#LITG Rocco

[longbobmckenzie]

LITG Talent Show Band

iykyk

[ariendiel]

The Islanders at the Met Gala 2024 - Part 2

and here is part two! I've done this before as well, which you all can find here for 2022, and here and here for 2023. Like last year, I've had to divide it into two posts, with the girls first – link to part 1 here.

[operationnope]

Pillow Talk ~ S2 Part 1

Some things the boys might say before you go to sleep 😴

Noah: *turns reading light down, pulls covers up over you, kisses your cheek, (whispers) “Good night.”

Rocco: “Did I ever tell you about the time I met this Australian, who traded me didgeridoo lessons for a cronut with a Vegemite glaze? It was two, no three summers ago, and I was traveling through Greece, when my truck broke down…”

Bobby: “Sorry about the mess in the kitchen. I was trying to see if I could pull a rabbit out of a cake. I couldn’t.”

Gary: “One, two, or three. Three? You’ve earned yourself a back rub. Good job you didn’t pick two.”

Rahim: “Brunch tomorrow? I know the best place to get poached eggs.”

Henrik: “Alright, the tent’s secured, fire’s put out, and I’ve scouted a berry patch we can forage for breakfast. Come here, I’ll keep you warm.”

Lucas: “That’s enough cuddling, on your back, please. Good girl.” *rests hand on your waist

[ravenadottir]

drag race: boys edition

we had gender bent edits, we had paralell universes, and i'm not sure if someone has done this, but in case it hasn't, here it is. did i need to do this? yes, yes i did. enjoy!

[listen, i saw a video from runner eye and if i can't stop thinking about it, you have to be the ones to be punished by it, i don't make the rules.]

roberta mckenzie. a comedy queen from glasgow. she loves the audience, mostly working up the patreons in hopes to find a gold mine of weird info dump, enough to make the rest of the bar laugh. is the makeup rough? yes, very much so. is the material roast winning? not exactly... but she's new to the game and is trying her best. plus, her outfits pay homage to jamaican patterns every chance she has and most of us enchanted by the charisma and bad puns.

rhonda. one-name-only for a one-personality-only and that is... snake! she's the one pretending to be zen and "i don't do drama" but has the most snake rattle sound effects during her confessionals. she also tries to steal henrietta hotts from luna kohko, and the audience saw it from A MILE AWAY. unsuccessfully of course... HAVE YOU SEEN LUNA? she's the trade of the season.

kassandra. she dj's on the weekends all mounted in silver gowns and small boobie bibs (as she calls them despite being annoyed other people refer to them as that). kassandra has issues with everyone that ISN'T doing recreational drugs at her gigs and call them "stiffs" for it. however, despite looking and sounding harsh... well, that's about it. there's a reason she and luna get along so well!

glitter renell. "a traditional drag queen" according to herself, and to new queens it only means "my uncle in a wig with a rough and patchy makeup work and plastic-ey wigs". the only queen not wearing "fantasy" by britney but who's noticing?? her special number involves ripping off the sleeves of her outfits and revealing MASSIVE biceps, but often times they pop off on their own. got the magic mike title of the season.

ingrid. she's a "sporty type of queen", has multiple tricks with golf clubs, and despite having a couple of head hitting tricks in her history, she tries her best. it sometimes can serve her as a pole to drop to the ground in a split and honestly? work. ingrid is considered one of the hottest and cutest since her shyness brings a different glow to her eyes, which are LOST in pink glitter and magical rainbow shaped makeup. she dares and we love it, leave her alone.

luna kohko. this is a SEASONED queen, alright? makeup on point, fashion in place, attitude to donate, and walking the runway like she built that shit. however, when it comes to friendships in the werk room... don't speak, don't come near, don't come around... in fact, don't come at all. luna doesn't waste time with phony queens and prefers things exactly the opposite of her: straight. she's a lesbian, which means she loves dating drag queens, and since entering the show she has a LIVE AND THRIVE romance with the innocent henrietta hotts. "if that crusty fucking hippie so much as breathes the same air as henrietta again, we're gonna have a fucking problem, yeah? i've seen her lurking the machines trying to strike up a conversation about climbing. there's only one building henrietta is gonna climb and it's not a limp one."

noelle waves. "we have a wall of fabric in that werk room and you continue to come out in swim suits. STOP - RELYING - ON - THAT - BODY". she's a bit reserved most of the time, but if the "girls are fighting", she's the first to step up and play MOTHER. the public likes her, but she's not exactly winning challenges. "safe" defines noelle better than "creative" or "winner", but she tries and helps everyone during challenges.

henrietta hotts. THIS GIRL HAS IT, OK? her signature look is the red lipstick and the blonde wig, and with those beautiful freckles, her persona is very much the girl next door. it makes the judges go "i feel like i haven't met henrietta yet, and i know there's someone in there that needs to... ROAR. also, baby... you need more makeup." is she the smartest? no. is she the most problem-solving? no. is she the most graceful? YOU BET HER ASS COVERED IN GLITTER SHE FUCKING IS.

graham cracker. ANOTHER UNCLE IN A WIG. barely knows how to walk in heels and is giving kim chi vibes. however, because of her leadership skills (which are not comparable to noelle's) she does manage to maintain her position for a while since most of the girls are lowkey scared of her. she's unpredictable and most of the contestants suspect she's straight.

carlota miranda. THIS IS THE MOST EXTROVERTED QUEEN ON THE RUNWAY, however, the boom mic needs to enter her throat to pick up what she's saying due to her bashfulness. not a fighter type but if someone comes for her???? she'll definitely... apologize for it. "fuck, don't fight" is her motto, followed by a timid little giggle since she tries not to curse. her style is "executive realness" but covered in crystals and diamonds. "it's either a mugler or nothing, babes. i don't have time to look like cel. sanders..."

felicia butterfly. annoying as alyssa edwards and untalented as... well, [REDACTED WINNER OF SEASON 4]. she's a one trick poney and the trick is... well, the public and the production are still trying to find it but in the mean time she becomes the bud of the joke. it's kind of entertaining watching her trying to understand anything in the werk room. it gets old but... she leaves pretty soon, so no problem there.

doge style. always wearing dogs' styles on her wigs, it's her signature. the poodle poof is AMAZING. she also becomes friends with everybody, particularly with the nervous ones, like carlota and henrietta since doge's hugs are infallible to relax the girls in situations of stress. she sometimes lets a facial hair look take over if the look calls for it, while the others are afraid of embracing it. "i'm not a woman impersonator, i'm just creative, get over it!" she has a HUGE CRUSH ON ELLA FAME, and it's reciprocated. rumour has it they fucked on the first week and are already planning a getaway.

ella fame. the most exquisite wigs in the werk room NO QUESTIONS ASKED. has beef with gigi goode for the title of best hair styles, but since her house is older and richer, she thinks she has a better chance to win this one pool on twitter. overall, ella has a walk to kill for, one that graham cracker has been trying to learn since day one. "i got it from naomi... you either know it... or you dont." she tells and retells the time she walked the same runway as naomi, even though everyone keeps reminding her that it happened as elijah, not as ella, but as she says in the confessional: "these bitches are so fucking jealous they're causing me intern wrinkles.".

jacoba zabinski. she's not very creative, doesn't have an interesting name, doesn't know how to walk differently than a constipated bear and doesn't know how to wear a wig. to be fair, she's only in the show to get clout for her male persona, jakub. bodybuilding is not paying off since his scandals in multiple gyms for his part time job as an instructor. so instagram shit tea and self taner brands have been the bread winning besides being the biggest bitch in the room. she enters the porkchop hall of fame. OBVIOUSLY.

[mp3minded]

thank you for tagging me @ariendiel! 🥰💗

give us your top five hottest male islanders IN ORDER. All seasons. Based on who you think is the best looking in terms of design. No ties, no “if X character was in Y style.”

Roberto. — He's completely my type on paper (facial hair, brunette, dark brown eyes), and his sculpted torso is.. whew 🥵

Ozzy. — i know Marshall is the Hot Twin™, but sometimes less is more, and i /gen prefer the way Ozzy's lips curl when he does his flirty expression, versus Marshall's (they go in opposite directions 👁)

Gary. — *through gritted teeth* the ex-husband is still attractive, unfortunately. But you didn't hear that from me 💀

Nicky. — i'm still heartbroken 😔 over his "route," and the general art direction his season took 🥸 in both cases, he was done a serious disservice

Rocco. — i just know i'd enjoy running my hands through his hair uwu (and my 1st litg dream was of him. It's hard to forget that 💀)

i'll tag @alitgblog, @crimswnred, @hopeshoodie, @justtuesdays, @lasswithumor, @mercedesdecorazon, @netteloise, and @practicemyfall, if y'all wanna give it a go! ❤️

this is the song of choice because it was more difficult to go based off looks alone than i thought it would've been 💀

[rebelrayne]

I will be posting the results later today, but wanted to put this out first to link it to that post! Below the cut are some of the Islanders that received negative scores and I'd like to invite you to read some/all of the fics so you can see another side of these characters. These are just some of the fics out there, some characters had multiple options and I narrowed it down. I did opt to go the romance route, so no platonic fics or bittersweet endings are listed.

If a fic has an asterisk* next to it, you must have an AO3 account to access and read it.

beloved & beloathed by @willkimurashat (NR) (chaptered)

fight for it by @queen-of-boops (M) (one-shot)

golden thread by @starsarestars (T) (one-shot)

perfectly infuriating by @/queen-of-boops (M) (one-shot)

if not today, maybe tomorrow by @0shewrites0 (E) (chaptered)

proper odd by @whatisreggieshortfor (NR) (one-shot)

clickbait by kiki_the_creator (M) (one-shot)

came for you by @/whatisreggieshortfor (NR) (one-shot)

end game by @/rebelrayne (M) (one-shot)

this momentary blue* by @sparxaf (M) (one-shot)

craft beer and roses by NaturalEcho (E) (chaptered)

finn-esse by @i-boop-you (E) (one-shot)

color coded by @/whatisreggieshortfor (NR) (one-shot)

if you like piña coladas by @mrsbsmooth (T) (one-shot)

superpower by constantrepeat (M) (chaptered)

violet girl* by @throughthejunobush (E) (chaptered)

121°C by @lucas-koh (T) (one-shot)

the other side by @/rebelrayne (T) (one-shot)

image is everything by @/queen-of-boops (M) (one-shot)

drama king by @libelle949 (E) (chaptered)

don't call me baby by @ellegreenwxy (E) (chaptered)

the challenge by @thesepromises (T) (one-shot)

whipped by @/i-boop-you (E) (one-shot)

the colour that you are by @/mrsbsmooth (G) (one-shot)

jealous. by @/rebelrayne (T) (one-shot)

[crimswnred]

life would be better if fusebox let us endgame the pathetic men sometimes

[mrsbsmooth]

Gary gets two because I couldn’t decide between them 😂😂

[oodelally3]

What I Did for Love, Ch. 6 is up!

Now with a new cover photo thingy!

Read Ch. 6 here!

Summary for Ch. 6, 'When the Lights Go On Again':

Vivian and Bobby aren't quite as chaste as they used to be; Rocco's wisdom is infinite; some tweets are meaner than others; two boys leave the Island (and it's about time).

Meanwhile, he's not exactly pleased about his promotional photos, and even though he's trying to treat this whole thing as an experiment, he's still a nervous wreck. But in London this time.

[casualwriterssideblog]

Henrik~ Fake social Media

[litgwritersroom]

Could you write something for Rocco, please? Poor boy needs some love - and a redemption arc. In villa, post villa, AU...

I will also accept food truck smut 🤣

THE COLOUR THAT YOU ARE

Rocco / MC - 3000+ - @mrsbsmooth

A mess of auburn curls, tanned skin, eyes that looked like nature.  And around him, an explosion of colour.

For as long as she could remember, Freya had been able to see things that no one else could see. Her Yaya called it the gift. She was proud that her granddaughter had it too.

Freya’s siblings rolled their eyes whenever she said anything, and the kids at school made fun of her. So she stopped telling people.

It was hard, sometimes, to see past the colours, but she mostly learned to ignore them. Most people were brown, which Yaya said meant they were just normal, everyday people. Materialistic people who hadn’t opened their minds; who trudged through their everyday routine, focused on nothing more than their own problems. 

Yaya was blue. She’d always been blue, but the colour seemed to change with the day. Some days, it was warm and sapphired as the ocean, and others, light and airy as the sky. She could always tell Yaya’s mood based on the colour; swirling and dancing through the air around her body. Lighter meant she was feeling good. Darker meant she was tired. And towards the end of her days, Yaya’s aura was navy; such a deep, shimmering blue it was almost black. 

It was Freya who held her hand as she passed.

She didn’t care much for people’s colours after that.

Occasionally, she’d see someone in the street that caught her eye. Like the broad, business-type man, screaming about stocks into his mobile phone, whose magenta-pink aura betrayed his inner kindness. The small girl in the tutu, whose cloud of tomato-red made Freya giggle. Impulsive, impatient, and probably a little fiery. Her poor parents. 

But every now and again, someone would see hers, too. 

They were always older - and often unassuming. A man at the park. An elderly lady on the bus, furrowing their brow as they looked at her before their eyes widened, and they smiled at her. Freya didn’t know what colour she was. She’d never tried to check. She knew what the colours meant, and she didn’t want to know. 

In fact, she hated that she could see them at all. 

It felt intrusive, in a way, to know so much about a person without even knowing their name - without them knowing that she could see their very soul; the very essence of their being. She hadn’t asked permission to see them so clearly, and it felt so wrong that she could do it without asking. She certainly didn’t like the idea that strangers could know so much about her. 

So she kept her eyes to herself.

Until him.

She hadn’t planned to go to the park that day, but warm days were rare in a Belfast autumn. She’d overheard some high school students on the bus talking about a food truck that was stationed out there. They’d laughed and made fun of it, giggling about the loser who owned it, an older guy who flirted with everyone, and smoked too much weed to care that he was selling alcohol to minors. 

So she’d slowly walked, soft music in her ears until she’d seen the truck. There was a line of people, most of them young, and as she drew closer, she saw the sign.

Cocktails & Cronuts.

She couldn’t help but be confused by the weird mix of breakfast and late-evening treats, but something drew her closer. She joined the back of the line, the girl working the counter smiling broadly as each customer stepped up, quickly pulling pastries from a cabinet behind her, and talking animatedly to someone in the back. But as Freya drew closer, she started to feel… weird.

There was something in the air; something wiry; as if walking through a cloud of static electricity. She tried to keep her eyes focussed in front of her, but the girl working the counter seemed to furrow her brow as she approached. The girl kept glancing sideways, growing seemingly concerned, talking hurriedly to the person that Freya couldn’t see. But with every step, the feeling only grew stronger, and she fell within earshot of the girl at the counter. 

“Rocco - are you sure? Do you need to sit down? You’re looking–”

And then Freya saw him. A mess of auburn curls, tanned skin, eyes that looked like nature. 

And around him, an explosion of colour.

There were so many she could barely take him in, a mess of hue and pigment, like an artist’s palette discarded at the end of the day. Orange, green, white, red, yellow, blue, indigo; he was every colour at once, dancing around him with not swirl, but floodwater. There was something so unsettling about it, like she could feel the restlessness within him.

She’d never seen anyone like him.

Orange people were creative, and had to learn lessons from experience. Indigo people were empaths, who absorbed the trauma and emotions of others. Green people couldn’t be tied down, but red people were stubborn. Blue said ‘ungrounded’, but white meant ‘perfectionist’. 

How could he be all of them at once?

He must’ve felt her gaze, because he turned toward her, his brow furrowing as his eyes met her own. He looked at her; really looked at her; that stare so focussed and intense, as if pleading, begging her to see him. She couldn’t tear her eyes from his, something about him drawing her in. There was something about him, something about the tumult of his soul that had her aching to know him. 

To know how someone could be so many colours at once.

But before she could even say anything, he looked away. Almost in an instant, she saw his colours darken, as if by seeing him so clearly, she’d somehow bruised him. It hurt her to watch, a pang of pain through her stomach as he turned his entire body away from her. 

“I’m gonna take a quick break,” he muttered to the girl behind the counter, before hurriedly moving through a curtained-off area.

The girl frowned, but turned back to face Freya with a smile. “Sorry about my brother, he’s a bit of a weirdo.”

Freya smiled politely back at her, and ordered her food, deciding at the last minute to skip the cocktail. She took her cronut to the far side of the park, spreading her jacket out to sit against a tree, and tore piece after piece from the flaky pasty. 

Who was this guy? His sister had called him Rocco. How could he be so many colours at once? And why was he so… so…

Scared?

She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

She’d never seen anything like it, and she was almost certain she’d never see someone like him again. She wished for her Yaya, for the guidance she could give, wishing she was more religious so that she could ask for a sign to point her in the right direction. 

Google was no help, neither were any books she found in Yaya’s things. Freya paced around her apartment, trying to figure it out, on the verge of calling one of those psychic hotlines and asking someone who actually knew what they were doing. 

She knew she should just forget it. She knew it was weird that she was thinking about him this much. For all he knew, she was just some girl; staring at him way too hard, and coming back to stare at him again.

But she just needed answers.

It was almost a week later when she finally went back, and when she did, Rocco wasn’t there. His sister was running the truck by herself, laughing and kidding around with the few customers she had. But as Freya got to the front of the line, she seemed to brighten. 

“It’s you!” she gasped. “You’re back!”

Freya looked up at her questioningly, and the girl beamed at her. 

“Rocco’s been rambling about you all week. Freaking out, and going on like ‘she saw me. She could see me’. None of us have any idea what he’s on about.”

Freya took a deep breath, almost closing her eyes, as she let a small smile pull at her cheek. 

“I know what he means.”

The girl shook her head, laughing to herself. “Well, that makes one of us. He’s just gone off to clear his head. He should be b— oh!”

Freya felt him before she saw him, his presence warming her back, even though she could feel that he was still quite a distance away. She turned, and was almost blinded once more, his disarray of colours even more muddled than before. 

It was like staring too hard at a Monet, watching the watercolours bleed together in a swirl of uncertainty. It was beautiful, in its way, but so… so…

He paused as he saw her, before taking a deep breath of his own. He reached her side, meeting her gaze once more, and exhaled, a single word parting his lips.

“Hey.”

They walked for what seemed like hours, sometimes in silence, sometimes making small talk, but not yet acknowledging what they both already knew. They came to a stop at a small clearing, and he sat, leaning against a large oak tree, his arms resting on his bended knees.

“I don’t know why.”

Freya sat on the ground beside him, watching intently as he stared off into the distance.

“I don’t know why I look like this,” he frowned.

“Can you see it?” she asked, but he just shook his head. 

Freya furrowed her brow, silently asking him the question, and he spoke softly.

“I had someone tell me, once. An old lady in Greece. She pulled me aside and told me my aura was… different. I didn’t really understand what she was saying. I thought she was just a bit, you know, off. But she–” He turned his body toward Freya’s, meeting her eye once more, sending shiver down her spine. “She looked at me the same way you did. Like she could see something really bad. And I just… I don’t know why.”

Freya nodded, holding his gaze, almost distracted as his aura began to grey.

“I’ve never seen one like yours.”

He waited patiently for her to continue, the breeze blowing softly through the curls that made him look like some kind of fallen angel. 

She smiled softly at him. “It’s not bad, at least I don’t think so. It’s just so… different. Most people have one colour, maybe two if they’re in a transition period. But yours is everything; every colour; every emotion all at once. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He furrowed his brow, pursing his lips together. “What does it mean?”

Freya shook her head. “I don’t know. My Yaya was the one who knew what it all meant, and she died a long time ago. I can see the colours, and I know what they mean individually, but I don’t know what it means to have so many at once.”

Rocco paused, looking over at her once more, and she held his gaze. 

“What do you think it means?”

“I told you, I don’t know. I just–”

“Please.”

There was something so honest in his eyes, and she was suddenly overcome with the realisation. 

He believed her. 

No one since her Yaya had believed her when she’d told them about her gift. And here he was, this guy she’d barely met, and he did. She could see it in his eyes, in the honesty of his colours, the purple seeming to pulsate as he trusted his intuition. 

She could feel him, every swirling cloud of his presence, almost like he was drawing her in. There was something there, just under the surface, something she could almost see. She closed her eyes, letting the colours engulf her, feeling them instead of seeing them.

So looked up at him once more. 

“I think it means you’re trapped. It’s like your soul is being pulled in sixteen different directions, and none of them are what you want. It’s torture, and it’s breaking you apart from inside, like you have no idea who or what you’re supposed to be. When I look at it, there’s no sense to it, there’s no consistency. The colours around you are like an oil slick on top of water. It’s beautiful, so very beautiful; but there’s something about it that’s just… so–.”

“Suffocating."

She watched as he whispered it. He swallowed deeply, as if trying to suppress the emotion that had just risen in his throat. There was such pain in his eyes, as if she’d brushed by a part of him that he never realised was hurting. She couldn’t help but wonder what had brought him there. Was it a girl? Or just the weight of his own expectations; choking him with each day that he woke up to walk a path that seemed to trip him at every turn?

She wondered what it would be like to see him without his aura, to see him as others did; and she furrowed her brow. 

A little dishevelled. Tiredness under his eyes. A frayed bracelet that had meant something once, but now, he wore just to look like he had a story. The impractical sandals for the brisk autumn day, the loose shirt and the earthy smell of weed in his hair. He looked broken, like he'd had his face shoved into the dirt one too many times. Like his carefree facade was a single judgemental glance away from falling apart forever.

How could they know - how could any of them know? They couldn’t see him the way that she could. They could see the outward appearance. They could see the truck, and the weed, and the rampant flirting. 

But they couldn’t see him. 

They didn’t see the creativity in his orange. The compassion in his green. The kindness in his pink, or the empathy in his indigo. They couldn’t feel the warmth of his blue, or the energy of his red. There was a universe inside him that only she could see. That even he couldn’t see. 

And it was beautiful.

As the sunlight softened his features, she looked harder, her eyes searching for a pattern in the mayhem of hues. It was there, she knew it was there, she just needed him to breathe. 

Freya took his hand, and he almost recoiled, but with a slight reluctance, he laced his fingers with hers. She said nothing, just held his hand, as the two of them stared at the distant horizon, lingering in the comfortable silence.

There was something so wonderful about his presence; in the warmth of his hand, and the way that setting sun illuminated the gold in his skin. The steady rumble of his breath, and the sound of his voice as he finally spoke.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked, still not looking at her.

She smiled. “I suppose?”

“Do you think that we were maybe… supposed to meet?”

She didn’t react, just looked over at him, smiling encouragingly as he mulled over the thoughts in his head. 

“Because when you first came last week… I felt… something. Like I knew you were there before I saw you.”

Freya nodded. “I felt it too.”

“So what does that mean?”

She smiled, shrugging her shoulders gently. “Who knows? Maybe we were meant to meet. There’s no way of knowing, really.”

They fell into silence once more, and she brushed her thumb over his hand. He responded in kind, relaxing with each trace of her thumb over his skin. 

He was so out of place in this cold, dreary autumn, like he’d been born in the wrong place. Perhaps it was her own fascination with him, but the few rays of sunlight that still shone seemed to focus on him. They caught the green in his eyes, the pink of his lips, the dark auburn of his hair; the masterpiece of beauty and colour that she couldn’t understand why people couldn’t see. 

“Have you ever travelled?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “One trip to visit my Grandmother in Greece. Other than that… never.”

And suddenly, she knew the answer. 

She turned her body to his, squeezing his hand tighter as her heart began to race.

“Let’s go together.”

Rocco turned to look at her, his brow furrowed, and his colours began to swirl with excitement. His eyes were focussed. Serious. Present.

“Go where?”

Freya couldn’t help it, that same electricity burrowing deep under her skin, as that energy between them seemed to charge.

“Wherever you want to go.”

As they made their way back to the food truck, there was something different about him. The colours were still there, of course they were. But now, they seemed to… shimmer, like they, too, had felt the electricity. Rocco and Freya arrived back at the food truck, and he stumbled over his words a little as he excitedly told his sister he was going away for a while. She raised an eyebrow, but ultimately, smiled and shook her head; as if she’d known that one day, she’d watch him do something exactly like this. 

Freya stopped by her apartment, letting her landlord know she’d be gone for a while, threw some clothes and shoes in a backpack, and grabbed her passport on the way out the door. She hopped on the train to the airport, and walked into the international terminal, the electricity growing with every step.

And there he was. 

He looked up at her, and smiled, looking as nervous as a kid on his first day of school, his rucksack thrown over his shoulder. As soon as she reached him, he slipped his hand into hers, and she could feel he was shaking. 

“What do you think?” she asked, turning his attention toward the board of departing flights. “Peru? Kenya? Indonesia?”

He looked over the board, his brow furrowed, but paused. He closed his eyes, taking a breath, and opened them again, smiling softly to himself. He stepped closer, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her into his side.

“Thailand.”

She nodded, before standing on her tippy-toes, and kissed his cheek. Rocco smiled shyly, that same beautiful energy radiating from his skin, his eyes full with gratitude as she saw him in his entirety.

He was beautiful. He was so beautiful, in his mess of colours and tones, in his opposites and his hypocrisy. He was real, so unbelievably real.

And he was here.

She ran her fingers through those auburn curls, holding his gaze, and smiled softly back at him.

“Let’s go and find out who you are.”

[ariendiel]

If anyone has felt the need for a Barbie x LITG profile picture etc, have at it. These are some of our precious S2 Kens, might make some for the girls too if I feel like it 💕

[etherealixie]

IN MY DEFENSE! 

... I don’t have anything. Four seasons ago, Mr. Wonderwall broke my heart and I’ve clearly never gotten over it.  🎸😔🤘

(if you see me front and center singing at this man’s concert, mind ya business🎶)

[thatwheelchairchick]

Summary: Mia Callen is a living aphrodisiac. It's no secret, but after watching her mother ruin every relationship by using her powers of seduction, she's spent years training herself – she wants to seduce people, but she also wants them to be able to say no, to be able to walk away and have a wank if that's what they want.

And at 25, she feels confident enough in herself to use them responsibly and applies to Love Island – she wants a month of sex after years of basically denying herself, and a house full of single men and women seems like the perfect place. It'll be no big deal if someone says no, after all.

(pairings will be added as they happen in fic, will be noted on chapter names as well - the first one is Rocco/MC)

Read on AO3

[ravenadottir]

thinking about how everyone talks about how gary's brows don't match his hair color, i started thinking about the fact that rocco's doesn't either... nor does jakub's.

felix' blue hair is a given but henrik, rocco, gary and jakub all have those dark ass caterpillars sitting on top of their eyes, i love it!

now... if the boys do get over whatever went down on the show, as it usually happens, i would love to think some of them get together to go to the barber, especially if it's a sponsored type of deal for instagram or tik tok.

a hair date where gary, rocco, henrik, graham, jakub and felix get together monthly to get their hair color done, because these are the fuckers who have the blackest brows that don't match their hair...

cuts to rahim having his braids redone, bobby's dreadlocks being washed and hydrated/redone, lucas' entire grooming routine, elijah's washing and deep conditioning, carl's bowl cutting, kassam's side shaving and arjun's coiffing.

i just want the boys to get spoiled at the barber while gossiping 'cause you know those bitches get together once a month to dish on the news, and all of them just love to talk about things to confuse jakub and felix, who are always lost in the conversation but pretending they're in touch with reality.

noah is just relaxing in the corner because his hair is so easy and his routine is a shampoo/conditioner kind of deal. he's just observing everyone talking mad shit while "reading".

[mp3minded]

a list of islanders i would like to see again on all-stars

Allegra

Carl

Cherry

Gary

Hope

Kassam

Lily

Nicky AND Seb (they're a package deal)

Priya

Rocco

Shannon

Tim