seeing as Shadowsan is older and more experienced while Carmen might be both faster and dare I say stronger. I feel that the level of skill between Shadowsan and Carmen should have made him easy to take down, where as I state, people underestimate Neal and that is why he gets the best of them. If you have seen my previous two posts, you will notice I do not use the intro cards for the character, I look for images that really give a sence to the character. Take a look at the image used for Neal. This mother trucker had a BMI of 2- MAYBE. It would be easy to underestimate him in real life or in show. This allows him to be the competent operative he is, he KNOWS he is underestimated and uses that as a tactical advantage.

Additionally having been considered a potential faculty member by Bellum.

I mentioned that I have no idea why Bellum would want Neal on the Faculty, and even here when I had time to think about it, I still do not! the only think I can think of is that Bellum must OWE him for something. Not he owes her, but SHE owe HIM something. Perhaps Neal stole something for Bellum that put him in great danger, like a computer system or something of great technological advance that put V.I.L.E So far forward in the technology stance that Bellum could not forget and had to repay. But then I look at the whole Brainwipe thing and wonder why she couldn’t repay him by letting him live free? And that’s why Neal’s loyalty is such a hard thing to pin point. SO I put forth that Neal is just skilled That’s it. It’s a little lame, but then I look that I say he is underestimated and think... That’s why they want him. His underestimation is the thing that got him on. They think that they can control him, and he would have shown them, No, they couldn’t.

Extremely laidback and easygoing

Come on, just when I think he can’t get any better. (Insert oh no he’s hot meme) or (Insert hes meeting all of my standards meme). Neal is laid back, relaxed, easy going, and all those other words for chill. I noticed that when he loses he’s not like “AUGGH NOO MY FUTURE IS RUINED” he’s more like “Damn that was a good game, I’ll get you next time.” He’s got good sportsmen ship and I love that. I’ll touch more in the next section too about how being too chill can be a problem. Neal being easygoing also make sense seeing how well he can work with other, I’ll gesture to the partnership with Lady Dokuso where he worked VERY well with her and then the teaming up with Mimebomb who absolutely hated every second of it.

He did not care about getting his mind wiped

Not going to lie, but I screamed when I saw that Bellum was going to wipe Neal’s brain. First thought was ‘OH NO’. Second was “WAit I thought she liked him’, and third was... “Wait... He’s just... Fine with this?’. Neal is TOO chill. I feel like a person should care that their brain is getting wiped, maybe just a little bit? And then I stopped, thought about what I knee of him, and laughed. Like, if he was really worried about getting he mind wiped he would have yeeted out of there a long time ago. He know that Bellum and the Faculty will show mercy to him, give him a second chance. And when that second chance was given to him? He tried and then escaped. Never to be seen again, never heard from again, never even thought of again. I imagine he did care and placed a lot of faith into what he knew of the faculty. And yes, Imagination is the basis of this here, because as previously stated, he is a competent operative and knows what he is doing, he didn’t just allow himself to be walked all over.

Neal is a master of infiltration and specializes in slipping into small spaces. His slick body suit, lanky frame, and skills as an acrobatic-contortionist make him a difficult man to capture and hold.

This is all that is given for the abilities of Neal, its not a lot to work with but I manages to strangle some thing out of it. Neal being a master of infiltration strikes me as very direct, along with the added specialty of slipping into small spaces. I figure the directness is so that the show and tell aspect of the show is less surprising. Along with the slick suit, lengthy frame and obvious gesture to acrobatic-contortionist skills gives me the impression of an escape artist. I figure from this that Neal was often used for the stealth and fast missions.

While Neal the Eel doesn’t have as much to offer Wiki wise, I am so happy with what I was able to offer up to you. Neal is an amazing character, even if I set aside my bias towards him, and an even better study.

Not just as a funny, skinny guy who looks like a rat, but as a deeper character with masks and guards that not even his closest allies could even guess at. A usual, I hope you enjoyed and I will have another one of these out fairly soon. Still doing requests!

Thanks for Reading!

#cs neal the eel #neal the eel #carmen sandeigo 2019 #carmen sandeigo spoilers #where in the world is carmen sandiego #character analysis #im a simp #carmen sandeigo headcanon #disabled headcanon

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anestheticrage · 4 years

Text

Be me: Japanese honor student🎓, 15, with half a brain and even less of a plan. Hunting bitches by day and witches by night. Livin that dank only child✌️ life while mom n dad yeet all over the globe, leavin me plenty of time to forget not to make 2 lunches for myself #quirky 😜

no time for socialization or basic electronics skills ???📱??? when your best friends are an alien demon rabbit🐰👽 and the inexplicable Hole ™ in your brain. lmao, btw did i mention im ✨M✨A✨G✨I✨C✨A✨L✨

dreamin bout my 2D waifus again when familiar pink haired cancer patient dances through my brain passin out fliers: Kamihama Meguca Dating Service: Sponsored by Cult of the Magius. 250 stones per session 🤔

seems legit, Mr. Moneybags. wasn't spending my unwieldy sack of gemstones on anything else anyway. lets pull 💎💎💎

first up we have Redhead Radagast and her plethora of plants. 🌿☺️🦎

anndd, nearly dies immediately.

well not off to a great start but i guess shes pretty cute at lea- oh FUCK its her girlfriend, Tsundere Poseidon😒🔱💦, and their exasperated, straight and single Sword Mom 😔🗡️🔥. fml gonna have to save up for the next pull. might as well play a few rounds with what i got tho.

get in some good girl talk about things like school, color coded hair styles, body count, permanent soul damage, and our personal demon pacts. ya know, the usual 😚 . realize my dark backstory seems to be missing, so the girls take me to Ketchup Queen Sappho 🍅🥧 (wtf?) to molest my glowy egg stone. whatevs, more action than ive had since Kuroe 🖤 got added to the story anyway

the gang agrees it's time to hunt down the cutest rabbit pimp 🕶️🐇💵 in the city. >> say 🎵mukyuuu🎵 one more time and ill hug you so hard my backstory will pop right out, you adorable fluffy bastard. plz be my new best friend 💕

Form brand new friendship pact with Kyubae, and remember that my lil Sis 🐥 was always the best wingman for pickin up magic chicks, and kept her side of the room so spotless i forgot she existed. whoops 乁༼☯‿☯✿༽ㄏ Maybe if I find her i can stop paying these exorbitant pull fees.📵💎

speaking of which: hot damn this week's featured bachelorette is a 19 year old model and magical detective🔎 with massive levels of PTSD and self loathing 🥵💙💦 more likely to stab you or dramatically jump off a rooftoop than utter a single positive comment. wow, maybe i really COULD find true love…

... if i had MORE THAN A 1% FUCKING DRAW CHANCE. 😡 smh

hard to make much progress finding sis or winning the broken heart of a hard boiled detective amidst the never ending lover's quarrel of the Trident Vine Lesbians. 💔 Sword Mom tells them if they don't behave a monster will take them away. LOL classic mom 🤣

>>>HOLY FUCK IT DID

declare all-out war on urban legends, starting with staircases ⚔️ to reunite the dysfunctional trio, and hope that I net a way better lineup with the next 10x pull. at least sad sleuth lady came to help out. they say combat is the best way to bond wi- and there she goes off the rooftop again 🙄 fml

alright that got way off track, we need a fresh start, away from all the loli drama. how bout a little B&E🔓🔨🤷🏻‍♀️ at the local house of worship to clear my head. ahh nothing like the unanswered prayers of the masses to get you in the mood for another wasted pull, and the 🔥 MIGHTIEST 🔥 headache you could ask for with a side of Double Cooked Pork 🐖🍜 (meh 5/10🧾)

venture forth into the spiritual unknown with your new human flamethrower🔥🌻🧡 and ask your favorite private eye to please, for the love of Eve, trade Meguca accounts with me~~~ Head through the eastern spirit portal to meet up with hologram propaganda sis and detective crush's evil ex, who joined a dating-app cult (#fuck) and also turned into the moon?🌕?(that's rough buddy)

get ambushed by Acid Horse on Wheels 🌈🐴 and vomit up my soul so hard that its time for a crossover episode. T U R F F F W A R R R *que operatic harmonies* 💛 Blondie with the hair drills and enough attitude and guns to fill up a noble phantasm tries to ban my account permanently, but PI heartthrob denies her admin privileges. aww babe i didn't know you cared. 😭♥️

get kidnapped by my new true love and go back to her place 😏 defs enough empty rooms to house five emotionally traumatized girls and at least two ghosts hehehe👻 XD 💚🃏💜🎸 decide to form the anti-gossip brigade and recruit my blazing sunflower after getting ambushed by the witch living in my fruit loops🥣

❌outvoted 2:1 that cults are bad. mf. fiinneee one last pull to round out the team and then I'll delete the app. cmonnn Karin 🎃~

OH HELL YEAH TWO FOR ONE.

Always wanted a daughter 💜🔨🐄 with a penchant for pissing off the local Martial Arts & Books Club and drinking suspicious liquids offered by total strangers. Well if it's good enough for her AND the sexy mayadere with enough game to seduce a mermaid, might as well get in on that myself.

#curseddrank 🤢 0/24 would not recommend to a friend, 'cept maybe Ria

win alot of cash 🤑, blow up a fountain, meet the pied piper²🎶🖕, moon cult, monochrome feathers, something about liberation✊🏻; adopt temper tantrum cow girl. aces 💜🥩

Next up!!! skydiving with DJ Hammer! Jump to apparently-not-certain death after suicidal A.I. 💚💾🗼 tells you to rescue her hostage before they run out of Radiohead albums and have to move on to Thom Yorke's solo discography. save the invisible shield kitten 💚👑😿 from happiness and get chased through the internet by the sexiest homicidal Paint Pallette 💚🎨😈 since Caravaggio. (apparently green is the color of the digital apocalypse. i’m deleting Kako from my friend's list)

that’s it, fuck this app. 250 stones 💎 per-life-threatening-experience is more than i’m willing to deal with 😓 don’t wanna mess with the perfect nuclear family anyway. we've already got:

✔️the two emotionally traumatized moms with memory and commitment issues

✔️the adhd daughter with anger management problems and a giant hammer

✔️the psychologically abused scizophrenic cat

✔️and the eccentric aunt with crippling anxiety

#squadgoals

now that were done hoarding bitches, its time to hunt the witches. and the bitches makin the witches. btw did i mention the witches ARE the bitches! AND WERE ALL GOING TO DIE!? 📽️⁉️💀 wait fuck lets back up a second

This is Nemo📕 and Token🧪 and they have all the answers but prefer if you only ask vague questions in exchange for vague responses so they can fill in the rest by discussing their superior intellect 🧠 at length. not to mention they built that dating app, so of course everyone in my harem decides to be a FUCKING. TRAITOR.🤬

cept waifu prime ofc 🥰💙. [PTSD > brainwashing] 'yOu CaN bE tHe LeAdEr NoW'. i have been from the very beginning you traumatized Hinedere nightmare. maybe if you weren't so caught up collecting surrogate daughters you would've noticed IM👏THE👏ONLY👏 ONE👏PROGRESSING👏THE FUCKING👏PLOT✨

rescue the rest of dysfunctional found-family™ from selves before my adorable firebender burns down Disnihama🎡🔥😱 during her weekly anxiety attack. (love the makeover T B H)

CHAPTER 8: Magical Girl Massacre🩸🗡️

- everyone has like, the shittiest day ever

- the new Pope really needs to be extradited from the church

- make friends with a really pretty tree 🌺🌲✨

i swear, if i don't finish this god damn story in time to get that free pull im gonna beat the shit out of every mirror i find in that giant mansion that i haven't even had any time to even mention yet. 🖕🏚️ let alone EVERYTHING happening with the prequel [fuck you, I'm the star] girls 💗💜💙💛❤️️ and their multidimensional melodrama. We don't need that many repetitive af episodes to emphasize that Homo-ra is a shitty person. we've all seen Rebellion. 🙄

NO, I DONT CARE IF YOU WANT SAPPHO'S BACKSTORY, I ONLY HAVE 79 STONES LEFT AND IF YACHAN FINDS OUT I HAVEN'T DELETED THE APP YET IM GONNA HAVE TO GO SLEEP IN WITH SANA 😭💎💸😠

uhhhggggg where were we… Topple a cult and burn down Hotel Denoument only to realize that Sis was fused with the dating app servers this entire madokafuckin time (told ya she was the best wingman 😊).

Dilemma: Sis =🥚, Triumvirate of Trouble want 🐣. What do? vote now:

Help Hatch - IIIIIII

Not Do That - IIIII

What The Actual Fuck Is Going On - IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Lets just fight everyone until something good happens.

🔥🔫🔥🗡️🔥😱🔥🌆🔥😱🔥🛡️🔥💣🔥

Kill (???) the artist-in-chief of the italian reindeer murder police after teaching her the true meaning of Christmas 🎄 hatch 🐣lil Sis and realize she WAS your wingman all along🐰 MUKYUUUU! we're just gonna ignore how much trouble it would have saved if you'd just mentioned that. "yOu DiDnT aSk..."

FUCK YOU SPACE BITCH. ONCE AN INCUBATOR ALWAYS AN INCUBATOR 🖕🐇🔪

anywho, somewhere along the lines we of course summoned the Antichrist ⚙️ because why not raise the stakes to max and still not kill off a single character. Madofuckinkami, can we PLEASE wrap this up. 😩💤

feathers (not the culty kind, tfm) rain from the sky, and the power of friendship and not having the Urobutcher 🔪🩸as a lead writer saves our peacefully sectioned off alternate reality 😇

TL:DR fuck cults, real life waifus DO exist, don't sell your soul to space rabbits, or your stones to megacorporations. Enjoy arc 2 on the JP server with your shitty translation patch you filthy fuckin weebs

Yours Truly,

- Thirsty Weeb Eroha 💗💎😘

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artemisa97 · 4 years

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Okaaaay, for the tropes mashup. Detective/Criminal x the big damn kiss. Petopher, please

Well, I was supposed to post another one first, but this idea really inspired me and I just had to write it. I’m actually going to post this one in ao3, so if you have an account I can gift it to you. Hope you like it!

Thanks to @rhysiana for being my beta, this fic would have been way worst without her, xD

WARNING: There is several references to an abusive relationship, but it doesn’t go in deep and it’s not Petopher.

Detective/Criminal + The Big Damn Kiss

Peter Hale is a criminal, and Chris hates him. He’s been hunting the man his whole career, and had been close to taking him down a number of times, only for everything to go to Hell at the last minute. Hale is too cunning, too resourceful, too well-connected. Trapping him is like grabbing a handful of sand: possible, but, at the end of the day, futile.

Today, he has finally taken him down.

And now, talking to his superior, he can feel the sand slipping between his fingers, trickling down his closed fist.

“With all due respect,” he says. “I’ve been hunting Peter Hale for two decades, I know him. He’s a con artist and a thief, he commits several crimes a day, and there is no chance of him ever reforming. We can’t allow him to go free.”

“Maybe,” says Stilinski, tired. “But he has information on the Benefactor, information he won’t share unless we give him a full pardon.”

Chris wants to scream. He doesn’t. The Benefactor, who may not even be one person, runs a powerful network, mercenaries and hitmen ready to murder anyone on their way. It is, of course, a far more important target than a man that steals diamonds and pretty paintings, no matter how infuriating that particular man is. It’s the right thing to do, an amazing deal to make, but Chris is still frustrated. He’ll have to see Peter’s smug face while taking off his handcuffs, silently pointing out that, even in defeat, he has still won.

―

Peter Hale is a criminal, and Chris is in love with him. He would love to say that he doesn’t know when or why he fell, but it would be a lie. It happened at a party where Chris was undercover, working on another case. Peter had been there by virtue of his criminal connections and general charm, and most eyes in the room were focused on him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt under the suit jacket and his chest glistened with sweat and alcohol.

Peter had come around and started to talk to him, hands on his arm, eyes shining with mischief, flirtations blatant. He was smart, charming, fascinating, and could make Chris laugh against his will. They only spoke for half an hour or so, but when Chris was about to go do his actual job, Peter had taken a pen out of his pocket and written his number down on Chris’s arm. From his elbow to his wrist, following the vein.

“I won’t leave for hours, come find me when you’re done,” he had said, beautiful smile on his full lips, before kissing his cheek.

Chris’ team had arrested their target an hour later, ruining the party. When he got out of the building, ready to go home, Peter was there, waiting against the wall.

“You have to know I’m a cop now,” he had said, because he had felt Peter’s eyes on him during the arrest, seeing through his cover.

“Now?” Peter had asked, arching an eyebrow. “This is why you’ll never catch me, Christopher, you keep underestimating me.”

Peter knew who he was. He knew Chris was the one chasing him.

“Were you taunting me, then? Laughing at me?��

“No, but I couldn’t miss the chance of actually talking to you,” he had said, smiling and getting closer to him. “It’s not every day you get to flirt with the possibility of your own downfall.”

“It’s not just a possibility. I’ll catch you soon.”

“Perhaps.” And his eyes were shiny and amused, an invigorating challenge. “In the meantime, you have my number. Don’t hesitate to use it.”

Peter Hale was a criminal, and yet he had kissed Chris’s cheek again, close to the corner of his lips, before turning around and disappearing in the streets of New York. He had stolen his heart in the process, but well. He was just that good of a thief.

―

Peter Hale is a criminal, but there are worse monsters out there. That’s why Chris has to pretend to be his partner in crime while meeting with his contact with the Benefactor, as protection. They need him alive for trial and Chris knows he will take a bullet for the thief, as much as it pains him.

“Who’s your friend?” asks the woman. The Desert Wolf, one of the most wanted people in the country, maybe even the world. Peter calls her Corinne.

“My partner in this heist. He’s the one that knows how to break through the security of the museum. You’ll need him to get in and kill the security guard.”

The woman looks at Chris and she’s clearly derisive, huffing and making a gesture he would translate as “really?” She hates him, for some reason. Chris hates her too, for several.

“I thought you would be smart enough not to bring your boy toy to this meeting, darling.”

“I see no boys here,” Peter says, arching an eyebrow. “And don’t jump to conclusions, we’re here on business.”

“Please, I know your type,” she snaps, showing her teeth like a feral animal. Then she turns to Chris, venom dripping from her mouth and eyes, toxic as Chernobyl. “He does love people who can hurt him, so don’t be afraid to make him scream. It’s always so sweet when he does.”

Chris is about to shoot that woman in the face when Peter’s hand closes around his wrist, soft but present.

“Well, what’s the fun in being with people who can’t take you down? I like to be on equal footing, not that you would understand that.”

“We’ve never been on equal footing,” she laughs.

“Your legs made up for your stupidity,” snaps Peter. “Now stop playing around.”

“Come on, Peter,” she says, smile sweet and even more terrifying. “You knew from the beginning I won’t work with you, not after you ran away with my half of the loot.”

“I like to think of that as repayment.”

“I like to think of that as your death sentence,” she says, and shoots Peter in the chest.

Chris isn’t fast enough to do anything about it and his heart is breaking into pieces while he lifts his gun and shoots her. She’s good, fast enough to take cover under the desk, but he hits her in the shoulder and reinforcements are kicking the door down.

Leaving her to them, he drags Peter’s body behind a column and opens his jacket to check the wound.

“You should buy me dinner first,” says Peter, groaning.

Chris doesn’t answer, he’s too relieved at seeing the bulletproof vest.

“Smart,” he says.

“Always,” smiles Peter, letting his head hit the ground. “It still hurts like a bitch, in case you want to kiss it better.”

Chris wants to kiss Peter more than he wants to breathe, but he doesn’t.

“I’m on the clock,” he says, and goes to help the team take down Corinne.

He gets to shoot her in the hip next right before one of his colleagues tackles her to the ground and handcuffs her. It’s very satisfying.

―

Peter Hale is a free man, but Chris knows he’s still a criminal at heart. When he opens the door of his apartment and sees him standing there with a bottle of wine, he shouldn’t be happy.

“You are not on the clock anymore,” says Peter, and his smile is the most beautiful thing Chris has ever seen. He lets him in.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, the trial is finally over,” he says, shamelessly going through Chris’s kitchen cabinets until he finds appropriate wine glasses. “I thought we should toast Corinne’s new short-term address.”

It’s been almost a year since they arrested her, but justice moves slow. Chris hasn’t seen Peter outside of court since that day, and he has missed him like a limb.

“Do you think she’s going to escape?”

“They’ll kill her in prison,” he says, handing him a glass. “She has too many enemies to survive in there.”

“You seem happy about it.”

“Well, she did shoot me twice.”

“Twice?” he asks, and has to stop himself from going after her and shooting her again. In the head.

“If you’re really, really good, I’ll let you see the scar,” says Peter, eyes shining with mischief.

Chris has no answer for that; he has no answer for anything at all, since his throat has dried like an old bone. He sips the wine. It’s excellent. Peter wouldn’t buy anything but the best.

“So what’s in your future now? Going back to a life of crime?”

Peter laughs at that, shaking his head fondly.

“Come on, Christopher. I publicly went up against the Benefactor and collaborated with the police, no one in the criminal world will want anything to do with me. No, I’m going straight. As much as I could ever be straight, naturally,” he smirks, touching Chris’s shoulder with intent. “I already have offers from several insurance companies that know how good I am at what I do. And a book deal, of course.”

“A book deal?” askes Chris, and he doesn’t know why on Earth he’s surprised. God, Peter is just… so fucking Peter.

“Don’t worry, I’ll change your name. I was thinking of Alistair Cross.”

“Don’t dare you.”

“I mean, you could always convince me otherwise,” he says, lips brushing the shell of Chris’s ear.

“Could I?

“If you want to… and I’m pretty sure you do.”

“You’re a criminal,” he says, but without fighting Peter’s soft touch.

“And you’re a cop. It’s a bit kinky, but then again, so am I.”

“You are?” he asks, drinking more wine. His ears are blushing, he can feel them radiating heat.

“Of course. And you, Christopher, play my competence kink like a fiddle.”

He coughs. The apartment is too hot, all of the sudden.

“It took me decades to catch you.”

“I know,” moans Peter, lips brushing against the heated skin, voice a whisper. “And every second of it was thrilling.”

“Was it, now?” he asks, from very far away. Chris doesn’t know how it is possible, because he’s pretty sure his brain just shut down indefinitely.

“I told you, I like to be on equal footing. And you, Christopher, kept me on my toes at every turn. You don’t know how hot it is, knowing that you’re good enough to bring me down.”

“That is kinky.”

Peter laughs. Chris melts against him, because he’s only human.

“I like to look at it this way: you can bring me down and I can bring you down; but if we don’t, if we have the power to do so and choose not to just because being together is more fun…” He trails off, biting Chris’ earlobe. “Well, you can’t tell me that it isn’t hot as fuck.”

Chris kisses him. Grabs him by the neck and kisses him like it’s a battle, like he’s starving. Chris has spent years dreaming about how good it would be and yet his imagination pales in comparison with real deal, with the ambrosia that is Peter’s smart mouth.

They’re breathless when they separate, and Peter has a look between shocked and blissed out that immediately becomes Chris favorite thing in the world. He wants to dedicate every second of the rest of his life to making that expression appear.

“Stealing kisses, Christopher?” Peter asks, laughing against his throat, nibbling at his jaw.

“You must be rubbing off on me,” jokes Chris, his hand pulling Peter’s hair to get their mouths close again.

“Sounds like a plan,” Peter smirks, and kisses him.

Peter Hale will always be criminal, in a way, as he is a lot of things. But to Chris, Peter is more than that: he’s everything.

#Fic #Petopher #Peter Hale #Chris Argent #Tag Game

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strechanadi · 5 years

Text

Swan Lake - no longer a fairy tale

Right, so... Nobody asked me to, but something so marginal cannot stop me, clearly, so I went and translated the longest, the trickiest, the most profound review I have ever written. (And that includes POB Giselle, Swan Lake and Onegin! OK. Maybe not Onegin. But since I’ve done this one I can almost make myself believe I could give translating Onegin a go as well.) (She said and then promptly kill herself before she could made another clearly, completely and utterly deranged decision.)

Half of the things don’t make sense, I’m sure. And I can only hope they made sense in the original. (Which they probably didn’t, let’s be real, but since when this matters to me anyway?) (God, I literally cannot stop babbling, somebody strangle me or something. Or at least take the keyboard from my grabby and apparently very high fingers, that decided to simply vomit words after words for no real reason and with no brain to mouth/fingers filter whatsoever!)

It’s in times like this I truly wish to be able to write in an actual English language. Or for my mother language to be a world language, not some beautiful, hot mess, but a mess nonetheless, from the middle of nowhere. A mess I despite of everything love dearly and even live in this illusion of me being really pretty good in using (or more like playing with) it.

What is also clear - I, for a reason not known to humans, love to write absurdly, ridiculously long sentences. Be it just up to me, I’d write a whole review in one obscure linguistic construction I call a perfectly normal sentence. I was told however, that English doesn’t really do or like such things, so I tried to shorten them. Or some of them. Was really unbelievably succesfull doing so...

No reason to prolong this now, I guess?

So just, please be patient. Or benevolent. Or try to laugh in private at least! Look, I tried and I know it’s actually rather pathetic to be so spectacularly bad in English grammar, that I supposedly learnt from the age of 5 (but then spent more than 15 years actively hating the whole language, which... doesn’t make sense, I admit, but maybe explain some things), but... I mean, it would be better than google translate, if anything else. It HAS TO be!

As always - I appologize for anything and everything I did to the poor English language. It doesn’t deserve such a poor treatment.

Were there anybody who would feel personally attacked by my sheer ignorance of the basics of language of Shakespeare, Byron or Shelley and would want to make this thing better, let me know! (Even though I am afraid there are so many mistakes, your eyes will be bleeding around the end of 2nd paragraph...)

Last one - I have no idea how in/definite articles work!

(Good thing I don’t write fiction of any sort, ANs would be longer than the actual thing.)

Swan Lake, no longer a fairy tale

Whenever the two words – Swan Lake – were mentioned, everybody had some universally shared idea of the final picture. Nothing has drastically changed with John Neumeier (1976, Illusionen – wie Schwanensee), who mixed the original fairy story with events from prince Ludwig II of Bavaria’s life, nor with Mats Ek (1987), whose prince was torn between imaginary princess Odette and real life Odile, nor with Jean-Christophe Maillot (2011, Le Lac) and new relations between his main characters, not even with Alexander Ekman (2014, A Swan Lake), who came back in time and took a look at the first premiere of said ballet in 1877 and tried to make a rather poetic story about what from certain point was started to be called a fiasco. As if the later Petipa/Ivanov version needs any more boost…

The unshakable certitude was irretrievably broken in 1995 by Matthew Bourne. His Swan Lake was new, daring, bold, with unexpected twists and one could not left theatre feeling indifferent after seeing it. Part of the ballet world turned its back to such profanity of beloved classic. The other part fell for its captivating charm, and since in 2018 Bourne’s Swan Lake came back to his New Adventure’s repertoire for umpteenth time, after hundreds of successful shows, many tours across the globe, adorned with every possible theatre and dance awards, it seems clear who were right then, 24 years ago.

The most common characteristic of Bourne’s Swan Lake is „the male one“. Prince is in the centre of attention, black swan Odile is changed into unknown Stranger, and most obviously – all the swans became purely men’s business. Which opens completely new perspective for male dancers and saying that this ballet has a major influence to whole generations of artists is hardly an overstatement.

Bourne follows the original structure and basic frame of Swan Lake. There are still four acts, act one follows the Prince, his character, the environment he’s living in, relations he has, act two is for the swans, act three still represents the ball, and in act four, where traditionally the Prince is coming back to the lake, here the swans appear in prince’s room. Many times even the formal structure is intact – the prince’s solo at the end of act one, pas de quatre of both little and big swans, or Bourne’s take on character dances in act three. Even the entrée of swans in second act follows the same space structure of the Ivanov’s original /aka swans are coming one after the other and crossing the stage from left to right (dancers‘ perspective)/.

Oedipal Complex, repressed sexuality, low self-esteem

Bourne’s Prince, his personality, is more than ever influenced by his upbringing, by the estrangement of aristocratic background, his world constantly controlled, constricted by rules and rituals, with no spaces for affection, understanding, empathy, every emotion being replaced by duty. Bond between son and mother the Queen (ice cold, distant Katrina Lyndon for whom one cannot feel an ounce of sympathy, or more emotional, but still dismissive Nicole Cabera) is minute, almost non-existent, which has such a strong impact on the introverted, socially inept, insecure Prince, who is on top of all that haunted by strange dreams about swans. The feeling of lacking something gets even worse when he clearly sees his mother is more than capable of showing emotions, particularly towards another young men.

During yet another military parade or boat christening or exhibition opening, the heir to the throne is met with a bit silly, ill-mannered and completely unsuitable girl for his royal life (incomparable Carrie Willis, whose interpretation makes her character pretty sweet with candid, open-hearted warmth), who shortly after became his girlfriend and went with the family to the opera house to watch a ballet performance. Staging theatre scenes within the actual production /we call it theatre on theatre, which probably doesn’t make sense in any other language then ours, sorry/ is always very rewarding. Bourne is on top of that master of choreographic punchline and this scene (to pas de trois from Act I music) combines all clichés from romantic sylphs, awaken Floras, forest beasts to well-built male heroes one could think of and is a joy to watch for its grotesqueness as well as for the subtle details in gestures, ballet quirky manner or choreographic pattern for those, who know where to look for them.

The prince is trying to find his freedom in a night club, but to no avail. He’s met there unexpectedly with his frolicking girlfriend, then he got himself into a fight with one of her suitors (or maybe rather clients) and at the end his soul is beaten for good, when he has to watch the royal secretary paying some money to the one girl, whose affections he believed were genuine. (And it kind of doesn’t matter they most probably truly were.)

The only logical solution for the prince is a suicide. But before he’s able to throw himself into waters of a small park lake, majestic Swan appears and everything is changed at once. Traditional swans‘ corps de ballet danced by women is often associated with delicate elegance, crystalline beauty, dreamy atmosphere and aesthetics of homogeneously moving bodies. Swan is becoming a pure ideal almost as if from ancient Greece. Bourne’s swans are first and foremost animals, he’s not denying their grace, but is showing their slight awkwardness and ridiculousness in some movements at the same time. His swans are wild, independent, fetterless. Looking sinister when lining up to attack the prince, their physical, natural power strengthened by additional slapping arms, stamping feet, hissing and dangerously sharp, audible breathing. The Swan alone is very wary of the prince, uncompromisingly harsh, defensive, with sharp edges of aggressiveness that serves as self-defence of this imposing, powerful creature from anybody who would think of causing any harm. The almost imperceptible gestures calling the prince towards him are even more meaningful then, the moment when he nuzzles prince’s chest indescribably intimate.

Next evening there’s a ball at the palace. And even though it may seem the main reason of it is prince’s engagement thanks to all the ladies present, it’s the queen in her bright crimson dress amongst all black gowns who is in the spotlight. While her son doesn’t even know, what he should be doing with all said ladies. Break from routine comes with mysterious Stranger, whose raw, animalistic charisma draws every female’s attention to him, which he welcomes with great satisfaction. At the same time it also affects, quite unintentionally, the utterly unprepared prince, because Stranger’s arrogant dominance has something from Swan’s animalistic fierce. /Dear English language, you have many words. More than my mother language. But you have exactly nothing that would or could match prchlivost. Or at least I am unable to find it./ As Odile in original libretto, the Stranger dances his way through character dances (the Neapolitan one stands out with its light-hearted fun it makes of cliché Italian relationships) and finds his dancing peak in duet with the queen (music of so called Black Swan Pas de Deux). It is when prince’s psyche breaks and he, in his imagination, is thrown in arms of unknown to be faced with intimacy, sensuality, sexual tension and even the most basic physical contact, everything so strong even person of sound mind would probably find it difficult to cope. Therefore, when the Stranger kisses the queen, prince is there with gun in his hands and complete madness in his eyes. In chaotic situation gunshot is heard (although not by prince’s pistol), prince’s girlfriend falls dead and terrified young man is drawn away.

The tragedy is inevitable. To padded cell, where the prince is held, come doctor with the queen followed by group of nurses with queen’s face, whose hairstyle and white uniform may resemble the demonic nurse Ratched from the Miloš Forman’s film Flew over the cuckoo’s nest. After certain medical procedure (just shy from lobotomy) the prince is taken to his room, where the miserable, wounded Swan emerges from his bed. Shortly after he is followed by irritated flock of other swans, that throw themselves unbridled on the young man and then even on their supposed leader, doing so with brutality growing with every Swan’s desperate attempt to save his prince. The Swan dies at the end after their fatal, almost fanatical attack. And with him die prince’s illusions, dreams, hopes and then he himself. So when the Queen comes in the morning, all she finds is her son’s dead body, the sight of the Swan embracing his prince behind the bed the only, yet bittersweet comfort for the audience.

As many other versions of this famous ballet, this too strengthens psychological aspect of the story and deepens characters‘ personalities. Here, more than ever, the contours of main characters are pretty blurry. The prince and the Swan are blending into one, they are reflected in the other, full of opposites they are complementing each other, one would say they are like two sides of the same coin. /Ha!/ Bourne on top of that let his characters to blend with different original ones. Where in traditional Swan Lakes it’s Odette weeping at the beginning of the last scene, here it’s the Prince, who is going through mental breakdown in striking resemblance to Giselle’s mad scene. The role of Rothbart, the sorcerer, is played by the royal secretary as well as prince’s own mother, who at the same time plays a part of original Siegfried during the act 3 ball, when being seduced by Stranger, who is Odile. What may seem as confusing chaos at first sight, makes perfect sense in the end and strengthens the unquestionably dark tones of Bourne’s choreographic vision.

Artistic approaches or One man’s meat is another man’s poison…

As it always is with story ballets, individual artistic interpretation is something that has the power to change the final image of said piece. In case of Bourne’s Swan Lake and its current stars, the outcome may be completely different with each cast.

Where Liam Mower was bored, annoyed, slightly defiant teenage Prince, Dominic North’s hero was more tired, depressed young man with no illusions, very well aware of all his flaws and inability to fulfil all expectations of his social role, while James Lovell, who seemed most out of touch with reality, emphasized prince’s childishly pure, honest naivety. If the suicide attempt of Mower’s prince was more than anything a dramatic gesture, North was simply resigned to its inevitability, and Lovell threw himself into the waters with absolute, desperate abandon, his mind not able to see any other solution. Each and every prince is then influenced by his Swan and Stranger (and every Swan and Stranger by his prince).

Matthew Ball, the newest principal of the Royal Ballet, can rely on his first-class technique as well as on his unquestionable elegant stage presence. His pliable body felt the music to its very last molecule, every movement full of regal charm and classical beauty, which in a way brought Ball closer to traditional, delicately soft, feminine portrayal of Odette. His Swan was untouchable in his impeccable perfection, icily confident, aware of every gesture he made, of every prince’s fascinated glance. Max Westwell, former soloist of English National Ballet, concentrated more on the raw temperament, natural animal distrust, physical power and ferocity combined with enigmatic magnificence. Dynamics of his movements escalated at all times, was full of unexpected turns and transitions from strong, energetic endings, to exhalation captured in casual, seemingly ordinary movement of hanging wrist.

As the Stranger Ball looked like smug dandy enjoying himself and all the attention, all too well aware of his own youth and beauty, that make everybody fall for him. Personally though I couldn’t help thinking he wasn’t as in charge as it might look at the first sight. He was mocking his prince, showing off ostentatiously. Weswell on the other hand was the embodiment of pure, uncompromising charisma. Interactions between him and Mower’s prince, who was impressed by Stranger’s unconventional, rough manners at first, was quickly becoming a tense fight for power, the prince trying to prove himself worthy of Stranger’s attention, to prove he’s his equal. With Lovell’s prince the seducing, open flirting, blatant sexuality was much more evident, which combined with this prince’s ingenuous innocence made the final picture unpleasantly sinister.

Regardless of different casts, ending of the ballet became a real emotional roller-coaster. With Matthew Ball and Dominic North equal in their complete despair when being sure of the inevitable death of their partner. Ball’s total resignation the more palpable, the more he was stubbornly, despite his injuries trying to stay or at least look unaffected on the outside. Change of Westwell’s Swan, in act 2 so independent and powerful, was shocking. Now he was utterly, hopelessly, painfully broken. He was defending both his princes against furious swans with rabid determination, with no self-preservation whatsoever, with perfect, devoted abandon. Bond between him and James Lovell’s prince was then strengthened by certain feel of responsibility, by tenderness that felt almost motherly. He was not only trying to protect, but to sooth, to give some comfort to his prince as well with physical contact, with touches stronger, more frequent, more expressive, more meaningful. That was why prince’s positively hysterical, agonizing grief hurt almost physically then.

Bourne managed something extraordinary. His Swan Lake with costumes by Lez Brotherson is as iconic, as legendary as the original ballet. His vision as strong as let’s say Ek’s Giselle. What’s more, Bourne’s ballet doesn’t age, it hasn’t lost any of its impact – thanks to slight costume, dramaturgic and choreographic changes, that only strengthen its drive. Prince’s hinted homosexuality won‘t shock anyone anymore as well as men swans won’t provoke such controversy, true. But thanks to these examples it is evident, that Bourne’s ballet is so much more than just a gay version of one famous story…

For everybody who actually reach the end of this madness - congratulations. And I am sorry.

#ballet #review #swan lake #matthew bourne's swan lake #selfpromo

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isa-ly · 4 years

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THE ELEPHANT’S STAKE

TW: mental health, therapy, repression

Did you know that my go-to party trick is drawing an elephant with just one line? I know, pretty lame. Now you know why I never go to parties.

Okay, so, what’s with the random elephant theme, you may ask? Well, funny you should mention it. (I say, as if we were having and actual conversation and it wasn’t just me pretending to talk to someone in order to feel less awkward. The irony here is that writing this blog is supposed to help me to do exactly that. I never said my brain’s logic made any sense.)

Anyway, I asked myself that exact question too a few months ago, when my lovely therapist Kerstin asked me whether or not she could read me a story about an elephant. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love animals and those big-boned, long-tusked, gentle-calm giants definitely have a soft spot in my heart. However, I never really expected them to come up in a conversation with a trained psychotherapist. But hey, what the fuck do I know about cognitive behavioural therapy. Not enough to be aware that it includes elephants, apparently.

Since I didn’t want to be rude and was actually kind of intrigued, I asked my therapist to yes, please, read me the story about the elephant. I actually found the story online (pft, Kerstin, where’s your originality), so I shall copy and paste it here for you to read it too, in case you want to:

“When I was small, I used to love circuses, and what I liked best about them were the animals. The elephant in particular caught my attention, and as I later found out, other children liked the elephant too. During the performance, this enormous beast would nobly display its tremendous weight, size, and strength. But after its performance, and until just before it went out on stage, the elephant was always tied down with a chain to a little stake in the ground that held one of its feet. The stake however was just a minuscule piece of wood, hardly a couple of centimeters long. And although it was a strong thick chain, it seemed obvious to me that an animal capable of tearing a tree from its roots, could easily free itself from that stake and flee. This mystery continued to puzzle me. What held it there? Why didn't it escape?

When I was 5 or 6, I still trusted the explanations given by grownups. So, I asked my teacher, my father, and my uncle about the mystery of the elephant. One of them explained that the elephant didn't escape because it had been mastered. So, I asked the obvious question: “If it's been mastered, why do they keep it in chains?”

I don't remember having received a coherent answer. With time, I forgot about the mystery of the elephant, I only remembered when I found others who had asked themselves the same question at some time. Years later, I discovered that, to my luck, someone had been sufficiently wise to come up with the answer.

The circus elephant does not escape because it has been attached to a stake just like this one since it was very, very small. I closed my eyes and imagined a defenseless baby elephant fastened to the stake. I am sure that in that moment, the little guy pushed and pulled and tired himself out trying to get himself free. And, regardless of his efforts, he couldn't do it, because the stake was too strong for him. I imagined him tuckering himself out and falling asleep and the next day trying again, and the next day, and the next. Until one day, a terrible day in his history, the animal accepted its futility and resigned itself to its fate.

That enormous powerful elephant that you see in the circus does not escape because, unfortunate thing, he thinks he can't. He has that memory etched into his mind: the futility that he felt shortly after he was born. And the worst part is that he has never returned to seriously question that memory. Never again did he return to test his own strength.

The first thing I said to my therapist after she had read me the story and was waiting for my reaction was: “Am I the elephant?” To no one’s surprise, she had nodded and then asked me how I had gotten to that conclusion. And well, that’s what I want to talk about today.

It’s a little hard for me to find a beginning to this, so I’ll just start with what came to my head first: My childhood. Oof, what a bummer. A few minutes into her second post and she’s ready to whack out the big guns. Okay, back to being serious. Somewhat.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a lovely childhood. Really, I was an only child, born to two very lovely parents who really cared for and loved me, and I have tons of wonderful memories of growing up. Oh, what’s that? Can you hear it? Sounds like a big “BUT...” that’s about to smash through the glass wall of my positive nostalgia. Look, let’s just say it as it is: While my time as a kid and teenager were truly lovely, fun and filled with good people and better friends, there were undeniable issues and traumas in it as well, and it would be simply wrong not to acknowledge those.

And one of those not-so-great things was that growing up, there were a lot of ‘can’t do’s’ in my life. Especially when it came to emotions. I’m not gonna give you the full rundown of every single issue in the relationship with my parents or my own self, but I’ll say this much: My feelings, especially ones of anger, sadness and hurt, were often brushed over, my arguments ignored and my attempts of standing my ground nipped in the bud. Discussions, fights and quarrels, especially with my mum, made one thing very clear: I had to stay as quiet and small as possible to avoid being yelled at even more. If I spoke up, even when I thought I was in the right, things would escalate and get even worse. Ergo, if I showed and displayed my real emotions and thoughts, I would suffer the consequences – which were never good.

So, I learned not to. I learned to stay quiet. To revert back into myself and zone out, go some place else in my mind and just wait for the storm to blow over. Instead of getting angry, I fell silent. Instead of getting sad, I went numb. As my therapist always says: Instead of feeling, I would simply not feel. Because at the time, it was what kept me safe. It was what kept me loved. And all a child wants is to be loved.

In many ways, this was my stake. This was what kept me standing in one spot. Whenever I tried to pull it out, I would fail, struggling and thrashing to escape, to make my emotions clear and feel them freely. Every time I tried, it would only leave me even more exhausted, would leave me feeling like a fool for thinking that maybe if I tried just one more time, pushed just a little harder, the stake would yield. But it never did. And at some point, I just gave up.

This all might sound very sad and tragic. I’m aware that I’m by far not the only teenager that fought a lot with their parents. And probably also not the only one who just kind of gave in after a while. However, I can’t deny the fact that this has shaped me in ways I am only now recognizing years later, while sitting in therapy and having elephant stories read to me because for some reason, for some fucking reason, I cannot access, feel or share my emotions.

For some fucking reason, I am chained to that stupid stake.

My therapist read me the story because she knows that I’m aware what it’s about. It’s about me, as a kid and teen, trying to escape from the emotional boundaries that were set by my parents and eventually by myself, and failing time and time again. As I grew up and got older, those boundaries grew with me in my head. And yet in real life, they were nothing but a tiny stake of wood that, having grown a lot stronger, I could have completely overpowered and ripped out of the ground by now. But because they have been with me my entire life and because I hold all those memories of never being able to shake them, I never thought I could.

I always looked at them like the elephant looked at the stake. As something that couldn’t be moved, that couldn’t be changed.

“Until one day, a terrible day in his history, the animal accepted its futility and resigned itself to its fate.“

Hits different now, huh.

So, what’s the moral of that story and brief delve into my emotionally compromising childhood? Fuck the circus, I guess.

In all seriousness though: I wanted to write this post because that therapy session actually helped me a lot and I find myself coming back to this story whenever I slip into the darker place of my mind. So, I wanted to put it on this blog as a reminder. A reminder to myself and anyone else who needs it, that even though it might seem virtually impossible to change something, be that your own thought patterns, behaviours or personality traits, it never is.

You know that cheesy saying that change is the only constant in life? Well, as cheesy as it is, it’s true. And I think by realizing that, by hearing that silly story of the elephant in the circus, it opened up some new possibilities. One of those being that whenever something feels like it’s unyielding and not doable, maybe you just need to take a step back and look at it again. And maybe you’ll see that it’s actually just a small, wooden stake and you’re a whole ass elephant that could take down a tree, if it wanted to.

The exact opposite might be true too, and the stake might still be too big. And in that case, that’s perfectly okay too. Remember what I said one post ago about picking your battles according to your own strengths? Yeah, that’s still valid too. But it also doesn’t mean that you have to despair. Because there is always room for growth and the chance of becoming stronger. Emotionally, mentally, and in every other way.

I hope this doesn’t sound too much like a self-help book from some self-proclaimed lifestyle guru who’s also a part-time pickup artist and sells questionable detox teas on the side (not sure where I’m going with that one). Metaphors can sound super lame but in my case, they’ve always been helpful as my brain really loves translating lessons and conclusions into images. Essentially, I’m just the kid that was always into Arts And Crafts and I need to ~visualize~ everything in order to process it. I know, I annoy myself too.

But hey, my therapist made a good call by telling me this metaphorical story because it made me realize a thing or two about how I’ve set myself all of these boundaries I could just as easily (or should I say isa-ly, HAH) kick again if I tried. That stake I chained myself to might have provided a sense of safety all those years back when I was a child and teenager, being yelled at and not listened to by my parents. But it is no longer providing that security. If all, it’s holding me back in realizing all of my newly found strengths.

So, maybe it’s about damn time I ripped it out of the ground and got the hell out of that circus.

#therapy #retrospection

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black-wolf066 · 7 years

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Well, You Do Have My Chin

Update: OMG!!! MY TIRED 36 HOUR LACK OF SLEEP BRAIN ACCIDENTLY DELETED THE STORY I POSTED THIS MORNING!!! I meant to hit edit, and apparently I hit delete and when it gave me the prompt to hit yes or no, my tired brain that it said “would you like to edit: yes or no”.... so here goes round two... so sorry guys. I wanted to add that i have this on Fanfiction.net now too (under my account Wolf-shadow666) but I just curfunkled everything... ANYWAY underneath is pretty much the post that got deleted... thankfully i save everything on document...

First off, let me just say. I’M ALIVE!!! It is now 8am in the morning, I’ve been working on the better part of this little shit that wouldn’t leave me alone i mean piece since 9pm last night…. i have TO GO TO WORK IN AN HOUR!!! HELP ME!!!!! *flails all over the place* I swear i can adult right sometimes… just not today apparently…. keep this in mind as you’re reading cause even though I’ve proof read this thrice, I’m sure some (or many) things have escaped my brain’s notice.

anyway….

Here is the comment that inspired me to write this one-shot:

@timetravelingpotatoast said:

All I really want from this season is for Killian and Henry to become good friends and talk about Lucy’s “conspiracy” only for Killian to ask who she thinks he is. However, somewhere in the translation it’s lost that Killian is his step-dad, so Henry just says his dad, leading to a “well you do have my chin,” commentary from Killian.

When the curse breaks they just squint at each other for a really long time.

Now, for the sake of the prompt, this is gonna be very heavily AU from season 7. This is by no means a “fix-it fic” because I really am enjoying season 7; I’m only writing this because I really wanted to see something like this be a thing after reading the comment. I absolutely love father/son bonding fics between Killian and Henry and I need more of it in my life… (Seriously there aren’t enough Captain Cobra centered fics to satisfy my craving for it). And I know that I said “I wish I was creative enough to contribute to the fandom of Once Upon a Time”, but after posting my last little snippet; I figured “what the hell I’m gonna do it anyway” because that’s what fandom is (I still feel like I suck terribly but *shrug* if you’re having fun doing it than screw being good at it, right?). (((Also something that should have been maybe 2000 words or less, ended up running away from me toward 4000 (my brain projecting my need for more Captain Cobra moments I guess)… I realize a lot of it is probably considered filler and I could have done away with it, but I kinda wanted to build that relationship between cursed Killian and Henry much like the relationship between Snow White and Emma in season 1)))).

Anyway, here’s a bit of backstory that I came up with for the AU universe of this fic…. If you don’t care and simply just want to read the story, than you can simply scroll down to the Continue reading link:

So in this AU, I’ve pretty much figured that Rumple, Killian, Regina and Emma came to save the day for Henry (Henry may have asked for Killian, Regina and Emma, but the three probably went to Rumple for help or something and Belle urged him to go). I’m thinking the timeline in the realm Henry is in moves faster than the timeline that is Storybrooke, so Henry might be 25 and not 18, but to the rest of his family only 1 year has passed since Henry left in search of his own story((((wondering if this is actually canon considering how shocked they were at seeing him so grown and I don’t believe for a single second that it took Emma and Killian that long to have a baby)))). Emma wasn’t pregnant at the time but eventually as they all stay and help the resistance against Tremaine and Drizella (after finding a way to send word back home that everything and everyone is alright and that they’re staying to help… maybe Rumple being pushed by Belle to stay and help them too), she and Killian end up having twins, and barely a year later Henry has his own kid with Ella. When the curse comes and separates them all, the curse spans the whole state of Washington (Tremaine or Drizella wanting to separate as many of them as they could and not keep them all in the same place… especially the true love couples. But they didn’t bank on Lucy remembering or Rumple finding a loop hole so he didn’t get cursed along with everyone else), so HH is the main hive so to speak but the fairy-tale characters are scattered across other cities and towns. Emma is off in one city (maybe Walla Walla), their twin daughters are in a group home in another city, Henry lived somewhere in Olympia (which is close enough to Seattle and HH), Robin (because I need Regina to be happy damn it! And I figure maybe they found that his soul wasn’t destroyed but simply stuck in the crystal, even across all alternate versions of said crystal in any realm, so he ends up getting freed) is also scattered somewhere, and Rumple, Killian, Regina, Ella and Lucy remained in HH where Tremaine and/or Drizella could keep an eye on them and make their lives a living hell. When Lucy finds Henry, and Jacinda steals his car (much like in the show and what not), he decides to stay at a motel for a week, finding the place interesting (and spurring a bit of creativity that he hadn’t felt since his failed first book) and eventually that week turns into him finding an actual place to stay once he gets to know the people in the neighborhood (made hard by the outrageous prices being asked). When Detective Rogers hears about his search, he offers to turn his den/office into a spare room (the only reason Regina/Roni didn’t offer is because she lives in a small studio apartment above the bar with the only closed room being a bathroom)…. Eventually Rumple as Weaver manages to get everyone back into the neighborhood (((he was the one to give Lucy the book. He was the one to find and bring back the cursed versions of Robin—Kevin Adams, who is a struggling lawyer that ends up helping Jacinda, by Rumple/Weaver’s prompting, get custody of Lucy back—and Emma—Danielle “Dani” Stevens, who was a sketch artist for Walla Walla police department. He was also the one to find which group home the twins were staying in and try to adopt them, since he wasn’t sure how long it would take to break the curse, and he didn’t want them staying there… Rumple and Killian might be civil borderline grey area friends, but he likes the twins and it’ll get them back to their family that much quicker once the curse is broken if he does it like this…)))) and the curse gets broken the same as in season 1 with Henry and Lucy (cause I’m unoriginal and my brain can’t think of anything else right now) ((((That should be enough of a background right? I don’t know… I’m terrible at this… don’t question the plot holes too much okay? You might get sucked into its black hole…))))

(((I looked at apartment averages in Seattle as a guideline (got rid of link since it wasn’t working)… and even though almost 3000 is very high for a one-bedroom apartment that Henry was looking for; I figured that Tremaine and Drizella were trying to weed out the people in the neighborhood slowly so they could bulldoze and improve and bring forth a ‘richer’ environment and a “richer” culture of people to surround themselves with, therefore causing more suffering and separation for those cursed and gaining something else for themselves….))))

((also when it comes to ages, I’m probably way off from canon, but these are my head canon ages for them here so… Emma was 28 at the start of season 1; Killian was 29, Regina 32. Adding 9 years considering Henry left at 18 and only a year passed in Storybrooke whereas 7 years passed where Henry was, that would make them 37, 38, and 41. With another 11ish to 12ish years they are now 48, 49, and 52 with Henry being 37ish.

tagging @superchocovian since she kindly asked me to (hope you enjoy it!!!)

Anyway, without farther ado, i give you this Captain Cobra one-shot in all it’s (step)father/son bonding glory!

Well, You do have my chin

Word count: 4203

Rating: pg-13 for my potty mouth

The din of Roni’s bar was oddly relaxing to Henry as he searched on his laptop for available apartments to move into, but after another site herald the same results, he sighed, closed the screen, and dropped his head into the crook of his arm. Was it too much to ask for a place within his price range? Hell, he was sure he could find something cheaper in the heart of Seattle than he could here.

But no, he stubbornly wanted to stay in this part of the neighborhood. There was something about Hyperion Heights, something that spoke to him, and not just Lucy’s crazy theory that his book was real and they were all fairytale characters scattered across the state (never mind the even crazier theory that he was her father—there was no way he could ever forget meeting a beautiful girl like Jacinda or be stupid enough not to fight for more than a one night stand with said woman).

The scraping of a chair across from him brought Henry’s attention up to that of the arrival of Detective Logan Rogers. The cop’s eyebrow was raised at him in silent question and concern as he sat down and nabbed the untouched bear claw from his plate.

“Bad day?” he asked finally with a tilt of his head as Roni approached with his usual beer.

When Henry still didn’t move to answer, simply groaning and hiding his face back in the crook of his arm, Roni supplied. “He’s looking for places to stay… and failing by the looks of it.”

“The asking prices are outrageous! How do you guys survive here?” he griped into his arm.

Roni snorted and Henry peeked up at her with a perturbed eyebrow raised. “You’ve seen the state of the neighborhood and the state of my bar before I decided to fight back. Isn’t that answer enough for you?”

“What’s your budget?” Logan cut in with his query before Henry could snark back and start an argument with the ornery bartender.

“Well,” Henry’s eyes shifted to him just as the older man took a bite out of the pilfered pastry. “With Seattle, I kind of figured I’d be lucky to find something for twenty-two hundred, but there is no way I’m paying almost three thousand for a place that’s barely in the city’s limits.”

“Welcome to the land of Belfrey greed.” chimed Roni as she walked back to tend the bar and the new arrival of customers.

Henry scowled un-amusedly at her back as she went.

“I have space,”

Startled, Henry gazed, wide eyed, back at the Detective. “What?”

“Well, it’s not really a ‘room’, but the den can easily be turned into one.” Logan continued, his good hand going up to scratch nervously behind his ear.

“Wha—Why?” Tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, Henry pressed on. “I know the three of us are ‘kinda’ working together, but we barely know each other. Hell, for all you know I could be a serial killer.” at Logan’s snort and raised brow, Henry rolled his eyes and said defensively. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“I trust you.” Logan relented simply with a shrug of his shoulders. “Besides, I have a gun I’m not afraid to use, and you look to be out of options, mate.”

Still eyeing the older man with suspicion, not used to blatantly kind gestures from others, he asked. “Can I swing by to look at your place before I decide?”

“Of course.” taking a swig of his beer, Logan gestured with his head to the closed laptop. “Now, what was it you wanted to show me?”

(***)

Walking into the apartment after Logan, Henry took in the sparsely decorated living space with a familiar pang beating against his chest. It was neat and orderly, everything he considered the detective to be, even after a week of working covertly with him and Roni. But seeing it so bare, devoid of… well, devoid of life and personality; it all just resonated with him. There wasn’t even a single picture or photo on the walls or table tops (Henry knows there are photos of Logan out there. He’s seen the pictures Roni hangs proudly on the walls of her establishment, knows that the picture of Logan and Roni—two best friends, he’s come to learn, that grew up together in the neighborhood—has a special place right behind the bar where she works). There was nothing, other than the books neatly tucked into a shelf, to give Henry a glimpse into what made this man Logan Rogers.

Walking through the 900 square foot space, he knew it wasn’t just the home of a bachelor; it was the home of someone who was just as lost as Henry himself felt. A space made entirely out of necessity rather than be made to feel like an actual home. It reminded him of his years after the foster system, before he had met his late wife, where he had had nothing of that old life worth keeping. Anything he had gained afterwards had been destroyed by the fire that took his wife and daughter three years ago, and after that he had just never bothered to start over (it wouldn’t bring them back and honestly they were all Henry wanted, not materialistic things).

As Logan led him through the kitchen toward the open den, Henry wondered what kind of past the man must have had, wondered if he too was an orphan looking for a place to belong.

“Here it is.” Logan stated with a flourish of his hand and ultimately cutting Henry out of his thoughts.

His eyes roved over the small space, at the neat and tidy desk underneath the window and the wall lined with more bookshelves and books and a single three-drawer filing cabinet.

“Sorry, I know it’s not much… doesn’t even have a door.”

Henry’s eyes cut to the older man just as he saw his good hand go to scratch behind his ear (a nervous tick he’d come to realize early on in the week). “No, it’s perfect,” He reassured as he walked around the opened room; envisioning where his stuff would fit. “I don’t really need that much space anyway.” he moved back to the opened archway and gave the man a small smile. “And privacy can be fixed with a curtain,”

“Does that mean you accept my offer?”

“If you don’t mind me for a roommate, than yeah, I’ll take it.”

(***)

A little over one month since his move into the neighborhood, and not once did Henry regret his decision (well, maybe a little; after all, Victoria Belfrey and her daughter are a force to be reckoned with… and good god did those two give him a headache sometimes). He genuinely liked it here; he liked most of the quirky people and he could clearly see why the neighborhood was worth trying to save. He also found rooming with Logan to be better than he originally expected. Sure they had their moments (like the kitchen incident that nearly gave the detective an aneurysm, or how scarily grumpy Logan could get when he’s had a bad day at the station), but their camaraderie was easy going between them, and for once after three years, Henry felt like he had a true friend again.

It was because of this easy camaraderie that Henry and Logan, one Saturday morning, found themselves planning a Star Wars marathon and arguing over the order in which to watch it (“They’re my movies, Rogers!” “And it’s my TV, Mills.”).

Somehow Henry won the argument, which found Logan sitting on the couch with the large popcorn bowl settled on the middle cushion and a beer in his hand, while Henry squatted down in front of their combined movie collection to find the first disk.

As he skimmed the neatly ordered DVDs for the one he wanted, his finger froze on a particular title and could barely contain the Cheshire cat grin as he pulled it out and pivoted to face the detective.

“The Princess Bride: Special Edition.”

Logan scowled and pointed his finger at him as he defended. “Shove off, mate, it’s a good book and a good movie; leave it alone.”

The grin on Henry’s face turned impish as he pivoted back and added as he went, “As you wish.”

The couch pillow thrown at his back did nothing to curb his mirth.

(***)

It was almost three months after his move to Hyperion Heights, that Henry managed to work the nerve enough (more like getting the quadrant that was Roni, Logan, Sabine and Lucy to shut up, and to stop hounding him to try and move on and be happy) to ask Jacinda on a date.

Glancing at himself in the hallway mirror, and trying to ignore the grinning idiot leaning against the wall a few paces behind him; he felt the bubbling of nerves roiling in his stomach as he finally turned to face his roommate.

“You’ll be fine,” Logan soothed with the utmost confidence. “You didn’t have any problems when you were flirting with her, one date isn’t going to kill you, mate. Just be yourself.”

“Yeah, be myself.” Henry snorted and rubbed his sweating palms against his jean clad thighs. “Cause any girl would swoon at a failed writer, a widowed husband, and a nerd for all things 80’s, Star Wars, Harry Potter, or Tolkien related.”

“Henry,” Logan stepped forward than, placing his hand and prosthetic firmly on his shoulders as he earnestly stated. “You’ve told Jacinda all of this already and yet she still accepted to go to this concert with you. So cut yourself a little slack, give her a little more credit than that, and go out tonight and have fun.”

(***)

It was almost six months after his move, and during one of their covert meet ups at the bar, when Henry felt a little friendly revenge against Roni and Logan was in order (because dear god, if they didn’t stop and take their own damn advice, he was going to go crazy… or take Roni’s bat and beat himself or them with it… really, he wasn’t picky).

It hadn’t been long after his and Jacinda’s first—or even their second— date that Jacinda decided enough was enough and it was time to try and win custody of her daughter back from her step mother. Detective Weaver had recommended a Lawyer from Spokane, and ever since Kevin Adams stepped foot into Roni’s bar, the two had done nothing but snark at each other.

Within the same month, a missing person’s case had popped up that apparently Weaver thought required the work of a sketch artist from Walla Walla… or so Logan kept griping to him to no freaking end. Honestly, Henry thought Danielle (or Dani as she asked to be called) a rather nice woman, maybe a little too bubbly and Chatty Cathy at times, but if Logan was to be believed than she was the worst woman he had ever had the displeasure to work with.

Yeah… right…

Denial, she is a river, and both of them are currently drowning at the bottom of it.

“So,” He began innocently around a mouthful of pizza. “When are you both going to stop pussy-footing around and ask Dani and Kevin out?”

The soda Logan was drinking and the pizza Roni was currently chewing, both ended up spat out on the table and floor, and the word vomit that followed as they tried to deny it had Henry rolling his eyes so hard he was surprised that they didn’t just roll right out of his head.

“Uh-huh,” putting his slice back down on his plate, he folded his arms across his chest and stared them both down, feeling for all the world like the no nonsense father he should have been to the daughter that would have been thirteen now. “Guys, I’m not stupid… and the last I checked my vision was perfect, so not blind either.” He cut them off before they could rush to deny it any farther. “If I have to sit here and watch you two continue with this charade a moment longer, I will either be checking myself in somewhere or Detective Weaver will have not one but three missing person’s cases to contend with.”

They didn’t try to feed him any more bullshit after that, which he was grateful for, because seriously there was only so much a person can take.

And if he caught his roommate dressed (rather nicely) in a blue button up shirt, black iron pressed slacks, and trying to rush past him and out the door before Henry could say a word with a bouquet of pink and yellow roses in hand.

Well… he could only thank whatever deity listening for small miracles.

(***)

It’s at elven months since his move, that Henry felt for all the world a content man. Jacinda had won her battle against her step-mother, and Lucy had become a constant presence in the apartment, especially since he had offered to watch her after school while Jacinda worked. He loved Lucy and her precocious nature, found her imagination beyond incredible for an elven year old and even began to look forward to hearing her crazy theories about them being cursed.

Sometimes they would be alone, with him helping her with her homework and other times Logan would be there, smiling and humoring her and her theories like they all had agreed to do.

It was during one of these nights, after Jacinda and Lucy had eaten dinner with them and left, that Logan’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. They were in the kitchen, Henry washing the dishes while his roommate dried them, that Logan broke the comfortable silence.

“Who does she think I am?”

“Huh?” Henry glanced over with a brow raised.

“Lucy,” he elaborated. “With her theories, who does she think I am? She never tells me when I ask.”

Henry snorted out a chuckle as he handed over the plate and proceeded washing the next one while answering. “Captain Hook.”

“You’re kidding.” The dry look Henry gave him caused him to roll his eyes. “It’s the hand isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Henry shrugged. “Or it could be the fact that she thinks you’re my dad.”

“What?” Logan froze mid swipe with the towel and Henry could practically feel the man’s eyes burning his profile.

“Yeah, crazy, I know.”

“Mate, if she is to be believed and you are my son; I would have had you when I was 11…”

They both chuckled at that.

“Again, crazy, I know.”

They went back to the comfortable silence as they worked, but the occasional contemplative side eye he would catch Logan giving him in his peripheral as they cleaned up the rest of the kitchen, eventually had Henry turning to stare blatantly at the man’s profile with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Do I have barbeque sauce on my face or something?”

Startled, Logan shifted his attention away from the stove top he was wiping down, and met his eyes with that contemplative expression still in place.

“No, you’re fine.” He distractedly answered.

“Than what’s on your mind? And don’t tell me nothing; you’ve been staring at me off and on for the past five minutes?”

“I was just thinking.”

The other brow rose to meet its twin as he deadpanned. “Clearly,”

Logan rolled his eyes and elaborated. “I was thinking about what you said, about who Lucy thinks I am.”

“Logan, none of that is real.”

“No, I know that… but—now that it’s been said, I can’t help but see it. Hell, Henry you can’t tell me that you can’t see it, not even a little bit.”

Henry tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at him; his eyebrows practically at his hairline now.

“We do look a little alike, mate; long lost cousins or brothers or something. I mean you do kinda have my chin, our noses are almost similar and the brow structure too…” he trailed off.

With a snort, Henry joked. “You’ve been hanging out with Dani too much, you’re even starting to sound like a sketch artist.”

“Shut up,”

He dodged and caught the wet rag thrown at him, before tossing it back; both chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all as they finished up and moved to the couch to see what was on TV.

Expect, as the days and weeks progressed (and Weaver shockingly adopted two pre-teen girls from Aberdeen that looked eerily like Dani and Logan), Henry found that he couldn’t stop thinking about it too (no matter how hard he tried to shake the insane notion from his head each and every time it sprung back into the forefront of his thoughts).

He’d often catch himself staring at Logan when the older man was distracted and—illogically enough as it was—could practically see what the other man was talking about.

It was crazy.

It wasn’t conceivable.

But damn it all if Logan wasn’t right.

They did share the same freaking chin, and though his nose was a bit larger than Logan’s, it was the same freaking shape.

Maybe he needed to check himself in somewhere after all…

(***)

Sixteen months after moving to Hyperion Heights, the curse was broken.

It had been an emotionally exhausting week beforehand, with Lucy suddenly falling into a coma that the doctors couldn’t medically explain. Jacinda had rightfully been beside herself with worry, and all Henry could feel was the crushing feeling of losing another loved one… another child. It had been the very reason why he didn’t like opening up, didn’t like taking these leaps of faith when it came to his heart and feelings. Yet he had stupidly allowed himself to get close to all these people, and stupidly thought he could have a second chance at a family, but those dreams had gone up in flames the first time and now plummeted back down from the stars a second time with the flat lining of the heart monitor as Jacinda brokenly wailed her heartache.

He didn’t feel the hand of his roommate trying to console him as he numbly watched Jacinda break down in the waiting room they had been forcibly moved too when the doctors came swarming into the room. Didn’t hear the words being spoken as Jacinda fought and then bonelessly collapsed in Sabine and Roni’s arms; her wails gut wrenching and shredding his already scarred heart to pieces. The flood of his emotions and his own tears didn’t come until after the doctor told them that their precious, precocious little Lucy was truly and utterly gone, that the defibrillator failed to restart her heart.

It was Logan who caught him when his legs refused to hold his weight any longer, when the world suddenly came crushing down around him and nothing felt right anymore. And it was Logan who helped him into the chair; the warm presence of his roommates hand at the back of his neck guiding his head to lean on his broad shoulder. And he took the comfort and sobbed for all he was worth. Sobbed for the loss of the wife and daughter he had had to bare losing and moving on from all on his own, sobbed for Jacinda and how much she didn’t deserve to know the gut wrenching pain that losing a child brought, sobbed for Lucy who had been robbed of her own dreams, who had been robbed the chance to live and grow.

His heart hurt as he followed Jacinda into the room to say goodbye, the tears blurring his vision at seeing the white sheet lying over Lucy’s little body; so final in its position that it made him want to collapse all over again. But he couldn’t, he had to be strong for Jacinda as he was the one to hold her upright as they moved toward the bed.

Her sobs as she pulled back the sheet to view her daughters pale face tore at him even more, her words a broken, jumbled mess as she climbed onto the bed and wept onto her daughters unmoving chest.

Running on autopilot, Henry’s feet moved of their own accord; one hand going to Jacinda’s shaking back and the other to card the bangs off of Lucy’s forehead.

“I’m sorry Lucy, I’m so, so sorry.” He whispered as he leaned down and pressed his lips to her crown.

The whoosh of wind startled him and before he could right himself to wonder where it came from, the overwhelming flood of memories came next; slamming everything back into place and causing the air to deflate right out of his lungs. The watery, startled gasp from Ella (his wife, his true love) told him she remembered too, but it was the choked rush of life from his daughter, his daughter (his beautiful and very much alive little girl, his other true love), that was bloody music to his ears and heart.

“Papa? Mama?” she wheezed out as her eyes foggily and confusedly took them and her surroundings in.

“Baby!”

Everything was alright.

Everything in the world was right again.

(***)

The moment Lucy was cleared to leave; the overdue reunion of their family came afterwards. The battle was far from over; not with Tremaine and Drizella currently in hiding and no one knowing where they had run off too, but they were together again, and at the moment that was enough for them all as they celebrated at the bar that had been his adoptive mother’s home for the last eighteen months.

Henry had his wife and daughter back, his half-sisters, both his mothers, both his step-fathers and his grandfather. To say he was over the moon would have been an understatement as the din of fairytale characters and his family filled the industrial styled establishment.

It was all so overwhelming still that he had to take a seat at one of the tables; simply content to watch as he sipped at his beer. Killian soon joined him with his own glass, rum he was sure now that the man remembered who he was, and the thought of step-fathers in general had his mind venturing to their conversation once again.

It must have been on Killian’s mind as well because before either knew what they were truly doing, they were starting at one another, eyes narrowed and the rim of their drinks to their lips as they tried to see what apparently their cursed selves had been able to see.

“Man, I hope this is the last curse we ever have to face. I’ve lost count at how many cursed memories we’ve had forced into our heads at this point.” Emma groaned, yet her arrival didn’t completely break their staring contest as she dropped into the chair next to Killian; her eyes not yet looking at either of them but at her daughters who were laughing along with Lucy near the corner of the bar. She blindly but efficiently snatched her husband’s glass out of his hand and downed the last shot of the dark amber that was left as she continued. “Seriously though, can you imagine the identity crisis we’ll have in our old age if we get Alzheimer’s?” Finally glancing over at them, and realizing she had neither her son nor her husband’s attention, she raised an eyebrow and asked with trepidation. “What’s up with you two? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah love,” Killian briefly met Emma’s eyes, before he was squinting back at Henry as he continued. “Apparently while cursed, and thanks to our lovely granddaughter, the two of us got it into our heads that we were blood related; something about seeing similarities in our features and what have you.”

Blinking once than twice, Emma’s eyes bounced from one to the other, before she was tilting her head and squinting at them as well. Satisfied with what she saw, she nodded to herself, shrugged, and stated. “I can see it, especially when you wear your hair like this and stop shaving.” She grinned and chuckled and leaned forward to ruffle her son’s gel slicked hair, which Henry swatted away with a scowl as he tried to fix it back into place.

However her statement only proceeded to have them squint even harder at each other, and Emma could do nothing more than laugh at her first two goofy true loves.

As the celebrations began to die down and people started heading home, Henry and Killian simply shrugged and let it go as they hugged each other goodbye for the night (each having every intention of spending this night with their loved ones).

“Well,” Killian began softly. “Blood related or not, you’re still my son Henry; always have been, my boy.”

The smile that stretched Henry’s face, nearly threatened to split his skin from ear to ear as he replied just as softly but no less sincerely. “Thanks, dad.”

And if they hugged each other just a little tighter and their eyes shone just a little brighter with emotion, no one that witnessed the moment commented on it.

#captain cobra #captain swan #henry x cinderella #glass believer #hooked queen friendship #outlaw queen #once upon a time #ouat s7 AU #ouat ff #once upon a time fanfiction #my fanfiction

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

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Aquaman #1

In 1994, Aquaman was reduced to playing at State Fairs with only 1/3 of his original band.

It's as if the cover artist was only told that Aquaman would have long hair in this series three minutes before the cover was due. Or maybe Aquaman's insane hair is simply there to distract from whatever the fuck is going on with his legs. I know he loses a hand in this series but I didn't know he started off missing his left leg below the terribly misshapen thigh. Don't look so shocked that I own an Aquaman comic book! Think of it more as owning a Peter David comic book. And even Peter David couldn't keep me reading Aquaman because I only have two issues of this series. Cue King Beauregard linking to Ookla the Mok's song, "Arthur Curry," in the Disqus comment section. It's seems crazy to me that Aquaman has the worst costume of any major DC hero and yet he doesn't wear his underwear on the outside. Think about how unappealing the 1986 camouflage Aquaman suit must have been if editorial decided to go back to this orange and green eyesore? If I had been editing this comic book in 1994, I would have put this copy on the cover: "This isn't your father's Aquaman! This Aquaman is your father!" How did "long hair on an old guy with a full beard" translate into "Aquaman is super cool now, kids!"? I probably should just put this comic book back in its protective casing rather than read it since it's one of the few comic books I own that might be worth something. It's definitely in mint condition (or near mint since, you know, I breathed on it), probably because I never actually read it. I don't know for sure that I read it but it is an Aquaman comic book so Vegas is giving pretty shitty odds on my having read it. Unless I mean good odds? Which odds are good and which odds are bad? I would say shitty odds are things like winning one dollar for every five dollars bet. But that just means the odds of winning are good so that probably means they're good odds, right? So maybe read the opposite of what I wrote in that Vegas odds sentence.

"They" have never had a wet dream, apparently.

That previous caption might sound like I've eaten my own semen while having a wet dream but I totally didn't. That previous sentence might sound like I'm protesting too much but I don't know what that means and, anyway, you tasted your semen during your wet dream! Aquaman hopes he's dreaming but he can feel and taste and smell and remember and read, so he's pretty sure he's about to die. The way I know I'm dreaming is that when a dream becomes increasingly uncomfortable or horrific, I often think, "You know what? I bet this is just a dream!" And then I wake up. Which is totally a mistake! I need to train my brain to stop waking up once I realize I'm dreaming and start taking control of the dream. Although I'm not sure how enjoyable a dream would be if I were consciously in control of it. Then it's not a realy dream anymore and it just becomes an IMAX daydream. The great thing about dreams is that they're surprising. It's the only way a person can truly surprise themselves. Hallucinogenics help a bit but you're still in some kind of control. I once thought I invented comic books and that Jupiter was following me around a strip club parking lot while on mushrooms but I've never fucked a vampire as the sun rose and turned her to dust while I orgasmed like I've done in my dreams! Hey, some of my dreams might be problematic or completely gross but I didn't approve them! Like the one where I murdered the old lady so I could live in her house but I didn't want things to seem too suspicious by covering it up so I just propped her corpse up in the corner of the living room. Or the time a friend made me a personalized flavor of Moon Pie called "Murdered Baby's Soul." Dreams are like presidential campaign ads that don't have the candidate saying, "I approve this ad!", at the end of it.

Aquaman was dreaming. Also, he sleeps in a regular bed with sheets and blankets in a cave under the ocean. I would have had him sleeping in a giant clam shell with a manta ray comforter.

Garth visits Aquaman in his cave which isn't full of water so I guess the bed is forgivable. But it doesn't explain why Aquaman was floating over the bed tangled in his sheets. Maybe that will be explained in the post-Zero Hour continuity. Aquaman hasn't been seen in weeks and hasn't been answering his JL pager (Ha ha! Old technology! So funny!) so Aqualad has gone looking for him. He finds Aquaman sitting in his own filth and coral. He probably heard one too many jokes about speaking with fish and he's had it with topsiders.

Aquacave?! Guess who has Bat-Penis envy!

Garth was worried about Arthur and has come to help him which is why he begins screaming at him and pushing him around. I know being berated and treated like shit is the only way I've ever gotten any kind of breakthroughs in therapy. Garth and Arthur get in a fight and the art confirms that the cave is definitely filled with water. So that bed really doesn't make any fucking sense at all. At least it confirms that Aquaman isn't possessed by the devil. After Garth gets his ass kicked, Aquaman begins to feel better and is ready to go on an adventure with Aqualad. Oh, so that was Aqualad's plan! Smart kid whose willing to take a severe beating from a friend just to put a smile on their face. I never would have thought of that. I would have thought, "My friend is really feeling down! I should be empathetic and compassionate while listening to them vent their problems!" But now Peter David has taught me another way. Punch my depressed friends in the face so that they can have a good time fighting back! This is a game changer! Aqualad is on a military mission for the United States Government. A nuclear submarine has been sunk and it's lying too low on the ocean's bottom for the military to deal with it. For some reason, they think Aquaman, being the water guy, can handle a submarine leaking radioactive material. I'm just going to assume Superman was still dead at this point and Batman's back was still broken. I don't know why Wonder Woman wouldn't have been tasked for this mission unless it's just because the U.S. military is full of sexist jerks. Aquaman and Aqualad begin to investigate the ship when they're attacked by Lupo the Butcher.

Does Garth die?! That would make this Aquaman series cool!

Murder Chef was the one who requested Aquaman be sent on this mission. If the military didn't acquiesce, he was going to blow the nuclear submarine apart. I knew it was fucking suspicious that the military asked Aquaman for help! Even Aquaman should have known better! Aquaman is captured by Murder Chef who introduces himself as Charybdis. He wants Aquaman for his life force or something. Previous to capturing Aquaman, he's been draining Dolphin of her life force. I don't know anything about Dolphin except that she had nice nipples in her Who's Who entry. Let me dig it out and show you.

That diver just came in his scuba suit.

Don't be surprised or creeped out that this fact was lurking in my memory. I grew up in the pre-Internet era! You had to find sexually stimulating material wherever you could! And you were fucking grateful for it! This was as great a find as the succubus or the Type V demon in the D&D Monster Manual. Hell, I even jerked off to the Caryatid Columns in Fiend Folio! Aquaman #1 Rating: B. I might have given this issue an A+ but Dolphin lacked the visible nipples I'm used to her character exhibiting. But this issue still gets a worthy B because Garth was left bleeding in the ocean while the sharks circled. He's totally going to die, right? Although I never purchased Issue #3 so I'm guessing I was disappointed that Garth didn't die. Still, you'd think Aquaman losing his hand (spoiler for next issue!) would have kept me intrigued. I bet in 1994, I read this series and was all, "Fucking Aquaman! Like anybody actually cares about the environment! Fucking virtue signaler! [Sorry I Coined the Term "Manic Pixie Dream Virtue Signaler" in 1994 by Me] His excess of caring makes me love oil and corporations now! It's his fault I'm such a selfish asshole!" Man, I was pretty cool in 1994. Now I'm almost 100% pure virtue signaler! Oh, Aquaman! I judged thee by my youth alone and could not see past your idiotic power to speak with fish to lay my sight upon the wisdom of your passionate defense of our only world!

#Aquaman #Peter David #DC Comics #DC #Martin Egeland #Brad Vancata

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maidenofiron157 · 7 years

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@artistic-ape YOU ASKED FOR THIS

the BASIC PREMISE is that Steve is Raleigh and Sam is Mako. or the other way around. either way. that’s what started it:

Steve n Bucky were a pilot pair vis a vis Raleigh n Yancy for their jaeger Avenger Maverick, and Bucky was killed (or lost his arm, but ‘killed’ fits the movie more and also makes it sadder, lol) in a kaiju attack and Steve had to kill the kaiju and pilot it back to shore alone, where he then left the program because of trauma, which, y’know. understandable. he comes back after Fury goes to recruit him bc jaegers are dropping like flies and the kaiju just keep coming, where he meets ~*~Sam Wilson~*~, the love of his life, who has also been recruited by Fury after having been out of the game for a while after losing his own partner, Riley, and their jaeger, Falcon Dynamite

when they get there its the last open shatterdome in the world bc every other world politician has decided to back General Thaddeus “Shitstain” Ross and his frankly fucking idiotic pacific wall program. there are still only four jeagers available - Aurora Immediate, piloted by Wanda and Pietro Maximoff (think the Kaidonovskys); Strike Team Delta, piloted by Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton (think the Wei triplets; more about them later); and Guardian Renegade, piloted by Thor and Loki Odinson. (think the Hansens; also more about them later)

Panther Maelstrom, piloted by King T’Challa and Princess Shuri of Wakanda, had to leave the program when their father died to take over ruling in his place, but are still helping on the sidelines by providing new technology and calculations and such when and where they can. Defender Olympia, piloted by Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson, was taken out alongside Terra Infinite, piloted by Peter and Gamora Quill, several years earlier after fighting the first Cat 3 on record, though all four pilots did manage to survive thanks to the escape pod tech they had available. (can you tell how much I don’t like people dying lol.) they have not reentered the program bc the program no longer has the money to afford to make new jaegers, and theirs were unsalvageable

Iron Roadhog, piloted by Tony Stark and James Rhodes, had just recently been knocked down for the count au-timeline-wise - Tony came away pretty banged up but otherwise alright, but both of Rhodey’s legs were broken, so even if their jaeger wasn’t completely unsalvageable anyway, they wouldn’t be piloting it any time soon, so both of them have been working with Bruce Banner, Betty Ross, and Jane Foster on breach calculations and how to stop the kaiju in the mean time. their jaeger was the only one that could fly for any length of time on its own aside from Falcon Dynamite (Roadhog utilized thrust from blasters, while Falcon utilized built in jetpack-and-wings combo to get some lift; both worked fine). Tony and Rhodey designed that thing from fucking scratch, and it was one of the best and oldest. the two of them actually worked a little (or a lot) on all of the jaegers, and they feel the hit every time one of them goes down. it primarily used missile, laser, and blaster/repulsor tech as its main weapons; it was also the only one to use an arc reactor to power it, as Tony didn’t trust anyone else with the technology, since practically anyone could get their hands on a jaeger when it goes down, especially in the sea, what with the currents. (cleaning Roadhog up to make sure no arc reactor debris made it into the wrong hands was an Event)

more on Wanda & Pietro: they’re still mutants, but not, like, “artificially made” I guess, they were born that way. the drift makes things really weird for mutants, its been found out, because apparently their powers can transfer in the ghost drift afterward. they don’t keep them, but its wildly disconcerting. their jaeger has a hard time keeping up with them (a giant metal robot can only move so fast no matter how fast you run), but it can handle Wanda’s whole... energy... thing... fabulously. they can make all kinds of weapons with it, its very versatile, which makes Aurora very, very effective

more on Nat & Clint: originally I was gonna go full-on Wei triplets and give them a three-manned jaeger w Coulson as the other piece, but I’m still not 100% on if I want him to be a jaeger pilot or want him to be like Tendo coaching from the sidelines. either way, Clint 100% calls their jaeger ‘STD’ for short bc he’s a little shit and Natasha always hits him for it. their martial arts training doesn’t translate well in a giant body often weighed down not just by itself but by water, but they make it work, and they have built in crossbows on both arms, to utilize Clint’s special skill-set, as well as what can only be described as giant wrist tasers (Widow’s Bites) to pack a punch

more on Thor & Loki: they are still asgardian in this au. just bc I want them to be bc how fucking awesome would an asgardian jaeger be. especially with those two, lightning and vicious storms in the middle of the ocean fucking up the kaiju, meanwhile, Loki has fucking magic, he could make illusions to confuse them, or conjure fire, or ice, or giant blades - its endless. (the only problem for him would be power, but maybe the drift w Thor would amplify it too? who knows!) to be fair though, their first drift was... Not Great. as a matter of fact, some would say it was a downright disaster. Thor fried all the circuitry in the room and destroyed another in a rage, while Loki, ah, vomited, and accidentally dropped the aesir glamor he had, showcasing all his blue glory while simultaneously freezing the entire room. they are very drift compatible (98% in fact, right after Steve n Bucky and T’Challa n Shuri, with Wanda n Pietro taking to top slot of 99%, and Tasha n Clint and Tony n Rhodey bringing up the rear behind them at a slightly lower 98% lol). their first drift was so disastrous because 1) sharing memories from hundred if not thousands of years, instead of just decades, and 2) the whole “you’re the golden child, Odin loves you more, he hates me, you hate me, everyone hates me, I hate me” thing w Loki kind of made Thor realize how fucking shitty his brother’s life was and what kind of impact he had on it and how pissed it made him at himself, and Loki realizing that Thor actually did love him, and just... ugh. brotherly bonding, afterwards. lovely. (I love Ragnarok can you tell)

ANYWAY, the rest of the movie proceeds as such: Steve and Sam, like Mako and Raleigh, test to see that they’re drift compatible (which or course they are), and their first official drift in the newly revamped “Falcon Maverick” goes as poorly as Mako and Raleigh’s because this time they both have shitty my-partner-got-ripped-out-of-the-cockpit-too memories. Sam’s is the one who chases the rabbit first, so to speak (like Mako). meanwhile, Tony, Rhodey, Bruce, Betty, and Jane are all working on the breach, and Tony and Bruce (mostly Tony) come up w the idea to drift with the brain segment they have (like Newt), which the other three resoundly dismiss because its practically suicide (like Hermann), but they DO IT ANYWAY because WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY HAVE TO LOSE. Rhodey and Betty wind up being forced to stay at the shatterdome for calculation work while Tony and Bruce go out to find another kaiju brain from whoever Hannibal is in this au, I have no idea, my first idea was Loki but I wanted him to be a pilot too badly to follow through with it SO, Tony and Bruce go out into the Hong Kong Bone Slums with, surprisingly, Jane in tow, as their babysitter to keep them from doing anything more stupid to compromise the mission, and those three together do the joint drift w the kaiju brain like Newt and Hermann and rush back to give the shatterdome the bad news

during this, Aurora Immediate, Strike Team Delta, and Guardian Renegade (like Cherno Alpha, Crimson Typhoon, and Striker Eureka) are battling it out in the Hong Kong harbor and actually, y’know, doing better, bc they have asgardians and mutants on their side, but its still pretty tight, so Falcon Maverick is sent out to wrap it up. they come out with no casualties, unlike in the movie, but Aurora Immediate and Strike Team Delta are still too damaged to follow through with Operation Pitfall, especially since they definitely don’t have the resources or the time to prepare them for it, so even though Wanda, Pietro, Natasha, and Clint are still alive they still can’t be of much use at that point (and they’re pretty injured, so), so Guardian Renegade and Falcon Maverick face it alone

like in the movie, two Cat 4′s and one Cat 5 leave the breach, but Guardian, having asgardian pilots, does better at fending them off, but they’re still losing. blah blah blah, they blow the bomb and make it out safe thanks to Loki’s magic and also their alien physiologies, and Steve and Sam go in to finish the job. it ends a lot like the movie after that, but with no dead bodies! ayy! good times

#avengers #avengers au #pacific rim #pacific rim au #samsteve #(arguably)#tonyrhodey #(also arguably)#Text Post #this thing is planned the fuck OUT I have WHOLE NAMES for these motherfuckin jaegers #I GOT this #artistic-ape #;)

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kurara-black-blog · 7 years

Text

A MysMe Au

Once I saw two pictures of V, Rika and MC as Sailor Moon characters (I won't post them bc they're not mine, obviously, but I have prints of them because they're beautiful). V was Mamoru and MC was Usagi (and Rika was Mars, but not really)... And it gave me an idea!

(If you know/are the artist who did the drawings, please tell me so I can thank them/you)

*Have you ever said "I'm hungry" and someone just decides to eat something in front of you? Or told your sibling "This cake is mine" and the next day the cake is gone but the plate is still on the refrigerator? We say those kinda people have a "wooden face". Maybe I'll explain better later.

_____________

We don't really know how V was before Rika. I believe he was sweet but sassy.

Just like MC.

One Valentine's Day, MC is being really bitter because of her (now ex) boyfriend. The guy broke up with her by letter! By LETTER!!

They were supposed to meet in his favorite restaurant (which she didn't like very much) for lunch, but when she gets there, one waitress (one of his exes and one of the reasons MC didn't like the place) came with a letter and said "I told you he would leave you. At least with me he had the balls to call."

MC was just so angry she didn't eat anything, even when he, as we brazilians say, the wooden face* to leave some money inside the envelope. The JERK!

She gave the money to the other girl and left.

Walking back home, she crumples the card and throws away the ridiculous piece of paper.

And it falls on V's head.

"Hey, you, don't go throwing your trash in the head of others."

MC turns around and there's V in all his pastel not blind yet glory.

He's annoyed, his family makes him go crazy everytime he visits

"Look, dude, I'm not in the mood, so just give me the paper and we won't see each other again."

She didn't need someone taking pity on her.

"I'm not surprised you're all alone, such a bad temper."

"I'll show you a bad temper, you ass! You're alone too! Give me the paper!"

"Okay, okay, no need to get more angry, no one wants to see your bad grades anyway, little girl."

"Excuse me?!"

If it wasn't for Jumin, they would continue to argue for God know how long.

They go in separate ways, grumbling about the rude tower/gnome.

Jumin is surprised, V is not one to argue with random people. Sass them maybe, but not argue.

The next time they meet is in a photography exhibition. V looking for inspiration and MC looking for peace...

... because of course her family loves the guy who broke up with her via letter after three years of dating...

... and of course they think it's her fault...

... and of course they're not going to hear from her for at least four years. (It's a lie, but let her think like that)

So, trying to help, MC's best friend brings her to a photography exhibition.

They meet again and of course they start bickering.

"Wow, you must be blind (get it?), pastel tower, this one is crappy."

"If I'm blind, your brain doesn't work, grumpy gnome. This is art, it's beautiful."

MC's best friend giggles. Her mama once said "Those who fight a lot with each other in the end get married". ("Quem briga, casa") You go, pastel giant! (Have you seen V? He's TALL)

Life goes on, they meet at random for almost six months.

Thing is, they stopped bickering and started bantering.

Well, they thought it was friendly banter.

Everyone else knew thought it was flirting.

You know these couples who act like an old married couple but are not really dating because neither of them have the courage to confess? Or they just won't admit they like each other?

Here in Brazil we call it "chove mas não molha" ("It is raining but the floor is still dry" is a rough translation)

And then... Rika happened.

At the beginning, MC, a little heartbroken, supported her husband friend and she even tried and failed to like Rika.

But things started to change.

V changed. He distanced himself from everything and everyone except for Jumin.

MC never saw him again, life goes on, and it does not wait for anyone.

So, the first time she saw V on the chat, she was so happy...

But he changed.

He was broken and sad and had so much guilt and pain...

And she swore to bring him back.

With the help of best man Jumin Han and Elizabeth the 3rd.

"Fight me, Yoosung! I'll protect my pastel husband!"

"lololol Hold your wife, V! She's going to kill the boy! lololol"

"Shut up, Seven."

"lololol your wife is mean, v"

#mystic messenger #mc mystic messenger #jihyun kim #jumin han #mystic messenger 707 #mystic messenger rika

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daughterofthewest · 7 years

Photo

This is my own original artwork ( originally posted sideways on my old account the-widows-mite) created in 2014. The original unedited drawing is on the left, same thing with an added tonal filter on my iPhone camera used to make it a little darker for better visibility of the details on the right. This piece was done as therapy art while I was laid up recovering from major surgery (sans pain medication because I can't tolerate most of it due to allergies) and unable to speak or move anything but my right hand for an entire week. It came about because the nurses in the recovery room had given me a pencil and paper to communicate/write notes with and instead for the first time in a very long time I started doodling/drawing. The first thing to crawl out of my brain through the pencil was a cute little dragon, which my nurse or one of the doctors asked to keep and I assented to the request so I don't have pictures of it to share unfortunately; this crazy mess was the second.

It was rendered in regular #2 pencil on a piece of 8x11 printer paper that the hospital staff could not use because it had a small wrinkle in it. I saw this and thought to myself, this looks like fun, I think I'll just follow this line and see where it takes me. This drawing is the result of that experience and exercise ... I think I was still under the effects of the anesthesia because it too is whatever crawled out of my brain through the pencil at that time. I had no artistic training whatsoever and although I had enjoyed drawing as a child and on a few occasions since then when the mood struck when I was younger, had not picked up a pencil to draw in a great many years (for various reasons) at that juncture in my life.

My doctors were all astounded but I myself no less so- I really hadn't known I could do that. It was my wonderful surgeons and neuro docs who saw this and other things that came after it when someone brought me some watercolor paints and more paper as well, who first told me I had a remarkable gift that I should share- encouraging me enough to keep going and doing art...

My children tell me now that they had always thought of me as an artist because after their father died when they were little I would gather them about me to read to and laugh and talk with and they would ask me to draw something for them and we would make up a story about whatever silly thing I then drew together. Everyone had a good time doing this and didn’t take it too seriously - especially me. I did not think of myself as an artist however or a writer and never wrote any of those stories down and saved few of those particular drawings, (though now I kind of wish I had), because my college education and training and a lifetime of experience was in something else - other disciplines not entirely disparate from Art but rigorous enough that I did not have any time for or real interest in painting or drawing during those years but which my illness kept me from being able to continue with it at the time I had to have that particular surgery and has done since.

I have tried to take their kind advice and I now at least have real artists’ materials thanks in part to the generosity of some very supportive family and friends, my ArtSnacks subscription and the recent opening of Art supply stores in the area where I reside that did not exist for most of the 20-30 years before that that I have lived here.

The continued praise and encouragement I have received from others, (including a few local successful exhibiting professional artists) who have seen my artwork since has been a blessing that allowed me to get past my own feelings of inadequacy and shyness about sharing what I do with others rather than keeping it to myself because I always felt (as noted) that my artwork such as it was/is is just for me- that it was/is my therapy and my happy place to go for relief in times of great stress or pain when I am physically or otherwise unable to do anything else or in some cases for the entertainment of my own children.

I have not done as much of it since then as I would have liked due to various circumstances and limitations- but I do what I can when I can.. Yet still 3 years later I don't/can’t do this kind of intensely wrought drawings all the time on demand (as much as I wish I could) and I still don’t have any actual training in art that would give me the skills I need to fully flesh my ideas out on paper. I still just draw or paint raw whatever crawls out of my brain through the pencil or paintbrush and let it take me wherever it will.

I wonder: Is that Ok? Does it mean I’m not a real artist or does it mean I truly am one after all? IDK. I’ve had fellow students who were Juniors in the Art Program at my old university who told me when they saw my work that they still couldn’t do anything quite like it. I’m not sure I believe them but...

I have always loved golden age illustration by the likes of Arthur Rackham and Edmund Dulac, Charles Robinson and their ilk, Jessie Wilcox Smith and Howard Pyle- though my some of my absolute favorite’s were his students, N.C. Wyeth and Joan Walsh Anglund. Of course Irene Haas and Holling C. Holling are in a class by themselves and I loved their work too.

So I think sometimes I would really love to write and illustrate children’s books as well but I have no idea how one goes about that or gets into that business without the proper education and training specific to the field and I would not want demands put on me for deadlines by a publisher that would interfere with my process or that I could not meet if I were too ill to work for a time again. I am very much about doing things my own way in my own time.

Yet I do have some ideas for these that I’ve discussed with my very bookish daughter who is currently following her own path to a career in teaching and librarianship, hoping to eventually get into a Ph.D program in Comparative Lit, and wok in the translation, editing and publishing of books and maybe become a writer herself ( she has so many cute story ideas y’all) all the time and she tells me she thinks I’d be great at it- that I am a born illustrator and story teller.

Others who know me and have seen more of my work have said the same. Everyone keeps telling me to keep creating and just put my work out there. Admittedly, that prospect is very daunting and hard for me as I am naturally a very private and shy person in general but I am trying.

Honestly, I am a bit old to be starting over but I must do so to keep living and fighting- not giving in to my illness. In that regard, I am so very grateful for the Tumblr community which gives me (and so many very talented others of all ages from all walks of life that I have been so pleased to find here) a safe place to dip my toes in the water and test it before I take a dive off the deep end into that world. Thanks for being here and taking this new journey with me. Peace.

#original art #fantasy art #artists on tumblr #faerie art #pencil drawing #eatsleepdraw #daughterofthewest #personal #therapy art #illustration

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convndrums · 7 years

Text

here the FAWK she ( the semi-finished masterlist of all my characters ) is ! took way too long but hopefully as you proceed to click on the linque below you’ll know why smh but yep ! i’ll be adding their pages on my account when i’m done with them soon i hope and maybe come back with a bunch of connections for each character but for now this is all i got & smash this like or im me for plots i’d love to get on those finally xx

reintroducing amanda wheeler; intro & info page.

queen of irony. rich post- faux country gal who’s a loud homosexual and writes hetero fics/has an indie het smut for the absolute shits and giggles. dates a married woman she’s utterly in love with and will pull the life support cord for. said to be possessed by a possessed flapper. cute and knows it even though she looks like a republican. socially open & everywhere. morally grey.

reintroducing imogen yates; intro & info page. ( tw violence )

the grey area between your mom friend and your drunk aunt. happily vegan & owns a vegan restaurant called the fork, alt. the vegan cult’s lair. won’t kill you, but will convince you she really wants to. local brat tamer. minds her business via minding others. clashed head-first into nature’s very own reset button: amnesia. used to be satan and traumatized everyone. disgustingly active and accomplishing.

reintroducing ethan holland; intro & info page. ( tw suicide )

he is a sk8r boi, she said see ya later boy ( and meant it. they’re dating now. hey lourdes ! ) a nice person, so nice he doesn’t realize how fake he sounds/is. a certified headass. previously a bully/bully enabler, current guilty fuck. #torn. does the most for his loved ones. doesn’t remember his own birthday. googled foot fetishes once. trolls stan twitter with his fake selena gomez stan account when tumblr crashes. burned a sue of cide note with his name scribbled on it.

reintroducing sebastian miller; intro & info page ( tw violence )

kazimer sokolov whom. russian ex-cult member well-adjusted into a mundane life via lies, a fake canadian accent he’s ‘trying to get rid of’, being a twilight saga aficionado and a dickwad, a lame record store and a tumblr blog to keep himself sane by maintaining a general aesthetic and shitting on people and every discourse out there. knives/books sniffer. allegedly fucked a moose. probably kinkshames as a way to deal with his own “kinks” aka please keep the dead bodies away. ( im kidding i swear but [redacted] )

reintroducing prudence zima; intro & info page ( tw death )

parents died in a fire when she was two months old and it shows. idolizes avril lavigne & her favorite movie is lords of dogtown for aesthetics references. dude. social leech or effortless networker ? both. remains in her lane regardless. cry-types probably. here for a good time, not a long time. steals your stash and smokes you out with it. avid dick connoisseur. minimum effort lifestyle. either on her way to become a manager of some one hit wonder band that finds it’s demise in a freak accident, a drug dealer or god forbid, a guidance counselor; depends. mild cool girl syndrome.

reintroducing jennifer meade; intro & info page ( tw death, violence and abuse )

bi/pussy muncher and proud misandrist, first and foremost. remembers killing her brother very fondly. the one girl in a room to call when you want to kill a bug and you’re relieved until she kills it with her bare hand. tops. unstable & chaotic evil, respectively. the ginger devil. biased and has her minion whom she invests a great deal of her time in brain washing and obsessing over. supposedly here to make amends but that’s not happening any time soon.

reintroducing margot williams; intro & info page ( tw mental illness )

deserves better. very gay. all her friends are heathens xtra, take it slow. corrects typos in the gc. a nerdy editorial assistant daydreaming about publishing houses instead of the magazine she works for. lowkey shy and she’s angry about it. goes off if she must. jacks off to #knowledge and yuri anime. helps with homework and essays and takes the kids out. deadpan because we’re original but she swears it’s just the face & unresolved trauma. stans her therapist. unofficial older sister.

reintroducing chandler accardi; intro ( re-written ) & info page

needs to do better. dropped out of college for culinary school then dropped out of that too. was engaged to an absolute goddess he ultimately wronged ( with her damn best friend, bitch disgostin* ) and got kicked out to the curb. currently residing in the couch of his sister until things are resolved. thot-by-default & annoying. has like three ( 3 ) redeeming qualities. has never been told to shut up and it shows. works at buzzfeed.

reintroducing abel gautier; intro & info page

french and “confused”. lives a minimalist n’ expensive life. if american psycho & french kiss were the same movie. wine sniffer. the devil bakes croissants. will watch you die. takes grudges to the afterlife. gets attached but either ruins it or ruins it to spare everyone, himself included. falls in love a lot but knows how to calm the fuck down. very giving, fortunately. manipulative but isn’t too wild about bending everything to his will.

reintroducing simini gale; intro & info page ( tw abuse, violence & mental illness )

token white actress & character in rosie’s show. [ britney vc ] its me.... against dissociation. a loud mess with an intense mental state and anger issues dulled out by her prescribed meds and whatever pill she got in the bottom of her manager’s purse. dependent and distraught about it. grocery shopping for garbage food and attending comedy stand up shows half drunk as a hobby. stable ? where. very nice and super flighty. heels are hot. wishes she could fight someone without feeling the urge to actually fight someone.

reintroducing calvin o’shea; intro & info page ( tw mental illness )

it’s not just the depression more than the incredible self hatred. walks into rooms with his bad energy, grumpy mood and cunty attitude. graduated college just to shut his dad up. wants to die harder than edward cullen. just doesn’t give a shit. has a baby named freddie mercury ( also known as the antichrist, with alanis, his mortal literal enemy whom he absolutely despises and will not hesitate to put his dick back in again lbr ) who will probably grow up to talk shit about his parents whom he also mentioned in his tell-all book on ellen. works at his family’s bookstore that sucks the life energy out of college students nearing a mental breakdown.

reintroducing isabel pavia; intro & info page ( tw drug use )

contemporary dances her feelings away. too ambitious for her own good but knows what she’s doing. in a goth ass secret society ( here ) a.k.a her new found purpose. knows everything eventually. oddly trustworthy. doesn’t know what speaking loudly is, let alone yelling. loves the moon & has that moon app. had to take painkillers when she twisted her ankle very badly and would take them for a while for stress and performance reasons, but has stopped. a quiet angel.

reintroducing anastasia zeller; intro & info page

ambitious/multi-talented asshole. horror trash & an emotional/mental maze which translates well into her weird works on no sleep reddit and current horror comedy podcast. ( click here for info ). needs a therapist according to a friend, whom she dropped for saying that. will bite your head off. obsessed with her works to an unhealthy point. would love to establish a company and stuff out of it and is working on that. healthy relationships are a semi-foreign concept.

reintroducing morgan booker; intro & info page ( tw death )

vape-curious and takes photos of ghost towns and abandoned-everythings because #vision. had a roadtrip phase like the fake deep idiot he is. morally grey. genuinely here for a good laugh and spreading joy in the form of hover-friendships and taking lit candids of his friends. knows shit and comes off as a creep sometimes but does he really care. knows your mom’s name. lives in a disused hospital bc he’s marinating on that aesthetic.

reintroducing bowie harmon; intro & info page ( tw drug use & abuse )

part of a duo in a web series as the anxious n’ cackling mess. showcases her depressión & anxieté by her colorful wigs n’ new hair dyes. painful receptionist at a tattoo parlor. recovering addict who advocates for drug use. thinks tattooing a ruler on someone’s dick one day would be the peak of her accomplishments as a tattoo artist. daily bad decisions. “ it’s complicated. ” when asked about literally any relationship she has with anyone in her life. traumas include her failed singing career. an ex viner-by-association.

reintroducing shaheen bin baz; intro & info page ( tw violence & mental illness )

the physical deception of going through hell in a short amount of time with zero mental durability to begin with during midterms. trigger-anxious. will shoot your toes off your foot if caught off guard. aided in criminal operations with the brilliance of his mind in codes. would not mind dying. seasons your food. waters his crops in his balcony garden. the grey area between a super laidback dude and a crackhead with violent tendencies. nearing a mental breakdown probably.

reintroducing minka abbott-santos; intro & info page ( tw abuse )

defeats the evil stepmom stereotype one breath at a time. the human embodiment of a deer. gothic angel. alarmingly gets black swan. type to wake up to her staring at you from an armchair across the room, but lovingly, with a book she was reading in hand and two hot cups of tea; she was waiting to start the day with you. spooky until you get to know her and even more spookier when she’s ( note: calmly ) pissed but that’s extremely rare. gentle voice, soul and everything.

reintroducing reuben faulkner; intro & info page ( tw abuse & violence )

rekt hell prince. lived in an amish community with his family until he got kidnapped away from home when he was seven into an awful living situation. doesn’t remember if the gas leak that happened five years later and killed everyone was his doing or not. knows where his real family is after months of tracking them down but. blood kink under investigation. shady bouncer at a shady club. has issues he has no care or time to diminish. fights for the shits and giggles. leaves texts at read. leaves you alone for your own good and his own sanity.

reintroducing alexandra turunen; info page

wants to do everything and be everything and doesn’t know what to do with herself ( read: post-graduation identity crisis ) currently investing in a motorcycle for no reason. essentially jobless. a “retired” kathryn merteuil who “outgrew” her cunning ways since highschool but really only found new socially destructive interests. appears to be self-possessed but she’s #shaken. doesn’t care about how well she presents herself anymore after getting rejected by four universities and refusing to accept her father’s offer to pull some strings to get her in one. sleeps a lot.

reintroducing giuseppe del vecchio; info page ( tw death & drug use )

goes by pepe because well. son of italian oil peeps & is extra. said to be in a cult when all he’s in is this extra ass dining club that does the most for initiation ceremonies. ready to fall in love with you. goes to the king’s college in london and studies business & changes his minor way too often for everyone’s liking. into everything and will be down to do whatever. faux deep. mischievous shit. incredibly unbiased. had his rawrk n’ roll phase that died along with someone in a club literally. still has it but he knows god now & less drugs.

reintroducing kelian scott; info page ( tw death & drug use )

a father/father figure who tries™. runs a mechanic shop/chop shop because bad decisions and dire needs ( had his son to send to school and his daughter who passed away due to a disease he couldn’t afford to treat even after turning his shop into a chop shop. his wife then left him ). stares into the distance. wants the best for the kids but one of them is a junkie ( he doesn’t know yet ) and the other -- his niece -- is an orphan he’s worried about. thinks ahead 24/7. needs to pull out of this dull n’ depressing daily routine he has fallen into like the basic ass divorced dad he is.

reintroducing sal presley; info page

smexy trace & fingerprint detective. talks. the perfect illusion to bring home to your parents and friends. gets shit done which is both a good thing and a bad thing. looks calm, collected n’ well-rested but isn’t. his actual name is salvatore but no. knows how to mix drinks and more; used to showcase his multi-talented ass to make his ( currently ex ) fiancée look good now just himself. was engaged three times; two of those times with the same person. obsessive; gets into his job a little too intensely for no reason but #justice and maybe something else whom knows. loses sleep at least two nights a week as a habit at this point. has an extended family back home he misses occasionally. wishes he could calm down truly.

#smoke:intros #FINALLY RISING HOLY SH-#ill do some plotting n hopefully get on replies soonish hell yea lets GO!

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