SgtEasy

Post Your Pikcha

Old picture but I'm new to this XD. Hope I'm not too fugly

Fugly Bugly

💕What Happens in Vegas...💕

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"Ooh I want the time of my life
Oh baby
Ooh give me the time of my life
Let's get it now"
- Pitbull

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Chloe. Damn was his brother lucky, she was one of the nicest girls in the cheerleading squad during high school and dare he say one of the prettiest. He was happy for his brother, truly. There was no better choice for him and all that happiness in his eyes ever since Dom was with her officially, it was enough to break his heart. If he had emotions. No, no, no, this was Jean-Jacques we're talking about here, he was stone, built like a brick. He didn't have emotions, he had a heart of ice like that Narnia chick. Yes. He didn't cry happy tears when he heard of his brother's engagement. Stupid onions. 'Jesus Mary and Joseph, please help my mind. I'm having an inner monologue.' He thought in a smooth flow of French, a constant stream of language that connected to each other better than what any English sentence could.

French was a beautiful language but African French could almost be called a "bastardisation" of it by some hardcore linguists. When France came and conquered his homeland, they couldn't get rid of the local culture completely and so when French was implemented as Cote D'Ivoire's official language, pronunciation was off. Influence from languages spoken since the time the indigenous peoples first arrived made sure of it. The vowels sounded stronger than they would and powerful consonants would be emphasised on more than what the father language would emphasise. But instead of bastardising the language, this mix of old, traditional indigenous language and colonial French is something different. When Ivorians speak in their tongue, they are speaking their country's history and culture, culminating in a valley of words.

And thus, when Chloe spoke in perfect Western French, it took a few cogs in his head to run to figure out what she said. As she pulled him into a hug, he nodded quietly, knowing that she knew enough that it was his equivalent of a smile. "I could say the same to you, ma belle soeur en droit d'être!" He whispered quietly into her ear, a quiet wisp of a sentence that swirled into her ear like aroma to the nose. He squeezed her in the hug, letting himself break his steel exterior for a moment before breaking the hug, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He winked at her, his eyes twinkling gold as he was handed his gift, bowing slightly in thanks.

"It's no problem Chloe, I don't have any problems with ya givin' me this for a gift. Thank ya." He spoke with an accent, Jean did. A weird mix of French undertones and American accents paired with influence from the RnB he grew up listening to. It made him sound "fresh off the boat" sometimes but it was unique to the ear. It was certainly attractive to some however.

Speaking of attractive, he noticed a familiar face, this beauty walked through the line, apologising for being late. He reached out for her to talk but clenched his fist instead, opting for checking his bag instead. He knew and trusted Tish more than most but he could not explain why. She was the brush to his canvas and she has seen all the scars, the bruises and the burns. Most importantly, she knew what each tattoo meant. A M1911 handgun with a bullet escaping from the barrel. The pistol itself was black with a vibrant blue aura around it, surrounding it before seeping into the black weapon itself, the deep blue turning colder and colder until it was only a faint white against the black. The bullet was a wild red, like flames in a fire, uncontrollable and crazy. This represented what he felt. What he felt when he saw his first death, a cool exterior with a crazy, spectacular and maddening explosion of emotions in the inside, wanting to burst out. He still remembered the way blood felt against the skin, the sharp sound that a gun could make. "Inoubliable". Unforgettable. It was positioned on his lower back, on the left hand side, next to the Cage. She took care with making that one, as she did with all of his tattoos.

He usually decided to take control of the situation and be there in the moment, talking and laughing with the others. But for now, he didn't really feel like doing anything. Instead, he stood with grace, chest puffed out as always. He was willing to keep to himself for now, humming quietly in the corner and letting the couple in front of him welcome others into the group. And throughout all of this time of course, he was still shirtless.

It was definitely eye-catching, the rippling muscles and powerful tattoos stood out amongst a clothed crowd. Luckily, not many noticed the painful scars and burns. He stood taller than most and he looked as if he was a silent guardian, looking over the group with a keen eye. They were sharp and obvious, his eyes were. There was the light green, beautiful pattern he was born with there wasn't a single flaw. The eyes were a window to the soul and this was 100% the case with Jean. You would see his burning soul, a passionate confidence that shined brighter than a million stars. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be the only thing they would see.

He was snapped from his stupor by the sound of River giving his jacket to him. Shit. he grumpily took the jacket and swung it onto him, making sure to cover his bare chest. He had forgotten, again. He had done this before, when he had come to the gym without a shirt. And this particular gym had a rule of "no shirt: no entrance" so he was damn lucky that someone had a shirt to lend him. He agitatedly mumbled a thanks in French. As basically the whole group arrived, he was starting to pick up his bags and leave but he was stopped in his tracks by a sight he didn't expect to ever see again.

He may have been stupid in expecting that. She was a close friend to Dom and Chloe, of course she'd be coming with them. This fact did not lessen his surprise to see her there. After she said hi to everyone and said their greetings, she turned to him and their eyes met. He missed her. He shouldn't. This was a love long past it's prime and they both agreed it could never work. He had a fledgling rugby career and she had an aspiring teaching career. Too much work and not enough time. But Jean-Jacques did not care right then and there. He didn't want to do anything else, consequences be damned. Making sure no one was looking, he confidently strode towards her and used his big arms to encircle her in a big hug, making sure not to crush her. It was a gentle touch and as he leaned down to her ear, he whispered only three words.

"Bonjour jolie dame." He was confident she would recognise them. Them being the first words and all. He quickly pulled away and winked at her, a small twinkle in his eyes before enjoying some light talk with her. Soon enough, the whole group entered the plane and into the lavish lifestyle of first class. He was happy to sit next to Tish, she was one of the few people who actually knew him as a person in the whole group. He was amused through the trip at their antics although most things flew over his head as he was listening to the rhythms and rhymes. Halfway through one of his favourite DMX songs, he felt something thud against his muscly shoulder. Raising an eyebrow, he looked down only to see the proportionally tiny Tish resting her head on his shoulder. He smirked as he heard her snore lightly, the cute sound being absolutely adorable to him.

He made sure not to move for the rest of the flight as to not disturb the (not necessarily unwanted) sleeping form by his side. Jean carefully put a blanket over her and straightened his back, hearing the pops in his back as it curved. It was comfortable and reminded him of the old days when Dom used to come to him for help. His younger brother used to cuddle next to him when he was ever bullied at school and quite frequently, said bullies would be seen beaten to a pulp the next day. He used to be so open to him but now he had a wider support group, his younger brother rarely came to him anymore. Anything that could replicate this was welcomed by him and so when the bell chimed and Tish woke up, he had a small frown.

"Don't worry 'bout it madame. I liked it a lot actually, you are, as always, good company." He responded, quickly suppressing the frown and plastering a smile on his face. As they descended and the plane landed, the group quickly exited the plane and it wasn't long before they got into more antics.

"I fuckin' swear guys, y'all just landed and ya wanna play around already?" He said with a smirk, clutching his rugby ball in hand before dropping it on his foot, giving it a light kick and popping it back into his arms. As River brought out his piece of "art", he grinned unnervingly at him before quickly chucking his rugby ball at the side of his face. Missing, the ball bounced on the wall and flew back into his outstretched arm. His face was set in a serious expression although the quirk on his lips told people otherwise.

"Ya better give that to me River or I'll hold you down and let Tish here tattoo a pénis on your forehead."

The Family Thread (FAM, FAM ONLY)

THE OTHER SHIPPER IS HERE, AFTER A LONG ABSENCE XD

💕What Happens in Vegas...💕

I hurried through my post cause I have a serious exam coming up next week. Sorry for the low quality and quantity guys. And yes.

Jean forgot a shirt. Don't question it.

💕What Happens in Vegas...💕

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"Good time ay, come have a good time."
-Popcaan

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@Dirty Pretty Lies @Altered Tundra [@SilentObserver]

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The bird pecked against the window, gazing at the sleeping form of Jean-Jacques. It was a still morning, not many people were up and it was as peaceful as it should be. There was still the sound of cars zooming by and the occasional chattering voices of people made itself heard. Miami was still bright as a torch in the morning and sunlight crept into the room, annoying it's occupant greatly as he put the covers over his head, groaning in annoyance. The sore muscles from yesterday's training hasn't faded away and it worked away at him, making the half-French/half-Ivoirian male sleep in way more than he usually did. Must've been his forgetfulness to set his alarm clock earlier for his weights session. The loud, phat beats of Desiigner's Panda blasted in his ear, the sound piercing through the silence of his apartment.

"I got broads in Atlanta!" Light green eyes flew open as Desiigner almost tore his eardrums apart. He jolted up suddenly, covers flying off of him as he clumsy lunged for the pause button. Unfortunately, the bruise on the right side made him wince in pain and bend his body in the wrong way. Instead, he missed his bedside table and came crashing to the floor, tumbling to the ground with a loud crash, the carpet saving him from any sort of scrapes but still earned him a grunt. "Bitch n**** pull up ya panty" The Ivoirian bit his lip and pointed the middle finger at the alarm from the ground and grumbled, getting up with a hand on his back, slamming down on his 'stupid' alarm clock. He bent backwards, earning him a few cracks and pops before he stretched his arms above his head, yawning.

He turned towards the clock and stared at the numbers on the screen. 6:30 am. The fuck? He thought he put the clock on the right setting. He usually went to the gym as early as possible to build muscle before starting his day. He groaned quietly. Yvonne was going to kill him the next time he sees her. His trainer seemed like your typical blonde cutie, puffed up lips, blonde hair and blue eyes. If he wasn't professional, he would've tried to ask her out. But behind those cerulean laid a demon that could make grown men cry, behind those lips holds a voice like a banshee and behind that blonde hair was... a scalp. He shook his head and blew the thoughts away.

He scratched the back of his head, straightening his back and went on to doing his usual routine. Wash his face, clean himself, eat some protein heavy breakfast and then move to the punching bag to do some morning boxing. His fists met the bag with a solid hit, a big thumping sound resonating in his ears, sweat dripping from his forehead. Every hit was powerful, his arms like a piston, fists curled tight as the bag shook behind every punch. He wiped the bead of sweat from his brow and peered at the clock once more. 7:00 am.

What was I supposed to do again? He stared at the clock for a considerable long time until it hit ten past seven. His widened and he cursed in French "Motherfucking shit fuck in the dick!" Dry up, put some pants on, grab his bags, passports and then hit the road. He hurried through his house with a quickness in each step, stepping over forgotten clothes and furniture. He crashed into his room, grabbed a pair of sweatpants and shoes, forgetting the socks along the way. He slung his backpack on one shoulder, grabbing his luggage and putting his rugby ball under one arm. He kicked his front door, swinging it open and closing it with one movement, the clicking sound of a door locking smothered by the sound of hurried steps on cement steps.

Once he got everything in his car. The beginnings of a traffic jam was forming on the road and so he sped quickly through the road, flipping the bird at people who cut him off and shouting in French curse words. He was the farthest away from the airport out of everyone and so he was held back for an age. Sweat began to form on his brow as he focused on the road, Jean peering as a droplet hit his bare, naked chest. His eyes widened. He finally arrived.

After a brief altercation at the gates, a TSA lady staring at him with a weird look and several heads spinning towards him, he arrived first at 10:am exactly, to see the couple standing around with Tish. He smiled at them with wide arms, muscles rippling, tattoos covering every inch of him, half-naked and totally oblivious. He called out with a smile "Bonjour!"

💕What Happens in Vegas...💕

Jean-Jacques

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"I can do all things through Him who strengthens me."
—Philippians 4:13
Rock You | Good Times | Lose Yourself

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Name

Jean-Jacques Adebesi Wells

| Age |

28

| Gender |

Male

| Occupation |

Rugby Player, former Football Player

| Sexuality |

Heterosexual

| Relationship Status |

Single Pringle (unless someone wants to discuss)

| Education Level |

Some College

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| Appearance |

Masculine with not even the faintest hint of femininity, Jean prides himself on his manly appearance. Standing at a tall 6"4, weighing in around over 220 lbs of muscle and a whole heap of chocolate goodness, his previous love for football and now rugby definitely shows in his appearance. The definition on his muscles are almost absolutely ridiculous, a six pack bordering on an eight pack. He's an absolute giant of a man, big shoulders, big arms, big chest and big legs. Some say that the only thing he's lacking is a big beard which he can't grow for the life of him. All he wanted was to braid his beard, instead he has to wait years to even grow a stubble. Does it have to be that hard? His stance and posture is one of confidence, head high and his walk is long and purposeful. Almost like he always has to go somewhere, some place to be. His back is straight and his chest is instinctively puffed out.

His eyes are first class, as Yessenia would say. "An eyes are a window to your soul" except in this case the window is made out of green diamonds, the house is made of gold and the soul is on fire. They are of the lightest green, almost bordering on white. In the torching summer sun or in the bright lights of the city, you can make out golden flecks in his eyes, shining through the lightest green. In the height of winter, his eyes turn into a very light bluish green, almost reflecting his mood in the season. No matter what however, they are always on fire. A wilful, strong soul is behind those eyes, predatory and to the wrong person, dangerous. They can be scary, ruthless and animal-like, staring at your soul like they want to tear you apart. To the right person, they are warm. Golden almost always. They give comfort, their confidence in themselves and in you is like a constant warm hug. They exude an underlying sense of wanderlust and adventure but have a loneliness to them. If you look hard enough, you will see a cold blue in them. A sadness. A crazed look. One of depression, of loneliness... and of forgetfulness?

He has a sturdy, rock solid jaw and thick eyebrows, he has a lot going for him. Jean has a faint scar on the upper right of his bottom lip from when he busted it in a tackle. Two scars, one deep and one shallow, right next to the kidneys from when he was still in Cote D'ivoire, slash marks from a territorial fight of old. Another scar appears across the side of the neck, just stopping before the throat. This and many other scars bore his body, one scar right under his ear from a man trying to tackle him, another crossed against his knee caps. Each one tells an adventure, a story.

His tattoos mark his history, every game, every fight, every tackle, every try... His tattoos speak a tale, 28 years long, continuing until the day he dies. Some may say it's obsessive but he believes in stories and that the skin is the best canvas to tell them on. However, there are three significant tattoos. His first ever tattoo is one he wears with pride, the wings of an angel displayed proudly on his upper torso with the word "Béni" on it, the French word for "blessed". He isn't a religious nut but he is a miracle believer and that faith chose him to be lucky enough to survive the damn ghetto and find a loving, albeit broken, family in a new country.

His next tattoo actually runs from both of his arms to his upper back. A serpent-like, thorny vine winding up his arms in a double helix around them, blood drawn from each thorn. The two pairs of vines go around behind the shoulder and splits to form a rectangle spanning form both shoulder blades. Etched in the middle are the words "lla loyauté, honneur, le respect". Loyalty, honour, respect. The three core values that he believes in. Every thorn prickling the skin is a sign of every struggle he had to go through to get where he is, each thorn weighing him down. Each vine represents his four fears. Black to represent failure, paired with a yellow vine to represent anxiety. On his left arm, a red vine to represent breakdowns and a blue vine to represent emotions. Each one he fears, each one he hates. Three are concepts and one is linked to them so therefore, in his eyes, they are unacceptable to be defeated by.

The third tattoo is of a heart. Not as manly as the others and he actively tries to hide it but it is placed right under his first tattoo, on the right hand side. A heart trapped in a cage, ball and chain, alone. This was latest tattoo he's been given and the one most relevant to his situation. The significance of all of these tattoos are only known by the artist himself, Tish. She is the only one that knows how he feels, how he expresses emotion through ink, how he has his mouth shut even though he wants to say so much, so loudly. She sees the struggle, she sees the pain and most importantly, she sees the condition. He uses these tattoos to tell his tale, to leave a message even when he is long dead. To leave at least a small mark on the world despite his failures.

Jean is not much for taking care of himself in terms of clothing. His fashion is varied. Some may say that the snapbacks, Jordan's, Van's, graphic t-shirts and jeans labels him as "Typical Millenial". While other may say that his additional love of sweatpants, hoodies and comfort clothes may speak volumes about his personality. He carries around a signed rugby ball by a famous former All Black, Richie McCaw from when he was touring New Zealand with his coach. He kicks it around, tosses it about but never does he drop it nor let anyone touch it. To him, it is like a holy grail. But to most, no matter what he wears, the scars he bears and tattoos he shows with pride, he's just a jock.

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Habits | Quirks | Oddities

• Clicks his tongue whenever he's angry
• Switches from English to French and to Dyula at seemingly random times
• His hands shake and eyes narrow when he sees knives
• Makes a little jolt whenever fireworks or loud bangs go off
• Is strangely suspicious of Apple products
• Carries around a rugby ball everywhere like a baby except he tosses it around

Hobbies:

• Rugby
• American Football
• Learning languages
• Baking Pig Cupcakes

Likes:

• Strength
• The Gym
• Weights
• His team
• His brother
• His squad
• His Jazzy
• Showing off
• Slang
• Social Media
• Sports
• Being independent
• RnB

Dislikes:

• Disrespect
• Cowards
• Femininity (in himself)
• The condition
• Losing
• Past choices
• His father
• Loneliness
• Water

Fears:

• Failure
• Anxiety
• Breakdowns
• Emotions

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Personality

♦ Assertive ♦ Machismo ♦ Courageous ♦ Restrictive ♦ Respectful ♦ Loner ♦

Jean is supposedly, at least he wants to think, an image of masculinity. He is assertive, he likes getting things done on his own but appreciates when people want to help him but politely refuses. He needs to get what he wants and is confident in himself enough that he believes that he could do anything if he tried hard. Relentless in competition and approaches tasks with ruthless and brutal efficiency, he can scare weaker men with how he focuses on the field. Never say that this man isn't strong in mind and has one of the fiercest will in the world, his mother would say. This confidence in self may seem unattractive to some and his refusal to believe in defeat is both attractive and ugly at the same time. He can also seem hard headed and stubborn at times. This almost religious following of the "rules of masculinity" almost always borders on machismo. He can seem traditional and conservative in the way he acts and his personality but does it in a modern way. He treads a line between normal and excessive. But despite these faults, he is known to be respectful. To have strength, you must also respect those who have more than you.

His hate of weakness is an extension of his fear of emotions and it originates from the first six years of his life. Show toughness, show strength, show power and you will live in the ghetto. As an orphan, these were the most important qualities to have otherwise you were as good as dead. Show weakness, show emotions, show sadness of all things? You will be viewed as weak and quickly stomped out. You must have willpower. You must have this willingness in your heart to do anything and everything to survive. Put your mind in shutdown, build your walls high, lie when you can and keep your head high. Make a mask so thick you will not even recognise yourself and forget who you are, keep yourself as unrecognisable as possible to provide a mental wall from the pain. Every lie is a shield but this type of mentality does a lot to fuck you up. To a religious man, every falsehood, every red herring is just a burden to his soul but he can't seem to shake it. A limb of the mind cannot be severed so easily.

By all means, Jean isn't a religious nut. He doesn't preach in the streets, he doesn't have homophobia, he is t against contraception, gay marriage and things like that. He isn't against other religions nor the absence of one. He doesn't believe that pre-marital sex is bad, just as long you truly care for who you are making love with. "As long as I love her, why would He care?" He generally stays off the topic of religion. He has faith however. He has belief. He believes in miracles, he believes in the Ten Commandments, he believes in Him. He doesn't walk around like billboard shouting out "Y'all need Jesus!" He's politely going to church when he can. This is the only aspect of Jean that is so different from the rest. More reserved, calmer, a little more peaceful. But he does have dark places which is why he goes to church so much.

Since his birth Jean has, and always will be, lonely. No matter what anyone says, even the vows on a wedding day couldn't shake his thought of impending loneliness. This is for a number of reasons, one of which is the fact that he doesn't know who he is. However, he is certain that it isn't the confident hard ass he and his friends portray him as. Growing up an orphan and then violently being shoved into a family also creates a lot visible and invisible lines between him and the Wells. He knew that his father didn't love him, no matter what his mother said. This was all a marketing stunt, he wasn't a child of love. He was a child of money and profit. Also, the culture shock alone of transferring for a ghetto in the Ivory Coast to a happy home in America is mind numbing. He has built so many walls to restrict who he is that he feels lonely when people care for him. One lone person in this world knows him, and that's his baby brother.

| History |

Cote D'Ivoire. The Ivory Coast in West Africa. The birth place of Jean-Jacques and one of the biggest trials of his life. Some would say he was fortunate to be born in such a stable place in Africa (at least when he was born) and that he wasn't caught up in a country with civil unrest, violence and absolute chaos. The Ivory Coast has one of the largest GDP's in Africa and it is significant in trading to the landlocked countries surrounding it to provide resources. It is the former home of many civilisations before the colonial period and has a rich history and culture. As a former French colony, the main language is a form of African French and it remains close ties with both it's neighbours and the West, particularly France. It was an economic powerhouse during the '60s and '70s but experienced political and social turmoil during the '80s, all of this under the reign of Felix Houphouët-Boigny. Unfortunately for Jean, this was when he was introduced to the planet.

He was born in the large city of Abidjan, a growing urban centre for population and economy. Unfortunately, every city has a dark side and therefore dark people. His biological parents were on the lower side of the economic scale and greatly suffered because of it. Living in the vilest ghetto in town, crime sprees weren't all that uncommon and people turned a blind eye towards killings. His father was a drunkard, constantly going from bar to bar asking for more alcohol. He was never there for his wife and when he was home, he was aggressive. Violent. Crazy. His mother was French, a poor former-nun who came into the wrong city at the wrong time. During the social turmoil of the '80s, some crimes were left in the air, crimes such as rape. Victims were forced to either abort their babies or raise them. His mother was a kind woman, would never hurt a fly really. Absolutely gorgeous woman, with soft eyes and caring touch. If you were looking from afar, you wouldn't notice the ugly scar running down across her right eye and the sad, mute look that dons that beautiful woman.

If Jean could remember his first four years, it would be filled with confusing and contradicting emotions. He would remember happiness and warmth from his mother, crying over his infant body with that pretty smile of hers. He would remember the love he felt when she sung him a lullaby to keep him asleep, her angelic voice filling his near-deaf ears, piercing through the confusing sounds of the outside world. He would remember her selflessness, curling up to him when his father was it his maddest. He would remember the comfort he felt in her arms. He would never forget the love that went away as she passed, blood spilling from her throat, his father crying over her dead body, bloody knife in hand. But, alas, he was a child, a newborn at that. He would only remember the hate and fear he felt from his father.

He was never there for him, his father. He left him at an orphanage and probably died in some hole. As a small boy, being left alone meant that you had to act strong, even in an orphanage. At the age of 5, he wasn't supposed to be recruited into a local gang. He wasn't supposed to lose his childhood so soon. He wasn't supposed to feel blood on his hands, hearing someone's skull cracking as the sound of a gunshot rings in your ear, the irony taste of crimson liquid on your tongue. It was a violent life but he had a simple job. He was already pretty big by this age and could go toe-to-toe with the big kids. His job was to follow the big kids as they walk around the ghetto, establishing territory and roughing up the homeless to get on their side, vandalising homes and telling the other gangs to back off. He always held his head high, unflinching eyes staring at the weak as they cower before him. He believed in the survival of the fittest, the strong over the weak, hate over love, strife over peace.

He always assumed that he wouldn't be adopted. Why would he? He was a hood rat, a thug and he was a halfie. No one liked halfies. Everyone knew his father was a drunkard and the people of the orphanage hated him for sneaking out at night, engaging in criminal activity. So when a sweaty, puffing, sunglass wearing American barged through the door looking for a kid, he didn't think anything about it and continued sharpening his pencil in the corner. But when he heard a sweet voice call out in a strange language, kind, strong willed, passionate but also... familiar. Like a wave of relief washed over him, a small warmth trickling into his heart. His eyes softened, muscles relaxed and pain he didn't even notice was there faded away.

Jean's eyes went shut and he went cold again. Everything was shoved into a cage, taunting voices, moving shadows. But there was still a buzz, a warmth. A crack in his armour, a lullaby faint but so clear in his head. They piqued his interest and so he started walking confidently towards them. Each step became heavier and heavier, each heavy breath was a struggle. He was getting nervous, an experience that felt unnatural to him. It was strange, it was like you were not in control of your own body. He finally got to the woman, he assumed to be the man's wife, and spoke in his slang-ridden Africa French. "Who the fuck are you?" His fingers were callous, muscles taut, a man's eyes in a boy's body. Yesenia widened her eyes before she smiled sadly at the sight. Such a young boy having gone through so much, with those eyes, with that face... He would be a perfect older brother. She knelt down and pulled him into a hug, ignoring his shocked face, whispering softly in his ear "You are no longer alone." He melted.

The paperwork and the meetings were hell. The orphanage wanted to get rid of him, the arrogant pest who corrupts but they wanted to make sure that the Wells knew what they were going to do. They were going to adopt a troublemaker, one known for violence and criminality. But Yesenia took it in stride, smiling through all of the worried faces, all throughout it all, he was clutching her hand tightly. Conrad expressed concern but ultimately kept his mouth shut. It was his idea but they agreed that she would be the one to choose the child they would adopt and by this point, he was still loyal to her. They had to leave of course, to sort out more paperwork and immigration but they came back. He always happy when they visited although he only expressed it in subtle actions. Grabbing a fistful of their clothes, cold eyes turning into the warm gold, the rare hug and small "thanks".

On his sixth birthday, Jean landed on US soil and got to meet his baby brother. He poked his cheek. "Ma, he's soft. Too soft. Too fat." He poked his cheek again, feeling the boy squirm from the touching in his sleep. When has he ever been that fat? Been that loved? His golden green eyes stared back at his amused but tired mother. "Fat is good though." And kept poking his cheeks, entertaining himself before falling asleep. Dom, when he woke up, saw his new big brother and tackle hugged him, surprising the older boy. "Fuck shit! It's a midget!" he exclaimed as he was tackled to the ground. This marked the first day of a wonderful brotherhood and the expansion of a little brother's vocabulary.

Jean took care of his brother most days due to how swamped both parents were. Taking care of Dom wasn't a very hard job and this was when bonds were formed. Most would say that he was a bit too overprotective of Dom and that he should ease off on the "I am big brother, I will kill you if you hurt small brother" but everyone would agree that he did a good job. If someone wanted to hurt his little brother, Jean would hurt them back in the most vicious of ways. In a way, he was the one that was most reliant on the other, Dom's calming words when he (unfortunately) appeared to be upset always brightened his day a little bit.

Miami wasn't all that different to Abidjan. The climate didn't change nor did the sun, torching down at his back. Although the Ivorian city was never this big, a city was still a city. The people however... they were happy. They acted like they weren't, honking their horns during a traffic jam, shouting at each other on their roads. They said they hated the temperature, the pollution, the crazy cocaine addicts. Dom himself pulled a tantrum and complained that he hated the fact that his ice cream melted so fast. But they never meant it, there was no power behind it. There was no real hate, it was more of a petty hate. He's experienced real hate, the kind where you want nothing but to destroy. Murder. Kill. Wipe the person from the face of the planet as revenge is the sweetest thing in the world. These disturbing thoughts and more floated around his head as the car approached High School.

He wasn't known for academics, to be the sharpest knife in the pantry in terms of knowledge about anything. He was very average in that fact, seeing as he was far too aggressive and shut-in to learn about some bullshit calculus or atoms or any of the bullcrap. It was his dream to be a footballer and excelled in it. Although he looked like he was on the skinny side, he was known to take hits and go toe-on-toe with beefcakes at Centre while also making the last minute adjustments to the plan. Never say that he wasn't willing to adapt and not analyse the field before him. He can read opponents better than most and it showed in his quick decisions. He was almost King of the school, popular with the girls and was at the highest peak in his footballing career. He was a star and was beginning to open up to those close to him like Yesenia and Chloe.

Unfortunately, his father (it seemed like both of his father's were both complete shitheads) finally fell from grace. He lost all respect for the man ever since he proved to be so distant, leaving him to take care of Dom all the time. His final fall was when it was proven that he was cheating on Yesenia. Jean was furious and it looked like he wasn't going to take this betrayal of loyalties just sitting there. It took his whole football team, Dom and his mother herself to keep him from tearing Conrad apart. Once more, he felt angry, felt hate. He always directed it at his father and if looks could kill, he would be obliterated from the face of the Earth.

He hated it all. Moving onto college, his footballing skills came to a standstill, something changed. He couldn't even finish a semester before being kicked out of university for breaking out fights and tarnishing it's reputation. The shame was unbearable and he couldn't stand it all. He gave up football, his sport. He was picked up by a rugby coach and he thought that there could be a second chance for him, another hoorah in life. It was never going to work. Nothing was going to work. He heard the news of Dom's proposal and congratulated him, accepting the position of best man. Maybe this Vegas trip would bring some life into him, maybe it'll be the greatest trip he ever chose to be on. And maybe it'll make him break down into tears.

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| Family |

Conrad Tobias Wells | Father | 53 | Lawyer; Owner of the Wells-Smith Law Firm | Face Claim: Robert Downey Jr.
Alison Lianna Smith-Wells | Stepmother | 29 | Trophy Wife Finacial Accountant for Wells-Smith Law Firm | Face Claim: Amber Heard
Yesenia Constance Ramos| Mother |48 | Head of PR for the Wells-Smith Law Firm | Face Claim: Salma Hayek
Anastasia Iris Ramos| Younger Sister | 18 | College Student at the University of Flordia | Face Claim: Victoria Justice

| Anything Else |

Ehhh, well... Movie is probably Kung Fu Panda 3 because my god was it beautiful. And TV series... TWD?

💕What Happens in Vegas...💕

OKAY. I HAVE NO EXCUSES AS TO WHY JEAN ISN'T DONE BUT I SHALL FINISH IT SOON. PROBABLY. SLIGHTLY. KIND OF. NOT REALLY. MAYBE, MAYBE NOT. UH, WELL, IN THE NEAR FUTURE I SHALL FINISH JEAN.

If I Woke Up Beside of You ~Game~

@Wade Wilson

Whelp. Long time no see XD

I'd be in spaaaacccceeeeee.

💕What Happens in Vegas...💕

@Dirty Pretty Lies

And I shall be as active as ever!

_{Totes not gonna spam this RP into oblivion so only corgi gifs are left}

💕What Happens in Vegas...💕

Everyone's doing awesome work ^^. Excited for this RP.

Me however... Ehhh, let's just say I'm one lazy sloth right now.







_{The last one is a definite favourite XD}