#but part of my problem here is that however little valentino cares i certainly care even less | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tswhiisftteedr · 7 months ago

Note

Not to be rude but you accidentally put val's story in vox's masterlist instead. Srry I didn't feel comfy dming you. Nothing against you at all I'm just a coward wanting to hide in anon haha. Ig while I'm here could I get vox general hcs pls?

What the Tv do? ☆ Vox General Headcanon + Drabbles (SFW & NSFW)

☆ Vox General headcanon + Vox x Gn!Reader(Employee!Reader??):

Some general thoughts about the tv man and also his relationship with the ‘reader’. This is silly, this is fun, fluffy and smutty.

Warnings: Mature Content, Not Proofread, Drinking, Death(literally overdose on coffe nothing gruesome), Drug use(c0caine and others substances), Sadistic Tendencies, Dub-Con, Power Imbalance/Power Play, Obsessive and Possessive Tendencies and Acts, Stalking, Voyeurism & Exhibitionism, Boss x Employee, Pet Play?(Just collaring and slight animal based pet names), Valentino.

Words: Total: 5496 = Sfw - 2609 + Nsfw - 2887

Note: I only wrote 1 drabble, i might add more if people request it about the specific headcanon they want more on. so I’m not good with request like these, I like when they are more specific so I have sort of something to base my writing on, so sorry if you anon or people don’t like what I’ve wrote, r.i.p. >:/ Though tell me if you want more!!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

SFW:

☕︎ Coffee addict and 𓏊 Alcoholic

Vox is the figurative and quite literally incarnation of the ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ phrase.

But we’re talking coffees instead of coffee with him — two cups straight out of bed to be precise. When totalling the day’s consumption, Vox indulges on average, 6-7 cups of 10 oz coffee; in addition to his morning coffees, he likes to have a mid-morning cup, then two during lunch and finally 1-2 cups during the afternoon depending how late he is working.

Is this per say, ‘healthy’? No, not at all, Vox couldn't care less — worst ‘worst’ case scenario, he quote on quote dies, the coffee he had intake ends up intoxicating him due to the splurging amount of it, turning this mondaine drink into a lethal liquid for the overlord’s body. His heart would stop, sub-consequently, him and his body would be out.

Though the good thing — or bad, it all depends on your angle — about hell is that in about the span of 10 minutes his body will have fully regenerate and be back open for business. Some sinners call it it a curse, he calls it a blessing, as this part of the ‘eternal punishment’ practically makes him immortal.

So is he going to work on regulating his caffeine intake? Obviously not!

Worst thing he gets from his ‘little problem’ is a heart attack, and they don’t permanently keep him down. — Sure, they hurt like a bitch, and he would rather not be having them at all to be truthful.

But he honestly he doesn’t see his bimonthly cardiac arrests as that steep of a price to pay. (Honestly how can such a smart businessman be so dumb about his health. * face palming and baffled at the idiocy of it all *)

Now when alcohol is the subject of conversation, Vox takes a slightly different approach, albeit one still characterized by overindulgence.

You see, he prides himself on being the epitome of a charming, classy, and self-controlled casual drinker, compared to his drunkard of a pattern —Valentino— our lovely show host with anger issues and both inferiority and superiority complex is a sophisticated and savvy man.

However, beneath this facade of self-control, which he upholds quite well to the public eye, hides his obvious alcoholism issues.

While he may not be stumbling and blubbering around, picking fights,— in most instances at least— Vox is certainly what you might call a “day drinker."

In fact, this is actually a canonical trait, which was displayed in episode two of the show; Him discussing with others Vees on how to deal with the radio demon’s comeback, a drink in hand.

I presume thatit was a scotch on the rocks due to it’s colour but also it’s historical relevance in relation to Vox’s person— Scotch whisky poured over ice, gained popularity in the 1950s primarily in Western countries such as the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada.

It became a symbol of sophistication and leisure, often enjoyed in upscale bars, clubs, and lounges frequented by the affluent and fashionable crowd of the era.

Additionally, its popularity was bolstered by the rise of cocktail culture during the mid-20th century, as well as the increasing availability of Scotch whisky in international markets. — this fits quite nicely Vox’s character as it is both a drink of his time on earth but also one that remains relevant in the contemporary era.

It easily mirrors Vox's overarching desire to maintain relevance and significance, both in the present and in the ever-evolving future.

The overlord definitely adhere to ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere’ religiously. Though he does prefer to enjoy his daily drink around 5 p.m. PRT (Pride Ring Time).

He will occasionally enjoys a drink with his lunch, often opting for wine, although this isn't a regular occurrence for the man.

As someone constantly under stress, with his mind racing to keep up with the ever-changing trends and opinions in hell, Vox is a type to indulge in a nightcap or two before bed.

It helps him unwind and achieve the relaxed state of mind necessary for a restful night's sleep.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Sleep

While the notion of ‘Vox's dreams playing on his screen while he's asleep’ is an amusing concept for fanfiction or artwork, I personally find the idea of ‘the VoxTek logo bouncing around like the DVD logo’ to be more fitting for Vox.

Before delving further, it's important to note that initially, it wasn't necessarily the VoxTek logo projected on his screen; however, I'll address this shortly.

The reason I lean towards the DVD logo concept is because I find it unlikely that Vox's screen would be completely black during sleep. A completely dark screen would imply the device is completely off, no energy is being received or given by it, which would suggest that it is no longer alive. Having some activity on Vox’s screen while asleep would signify that his program is still active, indicating he's still functioning, essentially alive.

Now regarding the widely shared headcanon, I have my own personal take on it.

When Vox first manifested in hell, his 'real name' appeared on screen. By 'real name,' I mean the one he had on Earth, which I believe wasn't Vox —That name seems too futuristic for a person born in the early 1900s or the kind of name you'd associate with a 1950s businessman— Vox is a name he chose for himself after death, symbolizing a fresh start, though I do think that his real name might also have started with a V.

(This perspective extends to other 'Vees' as well, although Velvette seems more plausible as a given name, I suspect it might not be her original one. Valentino, on the other hand, feels like a name assigned to him, but he too might have adopted a new one after death.)

Initially, Vox was unaware of his old name appearing on his screen while he slept since he wasn't conscious during that time. It wasn't until about half a year into his time in hell, during which he introduced himself as Vox to everyone, that one of his acquaintances pointed out this aspect of his physiology. Something along the lines of "Who's V———?" or "Why does V——— show on your screen while you sleep?" triggered a cascade of reactions in him.

Firstly, he panicked, realizing that people had access to his old identity. Secondly, he was puzzled by this phenomenon since no TV he had encountered displayed such behavior, which was normal considering DVDs weren't invented before 1996. — Hell sure was weird, he possessed technological features as part of his physiology before they were even invented— Lastly, this revelation instilled in him a new fear of sleeping.

This behavior stemmed from Vox's desire to construct a fresh existence in hell, complete with a new identity, image, empire, etc. The thought of others accessing his old name and exploiting it to uncover details about his past, including his behaviors, weaknesses, and tactics, filled him with dread.

As a result, he became hyper-vigilant, refusing to sleep unless he was certain of his solitude, fearing the potential repercussions of his former identity being known.

It wasn't until the mid 1960s that Vox had finally managed to upgrade his system, replacing ‘V———‘ with 'Vox'. However, even after this upgrade, he still harboured reservations about sleeping around others for about a year or two. He feared a potential glitch that could revert his screen to displaying his previous name.

Around the late 1970s he had made an adjustment to this aspect of his body once more, replacing 'Vox' with the VoxTek logo after a certain moth had suggested it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sexuality

Our beloved Tv Demon a canonical bisexual man, but I personally believe that while he may have bisexuality as his sexual orientation, — his attraction to men was something he only came to realize after death. Although there were subtle hints of his attraction to the same gender based on how he felt about them, he unfortunately didn't grasp them while still alive;

It would have been the late 1950s, and Vox had been in hell for about a year or two. In his earthly life, he had been with his fair share of women, and even in the "surprisingly not so fiery pits of the underworld," his ability to attract partners hadn't diminished much once got over his TV head appearance and let place for his charming and savvy persona to take over.

His love life seemed unchanged, perhaps with occasional exploration of new kinks, until that fateful night of October 11, 195X...

Vox had gone out for a drink after a grueling day at work, back when he was still toiling away at a low-paying job in an electronics factory, toasters, vacuum, etc. Despite the shitty work he had to go through, he had the perk of taking home broken scraps, which eventually played a role in his rise to success. But let's refocus on his night out, shall we?

He walked into his newfound favorite spot, a comedy bar where he sought solace in laughter and libations after a hard day. Arriving just as the performer began their set, he headed straight to the bar for his usual whiskey on the rocks, with nothing else on his mind. It wasn't until the comedian delivered a particularly hilarious joke that Vox turned to look at them and found his attraction piqued.

It was evident that they were a man with the specific style flashy outfit and makeup they wore. The voice was also a dead giveaway. The person now standing on stage, delivering one funny punchline after another, was a drag queen – a stunning one in Vox's eyes.

He couldn't tear his gaze away; there was something irresistibly captivating about the humorous individual on stage.

After the performance, as they made their way to the bar, Vox seized the opportunity. He introduced himself, and they exchanged pleasantries. They shared drinks and engaged in lively conversation, making for a truly enjoyable night that ended with a bang, quite literally.

In the morning, as clarity returned, Vox couldn't help but feel confused. He had never been attracted to men before, so he initially chalked it up to the alcohol or the fact that his night companion appeared so feminine that he mistook them for a woman.

However, as memories of the night flooded back, he couldn't deny his genuine attraction to every aspect of his partner, even the unmistakably male parts.

Initially, it felt strange to Vox as he reflected on the experience. However, after hours of deep contemplation, everything started to fall into place.

Vox realized he had always felt an affinity towards men, though expressing it as "liking men" might have appeared odd to outsiders. When he used that phrase, it wasn't in the context of sexual or romantic attraction but more of an admiration.

Yet, upon further reflection, he acknowledged that his feelings surpassed mere admiration.

He had never entertained the idea of it being anything akin to sexual or romantic attraction, but his recent encounter forced him to reconsider as he contemplated his life and the events of the previous night.

Vox liked men;

— Vox had always been drawn to the men of his time who exuded masculine confidence and assertiveness, finding their presence alluring and desiring to be in their company constantly.

He liked when they wore classic masculine fashion, such as tailored suits with narrow lapels, fitted jackets, and straight-leg trousers. These outfits oozed sophistication and professionalism, and Vox admired the attention to detail displayed.

Additionally, he liked when men would add classic accessories like fedora hats, skinny ties, cufflinks, and pocket squares to their outfit, they added to the polished and stylish appearance.

The preppy style also appealed to Vox, as he admired men who wore V-neck sweaters, button-down shirts, khaki trousers, and loafers. This style exuded a sense of casual elegance and refinement that he found attractive.

He also had a penchant for rebellious men who embraced a non-conformist aesthetic, often seen in leather jackets, denim jeans, white T-shirts, and motorcycle boots.

Vox liked when men were smart and witty, could keep up with the conversation and also teach something along the way.

Vox liked men who exuded strength and athleticism, finding their ability to handle themselves physically appealing. For instance, witnessing a fistfight between coworkers would stir his emotions, initially attributing his excitement to the violence of the altercation.

However, he would inevitably find himself gravitating towards the winner, intrigued by their display of strength and skill, and feeling drawn to them in some inexplicable way. There was something about winners that captivated him and sparked his desire to get closer to them.

He like men who were daring, adventurous, and unafraid to push boundaries, they appealed to his sense of excitement and thrill-seeking.

He liked men who were ambitious, goal-oriented, and willing to pursue their dreams with determination might have resonated with Vox on a subconscious level.—

After his one-night stand, Vox was determined to clarify things once and for all. Following another grueling day of work, he ventured out again, this time to a gay bar, seeking the company of someone who embodied the traits he found most appealing in men, wanting to ensure it wasn't just the alcohol or the femininity of his previous partner. Without delving into detail, let's just say he had quite the night and afterward, there was no doubt in his mind: ‘he liked women, and he definitely also liked men.’

Following that experience, Vox began seeing more individuals of the same gender. However, he still held onto the notion that while he might be attracted to men, he didn't believe he would be interested in them as anything more than sexual partners. That was until he met Alastor...

Initially, Vox approached the radio demon seeking friendship or perhaps a partnership, given Vox's burgeoning company and rising status as an overlord. However, he soon found himself enamored with Alastor. Unfortunately for Vox, his feelings were not reciprocated. After that, Alastor distanced himself from Vox, leading our TV host to regard his old love as an enemy.

In response to the rejection, Vox decided to cease seeing men altogether, engaging in a series of short-term relationships with women. However, he soon realized he was simply idealizing Alastor and shifted his focus from woman to men for meaningless relationships, attempting to prove to himself that any other man was better than "that Bambi bitch."

But this approach only intensified the emptiness he felt. Recognizing the detrimental effects of his frantic behavior on himself and his company, Vox resolved to regulate and get back on a more business focused path.

The fact that rumours began circulating about his supposed "homoerotic relationships," was also a big push into getting back on track, as a word like that getting out was detrimental to business, since being gay was still stigmatized even in hell, during this time period.

It was around the late 1970s, with the rise of gay rights activism, that Vox began publicly dating men. Coincidentally, this was also when he met and began his business partnership (and more) with Valentino.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Names

Vox has a penchant for using endearing or patronizing nicknames, regardless of the gender of his employees. He will refer to them as "sweetheart," "doll face," or simply "doll."

In moments of frustration or when faced with resistance, he's not shy about using terms like "little girl" or "little boy," or even "kid," to belittle those who question him.

Additionally, he might employ terms like "Princess" or "your highness" as forms of condescension, no matter the gender of the person he is addressing.

NSFW

𓊔 Party

Despite Vox's obsession with his and the Vees' image, when it comes to partying, he becomes a total animal — I’m talking ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ type of wild.

Lavish gatherings marked by obscene spending and excessive drug intake, especially cocaine.

Vox typically indulged in doing lines off his desk or the luxurious crystal table in the lounge. However, what truly exited him was snorting lines off someone, getting his rocks off at their inability to refuse his advances and delighting in the control he exerted as he pinned them down to prevent any squirming.

The slight anxious tears and nervous mewls from whoever served as his snorting surface always stirred something within Vox. While he would grow irritated if they moved too much, the subtle signs of fear, such as the wetting of their eyes and trembling breath, would quickly reignite his unstable emotions. He found himself intensely aroused by their scared state, and more than once, he acted on these desires…

Drabble:

You were a VoxTek employee, more specifically; Vox’s secretary.

As Vox's secretary, navigating Alastor-related tantrums and enduring the grueling hours could be incredibly taxing, but the job itself had its perks.

Thanks to your position in the company, you enjoyed luxurious accommodations in the finest suites the V Tower had to offer.

Despite the challenges, Vox could be surprisingly pleasant, his charismatic charm reminiscent of his earlier days when his hypnosis wasn't as potent. And beneath the unconventional exterior of his TV head, there was no denying the appeal of his well-built physique.

Given the close proximity and constant interaction with Vox, it was inevitable to develop a small crush on your boss. His magnetic presence and the fact he was practically the only person you interacted with regularly since he requested you to work closer to him about three months ago only fueled this infatuation.

You liked your boss, but at this moment, you couldn't stand him;

It was 3 a.m. on a Sunday, the one day of the week you were supposed to have some semblance of off-time, with the luxury of sleeping in until noon.

But instead of enjoying your well-deserved rest in bed, you found yourself reluctantly entering the elevator, begrudgingly making your way to the usually closed-off top floor of the building.

Why? Because you had received a threatening and slightly slurry phone call from your boss, demanding your immediate presence or else face termination.

With your livelihood seemingly hanging in the balance, you complied without questioning, even though you loathed every second of it.

After punching in the code provided, you entered the lounge area of the top floor to find all three Vees lounging about. Valentino was enveloped in smoke, while music filled the air.

"Y/N! So glad you made it! Come 'ere," Vox exclaimed, his gestures frantic, urging you to approach quickly. He appeared laid-back, friendly, and strangely excited, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor of coldness and condescension.

Confusion clouded your expression as you approached the couch, unsure of what to make of Vox's sudden change in behavior. Velvette, noticing your bewilderment, chimed in with an explanation. "He took some MDMA before he called you — actually, he couldn't stop blabbing about your ass once that stuff kicked in," she divulged matter-of-factly, adding another layer of peculiarity to the already bizarre situation.

‘Ah, he’s high — that explains the weird friendliness.’ You thought to yourself.

But before you could dwell on it too long, Valentino's words snapped you out of your thoughts, "Yes, little Voxxy over there couldn't stop talking about how much he wanted his little secretary with him right here. He just had to call you, despite it being the middle of the night. I'm sorry you're losing your beauty sleep right now, cariño," he said, his tone tinged with insincerity from false remorse. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he finished speaking, adding to the surreal atmosphere of the moment.

“Val, Vel! You can’t tell them that! Or they’ll, they’ll… fuck!” Vox began to say, but something mid-sentence seemed to frustrate him.

Before you could question it for too long, Valentino answered that question for you. “They’ll figure out you have a little crush on them. Aww, don’t worry papi, it’s not like they can say no to you either way,” the moth darkly announced, frightening you, as it was technically true that you had to obey whatever order your boss gave you; it was in your contract after all.

To your somewhat relief, Vox scoffed at his part-time boyfriend's comment, as if to convey that he wouldn't behave in such a manner.

"Shut the fuck, Val!" Vox began, his frustration evident, before redirecting his attention back to you. "And you, lay down on the table." Confused by the request, you briefly wondered if he was joking, but the seriousness etched on his face made it clear that he wasn't. Resigned, you followed his instruction and laid down on the table as he commanded.

As soon as you complied, a smile spread across Vox's face. "Good, good. Now be a good little secretary and stay still as I do some lines off you, m'kay?" he instructed.

Before you could process anything or say something, he pushed your shirt all the way up, ending just under your chest, and tugged your bottoms down slightly — exposing your whole stomach.

Attempting to voice your discomfort, you were promptly shushed by Vox. "Shhh, you're being a table for me right now, and last time I checked, tables don't talk, now do they, sweetheart? So be a doll and shut up," he said, eliciting laughter from the two other Vees.

You complied with his instructions and remained silent as you felt him pour some powder onto your abdomen. Knowing the drugs he usually made you order on his behalf, it was probably coke.

With that, he quickly formed about three lines and began snorting them. The sensation felt odd and somewhat ticklish to you, but what you didn't expect was for him to lick the parts of your belly where the powder had just sat — long lines that started from top to bottom, causing you to squirm involuntarily.

Vox didn't appreciate your movement, because ‘how dare his table move?’. In response, he firmly gripped your waist on both sides and forcefully slammed your hips against the table as a warning to ‘stop moving’.

However, his claws dug into your skin, causing you to cry out slightly. Upon seeing the small tears in your eyes, his mood shifted once more, from aggravation to something more lustful.

He relished the sight of you with tears in your eyes, so he decided to inflict a bit more pain. With a predatory glint in his eyes, he bit at your sides, knowing that you couldn't retaliate due to the hierarchical difference between you.

His bites started from the top, gradually getting lower until they ended up just above your crotch. With a slight, heavy breathing, he remarked, "Now what do we have here? A snack for me? You shouldn't have." As he removed your bottoms, leaving you in your underwear, a slight moist patch formed due to the position you were in.

Sure, Vox was an entitled asshole, but god, did he look and sound incredible when he was being mean and bossy. How could you not get aroused, especially when his face and long tongue ass were so close to your intimate parts.

"You want me to play with you, darling?" Vox asked in a manner that almost made it feel like you had a choice. There was something about it that suggested he might respect your decision if you said no—sure, he wouldn't like it, but he definitely had this thing where he wanted you to want him, to beg for him, to need him. Forcing himself on you wouldn't align with that desire.

You nodded, but he tutted at you, wanting a verbal answer. "No, no, no, it's 'Could you please, sir?' or 'Would love to, Mr. Vox,' or 'Please, I need you, Vox.' You've got to speak up if you want me to do anything to you, got it, dollface?" he clarified, emphasizing the importance of explicit consent, whether it was due to genuine respect for your boundaries or just his enjoyment of your yearning for him, it was a bit unclear. However, knowing Vox, he probably just got off on your embarrassment.

"Yes, sir," you said, feeling embarrassed. "So? Do you want me to give some love to these," he asked, tracing the outline of your underwear, "lovely parts?" He perked up.

"I would love for you to, sir," you managed to speak out. With a 'perfect' from your boss, he was now eagerly devouring you with his tongue, sending small pleasurable shocks through you as he did. No part of you down there was left un-licked.

Just as you were about to reach that sweet, sweet release — Vox removed himself from you, causing you to whine at the loss of pleasure.

"Don't worry," he said, but before you could complain too much, Vox lifted you up and threw you onto the couch, your face soon hitting the satin pillows. As you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, you felt your hips being repositioned, leaving you face down and ass up.

Vox quickly pumped his cock a few times, not needing much as it was already hard from the sight of you writhing due to his tongue. Getting close to your ear, he whispered, "Cuz I'm not done with you, dollface."

Then he promptly shoved himself inside of you. Thankfully, whatever he was doing with his tongue a couple of instances ago had prepped you, because, woof, did the stretch sting.

After giving you a few moments to adjust, he began pounding you into tomorrow, playing with your front and sending small shocks here and there. With no regard for his colleagues sitting right beside him —or should I say colleague, as in singular—Velvette had left as soon as he began working you with his tongue. However, Valentino remained, watching the scene unfold with keen interest.

Your soon came undone due to his rough ministrations, but he was far from done with you...

⫘⫘⫘ Ownership, ⛌⛌⛌ Humiliation & Collar

If you haven't already figured it out yet, Vox is a sadist. He thoroughly enjoys power dynamics and the act of humiliating others.

Continuing from the previous headcanon, picture yourself as either hired as his secretary or as a low-ranking demon in his company who catches his eye. If you're the latter, he'll undoubtedly arrange for you to be transferred to work closer to him.

But anyway, my point is, as soon as you're in his close proximity, he'll literally makes you his bitch on call in the blink of an eye. And obviously, you can't refuse because, one, he's your boss; two, he's an overlord; and three, he's Vox.

Who would refuse that hunk? Even if you weren't initially attracted to him, you'd find yourself becoming so after a couple of weeks, even if it's just some weird mild attraction—you're still into him.

Once he's got you in his grasp and has fucked you at least once, this is when he begins to play with you. He'll make you start wearing a vibrator under your clothes at work, ordering you to remove your clothing every morning and show him, to ensure you did it. Then he'd send you on your merry way.

If he wasn't physically with you, he'd be watching you through his cameras.

And every time you would be talking to someone and he deemed it too long, you weren't paying attention to him, or you were zoning out/getting distracted, he would turn the vibrator on to 'get you back on track'.

Though he did like to sometimes turn the vibrator on just to tease you. For example, you're in the middle of telling him about a shift in his appointment in a room full of people, and he would suddenly turn it on to fuck with you.

He also has a huge thing for pulling you by your soul chain. He just loves, loves, loves summoning it out of nowhere and just tugging you along with it.

For instance, you could be telling him about some issue concerning a recent project, and he would tell you to come closer so he could hear better.

As you walk closer towards his desk, he deems your pace too slow. Without warning, he summons and tugs at the chain around your neck, causing you to fall to the ground.

In an attempt to brace the fall, you put your arms out, catching yourself and ending up on all fours.

But as you try to get up, he would tut at you, ordering you to “Crawl to me.” You’re humiliated, but you still do it as he watches you like a hawk, a satisfied grin on his face.

If you also happen to scrape or bruise yourself when you fell and some small tears form in your eyes, let me tell you, he would get so bricked up as soon as he noticed them.

And of course, he would make you blow him, though it would end up with him face-fucking you, as it usually did.

He would also hold your head down as he dumped his cum down your throat, then he would pull your nose with his free hand, saying that “you don’t get to breathe until you’ve swallowed it all.” And of course, you would do it because you don’t want to literally choke to death on your boss’s dick.

Once he was sure you had swallowed it all, he would finally release you, allowing you to take some air in. Then he would make you stick out your tongue, and he would spit in your mouth, making you swallow that too.

𐂯 Training

He liked using small electrical charges as a ‘training method’, and this method has two stages. This would happen after he already had you as his personal toy— I mean, ‘secretary’.

At first, he uses electricity to reprimand you whenever you weren’t paying attention to him, questioned him, said no to things, or did anything that he considered as bad behaviour.

He would shock you, making you associate ‘bad behavior’ with pain, so you would end up automatically correct yourself before you even do or say something.

If you take a bit too long to ‘adjust’ to this new way of acting, he might resort to a little bit of hypnosis, but he would prefer not to.

He gets off on the fact that he can train you to behave just with his words and actions, without the help of any special ability.

Anyways, when he is sure that he has drilled into you what proper behavior is, he’ll employ phase two. He’ll start training you to enjoy the sting of his electricity.

So, whether he's fucking you, giving you head, touching you, or basically providing any sort of pleasure, every time you would be close to reaching your peak, he would send jolts of electricity through you, gradually increasing the dosage over time.

Things would get to the point that a small shock from him would be enough to get you turned on, and bigger shocks would be able to literally make you cum.

ฅ Pet

For the most part, he wouldn’t see secretary!reader as a partner. It’s only after a while, like a year or more, that he would start considering it.

He views them as his romantic interests, but not on his level. To keep face with the other Vees, even though they both knew about his crush from the beginning because he was so obvious with it, he would call you his pet.

Sometimes literal ‘pet names’ like puppy, kitty, bunny, etc. (Personally, I would love for him to call him his bunny <3.)

What he calls you all depends on your appearance and behaviors. For example, if you manifested with a more feline appearance, he would call you his kitten or kitty. If you didn’t have animal-like features but for example, were very needy, had a tendency to follow around, and were a sucker for praise, he would likely call you his puppy.

𓌏 Punishments

Besides using electric shocks, he is definitely into spanking as a form of punishment—whether it involves pulling down your pants or lifting your skirt, spanking you for every ‘transgression’ you’ve committed is something he’s totally down for.

It can be a really strange experience if you weren't a masochist to begin with because he'll end up having you conditioned to enjoy physical punishments;

For example, he would be spanking you, and you find yourself getting turned on, arousal literally leaking due to his rough treatment of your behind.

Edging and overstimulation are also big in his book, though each has its own set of circumstances where they would be implemented.

For instance, if you weren't paying attention to him because of someone else, he would overstimulate you to the point where you couldn't think about anyone but him, asserting his superiority over whoever had your attention.

If you weren't paying attention for any other reason, he would edge you, because ‘how dare you ignore him when he should be the most important to you!’.

Thanks anons for requesting!

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sillypandalover91 · 4 years ago

Text

Part 2: After the Auction

Alastor wasnt used to losing.

Not in the sense that he would flip over the board of monopoly if someone had stolen Boardwalk and Park Ave. from right under his nose. Though Husk swore that he would never again count cards when playing with Hazbins no matter how hilarious Alastor's face had been when he handed over the last of his colorful paper money to the feline when he landed on the overpriced blue territories.

No, Al wasn't a sore loser.

But this DrAngler44 was a bad winner if he ever saw one.

"Computer offend you again, babe?"

Alastor had gotten into a habit of playing with Angel's laptop while he went through his hour long nighttime ritual of thoroughly bathing himself, drying and dusting his fur and followed by his face routine and ending by brushing his teeth.

The laptop had been a gag gift from Vaggie, who had found it amusing to see the two old men fumble their way trying to figure out how to use it. After figuring out how to set it up, Angel was the first to master searching for things and using helltube. Alastor was more than happy to call it Angel's laptop if it meant he didnt have to continue embarrassing himself trying to figure the damn thing out.

But then Angel, during their nightly cuddles, mentioned finding a funny sounding video on Helltube that one of his fans uploaded recently. It was a haul of his merchandise, both recent and vintage.

And the vintage items certainly caught Alastor's attention. He scrolled down to the comments, smile widening as he figured out how to torment demons in a way that wouldn't upset Charlie. Angel's delighted face as they watched the doe demon unwrap a limited edition trilogy called "Lady Science".

"Holy shit," cried Angel, accidentally jostling Alastor in his excitement, "Sorry, babe."

Alastor rolled over on to his side but kept a hand buried in Angel's fluff, "It's no problem at all, cher. I take that you are fond of this particular installment of your rather impressive repertoire?"

Nodding, Angel turned down the volume but paid careful attention to the goodies that came in the set. "This one was so much fun to do. The director is an incubus, one of Lady Lilliths personal court now, which is a shame cause I loved working with him so much."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he gave me artistic control and even let me write this one! It did so well that we did two more. You should really listen to the commentary on that one, it's a hoot!"

"Do all of your picture shows have commentary?"

"Some of them, yeah. Well, the fun ones do." Angel glanced down at his thighs where the bruises were covered by his pajama pants, "Mostly the ones Val ain't got his nasty little talons in which, these days, they're few'n between."

After that conversation, Alastor borrowed a few films from Angel's library and, with Husk's reluctant help found the commentary.

"I'd ask why you're watching porn of your boyfriend banging other guys but quite frankly I dont give a fuck," grumbled Husk as he took a seat next to him.

Alastor paused the video and gave the feline a side glance, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"What? It's not like I'm going to beat off with you here and I know your virgin ass isnt going to get off to this either."

Eyes and smile sharpening, Alastor said, "My good fellow, the implication that you are going to, as you crassly put it beat off did not go unnoticed. I'm not going to let you watch my beau in the throes of ecstasy."

Husk snorted, "Why not, all of hell has."

"They're not my friends, Husker. Now, go away. I'd hate to cut our friendship short because you lust after my darling."

At this, Husk spat out his beer, "I- I don't, you know what, I'm not drunk enough to unpack that one. You enjoy," he squinted at the title, "Angel in The Baby Sitter."

"I intend to, old sport~"

One film had turned into two and three, five, until Alastor watched well over half of the videos in Angel's collection.

Who knew Angel was so beautiful when he was genuinely happy and having fun without the use of drugs. Ah, he did! But it was still refreshing to see him this happy when at work.

It was so endearing that he couldnt help but want to see more. Unfortunately there were only so many films left in Angel's library and the newer stuff had Valentino written all over it. So once again enlisting Husk's help, Alastor learned how to use the laptop to find where to buy Angel's earlier work.

"You know you can always ask him to get you more...fucking addict." The last part was muttered under his breath so Alastor ignored it.

After all it wasn't an addiction and it was, well, there were worse things to be addicted to than wanting to hear Angel's witty comments and joyous laughter.

"Or you can watch the actual porn with him and have him comment irl." Both men turned to see Cherrie grinning at them, "What? The princess said I could visit with my bestie so long it was in the parlour. Bet she didnt know there were a couple of old horny motherfuckers in here already."

Slamming the laptop shut, Alastor picked it up and made his way out, "What you do with your mother is your business. Now if you excuse me, I have things I need to win."

Angel found out because there was no way his sales suddenly boosting both on the Studio's website and on auction sites went unnoticed by Val who asked him to his office and nervously informed him that all future productions were going to be overseen by the incubus director Angel was so fond of.

That had been a few months ago and Alastor usually always had that air of self satisfaction that he usually attributed to an amazing release but Al wasn't one to do that and his self satisfaction came from securing items lesser demons wanted to get their repulsive hands on.

Those nights always resulted in heated make out sessions and some light petting on Alastor's part and ended in cuddled sleep.

Tonight, however, when Angel stepped out of the bathroom, he found Alastor glaring at the computer screen face void of a smile before carefully and slowly typing with his two index fingers.

Angel covered his mouth to hide his endeared smile, "Computer offend you again, babe?"

"Not the computer," muttered Alastor, his brow furrowed in concentration as he continued to type out his message in the chat of the auctioning website he frequented, "Some imbecile is flaunting the lot I wished to procure."

"Aw, I'm sorry, doll." Walking up behind his disgruntled beau, Angle draped his arms around Alastor's shoulders and rested his chin between his fluffy ears, giggling as they twitched in response, "You know I can just go through the Studion Vault and steal ya whatever you want. Not like Val actually keeps track of my older work anyway."

Alastor stopped typing and glanced up at Angel, "You mean you can find me this beautiful photograph of yourself? And the corresponding body pillow?" He pointed at the images DrAngler44 uploaded, "I loathe the idea of this creature having these photos of you but I admit that it is wholly because I had just the spot for them in my office at the radio tower."

When Angel didn't respond, Alastor frowned and spun around on his chair to tug Angel onto his lap, "Mon ange?"

"I haven't seen these in years," replied Angel, still staring at pictures. "Hells, this was the very first time I ever let my stupid feet be photographed. I had to beg Val to destroy most the of the copies and cut the photo off at the feet. You know there are only like 3 of these, right?" Ignoring the sudden burst of static, he counted off who had the other two copies, Vox has one cause, of course he had to have my feet in his possession and Lucifer has the other one cause Lilith thought I looked cute."

The static grew worse behind him and, now that he thought about it, maybe he shouldn't have brought Vox up. Angel felt Alastor tightened his hold on him, "You ok, baby?"

"Can you help me write my message," gritted out Alastor through his smiling teeth. Angel typed it out much quicker and sent it with Alastor's approval.

Alastor got up and carried his beau to bed where he tucked Angel in much to the spider's protest, "What about you?"

"Oh, I'll be back soon, cher. Vox has something I want."

#radiodust #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel angst #im just gonna upload this to ao3 #eventually #its become something of a fic #panda writes

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okimargarvez · 7 years ago

Text

S. VALENTINE IN RED (BLOOD)

Original title: San Valentino in rosso (sangue)

Prompt: crime case, anonymous courtesy, one night deleted.

Warning: none.

Genre: romantic, angst, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, BAU team, Roxy.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot.

Legend: 💑💏😘😈🔦🐶

Song mentioned: none.

A serial killer who kills only once a year: in the period preceding and following Valentine’s Day. His victims are apparently random, they don’t have in common neither gender nor ethnicity, or age, or social class. But the BAU team is forced to speed up the investigation, when their computer technician is in danger of becoming next victim.

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

S. VALENTINE IN RED (BLOOD) 02/14/16

-And those flowers? - the dark man scrutinizes the colorful bunch of carefully placed on the desk of computer technician. The latter glares at him, asking him telepathically probably the reason for his sudden entrance. He had never entered in before. In nearly six months. The thing is quite strange.

-What is it, Alvez, do you think I bought them myself?- her tone is ironic with different bad shades, as always when she talking with him, apart from rarely if the subject of their conversation is Roxy. Yet that draws him far more than if she behaves like with all the others, even with Stephen, the very latest member who was joined their team, with whom she has been since the beginning sweet, cute and loving. Exactly the opposite to him: after all he has committed a serious infringement: he had taken the place of Agent Morgan.

-No.- he answers only. As hard as her is a weird, eccentric person, especially in the way she dresses up her hideout and herself, from what he can see (he doesn’t lose the opportunity to carefully scrutinize every detail of the room, all the pictures - damn, how many photos of her with Derek, them hugging… - cuddly puppets, colored pens), he can’t imagine her buying flowers for herself. She maintains a fixed her gaze in that of man. Always with the same defiance in her eyes, but what’s really at stake? He has some ideas, one, to be sure, but not the courage to express it. But something shines through her manner however: the lips that fold into mischievous way, arched eyebrows, smarting eyes and brighter than usual.

-So, what do you want? - how strong is the urge to take off that grimace of her mouth, once and for all? Enough to fall? Or surrender?

-Anything. But Emily told me that we must work together.- he announced casually, as if he didn’t care the task given by their leader. He really isn’t able to mask the entire satisfaction that he feels, telling her that she’ll forced to endure his presence for many more hours than what she thinks; that she had to got to get over it, seek to cooperate with him. Alone. The woman snorts, whirling around, turning to one of the numerous screens scattered around her bunker and sitting at her desk. Her blond hair flutter wrapping her face. He doesn’t hold a slight chuckle and after a moment’s pause, he approaches her slowly, bending and staying a few centimeters from her neck. For a moment in his mind pass very different images, from those of the case that they should studied.

-I am perfectly able to do my part alone.- she says, her voice firm and precise, not even turning and trying to pretend she doesn’t care the concrete fact that the damn breath of him, warm and… (no!) is brushing her bare and vulnerable skin. She doesn’t know if the man has noticed it, but soon his face is almost up to her shoulder and she can’t help but experience a feeling of deja-vu quite particular, because the male subject isn’t the same of her memories. And this is precisely the problem. She feels the weight of his eyes and embarrassment that tries to make red her cheeks. But she’ll never give this satisfaction to him. But he doesn’t stop to staring her and if she thought good for a moment about it, she would come to the right conclusion. Three coincidences are a proof. And she would have far more to explore.

-I’m sorry, Emily said that we can’t stay alone and you have to get over it, she had entrusted you to me.- he makes a significant pause. She hates when he does that. And then, the choice of terms. Entrusted, as if I were a… No, what Alvez intends is quite different, as if she really need a protection… -You have to learn to be more professional.- isn’t the first time that he gives her a scolding this kind. Once he dared to say that she should be nicer (but in his head, he thought cute) with him. I, the Queen of nice! And he had the gall to respond, Maybe like … the Queen of ice. And perhaps the heart of the matter was that the beautiful dark man wanted to be able to make melted her… in more ways than one.

-Okay, Newbie.- she strongly highlights her favorite nickname for him. -There are papers.- she shows him a huge pile that nearly submerge whole table. -We must digitize each document.- she makes even a break, allowing herself to turn her head toward his. Now they are at the same height. She approaches a bit. A little too much. she seems to see his pupils dilate, but… -Enjoy yourselves.- and she returns to take care of her computer.

Luke passes the next three minutes mentally relive the last scene. What the hell she had wanted to do? Only provoke him, or was there more? Maybe she… knew? And what it was there to know? Here was the real question. So, it’s better if he focuses his resources on those files. And so, he begins with finding a chair, bringing it closer to that of her (but not too much, keep a safe distance) and dictate her those information’s, which turn quickly in brilliantly data from the action of darting and quick fingers of the bespectacled blonde. She is so fast also in other situations? he can’t help but wonder, then he thanks everyone who has made sure that the thoughts remain as such, stored in personal storage and inaudible from other external.

-What’s the matter with you, Alvez? You saw a ghost?- he realizes that he was holding clutching a paper from a long time. She is peering him too carefully. He must recover immediately.

-I was… I was just thinking that today is Valentine’s day.- he shoots the first bullshit that crosses his mind. She doesn’t seem very convinced, but she flies over.

-Uh uh.- she emits verses in television sitcom style -Don’t tell me that Roxy has a rival.- is her convoluted way in order to extract information without him clearly understand that she is interested to know if he is engaged, without her knowing. And maybe something more, but we overlook. This is what the dark man hoped, but not betting on it too many chips. He shakes his head. He is unable to say more, because it would sound something like Actually yes, she is here in front of me. What the hell is this thought? Concentrate on this damn case! But there’s nothing to do. Isn’t destiny that today is a fruitful day.

-It’s eight o'clock at night…- Garcia looks up to a rose clock kitten-shaped, with its tail beating the passing of every second. But he observes the way in which some tufts of her hair fall on the neck, until the neckline. But he can divert his attention before the computer technician being aware of it.

-Well, you can go home, I still have to settle a thing.- after a moment, she understands that he has no intention to carry out her order. -I don’t need a damn bodyguard!- she says, placing angrily already digitized documents in a special folder. Luke asks himself the real reason behind this sudden anger that seems to have possessed her. Even he seems to see a reflection in her dark eyes and some crystals on her eyelashes, as if she had been crying…

-It is useless to try to fool me, Garcia. We can’t be alone until the unsub shall have been catch.- and this thing doesn’t dislike him at all. But he lets her guess this only minimally. Almost there was a game going on, between them, an endless game, destined to remain without a winner. Not at least until neither of them will make a really bold move first. Not until neither of them won’t be willing to reveal his cards.

-But imagine if, with lean JJ blonde with blue eyes, Emily brunette and slender, Tara and her shades of amber… the crazy on duty would kidnaps me! - and how many things can be in a word produced by a single syllable, two only letters? A whole world, immense suffering, an unknown past (but not too). Garcia isn’t unable to restrain herself. She wouldn’t certainly have wanted to make it clear to the agent with whom she has less relation in entire team, that she not considered herself aesthetically worthy of being the victim of a serial killer.

-Except for the fact that they will not stand alone- ugly truth, this (JJ has Will and her sons, Tara her father and her brother, Emily has Mark and Sergio) -what would you mean?- but looking at those so damned dark eyes, in those depths in which she wants so desperately to get lost and not think about the consequences (at least for one fucking time), she realizes that he knows, what, how serious is, no, she doesn’t want to think about it. But he understood everything, or better he understood too much, and the blonde is not able to deal with the repercussions of this.

-What you think- she crosses her arms, defensive -and you not have the courage to say.- now his black eyebrows are raised surprised and concerned. But it’s just her head. It’s not real. -What I’m not beautiful enough to receive flowers from a stranger, nor chocolates… therefore why with all the beautiful women available in the BAU, someone should kidnap me?- and this time there is no trace of irony in her tone, or angry, if not towards herself. They dominate the sadness, sorrow towards what she feels like an absolute truth and impossible to change. -In the movie, those like me are killed only if they are unable to mind their own business.- but she reads too much understanding into those spheres open to scrutinize her. Too much to bear. If it was any other day, but it’s that day. She goes back in many years, when her hair, tied in pigtails, came up to the knees of Luke. When she was really happy, and she hadn’t to strain every day to believe it. She is a positive person. But there is difference between hoping and believe it seriously. One difference platonic, that only those who know the Iperuranio may really understand. Damned philosopher’s exam…

When tears begin to fall, she leaves free the documents, preventing them from stain and get wet with a part of her DNA. While the salty drops continue their path down her face up to clothes, she curses herself for being so weak, so foolish as to start crying right in front of him. She would have so much need of the man who replaced him. He doesn’t tease her. He would hug her, and everything seems better. Bearable. Better than nothing. But unfortunately, when she lifts her eyes in front of her there is always the ex-ranger, tall, dark and bland-some, and terribly sexy, even when he pretending to be concerned about her. If only he hadn’t occupied just that place. If only he hadn’t joined the BAU. If only she hadn’t been so… not his kind of woman. What the hell are these thoughts? She doesn’t like him, dammit, Luke Alvez. She can’t stand him. Every time she tries to take the elevator and believes she can enjoy a minute to herself, he appears behind her and he starts doing questions about her Canadian boyfriend. And then, wretched Emily, although I love you the same, she must stand him indefinitely. Why she had to put him with her? They could all camp out in their offices. But others have their lives outside of here: moms that need help, husbands and sons, boyfriends, ex-wives not too ex… You’re damn alone. And he is no less. Although he has at least a very cute dog waiting for him every night. And heck, how difficult it is to strive to appear unpleasant when there Roxy around.

From the corner of eye, despite hers are grew cloudy, worse than if there was fog on the highway, she captures a movement. The man is always there that stares at her, but now he is really extremely too close. An alarm continues to reverberate in her head.

-Penelope…- finally it’s what comes out of his lips, so stretched out toward hers, colored. She decides to completely ignore the tone of gentleness and understanding in his voice and focus on whatever he may have done wrong.

-Don’t call me Penelope. You’re not…- but this time Luke hasn’t going to wait, to grant her time.

-I’m not..?- and the distance is still reducing. She can’t argue anything. -Derek Morgan?- still no response or sign of life. -It’s his what you meant, or not?- any signs of tenderness disappear from his expression. In its place predominates again that look of defiance that she’ll never caught. -Exactly, I’m not. I’m your partner in this case, and because you don’t…- a moment before he had earned some points and less than a thousandth of a second later, he has already ruined it.

-I don’t have…?- the tears have dried on her eyelashes. The tap is finally closed. Her cheeks are red with anger that has again conquered her heart. -I haven’t anyone?- but it sounds more like an affirmation than one rhetorical question. -JJ has Will, Emily has Mark, Tara her father and brother, Spencer his mother, Stephen his family, Rossi his ex… and I have no one and that’s why I am forced to spend Valentine’s Day with you.- it was not exactly what she wanted to say. It could easily be misinterpreted. -Why I shouldn’t cry?- she stands up and deletes the last traces wet with a sleeves, giving him shoulders, not having the courage to hear his answer, if never will be there. But a sudden grip on her arm forces her to look back at him and in a second their equally dark eyes chained each other.

-I have never said that you shouldn’t cry…- he says so gently that this time even Penelope isn’t able to argue with some pungent phrase, fired at random (but not too).

-Please, don’t try to seems sweet.- she says after a few minutes that remain silent, simply either of them ever distract the eye from the other. -I’ll come home with you, I give up.- she raises her hands imitating the gesture of surrender. And for the second time in a few hours, in his mind pass very different pictures of how he would spend Valentine’s Day with her, if he could. -But I don’t want fake sentimentality.- she is quick to argue before turning off the computer, put on hers jacket (which can’t quite mask her exuberant forms), grab the bag and walk out of her bat-cave, followed by Luke. He raises his eyes to heaven, asking for divine help to survive the evening.

The elevator ride has never been so long. Those few seconds seem immense. Neither speaks. Luke looks at her only in passing, as to make sure that she is true. She doesn’t notice it, intently staring at her shoes. They come to his car in silence. Before he has the time to open the door, Penelope is already seated. Not because she feels at home, but just to prevent him to do some act that could put her even more embarrassed. Neither has the courage to break the ice. Luke thinks of a million ways to start a conversation, but he discards them one after another. Because in the end, the only thing he would like to ask her, is the reason why just a moment ago, she burst into tears. Not only because she doesn’t consider herself suitable to the kidnapping. He is sure. There’s more to this.

Eventually, however, they stop before in front of a house of modest size. But too big for one single person. And this time the blonde can’t prevent that her coworker opens the door to her. But he stays in the doorway, when she gives him a sharp look before disappearing behind the door of her own home. She didn’t intend to share with him this part of her life. She always tried to keep it separate from work, although ten years ago she was being unable to avoid it. After just five minutes she resurfaces with a small suitcase with wheels. She looks up and immediately Luke’s eyes capture hers. Apparently, she doesn’t seem to have moved since she had left him there. He notices the way she looks at him and he understand what she is thinking.

-It’s all worked out.- she justifies herself with a shrug. The man is going to grab it out of her hands, but she avoids him, fleeing toward the car. Left alone he raises his eyes to heaven (for the umpteenth time and probably certainly not the last) before reaching her. It will be a long night, much longer than he could believe. Because when they get closer to his home, where Roxy is awaiting (unaware of the surprise that awaits her), he can’t help but imagine what he would it was going to happen with her. It’s hard to concentrate on driving, having her so close. And when they ’ll behind those walls…

He opens the door and lets her go first; in doing so their bodies brush slightly, by transmitting tremors each other, although both do ignore it. But he is less able to her to play ignorant, and at that exact moment he would reach out his arms and holds her so that the contact between them endure some more. Her perfume, her skin … enough!

The hand automatically finds the switch. Roxy is in crisis because she doesn’t know whether to greet prior the guest or her master; eventually she opts for “attacking” both simultaneously. And in doing so she forces them to stay closer. After another awkward moment, she unexpectedly speaks first.

-Show me where I’ll sleep, so tomorrow morning we’ll be able to get up early and maybe then this story will be ended.- but he takes his time, indeed. He approaches her of a few centimeters to the passing of every minute. And she didn’t move away, but she not even goes meet him. She stays still, as in shock. The last time a man looked at her that way and who behaved in a similar way, she found herself with a bullet near the heart. But he isn’t like Battle. Even if she knows him too little to be able to judge him. But he is a federal, he doesn’t want to kill her. But… why he keeps getting closer and closer? He wants to make fun of her, is the only solution. Or loneliness is playing some sort of a trick with his mind and rather than spend Valentine’s Day alone, he is willing to pretend to be interested in her. In any case, when now only two air centimeters separates their faces, fortunately Luke stops. But his hands come to life and wrapping around her face, caressing her cheeks with both thumbs.

-What… what…- for a moment she isn’t able to ask the question. -What are you doing?- his gaze seems so sweet, as when he talks about his dog. It’s been too long since a man touched her seriously. She is too vulnerable. But she can’t give up at this point. She still has a dignity. And then… she turns red at the thought of showing naked before his eyes.

-Just something I wanted to do for a long time…- he whispers, not leaving the grip, while on his full lips is painted a smile devoid of any kind of irony. Still he can’t believe this is happening. He hadn’t decided a priori that as soon as they were safe within his walls, he would make his move. However, when there was that brief contact, he realized he couldn’t continue to reject the desire the whole evening. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for a while. When he would have another chance to have Garcia to his house? -I desire you terribly… I’ll not pretend it’s not so…- he immediately captures the expression of surprise which appears on her face. -If I were a unsub, crazy and dangerous, I’d kidnap you without thinking twice.- he whispers with a sexy tone that beats any Fifty (but even Hundred) Shades of Gray, Red, Black… is the most strange and absurd compliment that she have ever receive. She can’t help but chuckle, though nervously. -I’m serious, Penelope.- her name… how it sounds on those lips… it is useless that she still to deny. She wants him, she wants him in a way so tragic and intense, to hate herself. She needs him, without knowing why. And then his fingers slipping toward her mouth, touching her lips, opening her mouth, and finally he starts to lean in his direction, making her feel all their height difference. When their mouths come into contact, everything that happened before this moment seems to fade. She doesn’t want to think about the fact that tomorrow morning, definitely, she’ll be in the throes of remorse and repentance. At least for one evening, she wants to live what will happen and nothing else. While the tongues are intertwined, conducting various dances, in the numerous minimum pause for breath, she feels so beautiful, so desired… After a few minutes his hands going to remove her jacket, without letting her, as she had watch only in the movie and this excites her more than she would like. Each button causes her a gasp. Taking courage even her fingers, colored with rainbow colors, getting under his shirt, unbuttoning it and finally meet the skin under it, run through the muscles in length and breadth. She can’t help but smile when she hears him moan with pleasure. -Penelope…- her jacket falls to the ground. The big hands of the man linger a moment, remaining on the ribs, causing her various chills. She has to give him the green light, so he finally can reach her breasts and losing his mind simultaneously. And when he realizes that he can’t really resist more, that his jeans are really too tight… he leads her into his room (where no other woman has ever set foot), making her walk backwards. He takes off her shirt, her skirt, then he is stopped from her hands and her agitated tone.

-We could… turn off the light?- she doesn’t want him to see her how she truly is, without make-up and accessories, out of her role as BAU’s omniscient genius. Without those things, she doesn’t think she can be attractive. And Luke didn’t take long to figure it out. He stares her intently, still stroking her cheek once.

-You don’t need anything else, apart from your soul, to shine before my eyes.- and after a statement like that, even the fears of Garcia falter, enough that allowed him to complete his work.

And before they become one, he looks long at her, with a mix of desire and tenderness, as if to make her understand that yes, he wants her in that sense, but there’s more behind and when he have will the courage to peer into his soul, he’ll prove it. And in that instant, she believes him.

Lying beneath his muscular body and dripping sweat, she still can’t be convinced that it really happened. Sure, she was out of practice, but he’s been… monstrous. Luke remains in this position for a while, raised his body with the arms to avoid crushing her. It was far more than what he could expected, though never before he had dared to imagine how it could be. Yet, though she seems satisfied, remains a shadow that floating on her face, trying to obscure that moment.

-What you’re thinking, chica?- a lifetime had gone by since the last time he had used that nickname for her. She hadn’t realized how much she missed until she hadn’t heard it again. There was a something personal and possessive, in that nickname in Spanish.

-That it was excellent sex, but in a few hours, my crumpled dress will be the only tangible trace of it.- he didn’t expect she would give him an answer so blunt. He is glad she told him the truth, but at the same time he didn’t like her choice of terms, to define their… Close encounter. But, thinking about it, in fact, she’s right.

-This depends on us…- he replies, without yet being able to expose himself. Penelope looks at him strangely. -If you wanted to…- he strives to take courage -…I could show you the difference between having sex and making love…- at this point the blonde pushes abruptly away him and trying to get dressed. When he tries to stop her, she begins to scream.

-Don’t try to make me believe that suddenly you’re in love with me or other silly stories like in C-movie. It’s Valentine’s Day, we found ourselves forced in this situation, I don’t… for a while, and because of the impetuousness that you have shown, I guess you too. Two frustrations have led to a few moments of satisfaction. Now we don’t have to build on this a Disney tale.- the worst is that she really seems to believe in what she says with bitterness and sadness, gradually lowering the pitch up to a kind of resignation.

-Even if I told you, you would think that is a lie, right?- she nods firmly. -So, let me try to use another kind of “speech”. If you were to have right, you just would have to making “good sex” like you insist on defining it…- and if she decides to surrender, it’s mainly because she wants to get to understand why the hell, he still wants to fool her with this story of “there is more than rubbing under the sheets”.

The next morning, they don’t get up at six, like Penelope had expected, but much later, exhausted from the second and third round. In the end he had reason; making love was something else; yet she still didn’t believe him at all, she couldn’t let go herself and risks, yet she was very close to do it. Already the first cracks in her armor of ice were visible without the aid of a microscope. Luke had understood, especially when he had awakened in the middle of the night and he had found her, resting on his chest, her face innocence of a child. But he wasn’t going to push too hard on the accelerator, he would have given her time, now that he had made a significant first step. The street to convince her that he was really interested in her as a person (not just physically), it was still very difficult and tortuous.

Yet only hours after he finds himself again back to square one.

-Where are you?- random question doesn’t seem to have any immediate effect. -Garcia?- she finally turns to him and seems to sense his presence. But she isn’t going to say anything. How she can? She has now admitted herself to be attracted to him, but what happened last night was just a lucky… case, a convergence of situations, definitely not something that will be repeated in the future. With the idea of being forced to spend the evening together, because there was a serial killer on the loose, the distorted thinking that she could become one of the victims… this must somehow have him excited, driven him to do what he did. But it was only a moment, a way to stress that they were still alive, that everything was still possible. But she couldn’t tell him, because she wouldn’t have been able to mask the fact that for her, their meeting wasn’t just sex. -Hey, it’s almost time to go to work. Criminals don’t wait!- he tries a joke that not obtain any reaction in woman. Now he really starts to worry. But when at last their eyes meet, everything becomes terribly clear. -Yet. Tell me I’m wrong, Penelope.- while he talking his tone increases the intensity. -Tell me that you aren’t again convinced that yesterday I was just… caught with the situation.- but she doesn’t respond, and a slight furrow starts to dig between them.

02/13/17

A year after that groove has become a chasm. They continued to work together, as if nothing had happened; a few months after, they start again to exchange jokes in the presence of others; but unlike previous times, there was much more behind, than some expressions two-way. It was as if each blamed the other for what had happened between them. Because in the meantime, the feelings that were unripe, have developed, settling in their souls. And taking with this resentment and regret.

The killer of roses, as the press had dubbed the unsub, which kills during the period close to Valentine’s Day and for the rest of the year will become off the grid, was still active. On February 15 the previous year Penelope and Luke had been welcomed by the dark looks of their colleagues. The name of another woman that night had been added to an already too long list. But she hadn’t been a total stranger. She was a childhood friend of Emily. The chief of the BAU had decided that there wouldn’t be another. And she was prepared to keep this promise at any cost.

To the point that she pushes JJ to give an interview, where she threw a challenge to the killer. And someone didn’t like it.

Garcia winces when she hears someone reach her behind shoulders. She was re-reading for the umpteenth time the note she had received. Like the others, it was signed cryptically. But today it contained one more particular: he tells her to wait for him the next day in the waiting room that preceded the entrance to the main offices of the heads of various departments of the FBI. She had suspected from the beginning that he was one of them, indeed, she had even hoped that could be Luke… but that wasn’t his style and basically it was better that way. She had to find a way to forget. It had been just a damn night; there had been no promises or exchange of important phrases. So why she hated him so deeply? Why a year had passed, and she couldn’t overcome it?

-Look that, we are just waiting for you…- the man was able to give only a sidelong glance at the narrow cardboard between the long fingers of the technician, remaining a bit too long staring her. But he doesn’t have enough elements to make an educated guess. Although, judging by this perfume… it’s certainly something private and … gallant. And it bothers him, a lot. Especially because before entering into Penelope’s bunker, he lingered a few minutes behind the door, hearing her talk to herself. And in this case, he understood every syllable uttered by her full lips. She believes that the type of the cards, damn if I catch you, you’re dead, is also in charge of the flowers she received during all this week… chocolates… books… everything that I gave her, accompanying each gift with a phrase (engraved on each one and inseparable from it) that I hoped would show her who was the “handler”, the “sender.” But I just made sure that the type of the cards earned more points. And I can’t even say anything, because that is going to make me look like an idiot.

-Luke? Now you’re the one lost on moon.- she chuckles slightly. She adores make fun of him and she doesn’t do anything to hide it. When he lifts his head, as always, their eyes chain up, and in those brief moments they confess million secrets, and, as Bukowski said, they make love with eyes. It’s weird how easy it’s to forget that he knows everything, that he has seen her naked in every possible way implied from the term. It’s absurd how easy it’s to continue this farce rather than admit they were wrong.

-Someone has perhaps a secret admirer?- he dares to ask, carefully watching how she arranged the different flowers (why you not go to do a damn search on the internet on their precise meaning?) and as one of the books he gave her, is open in the middle on the table. The blonde raises her eyes, annoyed (because he has no right to ask her about her private life) and yet flattered by his jealousy (because this could mean that perhaps he still feels a little something for her).

-If it was, it’s not your business.- he comes dangerously close, as he had hardly done in recent months. Because kissing her wouldn’t lead to any result, except to meet again in the horizontal position. And once it wasn’t enough, in fact, it has done more harm than good. -I know you think I can’t be worthy of receiving attention from a man, but you’re not always right.- she says it not because she believes seriously (the past year is at least served to find more self-confidence and begin to truly love herself, with or without glitter), but because she wants to force him to contradict her. With the corner of eye, she sees his hands tight a fist, the veins of his muscular arms stand out along with the muscles tense. He bends a little toward her, and, as it happens during accidents, she doesn’t seem to be able to move around and avoid catastrophe.

-I never said you didn’t deserve male attentions, but who or what tells you it’s a boy? Do you know him? You did identified him in some way?- he tries to try to make her understand that, notes aside, the man who has rekindled her smile these days, through various surprises that would show how much he had learned to know her seriously, was none other than the one she had in front of her. But Garcia doesn’t notice the love that he gives her. She just thinks that he demonstrates a kind of very childish jealousy, as if he doesn’t really want her, but at the same time he wishes that no one else feels something for her. She finally able to reactivate circulation of her blood and takes a step, leaving the door ajar. But Luke stops her before she can get out of it completely, grabbing her arm.

-Leave me! Did not you say the team was only waiting for me to expose the case? And then, let’s go. The others will be wondering if we weren’t sucked into a black hole.- but he isn’t going to do the right thing, or at least the most rational, reaching their colleagues and taking care of their work, another day pretending it’s nothing. He lets her go, but he turns towards the flowers, books and anything else that was donated by the “mysterious admirer.” She observes him in shock, unable to understand what the hell he’s doing.

-You might not be able to understand it?- he makes them all fall down in front of her. His dark eyes seem like coated with a thin veil. Might be tears, but it looks little likely. -May. You had tell JJ you liked science fiction novels of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, even more than the well known masterpieces of Sherlock Holmes.- shock increases more and more in Garcia, as she listening to him talk, associating something she said, maybe in passing, during the last year, each of the objects that she has received this week next to Valentine’s Day. -When you were a kid your favorite color was purple and you dreamed of having a horse.- also the puppet go to reach the pile at the foot of the blonde. When he silent, she remains for a moment to stare him, unable to pronounce the truth in a loud voice: it was him. Luke Alvez knew her better than herself. But… why?

-But… but… those notes… those words… why you didn’t write something that would make me realize that you were behind this?- the Latin sighs, frustrated.

-I never sent you any note.- a shiver runs through the body of the computer technician. Not for pleasure, but of sheer terror.

-So… who did write this?- just then the door opens and Rossi appears, the worried look that turns quickly in surprised and confused to see them like that, all those objects and flowers on the floor.

-Luke, Penelope, we were about to send out the search team…- no one laughs at his joke. -What the hell happened here inside?- it doesn’t take a profiler to note that both are blushing and launch murderous glances at each other. -Where’d this come from?- before he can make time to talk, the man is preceded by Garcia.

-I have a secret admirer. I was arranging this mess, when Luke came to warn me that the meeting was about to begin, and… we clashed. He was giving me a hand to collect everything.- the explanation given is credible enough, but Dave feels that doesn’t properly correspond to the truth. Before entering he felt them shouting each other and neither of them was bent or it was going to resetting… But he decides to overlook. They have already lost too much time. The blonde throws a sharp look at Luke, who wonders why she wanted to cover him, and if he has to positively interpret this attitude or rather the exact opposite. At the end he gives up and follows the other two down the hall to the meeting room. He tries to ignore it, but it’s impossible not to notice the mischievous look of JJ, the confusion of Reid, doubts painted on the faces of the rest of the agents.

Emily rolls her eyes and finally begins to expose the case that everyone knows very well -The last victim was Sasha Ivanova . And I emphasize “last.” As I said a year ago, there haven’t to be others. We have to catch the unsub. We have had more than ten years to take him, he was being free to do what he wanted. It’s time somebody ruins his plans.- anger in her eyes is evident and it’s also transmitted in the way she holding the remote control. -But I have not called you here to reiterate the obvious. There is news.- Luke subconsciously search for Penelope’s eyes and her hand (but not implement his own thoughts). -Chicago police found some interesting details…. Each of the victims under their jurisdiction had received “gifts” from a secret admirer, in the week before the murder.- after the last sentence also Rossi stares Garcia, who looks toward her shoes, hoping to disappear.

-But especially, they found some notes. The hand that had written them is the same in all cases.- now Agent Alvez feels really fear, fear for this woman, so damn stubborn that she would be willing to get kidnapped in order not to let people know that he is the author of the gifts she has received… but not the notes. And she is willing to risk, in order to prove that she has reason: she isn’t a type that someone might abducting, consequently she runs no risk.

-Garcia, can we talk for a moment face-to-face?- the woman takes a second too long to get up. Luke would follow them, but he doesn’t know what excuse to adopt. -All those gifts that I saw in your room… there were some notes to accompany them?- she doesn’t know what to say. Betraying Luke? Or rather betray herself, because what David will think, when he’ll know that she lied about something like that?

Left in the meeting room, Luke can’t concentrate on what his colleagues are saying. Conversations come to his brain as muted, as if he had cotton in his ears or was in a soap bubble. He can’t think of anything other than what they are saying? And the answer comes soon enough. The oldest agent returns alone. Things get worse than he expected.

-What’s going on, Dave?- Emily finally gives voice to what everyone is wondering.

-Penelope received very similar gifts to those you have just described a moment ago.- everyone except Luke, open their astonished eyes. -And even the famous notes. No need for a graphologist for sentencing that were written by the same person.- JJ launches a desperate look toward Reid.

-What? Why she doesn’t told us about it? And where is she?- the young genius puts his arm around the blonde, now in tears. Tara stays more composed, but she is equally worried.

-She is in my office. Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, and we don’t know when the unsub will hit. Just finished here, I’ll accompany her in the secret areas of the FBI for Witness Protection.- the ex-ranger immediately guess the future: he not see her again for who knows how long, if not forever. It’s not an acceptable perspective. But even the idea that she can seriously become the next victim of the killer of roses. If only she would leave herself to protect by me! He has before him an important choice: are more important his own selfish needs or the safety of the computer technician?

-We can’t even greet her?- no one could answer negatively the desperate request of the blonde of the FBI. The oldest in the room nods his head and everybody make their way to his office. Luke last, lost in his thought. I can’t let her go. I can’t lose her. Rossi knocks with two shots, then he pauses, and he knocks other three times. The door opens, and Penelope appears that tries to hold back tears, with poor results. The impulse to rush to comfort her is strong, more than any other he has had at this year’s “separation” and abstinence, to kiss her or hold her so their bodies again converging. But yet he resists, with the last of patience grains he’s got. In the room they are eight of them, but, as one of the classic cliché, it’s just them in there. Their eyes are fixed, inseparable, they are seemingly oblivious to what is happening around; they carry on one conversation parallel to the verbal one. She is pleading him not to do what he thinks, and he, in turn, he’s apologizing because he can’t perform what she asks.

-Penelope… Why didn’t you tell us anything?- the women of the team surround their friend, partially interrupting the visual contact between the two. It’s the leader who speaks, while JJ strives not to cry in turn. She thinks of the day that saved her life, shooting point-blank at her attempted assassin. You do whatever it takes to protect your family.

-I… I didn’t think it had to do with the case. I was seeing one of the security officers of the first-floor and… I thought he was just very shy. - Luke feels a sharp pain in his chest at this revelation. But she is saying the truth, or it’s just a way to escape from him?

-No, not again. This time I’ll not allow to happen what happened with Battle.- the brunette says resolutely. Now Tara, Stephen, not to mention the agent Alvez, are even more confused. Meanwhile, the self-control of the latter is going more and more going to hell. -A policeman with murderess hero syndrome…- Prentiss begins to explain, but she is blocked by their own victim-subject of the story.

-I know that you will do everything to stop it.- she glances her very clear. Don’t speak of this matter. She doesn’t want him to know. She doesn’t want he knows this part of her life, this is connecting directly to a person and a series of misunderstandings that led where she is now. It doesn’t matter that for this man (damned the day when Hotch asked him to work with the BAU!) she now feels a much stronger feeling of confusion than a year earlier.

-I hate having to be a spoilsport, but… we have to go.- Rossi changes the subject. Luke observes Penelope, the woman for whom he feels more than he wanted (because this has greatly complicated his life) taking her own bag. He decided that this time he’ll not let her go away, like that day nearly a year ago.

-Wait! I have something to say.- everyone turns toward him. Garcia silently shouts him to stop. We can go on like this. We can pretend that nothing happened. Only you and me, know that. -I’m sorry. I gave her those things. Not the unsub. Except for the notes.- he adds bitterly. He explicitly turns to her and everyone understand the implications at stake. JJ wonders how it’s possible that she not noticed what had happened between her best friend, godmother of her children, and the Newbie. Sure, there were some incidents that had given her to think about, like when he played with the remote control in the meeting room and he had taken time considerable to pass it at her. Not to mention the countless times she had caught him staring at her. Yet she didn’t connect the dots. What stupid! -I’m sorry, Penelope. I know you didn’t want others to know, but I can’t allow you to finish in the witness protection program and disappear forever… just because I’m unable to deal with the complexity of the feelings that you arouses in me.- behold, he had said this. Now there’s no going back. Now everybody knows, including her. She stares him even more astonished than before, if possible.

-This doesn’t change anything, however.- the pure wisdom of Rossi intrudes, he’s not just able to realize that his kitten has a true lover, willing to do anything for her, even humiliate publicly himself or expose himself to rejection. -The writing matches perfectly, meaning that Garcia is still among the potential victims of the killer of roses.- the dark man nods, but he still seems to have something to say. Also, because all the others are still paralyzed by the news.

-I’m aware that she is still in danger, but… I would like to be able to contribute to her security, if you allow me… I participated in several operations of the witness protection program. I know how it works. And if the killer is clever enough, no protection is enough. I also feel that Garcia was chosen for a reason. Her belonging to the team.- finally someone seems to be able to recover.

-I understand what you want to mean. With this press conference, Prentiss has virtually challenged the unsub. Or in any case, it’s what seemed to him.- Reid asserts, while his face assumes the classic thinker’s poses.

-But then why he hasn’t hooked me up?- the chief asks.

-Because Garcia was … the woman most low-risk.- saying this, he knows he hurts her. But it’s better an ugly truth than a pretty lie, but with little lasting and more harmful effects in the long run. -You, Emily, live with your boyfriend… JJ has a whole family thinking about her, while Tara has returned to live with her father and brother… Penelope is simply the only woman in BAU… lonely.- and adding this, he transmits the idea that it’s her fault. It was mainly her stubbornness and her belief that he can’t absolutely like her, what had truncated any possibility of a serious development between them, a year earlier. And he was too confused at the time of their past, to prevent her from doing that bullshit.

-I’m fear you’re right, Luke.- the Italian admits. -And then, what is your proposal?- if he could say exactly what he thinks! Go to my house, make her a special dinner, talk, talk for hours, explain and ask for explanations. Try to find a way to make her understand how difficult it was this long year, because her coldness has hurt me, how I wanted to hold her, even by force, and only tell her I’m sorry, I’m very confused, but not enough to let you go away. How I wanted to try the feeling of having her lips fused with my own, and the courage to ask her if she, too, at least once, maybe before going to sleep, she felt that loneliness hug her, hold her in a vise that is neither liberating nor consoling. And then try to convince her that I’m able to protect her, I can do it, I’ll always be here, whenever she needs it. That I know her more than she would like, but certainly not as much as I would like. That it wasn’t just sex, even that night. And finally, that I haven’t been here for many years of her life (certainly not my fault); but I’m here now.

-I think that if the unsub discovered that she is no longer alone- not all notice the choice of words, the use of present (although hypothetical) which indicates that what follows this verb corresponds to a fact existing and not an uncertain possibility (what really is, in this case) -he’ll change the target. And though this would mean that another woman would run the risk of being killed… I feel I can be partly selfish, this time.- and the sense of his theory is more readily apparent to all.

-You would pretend to be her boyfriend until we take him?- a break. -We may need days as years. This is no light commitment. Or maybe you want to make a back and forth around the time of Valentine’s Day, doing the exact opposite of many males that not want to buy a gift for their lovers and fulfill the duty imposed on them by the capitalist society we live in?- it seems that talking was Reid instead is Emily the one make fun of him affectionately. For Luke the idea of having to protect her for years has certainly not displayed as a burden. Everything is relative, depending on the perspective from which you look at things. As an old man who breaks a mirror: he’ll be happy to have yet seven years (of trouble).

-According to me, you hope, rather, that continue to pretend, Garcia forget what the truth is and fall into your arms!- JJ also helps to lighten the atmosphere. The idea that another woman could be killed tonight and that they will have to investigate her death, now doesn’t even brush them. Even profilers have the right to a little serenity.

02/15/18

He finds her exactly where he thought: standing in front of the monsters’ wall, that is, every unsub that they had captured over the years, since the unit had opened its doors, long before they worked on it, both she and him, or that they met. He vividly remembered the moment Emily had hung that picture, while she was crying, a prayer to her disappearance friend, she, that didn’t believe or didn’t want to believe in any kind of God. Even the woman at this moment in front of him, she had a giant tight in the throat, that day and although she wasn’t able to consume mourning, allowed him to console her, to lay his hands on her shoulders, to embrace her. And she let him shout at her, not wanting to go along her, this time, while repeating like a mantra, before the image of yet another tragic murdered woman, surrounded by rose buds - It should have been me, there. It should have been me. It was no less blurred in his memory the moment when he had called to tell her -It’s over.- and how they had made love, directly to her office, as soon as he got off the jet, exhausted and alone desiring to sleep indefinitely. And as he found the strength for a second round, but this time there hadn’t been a third. But the next morning she was still there, in his arms, and although she was very embarrassed and awkward, she had not tried to escape. She had preferred to hide her face on his skin, which had finally absorbed those tears for too long withheld (for the year they had lost, because she wasn’t been the victim), she had tried to disappear to merge with him. And then she had re-emerged from the abyss and the other side had found right this man, patient as always, determined as never before.

She feels his presence behind. If even she hadn’t recognized his walk or his scent, she hadn’t need to be a profiler, or put a motion detector in his cellphone, to identify the person who appeared behind her. She not turns to look at him.

-I seems absurd that has passed already almost a year. I realize that it’s a banality that doesn’t suit me, but sometimes it’s as if it happened yesterday, others days seem to me full years passed and much more often… it seems it never ended.- he didn’t say anything. He moves at her side, to look exactly the same direction of the woman. His arm around her shoulders and in that single gesture there are friendship, respect, love, understanding, desire, consolation. -And even more comical, or tragic, depending on how you look at it, it’s that I owe my happiness to a serial killer.- she turns completely to him. It’s not need to replicate anything. It’s like this were a conversation made thousands of times, a ritual. Purifying.

-Let’s go home.-

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes

#garvez #penelope garcia #luke alvez #luke x penelope #penelope x luke #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #criminal minds #cm #valentinesday

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sveasauvageon · 4 years ago

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Congratulations, you have achieved peak millennial || GW

☾♔; March 11, 2018 ☾♔; sotd: That's how you write a song ⠀⠀⠀ by Alexander Rybak ☾♔; comedian otd: Sarah Millican ☾♔; Audition {a mod example} ☾♔; {G} https://goo.gl/XSTtMc ☾♔; mod(s): @.themadmonarchist @.maybones et moi

Title: from a Bill Maher joke (I like some of his stuff)

FINALLY done with this.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ஜ۩۞۩ஜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Svea Richelle Estelle Sauvageon, (16-17, 17 by Nov.) ⠀⠀⠀Gick längst stränder av guld ⠀⠀⠀Såg solen färga himmeln röd ⠀⠀⠀Och där sanden ännu är varm ⠀⠀⠀Av dina steg vill jag sätta fötter ⠀⠀⠀Och alla minnen som jag nu bär ⠀⠀⠀Finns där som skatter i mitt bröst

⠀⠀⠀Translation ⠀⠀⠀(according to the lyrics translate website): ⠀I walked along beaches of gold ⠀Saw the sun paint the sky red ⠀And where the sand was still warm ⠀From your steps is where I want to put my feet ⠀And all the memories I carry with me, ⠀Remain there like treasures in my chest

Allt man kan önska sig by Eric Saade https://goo.gl/t5NgUv (I was totally gonna go with a Dima song, egoist, but I wanted a swedish song for my swede)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ THE BASICS

Nickname: Vea (Vay-ah), S (Minah, Eloise, and other close elites), Duchess S (by Gossip Witch), the Swede, Estelle/Stella (by her Grandmama), my moon and stars (Grandpapa), Richelle (her mother and maternal grandfather), princess (papa), Her/Your Royal Highness and älskling (henry), storasyster (Lili and Xander)

Gender: cis-female

Date of Birth: November 23

Place of Birth: Enköping, Sweden

Nationality: British-Swedish

Ethnicity: caucasian (of Frankish, Swedish, and anglo-saxon descent)

Accent: alternates between Swedish and Posh English, usually depending on her level of anger/passion

Blood Status: pure-blood (though, not the purest. Her mother's family is a straight-up blood-purist type family, but her father's is far more open, and if you trace back 5 generations, there's a muggle-born, as well as muggles and etc further back. So technically, she is a "pure" blood, since that term is generally applied to someone whose ancestors up to their grandparents have no muggle or muggle-born blood, but there are numerous muggles and muggle-borns if you go back beyond that, on her father's side. Her mother's is as inbred as the royal families of the real world.)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Cara Delevingne

Hair: Blonde (sometimes magically died platinum/silvery-gold because actual nerd). Long, and generally tied into a different style everyday; ponytails, elaborate braids, etc. When's she's feeling lazy, she'll just leave it free, yet it always ends up perfectly straight without any effort on her part.

Eyes: light blue

Height: 1.73m

Weight: idk, presumably light

Body: slim and athletic

Any Scars/ Marks?: n/a

Any Tattoos/ Piercings?: just her ears, triple pierced for ear cuffs (are they all dragons? Yes), but also, maybe she'll get a dragon tattoo one day.

Quirks/ Mannerisms: n/a (I probably mixed this in with the habits section)

Style: erratic, she wears numerous styles, and doesn't really have one exactly, though if you wanted to summarize her closet in a single word; expensive would be that word. She prefers clothes of silk, cashmere, and/or leather, and tends towards gem embellished things. Her style is basically "I like" and "I do not like", it's quite simplistic, like, in the way she chooses her clothes. Emilio Pucci is probs her favourite brand, also Gucci and Valentino. Also, also D&G and Elie Saab, but that just goes without saying.

Additional Information: #OnWednesdaysWeWearWhite

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ PERSONALITY:

Head cannon: Svea's a bit of an oddball slytherin (as in she doesn't fit the general mold of a slytherin, she only comes off as crazy to people who witness one of her Eurovision rants, which is around 80% of the stuff that comes out of her mouth so meh, she's got a little bit of a rep as a nutty swede). She can seem standoff-ish or intimidating at first glance, her entire vibe is "arrogant and proud", and "proud of her arrogance", however, she's extremely outspoken and often involves herself in situations that she has nothing to do with (especially if someone is bugging one of her friends or she sees/hears something "stupid" aka bullying) and is a lot more approachable once she starts speaking. She's quite outgoing, and easily befriends people, as well as being well-mannered and polite (even towards people she hates. She makes her hatred clear, but she'll be saying "fu.ck off" with a smile and a "please and thank you"). She generally comes off as a very bossy "Swede" (and she's proud of that. The world would be a better place if everyone strived to be a little more like Sweden).

Theme Song: shall we begin by Ramin djawadi {https://goo.gl/9Px2Ne}

Strengths: Hardworking, passionate persevering, unrelenting, obsessive (I'd call it a strength), adoring/doting (bordering on becoming a negative trait though), highly self-aware, nerdy af, dedicated, ambitious, resourceful, and cunning (duh-doi, slytherin), independent, protective, proactive, aggressively European/Swedish

+Mom Friend: she's a total mom-friend (even fits in with her sort of GG role), she's ridiculously protective of and invested in her friends and family. It's not inherently a bad thing, hence it's in the strength list, she follows their love lives and is somehow always around to lend an ear/shoulder/offer to hex the fu.ck out of someone. She's always around to give (unsolicited) advice to friends, and really, everyone. However, her mom-friend behaviour can go to the negative extremes because not only is she willing to forgive anything someone she loves does, but she'd also go to any length to protect them, including ruining the lives of others (or literally ending said life) if she feels someone she loves is threatened in anyway. She has a lot of resources at her disposal and uses all of them to protect those she loves. Flashy social takedowns aren't really her thing, it's more framing someone for an illegal act and having them sent to some kind of prison. Her protective behaviour can border on the socio or psychopathic, as she displays a complete lack of empathy for the person who hurt her loved one (regardless of how small that hurt may have been) and seems to lack the ability to see them as another living creature, also seems to relish in the pain she caused that person, displaying a somewhat sadistic side of her as well.

+Boss As.s Bi.tch: she's commanding AF (behaviour she inherited from her Grandmama tbh), she's not as bossy when it comes to her circle of friends. There's an equal playing field there, but for anyone she does not consider a close friend, she's always bossy, her commanding tone increasing on how beneath her she thinks someone is.

Weaknesses: Elitist, unforgiving (except when it comes to people she loves, she's so forgiving of them), somewhat vain (but like, look at her), arrogant, narcissistic, elitist (though, you have to earn the right to be elitist in her eyes), manipulative (duh-doi, that's just basic slytherin-ing), cunning, b.tchy, salty, snarky, stubborn, relentless, aggressive.

+Superiority Complex: like, she doesn't think it's a problem, but it technically is. Her core belief is that if you want respect, earn it, and she feels she's worked hard to accomplish all that she has (well, except her money, that she was born into), so she has earned it.

+Hypocrisy: whilst she claims she has high moral standards, and certainly acts like she's above the idiotic "dark" behaviour her house has a reputation for, but when it comes to her friends, she forgives basically everything. She's like one of those mom's of bad kids who defends them regardless of what stupid shít they've done willingingly, like "Paul Ryan, you should know better. You know my son doesn't know anything about healthcare. Donnie trusted you, he's a slow boy. He's a slow boy, look at him! You took advantage of him." (It's an old, in this day and age, joke made by Trevor Noah about one of Trump's fox news defenders after the healthcare debacle). Anyway, Svea's friends could literally burn down the school or her house or kill someone and she'd be all "okay, here's how we're going to handle the authorities sweetie". Like, she wouldn't even question why did it. The only time she'd struggle with forgiving someone she loves would be if they hurt someone else she loves.

+a messy bítch who loves drama: it's low-key, somewhat, she's certainly not looking to start drama, but she absolutely, 100% wants to hear about it (hence she follows gossip witch), and if it's negatively affecting someone she cares about, she will involve herself to protect them, aggressively.

+Internalizing: she's not so good at sharing her own problems and/or feelings. Whilst she's always around to talk about her friend's issues and feels, when it comes to herself, she tends to shove it down between 60 layers of jokes and salt. When genuinely hurt by something or someone, she tends to just walk away and brood silently in a dark corner. She sees herself as a leader and believes that leader's can't go around showing weakness, so she struggles to open up about that side to even her closest friends.

Habits: - eye rolling (so much eye rolling) - tends to tune out her entire environment when she's in "the zone" (no longer walks and reads because she has run into and fallen off of stuff) - twirls her hair with her wand when she's thinking (like how we use fingers) - Swears a lot - hums Eurovision songs around 90% of the time - corrects people, all the time. She can't not correct people.

Skills/ Talents: - multilingual (English, Swedish, French, Russian, German, and Danish) - magic (she has yet to encounter a form of magic she does not immediately excel at) - memory (it's not really eidetic or photographic, because it's not instant, but after 3 reads of a thing, she can rattle off the whole thing word for word) - making references (that's a talent right? Because otherwise, I am screwed) - emotional manipulation/acting (works best on people that don't know her, she can still manipulate other people, but it takes a little more effort and time) - obsessing (again, totally a talent right because otherwise I have literally no skills)

Any mental health issues: She's got some deeply buried mommy issues, and her narcissism is probably on the borderline of crossing into a disorder. But meh, nothing she's been diagnosed with, and definitely nothing that affects her daily. Actually, her perpetual repression of that could/should cause her emotional distress is probs another disorder, but again, eh. It'll probably all explode one day in some kind of breakdown, but she's basically fine.

♣️ Favorite Quotes/ Sayings that your character would use: - "I'm not better than you because my grandparents had magical parents. I'm better than you because I'm smarter, prettier, and more accomplished."

- "urg, fu.ck you."

- "urg, you're/she's/he's/they're the worst."

- "you should do what I say or my son-in-law (Tyler) is going to hit you."

- "duh-doi"

- "that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

- "what, am I supposed to be impressed?"

- "if you want to buy my forgiveness, start with a Fabergé egg."

- "I am a bi.tch when I wanna be."

- "You win some, you lose some. Except for me/us, I/we always win."

- "I'll pass on that glass of non-premium liquor you're drinking."

- Tbh, she says urg a lot. And a lot of swearing.

- "I care. I care a lot. It's kinda my thing." (Leslie Knope quote, but like, that's Svea @ all her smol beans. aka friends and fam, many of whom are taller than her or her height, but they're all smol precious beans that need her protection)

♣️ Swedish sayings/phrases she uses: - "Pfft, well now you've taken a poop in a blue cabinet." (I dunno the Swedish for this one, it could just be a joke, Alicia Vikander mentioned it when she was on the Graham Norton show. I don't think she's lying, because Alicia's amazing, but she could just be fu.cking with us.)

- "You can't come here and slide in on a shrimp sandwich." (I dunno the Swedish for this one either, it could also just be a joke, Alicia Vikander also mentioned it when she was on the Graham Norton show. I don't think she's lying, because Alicia's amazing, but she could just be fu.cking with us, possibly again. It's said to someone if they're being too ostentascious or acting superior, or says something that smacks of class warfare)

- "Better breadless than clueless" ("Bättre brödlös än rådlös" in Swedish. Apparently the English equivalent is; "Better short of pence than short of sense." But I've literally never heard of it in my life. )

- "throw yourself in the wall" ("Släng dig i väggen" in swedish, apparently it's the equivalent to "take a hike".)

- "bring your spikes down" ("Tagga ned" in Swedish. Apparently it's the equivalent to "chill" )

- "no cow on the ice" ("Ingen ko på isen" in Swedish. Apparently it's the equivalent to "no worries")

- "[pronoun is] forest crazy" ("Skogstokig" in Swedish, it's the equivalent to calling someone "raging mad")

- "dressed up to his/her/their teeth" ("Klädd up till tänderna" in Swedish, the equivalent to "dressed to the nines", supposedly.)

- "[pronoun]'s hair hurts" ("Ont i håret" in Swedish, the equivalent for the term "hungover")

- "Taste is like your bum, divided" ("Smaken är som baken, delad" in Swedish, I don't think there's an equivalent per say, but it's basically about people's shi.tty opinions.)

- "If there's room in the heart there's room for the arse." ("Finns det hjärterum så finns det stjärterum" in Swedish, apparently Swede's talk about behinds, this is meant to be welcoming people into their home. I fu.cking love Sweden you guys, it's wild.)

Additional Information: - Well, my extra bit about her swedish phrases probs coulda gone here, but eh. - Also, also, she's kind of OCD, it's not really on a disorder level, which why it's here, because she's not "neat" by our standards, or the standards of someone who actually has OCD, she calls it "controlled chaos", her stuff is literally everywhere, but she always knows where her things are and always knows when someone's touched it or moved it like 2 inches to the left. - tends to get hangry (poutine is the best solution to that problem btw)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ BIOGRAPHY

Likes: stupid puns, muggle space exploration science, quidditch (Vrastra Vultures forever btches!), winter, snow, muggle technology, EUROVISION (hey, she's a European, and a Swede, they love the Eurovision), Melodifestivalen, muggle EuroPop music, football (aka soccer, but she European, she call it by its proper name. Also, ARSENAL FOREVER BÌTCHES), Aaron Ramsey, muggle history, magical history, the stars, the night sky, a song of ice and fire (of course), Dragons, Sweden, magic, her wand (precious), Tolkien's Middle-Earth, Vhagar (precious baby), muggle comedy panel shows, herself (ya seen her? She's real pretty), emeralds, satin, muggle drinks (vodka and ice coffee with caramel are delicious, she will fight you), firewhiskey, rain, kittens, dragons, shipping her friends with each other

Dislikes: rude people (there's a difference between being full of yourself and having manners), Hogwarts magic interfering with her muggle shít, her housemates making fun of her muggle shít (like, excuse me, but can your old af radio playing all 1000+ Eurovision songs at any time of day? That's what I thought), "woman" being used as an insult (she is a woman, and better than you, so fúck off), bertie botts every flavour bean (it's the "every" flavour that repulses her), idioticy, unearned elitism (if you wanna act superior, fine, but at least have something that makes you superior, and blood is not one of those things), Cornwall, camomile tea (it's disgusting), corduroy, roses, her things being moved/touched

Hobbies: reading, learning, football, just hanging out with her friends (forcing them to watch Eurovision)

Any health problems? (allergies, illnesses, etc): n/a

♣️ Family Background

:: Sauvageon Aesthetics: :: https://goo.gl/u4nRiU *contains a tiny bit about the Prince's at the end* Svea is from two notable families (though, even she argues about the notoriety of her mother's family, she would say that they are, in fact, not of note).

The Prince Family Through her mother, Svea is the heir to the Prince Family, a British Wizarding Family who are absolutely psychotic when it comes to blood purity. They are an old family, left off the list of the "Scared Twenty-Eight" for unclear reasons, though Marcius Prince claims it's due an ancestors' very public liaisons and relations with muggle royalty/nobility. Old and pure-blood proud, the Princes are fervent purportors of the concept of blood supremacy and purity, and proud Slytherins. Having all been sorted into the House dating back to Salazar Slytherin himself (or so they claim). Due to centuries of inbreeding with other pureblood families (who are all cousins at this point), the Princes tend to have the following traits; violent tendencies, mental instability, and some are enfeebled (though the family goes to great lengths to hide and eliminate such members). Additionally, due to their close genetics, the family additionally has trouble conceiving, generally ending up with only one child born per generation. Their numbers are currently dwindling, and the name is expected to die if Svea's mother doesn't have another child (or not if Svea agrees to take their name, solid no on that though).

The House of Sauvageon The Sauvageon's are a very family old wizarding family, they were originally French, and later immigrated to Sweden in the late 1700's. Unlike most ancient wizarding families (particularly the British ones), they have never shied away from breeding with muggles and muggleborns, often gaining the label of "blood traitor" from the British families, but they're Swedish, and blood density is irrelevant there. There are as liberal and socialist as their country. Despite being loathed by the blood purist-type families, they are still approached very few generations for marital matches, as they are exceedingly wealthy and when the aforementioned house runs out of options.

♣️ Family Affiliation: Swedish Ministry of Magic, Durmstrang Institute of Magic (not a happy association, but it's their homeschool, and most Sauvageon's have attended it), House of Bernadotte, House of Châteaudun (and their successive houses), and the Riddarhuset (The House of Nobility in Sweden -- don't really have any power or special tax exemptions anymore, basically protection of historical titles and coat of arms)

Socio-economic status: More money than God(s), HBO, and Netflix combined ♣️ Family Members:

▪️ Father: Petter Sauvageon | Colin Firth | 50 (if alive) | Dragonologist | missing, presumed dead

▪️ Mother: Diana Prince | Rachel Weisz | 47 | works at the British Ministry of Magic at The Department of International Magical Cooperation, specifically in the International Magical Office of Law (aiming to become Minister for Magic one day, which would suck for everyone that's not a pureblood) | alive

▪️ Step-Mother: Iliana Drubetskaya | Lena Headey | 44 | former Quidditch player, Quidditch commentator/reporter now | alive

▪️ Younger Half-Sister: Lena Sauvageon | Dafne Keen | 12 | second year student at Koldovstoretz | alive

▪️ Paternal Grandfather: Ludvig Sauvageon | Sir Patrick Stewart | 77 | socialite and patriarch, former politician | alive

▪️ Paternal Grandmother: Linnéa Sauvageon | Dame Judi Dench | 78 | socialite and matriarch | alive

▪️ Paternal Aunt: Brigitta Sauvageon | Gillian Anderson | 46 | Politician, shadowy, high-ranking role in the Swedish Ministry of Magic | alive

▪️ Paternal Uncle: Kåre Sauvageon | James D'Arcy | 45 | Art Collector | alive

▪️ Paternal Cousin: Viggo Sauvageon | Mooms-mooms | 21 | Curse-Breaker for Rökstenen Wizarding Bank (the Swedish counterpart to Gringotts) | pretty, I mean alive

▪️ Maternal Grandfather: Marcius Prince | Sir Michael Caine | 80 | socialite, patriarch, author (of very anti-muggle/muggle-born books) | alive

**the families are further expanded upon here: https://goo.gl/d1pTdj (storyboard) & here: https://goo.gl/Dm6mpM {aesthetics collection with captions, primarily focused on the Sauvageons}

♣️ What is your character's relationship with their family? She has a very positive and close relationship with her paternal family. They were (and remain) her primary guardians, and growing up with the Sauvageon's in Sweden very much molded her into the person she is. Her grandmother is her role model, her sister is her *Gollum voice* precious, her step-mother inspired her to play Quidditch, her father instigated her love of eurovision and dragons, she considers the Sauvageon's her home. Her maternal family on the other hand, "poor" would be an understatement. Svea and her maternal grandfather (Marcius) actively hate each other, and it's not much better than that with her mother.

♣️ Which family member does your character feel the closest to? She's quite close with her entire paternal family, but as of the last 12 years, it's definitely been her younger sister; Lili. She's a protective type of person, so having the responsibility of an older sibling was an absolute dream come true for this nerd.

Happiest Memory: she has quite a few, but the absolute number one would be the time she attended a Eurovision song contest with her father as a child (mathematically, but vaguely, it was probs around Marija, Dima, or Alexander's win).

Saddest Memory: when she learned that her father went missing. Like, it could be various arguments/standoffs with her mother, but her method for dealing with that is walking away/burying it, with her father going missing, there wasn't anyone to be angry at or someone to walk away from. Someone she loved was taken from her and she was literally powerless to do anything about it. Probably also why she's such an aggressive mom friend, on a subconscious level, she goes out of her to ensure someone she loves cannot be taken again.

How does your OC feel about pureblood supremacy?: She hates the "concept", and thinks it's the most idiotic thing ever thought up by someone. She was raised on Swedish ideals, a very liberal and socialist nation where blood purity or "impurity" is irrelevant, blood is blood, move the fck on. Muggle-borns have time and again been shown to be as powerful as any "pureblood", not to mention it's scientifically impossible for a person to have absolutely no muggle blood in their family histories, the wizarding population is too small when compared to the muggle population in the world, the species would've die out.

How does your OC feel about muggles/ half-bloods? Does your OC think they should be a part of the magical community? Of course they should be part of the magical community. Honestly, she supports the idea of reintegrating the magical and muggle worlds. What are they gonna do? Spread a nerve agent in their shops? They have magic and could easily handle any weapon the muggles send their way. She doesn't really understand why they have to hide.

Quick facts: Svea is half-Swedish, half-British, but was raised as a Swede from birth. Her mother's family was quite ashamed of the whole idea of a "liaison" and "bast.ardry" (how lame), thus she was born in semi-secrecy (secret from the British buddies of her mother's family) at the Sauvageon Estate in Enköping. Her paternal family has custody of her from birth, and she didn't see her mother or maternal family again for a decade (well, she was an infant, we can't actually be sure she ever did see her mother).

From the ages of 2-5, Svea was enrolled in Förskola, and when aged 6, she attended Förskoleklass, school for muggle children in Sweden (both are optional for Swedish kids, "Förskola" is preschool, available to children from ages 1-5, and "Förskoleklass" is preschool class, which I guess is effectively a year of kindergarten, for children aged 6). There she was integrated into muggle culture (or something like that, I can't remember the word I want) and made numerous friends, including one of her all time besties; Lara Coburg (the only one of her muggle friends to be introduced to the magical world, in a very Jacob Kowalski way now that I think of it, even though I hated him in the Fantastic Beasts movie). Lara is aware of the magical world and the only one of Svea's muggle friends who she maintains regular contact with.

After Förskoleklass, Svea attended 4 years of the muggle compulsory school in Sweden (which is for ages 7-16, and basically the north American equivalent of elementary through to high school), with the plan being that she would "transfer" to private, boarding school once she reached the age for magical schooling. However, when she was 10, her mother and maternal grandfather came to Sweden to claim custody and make her a British citizen, to meet the residential requirements to attend Hogwarts. The Sauvageon's initially refused, but as they loathe their local home school, Drumstrang (a very non-Swedish Scandinavian school, because Sweden is liberal af and Drumstrang is magic racist af), they agreed.

Svea spent a year living with her mother and maternal grandfather before being admitted into Hogwarts and did not like it in the least. They were horrified and appalled by the rambunctious, muggle-friendly, aggressively European child she was (and tbh, still is), and spent the year trying to force it out of her. They kept her isolated and cut off all her connections to her father's family, and tried to instruct her in the ways of pureblood, often screaming in frustration and anger when she argued back or simply replied with "so what" or "why". They later took to locking her in rooms, and starving her when she started leaving the estate on her own to mingle with the local muggle population. Eventually, their little war came to a head when they broke her electrical toys from her father's family, and in her fury, she magically set fire to the Prince Estate (on purpose, though they claimed it was an accident to the Improper Use of Magic Office). The fire resembled the Fiendfyre curse, and it was stronger than any fire Svea had produced before. Although no one died, the entire estate became ruins, and took 4 ministry workers plus her mother and grandfather to contain. After the incident, Svea was able to reconnect with her paternal family (crying to the ministry people there about missing her father and worried that her grandfather would say no because he's jealous of her other grandfather, yes she was faking her tears, anyway, they fell for it and informed her Swedish fam who immediately apparated to the Prince Estate). The Sauvageon's offered to pay for the restoration of the Prince Estate, but in exchange, Brigitta Sauvageon would be staying with them until Svea left for Hogwarts. Once that was settled, Svea and her maternal family became akin to strangers living in the same house, with Marcius Prince calling Svea and her aunt "unwelcome guests".

After she received her Hogwarts letter, instead of Diagon Alley, Svea's Aunt and Grandmother took her to Drottningsgränd, basically the Stockholm Diagon Alley (btw, I'm really proud of myself, because I googled Swedish street names and that effectively translates to "Queen's Alley" mostly because there's an actual street called "King's street", well, in Swedish it's "krongsgran" or something like that, tbh, I already forgot). Anyway, it resulted it quite a tiff with the Prince's, who insisted on Diagon Alley and wands from Ollivanders, they lost the argument on the later, but she did get her books, robes, and other school items from Diagon Alley. Also an adorable tawny owl they named "Fredrick".

Additional Information: - her name is poorly made pun, like, "pun" is actually pushing it. "Svea" comes from a personification of Sweden, a derivative of "Svear", the Swedish name for the ancient Germanic tribe; the Swedes. "Svear" also later evolved into "Sverige", the Swedish name for Sweden and means "the realm of the Svear". Her surname, "Sauvageon", is a French form of "Savage", an English word, nickname, and surname meaning wild and uncouth, which was derived from a Middle English form of Old French; "salvage" or "sauvage", which meant untamed. Effectively, her name means Savage Swede, the flip around being a ref to the annoying flip around in the French language with certain terms and/or phrases (also in other languages, but French is the one I got beef with as a Canadian person). Richelle and Estelle are just because I like frenchy names that rhyme, and they're vaguely posh sounding, so I'm assuming her mother picked those ones. I say, assume, I made these characters, she did pick them for Svea.

- uses a ridiculous array of glitter and nerd-design pens (ink and quills are aesthetically pleasing, but impractical. Come on, the pencil was invented in fcking 1564)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ HOGWARTS INFORMATION

House: Slytherin

Year: 7

Best Class(s): Arithmancy and History of Magic (honestly, she's great at all of her classes, but those two are her highest scores, well, she get's an outstanding in everything, but they're in like 98-100 percentile, and the others are just 90-98, if Hogwarts used numbers)

Worst Class(s): none

Any Pets?: a tiger patterned kitten, super smol and super cute, but has been a "kitten" for a suspiciously long time. It's been tiny and like a baby since she first got it in her fourth year, though she simply claims that it's a rare Swedish breed. She named it Vhagar, after a dragon in ASOIAF because she's a massive nerd.

Reputation at Hogwarts: All in all, Svea's got a pretty stellar reputation. She certainly doesn't cause any trouble, she's heavily active in school events and protective of younger students. She's always been doing her own "foreigner" thing, in everything she does, she's aggressively Swedish about it (and that's something she says herself). She's basically the high-achieving "socialist" elitist, she definitely thinks she's better than you, but she's not going to tolerate something as stupid as "blood purity" in "her" school. Her reputation is basically that of the smart, sporty, pretty "cool" girl. Or I guess simply "The Swede". Seriously, she's super liberal, she loves Eurovision, what about that isn't Swedish? The fact that their faceclaim is English, but whatever. ▪️ Is your OC based on one of the character archetypes? If so, which one: Lily van der Woodsen/Bass/Humphrey (somewhat, she's a lot less selfish/self-centered than Lily)

▪️ If not, please write a 2-4 sentence tagline for your OC: GW: The liberal foreigner, the relentless Head Girl. Duchess S is our resident "mother of dragons", or so she claims. Sadly, not all of us can be Daenerys Stormborn. Sad for the Duchess at least. Whilst she may not be blood of the dragon, she is blood of the Franks. With extravagant tastes and a penchant for chopped off heads (metaphorically, of course), Duchess S may seem like a nice friend for you to have, but cross her, and you'll be eating cake. (Svea, off in the distance: MARIE ANTOINETTE NEVER ACTUALLY SAID THAT YOU UNCULUTURED SWINE!)

Additional Information: - Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch Team, also team captain - Head Girl - She could've been a Ravenclaw, but her ambition heavily outweighs her thirst for knowledge

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ INDIVIDUAL MAGIC

Wand: acacia wood Wand Core: dragon heartstring Wand Length: 11 ¾" Wand Flexibility: inflexible, but swishy

Patronus: Swedish Short-Snout

Bogart: her mother

Amortentia: fresh coffee (though the taste disgusts her, hence she pumps caramel into her ice coffee), newly laundered clothes, and petrichor (the scent of wet earth after a recent rain fall)

Affinity to any particular magic?: she's quite skilled with wandless magic, and occlumency (taught by her grandmother), to protect her mind against any invaders. She's dabbled in some legilimency, but does not care for it.

Additional Information: - ridiculously in love with/knowledgeable about dragons. super obsessed with them. - I guess it would fall under affinity, but she's quite drawn to fire and fire-based spells, creatures, potions, etc. She'd never admit it to someone of authority (yet), but her favourite spell is fiendfyre. - obtained her appariting license earlier than would be possible (because her birthday makes her 17 after the usual UK test dates) by applying for it at the Swedish Ministry of magic, which issues Apparition licenses at 16 (completely made that up, but whatever, I don't like half of the few things we know about JKR's Sweden, they're not very Swedish. How is Drumstrang a Scandi school? Scandi's are so liberal, I get it's a German, WWII stereotype, but make it limited to German and Germanic states then, the Scandi's are liberal af. Well, Sweden is, also I think Finland).

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ USER INFORMATION

Username: @.drownedinmoonlight Activity Level (Scale 1-10): 8-ish

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ OPTIONAL

Playlist: https://goo.gl/vaSFwA {Svea} ⠀⠀⠀⠀& https://goo.gl/Wwgx4s {Svea x Henry} Moodboard: https://goo.gl/VBPzCG Social Media: https://goo.gl/uXqRa9 {insta} Storyboard: https://goo.gl/d1pTdj Aesthetic Collection I: https://goo.gl/qDJazT Aesthetic Collection II: [still in my drafts] Svea x Henry Aesthetics Collection: https://goo.gl/nVaubL Wardrobe/Style Collection: https://goo.gl/g8rBdV Plotting Set: Story: ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ஜ۩۞۩ஜ

When you have completed the audition, please tag the mods: @.drownedinmoonlight @.themadmonarchist and @.maybones and use the hashtag #gossipwitch, #GW

#audition #gw #mine #polyvore #template #Svea Sauvageon

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