#jean was purposefully left undercut-less

[chibzilla]

Commission for @rhetoricfemme, featuring Annie and Jean being two bros chilling at a shooting range.

5€ commissions (x)

[tysonrunningfox]

Toothless: Return to the Black Pony of Second Chances: Part 6

This is kind of a weird little limbo chapter leading to further shenanigans but whatever 

Ao3

I don’t get involved in drama. 

Really. 

I don’t. 

I don’t care who’s dating who, or whatever.  It doesn’t matter.  I don’t mention it whenever I see someone sneak home late at night.  It’s just not something I care about, beyond the fact that the person in question will largely be lazy and useless the next day. 

It doesn’t matter that Hiccup was having a video call with a pretty girl, because no matter how many times Ruff comments on how tall he is, I don’t care. 

In fact, it matters even less because he’s largely been non-whiny the last few days, at least compared to the twins or Snotlout.  Fishlegs is whiny in a different way, because the accommodations aren’t luxurious or intellectual enough for him, but again, I don’t argue because I don’t do drama. 

I don’t do dramatic exits, abandoning things with a sweep of an imaginary cape as I stalk off for a fresh start. 

Apparently, Hiccup does. 

Or at least he abruptly leaves dinner with most of his plate uneaten, and I’m left chewing on perfectly cooked steak that’s suddenly gone dry in my mouth, his dad not staring at me so pointedly that he might as well be glaring. 

Fishlegs scrapes his fork across his plate and it’s fingernails on a chalkboard. 

Tuffnut picks his teeth. 

And it’s Snotlout, fucking Snotlout, who breaks the tension. 

“Is anyone going to eat that?”  He points at Hiccup’s plate, avoiding my eyeline even though it’s clear he thinks he needs my permission, and my teeth grind together unconsciously. 

I swallow and stab at a potato with my fork. 

“Because if no one’s going to eat that—”

“Go for it,” I bark, making the decision that no one else will. 

I don’t blame Mr. Haddock, and not just because I can’t blame him, but because he just promoted me, effectively, and this is my problem to deal with.  And I don’t know how to act, because I’ve never been good with the interface between ‘boss’ and ‘family’ and exactly how my loyalty should be weighted within that matrix, but it has largely always centered on the horses. 

And Mr. Haddock takes care of the horses. 

“I mean…if no one else wants it,” Snotlout feigns hemming and hawing even as he pulls Hiccup’s plate towards him and I scowl. 

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”  It’s directed at everyone else, but Snotlout has to comment, because of course he does. 

“If you’re proposing, is this where someone is supposed to object, or?”  He laughs. 

No one else does. 

I take my last bite of food, teeth clicking against the fork before I stand up. 

“I’m going to go check the fences.” 

“Astrid,” Mr. Haddock tries to let me off of the hook I mounted myself and I pick up my plate. 

“It’s a nice night, I’d like the ride.” 

Once my plate is washed and on the drying rack, I risk the hallway I never walk through to get to the back door, because right now, walking past dusty family photos is better than dealing with Snotlout.  The one closest to the door gives me pause, a gangly second grader between two smiling parents with that stereotypical posing smile, the uncomfortable one that I could never really replicate for school pictures. 

A polite, get along to get along smile that he seems to have lost the ability or intention to use. 

He was a scrawny kid, not that much has changed, and I think back to the brittle line of his shoulders as he hunched over his computer screen, trying to block it from me. 

Hopefully, he’ll be cooled off by tomorrow, or at least keep his grudge to himself. 

The wind whips at my hair on the short stint to the barn and I wish I’d grabbed my hat, but again, not worth dealing with Snotlout, so I jog the rest of the way, trying to remember if there’s a spare in the tack room.  I think I left a hair tie with Stormfly’s saddle, and that’ll have to be good enough. 

I don’t bother announcing my presence before opening the door and I’m shocked to hear someone swear, a horse snorting and pawing at the ground. 

Not just someone. 

Hiccup. 

Who is standing in Toothless’s stall, hand on the black, stupidly-named horse’s shoulder, eyes already narrowing into a glare as I close the door behind me. 

I glare back, like a habit, and he turns back to Toothless’s neck, brushing a fine bristled brush across his muddy neck, like that’ll do anything. 

“If you’re trying to groom him, that won’t work,” I tell him, trying for casual as I walk past Toothless’s stall to Stormfly’s.  She buries her nose in her dinner for one last bite before raising her head and nodding at me.  Excited. 

“I know you can’t help but give it,” his voice is curt, barely undercutting disrespectful, “but I don’t actually need to hear your opinion on everything.” 

“It’s not an opinion,” I fasted Stormfly’s halter behind her ears and walk her towards the tack room, dropping the lead rope so that she’ll stand ground tied as I tack her up. 

“Since I’m already beholden to you, can I please just tend to my horse without fending off your constant judgement too?”  He snaps, and I should go. 

I don’t get involved with drama. 

“It’s not judgement,” I say because it’s not.  That would imply that I care, which I don’t.  He got his work done, the rest of it is none of my business. 

“Right.”  His eye roll is audible, the whisk of that useless brush across the mud in his horse’s fur like nails on a chalkboard.  “Totally believable.” 

I grit my teeth, grabbing Stormfly’s curry comb and raking it through the dried sweat behind her front leg.  She looks at Hiccup curiously over my shoulder, ears twitching, and when I glance back at him, he’s staring at the brush in my hand. 

He instantly looks away, ashamed to be caught again, and I want to bark that maybe he wouldn’t have to hide so much if he stopped doing things he doesn’t want anyone to find out about.  Like talking to not-girlfriends in rooms with unlocked doors, right before dinner. 

But that would be engaging, and I have to check the fences. 

He brushes Toothless again, uselessly, saying something in a calm, under the breath tone that makes Stormfly perk her ears again.  She must see something of Mr. Haddock in Hiccup that I don’t think anyone else does, because her jaw works quietly, expecting her usual treat. 

I set my curry comb down and get my hoof pick, urging Stormfly to lift her front foot with a click and tug at her fetlock as I bend over.  She lifts it easily, still watching Hiccup, and I start clearing the mud from this morning’s ride out of her hoof. 

Hiccup’s eyes are bright like coals on the back of my neck and I wish I’d faced Stormfly the other direction, because I’m also too aware of my shirt riding up my back, the still, sticky barn air against my lower back.  Not that it would be better to have to look at him when I stand up.  Or maybe it would.  I don’t know. 

I’m not usually involved in the drama. 

All the complicated teenage interactions that Ruff is always trying to clue me in on have always just annoyed me.  The reasons Gustav is nice to me or the way that Snotlout and Fishlegs act around girls back from college for the summer are completely irrelevant to what I’m trying to do here, but now there’s the pressure of foreman on my shoulders and it makes me worry about group dynamics and the necessity of at least feigning getting along, that is if I want to stay on through the fall. 

I set Stormfly’s foot down and stand up, yanking my shirt back down over the back of my jeans and glaring at Hiccup over my shoulder. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he answers automatically, eyes darting back to Toothless’s filthy fur. 

“You’re staring at me.”  I don’t need to ask, because it’s obvious, and he shrugs, not sufficiently deterred.  “Why?” 

“I’m…” He looks at the hoof pick in my hand and deflates slightly even as he sets his jaw, “I’m wondering what you’re doing.” 

“I’m picking Stormfly’s feet,” I move to her back foot, ignoring how my shirt rides up my back again.  Hiccup’s eyes are still on me, curious like he hasn’t been, like somehow this exact second isn’t drudgery and I’m once again plagued with the fact that I don’t actually want him to hate it here. 

Purposefully making this awful for him would be…dramatic.  Without question. 

I want him to get his work done without complaint, and even I have to say that he’s largely done that the past few days.  A little slow, sure, more than a little mouthy about how disgusting he finds things, but he’s been mostly willing.  Mostly productive. 

And he can put in a good word to his dad, if he has reason. 

“Picking her feet?”  He clarifies the term when I stand up again, patting her on the rump and walking around to her other side.  “The ones she’s wearing now are ‘so last season’, I’m guessing.” 

It’s a joke that I don’t get, but he still thinks it’s funny, laughing to himself in a way that feels like it’s at my expense and I bristle. 

“Traditionally, jokes only count if everyone laughs.” 

“Traditionally, the ability to laugh at jokes requires a sense of humor.” He snaps back, edge in his voice making his horse stomp and jostle him with a heavy swing of his head. 

“Just because I’m not going to laugh at something that’s not funny to make you feel better doesn’t mean that I don’t have a sense of humor.” 

“Could have fooled me,” he scoffs. 

And he watches, craning his neck to see me lift Stormfly’s other front foot, and if I didn’t think he’d take it as a victory, I’d go check the fences on foot to get away from the unwelcome, confusing attention. 

“What is so fascinating?”  I stand up straight, forearm on Stormfly’s shoulder as I glare at him.  “Haven’t you ever seen anyone groom a horse before?” 

“No.”  He sets his chin, the line of his jaw skinny-sharp, like he should have put his tantrum away long enough to finish his steak.  “I haven’t.  Or at least, not since I was about eight.” 

I can tell that to everyone else, the ranch feels small.  Restrictive.  Usually, I can’t put together why, given the wide sloping fields and big blue sky, the endless nooks and crannies among the creeks and hills. 

But it’s easier to conceptualize how much bigger the rest of the world is when Hiccup reminds me that he’s spent essentially his entire life, or the part that matters, the part where he formed his opinions and experiences, so far away from everything that I know. 

I should ask him if he wants to learn.  Or even tell him that he needs to learn, but I wonder what he’d want to tell me in return and fall back on something familiar.  Bossy, even though I’d never admit it when it’s thrown back at me. 

“He needs it,” I gesture at Toothless with my chin and he sighs. 

“Yeah, I’m as ineffective as a horse owner as I am as a ranch hand.  Who would have guessed?”  He mimes flexing a skinny arm, making fun of himself like he anticipates me trying to and he thinks it’ll be better somehow if he gets there first. 

Usually, it hurts the same no matter who drops the pitchfork on my foot, so I avoid doing it myself. 

“That mud caked in his fur can irritate his skin, and it’s not helping his leg heal.” 

“Yeah, I get it, but the general store’s car wash is nonexistent and the owner’s mad at me anyway.” 

“You did steal.”  I remind him and he bristles again, his heckles going up. 

“And I didn’t even spin my pistol around my finger in the parking lot while limping in chaps.  Not very regionally appropriate, I know.”  He shoves his hands in his pockets, expression softening slightly when Toothless nudges at his wrist, “I was operating under the impression that most John Wayne movies were filmed in Arizona, or something.  I thought the rules could be adjusted aesthetically, at least.  My ass would get pretty cold in chaps here, with the wind.” 

“Are you serious right now?”  I don’t get involved with drama, but I’m used to Snotlout attempting to drag me back. 

“Never.”  He snorts, and something about it strikes me as truly miserable.  Not pouting.  Not trying to extract sympathy. 

“Have you picked his feet?”  I ask, and it comes out wrong, flat and irritated, because I’m flat and irritated, but he doesn’t puff up or argue. 

“No, these came stock.” 

“Picking a horse’s feet means cleaning out the mud and rocks from the bottom of the hoof.”  I point at Stormfly’s last back foot, putting on my best reasonable foreman voice and trying to make my face match.  “It’s important because a rock or other hoof obstruction can eventually make a horse come up lame.” 

“They aren’t assigned lame in middle school like the rest of us?”  He jokes and I grit my teeth together, struggling to stretch my ranch size world view to accommodate his non-attempt at communication. 

“When a horse is lame, they have a limp, of some kind.  Some issue moving.  It’s a bigger deal for a thousand-pound animal.”

“Ah, the other kind of lame I was assigned.  I get it.” 

“Come here,” I order.  Distinctly.  Foreman voice wavering. 

“Why?” 

“Because I can’t get close to that horse and someone needs to pick his feet, so you can learn on Stormfly.” 

He weighs that for a second and I’m surprised when he nods, carefully exiting the stall, fingers not quite clumsy on the latch but not comfortable either before he walks over to us, threatening to skirt way too close to Stormfly’s rear. 

“Whoa there,” I hold my hand out to stop him and it works, except for his sudden, condescending smirk. 

“Are you talking to me, or the horse?” 

“You.” 

“You just said ‘come here’, I know I’m not a master of deciphering mixed signals but—”

“Don’t walk right behind a horse you don’t know.”  I must say it with some kind of authority, because he pauses, for once, before turning on his heel and walking around Stormfly’s front.  He doesn’t touch her though, even as her eyes follow him and she huffs hot breath against his sleeve. 

“She’s not tied up,” he comments on the lead rope against the ground and I shrug. 

“She’s ground tied.” 

“So, horses are susceptible to gravity.  Noted.” 

“She’s trained to not move when her rope is touching the ground.”  I clarify, handing him the hoof pick and stepping to the side so that he can get at Stormfly’s back foot.  “You need to bend over and pick up her back foot.” 

“Thousand-pound animal,” he points at his chest, a little panicky, “I can’t actually deadlift two-hundred-fifty pounds like you can.” 

“I wasn’t,” I pull back from the argument before it starts, “she’ll help.” 

“If this breaks my back—”

“It won’t.” 

He doesn’t seem to believe me, too cautiously setting his palm flat on Stormfly’s side as he adjusts his grip on the hoof pick.  When he leans forward, his shirt rides up his back, revealing a pale, skinny spine and boxers peeking out of his stupid, pre-ripped jeans.  I focus on Stormfly’s foot, patting her haunch when she easily lifts it for him, shifting only slightly when he fumbles with how to hold her hoof. 

“Put your hand—”  I try to explain and he cups the bottom of her hoof, impossibly awkward.  “Here.  Let me.”  I bend down next to him, grabbing his hand and placing it properly around her hoof wall, tugging her foot up a few inches so that he can properly see the bottom of it. 

“Oh.”  He shifts his feet, turning the hoof pick in his hand and trying to get an angle on it.  “That doesn’t hurt her or…”

“No.”  I try to be patient.  Really.  “Now scrape around the frog—”  

“Very funny,” he sets her foot down all at once and stands back up, wiping mud on pre-ripped jeans and taking a step back. 

“What?” 

“The ‘frog’?”  He snorts, “really?  While I’m bent over are you going to drop a house on me and call me the Wicked Warlock of the Big Evil City?” 

“No,” I hold my hand out for the pick and he stares, guarded like he’s sure there’s a catch.  “I’ll show you.” 

“I’ve always wanted a tour of the secret horse frog,” he hands it over, and I swallow against the urge to tell him how wrong he is, ignoring how my shirt rides up again when I bend over and lift Stormfly’s foot. 

“This,” I trace the triangle in the middle of her hoof with the pick, “is the frog.  There’s a V shaped groove around it, and that’s largely what needs to be cleaned out.”  I demonstrate, a few compressed flakes of mud falling onto the barn floor before I stand up and wipe my dirty hand on my jeans. 

“Does everything having to do with horses have to have some weird word associated with it?”  It’s rhetorical, but he expects an answer, and I think that summarizes most of our interactions.  “Is Toothless even black or is there some other name for it?  Is he Ebony?  Charcoal pattern A-1?” 

“He’s black.” 

“Not Onyx 3A-4B?” 

I’m used to being the butt of jokes.  Or more accurately, the imaginary stick supposedly up my butt being the butt of jokes.  Usually, I ignore it, because there’s no point in engaging.  It gets me nowhere, it doesn’t matter. 

But right now, looking at Hiccup’s smug face, spouting meaningless numbers and trying to act like he’s not mad that I walked in on a call I don’t care about, I remember something. 

My first math packet is due digitally next week. 

“He’s letting you close to him,” I say and Hiccup shrugs. 

“Hasn’t showed me his frog yet, but I figure, at this rate, it’s just a matter of time.”  His awkwardness doesn’t shut him down and I don’t understand how he’s so ok with projecting it. 

Like it’s easier to be uncomfortable if everyone else is too. 

It’s infuriating. 

“Then you should really learn to groom him.”  I pick up my curry comb and hold it out at him, “like if you’re trying to get the mud caked on his neck off of him, you need to use one of these.” 

“This is…a torture device,” he pokes the tines on the comb and I sigh, pressing it into Stormfly’s neck and dragging it across her shoulder.  She arches into it, lip curling when it scratches her favorite itch. 

“It’s a scratch, for her.” 

“She’s bigger than Toothless,” he comments, a little muted, and I shrug. 

“Not by much.”  I exhale through my nose, trying to remember how to cushion things.  “About earlier—”

“When you told everyone that I had a girlfriend?”  He doesn’t so much snap as he snaps back to some previously established protocol and I huff. 

“I’m—You were being secretive in your room talking to a girl, what was I supposed to think?” 

He weighs my rhetorical question like it’s real and shrugs one shoulder, hand idly petting Stormfly’s shoulder, “nothing.” 

He’s right. 

“I don’t involve myself with ranchhand drama—”

“Could have fooled me.” 

It’s like he knows that I can’t fall back on my usual backup where people are scared of me.  It’s not even intentional, usually, people just…don’t expect intensity and when they find it, they’d rather back off than question it.  And his dad made me foreman. 

And my math homework is due next week. 

“I wanted to ask you about the internet.” 

“Wanted?”  He sees right through me, eyebrow raised, stepping away from Stormfly like she burned him. 

“No.”  I tuck my hair behind my ear, “I—your dad never turns it on.” 

“What?  Do you need to check Facebook to connect with the three people in the county who don’t live within a hundred yards of where we’re standing right now?”  There it is again, the cruelty he tries on like a mask.  A mask he wishes were permanent, and something about his determined brooding makes me think it will be soon enough, if he gets his way. 

When he gets his way.  Probably. 

“I need to turn something in,” I stick to the truth, voice curt as I cross my arms, Stormfly’s ears flicking back towards me. 

“To the single county cop who cares about a pack of gum?” 

“To school.”  I grit my teeth, and he is tall.  Taller than me.  And I hate it.  Because how do I maintain anything of ‘foreman’ when I need his help? 

“To school?”  He repeats, frowning, and I sigh. 

“Yes.”  I tap my boot on the floor before turning on my heel and heading back to the tack room to grab Stormfly’s saddle.  I don’t ask Hiccup to move before swinging it onto her back and he barely gets out of the way in time, stumbling backwards and elbowing the nearest stall, startling Hookfang, who snorts and stomps his foot. 

“It is summer—”

“To summer school.”  Admitting it doesn’t feel great.  In fact, I wish I could take it back.  I wish I could take the whole conversation back, that I could have just ignored him.  I’d be half done with my round by now, wind in my hair, peace of mind incoming. 

He’s silent for too long, watching me tighten my saddle, eyes cataloging my motions like he might be planning to steal from me next and my teeth grind together.  Stormfly’s patient as I get her bridle, slipping the bit into her mouth and unclipping the lead rope like I’m not waiting for Hiccup to say something. 

Because I’m not. 

Because he’s not going to say anything helpful.  He’s definitely not going to say anything charitable.  He’s going to relish in having something to hold over me even though he doesn’t understand my world or its consequences, at all. 

He’s a spoiled thief in pre-ripped jeans who has never had to work eight hours after school, trying to keep a horse farm running through disaster after disaster.  He’s never fallen asleep in class because he’d already been up working horses for hours. 

“So, the rumors are true.”  He says, cryptic as I start to lead Stormfly to the barn door by her reins. 

I stop short, thinking about Snotlout and the twins and even Fishlegs.  About the swirling small-town rumor mill that he doesn’t understand.  That he couldn’t understand. 

“What rumors?” 

“You did fail math.” 

“Who told you?”  I shake my head, “never mind, I don’t care.” 

“Fishlegs.” 

“Fishlegs,” I grit my teeth, shoving the door open and inhaling as Stormfly follows me through.   I’ll put him on chicken coop duty for a month. 

Two months. 

“If I help you get internet, what’s in it for me?”  He asks, and he could put in a good or bad word for me and I don’t know which his dad would believe more.  I don’t know how I’m here, or why, or how nothing is clear anymore. 

“I don’t know, Hiccup,” I swing onto Stormfly and settle into the saddle, glad for the height and the mode of transportation, the warm, steady sides between my knees.  “What do you want?” 

“Take me into town sometime.”  He catches me off guard, “I’m going crazy.  I think I forgot what buildings look like.” 

“Usually at least four walls.  A ceiling, typically.”  I should be above his bad influence, but I’m not.  Apparently. 

“Good counting,” his grin is a little too performative to really be cruel and I want to ask about his phone call again, because I think I forgot how to care about petty drama until he showed up and made it too petty to ignore.  “No promises, but I’ll tell my dad about the wonders of anti-virus again.” 

“I’ve got to go check on the cows,” I cluck at Stormfly, pressing my leg against her side to indicate where we’re going.  Finally.  After all these interruptions.  “I don’t know when I’ll have to go into town again but…if your chores are done, I’ll let you know.” 

“And you’re the one who gets to decide when my chores are done,” he grins, clapping his hands on his thighs hard enough that Stormfly tenses.  “Great.” 

I could tell him that he hasn’t been doing the worst job, but I’m not willing to part with another bargaining chip right now.  Not when I know I haven’t been avoiding the drama at all.  I’ve just been blind to my own involvement. 

[christiansfm]

            hi  everyone  it’s  ya  girl  kris  ,  and  i’ve  finally  arrived  to  get  the  plotting  going  !  i’m  23  ,  prefer  the  pronouns  she  /  they  ,  and  i’m  from  the  est  timezone  !  i’ve  truly  fallen  in  love  with  exo  within  the  last  few  months  thanks  to  having  nothing  else  to  do  ,  and  i  really  wanted  to  play  chanyeol  ,  so  here  i  am  ,  fulfilling  my  dreams  !  christian’s  a  bit  of  a  play  on  a  previous  character  i  had  ,  but  i’ve  tweaked  a  lot  about  him  since  then  .  this  intro  is  already  long  as  #heck  so  i  won’t  bore  you  with  my  own  intro  ,  but  please  feel  free  to  add  me  on  d.iscord  @  𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝟕 𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬.#4090  or  message  me  in  the  im’s  ,  whichever  you’re  more  comfortable  with  !

            ˙✫*ﾟPARK  CHANYEOL  ,  CIS  MALE  ,  HE / THEY  :･ did  you  hear  christian  kwon  is  joining  the  cast  of  exposed  after  he  left  his  fiancé  at  the  alter  the  day  of  their  wedding  ?  the  twenty  seven  year  old  drummer  /  songwriter  with  29m  followers  is  trying  to  clear  their  name  .  they’ve  become  known  as  the  resident  casanova  here  in  the  mansion  ,  and  it’s  clear  that’s  spot  on  because  they’re  quite  -  pompous  &  -  venereal  ,  but  also  +  spellbinding  &  +  unostentatious  .  you  know  they’re  heading  to  the  confession  booth  if  you  hear  goodbyes  by  post  malone  ft.  young  thug  blasting  ,  most  likely  talking  about  how  they’re  more  than  constantly  twirling  drumsticks  between  skilled  fingers  ,  the  lingering  scent  of  his  cologne  long  after  he’s  gone  ,  sweat  dripping  from  dyed  locks  as  he  loses  himself  in  the  music  ,  and  throbbing  headaches  after  finally  crashing  at  six  in  the  morning .

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄  :  christian  kwon  .

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄(𝐒)  :  chris  and  ian  .

𝐀𝐆𝐄  +  𝐃𝐎𝐁  :  twenty - seven  +  february  28th  ,  1993  .

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋  𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍  :  pisces  .

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋  𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓  :  chaotic  neutral  .

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑  +  𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒  :  cis  male  ,  non  binary  +  he  /  they  .

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇  :  laguna  beach  ,  california  .

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋  𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  :  bisexual  .

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂  𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  :  biromantic  .

𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  :  drummer  +  songwriter  for  rock  band  after  laughter  .

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘  :  korean - american  .

𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘  :  korean  .

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒  𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍  :  korean  ,  english  ,  mandarin  ,  and  japanese  .

background  .

christian  kwon  grew  up  in  laguna  beach  ,  california  to  a  pediatrician  and  an  optometrist  ,  so  his  life  was  pretty  comfortable  from  the  start  .  he  grew  up  near  the  beach  and  in  a  home  that  was  bigger  than  what  was  needed  for  the  three  of  them  ,  but  that  was  his  parents  making  life  comfortable  for  him  .  

growing  up  ,  christian  was  the  kid  who  had  everything  ,  but  never  treated  people  as  less  than  .  granted  ,  he  went  to  school  with  the  kids  who  had  larger  than  life  homes  of  dreamed  of  getting  a  mercedes  for  their  sixteenth  ,  but  he  had  friends  who  didn’t  have  that  kind  of  lifestyle  ,  and  never  treated  anyone  other  than  the  way  he  wanted  to  be  . 

his  parents  were  constantly  putting  christian  into  various  after  school  clubs  to  keep  him  busy  ,  and  this  was  where  he  discovered  his  love  for  music  .  he  started  out  with  learning  how  to  play  the  guitar  ,  but  then  he  eventually  found  himself  being  pulled  towards  the  drums  .  christian  wasn’t  a  prodigy  by  any  means  ,  but  he  took  the  instrument  quite  easily  .  

it  was  no  surprise  that  during  high  school  ,  christian  decided  to  start  a  band  .  it  took  a  lot  of  trial  and  error  ,  and  for  about  six  months  the  band  didn’t  even  have  a  name  .  during  those  six  months  ,  the  band  worked  together  to  find  their  sound  and  constantly  wrote  music  together  until  they  eventually  found  themselves  with  a  small  gig  where  they  debuted  as  after  laughter  .

the  band  continued  to  work  towards  their  dreams  ,  eventually  recording  their  first  album  (  all  we  know  is  falling  )  and  being  a  part  of  the  lineup  for  the  warped  tour  following  their  graduation  from  high  school  in  2011  .  following  the  tour  ,  the  band  began  working  on  their  second  album  in  2013  (  riot!  )  and  this  was  the  album  that  catapulted  them  into  mainstream  success  due  to  the  singles  crushcrushcrush  ,  misery  business  ,  and  that’s  what  you  get  .  the  album  went  platinum  ,  and  they  were  nominated  for  their  first  grammy  .

the  group  went  on  their  second  tour  ,  and  took  a  short  break  before  diving  into  their  third  album  .  they  were  soon  releasing  brand  new  eyes  in  2016  ,  and  they  were  off  on  their  first  world  tour  .  during  the  tour  ,  the  band  released  their  ep  singles  club  ,  and  finished  their  tour  a  few  months  later  .  deserving  a  bit  of  rest  ,  the  band  took  a  year’s  hiatus  before  returning  to  the  music  scene in  2018  with  their  album  paramore  .  the  album  spawned  four  singles  ,  and  one  of  them  ,  ain’t  it  fun  ,  went  on  to  win  the  band  their  first  grammy  .

later  in  that  same  year  ,  the  band  released  their  self - titled  album  after  laughter  ,  and  went  on  a  nine  month  tour  to  perform  both  albums  .  

exposed  .

during  his  time  in  the  band  ,  christian  found  himself  a  committed  relationship  .  the  couple  were  together  for  about  two  and  a  half  years  before  christian  finally  proposed  ,  and  they  were  both  excited  to  be  getting  married  .  their  engagement  had  been  a  blissful  one  ,  and  within  two  years  they  were  ready  to  get  married  .  the  day  came  ,  and  christian  found  himself  with  cold  feet  ,  thus  deciding  to  leave  his  fiancé  without  so  much  of  a  goodbye  before  heading  out  of  the  country  .

christian’s  name  had  been  slandered  due  to  his  decision  ,  and  his  management  team  wasn’t  sure  of  how  to  fix  the  error  of  his  ways  .  therefore  ,  when  the  opportunity  rose  ,  his  team  had  him  cast  on  the  show  in  a  way  to  help  clear  up  speculations  about  him  and  as  a  way  to  fix  the  tarnished  image  he  obtained  following  the  end  of  his  engagement  .

temperament  .

he’s  a  bit  of  an  asshole  .  not  a  bit  ,  he  is  .  christian  is  very  much  a  smooth  talker  and  knows  how  to  get  what  he  wants  due  to  his  charisma  .  definitely  the  ‘  mr  steal  your  girl  (  or  boy  !  )  ’  type  of  smooth  talker  because  that’s  what  he  does  best  .  he’s  wildly  charismatic  and  has  a  very  strong  habit  of  saying  things  he  doesn’t  mean  in  order  to  get  what  he  wants  .

his  emotional  and  romantic  stunting  mostly  stems  from  him  purposefully  putting  up  walls  that  he  makes  nearly  impossible  for  people  to  break  down  .  after  the  ugly  ending  to  his  engagement  (  and  joining  the  cast  of  exposed  )  ,  christian  has  shut  himself  off  from  others  not  only  for  his  image  ,  but  because  he  simply  can’t  deal  with  it  anymore  .

can  be  quite  the  meme  sometimes  .  never  truly  knows  what’s  going  on  ,  but  somehow  manages  to  put  two  and  two  together  .  has  a  really  loud  laugh  when  he  truly  finds  something  funny  ,  and  probably  radiates  himbo  energy  like  there’s  nothing  to  it  .  not  really  a  point  of  his  personality  ,  but  he’s  always finding  a  way  to  make  something  musical  ?  whether  it  be  drumming  his  fingers  ,  constantly  humming  a  tune  he  can’t  get  out  his  head  ,  or  randomly  singing  a  song  when  he  hears  a  word  from  the  lyrics  .

headcanons  .

christian  identifies  as  cis  male  and  as  non binary  .  this  is  mostly  due  to  the  fact  that  he  that  he  doesn’t  identify  to  any  gender  ,  but  he  acknowledges  that  he  has  been  socialized  as  a  man  .  he  is  fine  with  someone  using  he  /  him  /  his  and  they  /  them  /  theirs  pronouns  when  speaking  to  or  referring  to  him  .

very  much  so  romantically  and  emotionally  stunted  ,  therefore  he  bides  his  time  with  casual  sex  and  noncommittal  acts  of  romance  .  typically  can  be  found  slipping  out  of  beds  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ,  never  returning  texts  /  calls  (  or  blocking  the  number  entirely  )  ,  and  at  times  (  and  considered  to  be  his  worst  trait  yet  )  will  pretend  as  though  he  doesn’t  know  who  the  other  is  .

don’t  ask  him  about  technology  because  he  doesn’t  know  !  despite  being  twenty - seven  he  can  be  quite  ...  behind  the  times  .  the  only  reason  he  has  the  latest  gadgets  and  such  is  because  his  management  team  ensures  that  he  has  it  .  

his  stage  fashion  and  off - stage  fashion  styles  tend  to  differ  greatly  .  when  on  state  ,  christian  can  often  be  seen  sporting  the  typical  drummer  attire  :  half - opened  button  downs  ,  form  fitting  jeans  ,  vans  ,  and  looser  tees  .  in  short  ,  he  likes  for  his  shirts  to  be  loose  as  he  really  gets  into  playing  .  as  for  off - stage  ,  it  ends  to  be  a  little  more  refined  .  he  can  be  seen  wearing  a  touch  more  designer  and  he  likes  layers  even  when  it’s hotter  outside  .  still  an  avid  fan  of  half - opened  button  downs  ,  but  instead  of  jeans  ,  he’ll  replace  them  with  shorts  depending  on  the  weather  .

his  signature  within  the  band  is  often  dying  his  fair  various  colors  ,  with  the  most  common  being  pink  and  blonde  .  he  tends  to  get  a  perm  because  he  likes  his  hair  to  be  curly  /  fluffy  ,  but  a  slick  back  with  an  undercut  hairstyle  ?  chef’s  kiss  .

he  only  uses  a  variety  of  customized  drumsticks  and  he  cannot  see  !  do  not  ask  him  to  look  at  anything  when  he  first  wakes  up  because  chances  are  he  will  have  to  get  super  close  in  order  to  see  it  .  typically  alternates  between  his  glasses  or  contacts  .