#i just think that since a few characters have italian sounding names and the admiral likes pasta it makes a lot of sense?

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Nobody:

Me: I wonder how I can recreate Italy to incorporate in my worldbuilding

[canyousonicme]

“Certain actors have a reputation for being difficult. I don’t want to be one of those people”. - Alex Kingston


INTERVIEW: The Sunday Post


It comes as no surprise to Alex Kingston that her daughter has decided to follow in her footsteps, despite her best efforts to temper her acting ambitions.

The actress fell pregnant with Salome, now 19, when she was playing surgeon Elizabeth Corday on the long-running US medical drama ER in the ’90s.

Alex’s pregnancy was written into the script and Salome, whose father is German writer Florian Haertel, was just weeks old when she joined the cast as Elizabeth and Dr Mark Greene’s baby girl.

Now, two decades on, mother and daughter are working together again, this time in a Doctor Who spin-off audio drama, The Diary Of River Song. Now in its eighth series, it focuses on the Time Lord’s brilliant wife, the poetically named River Song, whom Alex has played on the TV show since 2008. Salome, meanwhile, plays the part of her synthetic humanoid companion, Rachel.

Alex said: “My daughter was in my belly on ER then played the role of our baby girl Ella Greene. She’s secretly always had the desire to act, but I was always adamant that she finished her education first.

“Salome plays a character who River Song meets up with occasionally and they have adventures together. Working with my daughter has been terrific fun. I am super-impressed with her. She is incredibly professional.”

© Big Finish

Alex with daughter Salome

For the past year Alex and Salome have been isolating together at her London home, alongside Alex’s third husband, television producer Jonathan Stamp. The pair married in an intimate Italian ceremony in 2015, and Salome was a bridesmaid.

They are joined by Alex’s German-born mother, Margarethe, who sadly suffers from dementia. It sounds like a potentially stressful set-up but Alex has cherished the unexpected extra family time lockdown gifted her.

Alex, who celebrated her 57th birthday a few days after the first lockdown was announced last March, said: “My daughter had arrived from New York and decided she wanted to live with us. Then my mother, who has dementia, suffered two strokes early on in lockdown and she moved in as well. So I was her carer.

“It was an amazingly special time. And I cherish it. Particularly with my mother, because I wouldn’t have had that opportunity otherwise.”

Like the rest of us, Alex has relied heavily on streaming services to keep her entertained during the long days spent at home. She even broke her self-imposed rule of not watching her own stuff on screen.

She said: “We did all the usual things, massive clear-outs, and of course binge-watched TV. I loved Schitt’s Creek, Call My Agent, Bridgerton and Luther. I can’t bear to watch myself on the television. However, I started watching ER, because it was streaming on Channel 4. I look at myself and it’s like I am watching someone else. It’s such a good show, and it’s really held up!”

She added: “As much as everyone is saying this is the year that they want to forget, I actually feel it’s a year one can never forget. It certainly wasn’t an easy time. However, I have much stronger memories of the year, and of the patterns of the year than I have ever had pre-pandemic, when there was always so much rushing around.”

© Paul Drinkwater/Warner Bros Tv/Amblin TV

Alex in 1994 with fellow ER cast members (l-r) Anthony Edwards, Eriq La Salle, Goran Visnjic, Noah Wyle

Alex began her career at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, where she met her first husband, Skyfall actor Ralph Fiennes. They were together for 10 years before marrying in 1993. Two years later, Alex was left bereft when Fiennes left her after an alleged affair with a co-star. The London-born actress has barely stopped working since she first appeared on UK screens in 1980, as Jill Harcourt on the iconic children’s series Grange Hill. She continued to find success in UK dramas including Upstairs Downstairs, and The Fortunes And Misfortunes of Moll Flanders.

She first appeared in the fourth series of Doctor Who alongside David Tennant in 2008. Alex thought it was a one-off but has reprised the role in 15 episodes between 2008 and 2015.

It’s thanks to her Doctor Who appearances and, more recently, Sky’s hit supernatural drama, A Discovery Of Witches, that she has become known to a new generation of fans.

During her long and successful career, Alex has never been afraid to call out sexism in the industry. When she was dropped from ER aged 41, after seven seasons, she accused producers of ageism. saying “Apparently, I, according to the producers and the writers, am part of the old fogies who are no longer interesting.”

Then, when she auditioned for the role of Lynette Scavo on Desperate Housewives which eventually went to Felicity Huffman, she says she was turned away for being too curvy.

Although vocal about the challenges that face women, she admits she has seen positive changes in attitudes towards female talent in recent years.

She says: “When I was working on ER, I thought that I wasn’t allowed to get pregnant, I didn’t want to offend the producers as that is not what they had intended. I thought that I would have to ask permission. It was Anthony Edwards, who played my on-screen husband, who said ‘Don’t be ridiculous, don’t wait for them to allow you, you are not that important. If you want to have a child, go and have a child, and they will find a way to work round you.’ So I took his advice.

“I grew up with this notion that one had to be polite and always ask for permission. Whereas this generation don’t. They just get up and do it. The lovely and talented Teresa Palmer, whom I work with on A Discovery of Witches, is constantly popping out babies. Production just work around her. And it’s great, I admire her very much for that.”

© Chris Haston/Warner Bros Tv/Amblin TV

Alex in ER

Alex puts her staying power down to being in the right place at the right time – and being nice to people, though she says theatre will provide her with a safety net should the TV work dry up one day.

She said: “Being as versatile as possible helps. I’m up for anything as long it is written well.

“I had a formal training. My first love is theatre. Having that as a backbone will always support me. In an industry that will favour youth more, theatre is always there. In order to succeed on the stage you have to have had good solid training and know how to handle your voice.

“Also, being a nice person counts for a lot. If you were difficult you would get a reputation. Of course there are actors who are extremely difficult and tiresome to work with, and there will come a point at which you think is it worth it? I don’t want to be one of those people.”

Despite her time-travelling credentials Alex has no idea what the future holds but still harbours a dream of being a Bond Girl (though obviously not one who falls for the smooth-talking spy).

She laughs: “I would love to be a villain in a James Bond movie, the real villain, the main one. Because they’ve never had a female villain. And I want to be a villain who does not find James Bond sexy at all. And doesn’t succumb to his charms, I want to be his real nemesis.”

Time for a return to Tardis?

© PA / BBC

Alex alongside Peter Capaldi in Doctor Who

From ER to the Tardis, Alex’s career to date has been distinguished by roles opposite fictional doctors, whether medical or time-travelling.

The smash-hit hospital drama which made her a star in the ’90s famously launched the Hollywood career of a certain George Clooney. Then in 2008, Alex won a new generation of fans as the wife of Doctor Who.

Because the Doctor transmutates over time Alex, as River Song, gets several leading men for the price of one. Alex said: “Essentially my character is the same, so there’s continuity there, and the fun is interacting with someone who is essentially the same man, but in a different skin and with a different energy.”

Perhaps the least lucky man in the role was Matt Smith.

Alex explained: “One of the most memorable parts of filming was when I flew through the universe, got caught in the Tardis and kneed Matt Smith, who was playing the Doctor at the time, in a sore place by mistake. There were a few tears of laughter from me and cries of pain from him.”

Speculation is rife among fans that Alex will return to the Whoniverse, if the incumbent Time Lord Jodie Whittaker steps down. All Alex will say is: “My Tardis door is always open…” [x]

[fantasyfan]

Coming Out: Nico di Angelo Oneshot

Summary: Nico summons Bianca to talk to her, and ends up spilling a lot more than he intended to. Characters: Nico and Bianca di Angelo, Hades Slightly angsty

(I apologize in advance if I get any Italian wrong, or put the words in the wrong place. I only used two words, but Google Translate was used for both of them.)  There also might be some italics missing, since I copy pasted from Google Docs, so apologies and if you think an italic is needed, reply to the post or smthn and I’ll add it. 

Without further ado, here it is!

12-year-old Nico sat on his bed, head in his hands. The Labyrinth was gone, and the battle was over, gone and over like all the praise he received. 

For once, Nico had been a part of the camp; he’d sat around the campfire, eaten and laughed, having fun. 

But all it took was a week for the excitement to die down, and the other campers became wary of him.

He was only 12, for Gods’ sake! Why were they so scared? Sure, he was a son of Hades, but Percy was a son of Poseidon (and older than himself, Nico might add), yet they all gushed over him.

This annoyed Nico to no end, so eventually, he found his way to his father’s palace, back to his old room. The one Hades had offered him after he ran away from Camp Half-Blood. 

The room was hardly touched. Nico had only spent a few days here before running off, trying to find a way to bring his sister back. 

Of course he’d been convinced to let her rest at peace. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to talk to her.

“Bianca,” he greeted softly, reaching out to touch her before drawing his hand back, reminding himself he couldn’t. 

“Nico,” Bianca smiled, brushing ghostly lips over his forehead. “Mio fratello.”

Nico closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, trying to imagine that Bianca was really here with him, in a physical body instead of a ghostly one.

Sighing, he sat back down on the bed. Bianca was here, able to talk to him at least. He couldn’t resurrect her, so speaking to her was the next best option. 

His mind subconsciously piece things together and he had a horrible thought. Panic shot through him as he jumped up and tried to grab Bianca by her shoulders, hands falling right through her image.

Gritting his teeth, Nico crammed his hands into his pockets and instead fixed Bianca with the most serious gaze he could muster.

“Are you going to reincarnate?” Though they were hidden from sight, deep in his jean pockets, Nico’s hands were clenched tightly into fists, knuckles white. In his head, he said a prayer to the Gods who screwed up his life so badly, hoping with all his might that his sister would say no. 

“Oh Nico,” Bianca began, looking at him regretfully, eyes filled with sadness. 

That was all the answer he needed. Trying to control his panic and the tears threatening to form, Nico clenched his hands even tighter. Nails cut into skin, and the son of Hades could feel blood seeping out from underneath his fingers. Even worse than that was the fact that even Nico himself could feel the absolute fear radiating off him. 

If Bianca reincarnated, then he would fully, truly, lose her. She was his only family, and Nico felt tears pricking his eyes at the thought of being completely alone.

“Don’t.” It was all he said, biting his lip to try and keep the tears from escaping.

Bianca stared at him in surprise, and Nico realized what he just said probably sounded like to his sister. 

Reminding himself that no matter what he wanted, it was his sister’s (regretfully ended, now ghost) life, and he couldn’t guilt her into staying in Elysium forever, just so he could be happy.

“Don’t answer my question,” Nico whispered, voice cracking. 

It was what he meant, when he said ‘Don’t’ but certainly not what he wanted. “Don’t tell me, Bianca. Not now, and not before you go.” 

Breathing sharply, his nails were now digging even deeper into the wounds they had inflicted. The pain was the tipping point for the tears that had been gathering in his eyes, and he began to cry, biting his tongue in a fruitless attempt to hold them back.

Gasping as he unclenched his fists, Nico drew his hands out of his pockets. There were four cuts on his right palm, each around the size of a fingernail. Identical wounds were on his left hand, and Nico bit his lip, watching as blood slowly seeped out, crimson red against his pale skin.

“Nico!” Bianca frowned, biting her lip in concern as she reached out for his injuries before realizing she couldn’t help.

That gesture hurt even more than his palms, and Nico clenched his teeth to keep his silent tears at that volume.

Trying to still his desperately shaking hands, Nico pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside were squares of ambrosia and bottles of nectar that Hades had put for him, and Nico silently thanked his father. 

Pouring the golden liquid over his hands, Nico could feel cuts slowly closing, and the physical pain was soon gone with the injuries. 

Emotional hurt was harder to fix, and usually couldn’t be resolved with Gods’ food. That didn’t mean Nico wouldn’t try though, so he lifted the bottle to his mouth and took careful sips of the golden liquid. 

Pulling some ambrosia out as well, he slowly ate it, restricting himself so he didn’t accidentally burn up from consuming too much of the Gods’ food.

By the time Nico was done, the yellow square was gone, as was about half the bottle of nectar. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked back at his sister, who had patiently waited while her brother silently sobbed while taking swigs of nectar and bites of ambrosia. 

She was sitting on the bed next to him, handout of pure spite and anger, he cursed that Bianca was able to touch the bed but not him.

Using the (now) healed palm of his hand to brush away stray tears, Nico cleared his throat. 

“Bianca, since um, you’re not, uh, not,” his voice cracked and he stumbled over his words, but Nico forged on. “Since you’re not going to be here much longer, I figured I might as well make the most out of this time.” 

Before Bianca could say something to comfort him, Nico blurted it out. “I’m gay.” 

A ghost of a smile appeared on his sister’s face, and she reached out as if to touch his face, cup it with her hands like she used to.

“It’s okay, mio fratello.” She moved closer to him, and Nico could swear he felt her breath by his ear. “I am too,” Bianca breathed. 

Nico managed to somehow choke on nothing, beginning to gasp and wheeze as he clawed at his throat. Vigorously coughing, he stared at his sister in shock as he pounded his chest, trying to get air in.

Bianca nearly burst out in raucous laughter, but with a lot of struggling, she managed to keep it to a few quiet giggles. 

When he was finally able to speak, Nico simply choked out, “You are?” before blushing so hard he looked like he was still choking. 

“Yes, Nico, I am.” Binaca smiled, though looked slightly concerned at his reddening face and so pointed to the bottle of nectar on the drawer. 

Nico took a sip of the drink, letting the cool liquid run down his tortured throat, which hurt like hell from his (concerningly long) coughing fit.

Bianca snarkily pointed to the closet while her brother drank, smirking. “Do you want to try this the proper way?” she asked, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Nico rolled his eyes but complied, chuckling as he slipped into the closet. He stayed there for a good minute before bursting out, wearing a colourful pride shirt with many accessories.

“I’m gay, Gods dammit!” he screeched, looking like a rainbow in the cemetery, with his messy black hair and pale skin. 

Bianca burst out laughing at the thought, proudly watching her brother as ghostly tears (Ghosts can cry. Who knew?) threatened to trickle down her cheeks.

“I’m not going to ask where you got those things,” she smiled, pretending to brush an unruly curl from his forehead. The two of them ignored the fact that the hair stayed right where it was when her hand passed straight through it.

“Nico, go show Hades. Tell him.” Nico’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open like a fish’s. Bianca smiled again, her brother’s facial features hilarious. “Nico, I’m serious though. Come on, before your courage wanes.” 

“Why should I tell him?” Nico asked, scoffing as he turned away. The two had been chatting for a few minutes about all the troubles of being gay when Bianca ruined the mood by demanding he tell their father.

“Nico.” His sister’s voice forced him to look at her, straight into translucent eyes. “I’m not your only family. When I’m gone, you still have Hades.” She chose not to add the part about how Camp Half-Blood could be his family too, if he let them get closer. One step at a time.

“Hades,” Nico snarled, putting as much venom as he could in the name, “killed our mother. Hades put us in this situation.”

He knew that neither of those were true, but said them anyway; truthfully, he was just scared, finding excuses so he wouldn’t have to tell his father.

“Nico,” Bianca sighed quietly. Eyebrows raising for a second as she began to fade, Bianca quickly understood what was happening.“You’ve summoned me for far too long already, I have to go.” Nico let out a strangled sound, restraining himself from reaching out to try and keep her here with him, because he knew it would be useless. 

“It was lovely talking to you again, and I’m sure that Father will say the same when you tell him.” Nico’s lips thinned and he frowned, and Bianca knew that look well. “Please, for me, mio fratello?” She asked, voice barely audible as she faded away, back in Elysium.

Nico could never resist it when his sister spoke in Italian. It would only be used when she was expressing extreme admiration or happiness, which was why he absolutely melted when Bianca called him ‘mio fratello.’ 

That was also why he was tugging on a jacket to cover his pride shirt, buttons, pins, and bracelets as he went to find Hades.

Besides, what kind of brother would he be if he didn’t grant his sister’s last, true, dying wish? Nico felt like Bianca had been waiting for him to summon her one last time before choosing to be reborn. To let them have one more conversation before she was truly gone.

Pushing that thought away, Nico wandered the halls of Hades’ vast palace, looking in every room for the God himself.

“Father?” Nico finally picked the right room, opening the door to find Hades in a chair, reading a book.

“Yes?” He didn’t even bother to look up from whatever he was reading, and that slightly deflated Nico’s already waning confidence. 

“I have something to tell you.” Anxiously shifting from foot to foot in the doorway, Nico awaited his father’s response. 

Eyebrows raising by a fraction, Hades raised a hand, beckoning his son into the room. Nervously shuffling in, Nico stood a good meter away from the God of the Underworld, afraid. 

Not that the distance would do much since, well, Hades was the God of the Underworld.

“Do continue,” his father drawled, idly flipping a page as he spoke. 

“It’s kind of a serious confession,” Nico mumbled, almost visibly shaking from having to restrain himself from turning tail and running, as well as the feeling of absolute terror bubbling in his stomach.

Still not bothering to look up, Hades rolled two fingers, gesturing for him to continue.

“I’m...g-ga-” Nico stuttered, already feeling his face heat up. It took him a good minute to compose himself and finish his short sentence, during which Hades hardly blinked an eye at the awkwardness. “I’m gay,” he finally managed to choked out, voice barely above a whisper.

Immediately, Nico began to panic. His dad was the literal God of the Underworld, so even if he died, then he could still be sent to the Fields of Punishment. Afterall, who cared about the small Italian boy enough to argue with a God?

Bianca cares, he reminded himself. But she’s dead, you idiot! She’s a ghost, and going to be reborn soon. If you go to the Field of Punishment, what will she be able to do?

Panic overwhelmed him, and Nico was on the verge of hyperventilating. Until his father spoke and somehow calmed every nerve in his body.

“Okay.” That was it. One syllable to assure Nico that everything was alright. His breathing slowed, but he wasn’t so easily convinced that Hades was okay with him being gay.

“Father, I don’t think you heard me properly. Perhaps you were distracted with reading? I said I was gay.” Unzipping his jacket, Nico let it fall to the floor and made wild gestures at his clothes and accessories. 

“Nico, I heard you fine. What’s your confession?” Hades’ eyes flicked up but he hardly seemed surprised at the rainbow wear, going back to read his book right after looking.

“I…” Nico stared in disbelief. Was Hades just dismissing his coming out as if it were a regular occurrence? Dismissing the fact that he was gay as though it hadn’t been something that Nico had fought tooth and nail to keep secret?

“Nico?” The God prompted, flipping another page.

“That’s it. That was the confession,” Nico whispered. “I’m gay. That’s the confession.” For the first time in their (admittedly short) conversation, Hades properly looked up from his book, frowning at Nico. 

“That’s your confession?”

The boy silently nodded, looking at his feet. “Well, I...I thought you’d be mad or something.” 

“Mad at the fact you’re gay.” Hades (somehow) looked Nico in the eyes (even though he was staring at the floor as though it were the most interesting thing in the world) for confirmation, and he nodded again.

Sighing, Hades closed his book and stood, gently placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not and won’t be mad.” 

“Really?” NIco gasped, looking up at him with shining eyes.

“Of course,” Hades scoffed. “There’s no way you can be more gay than Apollo, and he’s been my nephew for thousands of years.” He paused for a second before summoning a chair. “That reminds me. You are long overdue for a Greek Mythology review if you think that I, a Greek God, would have a problem with a gay son.”

[jostepherjoestar]

After seeing tha La Squadra ask with the yakuza games I was wondering how the group would react if the yakuza La Squadra member had a few of their old yakuza friends visit Italy and their the characters from the yakuza games (let’s just say it’s in the same universe)

🐉 Former Yakuza La Squadra member gets a visit from Kiryu & Majima🐉 (multiple asks in one) (2,1k)

sfw // gn reader (reader is the former yakuza member)

After discovering Majima and Kiryu shared a mutual friend that had moved to Italy and joined a gang there, they were curious to know how they were faring, deciding on a whim to pay them a visit. Their old pal had left quite the impression on the two men back when they were part of the yakuza.

Set in an AU where the Yakuza in-game happenings and JJBA events take place in the same universe, the game does not exist, it’s just real life for the characters and La Squadra’s newest recruit that used to be in the Yakuza happened to be friends with Kiryu and Majima back in the day.

(Btw my interpretation of Majima when he’s alone with Kiryu is that he mostly drops his act and since he’s in a new country he is a little more timid towards strangers, don’t get me wrong, he will still start shit but maybe not as quick.)

It was a bright and sunny day, the sweet spring wind still holding some winter chill as it blew through your hair. You were sat on the bench across from the safe house, arms spread wide on the backrest, cigarette dangling on your lips while you basked in the warmth of sunshine. You quite enjoyed sitting like this, making it an uninviting scene for passersby or your teammates, not wanting anyone near you so you could relax in peace. Of course still on guard, never truly letting it down, there’s enough people out there that have a bone to pick with Passione, especially your division. You took another long drag of the cigarette, the overwhelming smoke entering your lungs like ashy clouds. But as you heard some rustling you reached over to grab the smoking bud and pressed it into the ground with your foot. There was something suspicious going on, you felt like you were being watched. You casually peered through half closed eyes at the building in front of you, no one had been staring through the windows. No, it felt like it came from a different direction. Lazily you stood up, stretching your core, twisting your middle from side to side while letting your arms get some movement, readying your body for possible combat. As you turned, you saw a trashcan wiggle in your peripheral. The movements looked very unusual, was there a cat stuck in it? But the can was placed so precisely on the corner of an alley, someone could easily be standing right around the bend to surprise-attack you. Picking up a rock and throwing it right at the middle of the can, even making an indent, you felt a bit idiotic for doing it. But still there was no further movement or sound. You were still curious so you without much thinking you crept closer. If it was an animal in need you’d feel bad to have left it to suffer.

As you stepped nearer, now in front of the dented can, having full vision of the alley you were met with someone you didn’t suspect in the slightest. “Kiryu-san?” You questioned, face frozen in shock. “Wh-what are you doing here? Am I dreaming?” you asked while rubbing your eyes, maybe if you rubbed them hard enough you’d wake up. The large man’s furrowed eyebrows softened as he was met with your familiar form. A small smile formed on his lips but he stayed quiet for some reason, opting to kick the trashcan in front of him instead. It burst open, the lid sent flying further into the alley as you both ducked for cover. “What the fuck Kiryu-chan?! I told you I got this!” Majima’s figure popped out, the snakeskin jacket crumpled from what looked like sitting in the confined space for far too long. You couldn’t believe your eyes, you’re sure your mouth was hanging open with eyes wider than a deer in headlights, like your brain had crashed and burned. “Ya went and ruined the surprise Kiryu-chan! And ya went and broke Oushi-chan as well.” The one eyed man gestured angrily while complaining, he’d planned out the perfect way to surprise you: to shock and fight you. But the only thing that snapped you out of your stupor was that stupid nickname, Oushi-chan. He basically called you a bull, giving you the nickname after you’d stormed angrily down the stairs of the Tojo Clan head office after a particularly frustrating meeting and nearly threw Majima down the stairs as you raced on by. “Stop calling me that! And what in the name of all that is sacred are you doing in Italy?” You hushed your yells as to not alert the entire neighbourhood of their arrival, helping the older man out of the trashcan. “We’d thought it was nice to come and visit you, see what you’ve been up to.” Kiryu calmly explained. “And calling was too expensive? You guys really scared the shit out of me!” Still filled with disbelief at their sudden appearance, but glad to see those familiar faces again. You did miss them too, the short time you shared with them still being remembered fondly. “Glad to see ya haven’t changed, ya did get an Italian accent though.” Majima playfully jabbed as he slung his arm around your shoulders. “Oh you’re one to talk about accents old man.” You prodded back as you pushed his arm off in annoyance, not taking any of the man’s teasing that easily. “Before you ask how we found you, I’ll explain.” Kiryu’s voice was still as deep as you remembered, telling you how they knew you were in Naples and even knew of Passione, it was just a matter of time until someone pointed you out (after some mild intimidation). Not that it was hard to spot you among the Italian men in your team. Hard for these two to talk, back in Tokyo you’d spot that grey suit and angry scowl from a mile away. And let’s not even pretend that Majima’s no-shirt-tacky-jacket-leather-pants look was any less eye catching. You huffed out a laugh, the shock of seeing these two finally wearing off as they started asking questions about how you’ve been and how work is. Happily chatting on the bench you were previously lounging on.

“So… what’s the nature of yer squad exactly? I mean ya look meaner than before, if that was even an option.” The one eyed man jested in a hushed voice, sure that it was a sensitive topic. “Well I like to think we’re the cleanup crew, bringing a bit more harmony to this field of work.” Ignoring his comment about your looks, sure that they helped you in this line of business. “That’s one way to phrase it.” Kiryu huffed out a chuckle, leaning his hands on his knees as he looked at you with a sympathetic smile. He admired your fervour, it was one of the reasons he was so fond of you. After hearing how you stood up against Majima and he didn’t slice you to bits, he was impressed at how you persuaded Majima to settle it through a game of hanafuda. The stoic man knew you liked to be alone, being used to it himself or rather preferring it somewhat over putting his loved ones in danger. He actually asked you to join his family if he ever became patriarch of his own one, he put a lot of trust in you.

After some more catching up you decided that perhaps you should show them around the house and introduce them to your teammates. Knowing how much they loved hearing your stories about your time in the yakuza, they’d surely appreciate to meet your old pals. You stepped in with the two men in tow, stopping in the entry way to hand your friends some slippers, it was a habit you never let go since moving here and you’d even convinced the rest of your house mates to go along with it. “Hey guys, I have some friends I’d like you to meet! Please don’t be weird!” You yelled loudly enough for the entire house to hear, even your capo on the top floor would be able to. Formaggio, Prosciutto and Pesci sauntered out of the living room, looking quite bored before noticing your two friends. Now they seemed interested. “So who’s the eye-patch guy and mister giant?” Formaggio joked as he elbowed Prosciutto who tutted his colleague for touching his suit. “Well these two gentlemen are my friends from Japan… from the yakuza…” it was so awkward to add that they were also involved in such things. You were pretty sure Kiryu was nearing his end run with the organisation anyway. “Oh and they do not understand a single word you’re saying, I’ll translate and yes I will filter out your jokes Formaggio.” You said in a serious tone. The two men behind you stood awkwardly awaiting any signal from you, Majima eyeing your teammates up and down, trying to get a good impression of them. Pesci seemed scared by the men but trying his best not to show it, only shaking a little. Majima thought him a perfect target to tease, holding himself back from his usual persona. “Prosciutto. Pesci. Formaggio.” Your blond colleague introduced them curtly, hands still in his pockets. Kiryu understood the introductions and gave a little nod, Majima followed with a grunt. “This is Majima-san and Kiryu-san.” The mingling of Italian and Japanese still being something you were trying to get used to, only having been able to speak Italian since you arrived. You led the men into the sitting room, the three colleagues retreating back to their card game while you and the other two sat down on the couches. Your colleagues weren’t really that interested it seemed or maybe just unsure of them for now. As you excused yourself to get some drinks for your guests, you were a little worried to leave them by themselves, you knew they could handle themselves physically, but it was more the communication part that you were worried about. You returned with a couple of glasses filled with juice as you saw Melone had slinked inside the living room, gently placing himself on the one seater next to the couch. “So who are these guys?” He asked curiously while leering, perhaps making Kiryu blush a little since Melone kept staring at him. You quickly introduced them to him and shushed him out of your seat, instead he sat on the armrests of the chair. Majima sat up a little, not really liking the looks of the purple haired one. “Is he always like that?” he asked, being a little weirded out. “Yes, yes he is.” You replied with a sigh as your teammate kept staring with a grin on his face, happy to just quietly observe.

You nearly sprung out of your chair when Risotto entered the doorway, feeling like you’d overstepped by bringing in your friends. Majima cocked an eyebrow at your behaviour, not knowing what superior could make you act like that. That was until he turned around as well. “Risotto I-, excuse me for bringing them in but they came all the way from Japan to check up on me.” You pleaded in a hurry as your capo took in the people in the room. “Don’t worry.” He said while giving a nod to the guests while taking them in, having a bit of a stare off with Majima or more like Majima didn’t want to lose eye contact. He felt an innate need to fight Risotto, not because he wanted to hurt him, he just wanted to see what the large man was made off. Risotto reminded Majima of his dear friend next to him. “I’ll be going back to work but please treat their guests nicely.” Risotto aimed his comment at the other men in the room, seeing them not really interact with the guests just yet. You sunk back down in your chair and sighed in relief. “He’s got ya whipped Oushi-chan.” Majima joked as he saw your cheeks get a little flushed.

Slowly but surely with lots of hard work the men actually started talking (with your help translating), Kiryu was still a bit demure but you didn���t expect him to be otherwise, respecting his usual style. After a while Prosciutto even invited them to play a round of cards, all sat around the table while he dealt them. A simple game of blackjack. You actually quite enjoyed the intermingling of your past and present, happy to know there were still people looking out for you back home. Not even sure if you were still allowed to call it home, having perhaps found a new one.

And yes Melone did ask to fight Majima, who quickly agreed since he thought the lithe man was weird and needed some readjusting. Of course Majima won, you sternly asked Melone not to use his stand. The whole thing was quite amusing actually, even Kiryu seemed to enjoy it.

[weclassygirl]

𝐃𝐞 𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐦

Word count: +5.8k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Warnings: none

Author’s note: hello everyone! uni is completely figured out yay! also i’m thinking of taking a small month or so break from writing, want to focus on some other projects that i have in mind. hope you’ll enjoy this part. english is not my first language so beware. take care love <3

dulce periculum series: ... 04 / 05 / ... / 07

Gif credits (x)

You pack your bags in a hurried fashion and with a bit of nervousness. The Elder wants to speak with you. The man that sits above the High Table. You pack every necessity, clothes, guns, coins, not much, you don't plan on staying there for too long.

You reach under your pillow to take out the knife hidden beneath it. It's handle is engraved with a beautiful design, the silver of it shines in the faint stream of light and the green and blue elements make it look royal. You stare at it for a while, admiring the build of it. The thin blade is sharp and reflects in the light. 

Santino walks up to your room and leans against the door frame, watching you holding the dagger he gifted you. You don't hear him coming to your room, he stands in the doorway, waiting for the right moment to make himself present. 

He knocks lightly on the door and you quickly turn in his direction. The hand that holds the dagger falls to your side, he looks at your bed and sees the bag filled with clothing and every necessity you would need for your trip. He walks up to you, that stoic attitude replaced by that soft expression you often see whenever both of you are alone. 

“You don’t need to go.” he says as you put the knife into the bag. 

"I have to, I don't have much of a choice." you inform him going to the wardrobe to grab a few shirts. 

"Of course you do." he says back, his eyes focused on your face. "You’ve spent two years here without him wanting to speak with you-"

"But it’s the Elder," you cut him off. "he sits above the High Table." you turn to him, your own eyes focused on his emerald ones. There's a worry and question filling his features, he wonders why you're complying to the Elder's wish. You look at him and sigh, turning your gaze back to the bag. "We both knew that this day would come sooner or later." you say in a defeated voice.

You hear a faint shuffling and see Santino moving closer to you from the corner of your eye. 

"Let me come with you at least." he pleads softly. You look up at him, your eyebrows drawn together in a sad frown. 

"You know you can’t. The Adjudicator strictly said that he wants to see me alone," you say, remembering the Adjudicator's words.  "no other parties involved, even one of the Heads."  

You detach your gaze from his and move to the small bathroom and grab some toiletries you would need, toothbrush, comb etc. You come back to the room seeing Santino who's moved closer to the bathroom. His eyes follow your every movement. You finish packing as Santino hangs his head down and sighs. 

"I guess I won't be able to convince you otherwise, right bella?" he smirks faintly but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. You say nothing, he already knows the answer. "Very well, but take the plane. It will at least ease my mind to know that you got there safely." he takes your hand in his, gently going over your knuckles. You learned that he started doing that sometimes out of boredom and sometimes as a form of reassurance. 

You place your hand on top of his and hold it there until you speak up, your quiet voice carrying through the small space between you. 

"Alright… and you don't need to worry too much, Sofia is letting me stay for the night before I go to the desert." you don't know Sofia personally but always admired her in the movies. The Adjudicator told you that you'll be staying at the Moroccan Continental before your departure to the desert. Santino looks at you wearily but nods and let’s go of your hand. You smile at him faintly, reassuring him that you’ll be fine.

It’s not that he thinks that you’re not ready, he knows you're capable of pretty much everything at this point, but it still puts him on the edge. Your own version of the Impossible Task made him believe that you can withstand anything, that you're as much capable as the other guards. 

Santino leaves your room and your eyes follow his figure as he disappears behind the door. You sit down on your bed, looking at your lap, thinking of every decision you've made in the past two years. Saving Santino, joining Camorra, making a name for yourself in this world. And now a meeting with the Elder, a man that could no doubt easily kill you in a matter of seconds and wouldn't even get any blood on his robes. You decide not to ponder much about it and finish packing.

The airport is relatively quiet, the only sound that can be heard is the engine of the plane. You see Spirto and Sonya waiting for you at the hangar. Sonya comes up to you and hugs you tightly. 

"If something happens, call me, I still have some contacts in the city." she says to your ear and you chuckle. 

"I'm sure that won't be necessary." you pull away and see Spirto watching both of your interactions. His hair going in every direction and the bags under his eyes tell you that he spent another night wide awake. 

During your time here you've gotten along the best with Sonya and Spirto, their cheerful personalities really helped you not feel so miserable at Camorra. Spirto puts a hand on your shoulder.

"As Sonya said, if you need anything you call us, I'm sure Andre would be against it but what's life without a little danger." he tells you with a grin spreading on his lips. There's that glint of madness twirling in his eyes. You nod at them in thanks and see a figure behind them. 

Santino stands with his hand in his pocket, a bag waiting by his side. Sonya and Spirto give you a knowing look and you have them in the ribs before they can say anything further. You move towards the Italian. 

"If you're here to try and change my mind, it won't happen." you say to him, he smiles and reaches for the bag at his feet. 

"Believe me I won't do that, I know you made up your mind. I'm here to give you a small parting gift." he hands you the bag and you look at him suspiciously, you don't look in the bag but see a dark material crumbled up inside.

"Be safe, bella." he simply says. It's not a goodbye, you only go there for a few days, you'll be back in a blink of an eye. 

"Always am." you say, he looks at you with expectation and you step closer to him as you hear the pilot announcing the departure. You kiss the Italian briefly on the cheek and place a hand on the other, Santino closes his eyes momentarily before you pull back. Both of you look at each other, feeling as if there's something more to say. 

You turn to the plane and climb up the stairs giving one last look to Santino. Sonya and Spirto already left the hangar. You enter the plane and the hostess closes the door behind you. You go and sit in one of the chairs, placing your bags beside you. You see Santino through the window and his silhouette becoming a dot as the plane begins to move. 

You relax in your seat, already planning to sleep through the flight when you remember the bag Santino gave you. You take a look inside and pull out a dark material, a jacket and suit pants. You see a tag saying that it's made by Angelo. The same Angelo you've seen making a suit for John when he visited Rome in the movies. 

The suit itself is custom made as you realize, small threads of blue and green embedded into it. There are multiple small pockets inside it, some of them already containing thin knives, the fabric itself is the same bulletproof one you've seen John wear. 

You look at your window and smile, deeply thanking Santino for this gift. During your stay at Camorra he's only given you two gifts, a dagger and a necklace. He gave you the necklace when you visited Naples with him during one summer. You've been walking around the city streets, him telling you about where everything was, and even some of the stories the streets held. You saw a stand with jewelry in the corner and decided to go up to it. You saw a beautiful thin silver chain with a green stone in it. Santino saw you looking at it and decided to buy it when you didn't see. He gifted it to you at a beach when both of you were returning from the city. You've been wearing it ever since. 

You smile at the memory and hide the suit into the bag, deciding on putting it on later. You make yourself comfortable in your seat and quickly fall asleep, the hostess wakes you up as you're about to land in Morocco. You exit the plane and decide to walk into the city, deciding that you're gonna have to find the Continental on your own. Walking through the market and the alleyways you're met with Yassin, the man that you remember guiding John and also somewhat saving him. Both of you cross the street filled with people to enter a luxurious open space. 

"Welcome to the Moroccan Continental." you see people scattered around, belly dancers performing in front of the clients and various alcohol being passed around. It's nothing like the New York or Rome Continental. Yassin leads you to a secluded room, away from the lobby.

"Ms. Al-Azwar will be with you shortly. Best of luck Ms. Jade." he says bowing slightly as he disappears behind the entrance. You look around the room and wait, you walk towards a small table and see pictures of Sofia with the dogs and her daughter. You hear a faint tapping of paws and see two dogs staring at you, bearing teeth. They growl at you and for a moment you fear that they will attack you when a woman's voice tells them to stand down in Arabic. The dogs calm down as Sofia approaches you. You stare at her with slightly wide eyes and smile shyly. Sofia looks at you with question in her eyes. You're surprised she's not pointing a gun at you. 

"Sorry, I just- you've been one of my favorite characters since I watched Parabellum." you say quickly and feel her stare at you. You feel like you may have said something wrong but she only chuckles, the slight tension dropping from your shoulders.

"I guess what they say is true, you are from a world where all of our lives are a movie." she says. You smile and look around the room, it's dark, beautiful rugs laying on the floor, gold ornaments laying around. Sofia gestures to the couch and you take your seat, the dogs following and sitting on both of your sides. 

"We're gonna be meeting with Berrada?" you ask, thinking that you would have to go to him as he used to be the previous manager. She pours water into the glass and heads to the couch giving you one of the glasses.

"No, it's not necessary. You already know that one way or another you would have to go to the desert." she answers and you nod along her words. 

"Yeah, I suppose." you sip on your water when Sofia asks you another question. 

"Why did you save him?" she looks at you, wonder in her eyes, confusion even. You put the glass on the table. 

"I knew that if John killed him then that would be followed by consequences. Excommunicado, the whole world would be trying to kill him, he would call in for the Marker he has on you. Just a lot of awful stuff, for him at least." Sofia looks at you with a cold attitude but her eyes did go slightly wide at your mention of her marker. 

She looks you up and down and leans in closer.“But that’s not everything, is it?" she questions. You straighten up in your seat, your head held high as you listen to the manager's next words.

"There are rumors about your connection to Santino. Some say that you’re his private bodyguard - closer than Ares even - that you’ve saved him and made up that little story cause he informed you that John is after him. Some even say that you only saved him so that you can warm his bed at night.” 

You scoff at her statement. For people to think those things are beyond you. You knew that some may not believe that you're not from this world, but to make up those kind of assumptions… “Do you believe those rumors?” 

Sofia crosses her legs and leans back slightly. “Not really, but no one truly knows you, except for Camorra." you look at her, her eyes fill with questions. Sofia tilts her head to the side, wondering out loud.

"People are curious… and I can see from a mile away that you care about them. The Camorra, Santino.” you listen to her, your cheeks feeling a bit warm. You compose yourself quickly and just shrug.  

“Well, they did let me stay with them and not wander around New York, just waiting to be killed.” the manager looks you up and down, examining your face, she squints her eyes and lifts the corner of her lips. “Yeah, that’s the only reason.” 

You look at her with wide eyes and your blush grows, you chuckle nervously. There's a comfortable silence hanging between you two, you can hear music and people outside laughing and speaking in a language, still a bit foreign to you. One of the dogs decides to come closer to you and put his head on your leg. You look at him and back to Sofia, silently asking for her permission. She nods at you and you put your hand on the dogs head, petting it lightly as he closes his eyes. You smile, feeling at peace for a moment. 

Yet that small moment is interrupted as Sofia stands up and the dog averts his eyes in her direction. 

"Come on, I'll show you to your room.” you stand up and reach to your pocket preparing to take out a single gold coin and give it to the woman. Sofia looks at you and shakes her head. “There’s no need for that, your room has already been paid for.” you look at her confused but follow nonetheless. 

You assumed that Santino would have paid for your stay at the hotel, but you truly hoped that he wouldn't have to do that. You earned your money and you wanted to use it, to make yourself feel that you fit into this world. You reach the door and Sofia hands you the key, she leaves you alone in front of the door, bidding you goodnight. You enter the room and are met with a lowly lit room, columns decorating the open space, maroon carpets feeling soft underneath your feet. 

You head to bed and drop your belongings near it. You quickly spot a bathroom and shower, desperately in need of sleep after a tiring journey. After you exit the now steamy bathroom you go to lay in your bed. You sigh as your face meets the soft pillow, your body immediately relaxing. You turn on your side and look at the high ceilings, thinking what the Elder might want with you. 

As far as you know he rules this whole world, he is the person that you don't question twice. You knew that one day you would have to face the consequences of your actions. You saved a person that was supposed to die, someone that stood high on the food chain. Your mind briefly slips to Santino and you reach for your phone texting him a short message that you arrived and are safe. After a few seconds you hear a soft ping and see a message from the Italian. "That's good to hear. No trouble I hope." You reply with a confirmation and your brief interaction with Sofia. "Rest bella, a long day ahead of you tomorrow. I'll stay in touch. Take care." He responds.

A short message that for some may seem not that much caring, but this is Santino, his way of showing emotions and concern is different. Small affirmations like this show that he cares about his people, that his family means more to him than anything… well, maybe except power. 

You put the phone away on the nightstand and close your eyes, feeling yourself drifting away to sleep and your heartbeat slowing down with every passing breath.                                                             

The next day you drive with Sofia to the desert, you sit on the passenger seat as the dogs sit behind both of you. You drive through the desert that doesn't seem to end. The sand creates a dusty smoke as the car drives on it, the sun shines brightly above you and you mentally prepare yourself for what's about to come.

You stop in the middle of the desert and Sofia takes out a bowl and water for the dogs. They drink it rapidly, clearly thirsty. Sofia passes the bottle to you, a bit more of the water inside than what John had when he came to the desert and without the spit. 

"I hope you don't die here." she says to you. You look at her again with confusion. 

"You don't even know me, why do you care if I die here or not?" you question, squinting her eyes at her as the sun shines on both of you.

"I can see a fighter when I meet one, and you have that spirit that this world so desperately needs." she tells you and you wonder at her statement. People die everyday in this world, be it by an open contract, broken marker or a rule, or even a classic revenge. For a moment you think about your future and for how long you'll be able to survive in this world. You turn to Sofia, her eyes expectant, the tattoo on her neck showing up from behind her hair.

"Sofia." you nod at her, raising the bottle up.

"Jade." she nods in return and gets into the car, the dogs follow her. You see her drive away as she becomes a time dark speck on the horizon. You begin to walk.

You seem to be moving for hours, sometimes feeling as if you're going in circles. The day slowly turns to night, the sunset greets you along with a breeze that moves the sand. You don't stop walking, knowing that stopping would be even more dangerous in these conditions.

The morning sun rises after a few hours and you reach for your bottle, trying to satiate the need for water. You stop yourself as you remember that you shouldn't be wasting it, every drop is precious in this desert. You keep on walking, the day once again turning into night. You feel yourself grow weaker, not eating in days, only surviving on the bits of water. You lift up the bottle only to find it empty and you feel yourself loosening balance on the sand and tumble down the sand. You don't have the energy to stand up and lay against the warm sand as the night turns darker, the stars and the moon start to shine high above you. 

You wake up feeling a light breeze moving your hair, a soft material lays under your hand, completely different from the hot sand you recall falling asleep on. You open your eyes slightly and see a pair of shoes far in front of you, white robes concealing them.

"Drink." says a male voice, his accent visible and his voice rough. 

You reach to your pockets inside the jacket when you hear the man speak up again. "Don't worry your weapons are still there. Please drink." you get a sense of deja vu. You reach for the small red glass beside you and drink until it's empty. You look up and see the Elders gaze hanging onto your frame, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stand up on wobbly legs. 

You go straight to the point, not wanting to prolong your stay here. "Why did you want to meet me?" he acknowledges your question and shows amusement on his face. Surely he's used to people speaking and answering to him with respect, but you're not sure what to make of him yet. The Elder doesn't seem to be bothered by your tone. 

"Your appearance has created a disturbance in this world." you listen to him, the wind flowing through the open tent. His whole presence seems so calm and yet it has a certain hidden edge to it. "You being here is dangerous on it’s own." 

You draw your eyebrows in worry. "Dangerous how?" 

"You know what happens." he says simply, clasping his hand together and putting them on his knee."It may not be in the very distant future, but you possess a knowledge that endangers some people. With you now working for Camorra, that knowledge had only expanded." 

You were made aware of the dangers that would fall upon you when you first arrived in Italy, the Council and Santino made sure to tell you them. You've already encountered some of those dangers, being held at a gunpoint multiple times, kidnapped in need of information on other organizations, someone even tried to push your car out of the bridge into the river that you were passing by. All of those encounters however, were unsuccessful. You only got out with some scratches and scars going into your growing collection. 

"And you’re probably one of those people that feel endangered." the Elder doesn't answer you, instead he changes the topic of the conversation.

"I do hope that your stay at the Continental has been pleasant." he says and you move to answer him when a thought crosses your mind. You thought that Santino has been responsible for your stay at the hotel, but now it makes sense. His voice even indicates that he meddled with your stay there. Realization falls upon your face and you stare at the man in light robes. 

"You have questions." a simple statement, he doesn't waste unnecessary words. That reminds you of a certain someone. 

"Plenty, but right now only one comes to my mind." you say looking only at him, the rest of the people in the tent forgotten. As if only the two of you were occupying this space. The Elder nods at you as a sign to continue. 

"Why wait two years?" the same question you asked an Adjudicator. But you need to know the reason and who's not better to get it from than the source itself. He looks at you as if he was expecting that question and you're not surprised. You hear his accented voice carrying through the tent. 

"You needed to adapt to this world, train to become stronger, to be ready to face challenges that will lay ahead of you." he stands up from his seat and moves closer to you, his steps light, quiet. He looks down on you, studying your face. "You’re confused." 

You shake your head slightly and look him in the eye, his dark eyes never once leaving yours. "I’m not, it's just…" you hesitate answering, trying to find the right words. "If you wanted to see me train you could have easily just gone to Italy and get me, tell Santino that you will be overseeing my training." you explain, thinking of all the possibilities he could have got to you. 

He had all two years to do that. To take you to the desert, train you as one of his people, explain you everything and yet he didn't. You examine his face, wondering what he's thinking and you see him lift up the corner of his lips. 

"What makes you think I don't plan to do it here?" you draw your eyebrows, your mind reeling with questions. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you. "Walk with me."

The Elder moves by you and leaves the tent, you quickly follow him and try to catch up. He's not the person that would be waiting for someone. The rest of his tribe doesn't follow, they stay in the same seats they sat on throughout the whole exchange. 

Both of you walk in silence through the desert and his tribe. You see people walking around in light, flowy robes, the wind carrying through them. You see people training with sticks and even notice a tattoo on one of their hands as it clashes with the person they're sparring with. 

Up ahead you see people meditating, far from the tribe, seeking silence and peace, away from the others. Only with their own thoughts. 

"I have heard about your abilities," you hear the Elder speak up from beside you. "you have an extensive knowledge in languages, fighting, your skills are admirable. Not many people go through such a hard training in Camorra and get to see another light of day." you hear praise in his voice, something to be proud of. You squint at him, the sun seemingly shining brighter. 

"Doesn't the same rule apply here?" you wonder out loud. He listens to you, his eyes glancing at you every now and then. "You sit above the high table, you definitely have selected individuals that were trained even harder than at any organization." 

"Yes, but I am the one that chooses them." he admits and you sense that there's more to his statement then he leads on. "You are aware of this, that I am the one choosing who to speak with when people search for me in the desert for days. You were no different." 

You look at him questioningly. You stop in your track, feeling the hot sand beneath your feet, the heat getting to you. It doesn't seem to bother him as he's adjusted to the unbearable weather.

"How? You wanted me here." 

"Yes, but I also needed to see how much you would endure out there. Just because I demanded your presence here didn't mean that you wouldn't have to fully earn it."  

"By sending me out to the desert just to see if I survive." you tell him, not a question in your statement, more of an observation. 

Both of you turn back to the tent, seeing less people and that others from the training mat long gone. 

"You've been through much worse I assume, that small test only proved that you're capable." you enter the tent and the Elder takes his place on the seat at the head of it, his legs placed on each other, the golden ring on his finger glowing in the sunlight. You can even make out a silver of a watch beneath his sleeve. 

You stand there wary, not knowing what to expect. "Capable of what exactly?"

The Elder breaths in, his shoulders straightening and it somehow gives him a sense of power. More power and authority than before, like finally he's the person that so many respect and even fear.  

"Joining our ranks." he simply says, not a doubt in his voice. You look at him, your eyes going wide and soon you start to smile, small chuckles escaping past your lips. 

"You want me to work for you?" you quip up. You look around and see the people surrounding him sitting quietly and listening. You're certain that they could disarm you in a matter of seconds. The Elder doesn't say anything, only studies your reaction. You compose yourself and your face becomes more serious with every passing second.

"I already work for Camorra." 

The Elder shrugs, though the movement is invisible. "Who says you can't do both? You can serve Camorra and the High Table. Simple as that."

A moment of silence passes between you, you consider his proposition. Camorra is a part of the High Table but working for the Elder himself would be completely different. You thought that working for Camorra was signing a deal with the devil but it turns out that he was that devil all along. You look at him, worrying about the words you're about to speak but don't show it on your face. 

"I'm guessing that if I don't agree then you'll just make me excommunicado or kill me the moment I say no." you question, the man says nothing once again, he doesn't need to, you know you're right. You sigh in defeat.

"What do I need to do? Cut off my finger to prove my loyalty to you?" 

 "That won't be necessary, however I'll need you for various of tasks. For now you'll be staying here for your training." 

 "What about Italy?" you wonder.

"Mr. D'Antonio will be informed of your stay here." he answers you, his eyes gleaming in the desert sun.  

"How long?" 

"A month. I'm sure you're a fast learner, we don't need more time to teach you our ways." 

Our ways. You wonder what that might entitle. You've seen the High Table mercenaries work already, their movements careful, quiet as if they're a part of the shadows. You've seen them work effortlessly, them not sparing anyone in their path.

"Your ways?" you ask him. He seemed to expect that question out of you. His rough voice carries through the small tent, you feel a presence behind you, a person to probably stop you if you refuse completely. Your eyes quickly turn to the Elders. 

"Standard training, new methods and techniques. You've seen what people of the high table can do." he informs you and you look around. 

If you agree it will mean that you'll have to sacrifice a month of your stay here. Adjusting to the new climate, leaving Italy without a proper explanation. For a moment you worry what the Guard might think, what Santino might think. 

Would he see you as if you've lost your interest in Camorra? Or maybe he'll acknowledge that you seek to gain knowledge and more experience? 

"Alright…" you sigh and see the Elder holding his chin up high, his lips turning upwards, a clear sign of victory. "When do we start?"                                                            

It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve started training in the desert. Throughout those weeks you've been training with the other people here, some of the ones you've seen when you first got here, gone. Probably sent on a task ordered by the Elder. The man himself oversees your training, telling you new ways of fighting everytime he sees that you've done something wrong in his eyes. 

The training is brutal but you expected it. You've started to meditate even, the Elder told you that in order to control your body you need to first control your mind. The meditation didn't work at first cause your mind couldn't stay quiet but eventually you got a hang of it. 

The Elder reaches you new weapons, fighting styles, how to be quiet on the feet and even poisons. You've learned that he dabbles in various forms of martial arts and science.

You're still wary of him, not sure what to make of his character. He seems calm most of the time, reserved but he is also the one that sits above all. You don't trust him enough to have a friendly conversation with him, even though you speak to him nearly every night. 

Currently you're fighting with one of his people as he watches the sparring match. You fight with sticks, yours are now broken in two after your opponent broke them in half with his stick. You duck the men as he charges at you, swinging him off his feet, he quickly stands up. Both of you circle each other when you advance at him, he blocks your first strike but doesn't expect the other to his leg. The man collapses clutching to his now broken knee. You look towards him and then at the Elder, he nods at you and you step back. The man on the ground already being taken to a medic. 

The Elder crosses the hot sand to you as you take off the wraps from your hands, some spots covered in already dried blood from your knuckles. 

"You listened." he tells you. When you first started your training he told you about techniques you can use in fights, that was one of them. 

"Yes." you shortly respond, you're tired and it's only the beginning of the day, you still will have to train later, meditate and such. 

"But you focus on the weak points of the body, rather than expecting the opponents moves." he continues. His eyes moving over your features, he sees your skin glowing due to exposure of the sun. 

"I thought that was the point. To see the opponents weak spot to fight them off more successfully." you say, your hands starting to go numb at you knuckles, already feeling the pain of the bruises spreading on your body. 

"You are right, but if you expected what he would do, see where he places his foot, on which side of the body he relies on more, you would have ended that fight quickly." he informs you. You nod at his explanation, his words making sense yet you still by your decision on the fight. 

"I'll keep that in mind." you tells him and turn to the tent to see a medic to help you with bruises and cuts on your hands. The Elder's eyes follow your figure as you disappear behind the tent's entrance. 

That cycle goes on for another two weeks, with you training and even sparring with the Elder himself, meditating and learning more and more each day. You study poisons from all over the world, techniques that you've seen Zero using in the movie. The Elder is impressed by your improvement, you asked him once to send a letter to Santino but you're not sure if he really sent it. You still haven't received a reply. 

Your stay in the desert shows how much you can improve in a short amount of time, you've gained muscles, knowledge and even respect. People sometimes whisper behind your back about your Impossible Task, no one - except the Guard and Santino - knowing what truly happened there. But those people tend to keep to themselves most of the time, their whispers behind your back being a rare occurrence. 

After another exhausting day you drop onto your bed and fall asleep, dreaming of a pleasant warmth of Italy and not the scorching one of the desert. Your nightmares still make themselves present, but due to your meditating they've been not as frequent. 

[vidimillion]

idk if ur still doing jasico hc but if u r... college aus! what majors, background, etc? i love college aus

i love them too anon. i love them too. (thanks for the req!)

the university library is packed with people studying for midterms. some people are sitting on the floor, with no chairs left. a ways away from the louder parts of the library, by the windows, there's a really cute guy who's got a small table all to himself. the cute guy sees jason desperately looking for somewhere to study and pulls his bag off the other chair at the table, silently offering.

jason sits down and tries to work, he really does. he's got all his architecture and literature textbooks out, and it works for a little while. jason notices that among the guy's textbooks, there's a few open poetry books that he seemed to read on his study breaks.  jason recognizes a few of them and feels a nagging desire to say something smart, something that strikes up an interesting conversation with this really cute stranger, "emily dickinson was a lesbian."

his faces goes red as he dies on the inside. surprising him, cute stranger stares at him and says something along the lines of, "oscar wilde and michelangelo were definitely gay too."

jason learns the cute boy's name is nico di angelo, and it's gotta be one of the prettiest names he's ever heard used by a real human being. he introduces himself and nico tells him his name is pretty. they're both double majors, something they impressed eachother with because they hadn't often heard of other people taking two majors. nico double-majors in economics and psychology, which impresses jason a lot. jason double-majors in english and architecture.

they're fast friends, and apparently great study buddies because they make it a schedule to study together nearly everyday. they meet up at the library, the yard in front of the school, campus gardens, family-owned cafes off campus. they get to know each other a lot, and realize they're in a few of the same psych and classical studies classes. apparently, nico's that one kid who was late to class and scaled the side of the building to climb through the window. nico discovers that jason's the kid who poured a 6-hour energy into a starbucks black coffee with twelve shots of espresso in it.

more under cut

after exams are over, they both feel dread at the thought that they won't meet up as often anymore. well, it's a lie, they're friends now and they ain't ever gonna let each other go.

they figure out they've got a ton of mutual friends— so many it's odd they've never met before then. percy the bio major who's on the swim team, annabeth who's in the same architecture course as jason, reyna who majors in business and polisci and is the only other person they know who's a double-major. they start by hanging out with their mutual friends, then they introduce each other to their other friends. soon enough, practically everyone they know is in the same friend group.

the ENTIRE group ships jason and nico. they want it to happen so bad in fact, that they literally set them up??

the theatre club is planning a modern— and lgbt friendly— reimagination of one of shakespeare's classics. piper and percy trick nico and jason into "helping them make their audition tape", when in reality they're not sending the audition tape for themselves. jason and nico get the parts of the two main characters.

that's a story for another time though. in short, it works, and jason and nico start dating after opening night. piper and percy are proud to say that they're the reason why.

they planned to have their first "date" date at a poetry slam, where nico's friend's band would play. there was a power outage, so both events were cancelled. instead of rescheduling the date, nico got the idea to bring jason to the roof of his apartment building with his ipad and some snacks. they binged a few movies and watched their part of the city light up when the power came back on.

jason's roommate just moved out and he really can't afford his apartment on his own. no matter how appealing the thought of living with nico sounds, it's way too soon to ask him if he'd move in with him. surprising him, nico asks jason if he'd like to move into nico's apartment— the one he lives alone in which is far nicer than jason's and is 50% paid for by his dad. nico says it's because jason's building doesn't allow dogs and he'd want to bring his dog with him if he moved. hazel and reyna know it's because nico would prefer jason to live in a less cramped space. jason agrees anyway.

nico technically has two dogs, one he co-owns with percy who's name is mrs. o' leary. the second one is a pup of his father's purebred rottweiler cerberus— she's half bear hunting dog, retaining ceberus's coloring but is far larger and far fuffier. her name's amelia. jason fucking loves her, but he's a cat person at heart.

jason successfully convinces nico to adopt a cat—  a gorgeous grey ragdoll who he's named tempest the second, after the cat from jason's childhood.

everybody will assume that between the two of them, nico's the sleep-deprived one. they're not wrong, but most people don't know that jason's even fucking worse. his skin is just so perfect that he never gets eye bags. he can go for almost a full week without sleeping. nico hates this but jason says nico does the same thing.

"no babe, it’s not the same, the longest I've gone without sleep is four days and you haven't slept since last tuesday."

nico has a habit of humming and softly singing when he's bored or distracted. once, jason had his head in nico's lap and nico was combing through his hair with his fingers. nico suddenly begins to sing really softly, something italian that jason's never heard before but if he has he can't tell. he falls asleep in like under five minutes, which surprises nico because jason's so stubborn about sleep. at first he doesn't know why jason fell asleep so fast, until a little over a week later when jason asks him to do it again. (nico thinks it's really fucking cute.)

in reality, nico knows why jason doesn't sleep that much.

before nico met jason, he kind of thought that jay was a spoilt rich kid who played lacrosse in high school or something. he always admired that jason was very hardworking— had two jobs and worked his ass off for his grades, and still spared time for his friends. he didn't realize until later on in their relationship that he was kind of right at first— jason hailed from a rich family, but they didn't want to pay for anything unless he was studying to be a lawyer like his dad. nico loves that about jason— he had the option to have his tuition, his rent, everything paid for as long as he studied something he had no passion in. and he decided he'd rather work.

(and when jason told him, it broke nico's heart because he knew what being abandoned by your family like that felt like. hades is a far better father now— he pays nico's tuition, half of his rent and actually enjoys communicating with him— but nico still remembers his life when he wasn't. it's a little bit of the reason why nico asked jason to move in with him, so that he didn't have to work so hard for rent as well as tuition)

that's all i've got anon i don't know anything about the college experience i'm sorry

[ambrosiaicecreem]

93 fun OC asks because why not (PT 1/2)

i’m splitting this up cus its a LOT, but it’s gonna be all 93 LMAO. courtesy of @lazysunjade. this one’s for YOU! 

BASICS:

1. What is their gender?

Cis Male 

2. What is their sexuality?

Bisexual

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames? 

Silas means “the youngest”.. which is ironic really since he’s the oldest. He doesn’t really have many nicknames. He’s either just referred to by his first name or last name. 

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with? 

Silas only has one sibling: Marcus. Silas is older than Marcus by about 4 years, but despite the age difference they are incredibly close with each other. Marcus is Silas’ best friend, without a doubt about it. 

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives? 

Silas was incredibly close with both of his parents while they were both still alive. His only other known relatives were his maternal grandparents, and he also had a positive relationship with them before they died. He had no other living known relatives. 

6. What would they give their life for? 

His family. No hesitation. Whether its for his brother or his kids, if he had to make the decision to sacrifice himself for their safety, he would do it.

7. Are they in a romantic relationship? With who? How did they meet? 

Silas is/was(?) in a relationship with Miss Camellia Pineda. It’s a bit complicated at this point in time but you can reread how they met here! 

8. What do they believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them? 

Part of him still believes in the old Greek myths of departing to the Underworld. But another part of him believes that nothing will really happen, considering he already had his second chance to experience something out of death and all as a vampire. It’s unsettling to him, to say the least. 

9. What is their favorite color? Favorite animal? 

He really likes deep shades of red. His favorite animal has always been the Black-Winged Kite, a small bird of prey that’s native to Greece. 

10. What are some of their talents/skills? 

Silas is a master of the arts. Throughout his whole existence, he’s studied multiple art forms, but the one’s he’s perfected are painting and sculpture. Besides that, he’s very proficient with hand-to-hand combat, specifically Pankration which is the Greek form of martial arts. He has an almost perfect memory, which comes from his special talent of being able to project his memories. 

11. If they could make a mark on history, what would they like it to be? 

He honestly really wouldn’t want to change much, but maybe he’d like to be credited for a certain famous sculpture that he made that doesn’t have a “known artist”. 

12. How old are they? When is their birthday? 

Silas is 2,346 years old and his birthday is March 20th. 

13. What do they do for fun? 

Silas likes to create art, whether its painting or sculpting something. He also really likes to read history books. He was asleep for a good portion of it, so he likes to read up on what he missed.  

14. What is their favorite food? How often do they get to eat it? 

Silas is honestly really simple when it comes to human food. He likes freshly made loaves of bread. He doesn’t eat it often, simply because of how specific he likes it. Its more of a special treat whenever he’s in the mood to make it himself. 

15. What was something their parents taught them? 

Silas learned how to tie simple sailors knots from his father at a young age, meanwhile he learned how to bake bread from his mother. 

16. Are they religious? 

In a way, he is still. He does believe in the Greek pantheon to an extent. With his rebirth as a vampire, he isn’t 100% sure anymore, but he tries not to think too hard on it at times. When it comes to practicing his religion, he makes offerings to the gods with every new season that comes. 

17. Where were they born?

Athens, Greece

18. What languages can they speak? Where did they learn these languages? 

Silas can fluently speak Greek, English, Spanish, and Italian. He learned Greek from his human life. When he woke up from his hibernation, he learned English, Spanish, and Italian over a span of 100 years from traveling and attending university. 

19. What is their occupation?

Technically, he has none. He doesn’t necessarily need to work, but he does take freelance art jobs from the city whenever they’d like something from him. 

20. Do they have any titles? How did they earn them? 

No titles.. yet. 

PERSONALITY: 

21. What is their favorite thing about their personality? 

He likes how patient he can be. His patience has been a gift, really, in moments of high stress and it really could have drastically changed things if he didn’t have it. 

22. What is their least favorite thing about their personality?

He’s got the good ol “Montolvo Hot-Head” trait. It takes a lot to get him genuinely angry, but when he gets mad.. he gets MAD. He’s almost blind to it and reacts entirely all on emotions, as seen when he punishes all three of his kids for something only one of them did. 

23. Do they get lonely easily?

I’d say he does. Especially with how attached he’s gotten to Camellia in such a short amount of time. 

24. Do you know their MBTI type? 

I think Silas would be ISFJ: the Defender. Protective, warm, and caring. 

25. What is their biggest flaw? & 26. Are they aware of their flaws?

He’s too forgiving, almost to the point of being a total pushover. He’s taken a lot of shit, specifically just from his ex-wife Serafina, but he still gave her the courtesy of explaining herself to their kids instead of just telling them himself. In hindsight, he shouldn’t be giving so many chances to people who’ve only proven to continuously fuck him over. He is WELL AWARE of his flaws, and he’s taken responsibility for them.

27. What is their biggest strength? & 28. Are they aware of their strengths? 

His sense of loyalty. Whether its to his family or someone who he’d consider as family, if he’s needed, he’ll be there. He’s aware of it, but he tries to humble himself and doesn’t really focus his attention on it that much. He’d much rather focus on improving his flaws. 

29. How would they describe their own personality? 

“Loyal, Protective... and boring.”

30. When frightened, will they resort to “fight” or “flight”? 

It’s sorta a case by case thing, but he’s more flight than fight simply because of how strict vampire rules are in New Brando. 

31. Does this character ever put somebody else’s needs before their own? Who do they do this for? How often do they do this?

uh, ALWAYS. He ALWAYS does this. He’s always putting other people before himself. He does it ESPECIALLY with his family and Camellia now. 

32. What is their self esteem like? 

He’s got a pretty average level self esteem. He doesn’t necessarily consider himself all that good-looking or interesting. He’s only recently gotten a confidence boost ever since he started dating Camellia. 

33. What is their biggest fear? How would they react to having to face it? 

His biggest fear is losing his kids. If he even loses ONE of them, he won’t be able to handle it. His guilt would consume him, and honestly, he’d probably just lose himself in order to be with them again. 

34. How easily do they trust others with their secrets? With their lives? 

Silas doesn’t really trust others with his secrets all that much. I mean look how long it took just for him to reveal the truth about the divorce. He’s the same way with his life. He only trusts a select few with that as well. 

35. What is the easiest way to annoy them? 

Just by being overly obnoxious and in his personal space. 

36. What is their sense of humor like? Give an example of a joke they would find humorous. 

“Dad, did you get a haircut?” “No, I got them all cut!”  He’s a dad. Dad humor is in his blood at this point. 

37. How easy is it for them to say “I love you”? Do they say it without meaning it? 

Silas will only say “I love you” to someone that ISN’T his family if he GENUINELY means it. If he doesn’t feel it from the instant spark, then odds are he’s not going to ever really come to say it. 

38. What do others admire most about their personality? 

He wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s extremely open to others and caring and protective.  

39. What does their happily ever after look like?

Well I can’t just spoil that. It’s gonna be the ending! 

40. Who do they trust most? Is that trust mutual? 

Marcus, Angelina, and Camellia. That trust is all mutual. 

PHYSICAL PROFILE: 

41. What does their laugh sound like? Do they snort when they laugh? How often do they laugh? 

Silas has this kind of hearty laugh. Its very warm and inviting. He’s been laughing a lot more lately with Camellia being a sort of light in his life. 

42 & 43. What is their favorite & least favorite thing about their physical appearance? 

He likes his hair. He thinks its the most interesting thing about himself, physically. He doesn’t really have a least favorite thing about his appearance? He just considers himself to be really average for the most part. 

44. Do they have any scars? If so, what are the stories behind those scars? 

He does not have any real noticeable scars. 

45. How would they describe their own appearance? 

“Tall, a bit on the skinnier side, and boring clothes.”

46. How easily can they express emotions? How easily can they hide emotions? 

He tends to wear his emotions on his face really easily. He knows how to hide them though, but he chooses not to. 

[laowai-on-a-bike]

Yinzu, Yinzu, Yinzu… these words echoed endlessly in my head. It all started when I was back from Jiu Gong Mountain, on the highway with my friend Freddy. I was impressed to admire such beautiful landscapes so close to Wuhan. It's weird that we are always drawn to faraway destinations, like Yunnnan, Guizhou or Sichuan provinces but ultimately, there are already plenty of places to explore near our home.

Besides, I will be moving to Guangzhou soon so I might as well explore the area before leaving. And then, starting a bike tour directly from home without the hassle of bringing your bike to a distant destination by train or bus or by mail is really much more convenient. Well, I'm already digressing...

At one point on the highway, then, an exit sign appeared with the name "Yinzu" written on it. I didn't know why, but I was immediately drawn to the name, maybe because it sounds good, I don't know. And then the obsession started: "I'll go by bike to Yinzu". I didn't even know what Yinzu was: a village? A town? Regardless, it seemed like a good pretext for an adventure.

Then Freddy, who speaks Chinese much better than me, managed to find the name in Chinese character. Yinzu was there, on my Baidu Map app (equivalent to Google Map in China), 90 kilometers away from Wuhan.  Ideas for routes were starting to take shape in my head for some time.

In the middle of June, I was having a three days weekend for the Dragon Boat Festival so I said to myself: "Yinzu, I'm coming"!

One day before leaving, I checked the weather forecast: they announced rain for 3 days and a very hot weather (33-35 degrees) ... Ouch ... But, if we are still waiting for the right moment to leave, we will never go on a tour right? “It's raining”, “it's too hot”, “it’s too humid”: these are no excuses! Especially in the Wuhan region, where there are only two seasons (very hot and humid or cold):  that doesn't leave many opportunities to ride if we wait for the perfect weather. So I decided to leave, raining or not.

The last time I rode my bike in bad weather, I wasn't prepared. I ended up with plastic bags around my shoes and a soaked underwear. After this experience, I had searched the internet for the perfect solution to ride in the rain. Overshoes? Good brand raincoat? 10 yuan plastic poncho from street grocery stores? The solution finally came from my British friend Jack: "You must embrace the rain ! Just remove your shirt and ride in sandals"! He was not wrong: in fact, why bother ? Especially with temperatures around 35 degrees, you are dry in 5 minutes ... So I grabbed a 15 Yuan rain shorts (a kind of ugly short made by trash bag material) because I don't like having my underwear wet - yes I know, I'm a little princess -, Decathlon sandals, and for the t-shirt, well… I'm really not a fan of riding with a cycling jersey, so a punk band tee-shirt will have to do !

The day before departure, I loaded my two bike rack bags, I took food (oatmeal and dried fruits for breakfast, and some dehydrated dishes), some clothes, a raincoat which in the end I didn’t use, an Italian coffee maker (instant coffee, no thanks), repairing tools, then equipment for camping (tent, sleeping bag, mattress etc.). Sleeping in a hotel is for a looser, I am a real adventurer... well that's what I thought before leaving…

Sunday 8 am, departure. It didn't seem to be raining, so now was a good time to go. The first 50 km were on a big dusty expressway, I could feel that I was in the suburbs of Wuhan: here and there, construction sites, bridges and roads under construction. I hadn't done 30 km before my bike was already very dusty. No problem, it gives me a feeling of adventure.

The Expressways in China are widely used by trucks… not necessarily super fun to ride, but it allows you to get out of town quickly. Well, positive note, the roads are often very wide here and you really have room to ride. I was trying not to think about the trucks and enjoy my trip, much like when your buddy is snoring next to you, if you start to think about it too much, you will go crazy and it will be impossible to think of anything else. But everything went very well and I never felt unsafe on the road during the whole trip.

The advantage of going on a short 3-day test trip is I learned a lot.

First lesson of this trip: do not trust the weather forecast. The rain they predicted? I hardly saw it…  In fact, it was under a blazing sun that I had to ride the entire trip. They have an easy job, those weather broadcasting guys! Basically they write that there's a 50% chance that it will rain… not a big risk-taking on their part…

So finally, I rode in the blazing sun, and on an express way, there wasn't a single patch of shade. The sun hit hard! As I had already tanned well on my previous bike trips, I figured that I was not too prone to sunburn.

Second lesson: always wear sunscreen, even if you already had sunburns before! And above all, do not wait until you are sweating to put it on, otherwise, it makes a kind of mixture between sticky perspiration, sunscreen and dust...

Well, the sun didn't worry me more than that, at worst a sunburn. ... it was more in terms of hydration that I had to be careful. So I decided to tape bottles on the frame of the bike.  DIY spirit! I also had with me some rehydrating powder to add to the water, since you lose a lot of salt with perspiration.

Anyway, I rode like that for quite a long time, and on the way, I passed a little hand-built house where people were selling water. Seeing me sweating heavily, they invited me to sit on a stool placed in front of a fan. So it was true: when people see a cyclist arriving on a trip, moreover a foreigner coming out of nowhere, smiles and kindness appear.

We talked a bit about the usual topics: Where are you from? What is your job? Are you married? What are you doing here? Then, after a few minutes, the father invited me to eat. At first I politely refused, but eventually I gave in. It is heartwarming to see the hospitality of the people especially at this time, when many Chinese people are scared to see a foreigner, thinking he may have brought covid-19 from abroad. It’s a bit tiring sometimes to see people pinch their noses when they see me on the street, I have to admit. But not at all here. They apologized for only offering me vegetable dishes, no meat, but in fact I was more than happy to eat fresh vegetables from their garden. We chatted about everything and nothing during the meal and it was already time to leave. I would have liked to drink beers longer, but I hadn't come to get drunk. I had a trip planned: Yinzu was waiting for me.

I got back on this big road but after a few kilometers I started to wonder. I hadn't come to go for kilometers on a boring road while being shaken by trucks ... Hence my third lesson of this trip: prepare your route well. Basically there are different types of roads in China that start with a letter: the S and G are the expressways where there are a lot of trucks, little shade, but that has the advantage of going straight and faster. Perfect for traveling for kilometers quickly and out of cities. But the X and Y are much more interesting country roads. Even if it takes detours, it is a change of scenery guaranteed. After these three days of biking, I learned that you have to know the right balance: ride the expressways to go quickly and far, especially when the landscapes are uninteresting. And take the small roads to ride peacefully, to discover rural life and be amazed by the landscapes.

So I changed my route on the GPS. Good decision: I crossed my first rice fields and I was finally over the moon.

Gradually, the landscape started to be really amazing and the colors of the landscapes became greener and greener.

Further on, I began to see mountains in the distance. It was my destination, it was these landscapes that made me want to go to Yinzu !!! The trip was finally starting to make sense. I was as excited as a kid over his Christmas present and all my doubts melted away

I rode like this all afternoon, with a smile on my face, despite the scorching heat.

Gradually, I began to wonder about where to sleep. I am always on the lookout when I ride, looking to see if there is a possibility of wild camping.

Lesson number 4: the rice fields are beautiful in photos but not ideal for camping ... It is not always easy to find a flat and, moreover, hidden place to have a good quiet night's sleep. The rural countryside is incredibly dense with crops and cultivated fields, so it's really not that easy to find a spot to camp. The solution might be to ask people in the area. Well anyway, I was heading to Yinzu and I could decide there.

I arrive near a pagoda and a temple in the middle of nowhere, on the way. What is that ? I asked a passerby, she reply "nothing". I thought she must have been surprised to find herself face to face with a smelly foreigner on a bicycle and told herself that I don't speak Chinese. In fact she was right: the buildings were completely empty, probably a future hotel still under construction.

Finally, a Yinzu sign. I was approaching my goal, but what exactly? I didn't even know what Yinzu was ...

So finally, Yinzu, is a small town which consists of a big main street with its restaurants, its stores. Everyone is surprised to see me there and I have fun seeing children speechless when they meet my eyes: "What can this foreigner on a bicycle be doing here?" I was so excited to have arrived at my destination that I didn't even take a photo of the city. I would also have liked to take pictures of people, but I didn't dare to do it.

I had to make a decision. Get out of Yinzu and find a place to sleep in the wild - I was still quite exhausted from the day's travel and the sunburns - or go and try to check in at the only hotel in the area. I say "try" because not many Chinese know it, but in China, many hotels do not accept foreigners. It is not really out of racism. No one really knows the reason: some say that cheap hotels do not have the computer system to register foreigners, others think that China wants to show only beautiful things to foreign tourists and they must therefore go to beautiful 4 star hotels. Well, I'm not criticizing, it's like that here and I accept it but it's still frustrating to live 15 years in a country, to work there, to be married there and to be refused in a hotel because you're a foreigner…

It makes it hard to plan a bike trip if you're not even sure you can find a place to sleep.

Anyway, whoever tries nothing has nothing and finally, I walked to the hotel without really believing it. The owner who ran the establishment did not even ask a question. I told him that I am a foreigner (sometimes people think I am from Xinjiang Province) just in case. He asked me if I had a Chinese identity card, but I replied with a smile that I only have a passport, that I came from Wuhan by bicycle and that if he wants, I have a photo of my Chinese wife's ID card. But he was very nice and gives me the room card, chatted a bit and even offered me tea.

I went upstairs to take a well-deserved shower. I was really sticky ... I realized that the sun had scorched me today ...

Lesson number 5: apply sunscreen everywhere, including your feet!

I was still a little disappointed with myself. Watching videos of people cycling around the world and camping in nature every night, I told myself that going to sleep at a hotel is a bit cheating, isn't it? But after 5 minutes under the air conditioning, I told myself that it was not that bad in the end. I travel for myself, not for others, and after a little over 100 kilometers in the day, I admit that a shower and a good bed made me feel good. Too bad for my adventurous soul...

I went out to eat something. In the street, I had the impression to rediscover the feeling that I had had when I arrived in China in 2006. It is a felling rather hard to explain. Once again, may be the surprise of people who greeted me with a warm "hello" and wanted to take a photo with me, or the number of street foods vendors who are hard to find in big cities nowadays. I ate a bowl of Lanzhou noodles, returned to the hotel and quickly fell asleep.

 The next day, I woke up feeling very tired. It was undoubtedly linked to the heat stroke of the day before. My feet didn't hurt too much. I had few small blisters on my knees but it could have been worse. I told myself that I shouldn't hang around too much. Better ride early to avoid the heat of the day. By arranging my things scattered all over the place and loading the panniers on the bike, I was already sweating profusely… The day was going to be hot… I put on sunscreen (I had understood my mistake of the day before). I decided to go towards Wuhan but not by the same road because it is boring to take the same route as on the way there. There is a big lake 50 km south of Wuhan, which is perfect because I have never been there before.

The road to the lake was once again beautiful. I passed through villages and small towns, lakes, rice paddies, cornfields. Such a nice place to ride a bike.

Every now and then, I chatted with people at a gas station, or with a watermelon vendor who kindly offered me his stool to eat in the shade and chatted with me.

It was still very hot, but the sun was not too strong. In fact, I can handle the heat really well. I can ride in high temperatures with no problem but on the other hand, when the sun is burning my skin, it's really hard for me, especially from 10 am to 4 pm.

While riding under the sun, I was wondering about my next trips. Since I got back to cycling, I have dreamed of doing part of the Silk Road by bike from Lanzhou to Dunghung in Gansu Province, basically a road through the desert (with cities between). I was starting to realize that my dream was not going to be so easy to achieve. How to ride all day without shade? I guess someone should really be prepare for a trip like that.

I tell myself that in the end, I was smart enough not to jump straight into such a long adventure. Rather than directly embarking on a 20-day adventure and experiencing difficulties, I did things gradually: first short distances in Wuhan to get used to the bike, then trips of 100 kilometers in Wuhan, then a two-day trip, a mountain to climb to test my willpower and finally a slightly longer trip.

Around 11 am, the sun reappeared but I decided to go to the lake without taking too many breaks. I still should have left two hours earlier though (I left at 8 am) to avoid the strong sun radiation.

Gradually, the landscapes changed a little, the mountains in the distance disappeared and the vegetation changed. I would have liked to stay in the area longer but I had to go back to work. Next time I should ride longer.

When I got to the lake, I realized that in fact, I was not really in the place I hoped for. Make no mistake, it was very beautiful, but it wasn't really a big lake. Rather square ponds designed for fishermen.

But I was still super happy to find myself a little shade by the water with my friends the hens who came to visit me and sometimes fishermen who came to chat with me.

The place where I was, however, was not really ideal for camping because it was too close to a road. I didn't want to be woken up in the middle of the night by strangers. Besides, my mate Jack told me that while sleeping near this lake, a farmer kindly asked him to leave in the middle of the night few years before.

So after I had rested for an hour, I left to look for a more hidden place. The camp spot I found was not perfect - It wasn't by the water – but I could be invisible at night. I know that many travelers love to set out to find a place to camp. It’s like a game for them. Me, I always have a little apprehension of doing wild camp. This must be probably related to my inexperience in wild camping. But hey, after an hour of imagining the worst, I told myself that I was not risking much and I had to try to make the most of the present moment.

So I made a meal while waiting for night to fall to put my tent discreetly. I didn't want to attract the attention of the local fishermen either.

As I entered the tent, ready to sleep, I felt really stupid. The tent was like a real sauna!! In terms of insects, I was well protected by the mosquito net but the heat was really difficult to bear. I couldn't open the tent door or else I would be eaten alive by the bugs… I could hear them circling around the tent, attracted by a sweating smelly human and my phone light. So I had a hard time falling asleep. Usually, after a day of cycling like this, you can easily fall asleep around 9 p.m... I still told myself that the hotel in this season is nicer and that would save me from carrying a tent and sleeping gear (and a new lesson learned, a sleeping bag is useless in this season). The hammock could be the solution, I have one with an extra mosquito net, but I don't sleep very well in it... a new lesson learned on this trip !

Finally, I woke up at dawn. After packing all my mess, I had breakfast and a little coffee for the road.

I had around 50 kilometers to ride that day to get home and I had to work in the afternoon. The return went well, I followed a few roads lined with fields of tea and corn, but the landscapes were gradually less pleasant and more and more urban.

  I finally arrived around midday at home. I had ride 230 kilometers with 1200 meters of elevation gain. That was not bad in this heat.  At the end, I was super happy doing this trip: I had learn a lot for my future trips, I enjoyed the ride, saw beautiful landscapes, and met some nice people… I had beautiful memories in my head and only one desire: to leave again as soon as possible!!!

[boogiewrites]

A Shelby in Margate

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Shelby Sister (OFC), Tommy Shelby

Summary: Penny Shelby has only wanted one thing, to not be a Shelby.  Perhaps the man she’s loved from afar can help her with that.

Warnings/Tags: Angst and Fluff. CONTAINS SEASON 5 SPOILERS.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

A Shelby sister is something no one asks to be, and certainly something no one really wants. Especially when the relationship to a very bold and brash man named Tommy Shelby causes such grief in your life that you give up on finding a happiness that most women expect out of life and you move forward with the form of Scarlet Letter on your face that being Shelby lends.

Penelope or Penny Shelby was as crude and difficult as the rest of her siblings. Born after Tommy and before Ada, her darling sass of a little sister that she took great pride in helping raise. With the Romani blood running fiercely in her veins just like her Aunt Polly, before Tommy was a household name in Birmingham she could’ve gotten away with saying she wasn’t a Shelby at all due to the dark complexion she held. Olive skin set her apart and caused her enough trouble from the prejudice of the travelers and Irish alike she came from. She held that same icy blue eyes of her older brother, and hair as black as the coal from the fires they grew up with. A smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks like her mother and a glare that could cause a grown man to tremble like her closest Aunt Polly.

Despite her strong exterior, the pain and turmoil of her life, mostly derived from her older brothers had left her soft and weary on the inside. She drank to cope, as did they all. She didn’t turn to the drugs, as if Tommy would’ve ever let her hear the end of it. She had been stronger, both inside and out only a few years prior. The final blow leaving her gaunt and haunted was the loss of a man she had thought of as her own, even if he never had been in any formal sense. Oh, how she’d loved him. His ability to outsmart her seemingly unstoppable brother, his smart mouth and intimidating physique. He was unlike anything she’d ever experienced and found herself enamored with the only slightly older man who she saw as her escape from forever being known as a Shelby.

There were few names as infamous as Solomons, and she knew that name would be her ticket out of the shadow of her brother. Unfortunately, Alfie was a bit more hesitant than she. Not that she wasn’t a lovely little bird, reminding him of some forest nymph from a fairy tale his mother would’ve told him as child with her haunting eyes and a smile so out of place with its genuine affection for him among a clan of troublesome Shelby’s it made his chest stir in a way he feared. She had proven herself loyal to him, little hints she knew he was clever enough to catch in the fleeting moments alone they shared. He knew she fancied him, lingering touches of her hand to his as she spoke softly and quietly. Eye contact that never wavered and that bloody smile she only had for him. It wasn’t until an encounter that her brother didn’t know about to this day, that he finally knew her intention.

“Penny, love? What are you doing here?”

“Saving your stubborn arse.” she chokes out, hands shaking with the heavy pistol between them, still smoking from the bullet just gone through the Italians head that was about the draw on him.

“Does your brother know you-”

“Fuck Tommy!” the tears finally break in her eyes and begin their descent down her cheeks. She lowers the gun and lays it on a crate beside her, slumping onto a hip height box with the exhaustion shown on her face. “He’s the reason John’s dead. The reason why these fucking wops are after us. And now YOU. I can’t lose anyone else.”

“There there, pet.” he says pushing the gun away and not knowing what to do except take her hand.

“I came to tell you they were coming for you. I overheard it. I couldn’t let them kill you, Alfie, I can’t lose you too.” she begins to sob, something he never thought a Shebly was capable of at that point. Grabbing his shirt she pushes herself into his arms.

“Lose me?”

“Alfie you’re too clever to not know how I feel about you.” she shakes her head and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I had…suspected.” he pauses, his gut hurting for the poor lass. “But your brother.”

“I said FUCK TOMMY SHELBY! I never asked for this! I don’t want to BE a Shelby! I’m done. Finished. I can’t take life in his shadow.”

“Penny…love…” he says softly, “I”m leavin’ ya know. Retirin’. I’m finished with this life, I know they’re comin’ for us all. And I’m takin’ my gains and I’m gone.”

“Where?”

“That’s no concern for you. The less you know the better.”

“Take me with you.”

“That would be the end of me.” he lets out an amusing sound, almost a laugh.

“Alfie. I’ve admired you from afar for so long. It feels almost childish to think of you as my own when we’ve never even discussed it. We’ve barely been allowed time alone. But I feel something so strongly for you. It must be love.”

“You are not a child at all. And I’ve known by the way that bloody smile takes me out at my knees like a steel pipe that there was somethin’ there.” He sees the hope flicker in her eyes and his heartbreaks. “But we can’t. I’m not the man for you. As much as I’d like to be. It ain’t me love.”

She leaves with gunpowder on her hands and tears staining her dress that night. The news he was dead found her not too long after that. And now she stood mere yards away, unknowingly, from the man she’d loved from afar that she had mourned and still thought was dead.

—–

“What fuckin’ else can I do for ya Tom? From the way that hats being wrung I know that ain’t all ya want of me.” Alfie gruffs, reclined in his velvet chair that faces that balcony of his mansion in MArgate where he hides.

“There is one more person… that I want to know you’re alive.” his voice is as flat and dead as his face lends you to believe he is.

“Not asking for much, eh?” Alfie raises a brow. “Who?”

“Someone that deserves to know.” the way his shoulders slouched told Alfie everything he needed to know. Guilt that sat heavy on Tommy’s shoulders for what he’d almost done. And not for Alfie’s sake, but for Penny’s.

“Mmmph.” he nods. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Best she thinks I”m dead. What use as I to her now?”

“I knew she loved you.” he states plainly.

A fact that Alfie actually hadn’t known. “Did you?”

“You think I don’t know me own baby sister?” he asks with a slight twist of anger.

“Said no such thing.”

“You’ll want to thank her for Cyril being taken such good care of. She’s treated that dog as if it were her own son.” a ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “That is after she cried for a month after she heard you were dead.” he pauses. “You know she cried more over you than her own husband?”

Alfie only nods. Knowing like most women her age her first husband died in the war. He realizes she had truly meant what she said. “We never…” Alfie clears his throat. “Y’know.” his attempts at being respectful amuse Tommy deeply.

“I knew that too.” he nods.

“Why do you want to hurt the poor girl again?”

“She visits your grave, Alfie. Just the other day she was telling Cyril stories of his papa.”

Alfie’s stomach turns. Had he made a mistake? Had he been too selfish.

“I take it by you being here she doesn’t know you’re the one what done it.”

“She does not.”

“Mmm. And how are you going to work around that?”

“Once she knows you are not dead I won’t have to.”

“I know you’re gambling man Tommy but those are steep odds. Against you, I might add.”

“I know her. She’ll forgive me.”

“That's’ what you bank on every time innit?”

Tommy glares at him. A silence falls between them as Alfie looks out to the sea from the open set of doors on the balcony.

“Alright.” Alfie grunts and sits up, taking a deep breath. “Since she’s taken care of my dog. ‘Spose she deserves to know.” he nods, taking a heavy sigh. “But I might frighten her now. She won’t be seein’ who I was.”

“I’ve heard her prayers, Alfie. When she thinks no one, not even God is listenin’ to her anymore. She won’t be frightened.”

A grunt is all he can say to such a thing.

“I’ll go fetch her.” Tommy says as he groans and stands.

“Ya fuckin’ what? Now?”

“She’s just outside.”

“What the fuckin’ hell Tom?” he gruffs out angrily. “Ya can’t just appear to a man in such a way and demand things of him in a state like I am!”

“She deserves to know,” he states plainly again. “I brought her because I didn’t want you going back on your word after you had time to think about it.”

Alfie gives his signature frown. A bottom lip jutted over his mustache in frustration. “Fuckin’ ‘ell. Not even had time to think ‘bout it!”

“That’s the purpose this serves. She deserves to have a real reaction. Not your carefully crafted answers.”

“What do you want of me Tom?” he asks plainly. “You surely don’t want her to be with me? Especially not NOW.” he juts the scarred side of his face forward.

“It’s no issue to me how you look. That’d be up to her, wouldn’t it? But have you known Penny to be shallow?”

Alfie sits back in his chair, elbows on his knees and looks at the dusty rug beneath his boots. “Lass is as deep as the ocean.” he mutters. She’d told him everything he as to her, a body was nothing but a vessel for his soul she said. Something he’d thought a bit naive back then, but upon reflection he found it taking a new meaning to him. Maybe a Shelby was right about something stranger things had happened.

“Then I’ll fetch her. I suggest you figure out which side of yourself you’re going to be honest with.”

—–

Penny in her summer dress wanders the garden as she was instructed, feeling the kiss of a sea salt breeze against her face. She loved the sea, and so rarely had seen it, felt it against her skin. The open expanse of it, the infinite mystery and possibility it held fascinated her. Tommy’s voice breaks her from her reflection, leaning against a stone wall and looking out at the waves crashing into the daunting cliffs.

“Come now Penny, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

She nods and fusses with her windblown hair. “This house is lovely.” she almost coos as she crosses the threshold.

Alfie hears her voice. What sort of man had he been to hurt her how he did. To prolong it in such a way. She was a rose among the thorns of her family, the women the only ones worth a damn out of them. She’d saved his life, took in a painful reminder of him and cared for Cyril after he was gone, kept his memory alive and he’d abandoned her. If she shot him where he stood he’d deserve it.

“Look at all this.” he can feel the genuine lilt like a songbird to her voice. “Who lives here? This place is fantastic. Look at all these interesting and eclectic things. You could spend hours and never see the end of it.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Tommy says standing in the archway into the room where Alfie stood. “Here’s the owner. You can discuss it all with him.” What a loaded statement and delivered so cooly.

Penny walks slowly, taking in her surroundings with great interest before her head turned and saw the man silhouetted in the light of the sun, framed by two open patio doors with that same sea breeze fluttering the long curtains that hung. She freezes, eyes fluttering in confusion. That posture, that build. The vest and the white billowy sleeves. A glint of light of the rings that adorned his overworked hands. It was him.

“Wh-I- H-how?” she whispers out, not even loud enough for Alfie to hear, but Tommy heard every beat of her heart as he watched the realization come over her face.

“‘Ello, love.” that warm, liquor voice that burned and soothed hit her like a hammer, taking her knees out from under her as Tommy caught her.

She squeaks and tears appear hot and plentiful in her eyes. “You can’t…you…” her breathing wheezes and she holds onto Tommy for support, her body failing her out of shock.

He turns his good side first, seeing her just as lovely as she ever had been. Sun-kissed skin from the season spent in the north in the caravans, that long wavy hair that framed her shocked face, touseled perfectly by the winds of MArgate. Despite the posh sort of dress Tommy was now known for, she was still in simple cotton. Her boots tight around her ankles and shiny, dirt under her nails from the garden. A salt of the earth woman that was wrongfully placed in the shit hole of Birmingham away from nature where she belonged.

“Alfie.” she finally forces out.

“Yeah, love. I’m afraid it’s me.” he says with a pain in his voice, one of fear of rejection as he lets the light show his true side as he called it. The side of him that showed what a monster he had been, the monster he was.

Her face remains unchanged. “Alfie you…” she wheezes and gasps, he takes a step towards her and she pushes out of her brother’s arms. Stumbling with the numbness in her limbs as she finds herself once again sobbing into the shirt of the man she still loved. No matter how hard she’d tried not to over these last years.

“There, there, pet.” he says just as he had the last time she’d heard it, but this time it is accompanied by the wrapping of warm and affectionate arms around her. He shushes her as she cries, soaking his shirt and hiccuping, a hand stroking her hair, the other rubbing her back. All things she’d dreamed of so often she’d lost track of if they’d ever happened or not.

“Is this real? Or did I jump off the cliffs outside and now I’ve somehow found myself not in hell?” she manages to get out with her forehead pressed to his chest.

“You’d most certainly go to heaven. And since I am here with you, I’m afraid that means we’re both very much still alive.”

“HOW? I heard you were shot!” her voice break as she looks up from his chest to meet his face. Seeing nothing but the man she’d longed for. She’d told God she didn’t care what state he was in, just give him back to her. Her last chance at happiness, her last shot to have someone who truly could understand her and her life.

“I was. As you can tell.” he shrugs his shoulder on the marked side of his face. Just as Tommy as said, and Alfie is fully frustrated he was correct, she reaches up to touch his face without even an inkling of regret or fear o disgust.

“Are you still hurt?” is her concern and he takes a long, deep breath to compose himself. He didn’t deserve her. Maybe he’d known all along and that was why he’d told her now. Because deep down, who gave a fuck what Tommy Shelby thought.

“It does sometimes, yeah.” he nods, speaking softly as her fingertips move over the raised scar on his cheek, looking over the milky eye that was blinded by the same bullet that made the disfigurement she was touching as if was perfect skin. “Certainly doesn’t right now though.” his voice is quiet, looking into her bright eyes full of tears for him.

One dark eye under the same heavy brow and a fuller beard now that hid those full lips, unphased by the shot, beaming down at her with what she could’ve sworn was affection. “How?”

“Man that shot me can’t shoot worth a damn is how.”

He sees storm clouds darken her eyes in a more clear moment of recognition. “Who?”

“That’s a question for your brother.” he leans in close, almost touching his forehead to hers.

She spins out of his arms, suddenly full of vengeance and steady. “Who?” she demands.

Tommy takes his stand. “I did.”

“YOU BASTARD!” she lunges at him and is whisked off her feet by Alfie.

“Can’t argue with that.” Tommy mumbles.

“YOU KNEW! YOU FUCKING KNEW HOW I FELT ABOUT HIM AND YOU TRIED TO KILL HIM? YOU FUCKING WANK STAIN! YOU ABSOLUTE MAD BASTARD!” she screams and fights against Alfie’s arms to maim her brother. He would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been so focused on keeping her from hurting herself.

“I asked him to!” Alfie shouts and he feels her little legs stop kicking.

Her head shakes in confusion. It was a lot on the poor lass to take in all at once. “Wha-What?” she squeaks and keeps her eyes on Tommy as Alfie sits her feet back to the floor.

Tommy stands with a confident nod. Not sure if he was proud that Alfie took credit for what had happened, because he had all but pulled the trigger.

“I asked him to, Penny.”

“Why?!” she screeches with a hand to her chest as she faces him, back humped over and heart feeling as if it might give out.

“The doctor. Wrongfully so told me I had cancer love.”

Once again her knees fail her as he scoops her up into his arms, seeing her head wobble and eyes lose focus.

“Poor things gonna faint.” he mutters, sitting in his chair and pulling her into his lap.

“She’ll be fine. Give her a moment.” Tommy says with complete faith. He was asking a lot of her, but he knew she could take it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone through with it. As hard as he was, as much as he’d agree he was a mad bastard, he didn’t want to purposely hurt his sisters. It just so happened they got in the way of his plans at times and Penny found herself right in the middle of them currently.

“C-cancer?” she asks with a gasp of air, fighting to stabilize herself. She felt light-headed, but the arms around her helped, the beat of the heart under her palm helped the most.

“Yeah. Told me I was gonna die. I didn’t wanna waste away y’know? Not any sort of death for a man to face.” she shook his head. “Your brother and I. Had a…sort of agreement. To kill one another if it came down to it, yeah?”

“What in the fuck are you talking about?”

Her brash tone makes him chuckle. “The correct response, yes love. “ he nods. “I was told I was dyin’. Had Tommy meet me on that beach out there to kill me. And he thought he did. But add it to the long list of things your brother innit good at.”

His brows shift and rise and fall across her face, eyes wide and questioning. “You thought you were going to die. So you wanted ti over with.”

“I told you she’d understand.” Tommy adds from across the room, staying silent and still.

“Of course my friend’s mum… it would’ve been a kindness to end it for her.” she reflects. “So… you knew?” she asks with hands no longer shaking. “When I… told you about…how I…:

“I did.” he nods. “I wasn’t gonna put you through that. That’s not…that ain’t me, love.”

“I would have.” she states with conviction and his shoulders falter at the hurt in her eyes. “I mourned you. I cried until nothing came out any longer. I drank, I took pills, tonics, hoping to wake up wherever you were. I would’ve still…It wouldn’t have stopped me.”

“You don’t mean that…”

“Don’t tell me what I fucking mean Alfie!”

Tommy smiles from across the room.

“Right, right, sorry mate.” he sputters out with true surprise in his raised brow. Something about this little lady cut him down from newly adorned god status to a man stuttering in apology. Tommy knew at that moment he’d made the right decision.

Her breathing heavy and fast, she glares at him. “My head is spinning, my heart is on fire and my stomach feels like it’s gonna fall out my arse and I don’t know if want to kill you myself or .or,..” her bottom lip gives her away, a hand to his cheek as she shakes her head and groans.

“…love me?” he asks with a raise of the brow he could. It was a gamble to ask. But with her heart racing like a hummingbird, he could feel against his own chest where she sat.

“How dare you,” she whispers back. But her face isn’t offended, a thumb drifting softly over his blind eye and to his temple. “I can kill you and still love you.” she offers with a smile finally gracing her lips. “I have…I mean, I do. Still. Even now.”

“With me lookin’ like this.”

“Like what? Like a strong man who defied death? Don’t be daft Alfie. I wanted you back no matter what. And I meant it. I meant despite you hiding, letting me think you were dead. Oh, letting poor Cyril think you were dead.” her brows furrow and his heart warms like it hadn’t in decades.

He gives her a smile she finds most peculiar. She’d never seen it before on his face.

“What?” she whispers.

“You, love.”

“What about me?”

The smile remains, followed by a sigh as he looks over her face. Hurt, but holding no hate for him. He puts his hand to her cheek to mirror her own delicate actions. “Why me Penny, eh? Surely other men deserve a woman like you more than me.”

“No other man can handle me. And you know this.”

Another, wider grin from him.

“If I could choose who I love, and I can’t, I’d choose someone else because I know you would be nothing but a pain in the arse but….goddammit Alfie I do.” she gives his face a little shake and presses her forehead to his.

“I don’t deserve a woman like you. You know that right?”

“No one deserves anything, Alfie. You know this. Things just happen.”

“Fuck me, I really don’t deserve ya.” he groans and kisses her forehead.

“But do you want me? Did you ever?”

“You should know I did. I only wanted to protect you.”

“What about now?” she asks with brave eyes that pierce into his, not allow him to look away. “There’s nothing to hide behind now. No protecting me. Just… end it now or let this be the beginning.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell…” he sighs. “How are you a Shelby with a mind that says things like that?” A slow sweep of his thumb over her lips makes her eyes shut and held her breath for an answer. A man like him couldn’t touch a woman like this without something in his heart for her, could he? “I… did and I…do. A man like me… he’s not so good at matters of the heart. The mind is where my talents lie.”

“Then let this be your first lesson.” she kisses the tip of his thumb. “Tell me you love me.”

“Penny I-”

“Thomas, leave.” she interrupts, both hands on Alfie’s face, that smile he’d missed and dreamed of from time to time back and in full force, assaulting his sensibility.

“Already got my hat on. You know my number.” he says and saunters away, content by the way things had played out.

“Now tell me Alfie, love. Let me hear it.” she whispers, nuzzling her nose against his.

“I love you Penny.” he manages with closed eyes. “You’re strong and brilliant. Not suited for the name of Shelby at all.”

She smiles against his lips, feeling the words warm over her skin like honey tea. “Perhaps you could come up with a way to change that?” she grins and he’s blessed with her soft laugh once again.

“I do believe I could.” he coos and finally gives her the soft kiss that she’d been dreaming of. A promise she’d get what she always wanted, to not be called Shelby.

[headoverhiddles]

I Fiori Del Male - John Brannox (The New Pope) x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: Scandal is trivial when it comes to Catholic factions, as long as it’s well hidden. You, a nude model, and the High Priest of England are forced to put that to the test during one last night of passion, when Papacy looms. 

Notes: Once again my love of old men is my downfall. I watched the show for Manson, and ended up really liking John Malkovich’s character as well. He’s just so sweet and charming! So here’s a sporadic one shot I really enjoyed writing.

Gif belongs to lousolversons!

Your robe trails behind you along the marble floors of the manor. It’s the middle of the night, and you knew he’d be waiting for you when you arrived on the grounds.  

“You’re early,” John says, smiling. You shut the door quietly, walking over to the bed and discarding your robe. The older man is sitting, contented, by his fireplace, harp resting comfortably in his lap.

“I got here just when I intended to,” you reply, and he pauses his playing of the harp to admire your body. He turns back to face the far wall.

“You’ve heard the news, I take it.”

You take a breath. You hadn’t expected him to bring that up before joining you in bed… it took a toll on the expected activities of the night. “Yes. I’ve heard.” He plucks a couple of the strings on the harp, and you realize you’ve closed the conversation too early. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.” That, you weren’t expecting. John glances over, eyebrows raising a little at your reaction. “You’re upset.”

“I’m surprised,” you correct, though you can’t ignore the tugging feeling you have in your stomach. John stands, abandoning his instrument, and walks leisurely over to the bed in his purple velvet dressing gown. A small smile appears on his lips.

“You’re upset.” Before you can search your brain for any excuse or assurance that you were, in fact, unaffected, he puts his hands on your shoulders. “I’m upset as well.”

“You agreed,” you whisper.

“After difficult deliberation.”

“It mustn’t have been all too difficult. Will you take all your books and antiques? Music, cultured possessions, what you need to teach Rome?”

“I’ll take what I can.”

“What about what you can’t?”

“The Papacy is an honor.”

“You’re a high priest.”

“Pope is a tad higher, my dear. An honor which should have been bestowed upon my brother. Or according to my dear parents, that is.”

“So, what?” you ask, blinking demurely up at him through your eyelashes, “You want to prove you can be a better Pope than Adam could have been?” Any other man with John’s history would have lashed out at that. But your lover was a gentle, kind man—commanded loyalty and obedience, no doubt, but he did so with benevolence.

“I do not know what sort of Pope Adam would have been, since Adam is dead. A living Pope is superior to a dead one, so right from the start, I… have a slight advantage.” His tone is contemplative, empty of any implied sarcasm. You sit up on your knees, and place your right hand on top of his, where it’s still resting on your shoulder. You then begin to kiss up his arm, until you can no longer bunch his dressing gown sleeve any higher.

“Take this off?” you ask, eyes hooded.

“Already there, are we?” he murmurs, taking your hand and squeezing it. “I thought there’d be more of an argument.”

“Passion, good or bad, shows its colors in the throes of pleasure,” you respond, and move your hands in, feeling his chest and shrugging the robe off for him. He removes his underclothes with precision, eyes never leaving your naked body.

“You’re like a sculpture, my dear (y/n),” he says, leaning in to brush his lips across your cheek.

“You can’t touch sculptures,” you breathe, crawling backward on the bed. He joins you, eyes descending to your spreading legs.

“I can do as I please. I’ll be the Pope this time next week.”

You grin, and he kisses you properly, lips always the perfect feeling against yours. The pleasant familiarity of his beard scratching your chin almost helps you forget that it may be the last time you’d feel it.

“A work of art,” he continues, “I stare at the painting of you we’ve got in our west wing drawing room. If I wasn’t leaving so abruptly, I’d have half a mind to have it moved to my study.”

“Why don’t you move it to your chapel?”

“What an intriguing idea.”

“People would certainly talk.”

“People do talk. It doesn’t mean we have to listen.”

You giggle, wrapping your legs around him and dragging your foot up his back. “You’re no Pope, John Brannox.”

“On the contrary. I believe I can restore sanity to the Vatican, if nothing else.” You hum, and he feels a hand down your chest, cupping your breast as he makes sure you’re wet and ready for him.

“I remember the day I was painted on that couch,” you say. “I do so many, it’s hard to recall most, but that one I remember. It had been commissioned by your estate. It was to go to the High Priest of England, Sir John Brannox, the painter told me.”

“And did that affect your position, my dear?” he smirks, touching your clit. You gasp, rolling your hips up to his hand.

“Yes. I posed as I do in my others, but my eyes… they bore the seduction. I imagined what you would do with the art. Perhaps, your reaction to it.”

“My reaction to it was most underwhelming, I must disappoint you,” he smiles, “I couldn’t very well show how taken with it I was.”

“But did you think of me that night?” you moan.

“Every night since,” he replies. “I was enchanted. I still am.”

“And I am enamored with you,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his again. “When you arranged that meeting with me, I believed you would be the same as every important man in this country.”

“I am not?” he asks.

“You know you’re not. You’re not arrogant. You flaunt, but you do so tastefully. That, I can forgive.”

“If your goal was to flatter me into proper form, it’s done the trick,” he laughs fondly, and you look down to see him hard. You place his hands on your breasts again.

“Soon, that painting will be your only reminder of me. Touch me while you can. Commit my body to memory for lonely nights, and I will do the same.”

He does as you say, burying himself inside you with a laboured intake of breath. You hold onto him as he builds up a perfect pace, each thrust deep and satisfying. He listens to your body, knows without a word from you when he needs to try something new.

“Will you find another lover as versatile as I am?” he teases, new vigor restored to his expression as he takes his younger companion. You roll your eyes. No man is immune to praise, especially that of the sexual nature and during the act.

“Your talents will remain unmatched, I’m sure,” you huff, and he thrusts in hard, grunting softly.

“Are you certain you won’t find some… younger man, who will bring you to your climax faster?”

“I will never fuck a man who does not appreciate the art of slowly taking a woman apart like you do,” you tell him.

“That’s reassuring,” he says, “These new romantics these days have studied up on their poetry, I’m sure, and I’m glad for it.”

You breath his name as his thrusts get faster, then recall a line of poetry out of Rome that you’ve always meant to write down somewhere. “Che mistero è questo, che posso sentire le mie labbra sulla punta delle dita.” (What mystery is this, that I can feel my lips in your fingertips.)

He gasps, hips moving quickly as he responds in broken Italian. “E quando mi ha guardato, avevo dimenticato quale fosse la sofferenza, ma sono morto mille morti.” (And when she looked at me, I had forgotten what suffering was, but died a thousand deaths.)

“I want you to take me harder than you’ve taken anyone,” you whisper in his ear, lips falling further open and legs spreading even wider for him, “I won’t break.”

He takes this seriously, reaching every part of your body and going harder than you’ve seen him ever before. It’s magnificent, but he’s starting to get tired, you can tell by the way his forearms are beginning to quiver.

“I’m very close,” the older man whispers in your ear, stroking your hair back, “Are you?” You arch your back, your fevered moans reaching their desperate crescendo in an answer to his question.

“Come when you need to,” you tell him softly, “I don’t mind.” But he’s not about to leave you. A few more thrusts, and you both finish together.

John breathes heavily beside you, lowering himself down and pulling out of you. You watch him as he gets up, and walks over to his mirror, sitting down in front of it to wipe at some of the dark eyeliner he had forgotten to remove before nighttime. You stretch out across his four poster bed, golden sheets satin against your skin.

"Do you love me, John?"

There was a steady pause, more silence following still.

"Yes."

The answer sounded careless, but you knew him to be a careful man. You meet his eyes in the mirror. "Then take me with you."

He merely looks back at you, a sort of softness in his eyes. It's nothing like condescension, the knowing male gaze that tells you that you simply wouldn't understand. His eyes carry the weight of knowing that you know, and knowing what that means for him.

A night spent together with an unmarried young woman carries more gravity when it is done wearing the Cloth. As a High Priest, it can be explained away to God as a simple sin, a carnal desire passed off and forgotten in a confessional, but under Papacy? Such a thing is not so easily forgiven.

“Everything evil in this world is hysteria of love,” he says. “Distortions of our ability to love. It’s a beautiful thing, but it’s just beyond my grasp. And my hopes are, you can share it with another. Please, for both of our sakes, my dear… mistake my love, one last time, for tenderness. For that is what I can offer you, and all that I can offer you.”

From that moment, you knew. He was the New Pope.

[ksj-com]

Request #4 Signature Dish

- Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

- Genre: Cooking show!AU, fluff, smut

- Warnings/Tags: slightly anxious reader, famous chef Jin, cooking date, dom Jin, oral fixation, fingering, sex in public place, angry Jin, rough sex, choking, making out, hair pulling, mark making, nipple sucking, ear licking/sucking, juice tasting, slight m. masturbation, cumming on stomach

- Word Count: 4203 words

- Summary: You thought you were lucky when the famous chef, Kim Seokjin slid right on you on a dating app. Both having a great time spending a romantic night together, cooking and talking. What you both didn’t know was that he was going to be the surprise guest judge on the cooking competition you were going to be in the next day. Will your previous date with him get in the way of your dream to become the next best chef, or will his judging be unbiased?

    “Are you serious?!” Emily, your best friend, screeched on the other end of the phone call.

     “Yes! He invited me over tonight!” Jumping up and down in the middle of your living room, your inner fangirl unleashed her excitement. Better to do it now than on the date.

     “Text me when it’s over and let me know how it went! Get ready and don’t look like a roach or I’ll kill you,” she avowed while laughing.

      Both sharing a laughing fit before saying your goodbyes, you found yourself alone with butterflies in your stomach. After work, you noticed that the famous chef Kim Seokjin showed interest in you on one of the dating apps you had in your phone. After texting him while keeping your cool, he asked you on a date at his house where he insisted on cooking you a great dinner. That date was tonight.

     Still dressed in your work clothes, you rummage through your closet frantically trying to find something remotely attractive to your figure. Finally managing to pull out a cute outfit, you fluffed up your hair and touched up your light makeup. You wore a loose fitted light blue blouse tucked into a high-waisted jean skirt with buttons going all the way down. To complete the look you had a simple gold bracelet, super small light brown purse, and white and black leopard print pumps that had a gold chain that traveled up your foot and around your ankles.

     “Don’t be a spaz tonight,” you point to yourself in the mirror. Since you were also a chef, it may be super easy for you two to hit it off. Maybe he could give you some tips tonight on cooking more difficult dishes. And, god, did you hope that he looked just as good as he did on TV. 

     Soon you find yourself standing in front of his house after your Uber drops you off. His house was enormous, wrapping around the end of a neighborhood that looked off to a view of mountains in the backyard. You take a quick breath before your heels click up to his front door and buzz the doorbell. The sound echoes through the house before he opens the door. His eyes light up when he motions for you to come in.

     “You look great!” he exclaimed with a bright smile spread across his face. Meeting your eyes with his made you almost freeze up. He was just as hot in person. His scruffy black hair to his dark plump lips to his tall, broad body. His light blue button up fell loosely around his toned body along with his khaki colored slacks.

     “Thank you,” you blush. He could read your body language that you were shy with him.

     “Don’t be so shy. I’m not intimidating in person like how I am on TV. I promise,” his hand found the middle of your back, guiding you to kitchen.

     His appearances on TV were somewhat comical from the hard-ass persona he created for himself. From yelling insults to cooks that made minor mistakes, he made people scared of him. But, he was known as one of the best cooks there was and that’s how he kept himself going. With that, the gentleness of the touch on your back seemed completely out of character.

     “You can sit down at the counter while I cook dinner—if you’d like,” he proposed by pulling out one of the chairs for you to sit in. 

     “Well I was thinking that I could give you a hand. You can give me pointers and, maybe, I have a few things up my sleeve as well. I’m a cook too,” you say, curious as to what his response would be.

     “I must’ve skimmed over that on your profile! Where do you work?” he sounds impressed.

     “I have my own restaurant. It’s called La Bella Cucina,” you answer, eating up the look he gives you as his eyes travel up and down your frame.

     “Italian...maybe you should be cooking dinner tonight,” he laughs. He walks over to his kitchen to sort all of the ingredients he had across his countertops.

     Scooting over next to him, you observe the ingredients out. “What were you planning on making?”

     His gaze drifts down at you with a look of admiration. “I was thinking of a spring pea risotto,” he states.

     “Piece of cake,” you give him a wink. 

     He ended up agreeing to you joining him. Standing side by side chopping up food, showing each other tricks and tips, and talking about the two different lives you both live. Normally, cooking next to such a famous chef would make you think that you would be a nervous wreck; yet it was so comfortable with him. Soon enough he was scooping the risotto onto a plate and you sprinkled some parmesan cheese on top to finish it off.

     “Wallah,” he smiles at you. Risotto was a more difficult dish to make and he was thrilled that you guys could work together to make such a delicious meal. Not to mention, you both really hit it off while cooking as well. 

     Once he set the dishes on the table, he pours some wine into both of your glasses. The wine had Picpoul de Pinet written on the olive colored bottle. “This wine has a nice acidity that pairs well with the lush risotto,” he sets the bottle aside after pouring both glasses.

     “Thank you for inviting me over to your home. It’s beautiful by the way,” you unfold the napkin onto your lap before sorting out the silverware in front of you. His gentle touch makes its way back onto your hand when he reaches across the table to place his palm over the top of your hand. The gliding of his thumb made your skin tingle under his touch. 

     “Definitely not as beautiful as you...the second I saw your picture I was so taken aback. And then when you said you’re cook as well? You’re amazing!” he enthused with bright eyes.

     “You have no idea what it means for a great chef like you to say that,” you marvel at his words and this whole situation unfolding.

     He shakes his head while raising his glass and you follow to clink against his, taking a sip afterwards. “Let’s eat shall we?” He sets down his glass.

     You both dive into the dish, immediately falling in love with the forkful in your mouth. Instantly the dish became one of your favorites from the flavor and the person you got to talk to while making it.

     “This is delicious,” you both say in unison causing you both to laugh.

•••

     When the night came to an end, you were quite surprised that he never lead you to his bedroom— a bit disappointed too. He opened his car door for you, a kind act you don’t see a lot of guys do anymore these days. As he drove you home, his hand rested on your thigh lightly. The size of his hands and lengthy fingers made your mind go elsewhere. You really wanted to invite him inside your home when you got there, but you figured that if he wanted to he wouldn't have waited this long. He walked you up to your front door and you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at the size difference between your guys’ houses.

     “Maybe on our second date, you can stay the night and we’ll cook breakfast together too,” he shoves his hands in his pockets. For the first time tonight he looked nervous.

     “Second date, huh?” You couldn’t help but smile. He did like you after all. 

     “I would love to, but only if you would like to as well,” his eyes dance across your face, searching for your answer.

     “Of course!” you exclaimed.

     Watching him inch closer to you, the butterflies in your stomach started to flutter immensely. “Perfect,” his voice breathes before his lips press against yours softly. It was an innocent kiss that left you feeling like you were on cloud nine when he pulled away, his hand still cupping one of your cheeks. “Goodnight (Y/N).”

     “Goodnight, drive safe!” you wave goodbye after he walks down your steps. You push open your door and flip the lights on. Standing by the window, you wait until he drives off before you realize that your cheeks hurt from the intense smile pastured across your face. Leaning against your closed door, you squeal from excitement from the kiss that you never thought you would have. You tossed and turned in your sheets for a while that night, nervous for the big day you had tomorrow and the lingering happiness you had from the night before.

•••

     The Uber ride was silent on your way to the film set. Nervousness coursed through your body, leading you to fiddle with your own fingers to occupy your anxiety. Today was the day that you had the opportunity to show the world the cooking skills you had. Hopefully, giving your restaurant publicity to become the best in town. The show you were arriving to was one of your favorites to watch on TV— called In The Flames. It was a cooking competition show where two people were chosen to make up a dish— based off of the theme for the episode— and the chef with the better dish wins $10,000 and a winner title. In this episode, you were going against a master chef named Min Yoongi who was another restaurant owner in your town. Having never met him, you hoped that he did not have the skill level you did.

     “We’re here,” the Uber driver wakes you out of your overthinking state of mind. When you walk into the building, people lead you to the dressing room where they made you change into a black chef jacket and matching black pants. They placed your hair in a half up-half down style, slapped on some warm brown eyeshadow, and amaranth colored lipstick on your lips. You didn’t have the time to say that you weren’t really feeling the look before you were pushed out to the filming set where you were able to meet your competitor Yoongi.

     You shake each other’s hands, his grip tighter than it should be. “May the best cook win,” his face was deadpan and the opposite of friendly.

     Giving him a warm smile and a nod, you turn away from him immediately after. You had to admit that meeting him gave you an uneasy feeling. Nothing about him seemed welcoming. Winning may be harder than you think today.

     It was almost time for the director to start filming, so you took the remaining time to check out the set. It was a big room with two kitchens next to each other. In the back, there was all the ingredients for any possible dish and in the front there was a small booth with three seats for the judges.

     “Are you guys ready? We’re filming in about a minute,” the director asks, both you and Yoongi nodding in response. The introduction of the show consisted of you and Yoongi sharing your backgrounds in cooking and what it meant for you if you won the money. Once filming the intro was over, you and Yoongi both stood in each of the kitchens.

     “And now we welcome our judges: Kim Namjoon, Jung Hoseok, and our special surprise judge… Kim Seokjin!” The host, Park Jimin, announces. Your stomach drops as you watch Jin walk towards the booth. His gaze meets yours and you watch him eyes widen and then narrow. Is that anger? You shrink into yourself. “Are you chefs ready to cook all you got tonight?” Jimin turns to face us.

     “Yes!” you both shout back in unison.

     “Tonight’s theme is...date night. Cook up your best dinner for a one on one night with that special someone,” he declares before the timer begins to tick on the huge clock hanging on the wall. You almost laugh from the irony, but then the idea hits you: make what you and Jin made last night!

     Jin’s eyes follow your every move as the timer ticks down to zero. You run to the back to collect all your ingredients and spread them across the counter. “You got this,” you whisper to yourself.

     To begin, you boil water for the peas and heat up the chicken stock while waiting for the water to boil. When the water is done boiling, you try to reach for the peas but they’re not there. Panic smacks you in the chest as you forget how to breathe while you look all over; until you find them buried back in the fridge you pulled them out of.

     “What the hell?” Your face twists with confusion as to how they were put back in there. You remember clearly that you pulled them out to begin with. You look around and catch a glimpse of Yoongi smirking to himself. Sabotage.

     Thankfully, after that the rest of the time went smoothly even though you lost a few minutes searching for your missing peas and, soon enough, you were dishing all three of the judge’s plates. You thought you were done with a minute to spare, but another idea came about when you looked at the wine rack. You ran across the room to grab Picpoul de Pinet wine and three wine glasses. The timer rings just as you pour the last glass, setting down the bottle with a wash of relief.

     “Cut! You guys can take a couple minute break before they try your dishes,” the director instructs. To your surprise, Jin approaches you.

     “So was last night a date or a way you can use me for today?” His enduring presence from last night was long gone as he looks at you with disgust. You stood there dumbfounded and a bit annoyed that he would think about you like that.

     “Excuse me? I didn’t even know you were going to be on this show today,” you stand your ground and cross your arms in front of him.

     “It’s really a shame because I thought we really hit it off,” he huffed, not believing a word you just said.

     “No, it’s really a shame that your ego is that big to think that I used you when I’m the one who helped you with dinner last night,” a ring buzzed through the room, signifying it’s time to start filming again. Jin resorts to sitting back down in his chair and waits for the director to start again. Meanwhile, you and Yoongi stood in front of the judge booth, you avoiding to make eye contact with Jin.

     “Action!” the director yells.

     Jimin’s voice begins right after saying, “(Y/N), let’s start out with your dish. Tell us what it is.”

     “I made a spring pea risotto with Picpoul de Pinet that has a nice acidity that pairs well with the lush risotto,” you quote the exact words Jin said about the wine last night. You smugly smile at Jin, “Enjoy.”

     If looks could kill, you’d be split in half by the way Jin stared at your while sipping the wine. You watch him pick up his fork and scoop a pile of the risotto in his mouth. “It’s a bit bland,” he mumbled. In response, the other two judges look at him in disbelief.

     “I think this dish is absolutely amazing! Great job on the risotto,” Jung Hoseok gives you a thumbs up before taking another bite.

     “Yeah ignore what Jin said… this is excellent,” Kim Namjoon nods his head to assure you. Jin sits there in silence as he rolls his eyes at the judges. 

     “Okay judges flip through your scores and show us what you think,” Jimin tucks his arms behind his back as he watches them fiddle with their number cards.

     “Okay, I think we’re ready,” Namjoon says. They turned their cards around at the same time: Hoseok-9, Namjoon-9, Jin-4. Your jaw drops when you see Jin’s card. You knew that your dish wasn’t bad; his pettiness making your blood boil.

     “Okay that averages out to 7.3! Well done (Y/N). Show us what you have for us Yoongi,” Jimin says. 

     “I made you guys a lobster fra diavolo,” Yoongi watches intently as the judges twirl their forks within the dish.

     “Wow… this is magnificent. Super creamy,” Jin wipes his mouth with a napkin.

     “Yes, it’s creamy, but I think it could’ve used a bit more salt,” said Namjoon.

     “Yeah and the lobster is a bit tough on mine,” Hoseok chews. You bite the inside of your cheek to try to hold the flustered look on Jin and Yoongi. When showing the scores for Yoongi: Hoseok-5, Namjoon-6, Jin-8.

     “Okay and that averages out to 6.3. Congratulations (Y/N)! You are the winner of In The Flames!” Jimin applauds along with the judges. Everyone had a smile on their face, but Jin’s face was stone cold. Yoongi nods, obviously disappointed in the outcome.

     “Thank you for having me on the show,” he says before walking out with his head down. The camera follows him out the door and then pans to you celebrating. The thought of $10,000 made you jump and hug all the judges to thank them.

     When the cameras turn off, you walk back over to Jin. “Looks like I didn’t need your approval to win,” you articulated. Everyone leaves the set but you two.

     “I guess not, but apparently you needed my recipe,” he barked back.

     “Maybe so, but at least I don’t have to lie about the food tasting good,” you laugh, jumping back to sit on the judge booth while still facing him.

     “Who said I lied?” a smile finally cracks his face.

     “The other judges’ opinions weren’t coming from an angry egotistical boy like yourself, so I assumed,” you retort.

     He closes the space between you both. “What did you just call me?”

     “An angry. egotistical. boy,” you eye him up and down.

     “Usually I wait a couple more dates for this, but it looks like you need to be shown a lesson right now,” he pulls the middle of your back against his torso as his body stood between your dangling legs. You couldn’t lie and act like his other hand pulling your hair back didn’t make you pool at the bottom of your panties. The way his tongue traveled up your neck to meet your lips made your eyes flutter closed. Once he reached your lips, he connected his to them in a deep kiss. His plump lips wrapped and pulled yours at a quick pace. Your arms wrap around his neck to deepen the kiss even more, his tongue sliding to lick up your mouth. His grip that he had on your hair tightened along with his jeans resting between your thighs. You could feel it pushing against you, so you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him against you more as you yearned for the pressure. Your bodies pressed against one another when he pulled your head back to expose your neck. His lips roamed around the sensitive skin, leaving marks along the way. He tugs at the collar of your jacket before ripping the buttons off, leaving your chest bare for him to squeeze your breasts. You moan as he dips his head down to suck your nipples raw, licking around the tender area. His hand travels down to slip beneath your pants to rub you hard and quick against your underwear. Your breath hitches from his touch, grabbing his hair and bucking your hips to his fingers. To contain your moans, he connects his lips to yours. The dreadful colored lipstick was smeared on both of your faces at this point.

     He fumbled to unbuckle his belt, pants dropping to his ankles when he finally undid them. He didn’t hesitate to slide your pants and panties off as well, leaving you completely naked in the open filming set. He positioned your legs by having your feet up on the table, knees pulled apart, and your pussy propped up for him to enter into. You held yourself up with your arms slanted backward behind you on the table, biting your lip as you watched him look at you with his dilated pupils. Your pussy was dripping for his dick the second you first met him, and now was the time you’ve been waiting for.

     He spread your lips apart with his fingers, moaning as he takes in the sight. “Such a pretty pussy. I shouldn’t have contained myself on the first date,” he curls his finger inside. You whine from him only starting with one finger, but his other hand’s finger pushed into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around it and suck as you watch his reaction. He pulls his bottom lip in his mouth as he watches you. When he curls a second finger inside your cunt, he adds another finger to your mouth as well. As pumps into you faster, you thrust up into his fingers to go deeper. Moans getting muffled from the fingers in your mouth.

     “How about one more finger, hmm?” he whispers in your ear, licking and sucking the lobe.

     You nod and flutter your lashes up to meet his gaze. He moans as he watches you squirm while he slips his third finger in. Instead of adding a third finger to your mouth, he pulled them out to latch around your neck. Squeezing slightly, your moans manage to squeak out as his fingers slam into your soaking pussy. His grip loosens when he slowly pulls his fingers out to stick them in his mouth. He groans as he sucks your juices clean off his fingers. 

     He waited at your entrance with his huge length, wiggling it up and down your folds. Getting impatient, your scoot closer and whine for more. Feeding his ego a bit, he smirks. He’s sure to rub circles around your swollen clit as he inches himself inside of you. Your head drops back from the delicious stretch. Your loud moans echo throughout the large empty room. His breath stutters when he reaches balls deep inside of you. The suction of your tight pussy while he pulled out made him grip on your neck to contain himself. He sucked and nibbled your earlobe as he thrusted into you slowly, enjoying every second of it.

     “Harder,” you whimper. Doing exactly as said, he quickens the pace. The fronts of his thighs smacked into the edge of the table. The position he placed you in made it feel like his cock was being thrusted deep into your abdomen. To get a grip of the immense pleasure, you dug your nails into his shoulders. His hands dropped to your lower back to pull you into him more. As he ground circles inside of you, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you pushed your hips up and down his groin. The moans started to become high pitched as you felt yourself growing closer to your high. He took that as an opportunity to push you over the edge by thrusting at an insane rate of quickness. He watched as your mouth opened into an ‘O’ shape and your eyes screwed shut. Your grip on him tightened as you poured all over him still thrusting into you to reach his own bliss.

     Not long after, he pulled out of you quickly. Pumping his length as he laid you down across the table, his load shot and drizzled on your stomach. His moans become guttural as he tugs his last drips on top of you, making eye contact with you when he’s done.

     “One second...they have to have paper towels in this kitchen somewhere,” he picks up his pants before scanning the kitchen. “Ah ha!” he grabs a towel from one of the cabinets and wipes you up gently. Pulling you up from the booth, you now stood in front of each other once again. The disbelief that you just had sex with one of the most famous chefs makes you shy to look at him again normally. He cuts the awkwardness by pulling you into one more kiss.

     “I’m sorry for lying about your dish. I just didn’t want to admit that it was better than mine last night,” he confesses with a laugh.

     You giggle from his words. “I guess you’ll just have to prove your famous cooking to me on our next date,” you nudge his shoulder.

     “Yeah and my manners,” he blushes.

Requested by: I lost the usernames from the rest of my requests, so I’m sorry :(

[ducktracy]

137. i love to singa (1936)

release date: july 18th, 1936

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: tommy bond (owl jolson), billy bletcher (fritz owl, penguin), martha wentworth (mama), bernice hansen (fat chicken), joe dougherty (stuttering bird), tedd pierce (jack bunny)

a certified classic that almost everyone has either seen or at least heard of, and for good reason! tedd pierce, writer for mckimson, freleng, and jones, as well as inspiration for pepé le pew, makes his vocal debut as the voice of jack bunny (a very obvious take on radio show entertainer jack benny, who’d be parodied as jack bunny in a handful of cartoons such as slap happy pappy and goofy groceries.) the father owl was originally going to be voiced by bert lahr, who you may recognize as the cowardly lion from the wizard of oz, but was changed to bletcher instead. a parody of the al jolson movie the jazz singer, little owl jolson is born into a musical family that forbids any jazz. kicked out for breaking the strict family rule, owl finds solace in jack bunny’s radio show, where his talents shine—much to the bewilderment of his parents.

pan into a lovely shot of a quaint little home in a tree trunk, trees creating a framing in the foreground as butterflies flit along. a serene home that can do no wrong. a sign in the shape of a violin is posted just above the door: prof. FRITZ OWL teacher of “VOICE, PIANO, & VIOLIN” BUT— pan down to a sign below it, painted in all red letters: NO JAZZ!

tex playful as ever with his transitions as we peer through the keyhole of the door. professor fritz (not friz!) owl himself paces nervously in front of his wife, nesting on eggs while observing her anxious husband. the underscore is a fitting medley of solfeggios. fritz approaches his wife solemnly, who stands up and checks to see if her eggs have hatched yet. nothing but a sympathetic shake of the head.

time lapses, as we see from the rug below fritz’s feet. he’s paced so much that he’s worn it into the ground and then some—tex liked to play around with simple time lapses, a changing background the only indicator of passing time while the animation itself stays the same. once more, fritz returns to his wife. this time, we hear faint knocking. they both observe, and his wife is now beaming and nodding expectantly. the big moment at last! she crawls out of her nest, and fritz takes a conductor’s wand, tapping each egg gently. each makes a strong, reverberating ring of a bell. music to his ears... save for the last one, who creates a jangly dissonant sound instead. fritz and his wife exchange bewildered looks, fritz tapping on the egg again for confirmation. still a dud. very clever use of sound effects by treg brown.

before fritz can mull on his dud for too long, the first egg hatches. a mini owl version of himself dons a sharp suit, singing a beautiful rendition of “chi mi frena in tal momento” from the opera lucia di lammermoor. fritz is absolutely delighted, cooing “ah, what a fine voice! a caruso!” (of course referring to italian tenor enrico caruso) the next egg is set to hatch, this time the owl playing robert schumann’s “traumerei” on violin. he too is met with praise: “what sweet music, a fritz kreisler!” third egg hatches, the owl touting a flute and playing felix mendelssohn’s “spring song”, fritz appropriately commenting “a lovely melody, a mendelssohn.”

and, of course, the final egg. wonderful incongruity and juxtaposition as owl jolson pops out of the egg, blaring red suit and all, informally greeting “hullo, strenza!” “hello, strenza!” was a popular catchphrase at the time and yiddishism for “hello, stranger!”, originated from jack benny’s character schlepperman. appropriate considering jack bunny serves as an important character in the cartoon. owl thusly launches into the eponymous “i love to singa”, written by harold arlen and e. y. harburg (who both worked on the music for the wizard of oz) and featured thrice in 1936’s the singing kid. criminally catchy and a lethal earworm to all... except father fritz.

“ach, a jazz singer! a CROONER! stop! STOP! STOP!!!” fritz is horrified, tearing his feathers out in agony, only pausing to catch his wife, struck unconscious from the horrible thought of her child becoming the next bing crosby. fritz fans her awake, desperately reassuring “listen mama, if he must sing, we will teach him to sing like we want him to.” a sensible plan, right?

apparently not. owl is desperately uncomfortable and unhappy as he begrudgingly sings “drink to me only with thine eyes”, his mother oblivious to his plight as she accompanies him on piano. she pauses to turn the page, and owl gives a quick, hurried, whispered rendition of “i love to singa” behind her back. haven’t we all done that before? personality is very strong in this cartoon, and that’s what sells it, even more than the song itself. mama resumes her playing, and owl resumes his torture session. fritz walks in the doorway to admire his converted son, beaming. owl is unaware of his father’s presence, and as his mother pauses to turn the page he sings some more jazz, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

bob clampett animates fritz kicking owl out of the house, groveling “enough, it’s too much! out of my house, you hotcha, you crooner! you falsetto! you jazz singer! you... you...YOU..!” fritz is red-faced, sputtering and struggling desperately to find the perfect insult. instead, he opts for slamming the door shut. a pause. he opens it back up and quips “PHOOEY!” before slamming it back shut. perfect comedic timing for a gag that will be used in many a cartoon.

owl is frustrated at first, sardonically introducing to the camera “that’s mein pop.” nevertheless, his mood changes in an instant as he realizes he’s free to sing all the jazz he wants. he strolls along, happily singing his favorite song. a much happier scene than indoors, where mama tearfully suggests that fritz was being “a bit too hasty.” back outside, where owl is strolling along gaily as ever, whistling all the way. there’s a beautiful pan with trees and scenery overlaying in the foreground. you get the sense that everything is going to be just fine, that the world is worth singing about. a very positive and upbeat yet subtle scene. inside once more, where mama calls the police in tears to search for her missing child.

the happy go lucky expedition of owl jolson is put to a halt when he hears a harmonica. it’s coming from a building with a line in front of it: RADIO STATION G-O-N-G. below it: AUDITIONS TODAY. various people are given the boot, the telltale gong sounding as they’re plummeted down a slide and out into the cruel world. owl is enticed, and hurries to join the line.

a few animals perform their failed auditions: a few birds on a flute and saxophone each, another on the accordion, a penguin singing “laugh, clown, laugh” (which daffy would sing in both yankee doodle daffy and duck soup to nuts, both freleng cartoons), a fat chicken singing “i’m forever blowing bubbles” (which was featured in sinkin’ in the bathtub! shows you how far we’ve come)... all of the potential candidates get gonged by a caricature of jack benny (jack BUNNY), and they’re all sent plummeting through a bottomless chute. the fat chicken is so plump that she gets stuck in the chute, and bunny has to give her an extra thwack on the head to get her to go down. very amusing timing.

back at home, mama and fritz are both listening to the radio for an update on their son. mama exclaims tearfully, “i wonder if they found my little boy...” and in a bit of tex avery genius, the radio announcer answers in a deadpan voice “no we didn’t, lady.” a staple that would be used in many a cartoon!

at the radio station, joe dougherty voices a hayseed, stuttering bird with an overbite (a parallel to his role as a hayseed, stuttering dog with an overbite in into your dance) struggling to recount the tongue twister of simple simon. after awhile, the bird gets tired of his OWN act, muttering “oh well, shucks.” and hitting the gong himself and tugging on the rope that would send him into oblivion. elsewhere, a bird reads a telegram out loud, delivered by the telegram boy. she pronounces each “stop” (as i mentioned in my last review, since there is no morse code equivalent to a period, telegrams would use “stop” instead), and we pan over to owl jolson and jack bunny. however, the bird continues to read each stop, growing louder and louder, and we pan back over to see the telegram boy repeatedly attempting to hug her while she keeps shouting “stop!” ain’t sexual harassment funny??? in terms of technicality, it’s a very well structured gag, but is in poor taste and doesn’t feel as funny as it should.

nevertheless, jack bunny asks “well, what’s your name, son?” owl eagerly hands him his very own card, proudly displaying the words “owl jolson” in red ink. he gives a happy salute, and thus formally starts the musical number. it’s been rumored that singer johnnie davis provided the singing voice, but i don’t think that’s true. it still sounds like bond to me, and even when i heard him singing in my green fedora as peter i knew he voiced owl jolson right away, connecting it back to this scene. i could be wrong! but i doubt they hired a separate person for singing. nevertheless, as i’ve repeatedly mentioned, the song is criminally catchy and the animation is cute and fun. bunny is immediately impressed, his defensive glower melting into a gleeful grin.

mama catches wind of her own son back at home, hearing his voice singing on the radio. once more, bob clampett animates mama dragging her entire family outside, happily declaring “it’s him at the radio station!” owl has clearly won bunny’s heart, already displaying the hearty first prize trophy on his desk while he dances along ecstatically to the music.

at long last, the owl family arrives at the station, and they can hardly believe it. everyone crowds around the window outside, peering inside with awestruck disbelief. just as owl as surely clinched the award, he catches a glance of his family and freezes up immediately. now terrified and fearing the worst, he reverts back to his nasally rendition of “drink to me only with thine own eyes”. bunny can’t believe it, even pausing to take his cigar out in disbelief as he ogles at his star pupil. he shoves aside the first prize trophy, ready to pounce.

thankfully, the owl family notices this and they all rush inside. just as bunny is about to call it a day, raising the faithful hammer, fritz cries “STOP! STOP! STOP!!!” he rushes to his previously disavowed son, once more repeating “enough, it’s too much!” but in an entirely different context. a very clever parallel. slowly he attempts to coerce owl back into his song, urging him that it’s okay. “you want to singa! about your moon-a and your june-a and your spring-a, go on and singa!”

hesitant at first, owl picks up his rendition, and in no time things are back to normal. a relieved and ecstatic jack bunny snags the first prize trophy and hands it to owl, shaking his hand. a very endearing, happy, ultimately feel good scene as the entire owl family dances behind their star, the entire family giving one last chorus of “we love to sing!” iris out... leaving the first prize trophy on the black screen. owl pries the iris open and collects his prize, irising out for good (a gag that would be recycled in another avery cartoon, porky’s garden, though porky angrily pries his cash prize away from the clutches of a greedy gardener instead).

a lot to unpack, but all you need to know: a great short that is absolutely worth the watch. if you haven’t seen it already, watch it! if you have, watch it again! one of those cartoons that everyone knows or has at least heard of. do i think this is tex’s best cartoon? probably not. but i DO think this is a major turning point for warner bros. tex saved the studio by shunning the disney attitude instead of adopting it, and this cartoon reflects that. a strong, solid plot with amusing gags (such as the radio bit) would eventually become the norm for the upcoming cartoons. the songs were really beginning to be put on the back burner, and eventually dropped altogether—i don’t have an official date for the last merrie melody to feature a song, but probably anywhere from 1938 to 1939.

i argue that the success of this cartoon lies in the personality moreso than the song. absolutely the song is a big contributor. very catchy, fun to sing, and one that everyone knows. but i don’t think the cartoon is great just BECAUSE of the song. many of the merrie melodies have a lot of great songs, but have faded into obscurity because of weak plots or personality. when was the last time you saw someone lauding harman and ising’s we’re in the money? a very popular song no doubt, but it isn’t held to the same candle as i love to singa because the personality is so staunch. no memorable characters or emotions or motivations or what have you.

all of the personalities are strong, subtle or not. owl has a strong personality, even though 90% of his dialogue is singing. where he begrudgingly sings “drink to me only with thine eyes”, glaring and moping, kicking his feet or making mocking expressions, pausing to give a few breathless verses of “i love to singa”... strong personality. fritz owl has a very strong personality, if not overbearing. 10 seconds into the cartoon and you already know he hates jazz, holding so much contempt for it that he has a sign outside of his house to advertise it. the mother another strong figure, caring deeply for her son and even calling the police to get her son back. even jack bunny, who only says one line in the entire cartoon. it’s obvious he’s fed up with listening to the same old amateur hour acts, and his genuine glee at the freshness of owl’s act feels real and relatable. pair all this with a catchy song and you have yourself a deal.

i think, at the same time, this follows the formula of a lot of tex’s merrie melodies at the time, and i suppose it may be just a bit (for lack of a better term) overrated. not in a bad way, but it isn’t STAUNCHLY different from other merrie melodies tex has been pumping out. but with that said, it’s still a classic and a great short that you certainly need to watch. it’s definitely a spirit raiser.

link!

[okimargarvez]

EASE THE TENSION

Original title: Rilasciare la tensione.

Prompt: Luke and Penelope flirt, but it’s not enough for him.

Warning: smut, post 15x7.

Genre: romantic.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 72 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💑😘😈.

Song mentioned: In bagno in aeroporto, Tiziano Ferro.

GARVEZ STORIES

EASE THE TENSION

 Countdown of a love... three... two... one... yessa!

Luke greets the others a little too hastily. He has listened absently to the conversation between JJ, Reid and Rossi about the paths not taken. But this isn’t the reason for his subsequent actions. All this starts from much further away; for not exaggerate, from the moment she had threatened to call him newbie again; and it hadn't been difficult to understand that it wouldn't bother him... on the contrary.

He gets off the jet and walks quickly on his long, athletic legs. Usually he waits for his colleagues, jokes with Tara, or rather, he undergoes her jokes without complaining, he smirks and laughs but nothing more. But in a completely different way than he does with Garcia. He realizes it during that short journey to the BAU entrance. It has always been a separate situation. Just as he has never been the kind of man who flirts with a colleague, before. In front of other people, then?

It is now clear that he seems to have lost his mind. Surely Matt and Dr. Lewis will have thought this. They reached a new level, or rather, it was he who crossed another threshold. However, it is still too little. And he doesn’t feel an unconscious madman at all, while he walks confident along the stairs, at least four flights. He could never invoke mental illness. He is perfectly aware of his actions and intentions. Even if he didn't think too much about it, as he used to do. Eviscerate every single sentence, nuance.

She had seen him with the eyes of the mind (and love). She knew he was smiling, though she had no way of verifying it in person. And he hadn't made a single sound, hadn't given her any clues. If this wasn’t a connection... what else could it be? And her reproach, combined with the fact that she had called him by his full name (the first time, he was almost sure), had only increased his desire to smile.

Penelope liked to play with fire; she always did it, not only with him, unfortunately. Over the past four years, he had listened to a lot of anecdotes about her jokes, about her even flirting with Hotch and ending up embarrassed herself with ex-section chief Erin Strauss. With him, however, there was something more. It wasn't just him who wanted to convince himself. It wasn't just male pride at work. In the end, something would catch fire with him. And that day had come.

He reaches their floor, continues to march with the same confidence and conviction, which he probably never tried in his life. He places his hand on the handle and lower it, opening the first door, and a second one, a moment later. He doesn’t waste time admiring her in his rainbow dress, which reminds him... Harlequin, one of the most famous masks of Italian theater and carnival. Maybe he is spending too much time with Rossi and Reid. Harlequin- The servant of two masters, his perverted mind suggests to him like a flash. Servant like he proclaimed himself, following her provocation. If he was her servant, she was his queen; there was no doubt about this. And yes, he's been spending too many evenings with them since he and Lisa broke up months ago.

In any case, he doesn't hesitate half a second. Just another absurd thought brushes his mind, while Penelope turns her chair towards the noise that has indicated the entrance of an intruder. We are like Lancelot and Guinevere.

-Luke, what...- she practically has no time to stutter anything deeper. From her expression she seems to have forgotten what happened, but there is no problem. He is here on purpose to bring everything back to memory and add details, so that she can no longer pretend that it was nothing. He doesn’t call her by name or by surname. He doesn’t say a single word. He simply takes those few steps that separate him from her, from her body that sends electric shocks even when she just stands there, with her mouth slightly ajar in amazement. She stands up, but doesn’t walk away from the desk.

It need not be said that it was her fault, that she could have already been at home and all this would never have happened. Because if he hadn't found her in her office, he would have gone to her apartment. And he would ring the bell, regardless of the timetable. Or he would knock the door. He would make her phone ring until she gave in and picked up. And they would have been in exactly the same situation.

He stretches his arms towards her; in Penelope's eyes, everything happens with a slow-motion effect that only makes it more terrifying. She feels like the protagonists of horror films who know they are one step away from death, but continue to stare at the "monster" who is about to rip them. He places his hands on both of her shoulder blades, pushing her in his direction, but simultaneously pressing her against your desk, until she places her butt on the surface, causing the first (but certainly not the last) rain of objects: colored pens with the weirder shapes, puppets of various kinds. She may sense more, but the only thing she feels is the warmth of the man on her.

He looks her in the eyes for less than a second, before moving his hands, in synchrony, to surround her face, in a sort of prolonged caress, no less sensual, which causes chills not only along her back. Her eyelids drop first, quickly followed by the male ones. Luke guides her movements, but Penelope wouldn’t able to say if it was for her or his initiative to slightly lift her chin. And then, it happens.

All the tension accumulated in four years of winking, shameless flirtations in front of the eyes of (not too) shocked colleagues, jokes, nicknames, mutual apprehension for the safety of the other, lies, painstakingly conquered hugs, slow dancing to the limit of humanly understandably, all this tension explodes in a kiss too many times postponed. Luke's mouth presses on hers, but she certainly doesn’t stay inert, doesn’t undergo the act, but becomes an instant active part of this, making use of years of training with boyfriends too distant and unable to understand how much this job is part of what she is. Rings and bracelets jingle when Penelope sticks her fingers in his hair, trying to bring him even closer, aware of the impossibility of the enterprise. The heads of both are spinning as if they were on board one of those rides that you can see in amusement parks. After about two seconds, Luke's tongue pushes to enter and is immediately satisfied.

Despite the fog that surrounds her brain, she can now feel it. Solid, hard, pressed against her thigh, almost completely uncovered, since her skirt has risen by itself by several centimeters.

She closes her eyes and, as if they were tied by threads, he does the same. They have always conducted parallel conversations only with the eyes. A moan of pleasure escapes her and she watches him smile without pulling away, ecstatic, not simply pleased to be the responsible of this noise. Then Luke reads the question she cannot ask, in her mind and eyes. For me? He lightly tickles her on the neck using only his thumbs and he answers her. Who else, if not for you? Overcome this one tiny doubt, the eyelids of both give up again, while the hands advance with a little more resourcefulness, sliding along the entire length of their labored and sweaty bodies. Luckily, he remembered to close the door. Both.

She shivers when Luke seems to want to count her ribs one by one and touches the bone of her pelvis, leaning a little more towards her, forcing her to do the same thing. A phosphorescent sphere and a pink remote control are the innocent victims of this act. Neither he nor she stop to see the damage. They conduct the dance alternately, in an almost completely balanced way. Penelope's fingers try to open the buttons of his blue shirt, but they don't find enough space for action, so they choose an alternative way, sliding directly under the fabric, in contact with his skin. Long last. She spreads her hands completely, to feel every single curve, every single millimeter of his abs, of the muscles of his chest, and doesn’t draw back when she encounters traces of his past, more or less recent scars.

Luke moans too, without showing shame for what she causes him, returning the favor, but with a little more dexterity, opening the upper part of her dress, towards heaven, freeing her shoulders and arms, to access her breast more easily. All without practically interrupting the contact between their lips only once. She doesn’t wear any bra, absolutely nothing and this almost causes him to completely lose the horizon. The thought that there was only that thin layer of cloth to separate him from the ecstasy... He remains concentrated on the present, opening his cupped hands and brushing her nipples, already turgid, with the tips of his fingers.

Penelope seems to melt like wax. She pulls her mouth from Luke's and bends her neck, letting out a series of inarticulate exclamations. Only then the man realizes that he is in a strong oxygen debt. He tries to fix her as best he can, because he doesn't want her to get cold or get sick and he helps her get back on her feet, then pushes her against him again, in a sort of strange embrace. He squeezes her, staying in total silence until both of their breaths turn regular.

Penelope sits on her desk, dropping a particular object, black and white, of which Sergio may be jealous, but neither of them notices. She gives him a little smile, red cheeks on her pale face. -What do I owe this?- she asks. He tries to be a good boy and focus his attention on something other than her badly buttoned suit (his fault). Witness of what just happened.

Luke had expected much worse, so he returns the smile without any problem. -It is the consequence of all the sexual tension accumulated in four years.- he answers with honesty and even candor. Perhaps this is precisely what upsets her most. She blinks more than once, runs her tongue over her lips. And she feels his taste. And his scent of woods on her, on her skin.

-Sexual tension?- she asks. But she has tangible proof of this in the unidentified object that continues to press against her thigh. Someone really needs a cold shower. Or maybe not.

Luke chuckles, stroking her arm in an equally erotic way. -Exactly. Are you going to repeat everything I say?- nothing more than a provocation, one of their one, which taken out of context might even seem innocent. But it is not, and both know it.

Fire burns in Penelope's dark eyes. She lets time pass; she enjoys the waiting. The pauses have never been meaningless, between them. And she gives him another smile, not sweet, but exclusively mischievous. The same smile that he is ready to swear will have painted her lips even a few hours earlier, while she believed she had put him in trouble with that joke. -What if I do it?- she is playing the part of the bad girl, the rebel. But she is simultaneously his queen and his best friend, his red-light desire and the woman he would like to turn into his wife. She is everything.

He shrugs. -Nothing.- he plays her game, that has never belonged only to Garcia. How many times had he started first, how many times had he not given up? How many times she had forced him to behave unprofessionally and in front of eyewitnesses? She challenges him with her eyes and he accepts, capturing her lips in a series of short but not less hot kisses. She kisses him back with the same passion. -You provoked me already when we were discussing the case on the jet.- but Penelope knows he's just flirting, on an advanced level. Just their way.

She can’t do less. -Is it my fault if you like to be called Newbie?- she observes with satisfaction that grimace peeking over the man's mouth in hearing that nickname. They both missed it, even if he is no longer, has never been and will never be just the Newbie, for her.

And he knows it. And awareness makes an immense difference. He nods, admitting that she's right. -But only for you.- Penelope smirks, then wraps her arms around his neck and drags him toward her. How can he be so much taller than she is? His shoes are flat and she wears high heels! Luke certainly doesn’t back down, instantly returning the new kiss, but letting her dominate the situation a little more.

She stays with her forehead resting on the male forehead. -You know that I flirt with everyone and always in an innocent way.- she continues to provoke him, but this time there is something more besides malice and flames. There is a small shadow, something that tries to obscure their joy.

Despite the high testosterone levels, the man captures every nuance. -Not with me. It doesn't work with me. It's different with me.- for every short sentence he leaves a trail of kisses on her neck and on every exposed area of her body. -Am I wrong?- he watches her bite her lips, in an attempt to remain focused.

Not for this he stops kissing her and touching her. -How... how can I answer you while you are...- he runs along her legs and focuses on the inner thigh. Penelope opens her eyes suddenly. -Oooh, Luke.- she moans, fully surrendering, at his mercy. But now that worm has begun to dig into the mind of the Latin agent.

One of the thousand obstacles that have always stopped him from carrying out a work of conquest towards the computer technician, is exactly his fear. And hers, which he saw reflected in her eyes, even if just for a few seconds, before it was again masked by lust. -Are you not going to deny that you feel something for me?- he asks then, why sooner or later this point will have to be addressed. And as much as he wants to be inside her, he's not here just for sex. She doesn't answer him, but probably it's his fault, of his fingers that have not ceased to caress her legs and every now and then they go a little too far. -Or to run away and tomorrow pretend that tonight never happened?- he knows that he is pushing his luck, suggesting her exactly an escape route, but he needs to know that she is really his, as the same way he belongs to her. Penelope swallows and looks him in the eye. His hands stop. She is serious. She barely shakes her head, although she trembles slightly. Other tension flies away from the man's body. -Penelope Garcia, you are still able to surprise me.- she smiles and he does the same. They kiss with the same passion as the first time, but with one more ingredient. For all the times they have made love with the eyes, conducted conversations with the eyes, now they just exchanged the sincerest "I love you" that have ever been unpronounced.

Penelope pinches him, leaves superficial and not entirely voluntary scratches on his back; Luke goes much straighter to the point. It's okay that absence sharpens the appetite. But he believes he has waited long enough for this moment. Even too much. His cold fingers come back to play with her thighs, completely pushing aside her skirt and overcoming the obstacle of her panties. He uses his thumb masterfully, touching her clitoris just enough. She seems to try to appease the fire that burns inside her through more aggressive, rough kisses, her fingernails in his scalp. -Do you... do you want to make it in my office?- she manages, she doesn't even know how, to ask him. The fly of his jeans seems about to explode.

For me. For me. For me. She repeats it a few times, to convince herself of it.

-And do you want it too?- he replies with another question. Penelope no longer has time for provocations and flirts. She rubs herself against his groin and looks at him, serious again.

-Right now I only know that I need to feel you inside me.- is what she says. One of her classic jokes, he might think, but they both know it's not just that. Time for recreation space has long since ended. One of those things that only she can say, accompanied by an innocent look. Luke feels an earthquake in his abdomen. It's the Garcia effect. They should have warned him when he joined the team. But he doesn't care much at the moment.

He captures both her wrists, as if she were his prisoner, pulling her towards him. Making her taste a modicum of his strength. And it excites her at stellar levels. -Your wishes will never be rejected, milady.- is the last joke and the last dialogue for the next half hour.

They start kissing again from where they left off, they act in no hurry. Their hands sweep away the few objects that had heroically managed to stay on the desk. He makes her lay, standing for a few seconds, uncomfortably bend, to kiss her, feeling a little like the Prince Charming of Snow White. Or was Cinderella? He has never been good about fairy tales. He reaches her a few moments later, and it is truly incredible how none of the catastrophic hypotheses occur: the poor furniture proves to be able to bear their weight and above all, despite he is not being at all skinny, there seems to be enough space for him. He wonders if when they designed them, they considered this kind of accessory aspects…

Partially moving away, almost sitting, he contemplates her, meditating that this is probably just one of his dreams. One more reason to do everything possible. He raises the skirt of her dress until he discovers the lower part of her body again. She looks at him while he is taking off her panties and, absurd, her gaze is the most erotic thing he has ever seen. He helps her to get up, realizing that she wants to free him of the zipper. He does the same thing, watching the movement of her hand as she pulls the zip down, slowly, maddeningly. An image strikes him as a fragment without context: that same hand that grabs a pink package, containing a collar for Roxy, bringing it a few centimeters closer to him.

They are not comfortable. It is not the ideal place. But somehow, it is the only one, together with the elevator (which in the meantime has been conquered first by Rossi and Krystall and then by Spencer and Max, according to what he overheard) appointed to frame their first time. He lies down on her again, throbbing at the entrance without crossing the threshold, taking revenge for his zippered game. Then Penelope grabs his head abruptly, forcing him to look at her and candidly reads the threat in her dark eyes and through the clouded glasses. Now or never, Alvez.

There is no need for her to beg him concretely. He slips inside her inch by inch, as if it were the only thing, he is capable of doing. She arches her back and screams. These walls are soundproofed, right? But it ceases to matter when he realizes that what she's screaming is his name. He soon joins her, creating a new litany made up of moans and half-names.

They alternate kisses and pushes, postponing the moment of reaching the complete ecstasy at least five times, since neither of them wants this moment to end, because this is worth it, it repays them for all the nights spent without being able to sleep, for the unwarranted jealousies, for the cries, for the sparks extinguished just a moment before the outbreak.

He understands too late that they have not used any kind of precaution, and he is certainly not worried about sexually transmitted diseases. With all the medical tests that the Bureau obliges them to take! Nor does it seem appropriate to ask her if she takes the pill or some type of contraceptive. Not now, not tonight. All will be as it should be. Because she is his destiny. And he never believed in this kind of bullshit, before.

They stay panting, looking at each other. For the first five minutes Luke lives at the mercy of the fear that she is about to contradict herself and to drive him out. To feel her partially naked body stiffen at the moment of refusal. Penelope instead seems to look at him with... shyness. He forces himself to get off the desk. His knees thank him. As a true cavalier, he helps his Guinevere to do the same. She thanks him with a sweet smile.

They arrange their clothes, but anyone who saw them might easy understand what happened. Let them understand. Emily wouldn't report them to the Director, or to the Internal Affairs, she wouldn't do it, not now that Andrew has sweetened her a little. When everything is settled, their eyes end up in the same place. The floor is covered with objects. She starts to bend down, but he prevents her from doing it in her place and he passes her beloved amulets against the darkness of their cases. And of the outside world. -Are you not afraid that now that the tension has been released, the spark has gone out?- he would like to punch himself. Why must he always try to demolish his happiness?

Penelope grasps the man's big hand, who squeezes (but it's just a coincidence) an anti-stress kitten, that falls back to the ground, when their fingers intertwine. -Oh, I wish I could feel more fear, really, but I can’t.- she shrugs, almost this was a bad thing. They chuckle, in complicity. -And you? - he does not let the slightest uncertainty touch her heart.

-Never had half a doubt.- he whispers, with a firm tone. They finish tidying up her office. He helps her wear her coat and she looks at him, still talking to him with her eyes. Look, I could also get used to this kind of treatment. He answers her the same way. And you should do it. -Shall we go to my house?- he proposes, while she enters the security code outside her office. They were late. Nobody in sight. He strokes her back. When she has finished, she turns to him and raises an eyebrow. -To sleep, I mean.- he adds. -I think that I could be satisfied for tonight...- Penelope drags him against her warm body and her lips which have preserved his perfume. -Or maybe not.-

----------------------------------------------------------

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[maggotmouth]

          hello, i’m nora ( she / her, 24, gmt ) and i almost exclusively join dark academia rps. please find below everything i have thus far on otto ballantyne, a theatre and classics student who was arranged to be married to one of the students who disappeared. i’ve honestly been itching to write otto again for months, so thanks to this lil group for giving me the opportunity. can’t wait to get my teeth stuck into him again. please bombard me with discord messages for plots. here is his  pinterest.

act one: application.

THOMAS DOHERTY   ,   CIS-MALE   ,   HE/HIM         →         according   to   the   school   records   ,   OTTO HORATIO BALLANTYNE   has   been   attending   sacred   heart   for   the   past   four   years   .   i   last   saw   them   hanging   around  the  cliffs   ;   i   think   they   were  reciting   shakespearean  soliloquies  to   the   wind   and   a   weathered   old   skull.   at   twenty   -   three   years   old   ,   otto   has   been   studying   theatre   &   classics   and   get   this   ,   i   heard   that   he   was   arranged   to   be   married   to  alice   rosseau   before   her   untimely   disappearance  ,   and  was   desperate   to   call   off   the   affair  —   figure   it’s   true   ?   everyone   around   here   always   associates   them   with    an   aged   bottle  of   malbec   glugged   carelessly   at   the   after - show  ,  the   kind   of   confidence   that   only   a   private   education gives ,  white   lines   of   powder   snorted   off  a   marble  sink  with    lovers  you’ll   later   deny  .   in   the   time   since   these   strange   happenings   ,   they   have   have   not   encountered   any   unexplained   occurrences   .         (   written   by   nora   ,   24   ,   she/her   ,   gmt   )

act two: the muse !

ok so lemme start off by saying otto is heavily inspired by if we were villains by m l rio and the secret history by donna tartt. very serious actor. into the classical plays, but would definitely fit in a production of posh by laura wade. originally i wrote him for a murder mystery dark academia group but when the group ended i missed him so much i decided to bring him here.

born in south london, but raised in cheltenham. went to eton or harrow or one of those posh english boarding schools for boys. we love the homoeroticism of learning latin with your homies and chanting sonnets in caves by candlelight.

youngest son in his family. was fiercely competitive with his brother nathaniel growing up. having an older brother who was incredibly intelligent and successful made otto learn to treat his life like it was a fight. constantly trying to be better and ‘prove himself’.

otto’s a brat. filthy rich public school boy vibes, very riot club. champagne all over the ceiling and driving well over the limit. custom-made cuff links he loses in taverns when he rolls up his sleeves to lean on the bar. needing to know so much about a character you’re playing that it consumes you ; you can no longer tell which parts of you are otto and which parts are macbeth.

characters who have inspired him:  alistair ryle in the riot club, francis abernathy in the secret history, anthony marston in and then there were none, oliver marks in if we were villains, achilles in the song of achilles, dorian gray in tpodg.

a fun fact is he is a natural blonde and spent most of his childhood that way but he now dyes it dark because he thinks that’ll give him more versatility in terms of the roles he can play. blonde ppl are usually cast as only the lover or the innocent n he wants to play villains and heroes and leading men as well.

very gay, n that’s pretty much a known thing by everyone but his family?? his family have arranged to have him married to women twice n both times its not worked out. the first time he basically drove her away with his reckless hedonism and alcoholism, and the second arranged marriage was to alice, one of the four students who went missing

archetypes: the figurehead. the challenger. the magician. the knight. the underdog.

ENTP-T / the debater personality. 

theatre arts major, minoring in classics.

trigger warning for internalised homophobia / familial prejudice.

act three: the biography !

     heavy is the head that wears the crown, though yours is the size of a tennis ball when you are born three weeks premature, barely formed enough to open your eyes. for those first few weeks all your parents knew were fear and love — fear that you would leave them, love that you had made it through so much, hooked up to wires like a fish in a cryogenic tank. to them your heart that learned one day to beat of its own accord was a miracle. perhaps that’s why you became their golden boy.

     being born as a boy on the brink of death makes you invulnerable. you were achilles and the world couldn’t touch you for you were shielded from harm by a mother’s protective spell. should nathaniel lay so much as a finger on your skin, a voice would raise like the sound of a god from the veranda where she sat sipping her wine, play nice, boys! the sound of it thick with merlot. in every fight they took your side ; angel-headed creatures never lied. you soon learned that adults would believe anything if they liked you, that flattery will get you anywhere and to the well-trained mind, conversation was little more than a parlour game.

     you harboured your mother’s beauty, the softness of her voice, the firmness of her skin and light in the corners of her smile. of your father, they’d say you inherited his wit, though that was your own — as was the golden hair that tousled your head, taken not from ambrose ballantyne but rather the bout of his three-week business trip to germany when your mother had bedded the gardener. if he knew, he never mentioned it. to believe such a fate would imply that he was not enough for her. though you noticed one day when you were nearing five and the sun was ripe on your freckle-flecked skin that the gardener had stopped coming at all. the grass, once shaven to its scalp, now grew to your knees.

     at school, you learned with porridge still clinging to your mouth that the way to win over your teachers was through your smile. yours was the kind of school where the christmas play was not the nativity but rather the story of the gods, and stardom came to you in the role of apollo, sun shining from your beaming face, a bright halo of hair around your head. this was the first time you noticed a coldness in nathaniel’s eyes as your father threw you over his shoulder and your mother drenched you in praise. a bout of food-poisoning on your brother’s part rendered the italian restaurant, visited in your honour, abandoned. you never did find out if he was faking.

     the room to his door remained shut after that and you learned to wile away your hours in the company of nannies and children from neighbouring castles, played at knights and rescued princesses from nearby dungeons, a tin-foil crown lopsided on your head. you learned to seek influence in the faces of those around you, how their eyes would widen as they hung like stalactites to your words. storyteller. prophet. riddler. prince. you cut your tongue into a well-kept sword and sparred with it thrice a day.

     by nine you had read all of dickens novels. by eleven, all of shakespeare’s comedies — though you understood them as much as a cricket knows the meaning of the cosmos. still, it sounded rich and impressive when asked by aunties at dinner parties, what are you reading in school, otto? he finds the curriculum tiring, your mother would say, stroking a hand through your thick head of hair. otto’s just finished the merchant of venice. soon you grew to ignore your brother’s glowers at your back. your mother’s was the only smile you needed.

     in cap and blazer your mother would drop you off at school, gated and turreted, the kind that was the envy of poorer neighborhood wives. when you were young, you were sure the gifts that came your way were yours alone, though as you grew older, you learned to expect them in the same way the school expected cheques from your parents. they named them benefactors, you noticed one day, on the wooden plaques fixed to the common room walls. the same plaques you would one day notice their names engraved upon in the arching hallways of sacred heart. acclaim was bought, not earned, and your success was littered with blood money.

     what’s a king without a kingdom? your father surely wanted you to inherit his, though it was not in law and corporal finance that you found yourself a castle, but rather upon the stage. when red curtains split, you found you could become anything with the power of your will — boy, man, lion, snake, each of them wrung out by wordsmiths dead in their graves, a certain romance in the dusky smell of stage lights. when every eye in the room was focused on you — that was when you felt most powerful. like a piece of art, you were something to be looked at and admired — and perhaps in the absence of self-earned merit your vanity blossomed, for even if the trophies that lined your cabinets and the a-grades in columns on a sheet came from heavy pockets, your parents could never buy the sound of applause.

     actors are by nature volatile. though your facade was swifter than an arrow, backstage they would call you tempestuous, bigoted, vain. still, it never left the wings of the theatre. there was a kind of reverence surrounding you that words could not taper, godliness following you from school to college, a peer admired in the practice rooms of sacred heart where you poured over chekhov and ibsen but yearned to read sophocles and euripides.

     you learned to pride yourself on your looks — a sharpened jawline and a sharper tongue — and found that people would do almost anything for a beautiful face. in the beginning, alice was one so much. first colleagues, then friends, then a frequenter to the table in your family’s house. with arrogance carried in the curve of your brow, you only ever saw her as an accessory. that changed when you met her brother, let yourself stumble, brogues in a size that differed from your own kicked beneath your bed, a shirt with a larger neck size, pulled sheets, the smell of a foreign cologne.

      talk travelled. it wouldn’t do to have word of your deviance spread further than the ballantyne house. while your parents would claim they were forward-thinking, more lenient than their parents had been, there was a conservative priggishness to the way they’d brush such matters under the rug, your father scarcely able to meet your eye over the dinner table. soon after, the arrangement was set with you all but exalted from the plans until alice had been informed. too late to back out, neither of you all that eager to be wed, though your families would coo when you fixed your hair or she, in keeping with the role, adjusted your tie. at first it amused you to play house with one such as alice, but soon you grew listless. like a caged beast you felt suffocated by the falseness of it all. you’d leave the dinners held by your joint households and return bedraggled, smelling of whiskey and sex. you’re not sure alice ever knew the reason why you couldn’t love her, though perhaps she suspected. at night, the names that would fall from your lips would never be hers. oliver. daniel. mason. rupert. charles.

act four: character investigation !

        otto’s an extremely materialistic character who obtains pleasure through the things you can buy in life rather than that which comes to you by way of humble experience. he likes rolex watches, armani suits, louis vuitton travel bags, silk scarves imported from india. he likes to drink wine from decades gone by, where he can almost taste the funk of a victorian farmer hand pressing the grapes into a pulp, or to read a manuscript from the special collections section of the library that he knows has passed through hands which have gone on to achieve greatness. to otto, alice was always an extension of this hedonistic, pleasure-seeking attitude — she was something to be paraded like the equestrian trophies on his bookshelf, or his name on the honour roll. it’s not that he didn’t see her as a person — he’s hardly a chauvinist, although it could easily be inferred from the disdain with which he talks to some women — but rather that he saw her as someone ethereal and admirable and of high social standing who would elevate his social standing, by extension, were he to spend time with her. (this was such a convoluted sentence omg sorry)

         the engagement was not his choice. even the idea of it had never crossed his mind. he had never thought to marry – marriage to otto was a tool used for financial gain — and being already wealthy, he was content to live out his days as a bachelor. he would take lovers, of course, but it would be on his own terms without the involvement of the law. alice was chosen as a match for otto because she was from a wealthy, well-liked family and the two had been friends since childhood. it seemed to their parents inevitable that they would marry, and so all that was left was the agreed arrangement between the families and the exchanging of rings. strictly speaking, if the marriage between otto and alice had gone ahead, then alice would have been nothing more than a trophy wife to otto. it would have been a miserable marriage for her, and he would have grown to resent her for it — not resent her for the fact that he could never truly be free to love someone he wanted (for he still would) but resent her, and by extension his family, for taking the option to do that openly and publicly away from him. she would always be seen as the beard, the scorned lover, the cuckold, and it would dampen any future relationships he held with the stain of that upset.

act five: wanted plots !

people who he was friends with as a child (either in london or cheltenham if anyone in this group has a muse from there) but grew apart from when he was sent to private school / they view him as entitled now and the two no longer have much in common

someone who auditioned for the same role as him, but otto got it, and they’ve resented him for it ever since !  want this bad. or put your thang down flip it and reverse it: someone who got the role otto wanted and he loathes them for it.

hasn’t really dated anyone? at college, he tends to hook up with people in a vapid sort of way? so he wouldn’t rEALly have past relationships with boys unless it was….. incredibly quiet and on the DL, literally meeting up in the woods after school to read plato and play with each others hair. suddenly realised i want this. someone give me someone he reads plato in the woods with and kisses up against tree bark because even though everyone basically KnOWS otto isn’t out n probably never will be :/

alternatively someone who he had a vapid, senseless hook up with and grew attached to  :/ rude.   in this house we lov angst

i guess some friends he actually likes would be cool. maybe someone who he has a hold over, because he’s quite an engaging character with good leadership qualities, like at parties he’ll be the one telling the story and gesticulating wildly and everyone’s watching him or looking to him for where they’ll go next / how the night will pan out. if he has a hold over someone maybe he has some sort of leverage whereby they’ll complete his work for him if he’s out getting drunk which he usually is. if tht sounds like ur character is naive n could be coerced, hit me up

people he knows on a very superficial and base level in the fact that their only interactions together involve doing coke off someone’s sink and stumbling home in the dark. otto’s a massive hedonist. if he were a greek god, he’d be a mix between dionysus and apollo, but he has achilles’ vanity.

[ottofinch]

      so so thrilled to be here with the figurehead, n i know it was a really tough decision for the admins so i just hope i can do him justice ! please find below everything i have thus far on otto ballantyne, the younger brother of nate, and a theatre and classics student who was arranged to be married to daisey. i’ve honestly been itching to play a character like otto for months, so i can’t wait to get my teeth stuck into him. please bombard me with discord messages for plots.

part one: ooc information 

nora, 23, she/her, gmt.

part two: the muse !

skeleton: the figurehead.

faceclaim: froy gutierrez  

otto horatio ballantyne. 

cisgender male.

twenty-one

theatre arts major, minoring in classics.

clubs: student government, mock trial, theatre.

apartment 004. 

part three: the skeleton !

      heavy is the head that wears the crown, though yours is the size of a tennis ball when you are born three weeks premature, barely formed enough to open your eyes. for those first few weeks all your parents knew were fear and love --- fear that you would leave them, love that you had made it through so much, hooked up to wires like a fish in a cryogenic tank. to them your heart that learned one day to beat of its own accord was a miracle. perhaps that’s why you became their golden boy.

      being born as a boy on the brink of death makes you invulnerable. you were achilles and the world couldn’t touch you for you were shielded from harm by a mother’s protective spell. should nathaniel lay so much as a finger on your skin, a voice would raise like the sound of a god from the veranda where she sat sipping her wine, play nice, boys! the sound of it thick with merlot. in every fight they took your side ; angel-headed creatures never lied. you soon learned that adults would believe anything if they liked you, that flattery will get you anywhere and to the well-trained mind, conversation was little more than a parlour game.

      you harboured your mother’s beauty, the softness of her voice, the firmness of her skin and light in the corners of her smile. of your father, they’d say you inherited his wit, though that was your own --- as was the golden hair that tousled your head, taken not from ambrose ballantyne but rather the bout of his three-week business trip to germany when your mother had bedded the gardener. if he knew, he never mentioned it. to believe such a fate would imply that he was not enough for her. though you noticed one day when you were nearing five and the sun was ripe on your freckle-flecked skin that the gardener had stopped coming at all. the grass, once shaven to its scalp, now grew to your knees.

      at school, you learned with porridge still clinging to your mouth that the way to win over your teachers was through your smile. yours was the kind of school where the christmas play was not the nativity but rather the story of the gods, and stardom came to you in the role of apollo, sun shining from your beaming face, a bright halo of hair around your head. this was the first time you noticed a coldness in nathaniel’s eyes as your father threw you over his shoulder and your mother drenched you in praise. a bout of food-poisoning on your brother’s part rendered the italian restaurant, visited in your honour, abandoned. you never did find out if he was faking.

      the room to his door remained shut after that and you learned to wile away your hours in the company of nannies and children from neighbouring castles, played at knights and rescued princesses from nearby dungeons, a tin-foil crown lopsided on your head. you learned to seek influence in the faces of those around you, how their eyes would widen as they hung like stalactites to your words. storyteller. prophet. riddler. prince. you cut your tongue into a well-kept sword and sparred with it thrice a day.

      by nine you had read all of dickens novels. by eleven, all of shakespeare’s comedies --- though you understood them as much as a cricket knows the meaning of the cosmos. still, it sounded rich and impressive when asked by aunties at dinner parties, what are you reading in school, otto? he finds the curriculum tiring, your mother would say, stroking a hand through your thick head of hair. otto’s just finished the merchant of venice. soon you grew to ignore your brother’s glowers at your back. your mother’s was the only smile you needed.

      in cap and blazer your mother would drop you off at school, gated and turreted, the kind that was the envy of poorer neighborhood wives. when you were young, you were sure the gifts that came your way were yours alone, though as you grew older, you learned to expect them in the same way the school expected cheques from your parents. they named them benefactors, you noticed one day, on the wooden plaques fixed to the common room walls. the same plaques you would one day notice their names engraved upon in the arching hallways of st. ettienne’s. acclaim was bought, not earned, and your success was littered with blood money.

      what’s a king without a kingdom? your father surely wanted you to inherit his, though it was not in law and corporal finance that you found yourself a castle, but rather upon the stage. when red curtains split, you found you could become anything with the power of your will --- boy, man, lion, snake, each of them wrung out by wordsmiths dead in their graves, a certain romance in the dusky smell of stage lights. when every eye in the room was focused on you --- that was when you felt most powerful. like a piece of art, you were something to be looked at and admired --- and perhaps in the absence of self-earned merit your vanity blossomed, for even if the trophies that lined your cabinets and the a-grades in columns on a sheet came from heavy pockets, your parents could never buy the sound of applause.

      actors are by nature volatile. though your facade was swifter than an arrow, backstage they would call you tempestuous, bigoted, vain. still, it never left the wings of the theatre. there was a kind of reverence surrounding you that words could not taper, godliness following you from school to college, a peer admired in the practice rooms of st. etienne where you poured over chekhov and ibsen but yearned to read sophocles and euripides. 

      you learned to pride yourself on your looks --- a sharpened jawline and a sharper tongue --- and found that people would do almost anything for a beautiful face. in the beginning, daisey was one so much. first colleagues, then friends, then a frequentor to the table in your families house. with arrogance carried in the curve of your brow, you only ever saw her as an accessory. that changed when let yourself stumble, brogues in a size that differed from your own kicked beneath your bed, a shirt with a larger neck size, pulled sheets, the smell of a foreign cologne.

       talk travelled. it wouldn’t do to have word of your deviance spread further than the ballantyne house. while your parents would claim they were forward-thinking, more lenient than their parents had been, there was a conservative priggishness to the way they’d brush such matters under the rug, your father scarcely able to meet your eye over the dinner table. soon after, the arrangement was set with you all but exalted from the plans until daisey had been informed. too late to back out, neither of you all that eager to be wed, though your families would coo when you fixed your hair or she, in keeping with the role, adjusted your tie. at first it amused you to play house with one such as daisey, but soon you grew listless. like a caged beast you felt suffocated by the falseness of it all. you’d leave the dinners held by your joint households and return bedraggled, smelling of whiskey and sex. you’re not sure daisey ever knew the reason why you couldn’t love her, though perhaps she suspected. at night, the names that would fall from your lips would never be hers. oliver. daniel. mason. rupert. charles.

 part four: the secret !

REDACTED. 

part five: the investigation !

         otto’s an extremely materialistic character who obtains pleasure through the things you can buy in life rather than that which comes to you by way of humble experience. he likes rolex watches, armani suits, louis vuitton travel bags, silk scarves imported from india. he likes to drink wine from decades gone by, where he can almost taste the funk of a victorian farmer hand pressing the grapes into a pulp, or to read a manuscript from the special collections section of the library that he knows has passed through hands which have gone on to achieve greatness. to otto, daisey was always an extension of this hedonistic, pleasure-seeking attitude --- she was something to be paraded like the equestrian trophies on his bookshelf, or his name on the honour roll. it’s not that he didn’t see her as a person --- he’s hardly a chauvinist, although it could easily be inferred from the disdain with which he talks to some women --- but rather that he saw her as someone ethereal and admirable and of high social standing who would elevate his social standing, by extension, were he to spend time with her. (this was such a convoluted sentence omg sorry)

         obviously, the engagement was not his choice. even the idea of it had never crossed his mind. he had never thought to marry -- marriage to otto was a tool used for financial gain --- and being already wealthy, he was content to live out his days as a bachelor. he would take lovers, of course, but it would be on his own terms without the involvement of the law. daisey was chosen as a match for otto because she was from a wealthy, well-liked family and the two had been friends since childhood. it seemed to their parents inevitable that they would marry, and so all that was left was the agreed arrangement between the families and the exchanging of rings. strictly speaking, if the marriage between otto and daisey had gone ahead, then daisey would have been nothing more than a trophy wife to otto. it would have been a miserable marriage for her, and he would have grown to resent her for it --- not resent her for the fact that he could never truly be free to love someone he wanted (for he still would) but resent her, and by extension his family, for taking the option to do that openly and publicly away from him. she would always be seen as the beard, the scorned lover, the cuckold, and it would dampen any future relationships he held with the stain of that upset. 

part six: optional !

pinterest

wanted plots !

a secret society that exists vaguely timelessly where everyone communicates with pretentious quotes 

people who grew up in ashmont and have known otto since childhood, and know of his family. he’s always been fairly popular and well-liked, because he’s got this way of winning people over that he worked out quite quickly.

people who he was friends with as a child but grew apart from when he was sent to private school / they view him as entitled now and the two no longer have much in common

someone who he regularly meets up with to practise his french, maybe they go for coffee or for lunch and they just spend the whole hour speaking french.

fellow thespians ! they could really admire n respect him or ??? actually think he’s overrated as an actor and type cast ??

someone who auditioned for the same role as him, but otto got it, and they’ve resented him for it ever since

sOmEoNe WhO hELpEd hIM BuRy ThE bODy hAha no but seriously anyone who could incriminate him or has something against him, for example, knowing he’s low-key closeted gay and wasn’t into daisey, and therefore has a motive

on the topic of that, [blink 182 vc] all the. gay things. otto’s pretty hedonistic, when he goes out he goes all out, it isn’t rare for him to wake up with a stranger in his bed, he’s thought by most of the student population to be charming and beautiful. i feel like while he’s not out, and almost keeps it a secret, he’s pretty secure in his sexuality??? like he’s always known he was gay, but he’s never felt the need to Come Out bcos its no one’s business what he’s into. 

hasn’t really dated anyone? at college, he tends to hook up with people in a vapid sort of way? so he wouldn’t rEALly have past relationships with boys unless it was..... incredibly quiet and on the DL, literally meeting up in the woods after school to read plato and play with each others hair. suddenly realised i want this. 

alternatively someone who he had a vapid, senseless hook up with and grew attached to :/ rude

literally anyone to go on expensive shopping sprees with him where he spends his monthly allowance on ridiculously priced cufflinks and pocket squares

unlikely friendships ?? with people he wouldn’t usually be drawn to ?? like, he very much sticks to his people, birds of a feather flock together, but ?? maybe he is friend with someone from a vastly different lifestyle??

people he knows on a very superficial and base level in the fact that their only interactions together involve doing coke off someone’s sink 

ples plot w me

[mizmahlia]

Get to know me uncomfortably well!

I was tagged by my sis @donaldpiercesbae . Thanks, my dear. I loved your answers!! 

1. What’s your middle name?

It rhymes with ‘bae’.

2. How old are you?

Older than a lot of folks around here, I reckon. (Mid-thirties.)

3. When is your birthday?

January the 26th

4. What’s your zodiac sign?

Aquarius. I’m stubborn, rebellious, and quirky.

5. What’s your favourite colour?

Clover green.

6. What’s your lucky number?

I don’t have one- I’ve never been superstitious in that capacity.

7. Do you have any pets?

I have a cat who’s a bit of an asshole named Oliver, who I love to pieces. And three days from now, I’ll be picking up a puppy. It’ll be almost six months to the day I suddenly lost my Milo.

8. Where are you from?

The United States of Dysfunction

9. How tall are you?

5’6” / 1.68 m

10. What shoe size are you?

I’m an 8.5 / 41-42

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

Uh… it’s more than two dozen, but less than three dozen, I think.

12. What was your last dream about?

I don’t remember my dreams, unfortunately.

13. What talents do you have?

Procrastination, I can talk to pretty much anyone, I can play video games longer than is healthy, and I can sorta write.

14. Are you psychic in any way?

Not in the slightest and I am totally okay with that.

15. Favourite song?

None of Your Business by Salt N Pepa, Alone Together by Fall Out Boy, Broken by Lifehouse, Creep by Clint Mansell/Eliot Sumner

16. Favourite movie?

I can’t think of just one at the moment; but if it’s got Batman (or his friends/family) in it, it’s safe to say it’s on my list.

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

Someone I’m comfortable sharing my nerdy hobbies with, who can communicate, and who isn’t content with life as-is. (That means he wants to explore, try new things, strives to be a better person than he was yesterday, etc) To be cheesy, I want a partner in crime.

18. Do you want children?

Yes, but being 35 and having been single for 5+ years, I’m scared I’m running out of time.

19. Do you want a church wedding?

As someone who’s been married (and sadly, is divorced), I’ll be the first to tell you the venue isn’t nearly as important as people like to make you think it is. If I do it again, I’ll probably not do so in a church.

20. Are you religious?

No, but I consider myself a Christian.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

I’ve been there as a visitor many times, but as a patient, thankfully I’ve only ever been to the emergency room.

22. Have you ever gotten in trouble with the law?

Nope! But I used to get rides home after cross country practices in the back of my friend’s mom’s police car.

23. Have you met any celebrities?

Yep! Karen Gillan, Richard Speight Jr, Sebastian Roche, Hugh Grant, Johan Santana (MLB pitcher), EJ Henderson (NFL player) 

24. Baths or showers?

I love me a hot bath, but it’s usually a shower.

25. What colour of socks are you wearing?

I’m barefoot whenever possible, like right now.

26. Have you ever been famous?

LOL nope

27. What type of music do you like?

Just about anything!

28. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

Only in my bathtub

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

One. I have a neck problem, so I have a specific pillow I need to sleep with.

31. What position do you sleep in?

Curled up on my side.

32. How big is your house?

Three bedrooms, two floors, and an awesome living room.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

Coffee and a granola or protein bar.

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

Several, and I honestly don’t see how/why it’s fun,.

35. Have you ever tried archery?

Yes, but I’m certainly no Roy Harper.

36. Favourite clean word?

Shenanigans

37. Favourite swear word?

Fuck and all of its derivatives

38. What’s the longest you’ve gone without sleeping?

30 hours, I think? 0/10, do not recommend.

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

Nope, and I’m okay with that. I find it a little creepy.

41. Are you a good liar?

Better than I have a right to be, and it bothers me.

42. Are you a good judge of character?

I think so, but then again, based on past experiences, I’m utterly terrible.

43. Can you do any other accents than your own?

I can do the stereotypical Minnesota one, though a lot of us don’t talk that way. But I’m terrible at trying to imitate accents, so no.

44. Do you have a strong accent?

I’ve been told by quite a few people I don’t sound like I’m from Minnesota. Make of that what you will. :)

45. What’s your favourite accent?

Irish, by far. I love that accent so much.

46. What is your personality type?

I don’t have a favorite type, but I generally prefer those who aren’t judgmental, arrogant assholes.

47. What’s your most expensive piece of clothing?

My wedding dress. It’s ludicrous how much they cost, and you wear it once.

48. Can you curl your tongue?

I certainly can!

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

A pierced innie.

50. Left of right handed?

Right-handed

51. Are you scared of spiders?

Is water wet?

52. Favourite food?

Peanut butter

53. Favourite foreign food?

Authentic Italian, not like the crap they call Italian here.

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

I’m somewhere in between. I’m clean, but somewhat disorganized.

55. Most used phrase?

“What the hell?”

56. Most used word?

“Damnit.”

57. How long does it take you to get ready?

Depends on the occasion- for more important things or when I want to go through all my steps, about an hour and fifteen minutes because I have long, thick hair. For class every day, about 15 minutes.

58. Do you have much of an ego?

I seriously hope not, but I’m not the best judge of that.

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

Neither because I don’t like lollipops.

60. Do you talk to yourself?

All the freakin’ time.

61. Do you sing to yourself?

In my car every day!

62. Are you a good singer?

Nope, but since I’m the only one who hears it, that’s okay!

63. Biggest fear?

Losing my parents or being alone for the rest of my life.

64. Are you a gossip?

I try not to be because gossip never helps anything or anyone.

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

L.A. Confidential.

66. Do you like long or short hair?

I like short hair, but I love long hair.  

67. Can you name all 50 states in America?

I should hope so, since I live in the country.

68. Favourite school subject?

A tie between anatomy and microbiology.

69. Extrovert or introvert?

Introvert with some extroverted qualities.

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

Nope!

71. What makes you nervous?

Dentist appointments, waiting around at the starting line of a race I’ve never run before, flying.

72. Are you scared of the dark?

If it’s somewhere unfamiliar, sort of. Otherwise, no.

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

Depends on the mistake and the person.

74. Are you ticklish?

Everywhere and I absolutely hate it.

75. Have you ever started a rumour?

Not that I know of, no.

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

Several times and every time, I’ve hated it. I’m more comfortable as a worker bee, not the queen of the hive.

77. Have you ever drank underage?

LOL yes. My hometown had little to do other than that.

78. Have you ever done drugs?

Nothing that wasn’t prescribed. I’ve never been curious enough to try any.

79. Who was your first real crush?

A boy named Davey (his name is David) when I was a kid. He’s a year younger than me and loved Batman, riding bikes, and wanted to be a Navy fighter pilot. He had these gorgeous blue eyes and almost black hair.

80. How many piercings do you have?

Three, but that will likely increase at some time.

81. Can you roll your R’s?

I should hope so; I studied Spanish for almost a decade.

82. How fast can you type?

According to a typing test I just took: 83 words/minute.

83. How fast can you run?

LOL not fast. Right now, I’d be lucky to break 9:30/mile.

84. What colour is your hair?

Medium brown with some grown-out balayage.

85. What colour are your eyes?

Like about 2% of the population, they’re green.

86. What are you allergic to?

Stupidity.

I recently developed an allergy to something, but I’m still trying to figure out what. I blame a trip to the state of Kansas.

87. Do you keep a journal?

I don’t, but I should. It really helped me work things out when I didn’t want to talk to someone.

88. What do your parents do?

They both still work, though I wish they would/could retire.

89. Do you like your age?

For the most part, yeah. I hated myself in my 20’s, but my 30’s have been so much better.

90. What makes you angry?

Intolerance, rude behavior, the Green Bay Packers, and the New York Yankees.

91. Do you like your own name?

Of course! It’s not a super common name.

92. Have you already thought about baby names? And if so, what are they?

I admit I have, but I’m not gonna share them.

93. Do you want a boy or girl for a child?

I’d like a healthy kid, plain and simple. Gender doesn’t matter.

94. What are your strengths?

I’m stubborn, persistent, and empathetic.

95. What are your weaknesses?

I’m stubborn, persistent, and empathetic.

96. How did you get your name?

A family friend’s first name is Molly and I got my aunt’s middle name.

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

Not that I know of or care.

98. Do you have any scars?

Physical or emotional?

99. Colour of your bedspread?

100. Colour of your room?

Plain ‘ol white.

I tag @rolodexthoughts . :)