#izzydesantis

[damianfitz]

Text 📲 ⇄  Isacco De Santis

Damian: Isacco, do you think I'm a bad person?

Damian: Be honest with me.

Damian: With everything you know.

Damian: Am I?

[damianfitz]

— @izzydesantis;

Damian is not a rude person. He’s not the type to go walking into people’s rooms without knocking and waiting for them to pull open the door for him (and invite him in, of course). But considering the... experience he’s just gone through, he wanders right up to Izzy’s door and walks right in, the door falling shut behind him a moment later to announce his presence if the ill-mannered bombardment wasn’t greeting enough already. Standing there, practically an empty man, he lifts his head up to meet Izzy’s gaze, his eyes void of... well, anything, really, before he stalks on over to Izzy’s bed and sits. Just... sits. No words to share, no nothing.

[damianfitz]

character dynamics: damian + @izzydesantis

[nicolasofscratch-blog]

Fortnite at Night

@izzydesantis​ gets a plotted starter!

Nico shut his eyes, eyebrows furrowing while he tried to keep his breathing steady. Because he’d just re-read the same sentence for the third time in a row. And as much as he liked to know that “a unit rate is the equivalent rate when compared to 1″, he didn’t need to know it three times over. But every time he tried to move on, Izzy would loudly exclaim, mostly in anguish, declaring how something was rigged against him. That guy was cheating. The controls were laggy. He had so finished building that wall in time! The FPS and his Ping were against him, whatever that was.

It all spelled out a major headache for the boy on his bed, who was trying to relax. He was already stressed about his upcoming tests. He studying math for crying out loud. You can’t even study math! He was hoping that looking back over problems he got right, doing them again in his head, would help him get ready for a test he was not prepared to take. So after the third interruption, he released an angry augh! before slamming his book and notebooks down onto his mattress. It wasn’t very dramatic. They were soft mattresses.

But he uncurled from his sitting position, dragging his sweatpants and muscle shirt clad self to the opposite side of the room, where he angrily lifted one of the headphones covering Izzy’s ears. “Hello!? Do you mind not yelling every sixteen seconds? I’m trying to study.” He wasn’t very nice about it. He was rarely very nice to Izzy. At best they were contentiously opposed.