#ooc?: Less breaking the fourth wall

[the-gift-givers-residency]

YESS ANOTHER FOURTH WALL BREAKER

well you may have broken it before idk my memory is shit

but anyways welcome to the club. do you like your narrator so far?

He is… Something! I don’t know if he likes me.

[Gift did not realise that the Narrator did not like many in the first place. They weren’t special.]

[silverzoomies]

Cunning Linguist

pietro maximoff x reader smut

warnings: cunnilingus, porn with (slight) plot, blow jobs, dissociative identity disorder, dissociation, existential crisis, smut, shameless smut, halloween, canon divergence

word count: 3,990

a/n: i meant to finish this ages ago. but i always overthink shit. i rewrote this several times, and it still doesn't feel worth posting. oh well !! just meaningless filth - same old story, different clothing. i wanted to play with the concept of pietro as an alter in ralph's head. again. lol

he's a little ooc here. but i'm blaming the brain fog. i'm running on three hours of sleep every night. fuck it, we ball. also, not including a tag list because tumblr's system kinda sucks for it. sorry !!

Pietro recalled the moment his consciousness came to light.

Agnes waved her spooky hands in his face, as though she were taunting him. She muttered incantations under her breath. The words of which Pietro didn’t recognize as English. After implanting sentimental memories in his mind - based on stories of Wanda’s childhood - she sent him off on his own. Like letting a dog loose, free to roam. 

Pietro’s mission? Find Wanda, have a gabfest or two, extract information. Or something along those lines. Pietro hadn’t paid much attention while Agnes yapped about it. Why focus on that, when the mystery of his own sentience piqued his interest instead?

He was given an easy enough job to do. No problem-o. Pietro had a talent for pestering people til’ they cracked. That’s what Agnes told him, anyway. He wasn’t too sure why she wanted him to play undercover rat. It had something to do with magic. Pietro knew that much. There was some kinda witch-on-witch rivalry in the works. But unfortunately for Agnes - and maybe fortunately for Wanda - she might have to take a raincheck on her duel of the sorceresses.  

Pietro could be a bit of a dipshit. Was he stupid? Not so much. He had brains where it counted. He could be crafty. Even sneaky. But his expert level slyness didn’t make him any less of an idiot. Pietro couldn’t refute that factoid about himself. Around Wanda, he forgot how to function like a normal person. Which he blamed on the fact that he wasn’t a normal person. Being brutally honest with himself; Pietro technically wasn’t even a person at all.

More like a conceptual incarnation of human sentience, really. Simple enough.

No ifs, ands, or buts about it, though - Pietro carried the irksome flaws of a human. Often, he acted thoughtless when he didn’t mean to. Without filtering himself first, Pietro unapologetically spoke his mind. He’d drop fourth-wall breaking quips here or there. Sometimes, his careless habits made for entertaining slip ups. Perfect for sitcom shenanigans. Other times, his blunders resulted in pain. Lotsa pain.

Halloween night, Pietro found himself whisked away by a forceful wave. Conjured by Wanda’s potent magic. The same power Agnes wanted her wiggly witch fingers on. After going aerial in a wild whoosh, Pietro got up close and friendly with some Halloween decorations. But, hey, what’re a few broken bones between pseudo siblings, eh?

Wanda sure had a helluva temper. She quickly banished Pietro from ever setting foot in her house again. Talk about a major bummer. Pietro suffered a huge loss on that front. One part because he’d have no choice but to crash with Agnes again. Ninety nine parts because he’d miss his troublemaking nephews. Those fun, lil scamps.

Tough luck, Quickie. Try and do better next time.

Honestly, he’d prefer if there wasn’t a next time.  If Agnes wanted to make small talk so bad, she could do it on her own. Calling it quits for the night, Pietro wandered off to a Westview bar. To his surprise, he found the place still in operation. And despite Pietro’s memories - vague imagery of Busch beer cans crushed under his fist - he hadn’t had a beer since his consciousness manifested. Shit. Did he even like beer? Whether he cared for it or not, a subconscious instinct drew him to it.

He assumed that instinct was none other than Ralph himself. The poor dude wanted to drown his terror in alcohol. And after all the twisted shit Agnes put Ralph through; who was Pietro to deny him one of life's simplest pleasures?

The mellow atmosphere of the bar oozed Halloween spirit. Kinda unnecessary, in retrospect. Considering Wanda never stopped by for a drink. Why bother sprucing the place up with her wispy magic, if it never saw any use?

The bartender’s clever quips reminded Pietro of Cheers. Another totally bonkers concept. Pietro had memories of watching Cheers, sure. But he couldn’t decipher if they were Ralph’s or not. For all Pietro knew, they might be a part of the ‘dead brother’ package deal. False memories, meant to give Wanda someone to relate to. Making him liable to tear down her defenses when she least expected it. 

But why did Pietro get the sense he was more of a Frasier guy anyway?

Sitting at the bar on a rickety stool, Pietro spun around to satiate his boredom. He cradled a beer, inhaling all of it in a single beat. Superspeed really did have its ups and downs. Consider quick consumption a positive. As far as negatives go…well…inebriation was completely unattainable. Sucks for Ralph. As Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer, he tuned his ears to a radio broadcast. On a shelf amidst dollar store Halloween decor; a radio droned old fashioned tales of wicked witches. Subtle.

Outside interference interrupted the broadcast. Voices intermingled between buzzes of static. Whispering soft, but panicked mantras of 'Wanda? Wanda, are you there?' Pietro narrowed his beady eyes. His ignorance of the world outside Westview should’ve stayed intact. But whatever the reason, he knew exactly where those voices came from. Why he carried such knowledge was anyone’s guess. Maybe Agnes let too much her own insight slip into his psyche. Whoopsies. Oh well. Shrugging, Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer. Deja vu.

Bored outta his mind, his thoughts explored elsewhere.

Pietro dreamt of something a little more down to earth. He remembered a cutie-pie neighbor new to Westview. A ‘next door’ kinda type, with a quirky sorta charm. They had no idea why they were in the city to begin with. Pietro knew these details, only because he gathered the what’s what on just about every person in town. It took him all of two seconds to do so. Zip around. Observe. Make mental notes. Report back to Agnes. Spill the deets.

Anyway, about you…

Call it a crush, loneliness, or even instinctive lust; whatever the case, Pietro thought you were cute as could be. You didn’t remember how you got to Westview, or where you even came from. One day, you woke up in town, and found yourself wearing unfamiliar clothes. Threads evocative of decades long past. But hey, it happens to the best of us. Pietro was well-acquainted with feelings of confusion and alienation. That mingled sense of being both lost, and born anew.

For crying out loud, he was the very materialization of sapient awareness itself. Agnes forbade him from that knowledge as well. But again, Pietro credited his oopsies and ding-dongs to her shoddy miracle work.

Whenever you questioned the reality around you, the world only stifled you into silence. The everyday citizens of Westview seemed so content with life as it was. Acting as if you had nothing to worry about. Wanda’s sitcom setup was nothing beyond sunshine, rainbows, and television tropes. But Pietro could see the unspoken terror hidden deep in their eyes. The truth Wanda kept hush hush.

Just thinking about it was enough to give Pietro the heebie jeebies. And if his intuition was anything to go by - it never proved him wrong yet - you had a bad feeling about Westview too. Way to go! You caught on even quicker than he did. Which was kinda nuts, if he thought about it. Wasn’t he supposed to be the fastest at everything? ‘Cuz speed was his middle name or something. Or…well, it wasn’t. But it could be. Who’s to stop him from seizing his own destiny at this point?

Pietro Speed Maximoff.

Eh, maybe not.

In Westview, you had no friends or family. And much like Pietro, on Halloween night; you found yourself at the bar. He caught your curious gaze from down the counter. You were dolled up in a scanty, witch's dress, leaving Pietro to wonder why witches were such a recurring theme in his life. Looking too much like a manchild goober, he spun around a few more times in his seat. His sneakers kicked against the stool’s railing. No matter what, he couldn’t sit still. He thought he might be embarrassing himself. But his antics appeared to make you smile even brighter.

Tilting your head, you shot him a look of familiarity.

You weren’t familiar with him, though. But there was a chance you saw him appearing and disappearing around town. During his impromptu stake outs, more than likely.

Bringing your drink to the seam of your lips, you stifled a playful giggle. It was obvious you were gawking at his costume. Arching a brow, Pietro grinned into the rim of his beer bottle. To be fair, he looked supremely ridiculous. The blue tights under his cut-off jean shorts rode up in the crotch a little too much. He dipped his head, staring at the frayed edges of his shorts. Yeah. It was clear he did the job cutting them himself. A hasty one too. Since he was too eager to pull pranks with his nephews.

Damn. Pietro missed those kids like hell already.

The dirty blond hair/ear-things atop his head bounced every time he knocked his neck back. As Pietro downed yet another beer, he lost track of how many he drank. A dribble of it plummeted into silver. Creating a sheen against the lightning bolt duct taped diagonally down his shirt. Pietro sighed and pursed his lips. 

His outfit was an all blue ensemble. Garnished with a spritz of silver here or there. Quicksilver. His hero name, apparently. Pietro knew he’d never live up to it.

A bit of friendly conversation later, and the air between the two of you shifted. Your playful look morphed into something a little wanton, the more Pietro acted in silly ways. Holy shit. Seriously? He hoped he wasn't misreading your signals. Because really, your attraction was too good to be true. If you honestly wanted him, where should he proceed from here? How much freedom had Agnes even allowed him? And furthermore - if Wanda’s happy, dream town ran on a curated schedule; what if credits rolled just as the two of you finally got handsy?

Maybe sitcom rules didn’t apply to conscious manifestations of witch hocus pocus? Wishful thinking on his part.

Outside the bar - in an alleyway too uncannily clean, like a set straight out of Hollywood - Pietro beckoned you in with kisses. Technically, he played the role of Agnes’s deadbeat husband. And if that were the case, did kissing you count as cheating? Shit…was Pietro committing adultery right now?? In the midst of macking on your sweet lips, he pressed a palm to the wall next to your head. Pietro pretended to do so for balance, as he devoured you with his mouth and tongue. 

But unbeknownst to you, he cracked an eye open. Just to double check for a wedding band.

Nothing there to prove he ever got hitched. Go figure.

You giggled coyly into his lips, letting a soft moan ease through your teeth. Bringing your hands up to the hair/ear-things on his head, you toyed with them. Your pretty voice teased him, as you played with his hair in gentle strokes of your thumbs.

“Ooooh…such a good boy, huh? Fast too.” You cooed, the same way one might praise a puppy.

Oh. Fuck yeah. To hell with sitcom tropes and bogus wives. Agnes scared the ever-loving shit out of Pietro anyway. He had no semblance of a domestic connection to her. Not that she gave much of a damn herself. With how often she threw insults his way. Agnes always used Ralph as her little punching bag, before hijacking his body for her own gain.

No wonder your simple praises got his proverbial tail wagging.

A chuckle hummed in the back of his throat, as Pietro purred into your lips, “Speed’s kinda my middle name, y’know?”

You snorted one of the dorkiest laughs he’d heard since cognisant birth. And with a sudden spark of primal urgency; Pietro felt something else spring into transcendence down below. 

Sifting through Ralph’s sidelined psyche, Pietro came to realize how much of a recluse he was. The guy never seemed to get out much. In fact, Agnes might’ve even been his first partner. If one could classify her as such. So, really, Pietro was doing him a major favor. If Ralph knew he planned on using their body for some frisky fun - on an otherwise lonely Hallow’s eve - surely, he’d give his brain roomie some thanks.

Pietro’s hands were vascular like a wired-up machine, clad in arm-warmer paws. Grabbing hard onto your curvy hips with them, he pulled you in closer. He sought the friction of your crotch against his. And after some seriously sloppy making out, Pietro dropped you an invite to his place.

Or…Agnes’s place.

Uh…or…was it technically Ralph’s? Shit, this sitcom roleplay sure gave way to some mental gymnastics.

You didn’t expect Pietro to zip you off at superspeed. Moving abruptly fast, he brought you straight to his disaster of a man cave. Laying you back on the futon, he gave you little time to adjust over the blankets. The wrinkled fabrics reeked of pot, in desperate need of a wash. You got as comfy as you could on the skunky sheets. Blinking your needy gaze up at him, you tugged his white belt, pulling the band undone. Pietro grinned lazily, colliding his swollen lips into yours. His primal instincts left him wreckless with want. 

Burying his tongue in the cavern of your mouth, he brought with him the flavor of cheap booze. As you tasted him, you moaned, shucking his dumb jorts down his hips. A sizable swelling twitched in his tights, squirming under muted blue. Your eyes bulged in their sockets, cartoonishly wide. The way you whirled your tongue across your lip gave off a vibe of animalistic hunger. As though you were eager for an all dick dinner. With Pietro as the appetizer.

And the main course. And the dessert. He hoped you'd rate him five stars.

Restaurant metaphors aside; this was the very first test of his capabilities as a lover, after all. If he couldn’t live up to his superhero name, maybe he could make a name for himself in other ways.

Pietro Speed Maximoff. Quicksilver. Cunning Linguist.

But first…he really should satiate your hunger.

One, generous tug downward, and Pietro’s - or Ralph’s - slightly above average length sprang out. Bouncing in your face in mesmerizing oscillation, his cock appeared pulsating and roused. Thick veins weaved like threads through his shaft, akin to his vascular hands. His balls bulged in his tights, his jorts hanging halfway down his thighs. Pietro took his blistering cock in hand. Aching for the kind of stimulation Ralph never got, his desire painted him so flush and ruby red. 

Since you looked so delighted at the sight before you; Pietro gave his cock a few strokes. He played with himself for your viewing pleasure. And as his firm grip tugged his shaft, the world pulled suddenly back. It was as though Pietro viewed life through a third person perspective. Metaphorical cameras fixed their lenses on the two of you, in an all too human position of closeness. 

The weight of a cock in Pietro’s hand felt both familiar, yet weirdly foreign. Combine that with the sight of another living, breathing body below him; and his nerves buzzed uncomfortably. Frenzied in such a way that matched the quick pulsing of his heart. Focusing instead on your fluttering eyes, Pietro weaned himself out of dissociation. Your hands braced his hips, thumbs circling the fabric of his tights. The gentle gesture brought chills throughout his body. Inching forward, you teased his bobbing cock with a flick of your tongue.

Wet heat grounded him in reality. Upon racing to the forefront of his own mind; Pietro’s breath hitched with a husky groan. He held your head, massaging his fingers in your soft hair. Cute mewls spilled from your lips as you flitted your eyes shut. Swirling your tongue over his cock’s puffy head, you lapped any tearful pearls of precum. His thickness sank between your plush lips, and Pietro’s own lips parted for breath.

Of all things to happen on Halloween night, getting his dick sucked wasn’t on the docket.

Not that Pietro had any reason to complain. This? Wicked awesome. Ralph was really missing out.

You drew lazily back just to lap his balls over his tights, staining fabric with slick saliva. Rolling the tip of your tongue up the underside of his dick, you giggled in that dorkish way again. Pietro’s teeth pulled his lip as he tilted his head back. His dick twitched, throbbing while the heat of your mouth embraced him fully. He moaned, smiling wide enough to show off his dimples. You pumped his cock at the base, teasing his veins with your tongue.

Pietro’s brows turned inward. You suckled his head like you longed to guzzle anything he could give. He sank his fingers deeper through your hair, holding on tightly as he rutted his hips. With each slam of his weeping tip into your throat; he hoarsely grunted. You really did try your best, just for him. Even as tears spilled down your cheeks and your lips began to swell. Plush and puffy, circling his slick length. Pietro kicked up the speed at which he rutted.

Fighting his instincts, he was cautious enough not to choke you. Or, he wanted to be cautious. He braced his hands on both sides of your tear stained face, his arm warmer paws soft against your cheeks. Sinking his dick even deeper between your lips, he accidentally went balls deep. The wet fabric of his tights smothered your chin. You sputtered on his cock, which made your throat wring him so tight. As your tongue curled, sliding under the thrum of his veins; Pietro cursed. Playful chuckles and shameful apologies fell from his lips.

Bitter heat coated your tongue in sweltering jets, thick and explosive down your throat. Pietro’s groin twisted in a blossoming surge of pleasure. And as he ruptured your esophagus with his sticky load, he found himself that much more grounded. As if such a bombastic nut somehow tethered him to reality - securing Pietro from any further derealization. 

Righteous. His first big O since Agnes blessed him with the gift of consciousness. Significantly more electrifying than any sad, jerk sesh Ralph had in the past. And since you so humbly took him like a champ - giving Pietro a most euphoric experience; he saw it fit to return the favor ASAP.

Neither Pietro - nor Ralph, it seemed - had any experience toying around with partners. But he did have a vague knowledge of how to do so. Thanks to the backlog of not-so-safe-for-work memories deep in his subconscious. Raunchy porn, mostly. Magazines. Tapes. Jesus, Ralph…why’s there so much dirty stuff in there, huh? Lots and lots of it. Pietro would have to do his own research later.

He gave you no time to prep for his oncoming nose dive. Perched on your knees, coughing and clearing your throat - you found yourself abruptly resting on your elbows. Your upper back pressed into the futon. Pietro lifted your hips, using his strength to hike your thighs over his broad shoulders. As you parted your swollen lips to protest, blinking your reddened eyes; Pietro pulled your panties to the side. He kept the soaked lace pinned under a thick thumb. Burying his lips in your cunt, he lapped up your honeyed heat.

A sudden addiction, triggered by something carnal, overtook him instantly. Pietro became hooked on your fragrant flavor, swirling your cute bud in high-speed circles. He worked your stiff clit like a microscopic joystick, flicking wet heat in a spastic whirlwind. Alternating between drawing patterns, and sucking your precious pearl hard. Pietro so easily made you squeal - even without any prior experience - until you scratched your fingernails deep into Ralph’s sheets. Kissing your cunt, he let his thirst take over, and dove deeper.

The tune of his name melting through your moans made him wish the night would last forever. A small fraction of him hoped Ralph would never take over again. If consciousness offered rewards this scrumptious, Pietro wanted to stay sentient into eternity. Not to be selfish or whatever, but he almost considered playing minion for Agnes again - if only to secure the lifespan of his psyche.

Your supple, pussy lips parted as he wormed his tongue through your slick walls. Smooth, bumpy heat squeezed the fuzzy ridges of his tongue. In milliseconds, your fluttery love gushed over his taste buds and leaked down his chin. Tears teased the edges of your eyes. You cried whines of sugary bliss. Pietro’s thumb kept your panties pinned, his other hand locked around your thigh.

He smirked into your pussy, deep chuckles burning hot on your mound. And since the position wasn’t exactly the most comfortable; he allowed you some reprieve. Pushing you past your breaking point at light speed, Pietro bashed the sopping slickness of his tongue into your clit. You trembled, shuddering through powerful waves of orgasmic intensity. White-hot flashes of light flooded your vision. Under Pietro’s zippy tongue, your sweet pussy quivered.

Totes mcgoats. If he learned anything tonight - aside from the obvious lessons in subtlety; Pietro now understood why the everyday man lost his doggone marbles over puss.

After your first release, he eased your tired body into the futon. Your back met cozy blankets, engulfed in that skunk weed scent. Before you relaxed, he edged you even longer, drawing out your pleasurable suffering. Pietro sank his fingers deep into your heat, pumping the length of them inside you. His digits curled perfectly, finding every spongy spot that made your core burst with a desire to cum again. His tongue teased your swollen nub until you grabbed at his hair. You mussed the funny looking ear things atop his head, pressing your palm into his forehead to try and push him back.

You begged him to stop. Pleading in disoriented whimpers, your noises went straight to his limp dick. A few more hot, wrathful waves of pleasure later - he finally stopped. Only after your cunt erupted in one more, wet burst. You leaked like a fountain into his lips, soaking his chin, even making a mess of his makeshift costume. More than worth it. Pietro sat up on the futon, admiring his handiwork. He wiped his mouth with one of his arm warmer paws. Your mouth fell agape as your lungs begged for air. More tears sparkled on your flushed cheeks, mirroring the twinkle of your pussy. Pretty as a rose in a rainshower.

With your sluggish arms, you gestured for Pietro to climb over you. And once he did, you pulled him into a lazy kiss without a single care. You paid no mind to the taste of your sweetness on his lips, or the scent of your musk on his chin. Sleepily blinking, you bravely asked if you could stay the night. Too tuckered out to even consider a long walk back home.

Pietro could just as easily speed you over to your place. But even at the risk of his not-wife catching him in bed with someone else - he felt too adverse to loneliness. Besides...your company brought him more delight than he ever expected of anyone. Settling into the futon, he popped on Ralph’s old TV set.

Cheers was on. Pietro snickered to himself, rolling his dark eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, snuggled up against Pietro’s strong form. He’d changed clothes at some point in the night, finally foregoing the tights. Oh, and he lended you one of Ralph’s shirts too. A Grateful Dead t-shirt, of which you were very grateful. Hah, “You don’t like Cheers?”

Pietro shrugged, sipping a beer. A Busch beer. He scowled at the taste, curling his lip.

“Eh. More of a Frasier kinda guy.”

[drgamenstein]

So, going back to some of my older posts about character and setting TTRPGs let's talk about Vampire: the Masquerade. Here's real quick, a fun or stupid way to play each of the 13 clans. First though, if anyone somehow finds this who isn't familiar with the VtM lore, I'll offer a bastardized version of the disclaimer the core rulebook does; there's no such thing as a morally good PC in this game, you're going to be playing as a killer, stalker, monster, however you want to put it. Vampires are monstrous reflections of humanity, and as such can emphasize certain traits that are seen as distasteful or wrong. This isn't an excuse to be an overt and openly bigoted asshole at the table, and no GM or player should ever tolerate real world hate speech at the table when speaking OoC. We cool? Cool.

Ventrue: a new age shop owner, who sells homemade essential oils, skin care products and crystals that mark potential targets for siring based on the virtues each clan upholds. They're cursed blood makes them obsessed with very specific scents, meaning they can't feed on someone unless they're wearing something that makes them smell appealing.

Toreador: a plastic surgeon, who's idea of beauty is the imperfection of the human form. They run a budget clinic and are able to avoid losing their license due to malpractice, because they have a close personal bond with the Nosferatu, and love to skincraft them into an appearance that while still leaving them deformed, could pass as injuries or illnesses, making them less likely to violate the Masquerade. These favors give them connections to blackmail and extort anyone, enough that they can hire a Ventrue lawyer to protect them.

Gangrel: a Pational Park Ranger, who may or may not have connections to many, MANY missing 411 cases. They hold a position of neutrality between almost every faction, by upholding the laws of the Camarilla, by keeping the masquerade intact, while simultaniously cultivating their own open-air human meat restaurant. A safe place for werewolves, and other kindred to engage in their most animalistic urges, without fear of leaving evidence behind.

Malkavian: an autistic dark web information broker, that somehow knows what their customers want long before they even make contact. They have a habit of logging every email, password or other piece of identifying information that pops into their head. Breaking the fourth wall, the player could improve this by listening to business, economics or true crime podcasts during sessions, and talking as if it's a conversation they're having to what's going on at that point in game.

Tremere: a character who wants to form their own autonomous enclave, separate from any form of government be it human or kindred based. This wilderness commune is under constant surveillance by several human law enforcement agencies, and is publicly recognized as a cult, though they are petitioning to be recognized as a religion. They sire high ranking members of their organization, only after several years of indoctrination, at which point the Frog has boiled over and been reduced to a fine broth. The appeal of the cult to outsiders are the opportunity for travel, under the guise of medical and disaster relief efforts. All members are also frequently asked to donate blood for "those in need." Internally they don't believe in any religion, the player could make the argument that Kain wasn't cursed by God, but instead was the first evolutionary offshoot from mankind, and they internally view each vampire clan as related in much the same way as humans are related to other apes. This internalized vampirism racism while a massive negative trait, is effectively used by studying each and every clan solely for the purpose of learning how best to manipulate them.

Bruja: (this one's shorter than all the rest) During life they were a decorated cold war era military veteran, who was honorably discharged with injuries after certain government experiments. After their siring they have dedicated their un-life to spreading good old fashioned western values to the oppressed and impoverished parts of the world as a PMC.

Nosferatu: since almost every nosferatu have the same MO, preferred hiding spots and methods of travel, I think this clan is best defined by they're personality and view of the world. The owner of an Incel forum, who uses it both to unironically post their own thoughts and feelings, but to gather info from their users about all the Chads and Staceys in need of some punishment for their arrogance. They also frequently browse social media, and may or may not be responsible for at least a few throwaway accounts responsible for doxxing public figures. They are an absolute bitch for drama, and spend their downtime binging tea channels and Beauty-tubers but can't see the irony of this hobby.

Lasombre: an old fashioned head of a boston mafia group. He's made a fortune exploiting the working class and extorting the needy for decades, and running a successful shipyard and fishing company. His preferred targets for siring are dock workers, and local gang members that he sees as either beneficial to his criminal empire, or someone that his enemies would hate to lose. He has a unique point of view among most of the kindred, in that he doesn't discriminate among humans, Vampires or oan of the other creatures and organizations around him. They're all of equal value in his eyes, that value being equivalent to a character pip from the Game of Life, meaning tiny l, worthless bits of plastic, that take up space and are only worthy of notice when they directly impact him. His closest friend is actually a human butler, that picks out his clothes, make sure he's in proper order, and takes care of him. He will never sire this friend, as they are fully aware of his true nature and have asked him kindly to not do so. This blatant violation of the masquerade is barely tolerated as an open secret, since covering this particular leak would cause more trouble than just leaving it alone.

Tzimisce: a geneticist, who's network has a hand in every animal centric organization in the world, whether it's pet care, breeding, meat production, pageantry, racing, or law enforcement training, they can somehow be linked to it. They are fascinated by genealogy and genetics, obsessed with the true history of the world and want to prove the lineage of every clan and bloodline, simply for the satisfaction of having that knowledge. They were a successful dog breeder in life and now may or may not be practicing human and clan breeding in secret. They have a strange fascination with the Caitiff, and are regularly observed by many, acting friendly with these undesirables. They have a genuine love for animals, and would never harm any of their precious creatures, but see humans as lower than scum, utterly disgusting parasites hellbent on destroying their precious mother nature. They have no desire to sire an heir, unless eventually forced to do so, have no feelings whatsoever toward the idea of harming humans, seeing their acts as mundane or even justified, and this hatred goes so far that they frequently push themselves to the brink of frenzy just to avoid drinking from these vile creatures. Before their embrace, they had a pet dog that they loved more than anything in the world, but sadly killed during their first frenzy. They keep their friends collar on them at all times, despite the guilt they feel, it's the only thing that gives them comfort and let's them sleep at night.

Hecata: (I thought of this as an experienced player, or storyteller's PC) an elderly person, though not ancient. A member of a long lived and wealthy family dating back possibly to the Methusala. A family man, with an actual family, they sired before their embrace, with the knowledge that they will one day need to make arrangements for their children to be embraced. You take on the role of a mentor figure, teaching them the ways of the kindred, necromancy, and hunting, but are planning to, at the end of their training, have more promising of your spawn, diablerize the other.

Banu Haqim: a vigilante serial killer, think Vampire Punisher, or Dexter. Seeking out rogue kindred who've strayed from their respective code, regardless I'd they're Camarilla, Sabatt, or Anarch. The kindred you hunt are blatant violators of the masquerade and do so without even the little bit of control the Sabatt has over its members. More than anything, they are the biggest threats to kindred society as a whole and expose us all to the threat of human exposure. They are the perfect target for one such as yourself, both as self-proclaimed peacekeepers, and to satiate your own clans curse. It's your solemn duty to ensure that no evidence of kindred society is left behind.

Ravnos: a backpacker, spelunker and base jumper. They are a very popular Social Media personality and travel vlogger that enjoys documenting cave exploration and nighttime adventures into the wilderness. They know all the best tourist spots, what every kind of human blood tastes like, and won't shut the hell up about how they need to take you to Venice to try genuine Venican blood fresh from the source. They have a lot of annoying habits, and frequently humble brag about their enlightened un-life, but are generally good company and easy to get along with. You still wouldn't call them a friend though. They're the type of person that always sleeps over when they visit, but you can never remember them specifically asking if they could crash on your couch.

Ministry: You are a bio-terrorist. After your embrace, you took an interest in medical sciences for all the wrong reasons. Fascinated with your new undeath, and immunity to human illness, you start to question the limits of your new undead body, and decide to push it to new limits, concocting plagues, viruses and diseases and testing them on unsuspecting vampire populations. Occasionally, maybe, sure, some human populations get sick as well, pandemics, happen, and hundreds of thousands die each time you conduct a test, but that's the price of good science.

Caitiff: literally just don't play Caitiff. It's hard to come up with a creative or unique story for this "Clan" since they are effectively nobodies. The best comparison to be made I guess would be that Caitiff are the vampire equivalent of that weird conspiracy theorist who works in retail, has a substance abuse problem and is constantly trying to get you and all his other "work buds" to rise up and unionize against the man, but doesn't have an actual plan or any understanding on how any of that works.

Thin-bloods: Why is this a clan we can pick? Who is picking this one? Don't do it.

[cloudsandcrescents]

Ugh, please use the word pussy in your smut fics. Center or sex, or core, reads as unrealistic because it’s a hallmark…a sure fire sign that you’re reading erotic fiction. Almost like it knowingly breaks the fourth wall.

Chloe even says the word “tits” in the first movie. It’s canon. It’s not crude or ooc for her or the prose

Thanks for taking the time to leave this feedback. I’m sorry to hear that my style of writing of said scenes are not to your taste. Though my fics aren’t exactly erotic fiction so if that’s what you’re hoping to read, I’d suspect I’d be rather disappointing in that regard.

Most of my writings are focused more on a plot-based structure though sex is involved, they’re more about a story. I can assure you that I’ve got not qualms with any range of sexual vocabulary and I’ll gladly read any that use pussy, cunt, twat, or whatever other terminology exists to refer to it. My omission at using those words has nothing to do with me considering them crude or ooc, rather that I just felt that it didn’t seem to fit with my own writing style and seemed misplaced in the tone of my own stories when I would attempt to incorporate them. Though, just because these are small parts of a larger story, doesn’t mean that they should feel any less authentic to a reader.

That said, one of the most important parts of being a writer is being open to criticism—good and bad—and implementing that to grow. If my wording detracts too much from your reading experience, I can say that I can reexamine and find ways to improve to see how I can diversify my wording to feel more “realistic” but that, ultimately, my writing just may not be your cup of tea and that’s quite alright as well. Thanks again.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

nope, stream off, I cannot be dealing with this atm. especially when I know at least in part its caused by fourth wall breaking being taken IC seriously by someone without context and unavoidable OOC circumstances. this does not please me and it pleases me even less knowing its going to keep going.

[eggsmuses-a]

/love how everyones cayde is super serious and so much more like d1 cayde then heres my cayde just . yeah hes his own breed

[foxfoe]

im absolutely LIVING for the fourth wall breaking fleabag does and the priest somewhat picking up on it.

the priest seems omniscient to some degree. or is at least able to detect/be aware of omniscience around him, even if he, himself, cant penetrate it or understand it.

which makes sense, since he’s a man of god. trying to listen to a voice (god) that may or may not be there watching/listening to him. with that, it’s easy to make a parallel of god and the fourth wall audience that fleabag is talking to. the parallel of fourth wall/god makes for such an interesting struggle for the priest and blends in well w/ his confusion about whether his love is for fleabag or for god. (and also, perhaps more down the line, if he becomes more aware, what purpose he is meant to serve! if he’s a character, is he meant to serve the show or serve god or serve fleabag, the main character? what would he make of this?)

since in this show format, fleabag is nearly god-like in her voice/power, the allure of her and her voice is quite powerful.

her being like god makes me think that’s partially why he’s able to see through her fourth wall. that, and, like bobby said, theyre similar ppl.

i think, b/c he’s a priest, b/c he’s there for ppl, as a father, to help and guide, he’s gained some omniscience b/c of that. which we can see by him 1) seeing fleabag’s fourth wall and 2) his wedding speech!!

in his wedding speech, there are a fair amount of words and themes that occurred throughout the season. things done/said/mentioned that he was not privy to but is still aware of on some level. like: love being painful (dad mentioning how love/life is most painful for fleabag), creepy (everyone calls the kiddo creepy oboe kid), obsessed w/ hair (a whole scene where fleabag goes on a monologue about how important hair is), love isnt something weak ppl do (fleabag calls her sister’s husband “weakie” by mistake; he is too weak to love and be a good person), and more.

obv this speech was a way to wrap up the show and hit some moral messages of the show, but with a show that makes a pt to break the fourth wall, details like this can hold purpose!

ive always always ALWAYS loved the concept of the fourth wall and breaking it and i really love fleabag’s dynamic with the fourth wall and im super super interested in the priest’s (possibly growing) awareness of it and understanding of it and how thatll affect him and how he will affect it.

[thirtythreetm-blog]

I wrote a whole (1) reply today and that’s more than I’ve written in a few weeks, so even if I’m not sure it makes sense, i’m kind of proud of it. getting out of work soon but catching some dinner at this new coffee shop around the corner and then i’ll maybe be on to do a few things.

[thespoonisvictory]

Please explain why Schlatt is the best character on the SMP.

(Alternatively, I would be really interested in hearing more about your dislike for Quackity's produced lore. Personally, I love it, so I'm really intrigued whenever someone says that they're not fond of it).

as much as I love schlatt, I think I'll answer the quackity question, because I've been meaning to.

first of all, I think I should clarify that I'm definitely biased, because my favorite streamers, outside of the dsmp universe, tend towards semi lore, or, at least, not whatever quackity's doing. I'm used to it, and people tend to not like change lol.

second of all, I really do like quackity's produced lore, but I don't like certain aspects of it, and find myself preferring semi lore in general. I don't think he should stop doing it so much as I think he should use it as an occasional technique rather than conveying near 100% of his story with it. big q is very talented and I commend him for taking such a bold approach, which I think pays off in some ways.

third, to me, semi lore is any lore that breaks the fourth wall in that it isn't trying to be something other than a minecraft stream, it's all in first person, and none of it is prerecorded. for example: most of wilbur's pogtopia streams are semi (or casual) lore to me, because he'll thank subs and joke with schlatt about getting techno a girlfriend, but it's still largely in canon.

anyway, in true jenny nicholson fashion, let's kick off with a numbered list.

1. this post, by patches, explains a bit of why the lore streams can get a bit disconcerting to me. the dsmp have always had a bit of charming awkwardness in their improv, because these are for the most part just Some Guys acting, and under the guise of a stream where it's just a Streamer Playing Minecraft, it fits. but the highly produced nature just- creates such a disparity between the quality of the cinematography and the acting that it's a little weird, y'know?

2. in some cases, semi lore allows for dread to be built in a unique way. during the exile arc, tommy would have lighthearted streamer jokes and bits, shout out subs, pretend like things were normal. he never acknowledges that his situation is messed up, that his condition is getting worse, that things are falling apart. it's a quiet, sinking, horror that creeps along over the course of weeks. it's important to the viewer that we are there every day to see the slow progress, to understand why tommy gets pushed so far down. besides the impracticality of 14 highly produced lore streams, you would lose a lot of the subtlety there.

the smp is such a unique medium in that the stream style itself is so telling. when tommy actively doesn't acknowledge what's happening, it makes the abuse that's occurring seem so much worse. when wilbur drops little hits about his depression or his plans in between lighthearted, ooc jokes, it lulls the audience into a false sense of security.

imagine a version of the 'forming las nevadas' story where quackity does it over the course of four nights. the slow realization of his manipulation tactics disguised by an unassuming stream format, because it's still quackity, joking around and laughing until he approaches the next person and he shifts into his 'persona'. when he finishes the conversation, we watch his face fall, his smile fade, as he walks back to an empty las nevadas. it would build hype, not to mention taking less work, and letting the audience see a bit more of quackity's humanity.

3. I mentioned it before, but it just straight up takes less time. I'm willing to wait, of course, but there's something to be said about the merits of pacing and being able to throw together a lore stream last minute. take, for example, tommy's death. it wouldn't have been nearly as impactful without the rushed, oddly somber flurry of livestreams that came after. jack didn't need a highly produced montage of him standing by tommy's grave as the seasons passed, of his planting flowers everyday. what turned out to be effective was just- him, walking around, coming to terms with his grief, completely silent for periods of time.

it was mourning. plain and simple, with no embellishment or evil villain music, shockingly earnest.

I don't think you could replicate that raw, undone feeling with a prerecorded, pre-produced, semi-movie. it feels like all of a sudden jack's pov was important enough that he had to stream, and there it was.

you could argue that this could be planned beforehand, but I think more often than not, that's a. not really feasible, and b. going to take away from the organic nature.

we all like candid shots, 'authentic' vlogs and influencers. to me, this is just one more extension of that rule.

4. under the same idea, you can make more. we spend more time with the streamers, and therefore the characters, and get to know their more human side. wilbur, for example, is deeply humanized by little things that you just couldn't really fit into a lore stream: his dynamic with niki, all his little moments of hesitation, his banter with tommy and his true love for l'manburg. who c!wilbur is is built up over hours and hours of comments and suggestions and one-off statements, and we just don't have time for that in quackity's lore. the transitions are snappy, filled with beautiful shots, but they don't allow for as much depth of character as that awkward little walk from place to place, that quiet monologue they do to themselves.

it's not impossible for you to do that, as with c!quackity and c!charlie serving as a 'morality pet', but at this risk of repeating myself endlessly, it's more earnest and organic in a sense.

5. last, I just really like multiple povs. one of my favorite bits from s1 is the fundy spy arc, because of how effectively multiple povs are used. streams where wilbur is deeply, deeply distraught over fundy's betrayal but thinks fundy doesn't care, while fundy is deeply, deeply distraught over wilbur's prior treatment of him but thinks he doesn't care. and you could watch both at the same time! quackity's pov isn't as personal when it uses third person, which is a bit sad because I think it's a unique aspect of livestreaming every perspective.

(I'm so sorry if this isn't coherent or makes any sense I'm very brain dead and tired from speedrunning three essays yesterday)

basically, I think quackity's lore style is good for big, grand events, occasionally. it's very cool to watch, definitely builds hype, and can make certain things easier, such as coordinating a bunch of people or doing special effects.

but for building a plot and establishing character dynamics, I really prefer semi/casual lore.

[bigboobyhalo]

when techno mocked dream for not having a house during an important scene, it felt like techno trying to reassure tommy that he doesnt have to be scared of dream. it didnt make dream feel like less of a threat for the viewers either, because the power that dream has over both techno and tommy has already been established, and whether he has a house or not doesnt affect that

but when techno mocked bad for wearing diamond boots (something he does because ooc, he prefers the way it looks) or not wearing a helmet (something im 99% sure he does so you can see his characters face during important scenes), it felt more like an interruption because bad cant really explain that without breaking the fourth wall. it just makes bad look silly and takes away some of his intimidation factor thats integral for making the egg actually feel like a threat, which its clearly meant to be

[touchedbydestiny]

I posted 585 times in 2021

144 posts created (25%)

441 posts reblogged (75%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.1 posts.

I added 588 tags in 2021

#❖ these things take time and patience | queue - 218 posts

#❖ break the fourth wall | ooc - 92 posts

#❖ interactions | diana - 60 posts

#❖ let’s play a game » meme | please specify muse - 36 posts

#❖ interactions | gia - 36 posts

#❖ interactions | amara - 32 posts

#❖ interactions | sarah - 30 posts

#❖ interactions | nadia - 29 posts

#❖ musings | diana - 28 posts

#❖ interactions | natalia - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 113 characters

#mutuals only and i prefer to write with people on there with whom i've already interacted on here or on katherine

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

elijah is a muse that always fascinated me.  i'm currently trying him out on twitter but i'm reeeeally insecure about writing him on tumblr because he's somehow difficult (for me) to write. KUDOS to all the elijah writers out there. i have saved him an url on here if i ever feel like giving him a serious try :s

17 notes • Posted 2021-06-25 19:48:32 GMT

#4

@calcifaed​ liked the starter call → sarah & silas

     nighttime is the only time that was bearable for sarah. that didn't hurt her. that didn't make her want to harm people because thankfully, most were home. less people, less potential danger. for them. sarah missed seeing the sun because although she had always been someone that enjoyed the dark and the myths coming with it, she also enjoyed the sunlight on her skin. the warmth of the sunrays. the way it made her hair glow. she missed it but at the same time, she was also thankful for it.

    at least that prevented her from hurting someone.

    but thinking that should be how she spends the rest of her life (an eternal lifetime) was a depressing thought.

    sarah kicked a stone over the ground and buried her hands deep in her pockets. she wanted to kick another stone when she noticed an all too familiar person.

    "stefan?"

24 notes • Posted 2021-01-05 08:52:27 GMT

#3

somehow i think the reason why especially the older siblings never tapped into the potential witch powers was mikael. i think he probably considered it as 'woman-stuff' and valued & paid more attention to the 'viking abilities'

25 notes • Posted 2021-04-30 17:40:30 GMT

#2

@elenaloveablekotsala​ liked the starter call (for elena)

       "wait! you are not the one i'm looking for! it can't be. then apparently the myths are true. she has a doppelgänger."

25 notes • Posted 2021-05-20 17:16:43 GMT

#1

"To blend in, you must have self-restraint. For a new blood, such a thing is...well, difficult would be putting it mildly. Come, we'll be going on a field trip of sorts today." - for Gia // @nobledeal​

       admittedly, gia is not too keen on spending even more time alone with elijah without anyone overseeing his ... teachings. she still doesn't get why she's the one who gets more or less helpful private lessons from elijah while the other ones can go outside and have fun.

      "a field trip?" gia repeated a bit suspicious and squinted her eyes. "that's not your way of trying to get rid of me, is it?" she knows elijah is not too happy about having been made tutor so she hopes he's serious and won't leave her alone like the last time when he told her to get a snake without telling her how.

      "but okay, let's go."

28 notes • Posted 2021-09-25 16:28:04 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[seriouslyhermione]

Wanna Bet? [1/2]

Summary: After Ron insists Fred doesn't have a chance with Hermione, he decides to put money on it. The bet? Simple: Hermione must agree to go on a date with Fred before the New Year. Fred thinks it should be fairly easy to pull off--as long as Hermione doesn’t kill him when he tells her.

Warnings: Language, American writer attempting to use British slang, mild Ron bashing (necessary for the plot and not exactly ooc)

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Word Count: 5.5k

Request: fremione fake-dating??? maybe someone did a bet that fred couldn't date her and everyone was being mean to her bc ron is w lavender and they expected her to be w him, and fred (who has feelings for her obv) is like "not oN MY WATCH" and he's like "let's fake date so we'll get money out of this suckers" idk!!! hi hope you're well

Fred watched Hermione smile the way one might watch a child fall off a training broom after trying to mount it for the first time: fond, pitying, just the slightest bit amused.

None of the others noticed it, the way her eyes didn’t light up in joy or how her smile was a bit too stiff to be natural. But he did. Likely because he had been the only one to elicit a real, genuine grin out of the witch in the past six months or so. He spent enough time staring at her, he should certainly know the difference by now, even if no one else did.

Harry, he would give a pass to as he had his hands a bit full with his godson running around the room and being forced to sit through wedding planning with Molly as Ginny only rolled her eyes in the background. Poor bloke really was stretched thin these days, and Fred knew he still made a conscious effort to reach out to Hermione and include her in his life despite it. Not noticing her silent suffering in a room filled with noisy celebrations was almost understandable, all things considered.

Ron, on the other hand, was on thin fucking ice.

He should have noticed how uncomfortable Hermione was the second he announced that Lavender Brown would be coming to their family Christmas. Should have given in when Hermione politely tried to extract herself from the event in anticipation of the unbearable awkwardness that was sure to come with attending a dinner with your ex-boyfriend, his annoying new (old) girlfriend, and said ex-boyfriend’s entire family.

But then again, Ron did have it right when he (rather untactfully) pointed out that she didn’t exactly have anyone else to spend the holiday with.

He was supposed to be the one who knew her best though, despite their (mostly) amicable break-up nine months ago. They were still friends, after all, and they were better as such anyway. But it would be uncomfortable for anyone to watch their ex-boyfriend/best friend intermittently sneak off with his new girlfriend that he just so happened to have a rather spotty history with, only to come back to engage in conversation about their other best friend’s wedding and oh Won Won, I just love the way the cream napkins set off the lavender table clothes. I do hope we can incorporate that color scheme in our wedding, never mind that they weren’t even engaged.

Fred was feeling rather nauseous himself, if he was being honest, and he had never been in a relationship with either of them. He couldn’t imagine how Hermione felt, standing with her back against the fireplace as though she were just waiting for the opportunity to make a quick escape through the Floo network. But the forced smile and uncomfortable way she was hugging herself as she clutched her wine glass in a vice grip told him enough, even if no one else could be bothered to notice.

“You’re staring again,” a voice nearly identical to his own warned from next to him, and he immediately averted his gaze. But it was too late.

“Still pining, eh Freddy?” Charlie teased, flopping down next to Fred on the sofa, throwing his arm over his shoulders.

George scoffed into his glass of firewhiskey at his other side, and any gratitude Fred held towards him for the too-late warning faded instantly. He caught Bill’s eye from where he sat in the armchair to their left, and his rather wolfish grin told him that he had noticed as well, though he kindly chose not to say anything.

Which was precisely why he was his favorite brother. After George of course.

Well, after George on a good day. Today just happened to not be.

“Of course,” George said, rolling his eyes in what could only be described as fond exasperation. “I don’t know if he could make it more obvious at this point.”

“I am not obvious,” Fred hissed, hoping they would understand and lower their damn voices before they drew even more attention to his unfortunate state of being.

That is to say, his rather inopportunely timed attraction to one Hermione Granger, of course.

“You stare at her,” George said, tone flat and uncharacteristic frown tugging at his lips. “You send her ‘trials’ from the shop like a dedicated husband would send his wife flowers. You have dinner with her once a week just to ‘catch up,’ like either of you are really that interesting—”

“Oi!”

“—and you get this look on your face whenever she laughs, like she’s made your entire day just by existing.”

“Right,” Charlie said, though he sounded a bit unsure. Fred didn’t blame him. No one knew him like George did, and usually his twin had the good grace not to blab his business to anyone else. But apparently his tongue got a little too loose after three glasses of firewhiskey and four months of watching his brother pine after a certain curly-haired witch. “What he said. But you know that nothing can come of it right?”

Fred grit his teeth and ignored the sympathetic look George was pulling in an attempt to convey his own feelings on the subject. He simply sipped at his drink and hoped that his obnoxious and overly intoxicated brothers would find something else to talk about before he lost his temper.

And really, when had that been a problem before? Fred and George were both known for their laid-back and carefree demeanor, but he supposed there had always been something about Hermione Granger that got under his skin and brought out the worst (and best) in him. Thoughts of his fourth year and an attempted attack on Malfoy came to mind, and his lips twitched up without his permission as they so often did when he thought of Hermione.

He really was in trouble, despite his efforts to play it cool. But no one else needed to know that.

“Lay off him,” Bill finally cut in, taking pity on him. “He knows better, no sense in rubbing salt in the wound, yeah?”

And suddenly Percy was Fred’s favorite brother, which was a rather clear indicator of where all of the others currently ranked on his shit list.

“Do I though?” Fred couldn’t resist challenging with a mischievous smirk, if only because he was completely over this conversation and everyone telling him what he can and can’t do and who he can and can’t fancy.

“Fred,” George warned lowly, regret for having started his conversation clear on his face. “Let’s not get into this here, yeah?”

Fred inhaled deeply, ready to concede and make a quick retreat to his room before another voice cut in.

“Get into what?”

All four Weasley brothers turned their head as one to look at their youngest brother. Fred would have been amazed that he had managed to extricate himself from his lovely girlfriend who had a habit of clinging to him like an octopus in heat were he not so concerned that he had just overheard every word they had said leading up to this interruption.

“You’re not talking about ‘Mione, are you?”

Which he had, apparently.

Fred shrugged, feigning indifference even as his heart started beating uncomfortably fast in his chest.

George, ever faithful to his twin, downed the rest of his (rather full) glass of firewhiskey and used the subsequent burning of his throat as an excuse not to respond.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably and looked at a particularly fascinating wall across the room, far away from Ron’s expectant eyes and Hermione’s completely oblivious form, still reclined against the fireplace.

Bill got up and walked away without a word. Fred had always suspected he was the smartest of them all.

“You are!” Ron exclaimed, and Fred braced for the impact of his anger, fingers twitching against his wand in anticipation of casting a silencing charm before he could cause a scene. But then Ron was laughing, and Fred almost wished he would yell at him instead.

“C’mon mate,” Ron chortled, falling gracelessly into the seat Bill had vacated. “Hermione? You can’t be serious!”

“Careful there, Won Won,” George cautioned when Fred only raised a brow in a bid to keep things from escalating and catching the attention of a certain witch. “We haven’t questioned your current… romantic interests. You would do well to return the favor.”

Ron snorted and Fred felt his temper rise in kind.

“Relax, I’m not trying to start anything. Just surprised is all,” Ron answered, voice a bit calmer, though the amusement was still clear on his face. Fred knew that he really had gotten a better handle on his temper after the war, but he suspected his laidback attitude had less to do with self-control and more to do with a complete lack of concern. He tried not to be offended by the implication.

“I mean, really. Hermione?” Ron said again, as though just repeating her name would make Fred realize how hopeless it was. As though he didn’t already know. “I couldn’t make it work with her, and we’ve certainly got more in common than the two of you would. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Try as he might, Fred was officially offended. And when Fred was offended (and admittedly, slightly inebriated), he tended to make poor decisions.

“Oh really? Care to make a wager?”

Ron scoffed, George paled, Charlie choked on his drink, and Bill circled back around to listen in at a careful distance. Fred didn’t care. Ron was being a git—to both him and Hermione—and if he had to do something that was extremely likely to blow up in his face to make a point well… no one had ever accused him of making sensible decisions, had they?

“A wager? What are you on about now?”

“Well, Won Won, you just implied that Hermione would never date me,” Fred answered, speaking slowly in the way he knew made Ron feel like a bit of an idiot. Which he often was. “I think you’re wrong. Are you willing to put money on it?”

“Fred,” George cut in as Ron’s face turned an alarming shade of red, “I don’t think this is a great idea. Maybe just let it go, yeah?”

For the briefest moment, Fred considered taking his twin’s advice. He was, after all, the closest thing Fred had to a voice of reason.

But then, from across the room, Fred heard a simpering voice—

“Oh Hermione, didn’t you bring someone with you? You look so lonely over there all by yourself!”

—and he knew that this had to stop, one way or another.

“No, George, I don’t think I will let this go. If Ron is so sure that Hermione would never be interested in me, then what does he have to lose by putting a little money on it?”

Of course, Fred was smart enough to know that there was plenty of things wrong with making Hermione the object of a bet, but he also knew that he would deal with that after he wiped that smug look off of Ron’s face.

And if the fierce frown on his bright red face was anything to go by, Fred had already succeeded there.

“Alright, fine,” Ron seethed, “if you want to be a git about it, sure. Twenty galleons says you can’t get Hermione to go on a date with you by the end of the year. Deal?”

Fred knew he should refuse—twenty galleons was a lot of money, New Year’s Eve was only six days away, Hermione would kill him when she found out—but what he said was, “Done.”

And then he stood up and strode over to the woman of his dreams without another word and, realistically speaking, without a hope in the world of getting her to agree to a date with him once she knew what he’d done.

.:.

The holidays were the hardest, Hermione knew.

At first, it was just the reminder of all they had lost during the war. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Moody, even Snape. Her parents were the worst though. Despite the fact they were both alive and perfectly happy in Australia, it stung to know that they would never know they once had a daughter who had to erase their memories of her to keep them safe.

(And, if she were being honest, that’s what hurt the most—knowing they were so happy without her, even if she was relieved that they were able to live safely without knowledge of her world.)

But it also reminded them of what they still had but very nearly lost.

Fred, who was in a coma for weeks before finally waking up after the wall collapsed on him.

Lavender, who Greyback had mauled, but had thankfully been ripped away by Hermione’s hex before he could do any fatal damage.

Which brought her to why holidays still sucked, three years after the war and nearly a year after her split from Ron.

“Oh Won Won, come over quick! There’s mistletoe in the kitchen that I didn’t notice before!”

Hermione was over Ron, she really was. After two years of giving it their best, their relationship never did feel as comfortable as it had when they were just friends: they fought too much and shared so little in common interests once defeating Voldemort was taken out of the equation. He could never follow her when she talked about her workday or projects she was working on, and it only served to make him feel stupid and lash out.

They really just weren’t suited for domestic bliss, something they had both finally admitted and come to terms with. Luckily, they were still friends thanks to this mutual understanding.

However, there were certainly downsides to remaining close friends with your ex, and one of those happened to be sitting through an awkward holiday celebration where said ex swapped a concerning amount of spit and wedding talk with a woman she had once been terribly jealous of.

Now, it was just annoying and uncomfortable, watching a family she considered her own in so many ways fawn over Ron’s new girlfriend and leave her to hold up the fireplace all on her own without so much as a “How have you been Hermione?”.

It was preferable to conversation though, as whenever she did engage it was always met with comments like oh Hermione, you really would have made such a beautiful bride, but I suppose it’s all for the best now or Hermione, did you know that Lavender works in the Ministry as well? She’s already been promoted after a year! Isn’t that just so impressive.

She knew they (as in Molly Weasley specifically of course) meant well, but it still stung to be treated like old news when she had been assured (and perhaps foolishly believed) that she was still family, with or without her relationship to Ron.

She was beginning to think staying at home alone would have been preferable after all.

“Hello, Ms. Granger.”

Her head whipped around, shocked out of her silent self-pitying by Fred Weasley’s smooth baritone and warmth as he sidled up next to her, firewhiskey clutched tight in one hand while the other draped itself across her shoulder. Her lips twitched up without prompting, perhaps the first genuine smile of the night, even if it was a rather pathetic one.

“Fred,” she greeted in return. “I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Not really,” he answered in that casual way of his even though his eyes appeared to be piercing straight to her soul in their intensity. “Just came away from a rather unfortunate conversation with Ickle Ronniekins.”

Hermione glanced over Fred’s shoulder, unconsciously looking for the spot across the living room where she had been stealing occasional glances at Fred (and the rest of the Weasley brothers of course) throughout the night. What she found were three Weasley men staring at them in intense captivation and a fourth with seething irritation, and she winced in sympathy. She couldn’t imagine what sort of “unfortunate conversation” resulted in a stare down like this, but she knows that she feels bad for Fred for being on the receiving end of it. Even if he did probably deserve it.

“Oh Merlin,” she sighed in what can only be described as fond exasperation—a common occurrence since she started to become better acquainted with Fred. “What have you done now?”

“Something I probably shouldn’t have,” he replied before draining the rest of his firewhiskey in one gulp and turning to face her more fully, completely obscuring her view of their audience.

She only raised a single eyebrow, a practiced move that typically had Harry and Ron spilling their guts but only served to make Fred’s lips twitch in amusement.

Though he did appear almost… nervous. A strange look for Fred Weasley, and one that made her a little apprehensive of what exactly he did do. But in the blink of an eye, the look was gone and suddenly his face was much closer to her own.

“In the spirit of honesty,” he murmured, the whisper of his words brushed against the shell of her ear, the warmth of his breath on her skin and the smell of the Firewhiskey on his tongue causing an involuntary shiver to run down her spine, “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” she returned, trying to keep an air of calm unaffectedness despite the goosebumps that started where his lips had brushed against her skin and spread down her neck like wildfire. She sipped on her wine and stared at the Christmas tree that she could just see over Fred’s broad shoulder, pretending that her attention wasn’t entirely focused on Fred and the way his lips were still so close to her now hyper-sensitive skin. And if his responding chuckle was any indication, he very well knew it.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, the sound and vibration causing a flush to rise to her cheeks in a way she hoped could be attributed to the drink in her hand and not the man draped across her. Honestly, how had no one noticed that he was practically absorbing her into his own body at this point? Were they all really that oblivious or was she simply imagining things? Or were the four Weasley brothers still just watching this rather strange show in silent fascination, placing bets on what would happen next? “But I can’t tell you here.”

He pulled back abruptly, and Hermione instantly felt bereft of his heat, though the feeling was immediately chased away by her annoyance at that fact. It took her a moment to even recall what it was he was saying (which was, admittedly, not much).

“And why not?” she shot back once she remembered that this was supposed to be a normal conversation with her ex-boyfriend’s brother, not an exhibition.

Fred’s grin was decidedly predatory, and Hermione tried her best to not relish in that fact but Merlin, had he always been this attractive, or was the wine getting to her?

“A couple reasons. But the one that really matters right now is that it’ll really piss Ron off if we disappear upstairs together. So, what do you say?”

Hermione knew it was petty of her to get a little thrill out of causing one of her oldest friends any sort of irritation, but after the last four hours of standing by the fireplace with only backhanded compliments or outright insults for company, well… her answer was fairly obvious.

“Your room then?”

Fred’s grin only widened as she polished off the last of her wine, set the glass on the mantle, and led the way up the stairs.

If she had glanced back, she would have seen four identical looks of shock on Bill, Charlie, George, and Ron’s faces as she silently reached back and snatched up Fred’s hand on the way.

As it was, she kept her head held high and shoulders thrown back as she tugged Fred up the stairs, trying desperately to appear calm and collected despite the nerves that were tying her stomach in knots as she considered just what it was Fred wanted to confess to her.

.:.

“So,” Hermione starts as soon as Fred has closed the door behind them, “What do you need to tell me?”

If Fred had looked slightly nervous before, he looks positively anxious now. All the smug amusement that had previously dominated his face was gone, and he stood with his arms crossed and back against the door, almost as far from where she stood in the center of the room as he could get. The change was off putting, to say the least.

She frowned when he didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Is everything all right, Fred?”

His lips pursed and for a moment she thought he really wasn’t going to tell her what this was all about, but then he said, “I’m not sure yet.  I have a feeling you’re about to be very angry with me,” and she was both relieved and anxious all at once.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “best to just get it over with then.”

Fred looked like he didn’t agree with her, but he ploughed on regardless. “I made a bet with Ron.” When she didn’t respond in the pregnant pause that followed, he continued. “It involved you.”

“Involved me how, exactly?” Hermione cut in when it seemed like he really was going to leave it there. And if her voice came out sharper than she intended, Fred didn’t appear to notice, too caught up in trying to figure out how to say whatever it was he had to say.

He took a deep breath, then, and let it out in a rush of air: “I bet him twenty galleons that I could get you to go on a date with me by the end of the year.”

Whatever Hermione was expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t that and all she could think to say in response was a startled “What?”

And though she had to pull the truth out of Fred sentence by sentence before, the words came pouring out of him now.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it was a stupid thing to do. But I was just so tired of Ron acting like he’s the authority on you and telling me what I could and couldn’t do. As though he really knows you that well, considering he practically forced you into attending a party you knew would be uncomfortable and then does absolutely nothing to make it easier on you. The bloke is completely oblivious ninety percent of the time, but anytime I try to talk to you or ‘take your side,’ suddenly he’s there and telling me to back off. Like he’s the only one that has a right to show any interest in you despite the fact you haven’t been in a relationship for nearly a year and you’ve barely even seen each other since. Not that I blame you of course. I’d rather not see him myself, especially when he’s constantly attached at the hip with that whiny little girlfriend of his. I mean, I suppose she wouldn’t be that bad if she could just stop talking about herself or her dear Won Won for more than a bloody minute. Honestly, George and I thought you and Ginny were exaggerating your sixth year, but obviously—”

“Fred Weasley,” Hermione finally cut it once it was clear this confession had gone off the rails completely. “Are you rambling?”

“No,” Fred shot back defensively, followed by a less sure, “well, maybe.”

“Definitely,” she corrected, grinning widely.

She was somehow thoroughly amused rather than irritated as she knew she should be. Being the object of a bet between her ex and his brother should have infuriated her completely. Especially when it concerned her love life, something neither of them had any right to even discuss.

But this was Fred. Fred who was kind to her when everyone else in the Weasley family (save Ginny) was too afraid of Molly’s wrath to even speak to her during the first month after her break up with Ron. Fred who sent her “care packages” that consisted mostly of WWW products that she would never use but appreciated for their brilliance. Fred who went out of his way to make her feel included during the few Weasley family meals she still attended. Fred who was often on the receiving end of Ron’s glare as a result. Fred who made her smile for the first time that night. Fred who touched her so lightly but incited a warmth in her that she hadn’t felt in ages. Fred who was so much taller than her, and warmhearted and funny and clever and brilliant and—

Dear God, did she have a crush on Fred Weasley?

Well… that changed things a bit.

She bit her lip, suddenly unsure of whether the plan forming in her mind was wise or not. Hermione really wasn’t one to rush into things or make a decision without thinking through all of the possible outcomes, but well… Fred was still staring at her with cautious, heartbreaking brown eyes and he looked so earnest and Ron really was being a bit of a git.

And if even one outcome resulted in her and Fred being happy—possibly even together—then she was willing to risk it. She was a Gryffindor after all.

“Twenty galleons you say?”

Fred blinked at her as though he didn’t understand. “Uh, yeah. Twenty galleons. That was what we bet.”

“Seems like a lot,” she teased, smile slowly forming on her lips as she became more confident in her decision.  “You must be very invested in my love life.”

Fred narrowed his eyes at her, entirely aware that she was taking the mickey out of him. But he answered her with a seriousness that sobered her quickly. “You could say that.”

“Well…” she swallowed, unsure of how to take that but hoping it meant what she thought it did. “I assume we’d split it then?”

“Of course,” Fred answered, though he suddenly looked uncertain, as though he couldn’t possibly imagine where she was taking this. “It’s only fair.”

“Then are you free tomorrow?”

“Am I—what?”

Hermione’s smile only grew, finding Fred’s confusion endearing. She had never seen him so shaken before, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it.

“Are you free? For our date? I know it’s short notice, but he didn’t exactly give us much time to work with, and the sooner the better.”

This may have had something to do with her fear that she would overthink it if given more time, but he didn’t need to know that.  

“You’re serious?” Fred asked, looking like he had just been told Percy was quitting his job at the Ministry to become a pole dancer. “You’re not mad at me? You’re actually agreeing to go on a date with me?”

“Well, first of all, I’m not agreeing to do anything. I’m asking you to go on a date with me—a distinction you may want to make clear to Ronald,” Hermione corrected, smile turning less teasing and more sly. “And while I do wish you would have consulted me first, I understand that that wasn’t exactly an option at the time. And… I appreciate your honesty. You didn’t have to be up front with me—you could have just offered to take me on a date and I would have had no idea it was with ulterior intentions. So… yes, Fred Weasley. I would like to go on a date with you. If not for the ten galleons, then to see the look on Ronald’s face when I tell him.”

“And for my stimulating company, of course?” Fred waggled his eyebrows, looking much more like himself than he did only moments ago. Hermione’s heart warmed at the sight, pleased that she had that effect on him.

“But of course,” Hermione practically purred, her voice taking on a quality it had never possessed before. One that made Fred’s face flush and his heart beat erratically. “And make no mistake, Fred Weasley. Even if we’re going on this date to win a bet and prove your brother wrong, it will be a real one. I expect you to plan something nice, all right?”

“I can do that,” Fred agreed easily, grin only growing. “On my honor as a wizard, it will be the best date you’ve ever been on Hermione Granger.”

Her responding grin was just as bright. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Shall we then?” Fred asked after a pause that seemed to increase the temperature of the room by about ten degrees. He opened the door wide, gesturing grandly for her to go through first. Hermione rolled her eyes but walked through without complaint. Fred’s grin only brightened.  

That is, until they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Mistletoe,” Hermione breathed as she came to a sudden, jarring stop at the bottom of the stairs, her gaze locked on the offending bit of magical flora that floated above their heads.

Fred’s gaze, however, was locked on a face nearly identical to his own, though his twin was smirking rather than glaring as Fred was. Next to him, Ron appeared ready to combust.

“I’m sorry,” Fred apologized immediately, gaze turning soft and pleading as he turned to look down at her. “I had no idea—”

“I know,” she answered, already guessing at who had moved this wonderful bit of magic to trap them at the bottom of the stairs. Normally, she would be angry that yet another choice had been made for her. But after three glasses of wine, an intense conversation with Fred, and the promise of a wonderful date tomorrow, she was feeling a bit reckless. “Might as well let them know my answer now.”

“What are you—”

She cut him off with a press of her lips to his still-open mouth, and though she had initially intended for it to be chaste, she used the opportunity to slip her tongue inside and taste him properly. His answering groan told her she had made the right decision.

It was a bit uncomfortable, as far as first kisses go. He was a step above her on the stairs, and as he was already taller than her, it meant she had to stretch up on her tiptoes and yank him down by the collar to even reach him. Not to mention she could practically feel the eyes of their friends and family boring into her back. But when Fred stepped down and tugged her closer, never breaking free of her hold on him, they really found their stride.

She had no idea how long they stood there, her fists clenched tightly in his jacket and his cinching her waist despite his overwhelming desire to bury them in her hair, their lips moving and caressing each other seamlessly; but eventually someone cleared their throat and she pulled away with a pop that would have embarrassed her if Fred weren’t currently looking at her as though she was the best thing he had ever tasted.

“Well,” Hermione said after an awkward beat of silence, turning to find that everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to stare at them, eyes wide and mouths gaping. “It’s been lovely, but I think I’ll go home. Thanks for everything Molly, Arthur.” She nodded to his parents as she separated from him, heading directly for the Floo.

She picked up a handful of powder, ready to throw it into the fireplace, before she turned back to face him at the last second, grin mischievous. The sight nearly brought him to his knees. “Oh, and I’ll see you tomorrow Fred. What time are you picking me up?”

“Six?” he suggested, lips curving up to match hers as his family continued to watch them in a sort of stunned fascination.

“I’ll see you at six then,” she agreed before disappearing is a swirl of green flames.

Another tense silence followed her departure, and Fred took great pains to not meet the eyes of anyone in the room. If they were horrified, surprised, or disgusted, he really didn’t care to know. He had just snogged Hermione Granger senseless, and he planned on ridding this high as long as possible.

“I think I’ll head out too,” Fred decided, sparing his twin one last glance as he made his way to the fireplace. “See you at the flat, George.”

In the seconds it took him to grip the Floo powder and throw it down, the room seemed to come back to life. Molly Weasley started screaming questions at him so fast he couldn’t even begin to decipher them, Ron called out “What in the bloody hell was that?”, Charlie was applauding, Ginny was wolf whistling, but Fred didn’t care. He was already flying through the Floo Network, hoping that no one (save George) was stupid enough to follow him.

He had an important date to plan, after all. And if he had any hope of getting Hermione to agree to a second one, it had to be perfect.

Notes: This got a bit longer than I meant it to, so it's split into two parts. The second part should come later this week. Any thoughts on what our lovebirds should do on their date?

[marquise-mindfang]

Before You Follow: Rules

Hey demons, it’s me, ya boi, Nyx.

How this blog is ran:

This blog is a semi-independent canon divergent blog for Mindfang from Homestuck! In less confusing terms, this just means that I roleplay an already existing character from a pre-existing franchise called Homestuck. She isn't an OC, though I’ve been roleplaying her so long it almost feels like it.

Semi-independent means I have a few associations with other roleplayers here whose characters she is associated with.She lives with a few, so be considerate before you try and show up at her house uninvited etc.

Canon divergent means I'm using this characters base personality and traits but not the canon story written for her. This means, that while she has a lot in common with the canon story, she is able to divert from that, allowing those outside of the Homestuck universe to interact without it contradicting anything.

For this reason non homestuck characters and OC's are welcome to interact with her.

Although this blog is formatted in a way where Mindfang herself is running the blog. The DM's are for OOC talk or discussions. Any OOC posts from me will be tagged #OOC and any IC posts are tagged #IC. All interactions are assumed online unless plotted otherwise or our characters have naturally asked one to come over etc.

Despite her blog being blog formatted, I also do semi-lit and face to face. I’d rather do these types of roleplay formats with people whose muns and muses I am familiar with and trust not to godmod though.

Asks are welcome. Your muse is free to jump on any of Fang’s IC written blog posts without asking. If it’s a closed thread with another person then don’t hijack it and if your character is another canon character from another universe, I won’t have my muse break the fourth wall and address you as a “comic/animation character”. Your muse is as real to Mindfang as Mindfang is perceived as to yours.

__________________________________________________________________

Some Rules:

1  I do not support, condone or want to see people on my dashboard that support, participate and encourage the sexualisation of eating disorders, roleplaying noncon/r*pe or consistently and constantly harass people with false allegations.

__________________________________________________________________

With that aside, welcome!

This is a semi-selective (interact with mutuals only) independent Mindfang blog for Homestuck. It’s kind of laid back, and I’m almost down for anything creative-wise occuring.

While the mun is 18+, no smut will be present on this blog. For this blog I would advise people to be 16+ as there is frequent implications of drinking/killing and all that wonderful Alternian stuff. There will be no smut on this blog.

I do tag sensitive topics and if there’s anything that you want tagged, let me know.

Basic rules: No godmodding, talk to me before your muse tries to do anything life-threatening to her. Also be aware this muse is strong, she’s a pirate and a killer for a living, this is not someone you want to agitate.

If you want to avoid a reaction like that. Message me your intentions, so I know clearly what you are planning ahead of time or discuss with me a plot should you wish for something to escalate beforehand, so we can both contain and control anything that might happen between our muses.

And last but not least, have fun.

[ao3feed-thefoxholecourt]

sugar and smoke rings

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2CJzbgD

by maisy_daisy

“I’m not dating anyone,” Neil says. “Andrew and I are just friends.”

“Friends that hold hands and go on dates and make lovey dovey faces at each other in public?” Allison deadpans.

"We're not dating," he insists again. He feels himself deflate in Allison’s embrace and her eyes fall at his expression.

“Trust me,” Neil says quieter. “Because you have no idea how badly I wish we were.”

Or, an extremely ooc andreil high school au! ft. a lot of pining, absolutely no mentions of trauma, and two very oblivious idiots.

Words: 12668, Chapters: 4/4, Language: English

Fandoms: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten, Allison Reynolds (All For The Game), Kevin Day, Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd, Renee Walker (All For The Game), Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Nicky Hemmick

Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Kevin Day/Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds

Additional Tags: High School AU, Pining, this is literally 11k of two pining idiots and one very touch starved neil, Demisexual neil, this is so freaking ooc and I have never cared less, like Andrew is pretty much human as hell and there's like no mentions of trauma, I just wanted to write something fluffy and superficial sue me, Fluff, literally no angst unless you count their inability to communicate like normal people, Andreil, god neil is so touch starved in this i have no explanation, did I mention this is super ooc?? bc it is don't come for me, just accept these two stupid and pining idiots crushing on each other, literally no trauma in this I hate trauma all my homies hate trauma, also breaks the fourth wall a couple times so wtv, The opposite of a slow burn

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2CJzbgD

[smarmaladey]

The Bad Touch - (1/3)

Chapter 1 - “you and me”

Rating: 🇪

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Relationship(s):  🐞♡🚺

Words: 4032

Ao3 Link

(For content warnings and additional notes, click read more.)

The recessive vampire genes in Giorno's blood haven't been sitting too well with him lately. AKA, your boss is in heat. Oh god. Oh fuck. 

content warnings: rape/non-con elements, ooc (probably), AU (probably)

Enjoy!

♡🐞♡

Sunday.

4:00 PM.

The first incident.

♡🐞♡

Christ.

Seriously? In your three years working in espionage, this was the most tedious assignment you’d ever gone with? Retrieving a couple godforsaken papers from some insignificant rival group?

Whatever. It was done.

The fruits of your labor were safely tucked in the inside of your coat, ready to be delivered to the big man himself.

You could never fully understand why your boss always made you deliver crap straight to him. Maybe it was a trust thing?

During the span of your near two-year “career” under Passione, you’d managed to be slung up the ranks by the combination of your competence, ability, and tendency to work alone. This meant getting strangely close with the head of the whole shebang, normally taking your assignments straight from the man.

You never really made a big deal out of this. Giovanna was far from a super-secretive man, nor was he cold like one might expect from a goddamn mob boss. Hell , If the lowest, newest, meekest member of a scummy group did one thing that pleased him, he’d probably invite them to dinner at the most prestigious establishment in Rome. Or at least that’s what he came across as to you.

It was kind of sketchy.

But you didn’t really care, nor did you have any right to criticize the guy.

Dwelling on those thoughts wasn’t your style. All you had to do today was: Deliver the file, leave the office, get home, and finally, watch your shows. Simple.

After somehow making your way through his large estate to his office all by yourself, something was a little off.

The door was closed all the way.

You cracked it open a little bit, the too-loud creaking making you uneasy.

“Sir…?”

“Ah,” his voice was much too quiet, and almost...frantic. “Who’s this?”

How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? “Uhm, me?” You took the liberty of letting yourself in, slightly put off by how dim the room was. Facing you was the back of a leather chair.

Giovanna was looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of his office, curtains pulled half-open, casting soft afternoon light into the room. “...I’m guessing you have the documents?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t…” Muttering under your breath, you took the black folder from your coat.

He turned around when he heard your footsteps (because of course he could), being illuminated by the yellow-er light from the ceiling lamp.

The files were gently set down on his desk, and you caught him looking up at your face.

Something you’d been noticing for the past few months, (actually, you were pretty sure it began around his eighteenth birthday) he’d been... adorning himself more than usual…? As if he wasn’t already grandiose enough, he’d been wearing makeup quite a lot more than you were used to.

Giovanna smiled up at you, and successfully got you to avert your gaze. His lips were glossed with a very lovely fuchsia, but what really caught your eye were his cloud-white, glittering teeth. And you had no clue why. Something was off about his teeth, besides the fact that, like the rest of him, they were grossly perfect.

He was clad in a classic; magenta suit with numerous full-golden brooches. (Those ones were new, given to him by a “friend of the organization” apparently, and you had no idea why you knew this) Glancing at his hands on the folder, his nails, manicured into rounded points and painted white, contrasted with the signature black leather of your favorite binder.

Strange. His door was completely shut, as if nobody had seen him for the entire day. Why was he still dressed up…?

Swallowing nothing, you took a step back.

“Let’s see…” Your boss’s voice was still quiet, as he carefully tugged the manila files out and placed them on his desk. “Ah, bravo! These are exactly what we’ve been looking for!”

Before you knew it, he had snatched your hand and was shaking it with both of his. The nails digging into your wrist made you cringe.

”Thank you, Sir...thank you…” You tried with all your being not to sound confused or ungrateful, especially with those...intense turquoise eyes glaring up into your soul.

“I expected nothing less of this, perfect job!” His hands lingered for too long before he dropped to start reading the documents again.

You mumbled something, turned around, and began to leave. Yet, just as your hand was on the tacky flower-themed doorknob, he stopped you.

“Wait,” the jump from his chair was audible. “I, ahem, I never dismissed you.” There was a small giggle in his voice, and you weren’t buying it.

Ugh.

“Awh, but Don Giovanna~~! ♡ I’ve had such a long, looong day, and my poor body’s so, sooo tired! Please let me go home, haven’t I done such a good job already~? ♡ There’s a new X-Files episode premiering tonight, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world~!”

That’s what you could’ve said in an ideal world.  

“Right.” In that world, he’d let you leave right away, “am I needed for anything else, Giovanna?” And then you’d go to your quiet, expensive beach house and get an amazing night’s sleep.

He shuffled in his seat a bit. “Yes, why don’t you hang up your coat?” He spoke without looking at you, scanning the files in front of him. “You must be hot in this room, I know I’ve been all day…”

You nodded once. “I think the air conditioning here might be broken…” your boss’s words mostly flew over your head. “I’ve just been feeling so overheated lately. I even keep the door shut now just so the cool air doesn’t leave this room…” You nodded again. “Do you think I should get a fan?” Again.

When you fully took off your heavy coat, you flinched.

Holy shit, it’s freezing.

With your bare arms exposed, you finally processed how cold it was in the room. No sooner did the temperature register with the rest of your body.

The coat rack, like a lot in the room, was floral themed. The decoration of the entire office was pretty on point, but when you walked back across the room again, something new grabbed your attention.

On the ceiling, the round lamp that hung down had a new look. The paper lampshade had a sort of “Classical Asian Art” look to it, like Japanese “Ukiyo-e” or whatever it was called. Neat.

“Nice lamp.” You said, breaking the silence. Giovanna glanced at you, and you pointed up at the ceiling. “It looks nice.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Sitting across from him, you felt somewhat trapped. Just a little, though. It was just...quiet, with him reading papers and you...not.

This guy…

Your heart jumped when he shut the folder in front of your face. “Could you do me a favor, please?” Giovanna pointed somewhere behind you, at one of the many bookshelves lining the walls. “There should be a…” He cleared his throat, something he had been doing a lot during this meeting. “...a sort of history book on the Holy Roman Empire over there...”

Not bothering to say anything else, you got up. He gave you clarification and you were happy to get a little farther from him.

The books were all similar-looking with hard-to-read spines. It honestly felt like they were all sorted by color rather than title, and perfectly lined up with one another. How can one man manage to be so perfectly organized?

“Sir, which shelf is it?” You weren’t answered, as Giovanna had to clear his throat again. “...are you alright? Have you been ill these past few days?”

He waved at you not to worry. “I should be fine, I’ve just been so thirsty lately…”

“Ah.”

“It’s so strange, my throat is constantly dry…”

“That so? Would you like me to get some water?” You offered, still facing the bookshelf.

Once more, he cleared his throat. “No, that’s not necessary. Don’t worry about me too much…”

Everything seemed to stop awkwardly.

“It’s probably on the fourth shelf down, the title should be obvious…”

And like that, you found it.

“Grazie, grazie!” Giovanna almost cooed to you when you handed him the leatherback book. When he took it from you, his nails hit your fingertips, but you were distracted by seeing his teeth again. Still, you couldn’t tell what was up.

“Yeah, right…” You sat back down across from him, as he almost immediately started looking through the pages. “So why do you need the history book again…?”

He slid a document to you and pointed at some random word. “Well, it seems like in these records, they refer to--” Out. Everything else he said went through one ear, out the other.

“...right.”

“--and in this, this is a--”

“...yeah.”

“--which leads me to this one, which I have…”

When he trailed off, it went quiet again.

“This. I’ve seen this quote before!” He was pointing at the bottom of one of the first documents you snatched.

You were about to respond with another “oh really?” before he pointed out at another bookshelf, this time much closer to the desk.

“It’s smaller, but it’s right over there, I’m pretty sure.” Again, the books were all sorted by size and color, so you couldn’t tell anything from each other. He must’ve taken off the sleeves, too, because some didn’t even have a title on the spine.

You really wanted to snarl something at him. “Where am I looking again?”

Giovanna tried to clarify the location again, but it wasn’t working with you. Just get up yourself, asshole.

And he did! For the first time you’d seen that day, he rose from his chair and stared at the same row of books you were. Maybe the same exact book you were looking at. He must’ve, why else would he be standing so close?

“I could’ve sworn I put it around here…” You could hear his breathing. Stepping away, you watched him stand stiff and stare at all the books.

Your eyes were beginning to hurt. It’d been so long since you’d slept, all you needed was to go. “Enough, what’s the title of the book?” You were careful not to groan or scoff before or after you spoke.

Giovanna touched his chin with his index, looking, frankly, gorgeous from a profile shot. “It was called...ah, Invitation to a Beheading? Something like that?”

Something clicked in your head so fast you could’ve sworn you heard a ring.

“Ohhh! I’m pretty sure I remember my mom reading that book!” A quick memory of the book’s appearance flashed in your head, that matched something you had seen on another shelf earlier perfectly. “It’d be over here-”

Now, what happened next needs to be analyzed, because you were 99.9% sure this single moment was the straw on the camel’s back. The action that began the downfall. The great whore to your Babylon.

All you did was turn around, turn around right next to him, so you could head to another bookshelf.

The thing was, you weren’t paying attention to how you were moving your arms, only focused on the stupid goddamn book. Innocently, your arm swung and, as a result, your hand just brushed against his --Giovanna’s, your boss’s-- upper thigh...area. The back of it. You know, that area, the one between the tailbone and the leg, that one.

To put it bluntly, you touched his ass.

Both you two froze in that moment, you could tell. Maybe time stopped.

"...civetta."

You looked back around, to make sure you had heard that right.

"I'm sorry…?"

"Ah...you're such a little tease, aren't you…?"

Huh?

Blood in your veins went cold when you saw the pure, unadulterated salacity in his eyes.

Your fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and you tried to look to the side, or even turn around, but it was much too late. Giovanna had promptly moved to you, caged your face with his hands and turned you up to look at him.

The eye contact was brief, his gaze drilling into yours, before he forced you into a kiss.  

A shock went down your spine and made you stiffen. Almost instantly, you tasted the strange (and revoltingly pleasant) flavor of his lip gloss, and grew hyper-aware of not only the shape of his mouth, but the contrast of his body heat against yours.

Eyes widened, you uttered out a shocked, muffled noise that only seemed to make his ever-growing body temperature even warmer.

You tried to push against him, but he just grunted and tugged your body against his. Squishing your eyes shut, you tried pushing and palming at his chest, which only made him hold on tighter.

Eventually he detached for air, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you appearing only briefly. Giovanna's green eyes were absolutely hazed over, a vibrant pink dyeing his usually white face.

A million words were dashing through your head --why? what? who? how? me? you?-- but your brain was incapable of stringing together anything coherent.

It wouldn't have mattered if it had been, though, because almost as soon as the golden boy had pulled away, he pulled in once more.

This time, he took advantage of your pried open mouth to invade you near completely. In the midst, your tongue ended up brushing against one of his teeth--one of his canines.

Sharp. Too sharp.

With that, it was cut short by you successfully jerking away. While he didn't let you go, Giovanna withdrew again, wiping off his smeared lip gloss with the back of his hand.

"Sir! I--" Idiotically, you had assumed it was over, but surely enough, your wrists had gotten snatched.

Next thing you knew, the side of your face had been pushed up against the nearest vertical surface, with Giovanna mewing your body with his own.

"Gh…no..." Your voice had gotten higher, weaker too, "Sir...ah, Don Giovanna, please...I don't understand...why, what is this…?"

"You 'don't understand'? Really now?"  

You trembled at how close his voice had become, now so close to your ear that you could hear his tongue detaching from the roof of his mouth. “Sir, I--”

“Ah,” he breathed out a small laugh, “don’t try and play coy with me, cara, you knew exactly what you were doing…”

Giovanna had noticed how you reacted to his voice, so he decided to drag his tongue along the shell of your ear, before kissing it directly. Again, you let out a weak noise as warmth shocked your body.

Trying to get away from his voice, you turned forward and pressed your forehead against the shelf, perhaps in an attempt to squeeze yourself between the books and escape.

"Oh, when you tried to leave me earlier," he was beginning to sound almost whiney with how breathy his voice was becoming, clutching your shoulder and hand with an iron grip. "I swear, if you left, I would've…"

He never finished that statement, too distracted by trailing his hand from your shoulder, down your torso, all the way to the bottom of your high-waisted shorts.

"These...ah, did you really expect to come in here, wearing these, and be able to get away~?"

Even with your panic-blinded brain, you knew you had worn these (admittedly, skimpy) pants around him plenty of times before. He never had any problems until now…

"Giovanna, this is- ah!"

Your words were choked back when he had slipped his hand beneath the waistband of your pants. Underwear too, as he wasted little time trying to force his hand between your closed thighs.

His hand had no trouble finding that little rift in your flesh, middle finger delving between and pressing against the sensitive little nub inside.

In a near instant, your legs went from straight to bent, beginning to tremble. You cursed yourself for near literally becoming putty in his hands, but your brain was still fried and unable to think straight.

With a charming, pleased hum, he swirled his finger around, generating more embarrassing sounds from you. He kept his chest firm on your back, making sure you couldn't wriggle away from his grasp.

Giovanna slid his finger lower and curled it, his digit entering your body with a very slight pinch. You yelped again, hyper-aware of the quiet, very muffled squelching sound made.

"Oh, it's so wet here…" he tittered, sending even more polarizing feelings coursing through your veins.

"N-no...not there, you can't…" The softness of his hand, the smoothness of his nail, invading your warm insides made you feel extremely weak, like your body could cave in at any second. Your feet began to slide back on the hardwood floor, so Giovanna took extra care securing his lower body against yours as well.

Tragically, you tried rocking against his hand, begging for relief. That stopped when you realized you could feel his hard-on through the material of his satin clothing.

He decided he'd had enough of whatever this was, extracting his hand from your clothing and backing up a tad. After lapping his finger clean, he took a second to "compose" himself.

"I apologize, I know this isn't the most comfortable place for us, at the moment…" you were gently hugged from behind, him nuzzling into the top of your head a bit.

You wanted to take the opportunity to break away from him, but before you could even realize he had hastily lifted you up. The bright light made you reflexively shut your eyes, but it didn't stop you from trying to wiggle out of his hold.

Giovanna brought you to his large, cushioned chair, sitting himself down and maneuvering your limbs just so you were straddling him. He tried to hug you again, but you pushed yourself away, hands at his chest.

"Sir…please, we have to stop." A tiny, nagging part of your brain knew this wouldn't reason with him, so you added on, "...not now. Not here, at least…"

His engaged expression turned into a soft, content smile.

Holy fuck, did I actually get him to listen? Will I actually get away with my dignity after all?

You nearly smiled at the seemingly good sign.

But instead of letting you go, he spun the chair around, grabbing your wrists.

Actually, it wasn't him grabbing you. Not exactly.

Ghostly white-gold hands faded in, pulling your arms away from each other, as he pushed your torso away, tugged your shins so they dropped from the chair and onto the floor, and secured your pelvis against his.

In the end, the position you had been forced into was both uncomfortable and humiliating, with G • E restraining your arms, the edge of the desk pressing into the small or your back, and to top it all off, your boss firmly holding your groins together.

It made you want to cry, so you did. Just a little bit, though.

"Ah, please don't worry! I don't plan on having briefings with anybody else, so let's not worry about…"

He completely trailed off, losing his train of thought as he looked over your body in silence. It stayed like this for a couple seconds, with him not exactly sure what to do next, and you refusing to look at anything.

Eventually, he leaned forward a bit, reached to the bottom of your top. You glared at his hand as it grabbed onto the hem, and in a single motion, yanked it over your chest. The cold air enveloped your now exposed breasts made your muscles jerk inward, giving the desk a little shake.

In the tense moment, he kind of just stared for a few seconds, eyes round and doe-ish, face very flushed.

He doesn't know what he's doing. And he doesn't even care.

Wetness dotting his yellow lashes, he suddenly wrapped his arms around your torso, nudging up into the crook of your neck and drawing in your scent. You would've wondered why he looked like he was crying, but your mind was occupied with the embarrassment that came with knowing how sweaty you were. Not like he cared.

Giovanna pressed a couple pecks to the bottom of your jaw, before lowering and quickly licking up the side of your neck. He pulled back about a centimeter, and you watched in suspense as  his eyes trailed down to your chest.

He traced a very faint vein with the tip of his nail, one embedded in your breast, until he reached your nipple, erected by the cold air. He took it between the tips of his fingers, rolling it gently.

The muscles in your chest tensed as he cupped your tit with one hand, and slid the other down your body again.

While groping you, he had his lips ghosting the area around your collarbone, wanting to feel every small detail of your skin. His breath felt like it was getting hotter every second, and you were sure that the stuttering little snivels coming out of your mouth were only making things worse.

With a little roll of his chair, Giovanna pushed his groin up against yours, the slight friction made on your vital spot just enough to make you squirm.

His hands really had no right to feel as wonderful as they did, smooth and supple, incredibly warm, and glazed with a sheer bit of sweat. It felt like they were made for your body, as it accepted his touch completely, whether he was groping you or continuing to explore your insides with his digits.

You continued to try and fight back, be it very weakly, by wiggling your lower body best you could. What made you completely give up the quarrel was Giovanna leaning down and taking one of your stiff teats in his mouth. The sudden feeling made you reflexively cave in your chest, as your elbows finally touched the cool wood of his desk. In the back of your hazed mind, you took note of how G • E loosened his hold.

He put more pressure on your body, eyebrows knit, like he was savoring the taste of your skin. As he grew rougher, you felt his sharp canines poke at your supple flesh, and you jerked again.

Giovanna responded by slipping another digit inside, pushing you back a tad more while staying latched on your chest.

Too much. It's all too much.

With seemingly nothing else to do, you let your head drop back. Then, you saw an opportunity.

The lamp.

See, while you had been tangled up in getting restrained by your Boss's Stand, you somehow forgot one critical fact; that you had one too.

The key to escaping this Freudian Nightmare was, quite literally, glaring you in the face.

And all you needed was just another little push…

As if on cue, your arms slid back about a half-centimeter more, and you grabbed the opportunity with an iron grip.

Now.

In an actual blink, Giovanna's ceiling lamp imploded, causing the room to go dark. The minor vacuum caused was enough to make the desk shake, and you slide across and onto the floor ahead.

Despite landing awkwardly on your shoulders, you hastily got on your ass, tugged down your shirt, and rose to your feet.

The relief you felt when you finally reached the door was indescribable, yet you still found yourself glancing back.

Pulverized glass was still falling through the air, what once remained of the most interesting part of the room now glittering with sunset light. Giovanna, on the other hand, had rolled his chair back a bit, adorably rubbing his eyes.

Hit one!

The beat of your heart was racing, yet…

"Giorno, I'm sorry!"

Hit two!

You had no time to dwell on your apology, though, as you rushed out the door.

Hit three! Triple fuckup combo!

You leapt off the mezzanine to the ground floor, and made a dash to the exit.

The cool air of the night came to rightfully claim you. That night, while running across the Italian countryside, you felt rather different.

Needless to say, you missed that night's episode of X-Files.

♡🐞♡

n: thanks to aaron for making the title cards for me, he’s a great skunk man!  I said i was gonna do it, and here i am.  Hopefully this means i’ll be able to start using tumblr a bit more frequently... Or maybe it won’t, who knows? I’ll post the second chapter here tomorrow, and as for the last one...it’s coming, don’t fret :D

[pcssessicn]

☆ . · . miguel bernardeau, twenty-one, male, he / him . · . ☆ fitzwilliam 'fitz' phénix-alvarez lives in that huge mansion over there! no, not that one. look for white stucco walls & terracotta shingles and that’ll be it. the nhl defenseman has offered occasional glimpses of soft yellow walls and an impressive collection of plants in the background of social media posts, but all of that is nothing compared to seeing the opulence in person. they’ve remained protective as ever since moving to tercet court two months ago, but it seems like they might’ve gotten a little more mistrustful too. maybe that’s why they’re rumored to have such a distant relationship with everyone else who lives on this street. ☆ . · . ooc info: ollie, they / them, 21, est . · . ☆ career claim: cale ma/kar.

BASICS

Full name: Fitzwilliam Phénix-Alvarez Nickname: Fitz Birth date: September 29th Languages: English, Spanish, Quebecois Francois Hometown: 

PHYSICAL

Age: 21 Weight: 196 lbs Height: 6′2″ Body build: athletic, lean Eye color: grey-blue Faceclaim: Miguel Bernardeau Glasses or contacts: neither 

Tattoos: a raven in flight over his left shoulder blade, monochromatic vines winding up his left bicep

Scars: most predominantly a thin scar near the base of his neck where a skate slashed him when he was fourteen ; several other smaller scars of less note, especially on his hands --- much less noticeable

PERSONALITY

Good personality traits: observant, calculating, protective Bad personality traits: mistrustful, dishonest, aggressive 

Fitz comes across as very confident and in control, and at ease in his skin. The truth couldn’t be farther from it. He works hard to put forward the easy front he does --- and some days he can’t tell which one is more real. He has a dishonest smile that masquerades as honest, and a tendency to manipulate those around him when necessary to shed suspicion off himself. He can be almost charming at times, at least extremely amiable. Despite all this, Fitz is not rash or impulsive -- in fact everything he does is carefully calculated, though he goes to great lengths so it does not come across as so. The one place he feels truly effortless is on the ice.

He finds it hard to truly allow people close to him and to really see beyond the most superficial layers of himself. Furthermore, there is a deep-seated fear of not being enough and being forgotten ; he finds it easier to not let anyone close so there’s less chance of this happening.

THE STORY ( i rly was gunna try to write this nice and eloquently but... u get this instead 😔 )

— fitz was born to up and coming spanish actress reyna alvarez in chicago. the result of a messy one-night stand, but reyna ultimately decided to keep the baby. he is indeed named after fitzwilliam darcy from pride and prejudice bc his mother’s first breakout role was in a film adaptation of the book and she loved the book after reading it. how unfortunate for him.

— his birth father was never in the picture, but the man he would come to know as his father came into the picture a year or so after his birth. already one of the top architects in north america, paul robert phenix was in chicago for a conference and he and reyna fell in love. fitz has been told it’s was all very romantic. so then the happy family moved to pittsburgh where his father’s architecture firm was based.

— despite growing up with two parents who raked in a fair amount of cash, they made sure nothing was just given to fitz. they’d both had their humble beginnings and big believers in tough love, they made sure not to spoil their son. they did however make sure he was sheltered from the media when it poked around and the two things they did pay for without question were his education and sports.

— he started playing hockey when he was six after seeing a pens game on tv while they were out at dinner and knowing he just had to do it --- and never stopped. he got recruited to the us national team development program when he was sixteen and spent his last two years of high school in michigan living with a billet family most do who are with the program, which gave him a huge sense of “normalcy.” but really he was far from normal, his development taking great steps over those two years leading up to his draft year.

— queue the cale ma/kar career claim lads aka all the hockey development & logistics u can probably skip if u don’t care laksdjf: 

 one year before graduation and a draft, he vocally committed to playing at university of massachusetts - amherst. he went fourth overall to the la kings in the 2017 draft ( yeah technically irl that pick belonged to the avs but sh ), and proceeded to remain loyal to his commitment and play two years at umass despite his new top five prospect status. he was put into a first pair role from the start of his freshman year ( 2017-18 ), was a huge part in bringing the umass team up from the bottom of the standings. he plays for team usa in world juniors 2017 and 2018.

his sophomore year ( 2018-19 ), they make it all the way to the frozen four. fitz gets announced as the hobey baker winner and the day after they get knocked out of the tournament. not long after that he signs his entry contract with the kings and finishes out the season with them. he scores his first nhl goal on his first shot in game 3 of the first round of playoffs irl the kings don’t make playoffs but again shh. they get knocked out in the first round and fitz goes home and trains harder than ever.

he come back to kings training camp the next season ( 2019-20 ) more determined than ever to make the team. he does so out of camp and has an incredible rookie campaign. he gets injured in december and misses a few games but is back mid-january. fitz is given the calder ( award that goes to the best rookie in the nhl ) at the end of the season. technically cale hasn’t won this yet but we all know he will.

— la is a bustling city and fitz is a fan of one night stands : he just doesn’t feel like he has time for a relationship and hookups scratch that itch. he’s not an asshole about it, really. there is typically that understanding that this is a one time, no strings attached thing. but this one girl he sleeps with in march obviously does not get this memo and continues to not get the memo. she starts seriously stalking him in the following months and eventually he gets a restraining order against her ( use ur imagination kids ). he’s not really comfortable staying in his own apartment downtown for the time being though after he still sees her around. he stays with a teammate until the season ends, which then brings us to his connection to tercet court.

— paul robert phenix, now world reknowned architect, had a hand in designing several of the homes on tercet court, including one in the style of old money spanish mediterrianian villas that he designed with his wife in mind to be their new home. fitz’s mother had loved the house and moved in for a few years after the court opened but with her taking fewer roles up in the movie industry and getting exceedingly more lonely, she decided to embrace the more nomadic livestyle of her husband and moved out about a year and a half ago. since then the home stood vacant ( though certainly still cared for by several paid landscapers and maids ) until fitz’s dilemma arose a few months ago.

— a few phone calls and a begrudging agreement to pay the extremely steep taxes on the place for the year ( again, tough love and fitz may be a pro-athlete but he’s still making less than a million a year with his entry level contract ), and fitz moved in about two months ago ( say mid-may ).

MISC

— tri-lingual. father is french-canadian and his mother is spanish. needless to say he grew up a little confused. that worked itself out soon enough though. uses he uses quebois french in-season kind of frequently to talk to a couple teammates. really only uses his spanish to talk to his mother and family.

— since moving in fitz has filled the mansion with plants. he absolutely does not seem like a plant guy but he is... absolutely loves it. his major at umass was kinesology bc he thought it would be the most helpful and knew he wasn’t going to graduate but he snuck in some out-of-major classes on horticulture. truly just likes plants a lot. they don’t judge him.

— probably set up his own puck shooting pad in the backyard. why not there’s enough space. he had to retrieve a couple pucks from the bottom of the pool though which has been good incentive to not miss the net lmao. he also has revamped one of the rooms in the house to have synthetic ice.

— runs in the morning before it gets hot. skates a few days of the week in the afternoon. home gym in the house is definitely a perk but he prefers to work out with others because it feels more productive.

— probably drives like. a range rover.

— offensive defenseman. likes to jump up in the rush and is good at break out passes as well as zone entry. earned his place quarterbacking the first powerplay towards the end of the season. he can be quite physical when he needs to be though and don’t ever go after his goalie. ( his nhl.com player page )

— he’s not a recluse by any means, but he has no desire to built connections in tercet court so probably hasn’t actively reached out. they’re likely to have met outside of the small community or if your character forcibly came and introduced themselves. or if they knew each other already mayhaps??

— oh and he’s bi. like really really bi. obv not advertised given his career path but he’s not having some crisis over it either. it just is. probably has a stack of nda’s next to the condoms ready to go at anytime alsdkfj.

OOC

hey lads. i’m ollie !! for those around for round 1.0 of this rp i played alya ( the sports photog ). i am back and this time going back to what i do best : playing hockey boys 😔😔😔.