#Wi-Fi casting

[filehulk]

LetsView

LetsView is a free utility developed by Wangxu Technology Co. Ltd. for PC devices. It is a cross-platform screen mirroring tool that enables users to mirror their smartphones to their computers and vice versa. The program supports casting applications and media via protocols such as AirPlay and Miracast. Similar to tools like ApowerMirror and TeamViewer, Lets View allows seamless switching…

[jebtruther]

Hi

[writersblockiskillingme]

hi! could you write a chloe x red x fem!reader (ben's younger sister) imagine where the reader is sick and they take care of her?

Sick Days | Chloe Charming & Red

Pairing: Chloe Charming x Red x fem!reader (Ben's!younger!sister!reader)

Summary: Being sick certainly isn't fun. Luckily, girls are always ready to take care of you.

Warning/s: fluff, short fic, like really short fic, sickness, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: My Wi-Fi sucked the whole day yesterday AND today, so I'm only posting this now even though I wanted to yesterday. Anyways, here you go. Hope you enjoy it!

The Isle of the Lost was a place where shadows clung to every cracked cobblestone, and love was a rarity. But you, Ben's younger sister, had always been drawn to the unexpected—the way Chloe's laughter echoed through the narrow alleys, and the way Red's eyes softened when she thought no one was watching.

Your secret relationship with both Chloe and Red was a delicate dance.

Chloe, the daughter of Cinderella, was fierce, but a true softly and she was never afraid to show it. Her blue hair fell in curls, and her eyes held secrets she'd never share.

Red, on the other hand, was all brooding intensity—the daughter of the Queen of Hearts, tuff nature with eyes filled with determination, but with a big golden heart.

One chilly evening, you stumbled upon their dorms. The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Chloe's eyes widened when she saw you, shivering and pale.

"You're burning up," she said, her voice gentle like always. "Red, we need to take care of her."

Red grunted, but there was concern in her eyes. She pulled you closer, wrapping you in a blue and yellow blanket.

Chloe brewed a cup of herbal tea, her fingers deft as she stirred in honey and whispered incantations for healing.

"You're lucky we found you," Chloe said, her fingers brushing against your forehead. "We're not exactly known for our nurturing skills."

Red scoffed, but she stoked the fire, making sure you were warm. She pulled out an old book—a relic from Auradon—and began reading aloud. Her voice was deep, resonant, weaving tales of magic and redemption. You leaned against her, feeling the fever slowly go away.

Chloe sat on the other side, humming a soothing melody. Her touch was tender as she traced patterns on your arm.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered. "We won't let anything happen to you."

And in that moment, surrounded by two unlikely protectors, you believed her. The Isle might be harsh, but love had a way of healing even the deepest wounds. Chloe and Red took turns caring for you—Chloe with her potions and Red with her stories. They stayed by your side, their hearts entwined with yours.

Days blurred into nights, and you drifted in and out of fever dreams. Chloe braided your hair, and Red traced intricate patterns on your hair. They argued about the best way to break the curse that plagued the Isle, their voices rising and falling like a symphony.

When you finally opened your eyes, weak but alive, Chloe pressed a kiss to your forehead. Red grunted, but her hand found yours, rough and steady.

"You're stuck with us," she muttered.

And you realized that maybe, just maybe, the Isle wasn't so dark after all. One of them almost came from it. Love had found you in the unlikeliest of places—in the arms of a villain's daughter and a scarred hero.

As you recovered, you vowed to protect this fragile connection, to let it bloom like a forgotten flower pushing through the cracks.

And so, hidden in their dorms, surrounded by whispers of magic and the warmth of two hearts, you healed.

Chloe and Red became your anchors, and you, their shared secret—the missing piece that completed their fractured souls.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@xoxo-h3arts @i-am-fork @a-homosexual-homosapien @snixx2088 @cyb3r-st4r @heartsfromcoco @angeliangelo @judgment-days-kid

[octuscle]

Model Job

Chester didn't know much about the modeling job he was hired for. He had been told to come in a blue suit. A neat hairstyle was required. The studio was a sober room in a functional office building in an industrial area. Nothing glamorous, but that wasn't what he was after. He was after money. Dirty money. He had a bunch of creditors breathing down his neck, and if he didn't want to be evicted from his apartment, which was way too expensive for him, he had to get this job.

The guys waiting in the casting room largely fit the current stereotype: bearded, tattooed, manly. Their hair was either super short or their long manes were tied back in topknots. But a few of the men looked just like Chester: well-groomed hair, clean-shaven, no visible tattoos. But in contrast to Chester, these men were usually rather petite, almost feminine. Chester was well-groomed, but clearly a real man. He prayed that this was the type of man they were looking for. Because then his competition would be very manageable. If they were looking for a guy with a mane and a full beard, however, he had no chance.

The waiting time was endless. The men spoke little to each other. Again and again, someone was called into the casting room, and mostly a disappointed or angry man came out. Chester was just happy that he had a charging cable for his cell phone with him. And that there was Wi-Fi. This way he could pass the time and did not have to rely on the goodwill of others to recharge his battery. After what felt like an eternity, someone called out, “Chester Cavendish?” It was unnecessary to call his name. Chester was the last to wait. But it was good to hear his name. His name was part of his capital. Not that he had anything to do with the Cavendish family, the Dukes of Devonshire. If he had their money, he wouldn't have to model. But the name sounded good. Respectable. Impressive. Hopefully it would help.

“Mr. Cavendish, if you would please stand in the spotlight over there.” Chester did as he was told. He had only been able to catch a glimpse of the panel that had to decide his fate. Now he looked into the spotlight and couldn't even guess what was happening behind it. ”Move naturally, Mr. Cavendish. As if you were waiting for your girlfriend in front of the hairdresser.” Chester took a few steps, turned around, paused, always careful to show the spotlight his best side.

“I don't know,” someone murmured. ‘He looks too much like old money to me. Too well-groomed, too upper class.’ ���The problem is that we don't have anyone else.’ ”If he was a bit more relaxed. A bit more peppy.”

“Okay, that's better. Brown shoes, five o'clock shadow...” ”I think so too, much better for our target group!”

Chester began to feel more comfortable. Apparently, his type was well received by the client. His type matched his name. Black sheep from a good family. Good background, but slightly rebellious appearance. “He looks a bit conformed.” ‘Yes, the hairstyle is not bad, but he could show a bit more skin.’ ”You said it, sex sells”

Chester hadn't been sure whether it would be too intrusive to wear a sleeveless shirt... But it didn't seem to be a problem. He posed a bit more provocatively. And the muttering from the other side of the spotlight was obviously approving!

“I don't know about you, but it's too 90s for me. Too metrosexual.” ‘I agree.’ ‘And he could do with a bit more muscle too.’ ”Mr. Cavendish, how many times a week do you train?”

Chester wondered what difference it made how long it took him to get his muscles in shape. He was proud of his muscles. It was damn hard work, after all.

“Four or five times a week. But call me Chester. Mr. Cavendish was my father!”

“Thank you, Chester. And it's impressive what you've achieved in the gym!”

Chester listened, but only understood fragments. “…a little bit...”, “…too well-behaved...”, “…bad boy...”. It was difficult for him to continue playing the waiting game.

“Chester, do you think your normal job and modeling go together? Or is that a problem for you?”

“No problem! I still work a bit in my dad's construction company, dudes! He'll understand if I have to go on camera.”

Whispering again... And then, “Yes, he could indeed look more like a construction worker.”

Chet was slowly beginning to lose interest. He wasn't a model, he was a handyman... But he also wanted to be an influencer. That's probably why he had to do this kind of shit.

“Sorry, Chester, I forgot. How often do you go to the gym?” “Name is Chet. Gym is like for wimps. I hav me fuckin' workout six days a week at the construction site. N' three times a week i go boxin'.”

“I think we have the perfect candidate.” “I agree!” “But somehow he's not quite up to date yet, is he?” “Yeah, a few tattoos maybe.” “What do you think of blond hair?” ”Deal!”

Chet was the epitome of the C-Class celebrity. We knew him from a few modeling jobs, we knew him as a fitness influencer, we knew him from trash reality soaps like Love Island. But just a little bit. He wasn't famous. But he made a lot of money. And for an airhead like him, that was quite a lot!

[lumberrobot]

Password Protected

pham hanni x fem!reader

notes: this is to the bday girl (2 fics for her ilysm hanni ifnowafo) C:

(if you're wondering how I wrote this so fast, the prev one was long overdue already WBDBIWD)

warning/s: none (I think)

genre: fluff

The room was bathed in a soft, shadowy stillness, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner overhead. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in just enough moonlight to cast faint outlines of furniture against the walls. Hanni’s room felt quiet, almost too quiet for her restless mind. Her bed, though comfortable, had done little to settle the buzzing thoughts swirling in her head.

The day had been long, and she hoped a few minutes of mindless scrolling would help wind her down before bed. Hanni’s phone glowed in the dim light, illuminating her face as she swiped through her social media feed. But tonight felt different.

As her thumb hovered over the app icon, the notification that usually connected her phone to the Wi-Fi didn’t appear. She frowned, swiping down on her screen. No connection.

“Great,” she muttered, recalling that her neighbor’s Wi-Fi had been down again.

Hanni sighed, watching the list of available networks populate on her phone. There it was—Y/N’s Wi-Fi, locked with the familiar little icon. She bit her lip, fingers hovering over the password field.

Their relationship was awkward at best—sharing a space but never crossing into genuine friendship. Sarcastic remarks, half-hearted jokes, the passing greetings, and occasional shared glances in the kitchen made up their interactions. What was she supposed to do—knock on Y/N’s door in the middle of the night?

No, she’d figure it out on her own.

She tried entering random combinations of numbers and variations of Y/N’s name, her frustration growing with each failed attempt. Then, as a half-joke to herself, she typed in “hannipham.” A ridiculous guess—no one actually used someone else’s name as a password. Right?

But when the tiny bars appeared at the top of the screen, confirming the connection, Hanni froze. Her eyes widened as the reality of what had just happened sank in.

Wait… what?

The soft light of her phone suddenly felt glaring, her pulse quickening in her chest. She was connected. The password had worked. The password—her name—had worked.

Hanni blinked, gripping her phone tighter as the weight of the realization settled in. What did this mean? Could Y/N have set her Wi-Fi password to Hanni’s name… intentionally?

Her thoughts raced, piecing together fragments of the past few months. All the awkward exchanges, the moments she had convinced herself were nothing, now shifted into something far more significant.

Flashback 1: The Weird Question

One morning, a few months back, Hanni had been minding her own business, eating cereal, when Y/N, in the middle of pouring herself coffee, suddenly asked, “So… are you seeing anyone?”

Hanni had choked on her cereal, the question completely out of left field. She coughed, reaching for a glass of water to buy herself a second to think. Y/N had never asked anything personal before.

“Uh, no… I’m not. Why?” Hanni had tried to keep her voice steady, but she couldn’t help the suspicion creeping in. Did Y/N know something?

Y/N had shrugged, stirring her coffee like it was no big deal. “Just curious.”

The tension had been thick, and Hanni couldn’t resist turning the question around. “Are you seeing someone?”

Y/N had looked up, blinking in surprise. “Me? No… Why?”

Hanni had laughed nervously, avoiding eye contact, the whole situation feeling weirder by the second. After that, they hadn’t spoken about it again. But that moment had left Hanni wondering—

Why was Y/N curious?

Flashback 2: The Shared Blanket

The next memory that bubbled to the surface was one of those small, awkward moments Hanni had tried not to overthink. They’d been sitting on the couch during movie night, wrapped in the same blanket—something that felt normal at first but quickly spiraled into something else.

At some point, their arms had brushed under the blanket, and both of them had gone stiff. Neither moved, neither spoke, but the warmth from that small touch lingered. Hanni remembered how badly she had wanted to lean in closer, to let their arms touch again, but she didn’t.

She had tried to laugh it off. “You know, maybe we should get two blankets.”

Y/N had chuckled, though she sounded just as nervous. “Yeah… maybe.”

Hanni had regretted saying it almost instantly, wishing she hadn’t ruined the moment. But Y/N had gotten up soon after, claiming she needed water. That night, they sat farther apart for the rest of the movie.

Flashback 3: The Accidental Sleepover

Then there was that time they had both fallen asleep on the couch after a late-night movie marathon. When Hanni woke up, her arm was draped over Y/N’s waist. She froze, not wanting to move, not wanting to break the spell, but Y/N woke up soon after.

The look of surprise on Y/N’s face had been unmistakable. She had bolted up, cheeks flushed, and mumbled a quick “morning” before hurrying off to her room, leaving Hanni to sit there in the aftermath of what could have been a cute moment.

Flashback 4: The Mixed Laundry Incident

There was also the time Hanni had been folding laundry and found one of her shirts mixed in with Y/N’s clothes. She had walked in on Y/N in the middle of folding it, the blue shirt dangling awkwardly from her hands.

“Uh… is this yours?” Y/N had asked, her face turning pink.

Hanni had teased her. “What, you’re stealing my clothes now?”

Y/N had mumbled something about “getting mixed up in the laundry,” but Hanni had caught her whispering, “smells like you.”

That had thrown Hanni for a loop, but she had tried to laugh it off, pretending she hadn’t heard. She didn’t want to read too much into things, even though a part of her definitely wanted to.

Flashback 5: The “Cooking” Playlist

And of course, there had been the infamous cooking playlist incident. Hanni had been making dinner, humming along to music, when Y/N walked in. Hanni had been feeling relaxed—until she realized the songs that had been playing were all slow, romantic ballads.

When Y/N leaned against the counter, smirking, and said, “Interesting playlist,” Hanni had nearly dropped the spoon into the pot of pasta.

“Uh, yeah, just… random songs,” Hanni had stammered, scrambling to change the music. But the damage had already been done. Y/N had walked away, grinning like she knew exactly what had been playing, leaving Hanni red-faced and cursing the Spotify algorithm.

=========

All those moments had been awkward, funny, and confusing, but now they made sense. Y/N had set her Wi-Fi password to Hanni’s name. She must have been thinking about her… right?

Hanni stared at her phone, the realization hitting her full force. Could it be that Y/N had been feeling the same way this whole time? And if she had… what should Hanni do about it?

With her heart racing, Hanni knew she couldn’t let this slide. She needed to find out what this all meant. But one thing was certain—Y/N had just revealed a whole lot more than she intended with that password.

This was no accident, and maybe, just maybe, Y/N had been hiding feelings, too—just a little better than Hanni had.

She glanced at her phone again, a plan forming in her mind. Maybe it was time to stop tiptoeing around the awkwardness and confront the truth.

=========

When Hanni found Y/N the next day, it wasn’t as dramatic as she’d imagined. Instead, Y/N was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping her morning coffee like it was just another Tuesday.

Hanni had spent the entire night thinking about the Wi-Fi password revelation. Part of her wanted to storm in, confront Y/N, and demand answers. But another part of her—the cautious, unsure part—didn’t want to overplay her hand. What if it was just some random coincidence? What if it was nothing?

But “hannipham” as the password wasn’t nothing, and Hanni knew she had to find out.

With her heart pounding in her chest, Hanni leaned against the kitchen doorframe, eyeing Y/N as she scrolled through her phone, completely unaware of the storm brewing in Hanni’s mind.

Casual. Keep it casual.

“So,” Hanni began, crossing her arms and keeping her voice as nonchalant as possible, “I, uh, tried to mooch off your Wi-Fi last night.”

Y/N looked up, eyebrow raised, clearly curious but not suspicious yet. “Oh, yeah? Finally decided to cave and use mine instead of the neighbor’s weak signal?”

Hanni chuckled, trying to steady her nerves. “Yeah… about that. I couldn’t figure out the password, so I just, you know, typed in ‘hannipham’ as a joke.”

She let that hang in the air for a moment, waiting for Y/N’s reaction.

Y/N blinked, her face freezing for just a split second before she schooled her features back into a neutral expression. But Hanni had caught that tiny flicker of panic—the brief widening of Y/N’s eyes, the twitch of her lips.

“Really?” Y/N’s voice was calm, too calm. She took another sip of coffee, pretending like the whole thing wasn’t a big deal. “And, uh… did it work?”

Hanni couldn’t help but grin, her confidence building now that she knew Y/N had slipped up. “Oh, it worked.”

Y/N set her mug down, her fingers tapping the table nervously. She didn’t meet Hanni’s gaze right away, staring down at the table as if she was suddenly very interested in the wood grain pattern.

“Okay, so… maybe I set it as the password,” Y/N finally admitted, her voice soft but steady. “But it doesn’t mean anything, you know. I mean, I could’ve just picked it because it’s easy to remember. It’s not like—”

“Y/N.”

Hanni’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but it was enough to make Y/N finally look up. There was something unreadable in her eyes, like she was weighing her options, trying to decide whether to run with the joke or come clean.

“Look, it’s fine if it doesn’t mean anything,” Hanni said, trying to sound casual even though her heart was practically in her throat. “But if it does… well, I wouldn’t mind knowing.”

Y/N swallowed hard, and for a moment, Hanni thought she was going to laugh it off, turn the whole thing into some silly misunderstanding. Y/N’s eyes flicked toward the door as if considering an exit, her shoulders tense like she was ready to make a run for it. But then Y/N exhaled, running a hand through her hair, clearly trying to figure out what to say next.

“Okay, fine,” Y/N muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it does mean something.”

Hanni’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t dare interrupt, afraid that if she spoke, Y/N would clam up again.

Y/N sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the confession was finally catching up to her. “I’ve had a thing for you, okay? For a while now. I just didn’t know how to… say it. And I figured setting the Wi-Fi password to your name was the closest I’d ever get to telling you.”

She stood up then, pushing her chair back with a quiet scrape against the floor, her movements slow and deliberate. As she stood, she smiled awkwardly, like she wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed or relieved, her gaze finally meeting Hanni's.

Hanni blinked, momentarily stunned by the honesty. Out of all the ways she’d imagined Y/N confessing—if that ever happened—this was definitely not how she’d pictured it. But here it was, laid out in the open, raw and real.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You do realize there are better ways to tell someone you like them than making their name your Wi-Fi password, right?”

Y/N’s smile turned sheepish, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah, well, subtlety’s not my strong suit.”

Hanni stepped forward, closing the space between them. She stopped just in front of Y/N, their eyes locking, the air between them charged with all the unsaid things that had been lingering for months.

“You don’t have to be subtle with me,” Hanni said softly, her voice dropping just enough for Y/N to understand that this wasn’t a joke anymore. “I’ve been wondering if you felt the same way. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Wait, you like me?”

Hanni laughed, the sound light and teasing. “God, you’re dense sometimes, aren’t you? All those awkward moments we’ve had, all the times I tried to get close… Did you think that was just me being friendly?”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she just stared at Hanni, blinking in disbelief.

“So,” Hanni continued, her voice a little lower now, “since we’ve established that the Wi-Fi password means something, what do we do next?”

Y/N bit her lip, looking both nervous and excited at the same time. She glanced at Hanni, then down at her hands, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I guess… we could stop being awkward about it?”

Hanni smiled, feeling the tension between them finally dissolve. “I like the sound of that.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them comfortable for the first time in what felt like forever. Hanni could feel the shift in the air, the way everything seemed lighter now that the truth was out.

“So… dinner tonight?” Y/N asked, her voice hopeful but cautious, as if she was still afraid Hanni might pull away.

Hanni grinned, the warmth of Y/N’s confession still buzzing in her chest. “Dinner sounds perfect.”

There was a brief pause, both of them soaking in the weight of what had just happened. Y/N then shifted a little, a playful smile creeping onto her face.

“And hey, maybe during dinner… we could play that cooking playlist you’re so proud of.”

Hanni let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh my God, that again? I should’ve known you’d bring it up.”

And just like that, the invisible wall that had kept them apart for so long crumbled, leaving nothing but the truth—and the possibility of something new—between them.

[basketfullofgrapes]

Strategic Allignment

Alex Morgan x Reader imagine

The dining room of my father’s mansion was a monument to old money, a place that could easily have served as the backdrop for some dull historical drama about the aristocracy: glimmering chandeliers that cast shadows over the polished mahogany table, velvet curtains that hung like somber reminders of the walls closing in.

The air was thick with something far worse than just fine wine. It was the scent of suffocating expectations. I knew it, and Alex Morgan, the American soccer prodigy sitting across from me, seemed to know it too. Both of us, trapped in the tangled web my father had woven for us, had adopted the same uncomfortable posture, shoulders stiff, eyes darting away from the elephant in the room—the very one sitting right between us, looking smug at the head of the table: my father.

I could feel the weight of his gaze, trying to drill through me, but I wasn’t going to let him win. I never did. With a flick of my wrist, I broke the silence, my voice smooth but with the bite that had earned me a reputation. "Let me get this straight," I said, leaning forward slightly, letting my sarcasm bleed through every word. "You’re marrying me off to her because… what? You ran out of business partners to exploit?"

My father, unfazed as always, didn’t even blink. His hand rested perfectly on the table, a symbol of control, as though this whole conversation was a mere inconvenience. "It’s not exploitation, sweetheart," he replied, the words falling from his mouth like he had rehearsed them a thousand times. "It’s strategic alignment. The Morgan and Y/L/N families merging through this arrangement will benefit both parties immensely."

The word "alignment" hung in the air, as though I should care about it. My eyes narrowed. "‘Strategic alignment’? Is that what we’re calling human trafficking these days?"

The tension that settled in the room could’ve been cut with a knife. Alex, sitting stiffly in her seat, didn’t make a sound, her face betraying a blend of confusion and forced politeness. But I caught it—the slight cough, the faintest hint of amusement trying to escape her lips as she swallowed her water. At least someone found this entire circus amusing.

"You know, Dad," I continued, tapping my fingers on the table for effect, "you’ve really outdone yourself this time. A soccer star and a business contract all rolled into one. What’s next? Marrying me to the next tech CEO to boost our Wi-Fi signal?"

My father’s eyes flicked to me with a glint of frustration, but he held his ground, ever the image of indifference. "Y/N, this isn’t up for debate. The wedding is in two weeks. You’ll thank me someday."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead meeting his gaze with a blank stare. "Oh, sure. I’ll send a heartfelt thank-you note from the honeymoon—assuming I survive the sheer embarrassment of this circus."

Alex shifted in her chair, finally breaking the silence with a soft laugh, one she quickly tried to stifle. "For the record," she said, her voice calm but carrying an undertone of awkwardness, "I didn’t agree to this either. I was just told it’s happening."

I turned to her, my smirk finding its way back onto my face. The sarcasm practically dripped from my words. "And you’re just going along with it? What, they promise you unlimited cleats and a lifetime supply of protein shakes?"

Her lips twitched, and for a second, I thought I might actually crack her, but she quickly masked it, her poker face coming back with a practiced grace. "No, but the idea of spending the rest of my life with someone so… charming was hard to resist."

I leaned back in my chair, studying her for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. "Ah, sarcasm. A girl after my own heart," I remarked, tapping my fingers on the table with a thoughtful expression. "I knew there was something about you that wasn’t just… football and bright smiles."

Just as the words left my mouth, my father, finally losing his patience, cut in. "Enough," he said sharply, his voice more commanding than ever. "You two need to make this work. I don’t care how. The media rollout starts tomorrow, and you’ll be acting like a blissfully engaged couple by then."

I couldn’t help it. The sarcastic impulse was too strong. "Blissful?" I repeated, my voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. "Got it. Should we practice our public displays of affection now, or do you have a PowerPoint on it first?"

"Y/N..." His voice dropped to a growl, a tone that was supposed to be threatening but only made me roll my eyes harder.

I stood up from the table, stretching lazily as though I wasn’t bothered by anything. "Relax, Dad. I’ll play nice," I said, tossing my napkin onto my seat. "But I’m going to need a drink, though. Or twenty."

As I turned to leave, I heard Alex’s voice behind me, light but sincere. "For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about this. It wasn’t my idea either."

I paused at the doorway, glancing back at her. My smirk returned, sharp and calculating. "Don’t apologize yet, Morgan. You haven’t even seen me in action."

Her eyebrow arched in genuine curiosity. "Should I be scared?"

I gave her a wink, then turned and left the room without another word. "Terrified," I called over my shoulder, my voice carrying the weight of a promise I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for.

I was nursing a glass of wine in the library when the door creaked open. Alex stood there, framed by the dim light from the hallway, as though unsure if she was stepping into enemy territory or a sanctuary. She hesitated, her fingers wrapped around the doorframe, her posture stiff. It made her look almost… human. Vulnerable, even.

I didn’t bother glancing up from my glass, the liquid swirling lazily in the crystal. "Let me guess," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, a perfect match for the situation. "You’re here to discuss our ‘strategic alignment.’"

There was a beat of silence before she chuckled—genuine, unguarded—and stepped further into the room. "Actually," she said, her voice steady but laced with something that could almost be called concern, "I came to ask how you’re holding up. This can’t be easy for you."

I slowly raised my eyes to meet hers, a dry laugh escaping my lips before I could even stop it. "Aw, concerned about me already?" I leaned back in my chair, letting my smirk widen. "You’re making this fake marriage feel so real."

She raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering behind her eyes. "Are you always this sarcastic, or is it just because of this... situation?"

"Who, me?" I lifted my glass in an exaggerated gesture, swirling the wine, letting it settle before speaking again. "This marriage is just the cherry on top of the disaster sundae my life’s been serving me. The sarcasm is practically a reflex at this point."

Alex shook her head, her lips curling into a small smile that she couldn’t quite hide. "You really are impossible, you know that?"

I looked at her, meeting her gaze for the first time since dinner, and for a split second, I saw the flicker of understanding in her eyes. It was strange, the way it almost felt like we were in this together, despite the fact that neither of us had chosen this.

"Yet here you are," I said with a soft chuckle, raising my glass to her, a mock toast. "To impossible people and ridiculous situations."

She didn’t hesitate this time. Her fingers tapped the edge of her glass, though she didn’t have one in her hand. Her eyes locked onto mine as she mirrored my motion, her voice light, yet edged with something darker, almost resigned. "And to the fact that we’ll probably kill each other before the wedding."

I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping from deep in my chest. It was a laugh of recognition, like she understood exactly what I meant. Maybe it was just my sarcasm speaking, or maybe it was the truth we both saw hanging between us. I leaned forward, the glass in my hand glinting under the low lights. "That’s the spirit," I said, savoring the words with a devilish smirk.

There was a long pause, and for the first time that night, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It wasn’t the awkward kind that hung over dinner, suffocating the air with every word. No, this felt almost like… mutual acknowledgment. Like we were on the same page, even if we didn’t want to be.

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest, her face still half-hidden in the shadows. "You know," she began, her voice low, almost thoughtful, "I didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did."

I took another sip of my wine, letting her words linger in the air. "No, but here we are anyway," I said, my voice flat, like it was something I had resigned myself to long ago.

Alex nodded, her eyes flickering to the fireplace across the room, though her focus was clearly somewhere else. "I hate how your dad thinks he can control everything. I don’t even know why I’m here, honestly. Just doing what I’m told." She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "But I get it. He’s not exactly the type to give you a choice, is he?"

I couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, believe me, if I had a choice, I’d be anywhere else right now. Anywhere but here, pretending to be engaged to you, a woman I’ve barely said five words to."

She looked at me then, her expression softening, just a little. "You’re not the only one stuck in this, you know."

I didn’t know what I expected her to say, but something about the honesty in her voice caught me off guard. I thought I was the only one dealing with the weight of this mess, the only one battling the invisible chains my father had wrapped around me. But here she was, feeling just as trapped, maybe more.

I set my glass down with a soft clink, leaning in slightly. "Yeah, well," I said, my voice quieter now, almost contemplative, "just because we’re stuck in the same situation doesn’t mean we’re going to get along."

Her gaze was steady, unwavering, as she met my eyes. "No, it doesn’t," she replied with a quiet intensity. "But we might as well make the best of it. For whatever it’s worth, I’m not here to make this harder on you, even if I seem like the enemy."

The words hit harder than I anticipated, and I almost found myself speechless. She wasn’t just some stranger being shoved into this. Alex Morgan, soccer icon, was just as much a victim as I was in this ridiculous charade. For the first time that night, I saw her as something more than just a pawn in my father’s game—a woman who didn’t ask for any of this.

I didn’t respond immediately. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, letting the silence stretch between us, allowing the weight of the situation to settle. She wasn’t wrong. We were both caught in this, for better or worse. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way out—or at least a way to make it through the storm.

"I suppose," I said, my voice low but tinged with something closer to resignation than sarcasm, "we’ll have to see how long we can last without driving each other insane."

Alex’s lips twitched in amusement again. "I don’t know about you," she said, her voice lighter now, "but I’m aiming for a solid six months before I snap."

I laughed, the sound escaping more freely this time. Maybe we weren’t as far apart as I thought.

"Six months?" I said with a grin, the sarcasm creeping back into my tone. "I’ll give it a week. You’ll be begging for a divorce before we even get to the aisle."

Her smile widened. "That’s the spirit," she said, matching my playful challenge.

And just like that, despite everything, the weight of the world seemed a little lighter. Maybe this absurd contract my father had drafted wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of something else entirely.

[strangelittlestories]

Captain Hook was in the process of making a third pirate walk the plank, when his first mate came up to the deck.

“Where is it?” Hook snarled at the pirate, brandishing a cutlass at his chest. “I know one of you must have taken it!”

“Uh, Captain Hook, sir?” The first mate piped up, nervously. “What are the crew walking the plank about this time?”

“Someone’s taken my Taylor Swift CDs! And they’ll pay for it.”

The first mate groaned. There was nothing more sure to upset Hook than someone messing with his playlist.

“Now, now, Captain.” cajoled the first mate. “Maybe we can listen to some Ke$ha instead?”

“I can’t listen to TiK-ToK! It reminds me of that damned crocodile. And you salty dogs should all know that!” In a rage, Hook advanced down the plank, forcing the poor pirate another step back towards the brink. “Well, I’ll show you what happens to thieves on my ship. There’s a blank space in the ocean, baby, and guess what?”

“You’ll write his name?”

“At the very least, I’ll put an ‘X’ there!”

“Captain! Perhaps we could just … download the music? You know, illegally?”

“That’s piracy, you foul cur!” Hook turned to his first mate with murder in his eyes. “What, would you download a flintlock? A dinghy? Would you download a mermaid, you foul tempest-botherer? Would you split her into bytes and force her through the sieve of our terrible wi-fi? Would you use all our data to torrent a whole-ass mermaid?!?”

“Well, we are *pirates*, sir?”

“But what about the record labels’ profits, you shucked oyster of a man? What about their projected turnover? Did you think about the turnover??”

“Okay, no downloads, sir.” The first mate held up his hands in surrender. “How about a sing song? We could do a shanty?”

“I’m sick of shanties!” Hook turned back to the pirate on the plank, cast the cutlass aside and dropkicked him straight into the sea. “The plankings will continue until the music improves!”

“Right you are, Captain. Sorry, Captain!”

The first mate fled back below decks. As he reached his hammock, the dismayed look on his face was replaced with a devious smile.

He took the walkman out of its hiding place and inserted a CD, then popped on the earphones. He began to quietly sing along:

“It’s Smee. Hi. I’m the problem, it’s Smee.”

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Nine: Stick With Knockoffs SS: 3 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.1K Content Warnings: nudity

Previous Next Masterlist

The shisha bar is wrapped in a sultry haze of smoke, its dim lanterns casting warm, flickering light across deep crimson walls. The air is thick with the mingling scents of fruit-flavoured shisha and spilt whiskey.

Ayame leans back on a plush velvet couch, her black mini skirt riding slightly higher as she crosses her legs, the sharp edge of her thigh-high boots glinting in the soft light. She exhales a slow plume of smoke, the tendrils curling lazily toward the ceiling.

Minho sprawls next to her, one arm thrown across the back of the couch like he owns the place. His shirt is unbuttoned enough to expose a tempting sliver of his chest, the faint sheen of his skin catching the light.

Across from them, Hyunjin lounges like a cat, his long legs stretched out, shisha pipe in hand, while Seungmin sits upright, as composed as ever, nursing a glass of neat whiskey. The four of them radiate a sort of chaotic elegance that turns heads even in this crowded room.

Minho takes a slow pull from his shisha, blowing out a perfect ring of smoke before turning to Ayame. "You know," he begins, his tone casual but laced with sincerity, "your idea was solid. Booze and painting? That's like therapy but fun. Team building and getting pissed? Perfect combo."

Ayame snorts, resting her elbow on the armrest and swirling her drink. "But no. Guns and ammo. Because that's what these assholes think is a good idea for fostering workplace camaraderie."

Hyunjin leans forward, his chin resting in his palm as he gestures toward her with his glass. "You deserved to win that one. You put in the work."

"Doesn't matter," Ayame replies, sighing as she sets her drink down and takes another drag from the shisha. The cherry-flavored smoke slides easily from her lips. "Haechul and Chan don't play fair. They play to win."

Seungmin tilts his glass, the amber liquid catching the light. "It's not over yet. The board's decision isn't final until New Year's, and it's an independent board. They're not going to let bribery slide."

Ayame barks out a short, humourless laugh, shaking her head. "You really think Haechul gives a fuck? The man literally pitched paintball as a way to resolve workplace conflict. Guns, Seungmin. Fucking guns."

Seungmin sighs, leaning back in his seat. "Alright, fair. He's insane. But Chan's not Haechul. You've got a shot."

"Chan's not Haechul," Ayame mutters under her breath, swirling the shisha hose in her hand. "No, Chan's just a fucking enigma wrapped in a condescending suit."

Hyunjin raises his glass, interrupting her spiral. "I propose a new plan: we all get drunk and forget these Miroh bastards exist. Aya, you especially need to forget about Bang Chan's annoyingly symmetrical face and his perfectly sculpted ass."

Ayame points the shisha hose at him like a weapon. "I don't think about his ass."

"You should," Hyunjin replies with a teasing smirk. "It's art."

Minho snickers, taking a long sip of his drink before chiming in. "Art or not, I'd like to stop thinking about shoving my cock down Jisung's throat every time he opens his mouth about font pairings."

Seungmin, who's mid-sip, nearly chokes. "For fuck's sake, Minho."

"What?!" Minho exclaims, grinning shamelessly. "It's a valid fantasy."

Seungmin sets his glass down, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You people are deranged. Meanwhile, I just want to forget how Jeongin's innocent little smile made me think about inviting him over to 'fix my Wi-Fi.'"

Ayame perks up at that, her grin wicked. "Oh, Oppa, don't be shy. You're living a bad porn setup. Let me guess: 'Thanks for fixing my router, now let me show you how to turn me on.'" She even winks for good measure.

Seungmin groans, hiding his face behind his glass. "Fuck off, Ayame."

"Come on," Hyunjin adds, laughing. "You want the Miroh IT guy to take his shirt off and crawl under your desk, don't you?"

Seungmin glares at him over the rim of his glass. "You're all terrible people."

"Terrible, but honest," Minho says, raising his glass. "And that's what makes us the best. To getting fucked up and forgetting about these corporate dickheads! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" they all echo, clinking their glasses together with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Ayame wakes to the unrelenting stab of sunlight slicing through her blinds, a dull pounding in her skull that feels like her brain is trying to escape.

She groans, rolling over to bury her face in her pillow, only to come face-to-face with a very naked, very unfamiliar man lying beside her. He's propped up on one elbow, his tousled dark hair sticking up in endearing chaos, and a smug, dimpled smile tugging at his lips. His deep brown eyes glint with amusement.

"Morning," he says, his voice husky from sleep. "I'm Chris. We had sex last night."

Ayame's eyes snap wide open, her hangover forgotten in the face of pure, undiluted panic. "Your name is what?!"

Chris chuckles softly, clearly entertained by her reaction. "Chris," he repeats, enunciating like she might be slow. "You brought me here. We had sex. Several times, if I remember correctly."

"Oh, fuck me," Ayame whispers, clutching the sheet to her chest and scooting back like he might explode at any second.

Chris grins, sitting up and stretching lazily, completely unbothered by his nakedness. "Pretty sure we covered that already, sweetheart."

Before Ayame can even figure out how to respond, the door to her room flies open with the force of a small hurricane, and in strides Minho, looking both supremely unimpressed and mildly murderous. He's dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair sticking up as if he didn't even glance in a mirror before barging in.

"I let myself in," Minho announces dramatically, then freezes mid-step as his eyes land on Chris. His gaze slides from Chris's messy hair to his bare chest and downward. "What. The. Actual. Fuck."

Chris starts to speak, but Minho cuts him off with a raised hand, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Nope. Not a word. Out of my little Aya's bed. Right. Fucking. Now."

Chris blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Uh, okay, but-"

"OUT!" Minho yells, pointing toward the door like an angry parent. "Defiling my maknae and thinking you can hang around for coffee? Do I look like I serve breakfast to dickwads who've been balls-deep in my baby Aya? No, sir. Get your naked ass up and out!"

Chris fumbles for his clothes, pulling on his pants while muttering, "Alright, alright, I'm going."

Minho's sharp eyes track his every move. But as Chris bends over to grab his shirt, Minho tilts his head, his expression softening just slightly. "Hmm," he hums thoughtfully, "nice ass. Decent dick, too."

Chris freezes mid-motion, glancing back over his shoulder, looking equal parts flustered and amused. "Uh... thanks?"

"Don't thank me," Minho snaps, his sharp tone returning as he waves toward the door. "Just leave."

Chris pulls his shirt on, his movements hurried as he backs toward the door. "Nice to meet you, Ayame," he says, flashing her a sheepish smile.

Minho scoffs, stepping between Chris and Ayame like a human shield. "Nice to meet her? Your tip already met her fucking cervix last night. Out."

Chris raises his hands in surrender, quickly slipping out the door. The sound of it clicking shut is like a gunshot in the now-silent room.

Minho spins around to face Ayame, his hands on his hips, his expression unreadable for a moment before it breaks into a wicked grin. "He looked like Chan."

"No." Ayame sits up, clutching the sheet tighter around her chest as her heart pounds. "No, no, no, no, no."

"Oh, yes." Minho's grin widens, his eyes gleaming with glee. "Don't worry. I fuck men who look like Jisung. It's called coping, honey."

Ayame stares at him, horror spreading across her face. "His name was Chris."

Minho's smirk falters for half a second before he bursts into laughter, doubling over and clutching his stomach. "Chris? Like Bang Christopher Chan?" He straightens, his laughter uncontrollable. "You hooked up with a guy who looks like Chan and has the same English name? Oh my god, Ayame!"

Ayame groans, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over her face. "Why am I like this?"

Minho perches on the edge of the bed, tossing a clean t-shirt and panties at her. "Here. Get dressed, pabo. I'm making breakfast. My cooking fixes everything, hangovers, bad decisions, existential crises, you name it."

Ayame catches the clothes with a sigh, glaring at him half-heartedly. "Will it fix you being the literal worst?"

"Nope," Minho says cheerfully, standing and heading toward the door. "But it'll keep you alive long enough for me to keep bullying your dumb ass. Gold, Aya. Absolute fucking gold."

She hears him laughing to himself as he disappears into the kitchen.

Ayame groans again, dragging herself out of bed. "God, give me strength," she mutters, pulling the t-shirt over her head. The faint scent of Chris's cologne lingers in the sheets, and she freezes for a second before shaking her head violently.

"Not today, Satan. Not fucking today."

Ayame stumbles into the kitchen, oversized sunglasses perched precariously on her face, shielding her bloodshot eyes from the cruel, too-bright sunlight streaming through the windows.

Minho stands at the stove, his back to her, moving with the maddening grace of someone who clearly slept well and made good decisions. He hums cheerfully as he flips bacon in the pan, the sizzle of grease like an auditory assault to Ayame's pounding head. The smell of bacon, eggs, and whatever the fuck Minho thinks will cure her is making her stomach twist in protest.

Ayame groans loudly, dragging herself to the counter and slumping against it. "Minho. Kill me."

Minho glances over his shoulder, smirking like the absolute shithead he is. "Oh, no, no, no, honey. Maknae. My darling trainwreck of a child. This is what life lessons taste like." He gestures to the sizzling bacon with his spatula. "Delicious, greasy, artery-clogging lessons."

Ayame groans louder, clutching her head. "Not now, Oppa."

Minho spins dramatically, brandishing the spatula like a weapon. "No, listen to me. I've been exactly where you are. Once, I hooked up with a guy because he had Jisung's jawline. It's fine! It's healthy! Stops us from doing irreparable damage to our lives by sleeping with the actual enemy."

Ayame drags herself to the table, collapsing into a chair and burying her face in her folded arms. "The elevator kiss was too much."

Minho freezes mid-step, his eyes gleaming with unholy curiosity. "Oh, we're talking about the elevator now? Spill. Everything. Details. Were there hands in your hair?"

Ayame mumbles something incoherent into her arms.

Minho leans closer. "What was that, Maknae? You're going to have to speak up."

Ayame lifts her head just enough to glare at him from behind her sunglasses. "He pinned me against the wall."

Minho gasps, dropping into the chair across from her like he's just been handed a scandalous piece of gossip. "Stop. Stop right now."

"And," Ayame continues, "he lifted me up by my thighs."

Minho slaps the table with both hands, his grin so wide it's bordering on unhinged. "Fucking hell, Ayame, that's hotter than it has any right to be. What the fuck."

Ayame groans, her head hitting the table with a thud. "I hate my life."

"But wait," Minho says, holding up a finger, "how good was it?"

Ayame groans again, muffled by the table, before muttering, "Too good."

Minho clutches his chest, throwing his head back in faux agony. "No! The enemy isn't supposed to be good at kissing! That's against the rules. It's unethical."

"I know," Ayame mumbles, her voice muffled by her arms. "He's unethical."

Minho narrows his eyes, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You could just make Discount Chan your regular. Avoid the main brand entirely. You know, stick with knockoffs. Like generic cereal, same taste, half the price."

Ayame sits up just enough to glare at him. "You're the worst."

Minho points his spatula at her triumphantly. "And yet here I am, feeding you, absolving you of your sins, and making your dumb ass laugh. You're welcome."

She groans, pushing her plate away. "I hate you."

"No, you hate yourself," Minho counters, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "And that's why Oppa is here. To remind you that it's okay to be a fucking disaster sometimes."

Ayame glances at him from behind her sunglasses, her lips twitching. "Does this disaster come with more bacon?"

Minho grins, snatching a strip from his plate and tossing it onto hers. "Always, Maknae. Always."

As Ayame picks up her fork, Minho leans back, watching her with a satisfied smirk. "Now eat up. You're gonna need your strength for the day ahead."

"Why?" Ayame asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Minho's grin turns wolfish. "Because Chan is going to walk into the office, and all you're going to be able to think about is his hands on your thighs."

Ayame groans again, her head thudding against the table. Minho cackles loudly, his laughter echoing through the kitchen, filling it with chaos, affection, and the unmistakable energy of two best friends thriving in the messiest moments of life.

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world @rhonnie23 @hanji-coffee

[phoenix-eclipses]

Casting Love 0.10 - Hope That Helps <3

The walk to his place was quiet. You both end up in one of the fancier apartment buildings near campus, not one of the much less impressive dorm buildings you had assumed. The moment you guys entered the building, you sent your location to Hajime, promising you would inform him of the specific room once you both got to it.

Kenma kept walking to one of the elevators, swiping a card and in response an arrow above the elevator lit up. It didn't take long for the elevator to reach the main level and for the two of you to enter it. Kenma hit the 7 and then the close door button, which you silently laughed at.

"People like to jump in them without swiping their cards, it'd be easy for someone to get in." Kenma explained with a frown. Though, from his expression there was clearly more to it.

The elevator dinged, having arrived to the seventh floor. You both exited and turned right from the elevator. Kenma pulled out the card again and used it to unlock the apartment door. He held the door open for you before stepping in himself. Immediately, you notice a group of guys around your age huddled in the living room. They were whispering very loudly.

"Guys is that his partner???"

"I think so! Do you think they like volleyball???"

"We can hear you." Kenma rolls his eyes, closing the door loudly. The group scatters with a yelp. There was some awkward silence before one of the guys stands up and offers you his hand.

"Hi, I'm Kuroo."

You shake his hand with a smile and introduce yourself. Following his lead, the rest of the guys run over and introduce themselves.

"Hi!! My name is Bokuto! It's really nice to meet you!!"

His handshake was a little more intese than Kuroo's had been, but you smile. "Hi Bokuto, nice to meet you too."

"I'm Hinata Shoyo! Do you like volleyball?"

"Hello Hinata! I don't really know much about volleyball, but I think it's interesting."

"Akaashi. You had Mr. Fukuzawa last semester, right?"

"I did! Nice to see you again."

"Kageyama Tobio. If you want to know more about volleyball I can tell you more than Hinata."

Before you could even respond, Hinata launches himself at Kageyama. The rest of the group didn't even react, showing this was normal.

"It's nice to meet you all! I hope I'm not intruding at all with your guys' time."

"Not at all, you're alright." Kuroo waves you off while casually prying Hinata off of Kageyama. "Kenma mentioned you wanted to use us as a way to see how your website is going, so whenever you need us just let us know."

"Okay, thank you!" You bowed before turning to Kenma who already grabbed out his laptop and put it on the counter.

"Give me your laptop, I'll sign you into the Wi-Fi." He held his hand out. You scrambled to get your laptop out of your bag before opening it, signing in, and handing it over to him. Kenma said nothing else as he signed you into their Wi-Fi and then slid it to where you were standing.

"Do you have any ideas of what you want to make our business about?" You asked, sitting down.

"...I have one idea, but you can say no."

"Go ahead!"

"How about items that can help those who haven't met their soulmates? Like... specific products proven to cover up marks, I know some places don't like having people with very visible marks work. And I know sometimes foundation doesn't work for people. Or, colored lenses with those who are color blind with their soulmate link."

"That could be cool! I also think it'd be cute where if when they find their soulmate they could get a little care package since they won't need the products anymore." you added while opening up a website maker.

"I don't know how well that'd work for an actual business..." Kenma muttered off. You simply shrugged.

"Are there any colors you wanna use?"

"...I like orange."

"Orange is nice! I think it'd also be nice to use maybe red and yellow? So it's kind of like a sunrise? Like they're rising into living even if before they felt like all they needed to do was find their soulmate?"

Kenma gave a small nod. You smiled.

"Then let's get started!"

You guys spent a little over three hours working on the website, with occasional breaks to get feedback from Kenma's friends who happily did so.

Despite having finished with what you guys wanted to do so far, they invited you to stay to eat dinner with them since your original cafe plans had been ruined. It was around 8 pm when you decided it was time to leave.

"Thank you again for the dinner. I'll see you tomorrow in class. Make sure to let me know if you think of anything to add to the website!"

"Okay, see you then."

0.9 -- Masterlist -- 0.11

Notes

I wasn't sure how much apartment time I wanted to give, but decided that I had written enough so that's all you get <3

Hinata and Kageyama totally tried sharing as much volleyball info they could to try and prove who was better and when YN left, asked for them to pick who did it better and to be nice they said it was a tie (Hinata cried)

We ignore how long this took

Also Iwa had been asking for several updates while they were gone and had a timer set each time in case the response took too long and he was just gonna go there

Also also, to get in without someone who owns the apartment they literally just have to be like yo I'm besties with someone who lives here and say which room and the name of the person and the worker let's them in

Taglist

@staygoldsquatchling02 @walllflowerrrsss @oyasumeii @rinnylvr

@bi-bi-papillon @ris-krispie @madiexuberant @giocriedpower

@lunavixia @singleandlonely @yuminako @from-mae

@3lectraheart @kodzusora @skycasin0 @scinclaitnoir

@itsdragonius @d3ly-p4v

Fill out this form to be added!

[thecrayonindisguise]

Chapter 9 Breaking the bonds that bind|| Bonds and Barrier

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || << prev || next >>

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: no particular warnings

Author's Note: Heyy!! I am alive! I am finally here with a new chapter! I’m so sorry for the delay, but I had no internet or Wi-Fi for days, so I was just blocked with my thoughts for a long time :)) - with this chapter, I am stretching the plot one more time, but just because I wanted to introduce new characters (I promise this is the last time....or maybe not). Enjoy!

Oh, dear readers, 

what a dazzling night it was at last evening’s masquerade ball! 

Masks may have covered faces, but not a whisper could escape my attention. 

Indeed, there was a jewel that sparkled brightest, and it was none other than Miss Teresa Medici, whose engagement to Lord Edward Ducker was officially announced amidst murmurs, fanfare, and all manner of hidden glances.

Isn’t it a thrill to imagine? Miss Teresa, once known merely as the quieter Medici twin, has indeed outshone her sister in matters of matrimony. 

And may I say, with Lady Medici nearly fainting from pride, it seems Miss Teresa has swiftly, and cleverly, secured the affection of a most eligible gentleman.

Lord Ducker, to his credit, is the picture of steadfastness and promise, and though he’s a man of considerable decorum, I couldn’t help but catch his almost boyish delight as he secured the hand of Miss Medici. 

Well done, indeed.

But what, I hear you murmur, of her sister Miss Caterina Medici? 

Ah, yes, Miss Caterina, one of the “Diamonds of the Season,” who so skillfully garnered everyone’s gaze from the very start, has found herself in a rather…unanticipated predicament.

It seems that while Miss Caterina initially sparkled as the most desired of the twins, her path has taken a twist that has left her admirers scratching their heads and her rivals (of which there are more than a few) smiling with vindication.

It is curious, is it not, how quickly the tables have turned? 

While Miss Teresa now plans her wedding, Miss Caterina remains unbetrothed, despite her recent attempt to ensnare the rather elusive Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, a proposal she shockingly refused. 

And so, the young woman who once seemed destined for a title finds herself watching her sister march down the aisle before her.

Well, dear reader, there’s a lesson to be found here: diamonds, after all, are precious, but they can’t sparkle forever if kept hidden away. 

Only time will tell if Miss Caterina’s fortune shall reverse again, or if she’ll continue to watch from the sidelines as her sister takes the spotlight she once held. 

Until then, we shall wait and see who, if anyone, will once again set her heart, and the ton, aflame.

Yours as always, Lady Whistledown

───────── The Langstone House buzzed with the kind of energy that seemed to shake even the wall, it was so alive with a contagious, almost electric energy in the wake of Teresa’s engagement, that every corner seemed to hum with anticipation. 

It was the start of what would be a whirlwind month, filled with discussions, fittings, and endless preparations. 

The Langstone sisters, and Teresa, had become the center of this bustling activity. 

Both Lady Medici and Lady Langstone were fixed in deep conversation, bouncing ideas off one another about every possible detail of the upcoming wedding.

In the lavishly decorated sitting room, morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the women gathered there. 

The low table in front of them was already strewn with fabric samples, sketches of floral arrangements, silver-edged menu cards, and a variety of lace trims. 

Teresa sat at the center, eyes sparkling with joy as she sifted through every sample with a sense of wonder and excitement that seemed endless.

Meanwhile, Caterina sat in a plush armchair by the window, watching the commotion with a soft but distant smile. 

The memory of the masquerade lingered, its weight pressing heavily on her despite her best efforts to be present for her sister. 

The whispers from that night still haunted her, and each joy-filled smile that passed across her sister’s face seemed to deepen the ache in her heart.

“This is divine!” Lady Medici exclaimed, holding up an intricate ivory lace. “The detailing is so fine, it’s exactly what I had envisioned for the veil.”

Lady Langstone, sitting beside her, nodded approvingly. “Yes, only the best will do for my dear nephew”

Teresa’s cheeks flushed with happiness. 

She reached out to touch the lace, almost reverently, her fingers brushing the fabric delicately. 

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, eyes gleaming. “I can’t believe this is all happening. It feels so… surreal.”

The whole room erupted in laughter, swept up in the thrill of the moment. 

Only Caterina’s laugh seemed muted, a faint smile as she took in the happiness of those around her. 

She knew she should be ecstatic; she wanted nothing more than for her sister’s joy to be her own. 

But inside, she was adrift, her thoughts tangled in the pain of her own recent experiences.

As the women continued to discuss the finer details, Lady Langstone looked over at Caterina and noticed her reserved demeanor. “Caterina, dear,” she said kindly, drawing her attention. “You’re awfully quiet. Are you feeling quite well?”

Caterina blinked, as though pulled from a dream, and forced a reassuring smile. “Oh, I’m perfectly well, dear aunt” she replied, nodding. “It’s just… overwhelming, in the best of ways, of course.”

Lady Langstone tilted her head, studying her with a mother’s knowing gaze. “It’s a big event, no doubt about it. But you’ve been Teresa’s steadfast companion all her life, she’s lucky to have you by her side now.”

Teresa’s gaze softened as she looked over at her sister, her hand reaching out to grasp Caterina’s. “I wouldn’t want to do this without you, Kitty. You’ve always been here for me; you know exactly what I’d love.”

Caterina squeezed her sister’s hand, her own smile becoming warmer, if not entirely genuine. “And you know I’d never want to be anywhere else, Tess. This is your day, and I wouldn’t miss a moment of it.”

Lady Medici leaned forward, giving Caterina an encouraging pat on the knee. “Your turn will come, my dear. With all you’ve endured and all your heart holds, the happiness you deserve will find its way to you too.”

Caterina nodded, though her gaze drifted to the side, focusing on the sunlight dancing through the window. 

She wanted so badly to believe her mother’s words, but the recent sting of the masquerade night was still too fresh. 

With a subtle exhale, she focused instead on Teresa, whose smile was like a beacon of happiness, momentarily brightening even her shadowed heart.

Lady Langstone interrupted the moment with a clap of her hands. “Alright, let’s talk flowers! Roses, of course, are a must, but what other arrangements do you think would complement them best?”

Teresa’s eyes sparkled as she looked from her mother to Lady Medici, fingers tapping lightly on her lap. “I adore carnations,” she said softly, glancing at Caterina with a warm smile. “It reminds me of the countryside, Kitty… of the wildflowers we’d pick together as children.”

Lady Medici’s expression softened, and she quickly agreed. “carnations it is, then. And perhaps some peonies, lilies, and sprigs of rosemary for fragrance. It will be beautiful, a bouquet as elegant as our Teresa.”

Teresa’s cheeks flushed pink as she looked from her mother to Lady Langstone, her joy evident. “Thank you, Mama, auntie. I can hardly believe how perfect it all sounds.”

Amid the laughter and camaraderie, Caterina found herself lost once more in thought, her mind drifting to the painful memory of Benedict’s comments at the masquerade. 

The weight of it hung over her like a shadow, and no matter how many times she reminded herself of the present, the past kept surfacing, tugging her back. 

She glanced down at the lace swatches in her lap, the intricate patterns blurring as her eyes focused on something distant and unseen.

Lady Langstone’s voice brought her back again, breaking through her reverie. “And of course, there will be the engagement ball to plan as well. It must be perfect, grand yet tasteful.”

Teresa beamed, her eyes sparkling. “An engagement ball,” she murmured, almost as if savoring the words. “It’s all so wonderful.”

“Wonderful and deserved,” Lady Medici said firmly. “A match as fine as this one doesn’t come often, and we shall celebrate it fully also I was thinking of hosting a beautiful dinner here to celebrate the union of our families”

She looked to Caterina as if hoping her enthusiasm would spread to her other daughter. “And Caterina, my dear, I trust you’ll be at the heart of it all, right beside your sister.”

Caterina nodded her smile a delicate mask that hid the turmoil within. “Of course, mama,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The mothers continued discussing plans, speaking of silk tablecloths and crystal chandeliers, while Teresa was practically floating with excitement, her every word and glance a portrait of anticipation and delight. 

Watching her sister’s happiness brought a bittersweet comfort to Caterina, but as she looked around the room, the reality of her own heartache seeped back in. 

She could almost hear the echoes of Benedict’s voice, the coolness of his words, and her own surprise and pain. 

She tried to banish the memory, tried to stay anchored in this joyous moment for Teresa, but it clung to her like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

But despite the distance she felt, she resolved to keep her focus here, on Teresa’s joy. 

In Teresa’s world, a new chapter of love and anticipation was unfolding, while Caterina’s own had grown clouded, burdened by a heavy sense of uncertainty that refused to dissipate.

With one last look out the window, where sunlight played against the lush green lawns, Caterina gently shifted in her seat. 

Lady Whisledown…

“While Miss Teresa now plans her wedding, Miss Caterina remains unbetrothed, despite her recent attempt to ensnare the rather elusive Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, a proposal she shockingly refused.  And so, the young woman who once seemed destined for a title finds herself watching her sister march down the aisle before her.”

Her fingers clenched slightly around the paper’s edge as she reread the lines, almost willing them to be rewritten, reshaped into something kinder. 

She looked up and around the room, seeing her family so wholeheartedly engaged, so blissfully unaffected. 

The sounds of laughter, the whisper of fabric and lace, her sister’s excited voices each one only made Lady Whistledown’s words echo louder in her mind. 

She felt trapped as if the walls were narrowing in around her, the paper still clenched in her hand, a remnant of London’s whispers that somehow felt louder than the bustle of her family.

But then a voice of a maid cut through her thoughts “My lady?” 

“Yes?” Caterina replied, the paper still in her hands as she looked up, trying to brush aside the clouds of Lady Whistledown’s words.

“A visitor has arrived, a call from His Grace, the Duke of Richmond. He requested your company for a promenade and brought flowers to accompany his request.” 

The maid's voice was gentle but firm, and her mother’s gaze snapped up, a flicker of intrigue glinting in her eyes.

“The Duke of Richmond?” Lady Medici repeated, her tone laced with curiosity and something close to approval. “He thought to call on you, Caterina?”

“I think he did,” Caterina replied, her heart fluttering with the shock of the Duke’s unexpected visit. 

─────────

The Bridgerton breakfast room was a study of soft elegance that morning. 

Sunlight poured through the tall windows, spilling over the rich wood furniture and the gleaming marble floors. 

There was a pleasant warmth to the air as the chatter of the Bridgerton family filled the room, a perfect harmony of voices that spoke to the comfort of long family mornings. 

The clinking of silver spoons against porcelain, the soft rustling of napkins, and the faintest scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries mingled together.

At the head of the table, Violet Bridgerton sat with her usual graceful composure, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she listened to the animated conversation around her. 

Edward, sat across from her, looking both pleased and a little embarrassed by the sudden focus on him. 

His mother, Lady Ducker, sat beside him, her eyes shining with pride, her voice warm with excitement.

“Well,” Lady Ducker said, lifting her cup delicately, “I must say, I am absolutely delighted for you, dear. You could not have chosen a more lovely young lady than Miss Teresa. She is an absolute treasure, and I’ve no doubt their match will be one of the season’s most talked-about.”

Violet’s smile deepened, a soft but knowing glance cast toward Lady Ducker. “I could not agree more, Louisa. Truly, Miss Teresa is everything Edward could have wished for. I’m pleased for both of them.”

Edward, looking slightly uncomfortable with the praise, shifted in his seat. 

His mother noticed his discomfort and turned her gaze toward him. “It’s true, my dear. we are not more than right. There is no one better suited for you. The two of you are meant to be.”

Edward’s smile returned, though it was tinged with a faint blush. “Thank you, Mother. I… I truly hope so. I feel very fortunate.”

The conversation shifted back to the upcoming engagement ball, and the room seemed to light up even further with talk of preparations.

“We must ensure that everything is perfect,” Francesca said, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she leaned forward on the table. “Miss Medici deserves nothing less than the grandest celebration. It will be the talk of the season!”

Hyacinth, always eager to contribute, piped up from the other side of the table, “I’ll handle the flowers! Perhaps we can have roses, but not just any roses, pink and cream, with a hint of lavender, for a touch of elegance.”

Lady Ducker smiled at Hyacinth’s enthusiasm. “Those sound like wonderful choices, Hyacinth. I know Miss Medici will appreciate your effort.”

Francesca nodded thoughtfully. “And the food! It must be exquisite. I’m sure we’ll have everything. Even a special cake?”

“Cake is always the most important part,” Benedict Bridgerton teased, lifting his coffee cup dramatically. “No one ever remembers the lamb, but the cake? It’s always the center of attention.”

Colin, sitting beside Benedict, grinned. “Especially if you’re sneaking bites before the guests arrive, brother. I think we all know where you’ll be.”

Benedict feigned a look of mock indignation, but his smile betrayed his amusement. “I may be a man of refined tastes, Colin, but I’ll leave the first slice to the bride and groom. Perhaps just a taste before the festivities, though.”

“Well, Benedict,” Anthony said with a smirk, “don’t forget, you’ll have to make an appearance at the ball. There will be eyes on you. You don’t want to disappoint our guests by sneaking off to the dessert table too early.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow at his older brother. “Don’t worry, Anthony. I’ll be on my best behavior. You can count on me not to make a scene.”

Violet, sensing the light-hearted teasing might shift the tone, smiled at Benedict, her voice carrying the warmth of a mother who had seen all her children grow into the adults they were. “We all know Benedict will behave, but let’s not forget the reason we’re celebrating. Teresa and Edward’s future.”

“Yes,” Lady Ducker interjected, a knowing smile on her face, “It’s truly a match made in heaven, and the wedding will surely be the highlight of the season.”

“Well, I can think of another jewel who’ll be turning heads at the ball,” Colin said with a grin, looking toward his older brother. “I trust you’ll be keeping an eye on her, isn't it Benedict?” 

Benedict huffed at his brother and his gaze drifted for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced toward the window. 

His thoughts weren’t on his brother’s teasing anymore 

Instead, they lingered on someone else.

“Benedict?” Violet’s voice brought him back to the table. 

She’d noticed his distraction. “Is everything well?”

He blinked, realizing he’d been lost in thought. “Of course, Mother,” he replied quickly.

“Everything is set for the ball, then?” Violet continued, guiding the conversation back to safer ground “And we shall all make sure Miss Medici has everything she needs.”

The conversation at the table continued with the usual warmth and then Lady Ducker’s voice suddenly lifted again above the others.

“I was thinking of hosting a small dinner at home someday,” she announced, beaming with satisfaction.  “It will be intimate, just family. We’ll celebrate this engagement properly, with a feast and some well-earned toasts.”

Edward smiled faintly, glancing at his mother. “That sounds lovely, Mother.”

“And of course, all the Medici family will be there,” Lady Ducker added, her eyes twinkling with approval. “I think it will be the perfect opportunity for them to get to know some of our acquaintances a little better, and for the rest of us to congratulate her in a more personal setting.”

Benedict shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his aunt’s words echoed through his mind.

The Medici family will be there.

He felt an unexpected jolt at the thought, a flicker of something that unsettled him. 

It had been only days since the rejection that had come like a quiet thunder, leaving him feeling both foolish and oddly exposed. 

He hadn’t seen Caterina since that evening and hadn’t allowed himself to linger on the thought of her, or so he’d tried.

But now, the idea that she would be there, sitting across from him at some small, intimate dinner, laughing with her sister, caught in the same candlelit glow… It was absurd that the thought affected him this way, but it did. 

He had told himself he was done with idle fantasies, that he was moving forward with a clearer purpose, yet here he was, struck with a pang of anticipation that he could not quite shake.

Would she even acknowledge him? he wondered. 

Would she be cold and distant, as she had been before, or would she soften, perhaps look at him in a way that might suggest something unspoken? 

His mind raced, replaying fragments of their last encounter, the things he’d wished he had said, the things he’d wished she had.

He caught himself, forcing a practiced smile as he looked back at his family, nodding along as though he hadn’t just fallen into a spiral of his own making.

───────── Caterina’s hand trembled slightly as she set down the latest issue of Lady Whistledown, but she quickly steadied herself, taking in a deep breath as she met her mother’s watchful gaze. 

Lady Medici was scrutinizing her daughter with a look of mixed curiosity and approval; the news of the Duke’s unexpected visit had shifted the attention of the entire room.

“Well, Caterina,” her mother murmured with a small smile, gesturing toward the door, “it would be rather rude to keep the Duke waiting.”

“Of course, Mama,” Caterina replied, trying to sound as collected as she could. 

She smoothed the delicate folds of her dress, lifting her chin slightly as she prepared to meet the Duke, her heart fluttering with both anticipation and a hint of trepidation. 

The past evening still hung over her, a shadow that seemed reluctant to release her.

As she made her way down the staircase and stepped into the morning light filtering through the Langstone House foyer, her eyes fell upon the Duke of Richmond waiting in the front hall. 

He stood there with an air of quiet confidence, his tall figure poised with the kind of ease that only came naturally to men of his rank. 

In his hand was a small bouquet of wildflowers, their colors vivid and vibrant, a soft contrast to the more formal arrangements that usually filled the rooms of the house.

“Your Grace,” Caterina greeted, offering a polite curtsy as she reached him.

“Miss Medici,” he replied, bowing in return, his gaze lingering on her with a warmth that made her cheeks flush ever so slightly. 

He extended the bouquet to her. “These are for you. I thought perhaps a bit of nature’s beauty might provide some respite amidst all the wedding bustle.”

Caterina accepted the flowers, their sweet, delicate scent enveloping her. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, glancing up at him. “They’re lovely. And your timing is most welcome.” 

She was grateful for the unexpected opportunity to step away from the house, away from Lady Whistledown’s relentless scrutiny and the constant hum of wedding preparations that had begun to feel overwhelming.

The Duke offered her his arm. “Shall we take a stroll, then?” he suggested with a gentle smile. “I thought perhaps a breath of fresh air might lighten the spirit. And,” he added, glancing at her with an understanding that surprised her, “I imagine a change of scenery might be in order, given all that was written about you today.”

A slight laugh escaped her, and she nodded, allowing herself to lean into his kindness. “Yes, I believe that would be perfect.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, the cool morning air brushing over them as they strolled through the well-manicured gardens of the house. 

The Duke spoke of the changing seasons, of the beauty he found in the falling leaves, but Caterina’s mind kept returning to the masquerade, to the strange, bitter ache she felt when she thought of Benedict. 

She wondered, as they walked side by side if there would ever come a time when thoughts of him did not intrude so heavily.

“Are you quite well, Miss Medici?” the Duke asked, his voice gentle as he seemed to notice her drifting thoughts.

She blinked, looking up at him and forcing a soft smile. “Forgive me, Your Grace. My mind seems to wander today.” She paused, uncertain if she wanted to burden him with her feelings, yet there was something genuine in his expression that encouraged her to continue. 

“I suppose I am simply… reflecting on certain events,” she admitted, her voice low.

The Duke nodded, his expression understanding. “Reflection is natural, though it can be a rather lonely exercise.” 

He gave her arm a gentle pat as they strolled. “But today, perhaps we might fill our minds with lighter thoughts?”

Caterina’s smile softened as she met his gaze, and she felt her heart ease slightly. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. Tell me, Your Grace, how do you find the excitement of wedding preparations?”

A hint of a laugh danced in his eyes. 

“Well, I must admit that I am quite pleased not to be at the center of it. I’ve attended many weddings, and they all seem to involve more fuss and fabric than any one event should ever need.” 

He paused, glancing at her as if weighing his words. “But I do imagine there is something charming in such a grand celebration, even if I am not one to particularly enjoy the spotlight.”

Caterina chuckled, finding herself more at ease in his company. “I suppose it’s rather overwhelming for all involved. But I’m happy for my sister. It’s a joy to see her so deeply in love.”

The Duke looked at her thoughtfully. “And do you think love will come to you in such a manner, Miss Medici?”

Her smile faltered, a brief flicker of sadness crossing her face. “I… I’m not sure. Perhaps I once thought it would, but now I wonder if some things are not meant to be.” 

She looked away, her gaze settling on the path ahead. “Sometimes, it feels as though the idea of love has become… rather clouded for me.”

They fell silent once more, the path stretching out before them under the dappled morning sunlight.

The Duke seemed to sense her quiet reluctance to dwell on the matter, and he gracefully shifted the conversation to lighter topics, the gardens, the countryside, and his travels across Europe. 

As they continued their walk through the gardens, Caterina felt a lightness creeping into her, buoyed by the Duke’s pleasant company. 

When he sensed her slight hesitation, the Duke shifted topics with ease, glancing over at her with a twinkle of interest in his eyes.

“I have been meaning to tell you, Miss Medici,” he began, “I recently had the pleasure of visiting Italy, though, I must admit, only the famed cities of Venice and Rome. They were extraordinary, but I have long wished to explore more of the country. Florence, especially. I imagine it must be… remarkable.” He paused, his gaze warm as he looked at her, his curiosity evident.

Caterina’s face brightened, her expression softening at the mention of her homeland. “Florence is indeed remarkable, Your Grace. In fact, I believe Tuscany has its own magic. It’s not just the beauty of the art or the grandeur of the architecture. It’s… the feeling of the place, the landscape itself. Tuscany is golden fields, winding roads, and hills that seem to stretch into forever.”

The Duke listened intently, his eyes reflecting genuine fascination. “I suppose one can only appreciate such things after seeing them firsthand. The Italian countryside always seemed to me to be the setting of a painting, beautiful and serene.”

Caterina’s heart swelled with pride and nostalgia.

“Yes, exactly. The art and the landscape blend together, almost inseparable. I grew up surrounded by paintings, sculptures, and frescoes that are centuries old, yet they feel alive. My hometown, Lucca in particular, is where the beauty of nature seems to flow seamlessly into the genius of human creation.”

“Then I must make it a point to visit,” the Duke replied, his voice sincere. “Perhaps you would recommend some places to see, beyond the obvious, of course.”

“Oh, there is so much,” Caterina said, her enthusiasm carrying her words. “There are galleries, of course, but also quieter places… little chapels and gardens hidden from the usual paths. And the countryside! Each season transforms it. Spring, for example, brings a wild bloom of colors to the fields. It’s hard to describe. You must see it with your own eyes.”

“I feel as though I am already seeing it through yours,” he replied softly, and there was something in his gaze, a respect, an admiration, that made Caterina’s heart skip. 

Is he really interested in what I have to say?

“Thank you for sharing this. It’s rare to meet someone who speaks with such genuine love for their homeland.”

She looked down, smiling to herself. “I suppose Italy is not just where I come from; it’s a part of me.”

She laughed a little, realizing how wistful she must have sounded. “And if I’m honest, sometimes I miss it more than I can say.”

The Duke nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps one day, you might return there.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured.

They walked on, both quiet for a moment as they contemplated her words.

Caterina felt a warm sense of camaraderie grow between them as they walked on, exchanging stories of travels and art.  

For a time, she felt she could let go of her worries, allowing herself to simply enjoy the morning and the Duke’s company.

When they finally returned to the house, the Duke paused, turning to her with a thoughtful look. 

“Thank you, Miss Medici,” he said. “This morning has been… refreshing, to say the least. I can’t remember the last time I felt so at ease.”

Caterina’s heart softened, and she curtsied with a gentle smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. It was my pleasure, truly.”

Before leaving, the Duke offered a warm invitation, asking if she might join him for dinner sometime soon. 

Though she declined in favor of spending time with her family, Caterina promised she would accept his invitation soon. 

And as she watched him walk away, she couldn’t help but feel that she had found a kindred spirit in him, perhaps something that she could use to push the pain of her last days to the bottom.

─────────

Several days later….

The midday sun streamed through the grand windows of Langstone House’s dining room, bathing the table in a warm, golden glow. 

The air was filled with a comforting hum as Caterina, Teresa, and Lady Medici shared their meal, enjoying a rare, quiet moment amidst the whirlwind of preparations for Teresa’s engagement celebrations. 

Over the past few days, the household had been a constant flurry of movement and excitement, and it was a relief to have a pause, even just for lunch.

Suddenly, the calm was broken by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a footman carrying a silver tray with a single letter placed delicately atop it. 

He cleared his throat and presented it to Lady Medici, bowing as he offered it.

“Thank you, Thomas,” she said with a nod, noting the familiar handwriting on the envelope. 

Her heart quickened slightly as she traced the familiar script. “Oh god, it’s from Lorenzo!”

At her words, both Caterina and Teresa’s heads snapped up, excitement flashing in their eyes. 

Lorenzo, their beloved older brother, had been away for months, managing their estate in Lucca. 

They had missed him dearly, often sharing stories of his humor, warmth, and protectiveness, wondering when he might be able to join them in London.

“From Lorenzo?” Teresa exclaimed, her face lighting up with anticipation. 

She leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly, while Caterina’s breath caught as she waited for her mother to read aloud.

Lady Medici broke the seal, her eyes eagerly scanning the letter. 

As she read, her expression softened, then brightened, a smile spreading across her face.

“Oh, my dear girls,” she began, glancing up at them with shining eyes. “Lorenzo and his wife have just departed Lucca. They’re on their way to London with the children. He wanted us to know he would never miss such an important occasion in our family.”

Teresa let out a delighted gasp, clapping her hands together. “He’s really coming? Oh, Mama, that’s wonderful news!”

“Yes, my dear,” Lady Medici replied, her own voice tinged with emotion. “He’s bringing the children, too. They’re all making the journey just to be here for us.”

Caterina’s heart swelled with joy. 

It had been so long since they’d all been together, and the idea of her elder brother’s comforting presence brought back a flood of cherished memories.

Lorenzo had always been a figure of stability and warmth in her life, someone who understood her deeply, and who cared for her and her sister fiercely.

“Oh, how marvelous!” Caterina’s voice was soft but filled with excitement. “I was hoping he would come, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Tess, just think! We’ll have him here with us again!”

Lady Langstone, seated beside Lady Medici, was just as delighted. “What a joyous surprise, Marie,” she said warmly.  “we’re honored to host more of your family during these celebrations, after all, he’s my nephew too”

Lord Langstone, too, nodded in agreement, his normally reserved expression brightening. “Indeed, the presence of the Duke of Lucca will be a great addition to our home. And I daresay our staff will be eager to accommodate such special guests.”

Lady Medici smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Lord Langstone. Your hospitality means so much to us. And the children…well, they will bring such energy! They’re so curious about everything, and they’ll no doubt find London fascinating.”

Teresa leaned toward Caterina, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, Kitty, can you imagine it? Vittoria and Luca running around! They’ll love it here!”

Caterina chuckled, picturing the lively children filling Langstone House with laughter. 

She could already envision the way the young ones would light up the estate, bringing a dose of innocent joy to balance the often serious and reserved atmosphere of London society.

“Yes,” she agreed, her smile widening. “And Vittoria, even with her four years, will likely charm every member of the household.”

Lady Medici’s gaze softened as she looked between her daughters, pride radiating from her. “Lorenzo has always been so devoted” she murmured. “Every letter he writes is filled with questions about the two of you. He’s longed for this reunion as much as any of us.”

Just then, Lord Langstone spoke up, his voice full of warmth. “Lady Marie, it will be our pleasure to extend our hospitality. We’ll arrange the finest rooms for your son and his family.”

Lady Langstone nodded in agreement. “I’ll see to it, perhaps we can arrange a dinner once they’ve settled in or even a ball it would be lovely!” 

The Langstone sisters could not be more thrilled for a ball at their house.

Lady Medici’s smile deepened, gratitude evident in her eyes. “Thank you both, truly. A family reunion like this is a blessing, Lorenzo’s arrival will make this celebration all the more complete.”

The sisters exchanged a look of shared joy.

They had often leaned on each other, especially now with Teresa’s impending marriage, but to have their beloved brother here, Lorenzo, who had always been a guiding light in their lives, meant more than words could convey. 

The thought of the familiar laughter, the shared stories, and the closeness they would feel as a family filled them with anticipation.

For a moment, the worries and burdens each sister carried seemed to fade, leaving only the promise of happy days ahead. 

And as the servants moved to clear away the last of the luncheon plates, the women at the table continued to talk eagerly about Lorenzo’s arrival, planning how they might celebrate together once he and his family were finally reunited with them in London.

Caterina felt a lightness she hadn’t experienced in days. 

The thought of seeing Lorenzo, of sharing in the joy and love that had defined their family, brought a deep sense of peace, a reminder that no matter the trials of society or the uncertainties of love, she would always have her family to return to.

─────────

Dearest readers,

It seems that London is once again alight with delightful whispers, and this writer’s quill is ever-ready to deliver the juiciest morsels of news.

Firstly, one cannot ignore the recent antics of Lord Cresswell, who was reportedly seen leaving Lady Edith’s garden party in the company of not one, but two rather charming ladies. Is it simply the thrill of the season? Or perhaps our Lord Cresswell has taken the phrase “more the merrier” a bit too much to heart.

And as for Miss Amelia Darlington, whose “intentions toward scholarship” have caused quite the stir, it has been noted that her frequent visits to the Royal Library might involve far less reading than she professes.  It’s been rumored that a certain librarian has captured her interest just as much as any novel ever could.

Yet, as captivating as these tidbits are, they pale in comparison to the grand affair all of London anticipates with bated breath: the wedding of Miss Teresa Medici and Lord Edward Ducker. 

Preparations are underway for what promises to be a dazzling union, complete with finery that even the Queen herself might envy.  Rumor has it that the engagement ball alone will be a vision of elegance, with flowers imported from the Mediterranean and a guest list to rival that of any royal gathering.

But there is more to this wedding than meets the eye, dear readers. 

For it appears Miss Caterina Medici, may have garnered the attention of a certain Duke of Richmond.

Yes, you read that correctly.

The ever-charming Duke has made quite a show of attention toward the young lady, even gifting her flowers, expensive one! Could it be that the Duke’s interest is more than just a friendly gesture?  Or might we soon see yet another Medici romance blossom in the heart of London?

Keep your eyes open, dear readers, for the season is only just beginning to unravel its secrets…

Yours faithfully, Lady Whistledown

─────────

The air in Madame Delacroix’s shop buzzed with energy, filled with the hum of feminine chatter, laughter, and the soft rustling of fine silks. 

The Medici family, Teresa, Caterina, and their mother, entered the elegant modiste with Lady Langstone and her daughters, Cynthia and Olympia, in tow. 

The lavishly decorated room was already bustling, ladies bustling from one stand to the next, draping themselves in vibrant shades of satin and lace, trying on delicate gloves, and admiring bolts of ivory and cream destined for wedding gowns.

The scent of roses and lavender drifted through the shop, mingling with the gleam of sunlight filtering through tall windows, casting a soft glow over the rich fabrics. 

As they stepped further inside, Teresa’s eyes sparkled with wonder, and even the composed Caterina felt a stirring of excitement at the luxury of it all.

“Ah, there’s Lady Bridgerton!” Teresa whispered excitedly, gesturing to the back of the shop, where Lady Bridgerton stood with her three daughters, Eloise, Francesca, and young Hyacinth. 

Close by, Lady Featherington had claimed a grand seat near a mirror, her daughters Prudence, Philippa, and Penelope flanking her. 

The familiar chatter and peals of laughter from the Featherington girls seemed to draw every eye, as they inspected feathers, lace, and jewelry with dramatic expressions.

“Oh, Lady Medici!” Lady Bridgerton exclaimed with a warm smile as the two families met in the center of the room. “What a joy to see you here. I can only imagine the excitement of wedding preparations for the dear Teresa!”

Lady Featherington, catching wind of the introduction, fluttered over with her trademark enthusiasm.

“Yes, indeed! How marvelous to think of a wedding, Miss Medici, you are bound to be the loveliest bride of the season!” she declared, turning to her own daughters, “Though of course, Prudence and Philippa would look just as stunning, would they not?”

Prudence beamed, adjusting an oversized bonnet with a somewhat triumphant look, while Philippa struck a pose, clearly imagining herself as the center of attention.

Lady Medici inclined her head with a gracious smile. “Thank you, Lady Featherington, Lady Bridgerton. We’re quite thrilled with all that ahead.”

Caterina, standing close to her mother, couldn’t help but watch the Featheringtons’ antics with a raised brow, while Cynthia and Olympia exchanged smirks at the sisters’ dramatic declarations. 

The atmosphere was cheerful yet frenetic as each lady pointed out her fabric of choice, inspected delicate lace, or admired the latest styles.

Finally, Madame Delacroix, her elegant figure clad in a sleek black dress, approached with her assistant. “Ah, Mademoiselle Medici! It is a delight to serve you today. We shall begin with measurements, yes?” She gestured toward a private corner set with a velvet chaise and full-length mirrors.

As Teresa was led away with a slight blush, Lady Featherington glanced at Lady Bridgerton and said loudly enough for the entire shop to hear, “If only my dear girls had such luck! Philippa, dear, why not try the pale green satin, it matches your complexion perfectly.”

Philippa preened, catching sight of her reflection, and tilted her chin in an attempt at grandeur. “Yes, Mother, it is perfect, isn’t it?”

Hyacinth Bridgerton, who had been quiet thus far, giggled and whispered to Francesca, “If she turns any more to the side, she’ll disappear completely in that hat!”

Francesca stifled a laugh, while Lady Bridgerton gave Hyacinth a gentle nudge, her expression fondly exasperated. “Now, Hyacinth, let us not disturb our friends.”

As the shop filled with excitement, Caterina spotted Eloise standing beside Penelope, both looking a bit detached from the fuss around them. 

Summoning her courage, Caterina approached them, keeping her tone light and formal.

“Miss Eloise, Miss Penelope,” she greeted them with a polite nod. “It’s lovely to see you both.”

Eloise’s face showed a flicker of surprise before she returned the greeting, her tone cool but civil. “Miss Medici. I hope the wedding plans have been as smooth as expected?”

“Oh, they’ve been progressing wonderfully, thank you,” Caterina replied with a smile but then she spoke again. 

“Miss Eloise, I don’t want to be inappropriate but..” her voice low and controlled, “I wanted to speak to you about your brother”

Eloise turned, surprise flickering across her face. 

Her gaze sharpened as she waited for Caterina to continue.

“I owe him an apology,” Caterina said, feeling the words settle heavily in her chest. “The way I rejected him, well, it was not only rash but unkind too. I… hope he can forgive me.”

Eloise tilted her head, folding her arms as a small, amused smile played on her lips. “oh Miss Medici you don’t need to worry about my brother” She raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with dry humor. “Benedict’s always been a bit let’s say… sensitive.”

Caterina’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by the bluntness. “I’m sorry?”

“Yes, He’s taken everything personally since he was a boy,” Eloise replied a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Even when he was little, if someone so much as hinted they didn’t like one of his drawings, he’d be absolutely crestfallen for days. So he doesn’t need this much apprehension, he is gonna be fine…trust me” She said with mock exasperation.

Caterina stifled a laugh, her expression softening as she absorbed Eloise’s words. “Still, Miss Eloise I would like him to know that I didn’t mean what I said. He might have taken it to heart, but it was never my intent to wound him. The relationship we shared was precious to me, and I’d hate for him to think otherwise.”

Eloise’s expression shifted, her gaze softening with something almost like understanding. 

She nodded slowly as if weighing the sincerity of Caterina’s words. “Very well,” she said finally, her voice gentler than before. “I’ll pass it along. Though knowing Benedict, he’ll probably brood for a bit before he even listens to reason.”

A faint smile touched Caterina’s lips, her gratitude evident. “Thank you, Miss Eloise. That’s all I could ask.”

Their conversation was interrupted as Lady Featherington’s voice rang out across the shop, calling to her daughters. “Penelope, darling, we must get home. There’s a fitting for Prudence’s gown this afternoon, and we really mustn’t keep the seamstress waiting.”

Penelope glanced at Eloise with a resigned smile. “I suppose I must go,” she whispered.

Eloise rolled her eyes in solidarity. “Good luck,” she muttered, squeezing Penelope’s arm.

Lady Bridgerton also rose, her gentle smile directed at Teresa, who was still surrounded by lace and silk swatches as Madame Delacroix worked. 

“We shall take our leave as well, ladies. Do not let us disturb the bride-to-be any further,” she said kindly. “She’ll need calm and tranquility to look her best.”

Teresa blushed but smiled, her eyes glowing with excitement. 

As they turned to leave, Penelope cast a glance over her shoulder at Caterina, her expression curious. 

She waited until they were outside the shop before leaning in close to Eloise, her voice low and thoughtful.

“Eloise… do you really think that she regrets what she said to your brother?”

Eloise raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly. “Regrets?”

“Yes, well, perhaps she regrets her words because…” Penelope hesitated, choosing her words carefully.  “She said their relationship was precious to her”

Eloise scoffed, a bemused smile tugging at her lips. “whatever. I don’t think Benedict will listen to me. he’s been in his usual solitary confinement so he’s been painting in his studio for days."

Penelope pulls her friend’s arm again "But Eloise please, you have to tell him. You must tell him what Miss Medici told you today, you could stir something between them"

Eloise puffs again, bored by her friend’s insistence, and nods "I’ll try, promise”

───────── The days leading up to Lorenzo’s arrival were filled with a kind of hurried elegance, the Medici and Langstone households swept up in the perpetual motion of wedding preparations. 

Morning teas turned into strategy meetings for flower arrangements, while afternoons saw ladies perusing through fabric samples or debating over last-minute adjustments to guest lists and other settings. 

Caterina often found herself drawn outside, seeking brief respites from the bustling rooms and the watchful eyes of her mother and Lady Langstone. 

She walked through the gardens, letting the crisp air revive her spirit, feeling that familiar pull toward nature, a place where thoughts could stretch without constraint. 

These quiet promenades allowed her moments to breathe, but as the days passed, she found herself sharing her solitary escapes with none other than the Duke of Richmond.

The Duke, noticing her occasional absences from the crowded rooms, had taken it upon himself to offer her company during these outings. 

What began as gentle strolls along the garden paths evolved into a more spirited endeavor.

A few days after their first walk, he proposed they take a ride on horseback, an offer Caterina accepted with a hesitant smile that quickly turned to genuine excitement.

One bright morning, just after sunrise, they met near the stables, their horses saddled and ready. 

They mounted their horses and set off, letting the horses’ hooves carry them along a winding path that cut through fields bathed in golden light.

As they rode, they talked in a way that only came easily in the open air, where conversation could rise and fall naturally. 

The Duke spoke of his time spent around Europe and Caterina, at first reserved, found herself painting for him a picture of her childhood, describing Tuscan summers spent under wide blue skies and the intoxicating scent of olive groves and cypress trees.

“I can see why you miss it,” he remarked as they slowed to a gentle trot, his gaze thoughtful as if he could picture the scenes she described.

“There’s nothing quite like it,” Caterina replied softly, glancing toward the distant hills.

As they rode back toward the estate, a quiet understanding settled between them, one that bridged the gap of polite conversation and leaned, ever so slightly, toward friendship. 

By the time they returned to the stables, Caterina felt a sense of calm she hadn’t realized she’d been craving. 

The Duke helped her dismount, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, his eyes conveying a warmth that seemed to offer her quiet assurance amid the whirlwind of her family’s plans.

─────────

A few days later…

The Medici twins were nearly beside themselves with anticipation that day. 

Though they’d expected Lorenzo and his family the following day, every small sound that drifted through the house seemed to hold the promise of an early arrival. 

Caterina and Teresa hovered near the windows, hands pressed to the glass as they peered into the hazy afternoon.

Just as they were about to abandon their watch in disappointment, a familiar rumble broke the quiet of Langstone House.

Hoofbeats echoed along the drive, followed by the clatter of carriage wheels rolling toward the front.

Teresa’s sharp intake of breath made Caterina turn, and their eyes met in a flash of excitement.

“It’s them!” Teresa gasped, grabbing her sister’s arm. 

In an instant, both girls lifted their skirts and ran, skirts billowing as they dashed down the grand staircase, their voices ringing out with unrestrained joy.

“Lorenzo’s here!” Teresa shouted, her voice filled with laughter of excitement. 

Maids and butlers watched with smiles, stepping aside as the sisters flew through the hall, past the open doors, and down the steps to the driveway. 

Outside, the air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves, and their cheeks flushed as they reached the carriage just as it rolled to a stop.

The carriage door opened, and Lorenzo stepped down, looking as regal as he always had, with his tall, imposing figure and finely tailored coat. 

But the minute he caught sight of his sisters, his face broke into a grin, warm and unrestrained, that lit up his eyes.

“My wild little sisters!” he called, just as they launched themselves at him, wrapping their arms around his neck in a tangle of laughter. 

He chuckled, steadying himself under their enthusiastic embrace, and pressed a kiss to each of their heads.

“Oh, Lori,” Caterina murmured, clinging tightly to him. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged them both close. “I have missed you both more than words can say.”

“We didn’t think you’d arrive until tomorrow!” Teresa said, pulling back to look at him. 

Her eyes sparkled, her face bright with happiness. “You’ve truly surprised us!”

“I thought it might be worth the extra journey to see the look on your faces,” Lorenzo said with a laugh, ruffling Teresa’s hair. “It seems I was right.”

As the twins reluctantly released him, the carriage door opened once more, and Beatrice, Lorenzo’s wife, stepped out with her usual grace and elegance. 

Her red hair was pinned back, and her kind green eyes sparkled as she took in the sight of the twins, her smile warm and inviting. 

On one hand, she held their young daughter, Vittoria, who clutched her mother’s skirts, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Beatrice!” Caterina exclaimed, moving forward to embrace her sister-in-law with a soft laugh. “It is so good to see you again. Welcome to London!”

Beatrice returned the embrace, her voice soft with affection. “Thank you, Cat. We have looked forward to this journey. Lorenzo has been impatient to see you both.”

Vittoria, a little bundle of curiosity and shyness, clung to her mother’s side, peering up at her aunts with an inquisitive expression. 

Teresa knelt down to the little girl’s level, her face breaking into a tender smile.

“Hello, Vittoria,” she said gently. “Do you remember who I am?”

The little girl nodded, her face lighting up with recognition. “You’re Aunt Teresa,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, and then pointed to Caterina with a tiny finger. “And she’s Aunt Caterina.”

Caterina felt a rush of joy and knelt down as well, holding her arms open. 

Vittoria hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, letting Caterina gather her up in a warm hug.

“You’ve grown so much, little one,” Caterina murmured, brushing a gentle hand over Vittoria’s hair. “You’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

Meanwhile, Lorenzo lifted their youngest, Luca, out of the carriage. 

The three-year-old blinked sleepily at the lively scene, clearly still waking from the long journey. 

Teresa reached for him, and he allowed himself to be held, leaning against her shoulder with a shy but content expression.

As the joyous reunion continued, Lady Medici made her way toward her son, her heart swelling with pride and love. 

With a soft expression of joy, she reached him, and before Lorenzo could even speak, she pulled him into a tight embrace. 

His strong arms wrapped around her in return.

“Oh, Lorenzo,” Lady Medici murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “How I’ve missed you, my dear son.”

Lorenzo pulled back slightly, his eyes softening as he smiled at his mother. “I have missed you too, Mother,” he replied, his voice deep with affection. “There hasn’t been a day that I didn’t wish for your presence.”

She cupped his face in her hands, looking him over as if she had not seen him in years, though only a few months had passed. 

“You’ve grown more handsome with each passing day,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “But your heart remains as kind as ever.”

Lorenzo chuckled, his smile wide and full of affection for his mother. “And you remain as beautiful as ever, Mother. I was looking forward to being here, to being with you all.”

Caterina, still wrapped in the joy of the moment, looked over at the scene with a tender smile. 

It was as if, in that moment, the house had become a haven again, a place filled with love and laughter after the storm of uncertainty that had clouded her thoughts for so long.

Lord Langstone stepped forward, his broad shoulders and strong presence welcoming Lorenzo.

“Your Grace, it is such a pleasure to finally have you here in our home,” Lord Langstone said, clapping Lorenzo on the shoulder with a smile. “We are truly honored.”

Lorenzo returned the gesture with a grin. “I’ve heard nothing but the highest praise for you, Lord Langstone. It’s a privilege to be here.” He turned to his wife, who stood gracefully by his side. 

Beatrice smiled warmly at the group, her gaze flicking to Caterina and Teresa. “It feels as though we’ve stepped into a second family,” she said.

Caterina, her heart still light from the sight of her brother, moved to Beatrice’s side. “We’re thrilled to have you here, Beatrice,” she said with a gentle smile. “And Vittoria and Luca, they’ve grown so much since we left home”

Beatrice nodded, her expression softening as she looked at her children. “Vittoria seems to grow by the day, and Luca…” She glanced down at her son, who was still in the arms of Teresa, his small hand reaching for her ear. “He’s still as mischievous as ever, I’m afraid.”

Teresa giggled as she caught Luca’s little hand before it could pull too hard on her ear. “Mischievous, indeed,” she said, laughing softly as she adjusted him in her arms. “But he’s so charming, how could we mind?”

Meanwhile, Lady Langstone, with an excited gleam in her eyes, addressed the group again. 

“Tomorrow evening!” she said brightly. “We shall celebrate this wonderful reunion with a ball in your honor, Lorenzo. A grand affair! We’ll invite the best of society!”

Lorenzo glanced around, taking in the enthusiastic faces of his family, and nodded with a pleased smile. “A proper British ball, Lady Langstone? How could I possibly refuse such a warm invitation?”

Lady Langstone clapped her hands together. “It’s settled, then! The preparations will begin immediately, and tomorrow night we shall dance and feast as only a family can.”

Caterina, still with a smile on her face, stood next to her mother, feeling a deep sense of peace and happiness settle over her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so complete. 

Her brother was home, the house was full of life and love, and there was the promise of laughter and music to come. 

It was as if everything was falling back into place, one joyful moment at a time.

As the family continued to settle inside, with the sound of little feet and laughter echoing through the halls, Caterina caught a quiet moment with her brother. 

She slipped her arm around his, smiling up at him with an expression of contentment.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said softly, her voice low so only he could hear. “It feels like a dream that you’re finally here.”

“I’ve missed you too, Kitty,” he replied, his voice equally soft. “And now, we’ll make up for all the lost time. I promise you that.”

Together, they walked into the warm, bustling house, with their family close behind. 

The sight of their happy faces was a sight Caterina would treasure forever.

[bluenerdtastemaker]

The Dare Might Be Not Bad ²²¹⁰

Tattoo Artist! Yuki Tsunoda + F1 Driver Pierre Gasly | 1.5K

"Maybe tourists weren’t so bad after all."

Yuki Tsunoda didn’t like tourists.

Sure, they were one of the reasons tattoo artists like him could make a decent living income. Besides his loyal clients who kept coming back for his creativity and unique designs, tourists filled in the gaps, requesting quick tattoos to commemorate their trips. But tourists never gave him much creative freedom—always asking for tiny symbols, names, or meaningless quotes. The worst were the ones getting tattoos on a dare; oh, those were nightmares waiting to happen. They’d show up weeks later, regret written all over their faces, demanding refunds or crying about a decision made in a drunken haze.

Today’s clients seemed no different, yet there was something unusual about them that made Yuki hesitate. He stared at the two men standing at the counter. Both had an unmistakably European look, with one of them sporting a face Yuki had seen splashed across sports headlines: Charles Leclerc. Beside him was another strikingly handsome man, Pierre Gasly, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Yuki sighed inwardly, mentally preparing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold.

“Hello, welcome to Matsui Studio,”

---

Matsui Studio was a hidden gem tucked away in one of Tokyo’s lesser-known streets, a place where people came for more than just ink. The shop was a visual spectacle—a far cry from the typical sterile, white-walled tattoo studios most tourists expected. Instead, the studio was bathed in a moody atmosphere dominated by dark turquoise neon lights, casting a dim but inviting glow that gave the space an otherworldly aura.

The walls were a rich matte black, adorned with eclectic artwork framed in shadow boxes, showcasing intricate tattoo designs and traditional Japanese motifs. In one corner, a softly humming water feature added a calming background noise, blending seamlessly with the low thrum of lo-fi beats playing from hidden speakers. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood incense mixed with the sterile tang of antiseptic—a scent Yuki found oddly comforting.

Long, sleek shelves lined with tattoo inks, neatly arranged in gradient order, sparkled under the neon glow, while the leather chairs were deep black, their surfaces gleaming. Dark green plants in geometric pots were scattered strategically, bringing a touch of life to the otherwise shadowy interior.

—

“Hello, welcome to Matsui Studio, what can I help you?” The asian man greeted them in accented-fluent English, his customer-service mask firmly in place to the two white clients in front of him with a distinct English accent knowing these people are not well versed in his mother tongue, glad that he does well in linguistic related studies, cause at least he has no problem communicating with foreigners.

Charles, who the asian quickly recognised, flashing his characteristic charming smile, clapped Pierre, who also quickly recognised, on the shoulder. “We’d like him to get a tattoo,” he announced, practically beaming with mischief. Pierre winced, clearly regretting whatever bet had landed him here. “This guy doesn’t have any ink yet, so we thought, why not fix that tonight? It's something small. It’s a dare, after all.”

‘Of fucking course it’s a dare,’ The asian tattooist thought, barely managing to hide his annoyance. He kept his face impassive as he glanced at Pierre, who was glaring daggers at his friend.

Pierre finally stepped forward, meeting Yuki’s gaze. There was a flicker of something there—something that made Yuki pause. Pierre’s eyes were deep, a stormy blue, filled not with the bravado he was used to seeing from people dragged in for a dare, but with genuine discomfort. Yuki had to admit it was refreshing to see someone taking this seriously, even if they were here under pressure.

“Alright,” Yuki said with a sigh, pulling his sleeves up, uncovering his tattooed forearm, leaning on the counter with crossed arms, his tattoo-covered forearms on display.

“So, what do you want? The classic ‘dare’ stuff? Hearts, initials, or something equally meaningless? If you’re serious about this, I don’t do bullshit. You’re getting something that looks good, or you’re walking out of here with nothing. Your choice.”

Charles raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning, letting his best friend on the front line, who nodded slowly, stepping up to the challenge. “No letters or initials,” Pierre said, voice steady but soft. “I want something small, but... meaningful. Something I won’t regret.”

Yuki’s eyebrow arched in surprise. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Most people in Pierre’s position would have caved and gone with whatever easy option got them out of the chair fastest. But Pierre... Well, he seemed to actually care about what ended up on his skin.

“Alright,” Yuki said, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Come on back. Let’s see if we can figure something out.”

‐--

The tattooing room was a continuation of the main studio’s vibe but with an even deeper, more intimate ambiance. Dark turquoise neon tubes bordered the ceiling, reflecting off black lacquered walls. A long window provided a peek into the bustling Tokyo streets outside, where city lights blurred like a kaleidoscope of colors in the late-night drizzle. The room’s centerpiece was Yuki’s tattoo chair, made of sleek black leather with turquoise stitching that matched the shop’s color scheme.

Pierre gingerly took a seat, trying to calm his nerves. Charles leaned against the doorframe, scrolling through his phone while occasionally glancing over with an amused smirk. The lighting cast soft shadows across Pierre’s sharp features, making him look even more ethereal. Yuki noticed how the neon light caught in Pierre’s eyes, giving them an almost electric blue hue.

“So,” Yuki began, snapping on a pair of black gloves, “you mentioned wanting something meaningful. Any specific ideas, or are you leaving it up to me?”

Pierre hesitated, shooting a quick glance at Charles, who was now busy taking pictures against the neon-lit walls. Yuki rolled his eyes—celebrities. But something about Pierre made him linger a little longer. There was a softness to his expression, an earnestness Yuki wasn’t used to seeing in his usual clientele.

“I was thinking... maybe something related to my career,” Pierre finally said. “Or... something to do with traveling. I spend so much of my life on the road.”

Yuki’s eyes flicked up to meet Pierre’s, and he nodded thoughtfully. “How about a compass?” Yuki suggested, quickly sketching out a design in his notebook. “Simple, elegant, and it can symbolize your journey. Racing is all about navigating through life’s challenges, right?”

Pierre’s eyes widened, looking at the tattoo artist; ‘Oh, so he knew.’ The French man thought as he slowly looked at the sketch. The lines were clean, the design understated but powerful. “Yeah,” he said softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “That’s perfect.”

Yuki’s lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

---

Pierre’s hands were clenched into fists as Yuki prepared the tattoo gun, cleaning the area on his inner wrist where they’d decided to place the design. Yuki could feel the nervous energy radiating off Pierre, and for some reason, he found himself wanting to ease the guy’s nerves. Usually, he didn’t care if clients were uncomfortable. They were the ones who chose to be here, after all.

But Pierre... something about him was different.

“You alright?” Yuki asked, his tone softer than before. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

Pierre let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Yeah, just... not a fan of needles,” he admitted, cheeks flushing slightly.

Yuki’s smirk widened. “I’ve had grown men cry in this chair,” he teased lightly, “and they weren’t even as pretty as you.” The words slipped out before Yuki could think better of it, but he didn’t regret them when he saw the way Pierre’s eyes widened, then softened, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Pretty, huh? That’s a new one,” Pierre replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone despite his nerves.

Yuki chuckled, leaning in closer to finish the tattoo. “Stay still, pretty boy. Let’s see if you can handle this.”

—

The hum of the tattoo machine filled the room, blending with the soft music and the occasional rumble of traffic outside. The first buzz of the needle made Pierre flinch, but he gritted his teeth, determined to see this through. Yuki worked with a deft hand, the design slowly coming to life on Pierre’s wrist. The concentration in Yuki’s eyes, the way his brows furrowed in focus, it was mesmerizing. Pierre found himself watching Yuki more than worrying about the pain, actually the pain is not bad at all now the French man thinks about it.

Feeling like it was forever, when Yuki was done, he leaned back to admire his work. The compass tattoo was clean and precise, perfectly aligned on Pierre’s wrist, the delicate lines catching the soft neon glow.

Pierre stared at it, awe in his eyes. “It’s... incredible,” he whispered, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

“Glad you like it,” Yuki said, peeling off his gloves. "Before you go, I need to protect this to heal." Proceeding to explain the healing process and how he should take care of it, briefly mention this is important to maintain the hard earned tattoo and to avoid infection.

“Now go show your friend before he whines about how long it took.”

Pierre stood, but he hesitated, slipping Yuki a generous tip. As their eyes met again, there was a moment of silence, a spark that neither could deny.

“Maybe... I’ll come back for another one,” Pierre said, a hint of mischief in his smile.

Yuki shrugged, though his heart skipped a beat. “You know where to find me.”

As Pierre left the studio, Charles teasing him mercilessly, Yuki found himself smiling.

Maybe tourists weren’t so bad after all.

[pupsmailbox]

MAGIC ID PACK

NAMES︰ ace. adonis. agate. amber. ambrose. amethyst. anders. aqua. aquamarine. arion. arthur. ashlin. asriel. astra. astrid. astro. athena. atlas. aurora. blaise. bran. briar. bruxo. bunnie. bunny. calamity. callisto. callum. calypso. cantasyia. caspian. cassian. cassiopeia. cedar. cedric. celeste. celestine. cherish. circe. clem. clemet. cosmo. coven. crystalesse. crystalette. cullen. cynthia. draco. drake. dreerie. duske. eerene. elphias. elysia. ember. emil. espen. etherial. fay. felix. finn. finnley. florian. fredrich. fyre. galatea. galen. garnet. glyra. griffin. haven. hazoire. hera. hypnyra. indigo. jade. jasper. jinx. juno. jynx. kara. kian. kimble. krystal. krystalle. lapis. lennix. leo. link. lucien. lumen. lumiere. luna. lune. lunesse. lunette. luz. lyra. mabel. mac. mackenzie. maddie. maddy. madelyn. madison. maggi. maggie. magia. magique. magnus. maria. max. maxwell. melanie. melodie. melody. mercy. mia. milena. miles. milo. minerva. moonesse. moonette. myrror. mystique. nova. onyx. opal. orion. oscar. oswald. pandora. pearl. pearlesse. pearlette. pearlle. phineas. phoebe. phoenix. pinkie. pinky. ruby. rune. sage. salem. sapphire. selene. seraphina. sereia. silouet. sirus. skye. sol. sora. sorcyrie. soren. spella. twyla. twyllusia. vince. zephyr.

PRONOUNS︰ amu/amulet. an/angel. arc/arcane. bad/bad. bless/bless. bo/bone. brew/brew. ca/cast. can/candle. cha/charm. cla/clash. con/conjure. cr/crystal. cur/curse. de/demon. di/dim. du/dusk. en/enchantment. en/entity. eon/eon. eternity/eternity. ev/evil. fan/fantasy. fea/feared. fi/fight. fla/flame. fu/future. go/golden. go/good. h?/h?m. hae/haze. hex/hex. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ill/illusion. ix/ix. jar/jar. know/knowledge. ma/mage. ma/magic. mag/magic. mag/magical. mag/magician. magic/magic. mi/mist. mis/misfortune. mys/mysterious. myth/myth. myth/mythical. obs/obscure. pe/peril. po/potion. po/power. poi/poison. potion/potion. pu/purge. pur/pure. pur/purity. rit/ritual. sh?/h?r. sha/dow. shae/shade. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. si/sigil. sini/ster. soc/sorcery. som/somber. sor/sorcery. spe/spell. spell/spell. spi/spirit. sup/supernatural. th?y/th?m. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. vae/vaer. wa/wand. wand/wand. wi/wise. wi/witch. wit/witchcraft. witch/witch. wiz/wizard. ✨. 🍀. 🐀. 🔮. 🕯️. 🕷️. 🥀. 🦴. 🦷. 🧙🏻. 🧙🏻‍♀️. 🧿.

[merylstreepsworld]

Personal Tech Support

Pairing: Donna Sheridan x Fem!reader

Summary: You upgrade a few items around the island. Making Donna have to relearn technology.

Word count: 993

You've always been the tech-savvy one in your relationship with Donna. From the moment you first met, it was clear that while she had the charm, creativity, and charisma to run her small hotel on the Greek island of Kalokairi, she was a bit challenged when it came to modern technology. You, on the other hand, had a knack for all things electronic and mechanical. So, when you decided to surprise Donna by upgrading a few things around her hotel, you knew it would make her life easier, even if it did come with some comical challenges.

The hotel, though full of character and history, had its fair share of quirks. The plumbing was ancient, the electrical wiring was a patchwork of DIY solutions, and the Wi-Fi, well, it was more of a "Wi-Maybe." You couldn't stand to see your girlfriend struggle with these everyday issues, so you set out to modernize the place without compromising its rustic charm.

One of your first projects was installing a brand-new espresso machine in the hotel's café. You figured it would be a hit with the tourists who frequented the place. The sleek, stainless steel beast looked like it belonged in a spaceship compared to the old, sputtering coffee maker it replaced.

The morning after you installed it, Donna stood in front of the new espresso machine, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Love, how does this contraption work again?" she asked, casting you an adorable, bewildered look. You chuckled, walking over to her. "Darling, I've shown you this at least five times. You press this button for a regular espresso, this one for a cappuccino, and this one for a latte."

Donna blinked at the array of buttons. "But which one makes a regular coffee?"

You couldn't help but grin. "The one that says 'espresso,' Donna. It's the first button."

She nodded, clearly trying to remember. "Right, the 'ex-press-oh.' Got it."

You watched as she carefully pressed the button, and the machine whirred to life, making all sorts of futuristic noises. Espresso poured into the cup, and Donna beamed triumphantly as if she'd just solved a complex puzzle. You couldn't contain your laughter. "Don't worry, love," you said, ruffling her hair affectionately. "You'll get the hang of it."

Over the next few days, you introduced more upgrades. You replaced the old landline phone with a sleek, cordless model. You set up a modern sound system in the hotel's courtyard for music during the evening gatherings. You even convinced Donna to ditch the ancient cash register in favor of a user-friendly tablet-based point-of-sale system. With each new addition, Donna's confusion seemed to grow. She'd call you over for help, even when you were just in the next room. "Sweetie, can you come here? I can't get the music to play."

You'd sigh with faux exasperation, setting down whatever you were doing to assist her. "Donna, remember the app? You just select the playlist and press play."

"I know, I know," she'd reply, rolling her eyes at her own forgetfulness. "But it's all so...fiddly."

As much as you teased her about it, you couldn't deny the joy of watching her adapt to these newfangled devices. It was endearing to see her navigate the touch screen of the tablet POS system with determined concentration, making transactions for guests with a sense of accomplishment.

One evening, as you both sat on the terrace overlooking the azure sea, Donna sipped a glass of wine and turned to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know," she began, "I think you're secretly enjoying being my personal tech support." You chuckled, tracing circles on her hand. "Well, it does give me the chance to hold you close and whisper sweet nothings in your ear."

She laughed, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. "You do have a point there."

As the summer days passed, Donna's tech anxiety began to wane. She'd proudly tell you about how she had successfully made a latte without any assistance, or how she'd mastered the art of Bluetooth pairing for the speakers. She even dared to experiment with the espresso machine, trying her hand at creating intricate latte art.

One morning, you walked into the café to find her diligently working behind the counter. She held up a cup with a heart-shaped design in the foam. "Look at this, my love!" she exclaimed. "I made a heart!" You couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "That's fantastic, Donna! You're becoming a pro."

But just as you thought her tech-related troubles were a thing of the past, a new challenge emerged. You had upgraded the hotel's Wi-Fi, and while it was now faster and more reliable, Donna couldn't quite grasp the concept of network names and passwords.

"Darling," she called from the reception desk, "what's the code for the Wee-Fee again?"

You sighed, resigning yourself to another round of explanations. "It's Wi-Fi, Donna. And the password is 'KalokairiSunshine.'"

"Right, right," she replied with a nod, jotting it down on a piece of paper. You couldn't resist teasing her. "Donna, I've told you the password at least ten times. It's 'KalokairiSunshine,' like our beautiful island."

She laughed, folding her arms and giving you an impish look. "Well, maybe I just enjoy hearing you say it, my tech genius."

You shook your head in mock exasperation, but deep down, you cherished these moments. Donna's quirks, her playful nature, and her ability to embrace change, even if it came with a learning curve, were all part of what made her so special to you.

As the sun set over Kalokairi, casting a warm, golden glow across the hotel, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the chance to be Donna's partner in both love and technology. In your eyes, she was the heart and soul of the hotel, and you were more than happy to be the one who helped her keep it running, one espresso at a time.

[aceofwhump]

Hi everyone! Welcome to my blog!

I decided to make a new pinned post with all the information that is available on my desktop site but that will be more accessible for mobile users. Plus a few extras 😉

So an introduction.

I'm Ace. I started this blog back in February 2018 after seeing a post that referenced the whump community. I had no idea there was such a large community here on tumblr! As soon as I saw that making a whump blog was an option I immediately made one. And I haven't regretted it since. I love this blog, I love this community, and I'm thrilled to be here three years later! 

Here on this blog you'll see lots of gifsets both reblogged from wonderful creators and gifs made by yours truly. I also write fanfics on occasion. You can check out my work on AO3 under the name "aceofwhump" or you can look under my tag "ace writes stuff". That tag will have some stuff not on AO3 too. I also do whump lists for certain characters, trope lists, video clips of good whump, and fanfic recs.

Click on the read more for even more information and important links to things like gifmaking tutorials, my trope tag list, my show/movie tag list, my fanfic masterlist, and more!!!

My favorite tropes are:

Emotional: panic attacks, nightmares, insecurities, feeling inadequate, fear, grief, flashbacks, flinching, emotional breakdowns full of sobbing, emotional outbursts, scar reveals, anxiety, self hatred

Environmental: accidents, natural disasters like earthquakes or storms, hit by a car, collapsed building, falling through ice, heat exhaustion, hypothermia, falls, burns, infected wounds from lack of medical equipment, sickness, being unable to breathe, drowning

Small moments: limping, feeling weak and seeking support, breathing through the pain, moving wrong in a way that aggravates the pain, and the sudden seizing of his body, shaking hands, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple because of a headache, taking a moment to close his eyes because he’s light headed/exhausted/has such a bad headache

Sci-fi: space illness, oxygen deprivation, isolation, being locked in the brig, hull of the ship getting damaged, alien attacks

Injuries: broken bones, gunshot wounds, hidden injuries, bruises, beaten, concussions, collapsed lung, slings, casts, crutches, knocked unconscious, blood loss

Torture/Captivity: Being strung up by their wrists from the ceiling, drugged, chained up, caged, tied to a chair, handcuffed to a pole, interrogated

Comfort/Caretaking: hugging, “Are you okay?”, “You’re safe now”, “I’ve got you”, hand holding, helping to walk, ice packs, covering someone with a blanket, a cool cloth on their forehead to help with a fever, a fever check, touching their face to offer comfort

Magic: magical healing that causes pain, draining of powers, powers that are painful to use, curses

Stoic or defiant whumpees

Team whump

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Long detailed look at how I make my gifs

Gifmaking tutorials:

Gifmaking for Begginers: my ginormous all you need to know tutorial

Another look at how I make a gif

Tips for beginners

Tips on brightening dark scenes

How to get into gifmaking

Photoset dimensions

How to make a layout gifset

Gif speeds

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Links from my desktop blog for mobile users:

My gifs

My whump videos

Ace writes stuff

My Writing Masterlist

Trope tag list

Show list

My Whumptober Masterlists

Fanfic Rec Lists

Blog Archive

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Introducing…

ACEOFWHUMP’S FANFIC MASTERLIST!!

This has been a massive, ongoing project of mine for a while now in which I am endeavoring to catalog and categorize every fanfiction I’ve ever bookmarked. I fear this project will never be complete as I'm always reading and bookmarking new fics but I’m going to share it anyway.

Inside, you will find links and summaries to the fanfictions I’ve read over the years on both AO3 and FF.net. Each fic is sorted by the specific whumpee that they center on. So there’s a page for Danny Williams, for Mike Warren, for Lucifer Morningstar, and many many more. The fics are 90% whump with a touch of fluffy ones thrown in too. This list is based on the fics I’ve read and bookmarked so it leans heavily on my favorite whumpees and my favorite tropes. 

I’ve been working on categorizing every fic by its tropes (so theoretically you could search for say seizure fics or sick fics) but that’s taking me a loooong time because I have to reread every fic in order to determine what kind of categories to make and to look for the specific tropes. So for now you’ll have to make do with the fic summaries and using the search function. When it’s done, each whumpee will have their specific trope categories so you won’t necessarily find the same tropes in each category but it should help narrow down the fics better once I’m done. This is an ongoing project for me.

The list gets updated all the time so check back in every now and then. There might be something new.

I do take suggestions of fics to add to this masterlist but please keep in mind that it may not end up on the list. It's nothing personal I promise. I just can't add every single fic in the world.

Here's the link (note that it opens best on desktop browser because it is large):

[wayward-travelers]

GPosingway and gen AI

CTRL+F "What is" if you want to go straight to the "what is GPosingway?" section.

Some context first

Screenshot made with Wi-Fi's preset Inflorescence (yes, it's AI and it's relevant)

A few days ago, a post made the rounds about GPosingway, Wi-Fi's presets and Leon Aquitaine's opinion on generative AI. What started as a simple post of someone setting boundaries about screenshots containing AI generated stuff (so far, so good) ended up, with the help of two people's additions, as a gaggle of shit based on hearsay, misinformation, fear-mongering and someone's personal vendetta that inevitably ended up as harassment.

For some reason, several hundred people felt the need to enable it. Because apparently what the "nice and welcoming" FFXIV community needs is pearl clutching over (only one brand of) copyright infringement, and bullying.

So I'm posting to hopefully share what GPosingway truly is, since apparently it was too much to ask to just go to their GitHub page and read three lines of explanation.

Just to be clear: this isn't permission to go harass them or anyone who uses GPosingway, with or without AI-generated textures. You're not twelve and being an abusive control freak isn't sexy. Behave.

Customary disclaimer

For the record, I'm not particularly comfortable with generative AI. I'm also not comfortable with porting assets from other games, unofficial merchandising (incl. commissions of your blorbo from the game), data-mining and taking screenshots of glamours that aren't officially available in game yet.

As I laid my eyes upon the Azem crystal I bought from a friend some time ago, however, I figured I lost my right to cast the first stone. And, frankly, sometimes those commissions are just really pretty.

But here's a stack for those of you morally pure enough to stone people over copyright infringement. I'm sure none of you has ever used a movie or anime character as a pfp in your life—let alone a stolen fanart—so have fun.

(Also please don't stack stones irl. It's bad for the little critters who depend on them to live and reproduce.)

What is GPosingway?

It's ReShade with a bunch of presets.

Yeah, that's it.

It's literally ReShade and it comes with a bunch of presets that are compatible with that version of ReShade and the game and don't conflict with each other.

No, it's not a fork.

It's ReShade. With a bunch of presets. That you don't have to hunt on three thousand discords, patreons, kofis, websites, etc.

Basically, GPosingway's main appeal if that it's less bothersome than hunting down presets on your own and making sure everything is compatible.

Anyway.

It's not perfect for reasons I'll describe later, so if you decide you don't want to use GPosingway anymore, here's what you need to do: nothing.

It's just ReShade. With a bunch of presets.

You don't have to uninstall ReShade to then reinstall ReShade like I've seen someone say, that'd be stupid and a waste of time. Just make sure the presets you use remain compatible with the version of ReShade you have and that's it.

And because it's literally just ReShade, it also means that you can add, change or delete presets like you would with any other ReShade install. And you can delete or just not use textures you find suspicious, because believe it or not, you're not being victimized by your shaders and the Devil isn't here to tempt you.

Do you know what GPosingway is not, though? A stain on your soul.

What's the problem with it?

Well, Leon Aquitaine, the dude at the helm of the project, is pro generative AI. And because he's pro generative AI, he will and has agreed to include presets in GPosingway that use AI generated textures, like Wi-Fi's*.

Which you can yeet from your folders in ten seconds top, if you've installed ReShade through GPosingway and didn't know it was there.

And that's it, really.

(*Neither of them hid it, to be clear. Though I will grant you that they could be more forthcoming on the GitHub page itself.)

Now what?

Well, now you can do whatever you want. Use it, don't use it, the choice is yours. What you're doing on your own computer is no one's business but yours anyway.

Just don't go harassing people or smearing them online because you disagree with them. It apparently needs saying, so I'll say it: bullying people out of a community is much worse than generating textures with AI or using said textures.

If you don't like that GPosingway exists as it is, here's a list of things you can do:

your own ReShade package

sharing a list of your favourites presets to make them easier to find

sharing existing lists

if you really have that much energy to spend, organizing with other people to lobby your government and put limits to what AI is used for and how

And absolutely all those options will be better for your self-esteem than callouts and harassment of a random dude online.

Happy screenshotting!

[selfcestmovies]

To say that Kate Bishop was frustrated was putting it mildly.

She and Yelena had decided to join Wanda and Natasha on a "working vacation" to Kamar-Taj — the ancient, mystical sanctum in Tibet where Kate had hoped she and Yelena could reignite their blossoming relationship. Things hadn't been hot and heavy between the two of them for a while; Yelena insisted they weren't to be labeled and things had to stay casual, at least until the pace of her missions slowed down. Even in Kamar-Taj, Yel seemed fully preoccupied working with Nat and Wanda to untangle some of the Red Room's aftermath, leaving Kate "theoretically single" and trapped in a bizarre foreign compound with far too much free time.

Not to mention the BOREDOM that came with it. There was no Wi-Fi here, no decent snack food, and she had to leave Lucky at home. Other than exploring the vast compound, her days were slowly becoming excruciatingly dull. And to make matters worse, Wanda had asked her to stop snooping around the dark corners of the sanctum. She said it wasn't a place for a young woman of Kate's curiosity.

It was her ninth afternoon trapped at Kamar-Taj when Kate decided to take herself for a long run through the grounds. It would eat up some time, but more importantly, it would hopefully blow of some steam and some much-lamented tension that she had hoped Yelena would have helped her release. Being sex-less with Yelena just out of arms reach was frustrating beyond belief, but Kate knew she couldn't start seeking out other girlfriends while Yelena hemmed and hawed about the status of their relationship. Kate needed patience, but that wasn't her strong-suit.

These thoughts flooded her brain during the long afternoon jog — so much so that when she recollected her wits, Kate had no idea where in the compound she had wound up. She recognized the central library, though — a corner "fully off limits" by Wanda's orders, but surely that edict wasn't absolute, and Kate was in need of a shortcut back to her dorm.

The library was cool, too. Shelves of artifacts and mystical books with seemingly limitless magical potential. Kate took a meandering route through the dusty stacks, idly fingering the spines of some of the fancier books she passed. It wouldn't hurt to take a look into some of them, right? Or to read out loud the first line of ancient script that piqued her interest...

The swirl of violet light from the books pages made her instantly regret the impulse, but it seemed too late as the magic enveloped her — before the aura subsided, finally, leaving Kate unharmed... but not alone.

"Woah." "Woah. Jinx!"

She was standing face to face with what seemed like a living mirror, identical to Kate down to the strands of hair dangling from her messy ponytail or the beads of sweat on her brow.

"Holy crap, this is freaky," one Kate murmured, reaching out to touch the hem of the clone's sports bra.

"You're telling me," the double repeated the gesture. "So you're really me? I mean – we're really us? This is freaky."

Kate nodded, confused and entranced. "I think... well, yeah. We're both us. Both Kate."

Decoding and reversing magical phenomena was not in Kate's wheelhouse, but reaching out to Wanda for help after blatantly violating her policies seemed like a non-starter. So the Kates got to work trying to re-read and undo the script they had read from the book, to little success, so they started scanning other pages of the tome, looking into other nearby books, anything to try and find a solution.

"Look at this, um, other Kate—" it felt weird to say her own name out loud, "At least this page is in English." The clone hustled to Kate's side. "It says that these enchantments are designed to last two hours, so at least..." she cast a glance at her double, "It's not permanent. We just have to kill some time."

"Thank fucking god," the second Kate huffed. "I mean, I'm not upset that you're hear, but Wanda would murder us if she saw us like this."

"The entire Kamar-Taj army would kill us, Kate," the other smirked. "Not to mention Yelena flipping out — she thinks one of us is a disaster, let alone dealing with double."

They laughed in tandem. "I've got to say," Kate put the book down on its shelf, "Speaking of Yelena, and having the chance to finally, you know, examine myself from a new perspective," she gestured head to toe at her twin's body, "Yelena is missing the fuck out."

The other Kate smiled and raised her eyebrows. "I'd say the same thing! We're hot, Kate, no dancing around it." It was fun to finally have a chance to give voice to the thought, after it had been swirling around her head since the moment she had been duplicated. They took turns complimenting the little, superficial things about each other – they looked especially fit after just completing their 10-mile jog, plus they liked their hair, their eyes, their smile. Kate avoided saying out-loud that she liked her own ass, but she presumed the other Kate was on the same page. She had checked it out probably a half-dozen times already anyway, ever since the two had started looking through books side by side.

But when Kate bit her lip, so did her reflection. They didn't need to say it the rest out loud.

One Kate quickly checked over her shoulder down the library corridor, while the other Kate did the same towards the rear entrance. "All clear," she spoke, her voice starting to waver.

"Can you imagine if Yelena walked in on us?" The other laughed. "All clear over here, too." She swiftly closed the distance between the two of them.

The first Kate had barely turned to face the twin before the other grabbed her by her wrists and pinned her from behind to the book shelf. "Fuck, Kate," the woman whispered into her ear. She traced her hands down Kate's back, to her hips, squeezing their bodies close. "I'm so glad we're on the same page."

"Was there ever any doubt?" She asked cheekily, bucking her hips backwards against her clone's body. "If Yelena refuses to get us off—"

"I'm happy to help myself," the other Kate finished the thought, taking the chance to spin her twin's body 180 degrees so the two were face to face. "I'm gorgeous," she whispered, running her hands up the other's body.

"You could say that again," Kate cooed, leaning forward to capture her clone's lips with her own. The kiss was only cautious for an instant – both Kates concerned for that split second that the universe might implode at their touch – but the moment all seemed safe and stable, the dam broke between them. Their mouths opened wide to battle for supremacy, biting and sucking at each other's lips. Their hands were just as aggressive, finding purchase on each other's ass, then chests, then abs, all eager to explore.

"Our body—" she'd gasp. "Fucking amazing—" the other would finish.

The sex was messy and quick, but electric, each woman knowing precisely the points on the other's body that spun her quickest into ecstasy. Within just a handful of minutes, the two had fallen to the floor, their backs against the stacks of books, panting for breath, leaning on each other for support.

"Holy hell, you're good at that," Kate exhaled.

The other brought a hand to her clone's knee and patted her three times. "Right back at you Kate. That was something." She checked her phone. They still had more time to kill. "Round two?"

"Yeah," Kate raised her eyebrows. "But I think we should crack open another book first."

The first Kate cocked her head to the side before the notion hit her. "Pretty and brilliant," she smirked. "Seems like we both agree—"

"—The more, the merrier."