#singles tennis holidays

[mrsfancyferrari]

MASTERLIST - F1

🕊️┆Latanya ， 라타냐 — she ִ ࣪𖤐 ˖ ✦ › entj-t 𓂃 ★ @lando's 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹

Into It Chase Atlantic ♥︎ ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻ ⁰⁰'²⁵ ━━●─────── ⁰³'¹⁶

Lando Norris - "Little Lando"

More Kisses? - LN4 + “One kiss is just never enough.”

This Christmas - LN4 + “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Christmas alone.”

Want You - LN4 + "But I don't want them, I want you." 🥧🏈

I'm All Yours - You and Lando have been in the talking stage for some months now. After Lando's third win, he knows he's missing something important. You being his girlfriend.

My Type - where the reader thinks she isn’t Lando’s type

Our Love Is Strong - You weren't going to let your eating disorder destroy your relationship until it did.

Good Luck Kiss - Lando is a fully independent guy until you are around.

First Choice - Lando and the Reader have been best friends since they were babies. Lando has been in love with the Reader since he was a teenager, which is why he has never had a serious relationship.

Oscar Piastri

Mistletoe Magic - OP81 + “What are you doing with that mistletoe– oh.”

Baby Fever - OP81 + babysitting a child

Max Verstappen - "Mad Max"

Teach Me - MV1 + “I never had any special tradition for the holidays while growing up,"

My Priority - MV1 + "You're my priority." 🍂🦃

Birthday Boy - It's getting to Max's birthday and you know what he wants for it.

Love Sick - You and Max have been together for a while and you knew he loved you but you didn't know to what extent.

Favourite Smell - a pilot with max and it ends up in smut like "I love your smell" +18

Timeless Desire - You had always been Mercedes fan since you were young and it didn't change when you became Max's best friend. Based on British Grand Prix.

Power Couple - Max Verstappen and the Reader have been friends since childhood and started dating when they were 15. The Reader is currently the number one ranked tennis player, with 2 Wimbledon titles, 3 French Open titles, and 2 Australian Open titles to her name. She is the best in women's singles and doubles tennis at the moment.

Daniel Ricciardo - "Honey Badger"

Fragments of Hope - You had an argument with Daniel and you decided to leave him for a while. What you didn't know is that he can't live without you.

Birthday Boy - It's Daniel's birthday and you two are still oblivious to your feelings. Time for the grid's help.

Charles Leclerc - "Lord Perceval"

Winter Wonder - CL16 + Winter Power Outage

You Know Me Best - Charles has a bad day and you as his best friend always knows what he wants, but do you really? +18

Just One Kiss - You & Charles are just best friends but when he wins in his home for the first time, things might change

Speak Baby - you are going out with Charles, you can speak his language, but don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.

Carlos Sainz Jr. - "Chilli"

Christmas Ball - CS55 + fake dating for a Christmas party/ball

Happy Ever After - a Romeo and Juliet vibe

Golf Gurl - an AU where Carlos is attracted to the new receptionist at the golf course he and Papa Sainz frequent

Destiny's Will - You and Carlos were childhood friends until you two were separated before he got to F1. The next time they meet, they're enemies.

More Amor - you are going out with Carlos, you can speak his language, but you don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.

Lewis Hamilton - "Billion Dollar Man"

NY Kisses - LH44 + New Year Kisses

Birthday Wishes - LH44 + Birthday Wishes

His Feast - LH44 + slow feasting on you +18

George Russell - "Mr. Saturday"

Start Something - GR63 + "Don't start something you can't finish." 🥧🏈

Franco Colapinto

Dancing on Ice - FC43 + “I can’t ice skate amor, I’ll break all my bones.”

Sleep Good - Charles/ Lewis/ Carlos (separately)

You could write a driver x reader where while they make love and the reader falls asleep because they work too much and the driver laughs. +18

Lando Norris - "Little Lando"

Our Doggie - Part 1 - Part 2

After McLaren let you watch your boyfriend interact with the animals from the Battersea. One dog found a clear interest in you instead.

Carlos Sainz Jr. - "Chilli"

Real Love - Part 1 - Part 2

You and Carlos were just supposed to be a PR couple for less than a year but someone decided to catch feelings.

Charles Leclerc - "Lord Perceval"

A Lover's Touch - Coming Soon...

In a world of where soulmates can be found easily,Charles was struggling a lot to find his one.

Max Verstappen - "Mad Max"

Need Saving - Save You - We're Saved - My Saviour

You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.

A Second Chance?

Episode 1 - Episode 2 - Episode 3 - Episode 4 - Episode 5 - etc...

You came to Love Island to find true love after your ex left your life in chaos. you didn't think you would find it so easy.... episode 1

Lewis Hamilton - "Billion Dollar Man"

Wild Imagination - Show You Domination

You were just an interviewer for the Met Gala when you were able to meet the Sir Lewis Hamilton

Source: cafekitsune

[castiwls]

mothers day .ᐟ

Paring; coach!patrick x single mom!reader

Synopsis; your son wants to make mothers day special and who else better to drag into his plans then his tennis coach! the same tennis coach who really really want's to make a move properly this time.

Notes; I may start a tag list for this if I get enough interest? hm

Masterlist | coach!au masterlist

“Careful! That took us way too long for you to drop it at the finish line” 

Noah grinned his grip tightening on the tray he was currently holding. He slowed his pace down, climbing the steps one at a time to not drop the food. Being woken up at 6 am on a Sunday was far from his ideal weekend but Noah had insisted that they make you breakfast before you could beat them to it.

“Grandma helped me last year but she's on holiday and I can’t use the stove…mom’ll get mad.” He’d pleaded doing his puppy dog eyes alongside it and Patrick had folded almost immediately. An hour and a half later they’d managed to make a decent meal of pancakes and bacon.

“Wait.” Noah paused by his bedroom door, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before looking at Patrick. “Can you get the present for me?” He smiled as Patrick rolled his eyes letting out a small huff. “Jesus kid it’s not even 9 am yet and you’ve had me working my ass off here.”

Noah grinned slightly sheepishly. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

You’d honestly forgotten about Mother's day. Sure your mom normally made sure Noah got you something but with your parents being away you’d just assumed that this year wouldn’t be a fuss. 

The last thing you’d expected was to be woken up by your son at 7:30 with a full breakfast and a gift. Your son had practically been vibrating in excitement when he’d showed you his work. 

“Happy Mother's Day!” He placed the tray down with surprising carefulness for a nine-year-old before jumping up next to you. “How did you do all this?” You wrapped an arm around him as he shuffled closer and your eyes narrowed slightly. The small smile which pulled at your lips softened the accusing look you’d sent him as he smiled innocently.

“Technically he didn't do it” Patrick hummed leaning casually against the door, the gift bag hanging loosely in his grasp. “I helped!’ Noah frowned.

“You threw flour everywhere.” Patrick raised an eyebrow as Noah flushed slightly. “I cleaned it up!” He argued. Patrick shook his head pushing off the door to sit at the edge of the bed. “You did. You did.”

You smiled watching the two quietly. Patrick staying around had become more and more common in the months since your sons birthday. It was more common than not at this point for him to show up and stay the weekend, something which Noah loved. Your son seemed happier than ever and loved having both you and Patrick around, even you’d found yourself enjoying his company.

You’d never admit that you liked waking up to him and Noah in the kitchen. It was nice to have another person other than your son around.

“You know you didn’t have to do anything.” You smiled. Noah shook his head with a stubborn pout. “It’s Mother's Day! You do stuff for my birthday!” He reasoned pushing the tray closer. Patrick smiled watching as your son chatted eagerly in your ear as you ate.

Quietly placing the bag down he stood slowly deciding to give you both some space but before he could reach the door his name was called. “Patrick, where are you going?” Both you and Noah had stooped to watch him.

You waited quietly for a response as he hovered in the doorway, his eyes glancing from the hall to you. “I was just gonna go clean up.”

A small frown pulled at your lips as your teeth gnawed on your lip for a moment. You didn’t want him to leave but you also understood that he might not want to be pulled into this any more than he had. 

He was still only technically a friend and even friend was only used lightly. Sure he wasn’t as annoying as he’d been at first, he’d almost calmed down in a way. His once relatively childish pursuit of you seemed to have halted.

You couldn’t remember the last time he’d made some sort of sexual joke or made you want to smack the arrogant smirk right off his stupidly handsome face.

He was actually becoming a decent person and part of you hated to admit how much you liked this new version of him.

“No rush…unless you have anything else to do?” You were slightly hesitant as you spoke, your voice faltering almost as you left the offer open. You were leaving the ball in his court to see what he would do.

He could make an excuse now and spend his day alone…or he could take the opening.

And he really wanted to take your opening.

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

“Didn’t you watch this las-”

“Shh. You’re missing it.”

Patrick scoffed shaking his head with an amused smile watching as you focused back on the screen again. Noah was happily tucked between you both, picking absentmindedly at the chocolates you’d opened only a few hours before.

You’d been given full control of the TV for the day and quickly chose a movie that Patrick was beginning to realise was a common staple in your home. He sighed quietly saying your name as his head rolled back against the headboard. “You watched this on Friday.”

“And I’ll continue to watch it.” 

He opened his mouth, ready to make another comment before you cut him off. “Another word, and I'm cancelling the sports package.” Patrick's eyes widened, and his shoulders tensed for a moment. “You wouldn’t…”

Noah’s own eyes widened at your threat and for a moment you thought they were about to bug out of his head as you reached for your phone. “One click and it’s gone.” He shook his head looking back to Patrick with wide eyes. 

A small smile pulled at his lips as he reached over to ruffle his hair. “Your mom’s just joking.” Patrick’s eyes met yours and you raised an eyebrow. “I think.” He murmured. You shrugged placing your phone back down. “Complain about my movie choices one more time and I won’t be.”

A look of relief crossed Noah’s face as he settled back into the pillows. The room fell quiet again, the sound of the TV filling the silence as the three of you went back to watching. You felt Noah shift ever closer, his head resting against your chest as he fiddled with the cover.

Patrick’s head tilted down slightly at the feeling of Noah shifting, the hand that wasn’t intertwined with the covers tugging on the side of his sweatpants in a silent request. He frowned for a moment before catching on to what the boy wanted when he tugged particularly hard.

Taking a breath he shifted slightly closer a small happy sound leaving Noah as he was now cushioned between you both. You paid no mind, simply watching the screen and missing the wide-eyed look Patrick sent you for a moment as your son all but demanded to be cuddled by you both.

This had to be crossing some sort of line…right?

He was already crossing a line the minute he’d taken your offer to join you both in your bed but now, now he knew he was pushing it. He half expected you to notice and push him from the bed for overstepping his boundaries but you didn't.

You didn’t say anything.

After a moment he managed to will himself to relax, shifting slightly for a moment as his arm rested awkwardly in his lap. 

“Patrick, what's wrong?” You murmured looking over for a moment with a draw in your eyebrows. “Nothing. Nothing.” He shook his head settling down. You watched him shift his arm again so it didn’t press against the boy who now seemed fully enraptured by the movie. 

You watched him struggle for a moment before finally taking sympathy for him and reaching over to move his arm to rest on the pillows behind you both. Patrick’s arm tenses for a moment before his fingers graze against your shoulders.

You both settle back, matching smiles pulling at your lips.

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

“Okay. He’s down.” 

Patrick glanced up from the plate he’d been washing as you entered the kitchen. “Nine years old and still demands his mom puts him to bed huh?”

“He’s still young!” You smiled moving to place a stray cup away before shutting the cupboard. “In a few years, he isn’t gonna even wanna be living in the same house as me.”

Patrick chuckled placing a plate on the drying rack. “I find that hard to believe. I don’t remember making my mom pancakes on Mother’s Day at the age of nine.” A quiet hum left you as he turned grabbing a tea towel to dry his hands. 

“I'm also pretty sure he was very clear that you shouldn’t be anywhere near the stove today?” He raised an eyebrow as you shrugged him off leaning against the counter. “Hey, I'm technically not near it.” You gestured across the kitchen. “You’re the one stood by it.”

Looking back he pursed his lips seeing you were correct. “Touche.” You watched as he placed the towel down before slowly approaching you. Your hip rested against the counter as he came to stand before you, his eyes trailing over your face for a moment.

His lips curled slightly as his eyes softened. “Your ex is possibly the stupidest guy alive, " he murmured after a moment. Your eyes narrowed briefly before a quiet laugh left your lips at his comment. “What?”

“He’s the stupidest guy alive for ever letting you go.”

Your breath caught for a moment as his words registered. He hummed quietly his hand reaching over to rub over your waist for a moment gently. “Well…his loss is someone else's gain.” You said, your voice was soft almost as if you were scared to talk too loud and break the moment.

The last time he’d touched you like this was minutes before you’d both ended up tangled in your sheets but this seemed different. Last time the only emotion you’d felt besides a slight disdain was lust. Now though? Now lust was the last thing on your mind.

“Patrick,” You sighed. “I can’t do another one-night stand. Noah needs stability an-”

“Hey. I’m not looking for another one-night stand.” He reassured. “If that's what I’d wanted I wouldn’t be standing in your kitchen five months after we already had one.” His thumb rubbed slow circles as his other hand hesitantly brushed a strand of your hair back before cupping your cheek. 

“Just…let me prove it to you alright? Prove that I’m serious about this.  About you and Noah.” You felt yourself leaning into his touch almost like two magnets finally being close enough to attract after months of teatheing on the edge. 

“Patrick you don’t need to prove that.” His eyebrows furrowed as you spoke confusion flashing across his features for a moment. “You proved that to me the minute you woke up at 6 am this morning to help him make pancakes.” His eyes lit up almost as you laughed quietly.

“So…If I asked you out properly you won't hit me.” He grinned feeling on cloud nine as you rolled your eyes pretending to think for a moment.

“You get one chance.”

[amymbona]

Slavic summer with Patrick Zweig

It's all past Stanford, way after Atlanta of 2011, both Tashi and Art long forgotten and gone from his mind.

Patrick has changed a lot, mainly influenced by your presence, growing to be a softer, more closed off individual. He doesn't seek adrenaline nor does he throw himself head first into hazarding situations. No, no. Today, Patrick Zweig is content where he is, right by your side.

In July, when the sun shines the longest and both of you are bored of the stereotypical city life, you sense the urgent need for a change, even if that should be only for the temporary period of summer holiday.

So you take Patrick to your the place you spent most of your summers at, as a child. The tranquil village far from the smog and clamor of the city, place as colourful as it was before it had fallen under the term eastern block some years ago.

Today, it's a wonderful place offering the much needed solace, especially for a heart as aching as Patrick's.

The brick-by-brick built cottage with no internet connection and cobwebs in all four corners of each room scare Patrick at first, but never avert him completely. He's nervous while shaking you grandfather's hand and grimaces playfully when your grandmother offers him a slice of breath with salt as a toast. He accepts gratiously.

Together, all four of you drink black tea from the ceramic set of decorated cups while you introduce Patrick fully, leaving out the whole tennis part from your small monologue. You hold his hand, thumb stroking over his knuckles as he gazes around the room, eyes shining with child-like wonder as a completely new part of this world is exposed to him.

You say that you've been in love with Patrick for some time and your grandfather playfully threatens to lock him in the hencoop if he ever makes you cry. Later, when you take Patrick with you to collect the generous stock of eggs for dinner, he trembles like a little kid when a tiny chicken bites the tip of his finger.

He's in awe of your grandmother's cooking, eyeing the way she prepares the cherry sponge cake that you've mentioned to him a couple of times before, and he's probably begging her to write him down the recipe when you excuse yourself to the bathroom. That man is determined to bake it himself to surprise you one day.

While your grandmother treats himself a tobacco pipe in the evening and your grandmother insists she doesn't need your help with the dishes, the two of you sit cuddled up under a plaid blanket, watching Well, just you wait! - the cartoon of your childhood - on the local TV. With the unstable connection to the local network, you're often met with the sight old black and white graining when the picture simply doesn't show, but Patrick doesn't mind, admiring what he didn't have the time to look at yet.

The two of you fall asleep under a feather stuffed duvet, shivering because the heat from the fireplace in the main room doesn't reach the space of the attic where your room used to be. Patrick uses that as a chance to sneak his hands under your shirt and kiss you all over, insisting he needs to warm you up.

In the morning, you two are awoken by the sound of the eldest rooster squawking, a type of alarm clock Patrick isn't used to at all. Hidden just under the oversized piece of Patrick's shirt, you wander out onto the balcony where you greet the world, and Patrick has to literally pull you inside in fear of somebody seeking your almost bare body.

You eat the sponge cake for breakfast, and Patrick drinks some hot cocoa, before the two of you go for a walk. Today, your mission is to show him all the wonders of your most favourite place in the whole world.

As you pass the similarly looking and yet completely unique little houses, Patrick plucks a single piece of pelargonium from somebody's flowerpot set on the window and sets the blossoming flower delicately behind your ear. You smile and kiss him, and then steal an apple from your neighbour's tree for him to much on.

You pass the local chapel, say hello some old friends and introduce Patrick as your boyfriend. When one of the locals mentions he seems familiar, you assure him it's just a similarity in facial features. No one suspects Patrick was once a star tennis player.

When the sun begins its assault during noon, the two of you decide to cool off in the nearby pond. Patrick audibly gasps when you strip naked just into your panties in front of him and dip into the water like a mermaid. He follows you without having to be told twice, though, savouring the cold water on his achingly hot body.

The two of you swim together, make out and have fun. Your hair is completely drenched but you couldn't care less. It'll dry, eventually.

Hand in hand, you and Patrick wander through the fields and meadows. Butterflies land in your hair and Patrick has a hard time believing you're real.

You pull him with you to lay onto the pillow of grass, not caring at all for all the ants and ticks and other insect that might crawl over you. Patrick couldn't ignore the nature around him less, not when he has such a beautiful fairy in his grasp.

He kisses you a thousand of times and tells you how lucky he is to have you. You giggle and kiss him again.

The sun shines in your eyes and Patrick smiles at your squinting expression, finding it funny and yet incredibly natural. For a moment he considers completely hiding all your pairs of sunglasses and let you go blind so he could be your attentive knight in shining armour.

You come back just for lunch, some chicken schnitzel with potatoes, barely seasoned, such a stark and yet pleasant contrast to all the overseasoned fastfoods Patrick has learned to eat as a part of his constant travelling. Immediately, schnitzel with potatoes becomes his most favourite food of all time.

After lunch, he aids your grandmother with planting seeds in the garden and then and help her collect some cucumbers for a salat. They're tiny and shiny green in his palms, different to the pieces he's used to seeing at the supermarket. Your grandmother calls him and gentleman and be blushes when she ruffles his curls and calls him the right one for her granddaughter.

In the evening, you grandfather takes Patrick to meet his friends in the local pub. He's nervous at first, insisting you join as well, but you ease his worries with a kiss. There, he drinks some draught beer and laughs with your grandfather's pals. They joke, calling him fresh blood, and pat his shoulder for winning the heart of such a pretty, kind girl. Basically all of them act as your personal bodyguards, only proving that everybody knows everybody in this village, promising they'd hurt Patrick if he ever hurts you.

Late at night, slightly tipsy and after singing with his new friends, he sneaks into bed, teeth sinking into your shoulder playfully. He giggles like a mad man when you pull of his jeans and ease him to lay down, then only falls asleep once you're safe and secure in his arms.

When Patrick wakes up the following morning, his poor head spinning lightly and still finds you in his arms, your plush lips parted and lashes fluttering as you rest on his chest, with the birds chirping and rays of sunlight tickling his cheeks, it hits him that all this is real.

And he couldn't be happier, more content with the current state of his life, than he is at the moment. Completely gone and away from the everyday stress, just with the girl he loves the most in their own tiny bubble of tenderness.

[dreaminrainbows]

Happy 28th!! This month is so long how is it still not over???? Here are some amazing fics that got me through January

Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top)  by angelichl/@angelichl | [113k]

Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

I like the way you say my name (when you soak it in grace) by louisismycat (tiflamomet)/@liminalkittyfics | [73k]

“It’s like I’m fucking orbiting around you, you know? Like you’re some huge, beautiful planet, and I’m a piece of space junk lucky enough to be pulled in by you somehow, and now I can’t leave, even if I wanted to. And I really fucking don’t want to leave.” OR Louis is transferred to a new city to temporarily cover for his counterpart while he is on maternity leave for the next six months. His new co-workers talk endlessly about Harry, the omega who he’s covering for. And Louis finds himself jealous of whatever alpha as snatched him up. Until he learns Harry is actually an unmated omega three months out from becoming a single parent. Title from “Say My Name” by Prince of Eden

2024 Advent Calendar by larryftnoctrl/@the-larry-way | [47k]

25 independent one-shots with wintery/Christmas themes centering Larry Stylinson

I am adding the whole calendar since I've read most of the fics in it, strongly encouraging you to do the same

A Frail Farewell by Rearviewdreamer/@all-these-larrythings | [44k]

Louis can’t believe his luck when he is offered one of the easiest jobs he has had as a long-term house-sitter for the wealthy. He loves the money, and the peace and quiet of the empty mansions he looks after. Most of all he likes that there are no surprises until he gets the shock of his life from ex-pop star Harry Styles who isn’t supposed to be home.

Buried Like Treasure by QuickedWeen/ @becomeawendybird | [40k]

Prince Harry Styles is very private. He chooses to keep himself out of the public eye but feels lonely and isolated while surrounded by people in his hectic royal life. When he finishes his dissertation, he decides to take a solo holiday to one of the royal family's properties in the Swiss Alps. Semi-retired thief Louis Tomlinson has been pulled in for one last job: steal a painting from an uninhabited mansion. Neither one of them expects a natural disaster.

If I had no love to give (I wouldn't give it to you) by kingsofeverything/@kingsofeverything | [30k]

Small town restaurateur Louis Tomlinson needs someone competent to work in his kitchen. Chef Harry Styles needs a job.

Want It Flowing Through My Streams by screwstyles | [30k]

Wimbledon ABO AU: Harry has just qualified for his first Grand Slam, and he’s prepared to make the most of it – that is, until his heat unexpectedly hits him only a few days before his first match. And it’s just his luck that Louis Tomlinson, the resident bad boy of British tennis, is the only person around to help him.

Cold Calls by xunorthodox/@ltwritten | [17k]

Harry tilted his head, his green eyes scanning Louis' face in a way that made his skin crawl. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?" Against his better judgment, the cracks in his composure widen as he says, "What do you want me to say, Harry? You've got a job to do. I'm not going to sit here and guilt you into staying." OR Louis is nearing the severe stages of touch depri and alpha drop. Harry just can’t stay away.

No Bunny But You by crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)/@crinkle-eyed-boo | [13k]

“So you saw the bunnies then?” Harry clarifies, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, those were a bit of a surprise,” Liam huffs. “I mean, they definitely weren’t part of what we commissioned from him, but they’re kind of cute, right?” Harry sputters a laugh. “What?” Liam asks, the furrow in his brow deepening. “They are cute little bunnies!” “Cute little bunnies that are fucking,” Harry snickers. “What?” Liam gasps. “Liam,” Harry says, trying to school his face into a serious expression. “Those bunnies are fucking.” A slow Monday night behind the bar turns into something else entirely thanks to a new mural and a new customer.

sip it slowly and pay attention  by vintagehistories/@adoredontour | [12k]

“So I’ve got a guy I think you might like,” Louis says. He’s standing in the doorway of Harry’s office, drinking from what is most definitely Harry’s mug. “You’re going to set me up?” Harry asks, rightfully wary. He can’t imagine that this could end well. “Don’t look so afraid.” Louis takes a sip from his mug, wincing as it burns him. Harry rolls his eyes. He’s always warning Louis to be more patient before he loses all his taste buds. “I know you better than anyone else. Who better to set you up on dates than me?” “I guess you’re right,” Harry says, still slightly hesitant. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Louis, but. He doesn’t trust Louis’ taste. Louis has about the same track record with men that Harry does, if not quite as extensive. or, harry is a guidance counselor, louis is an english teacher, and harry just wants to go on one successful date

Tease You, Please You by homosociallyyours/@homosociallyyours | [12k]

Marcy is the best assistant Louis could ever imagine having, and it’s not just because she’s good at her job, though she is. No, what really makes her the perfect fit for Louis is just how easy it is to make her blush and squirm and fall all over herself, and Louis rarely misses an opportunity to get a rise out of her. It’s not until a new drummer joins the band at the last minute, taking away some of Marcy’s time and attention, that Louis starts to wonder if there might be more to it than she’s realized. But has she already messed things up with Marcy with her teasing? There’s only one way to find out.

Fix Me Up by heartbreakwthr | [10k]

Prompt 96: omega harry is in love with the sexy alpha maintenance man named louis who is no doubt a little older than him with the sexiest beard and tattooed hands he has the peaky blinder haircut!!! for the love of god pls and at first harry is so content with his dreams and fingers because stuff in his flat breaks a LOT, harry is quite clumsy you see? so louis has to come fix stuff allllllllll the time so harry gets plenty of wank material when he’s around, can’t help slicking up at just the sight of him (louis tries very hard to ignore this the first 10 times because he was raised to be a respectful alpha but harry just smells so good and he’s so goofy and sexy, so hard to eventually resist) but then harry gets the real thing from louis and they fuck so hard and amazing that they break something and louis is like lmao i can fix that and harry is like swoon

I Roll 'til I Change My Luck by larry_hiatus/ @larry-hiatus | [8k]

Dating is hard enough when you're gay. When Louis reveals to his Tinder matches that he uses a wheelchair and has a service dog, things tend to get even more complicated. Too bad the guys on dating apps aren't as sweet and understanding as his best friend Harry...

i met a superhero. by Anonymous | [7k]

Harry has fibromyalgia and Niall is an idiot, leaving Louis to bump into Harry at 6am in a hospital corridor. It ends up as something much more wonderful than Harry ever could have expected, stood with a walker in his ratty PJs after a nasty flare-up, and he finally finds someone who can love him just the way he is.

You're Music To My Eyes by FallingLikeThis & RecycledStardust/ @fallinglikethis | [5k]

Louis' life is made so much easier when he finally starts using the amazing app for the visually impaired that Niall had him download months ago. Harry discovers a new way to treat people with kindness when his mother introduces him to the app as a sighted volunteer. Is it inevitable that their paths will cross?

Just Two Stars Passing By by QuickedWeen/ @becomeawendybird | [5k]

Harry blew up on TikTok and became a fashion commentator during the pandemic. Now, all of a sudden, big channels are asking him to cover their red carpets and premieres. Somehow he ends up covering arrival fashion for the 2024 Euros, and somehow Louis Tomlinson already knows his name.

a little bit stressed out by orphan_account | [1.8k]

Shawn takes a deep breath. “He’s scaring me.” “Harry’s scaring you?” Niall frowns. “Listen, he might be a global pop phenomenon and have been part of an Oscar-winning film, but he’s just a regular guy. You saw that in rehearsals. What’s changed? Oh, I know. Does he keep telling you the story about how he used to be a baker?” Shawn shakes his head. “No, I’m not talking about Harry. Harry’s great. I’m talking about his boyfriend.” “Louis? Louis is 5’8.” “And what about it?” ~ Or, Harry is starring in a romcom, and Louis keeps terrorizing his poor co-star.

Please don't forget to always leave comments and kudos!!!

[paddockbunny]

B + Touch + Pierre Gasly

On Deck

Summary : When your boyfriend Pierre has a little time off he whisks you away to a gorgeous hotel…then surprises you further by helping you fulfil one of your dreams. Rating : 18+ Pairing : Pierre Gasly x Reader Word Count : 2,800 ONE SHOT Trigger Warnings : 18+, NSFW, adult language, discussion of sex, intimate touching female, public sex Images : curated from Pintrest

List : List B. Prompt : Touch - our muses touching one another discreetly but intimately in a public setting.

Dating Pierre had many perks. From brands sending you free clothes to being invited to events like fashion shows and tennis matches. But your favourite perk of all was the complimentary holidays and hotel stays he was consistently offered. And while he had to turn many of them down because he was working, on the odd occasions he did accept, you were always his favourite room mate. So this unexpected trip to Sardinia in between races could most definitely be classed as a perk.

The pair of you arrived on the Tuesday to beautiful warm sunshine and every single last drop of tension melted away in both of your bodies. The oranges that lined the driveway to the stunning five star resort filled the air with a beautiful citrus aroma that you could get drunk off and you grasped your boyfriend’s hand tighter when you saw the welcome glasses of champagne awaiting you at the hotel entrance. Pierre loved watching you reactions to experiences only he had been able to give you. He got off somewhat knowing he could impress and dazzle you more than any man that had come before him. It thrilled him to see your eyes widen in awe or excitement rushing around your body at these new adventures he could provide you with. He was glad it was him making these memories with you. And you in turn always made sure to thank him, diligently, thoroughly and exactly how he liked.

For three days the pair of you spent your time rotating between sunbathing, eating and fucking. Pierre was in his element in all three and you were more than happy to do whatever it was he felt like doing just because you were happy to be with him.

On Friday, you awoke to an empty bed. Pierre’s voice was muffled outside on the balcony. You took the opportunity of being alone in the huge, comfortable hotel bed to stretch out like a cat. As your muscles pulled and twisted you felt the burn from your inner thighs. Last night’s energetic sex clearly still reverberating through your body. The smirk crept upon your lips without realising it the memory of your legs up around Pierre’s shoulders as he fucked you hard and deep. You were in your own little world when he re-entered the room and you heard his low rumbling laughter.

“What are you thinking about?” “You.” Your response was quick and his cocky eyebrow raise was met with an equally as confident smirk as your eyes travelled down his body. He was stood next to the bed clad only in his black tight boxers that left little to the imagination and your mouth practically watered thinking about him being in your mouth. You rolled on to your stomach and pulled yourself up on to your knees before crawling to close the space between you. You were still completely naked, the hotel sheets disregarded behind you, and Pierre took full advantage of his view. He didn’t hide the fact his eyes were roaming all over your body. He knew that you knew he enjoyed when you were so completely exposed to him. You watched him checking out your boobs first before those azure blue orbs fell lower and settled to his favourite place, between your legs. Your hands slowly caressing up his chest and around his neck was what brought him out of being transfixed. But what snapped him back into reality was you guiding his hand to where his eyes had just been. Your insinuation of morning sex couldn’t be any more obvious.

What you thought would be met with eager willingness was instead met with a frustrated sounding growl from your boyfriend. “Fuck. I want too, I really, really want too but I’ve just organised a surprise, baby.” He sighed. So that was what he was doing out on the balcony. “A surprise?” Your eyebrows met in the middle quizzically. “What kind of surprise?” He knew you weren’t a huge fan of surprises and were more of a preparer type person. You liked knowing what you were going to do, where you were going, what you were going to wear. Pierre smiled. His fingers ghosted over your delicate folds - a reminder his hand was intact exactly where you had let it too only moments before - as he slowly nodded.

“I’m not going to tell you what we’re doing. You just need a bikini.” You almost didn’t hear his words because your brain was completely distracted by the shudder that passed through you from the action of his fingers. And just because he liked to play with you, he raised his fingers to his mouth. He enclosed his mouth around them, no doubt tasting your wet slick excitement on them, and moaned deeply because he knew exactly how pent up it got you when he teased you.

“Where are we going?” You asked Pierre (threatening to go in a huff) for the fourth and final time as you got into the chauffeur driven Mercedes parked right in front of the hotel lobby. He had been tight lipped when you tried to coax his plans out of him right after he told you you needed a bikini. You tried hard to get the answer from him and even used dirty tactics by holding up two different styles in front of him - the first option was an impossibly tiny thong that l barely covered anything at all; while the second was an extreme high cut that left little to the imagination, it didn’t surprise you when he went for the first option - and when that didn’t work you pouted, lowered your chin so your eyes were as big as they got when you were about to blow him, and asked again. Nothing. The last attempt was when you got in the elevator and tried to trick him into admitting his plans but he wiggled his finger back and forth and told you; “Patience is a virtue, doll”

So there you sat in the back of the car, pretending you were cool with not knowing the plans while Pierre’s hand ran up and down your bare thigh. He pretended like he wasn’t deliberately trying to torture you by pushing the white cotton hem of your dress further up your thigh with each stroke, but you had his number. You deliberately ignored him and gazed out of the window. His grip got harder to make you look at him but you continued freezing him out.

“If you don’t look at me I’ll make the rest of this journey very uncomfortable for you.” He had leaned across the car and purred the line straight into your ear. His body press harshly against your side but you couldn’t ignore the fact his hand had slid up to cup your clothed core. Your mouth dropped open but your head rolled back and your eyes went straight to his. “Good girl.” Was amused that he got what he wanted. Proud of himself even. He sat back - his hand retreating - and playfully shook his head. He knew you were being bratty because he hadn’t told you what was going on and was smug that he still held onto his secret.

The car ride lasted only a short while. Fifteen or so minutes and you had began to twig around 20 seconds ago when the car pulled into the marina. “Did you?” It had been a bit of a dream of yours to go on a yacht one day. A proper yacht, a big one. You had been on small sail boats, catamarans, gondola’s and the motorboats they have in Lake Como but never an actual yacht. “Is this a good surprise?” He bit his bottom lip awaiting your response. It was the best surprise. You couldn’t believe he remembered you talking about going on the types of vessels you were passing by. You didn’t think he paid attention to thought all the Below Deck references you dropped whenever you were near the sea. “The best!” You exclaimed while practically leaping across the car and squishing your lips on to his. Pierre was a romantic at heart. He had an animalistic raw sexual energy sure but deep down, he was the biggest, sweetest sentimental teddy bear.

You finally pulled off your little white dress when Cassandra (your chief stew) disappeared to make the pair of you some cocktails to enjoy on the main deck aft while you sunbathed. Pierre, clad in his now signature orange swim trunks, was already laying out on the sun deck. Every toned muscle on full display. He had been watching you as you removed the practically see through white dress and toss it aside. You watched him swallow and rolled his eyes at your teeny tiny bikini - the one he himself had chosen for you to wear. “I’m going to have a semi all day now I’ve seen you in that.” He groaned into your ear when he pulled you down to join him once you took his outstretched hand. “I know you will.” You winked and playfully but your lip “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that when you chose this one. I did give you a choice.” He laughed because he knew he had stitched himself up. “At least give me something to day dream about while I sunbathe, babe.” His eyes lowered to your equally as small bikini top. He was a butt guy through and through but Pierre couldn’t resist your perfectly proportioned boobs either. You glanced quickly around making sure none of the crew would catch you (or prying eyes from another boat) and pulled down the cups of the black bikini quickly. You counted to five before covering yourself back up again and Pierre burst out laughing out of his enjoyment at your little flash.

You felt little beads of sweat form on your chest as you baked in the hot Italian sun. The salty sea air served as a delicious fan to cool your scorching skin. Your head fell to the side and you took in the visage of your unbelievable boyfriend. His skin was glistening with sweat. The scattering of hair on his chest gleamed with it like they were minuscule little crystals. His cut abs were mere fodder for the v shaped guidelines that disappeared below the stretchy band of his swim shorts. Your mouth watered. How could it not? You had been hot for him all day. From the moment you woke up with the dull ache between your thighs - and sore adductors being a reminder of how good the sex really was. You let an unsteady breath escape your throat as you continued down and drunk in the rest of him. He had one leg propped up, his muscly tanned thighs on full display, and you felt the desperation for him kick in. Swiftly you glanced around again and checked the pair of you were alone. Naughtiness consumed you. You felt possessed by your urges.

Leaning over him you kissed his lips gently. He wasn’t sleeping but hadn’t been expecting your action. Even if it was a welcome one all the same. Your body stayed where it was as your finger danced along the waistband containing what you craved. “Baby….” You purred as you kissed the spot under his ear you knew he liked “there’s no one here, they’re all below deck.” You weren’t sure if that was entirely true but you had seen enough reality tv to know they would disappear pretty quickly if they happened to stumble upon anything. Pierre lowered his sunglasses before asking; “Is my good girl feeling a little risqué?” His mother tongue delighting in the pronunciation of the last word. You nodded and you saw all of the dirty thoughts rushing around Pierre’s brain all at once. “Do you think you can stay quiet?” His hand wrapped itself around your wrist - the one resting on his lower tummy while your fingers played with his happy trail - and guided it away. It collided with the mattress of the sun deck behind you and the pressure Pierre applied made it hard for you to move. His body rolled half way on top of yours. “Well?” He asked wanting a vocal confirmation “do you think you can stay quiet?” Normally Pierre wanted to pull every single loud pant, moan, gasp and sigh from you before he made you scream so now he wanted the opposite it was overwhelmingly thrilling. “I can try.” His eyes narrowed “I promise.”

Your word was enough for him. His hand left your wrist and instead came to the valley between your boobs. His fingers trailed down with delicate lightness. You knew better than to let your eyes follow the direction of his hand. He liked eye contact above all else so you kept staring straight back at him. Your mouth opened and you fought back the sigh that was about to leave it when his fingers dipped past the black neoprene fabric that clothed you. “How long have you been this wet?” He as good as hissed at you. “Since I woke up thinking about the way you fucked me last night.” A shaky yet pleased laugh left your boyfriends own parted lips. His forefinger slipped up and down your throbbing folds and you instinctively opened your legs wider for him. He spread the product of your excitement over sensitive creases before he settled on the bundle of nerves that he was by now, best friends with. You couldn’t help but inhale deeply as he made quick work of circling your responsive bud and drawing more and more quick breaths from you. In a normal, less public, setting you would by now be heavy breathing, moaning his name and gripping hold of whatever your hand could find.

“Pierre….” You whimpered quietly, in a broken, breathy tone that was completely carnal. He stepped up the pace and your hands went to his neck, needing to hold on to something as he worked you closer and closer to your high. “You’re so beautiful when you’re this close.” His words caressed your lips before his tongue delved in. He knew you were close (he always knew) when your hips raised up off the daybed underneath you. Desperately seeking more friction, more pressure from his fingers - which of course he gave you without hesitation. “Fuck, Pierre…” the smallest of pleas left you as his mouth swallowed your words.

And then you had to remind yourself to open your eyes for him as he made you climax, hard and sudden. Your body tensed as the high aroused your soul. Shockwave after shockwave came in unrelenting waves like the ocean below the yacht. Pierre kept going, his pace only slightly slowing, to make sure you rode every last inch of the orgasm he graced you with and only when your thighs stopped shaking did he dip his fingers down to the wetness his actions had produced. You saw the pride and smugness overtake him as he felt what he had done to you.

Then without a single shred of warning his hand left your bikini bottoms and the elastic material snapped back against your skin. “Can I get you both another drink?” Cassandra’s Italian laced voice came from behind us. “We’re fine, thank you” Pierre answers for the both of you. You stayed exactly where you were, clinging to him almost, as he did so. A heat spread up upon your cheeks and you realised you were holding your breath. “She’s gone.” He said quickly before erupting into laughter

“Oh my God!” You yelped and buried your face in his neck. There was no option that to feel instantly mortified. The girl couldn’t have been older than you nor Pierre and she had innocently approached you both after you had been doing something so utterly obscene. “Did she see us? I was quiet wasn’t I?” “Shhh….Mon Amour” he kisses you gently “don’t worry, I’ll just tip them a little extra.” He winked when he pulled back and playfully you hit him on his chest for being so typically well, Pierre, about things. “I’ll tip them EVEN MORE if I can fuck you right here on the deck.” You knew he wasn’t joking but you laughed none the less. “Ok” Your words caught his attention “but first, let’s take a dip…” his reply came swiftly; “Fine, as long as it’s the skinny type”

[lesmissocials-fuckedup]

Les Mis socials - official 2023 ranking

Here they are - The results of the "Worst post of 2023" competition and overall an archive for the worst posts the Les Mis social media teams have cursed us with this year.

1- "Who should Marius choose ?" - January 29

That one can be crowned "Worst post of the year" by far - The musical seems to once again have misunderstood three of its most important characters, reducing them to being mere love interests and defining Eponine and Cosette's relationship by a rivalry over Marius.

2 - Cosette at Thanksgiving - November 23

The US competitor also took a very strong stand here - not only because it shows a deep misunderstanding of what the character of Cosette fundamentaly stands for, but also because it can be seen as offensive by many. Putting an abused and starved french child in front of a Thanksgiving meal, really ?

3 - Mother's day - March 19

A picture of Madame Thénardier ? For Mother's day instead of Fantine ? It's more likely than you think. Although on this one the team gets extra credit for acknowledging that Madame Thénardier is not a good mother, which shows an unusual level of understanding when it comes to their own musical.

4 - The Wimbledon post - July 15

Also known as That One Post Where Everything Is Wrong - and for sure not their best use of this promotional picture. From the tennis racket to the editing of Cosette's arms to make her look muscular, it is the proof we never needed that there should not, in fact, be a Cosette for every occasion.Not to mention they somehow messed up the colors of the French flag... not a good look for them.

5 - Christmas Eve - December 24

Just a very disappointing post all around as an adequate way to wrap up this year. On the 200th anniversary of Valjean meeting Cosette in the woods, we got a quality pun and an edited picture that we could, at the very best, consider as inappropriate - would it only be because they added snowflakes to a barricade that was build in June.

Honorable mentions for this year go to :

The Fourth of July post - that surprisingly did not make it in top 5. The US team might win the battle for "Most incorrect use of this Cosette picture" with this one - and it is made even worse by the fact they did not post anything for July 14, the national french holiday.

The World cup one - similar to the Wimbledon post in that it just gets everything wrong overall, from the awful pun to putting Cosette in front of an english flag.

Easter Cosette - not surprising, but still extremely disappointing.

Christmas Cosette - in the same way, it is the exact same post as last year and never fails to disappoint.

Any time they felt the need to put sunglasses on Cosette - which, honestly, was a lot.

A very uncanny use of emojis in every single post, that never gets less disturbing.

Overall a very good year to archive their fuck ups - but they still did not manage to beat the record set last year by the Queen's Jubilee post ! Maybe they will do even better in 2024 ?

[empthy1]

Best Friend - based on @diyasgarden's betting on loosing dogs cats and her cat headcanons. definitely go check them out if you haven't yet!!

the story of tashi and her childhood best friend (1.86k words)

tw: i have not seen the movie so all my knowledge is via osmosis. writing some of these scenes was cathartic. enjoy me working through my own grief and know my tears wet the keyboard. i may have forgotten about art a little bit but this is tashi centric so im just going to say whoops and move on

Tashi was a lonely child. It was just a fact. Even with siblings wrapped around her and hanging off her arms, she swept through her childhood with few permanent attachments.

She was vibrant, regardless of her seclusion. The bounce of her curls and the seemingly infinite energy she possessed endeared her to teachers and classmates. Bright, sparkling curiosity filled her eyes. The librarian saw the most of her, incidentally. With clumsy fingers and boosted toes, she tipped titles from higher and higher shelves, thicker and thicker books filling her arms and her Princess Aurora backpack.

After playdates, summer camps and schedules packed high with unfamiliar names, her parents finally acquiesced. There would be no friend for their daughter, not one she wanted.

Instead, that Christmas, she received two very special presents. An oddly shaped thing with one blunt, cylindrical end and, on the other side, a curved, flat plane; the other was a larger, rectangular box that mewled periodically, its princess wrapping paper massacred with pinholes. She anguishes when she sees a prick right over the left side of Aurora's shimmering pink dress.

Her parents initially direct her towards the oddly shaped gift, no matter how the mewling box draws her ears. Under the light of the rainbowed tree, the LEDs reflecting their colors over her full face, she unknowingly, and with youthful gusto, unwraps her future.

Her very own tennis racket. The gift included the promise of lessons, starting after her holiday break. She'd been curious about her parents' rackets, the handles much too big for her young, soft palms. Now, she can try it all on her own��emulating the fierce girls she revered on TV.

A whine from the larger box draws her attention again, and eyes shining with anticipation turn to her parents. A single nod, and little legs are scampering across the hardwood as she runs to delicately peel off the paper.

The cardboard box under it is as pricked as the wrapping paper, the top untaped. Reaching past the unassuming packaging, she's jolted when something touches her. Soft, with points as pokey as the needle that made the holes. She's nothing if not fearless, however.

As the cardboard flaps are peeled back one by one, the thing, no, paw that reached out to grab her tugs on the last one. It's small, orange, with tiny claws puncturing shallowly. Her fingers, larger and without as sharp nails, gently pries it off so she can finally open the box.

A kitten. A kitten sits, dwarfed by the size of the box. When she reaches for it, it retreats—sniffing her fingers before deciding her a worthy companion. It's all but eager now, pressing into her hands until she picks it up and cradles it to her chest. Its teensy chest starts to rumble with a crackly purr.

"She's yours." Startles her out of her revere, so absorbed in the little body against hers. Her mother's words are said with a smile. She finally found a friend, one that didn't live in pages. "All yours."

Her father chimes in not long after.

"What's her name, Natasha?"

A pause. Tashi blinks, contemplation in the set of her pout and in the subtle furrow in her brow. Her eyes don't stray from the yellows of her newest companion.

"Serena," comes, the resolve in her tone sounding odd in the heightened pitch of a six-year-old.

She'd grow into it.

She'd soon learned her two favorite sounds: the thwack of a tennis ball and the thundering of Serena's purr.

They were familiar, and borderline ordinary. She heard the first over and over, for hours at a time, multiple times a week. Serena's purr, in the same vein, was the thing that greeted her with the sun and lulled her into sleep. Yet, she thought them spectacular. Whenever they reached her ears, that golden smile appeared.

She was always good. Always spectacular at tennis. Sweeping through matches flooded her veins with sweet adrenaline, sweat that dropped to the court marking her path to the stars. Even when she'd left them all behind, flown far away and was weightless in her tennis shoes, it'd say: I, Tashi Duncan, was here. I won.

The thing that brought her back to Earth was simple. Even with the lure of the stars, the rumbling, crackling purr and sweet meows, like the quake she experienced at eleven and the cracking boom of thunder she'd once feared, grounded her in her emotions. Her feelings, not for boys but for Serena overflowed from her heart and spilled out like a split dam, widening her smiles and filling her mind, motivating her game and keeping her present.

At seventeen she was up-and-coming. Her birthday fell a few days after the US Open, so on her last few days as a child, she bundled up with her familiar friend and boarded the metal plane. It would be her wings, giving her that taste of future freedom, of the sky she reached for.

Her transcendence faded in sleep, leaving just a girl and her cat, sleepy and covered in shed hair and so, so young.

She won. She won the Junior Open.

Everything's set in stone now. She can see her future playing out—at Stanford, tearing through the competition and tearing through the pages of novels (she never quite lost her love for words; instead it evolved from Junie B. Jones to Mary Shelley.) Then, she'd go pro, breaking out into the Grand Slams like a comet blazing by.

Art and Patrick were the unexpected twist.

Zweig and Donaldson. Fire and Ice. The perfect duo. One would be joining her at Stanford. The other? Leaving for the intense performance of the pros with her number stashed in his mobile—left sweating under the stage lights of expectations states away.

Whether he'd buckle under the intensity was to be seen. At least his green crash pad was well in place, waiting to be fallen back on.

Practice was routine.

Art was routine.

Serena was at home, with her parents.

The separation was killing her. Some days, especially hearing the thwack of the ball, she felt the ache of her halved heart. She knew she wouldn't go home to her second (first) favorite sound.

Red. There's a lot of red at Stanford, Tashi noticed. Even in her dorm room, the banner on her wall and poster above her bed, the jacket strewn over her chair and the sweaty shorts discarded on her floor. The red apples of Patrick's cheeks and the pinkening to his lips. She let her eyes close and welcomed their press and the darkness behind her eyelids.

They were good. They were fine. He was fine. Then they weren't.

Tashi always knew her heart was fragmented. Tennis, Serena, Patrick. Each one beat independent, for the most part. When they synced was euphoric.

One of her best memories was during her spring break. Patrick had a break before his next tournament, and they packed up in his dingy car to putter back to her parents'. Spending the week there, lounging like house cats, lobbing lazy forehands back and forth and falling asleep every night to Serena's crackling purr and Patrick's heavy arm over her.

It was the most alive she'd every felt.

The game. The game was all that mattered. Not Patrick flaking. Not the absence of her friend. Just the game. That was the piece of her heart still intact.

Then her knee pops sickeningly, releasing out from under her and all she could see was red.

Stanford fans in the stands and her opponent's flushed cheeks, Art's crimson shirt and the pain red-hot behind her eyelids.

The darkness when her eyes shut was a comfort once again. It hides the sight of her swelling, purpling knee. It doesn't stop the pain.

Maybe she'd slip into a blessed unconsciousness.

100 years, Maleficent proclaimed. The princess shall sleep.

She'd never play tennis again, that much was clear. The doctor been almost certain.

Art tried to make her feel better. All she could think of was a familiar rumble she ached for.

She was released to spend a few weeks at her parents, away from the worry of school and her emotional turmoil. A few weeks with Serena, to get back to their routine, to the purrs on her chest and the weaving beneath her feet.

Serena was a bit more careful staying underfoot after her first smell of her braced knee and the sight of her white crutches.

Maybe she'd log her as an emotional support pet, just so she wouldn't loose her whole heart when she went back.

She didn't get that far. She didn't even have the time to get the paper.

Serena fell from Tashi's bed and broke her pelvis a week in. The howl she made was a new noise. One she never should have made.

They spent the whole day at the emergency vet. Tashi's eyes had never been so red-rimmed. She cried, in that sterile waiting room, as they took Serena back and cooed sadly.

She fell into an exhausted sleep, buried in her mother's side with her lip still caught between her teeth.

The doctor's thought the break was suspicious. Cats are usually springier, the vet had said. Even the older ones, like her. She was kind, and caring. Her green scrubs, pattered with paw prints, slowly became orange with Serena's fur. Her hands were warm when they handed her the lab papers.

Bone cancer, the plain black text said, in it's painfully ordinary font. The type that, apparently, had crept through Serena's body and made itself a home in her lungs. It burrowed, unwanted, in the place that held her life. It infected the space right above her heart. Waiting longer, says the vet, would be cruel.

She didn't even look at the amount of tumors they found. Once she saw the double digits she shattered, just that bit more.

The vet gave her time to say her goodbyes. It was all they really could do.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years they'd grown together.

Serena was once bundled in too-big cardboard, clawing energetically at the walls and sinking pinprick claws into her shirt.

Now, she's swaddled in a soft blanket, looking fat and warm but so, so tired.

Tashi holds her on her aching knee and weeps. She presses warm lips press to the forehead of her first friend, her favorite thing. Slender arms cradle this beautiful baby cat to her chest. Serena is sedated, a little medicine for the pain. Her purr's crackling now, muted and rattling. A soft, small paw presses to Tashi's tear-streaked, tawny cheek.

It's time to go, she hears faintly. It feels like she has her head underwater. Her throat and lungs and fingers squeeze as the needle slides in, past fluffed, orange fur. Serena doesn't even flinch. Yet, Tashi feels like she's drowning.

Her form (little, so little. Her baby—) goes limp in her lap.

How's she supposed to survive with no heart?

The next morning arrives with silence. Not even the chirping of the birds.

She curls tight in a too-empty bed and feels her heart wither in her chest.

[mlleclaudine]

Miniature Artist Transforms Household Objects Into Tiny Scenes Full of Whimsy and Wonder

by Regina Sienra - My Modern Met, May 28, 2024

Artist Tatsuya Tanaka continues to immerse us in the whimsical world of his creative miniatures. Having devoted himself to building these tiny scenes every single day for the last 13 years, his creations are as exciting and fresh as ever. As charming as his miniature art is, the true beauty of his ongoing art project lies in his materials of choice. Tanaka uses household objects—from ordinary white bread to a simple wallet—to breathe life into these little worlds.

Tanaka's miniature compositions are part of his never-ending Miniature Calendar, a project that has seen him create a new scene with household objects and tiny people daily since 2011. His images are influenced by anything from pop culture and world events to seasons and holidays. Lately, his feed has taken great inspiration from spring with cherry blossoms appearing in many of his leisurely compositions—including one of bikers by a riverbank and another of a serene carriage ride by a sakura tree. He also celebrated Star Wars Day with an R2-D2 sauce dispenser and Mother's Day with a heart bouquet.

Despite his use of everyday objects, Tanaka's miniature scenes exude a sense of wonder and adventure. In some of his latest creations, his tiny characters visit a spoon-based waterpark, take a brush boat to go dolphin-watching, and play a game of table tennis on a deck of cards. And since leisure is enhanced by a little culture, his cleverly crafted images take us to a jazz concert lit up by the pages of a book. And he has another music-themed piece where a piano is made out of a cassette tape. His imagination is limitless!

Pop culture is also a massive element of Tanaka's work. He recently included some beloved characters from Japanese productions, like Dragon Ball and Studio Ghibli. In one of his most clever recreations, Chihiro from Spirited Away rides the train; but if you look closely, the windows are actually made out of blue eyeshadow. Meanwhile, Nobi from Doraemon cries with the help of two slices of onion; and the golden details of Dragon Ball‘s prideful Vegeta‘s suit are actually pieces of tortilla chips.

To stay up to date with Tanaka's creations, make sure to follow him on Instagram.

Tatsuya Tanaka: Website | Facebook | Instagram | YouTube

[betterbemeta]

I think something interesting about the star trek world is its combination of both replicator and holodeck technology. I understand these are literal 'plot devices' to explain the availability of food, materials, and the ability to visit locations for sci-fi premises that can't be found on an alien planet. However, they are worth thinking about in terms of how they change the world.

(Let's assume 'ideal' circumstances where we have a stable renewable non-polluting source of lots and lots of energy and aren't rationing it like on Voyager or something)

Replicators can use energy and raw materials to configure items, and presumably dis-configure items. While the potential for '3D printing' basically anything so long as its materials aren't too rare is really cool, it is also a near-perfect recycling machine. Beyond making sure your replicated dishes and cups don't infinitely pile up, that's SO IMPORTANT. Not only does that mean many items are 'temporary' that otherwise would be 'forever', you can instantly refresh the wear on many items without having to replace them and generate trash.

For example, tennis balls. It's currently really hard to recycle tennis balls, and serious players wear them out extremely quickly. Every serve you make after the first will be with a slightly worn, degraded tennis ball until you replace it, which generates trash. The production facilities to make all those tennis balls have to exist, they have to be shipped, the space to store them exists, the space to store their waste exists, the waste must be transported to a tennis ball recycling facility or a landfill...

but with replicators, you could play tennis without owning/paying a club to access a single tennis ball, without wasting a tennis ball.

And then there's the possibility of holodeck sports where you don't even need to make ANY material items. You could program the tennis ball to never run out. As long as you have the power to run it, maybe the most you'd need to 'own' is a tennis outfit. I am not sure if it's consistent that holodecks can 'dress you' or if you always must bring in costumes from the outside. And the costume itself could be replicated and then recycled!

There's a vast amount of stuff that we retain as personal property that just has to do with accessing activities or amenities. It's not really property that has emotional significance to us, but we still have attachments to it as its a facilitator of our active identity. Our dishes and cookware. Sports equipment. Certain kinds of clothing items. Some types of personal care items. Non-heirloom/generic holiday decorations. Stuff that is usually sacrificed first when we become homeless, when losing access to what they enable is more devastating than the items themselves.

If we could basically conjure and dismiss these things at-will, or access them on a temporary basis for free, we wouldn't need to own them or keep them around in our homes. No supply chain would be dedicated to them. Their waste would be completely eliminated. Ideas of 'what stuff I need to have as a person, to have a dignified life' would change completely.

It wouldn't surprise me if there were people in the star trek universe running around on earth with basically nothing we consider permanent physical property. Not because they're homeless and have no place to put them, and not because they're rich and their assets are liquid-- because the only reason to 'keep' mundane items, even something as complex as a communication device or computer, might be because they are emotionally important to you. And not everybody has 'stuff' like that at every time in their lives.

[wooahaes]

comforted and cared for

pairing: non-idol!97z x gn!reader

genre: comfort fic.

word count: 1.1k~

warnings: reader and hao experiencing homesickness. food mentions (left vague). reader is a foreigner, but its not specified where they're from.

daisy's notes: tbh these three have home-y vibes...... but also so do a lot of the others i write for skdfhfsd

Out of the three close friends you had, you were probably the most thankful that you and Minghao’s worlds collided the way they did. Seokmin and Mingyu would simply never fully understand how the two of you felt around this time of year, and it was that feeling that brought you to his apartment this winter. Seokmin had spotted you on his way out, and he’d merely waved before saying he’d talk to you once he got back from running errands. Which just left you sitting alone as Minghao moved around his kitchen, making two cups of tea for the two of you as you spilled your woes. Both of you were foreigners, plain and simple, and major holidays always made you the most homesick.

Eventually he settled into the chair across from you, a glum look on his face as he nodded along. “I understand.”

“I just… I miss my family.” You let out a sigh, resting your head in one hand. “And I can’t do anything about it right now. I’m saving up to fly out to see them, and it just… It sucks, Hao.” 

Minghao nodded along, gaze not set on you. “I’m going to see mine in a few months,” he said, “but it’s still hard knowing that and waiting it out.”

“Right?” You looked up from the table. “That’s, like, the hardest part of knowing you get to see them—and then you know you have to leave again…”

“I like being here,” he said, voice soft. “I love being here. But…”

“But it’s still hard,” you nodded along. “Sometimes I get caught up in thinking ‘what if something happens?’ and it keeps me up sometimes. Like… What if something happens to my grandparents? Or what if something happens to my dad, and I’m not there in time?”

Minghao reached across the table, taking your hand in his and squeezing it. “It’s scary,” he affirmed with a slow nod, “but you shouldn’t dwell on it. If something happens, we’ll help you as much as we can. You’d do the same for us.” 

You felt a pleasant warmth rise in your chest at that, this overwhelming thankfulness that you had friends who cared about you enough to give you a little mood boost. “Thanks, Hao.” With a sigh, you straightened up. “Sorry for unloading all of that on you. I mean—”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve been feeling the same way lately. Seokmin and I talked about it a few days ago, and—”

The door chimed as it was unlocked, and both of you dropped your conversation while turning to see Seokmin coming into the apartment. He was carrying a few reusable bags of groceries, and Mingyu stepped in after him with even more. You looked at Minghao, who only glanced at you with the same baffled expression on his face, and it was enough to quell your fears that you’d forgotten dinner plans with them.

“We’re home!” Seokmin called out, shuffling out of his shoes without setting down the bags. 

Minghao eyed the bags suspiciously. “When did you get Mingyu?”

“We’re making dinner tonight,” Mingyu said, already on his way to the kitchen. Clumsy as he was, he managed to shuffle out of his own tennis shoes with relative ease.

Again, the two of you shared a confused look. Minghao spoke up, “We didn’t plan for—”

“Mingyu and I did,” Seokmin waved him off. “He did most of the shopping, I just had to pick him up.”

You watched as he made his way into the kitchen, setting down bags to unload. “.... What’s for dinner?”

The moment he started listing off dishes, you and Minghao shared another look. Every single thing he mentioned was something that either you or Minghao grew up eating and had mentioned in the past or shared pictures of at some point. Or, rather, you had mentioned in the past—Minghao talked, but not nearly as much as you did.

“I had to reach out to Jun for help,” Seokmin casually said as he was pulling on an apron, “since Hao talked to him more than he talked to us, and he was able to give me some of the recipes that he knew—”

“What is this about?” Minghao spoke up. 

Mingyu looked over. “Hm? We’re just making dinner—”

Seokmin waved him off for a moment. “You’re both homesick, and it was Mingyu’s idea to cook since they,” he nodded toward you, “said food helps sometimes.” 

It all clicked. “Oh my god,” you said. “That’s why you kept asking about food I ate at home.” 

“I remembered most of them,” Mingyu pointed out, “I just needed some of the names—”

“You bitch,” you said, already beginning to tear up. “Oh my god, Gyu.” 

He’d merely laughed. “I love you, too.” 

Minghao looked at you for a moment, chuckling softly to himself. He stood up, “Well…” And you watched as Minghao made his way to the kitchen. “If you’re going to make this, then let me show you the proper way.”

“I think we can handle it,” Seokmin looked up from where he was getting out a cutting board. “You don’t have to—”

Minghao turned to you. “They’re going to butcher it if you don’t help them.”

With a smile, you caught onto what he was saying, and got up to follow suit. “Right,” you said. “Let me teach you guys how to do it.” 

Behind your backs, Mingyu and Seokmin shared a look before the realization hit them as well. While he was tying your apron, Minghao had already begun to launch into a story about one of the dishes that they had listed off, talking about the time he’d made it with one of his grandparents years ago. You stepped into the space next to Mingyu, who had brought up the list of dishes (neatly sorted into two lists under your name alongside Minghao’s), and you picked one out to start with. You wrapped an arm around him, giving him a soft squeeze as you thanked him—quiet enough to not interrupt Minghao’s story—only for Mingyu to pull you close and press a kiss onto the side of your head. Seokmin would do the same later, too, clearly proud that this night was ultimately a success.

Homesickness would always hit you hard whenever major holidays came up (there was a reason why Seokmin insisted on taking you and Minghao home for chuseok this year). But now that you were standing in the kitchen, trading stories about the food you were creating, you felt a little more at home with them. Mingyu and Seokmin might not fully understand the way you and Minghao felt, but you’d always be thankful that they went out of their way to do this for the two of you. 

This, you decided as you listened to Mingyu crack a silly joke over something Minghao said to Seokmin, was home, too.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @staranghae @porridgesblog @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunny

[tennisholidays]

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[eidolonsix]

:// 𝙸𝙽 𝙰𝙱𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙰

[ AN ARGENTI × FEM!READER FIC ]

For @favonius-library 2023 Secret Santa gift exchange 🎄💝 Media: Honkai: Star Rail Characters: Reader (she/her; written in third person perspective), Argenti Word count: ~2.6k

Content warnings: Present day AU. Setting is based off the southwestern United States. Angst — this is (the beginning of) a story about grief, but also about love. Argenti and reader are in a pre-established relationship; both of them are the same age, and of majority age (20-21 years old). From the author: Happy holidays Mimi ( @aimixx ) ! It’s your Secret Santa here. Argenti… He is so… (screams into pillow and bites it). I hope you enjoy the story I’ve written for you — this is only chapter one, so there’ll be more to come in the future! Special thanks to @souglias + @verxsyon + @shiinleaf for giving this chapter a read-through and sharing your thoughts! Soundtrack: Heroes – The Midnight (live version) / 失恋ソング沢山聴いて 泣いてばかりの私はもう。(Summertime Render ED2) by Riria. / Way Back Home – Shaun / Meant To Be (Tower of Fantasy OST) – Shymie

:// 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 1: 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙰

“y/n… y/n…” 

She stirs to the soothing lilt of her boyfriend's voice, his palm firm on her shoulder as he gently shakes her from her slumber. Her eyes flutter open to the incessant patter of raindrops outside the car window; beyond the rain-marred windshield, she can make out the sight of asphalt stretching into the horizon, flanked on either side by even concrete pavements and vibrant, tidy rows of bungalows. In any other time of year, perhaps this scene might have served as a tableau of prime suburban living, picture-perfect with lush gardens and the laughter of frolicking children; but today, their once vivid hues stood dampened and dulled beneath the descent of a frigid winter downpour. 

The car begins moving again. She sits up in the passenger seat, stretching to alleviate the stiffness in her neck. As the car turns into the driveway and into the shelter of the garage, she shifts her gaze towards her boyfriend. Even against the backdrop of the bleak outdoors, his signature crimson locks don’t lose their blazing lustre, remaining brilliant and bright even when up in a messy ponytail, framing his weary countenance.

He feels her eyes on him, and turns to her. His lips curve into the ever gentle, familiar smile she knows and loves as the car comes to a stop and he cuts the engine.

“We’re here,” he tells her. “Welcome to Roselied.” 

y/n and Argenti first met in their freshman year of university.

Their school ranked among the top in the nation. Admissions were reserved for none other than the cream of the crop; even then, those gruelling demands would prove only the tip of the iceberg for those lucky enough to comprise the student body.

It was with this understanding y/n pushed herself to the extreme late one night in freshman year. It would be the tennis team tryouts the next day, and she was dedicated to not wasting a single minute, perfecting serve and swing against an indomitable opponent: the back wall of the school’s locker rooms. Most of the school’s tennis team had been admitted on sports scholarships; anyone who was to fill in its remaining ranks would have to rise to their impeccable standard: that of those who had honed their form and skill for years, who had made the sport their lifeblood. Failure was not an option.

She would eventually lose track of time, though she cared not for the hours that had passed as much as for the number of hits she had missed, for the growing frequency of flaws in her form as the minutes wore on and fatigue crept up upon her. 

It was about then that Argenti appeared.

She still remembers the first time she saw him: turning around the corner to sharp, sudden glare she had shot him for his intrusion, wide-eyed astonishment mellowed to sympathy as she softened her gaze in apology, realising just how wound up she was in that moment. 

“I’m sorry,” he began, “I heard this weird thumping from back here, so I came to check it out.”

She had merely grunted in reply, and returned to her practice. She could afford no respite — not at this juncture.

Argenti continued to linger, observing her as she practised. He watched as weariness began to take its toll on her, her movements becoming more sluggish, her countenance more frustrated with every move she made. Each motion seemed to prove more laborious than the last. When minutes had passed and he had not left, she paused, intending to lay into him for being a distraction, but before she could speak up, he did:

“Why don’t we play a match together?”

At the incredulous expression on her face, he explained, “I do have some experience from playing back in high school. I might not be as good as you, but still… Practice is practice?”

She cast a glance at the wall before her. He was right — she’d make no proper progress continuing to play against the wall like this. After all, an inanimate entity could never hope to replicate the true circumstances of playing against an actual opponent: the unpredictability of their motions, the intensity of their presence, the dynamism of their being. 

And so they found themselves at opposite ends of the tennis court. Her spare racket in his grasp, Argenti primed himself for her serve. It was a pleasant surprise when he managed to receive it.

Thus continued their back and forth upon the deserted court. As the match went on, she realised he was only a little above the level of an amateur, playing not to defeat his opponent, but simply to be able to return the ball across the net. The rational inclination would have been to dismiss his efforts, to deem the current minutes wasted and better spent on practising by herself; yet she could not deny the pounding of her heartbeat, the thrill of the moment, the swirling sentiments rising from the pits of her stomach: she was having fun.

Another hit of the ball back at him. She noted the movements of his racket as he attempted to return it, the angle of which caused it to soar up, up into the air… He had shouted a hasty apology to her, but her attention was focused solely on the trajectory of the ball. 

As the ball descended into her court, she seized the golden opportunity, leaping into the air and smashing it back into his court. He rushed to receive it, but his unpracticed swing could not match its velocity; he felt the recoil of the ball against his wrist, and, in his momentary struggle to return it to her court, the ball lost its inertia, bounding off his racket to hit the net between them. 

Argenti bowed his head, a chuckle of concession leaving his lips. He raised his head back up to a sight whose memory still takes his breath away: her, smiling for the first time that night, the look in her eyes wishing, wanting, waiting for more.

He could not help the grin that spread across his face. Their eyes met, and in the gaze held between them, an unspoken understanding: gratitude met with encouragement, a newfound relief, and mutual admiration; the precedent of a sentiment beyond the banality of reason, of sparks beginning to fly.

He was the first to break the silence. “It’s late,” he told her. “We should be heading back. You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow… You need the rest.

“You’re going to do great. I promise.”

And taking his advice would prove to be something she would later be grateful for — the following day, as she waited her turn on the bench beside the court, nerves ate away at her, allowing her no mental respite. As waves of anxiety overtook her mind, she wondered just how much more worn out she would be had she not heeded his words. 

“y/n,” the team manager announced her name, indicating the beginning of her turn in the tryouts. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the court. 

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she’d noticed the movement of a familiar, striking hue across the bleachers. She turned to see who it was, and there, in the top row, sat the face from last night: Argenti, casting her an encouraging smile, and giving her a thumbs up. 

She felt a surge of adrenaline through her veins. Tossing the ball in the air, she launched a powerful serve against her opponent… 

And the rest was history.  

Individual efforts, fates aligned — such was the impression left upon others of the romance between the rising star of the school’s tennis team and the gallant prince of the law faculty. The whispers, cheers and jeers alike dubbed the both of them campus royalty; and for all it’s worth, she knew it a title well-deserved on her part: the reward of consistent diligence and discipline factored into every facet of her life, from her consistently stellar academic performance to becoming the youngest member to represent the school in tennis competitions, and even in her everyday appearance and social engagements. 

Yet, when met with these comments, Argenti’s eyes always seemed to take on a certain sadness. It never lasts longer than an instant — a fleeting shadow, a trick of the light — but she had seen it enough times to know it was there. She had brought it up once, early on in their relationship, but he had been surprised at this observation, totally unaware of its occurrence and later dismissing it as a result of fatigue. It was thus that she surmised that perhaps it was an unconscious idiosyncrasy of his; and if there was really more to it, she trusted he would confide in her in time. 

When he first invited her to spend the year-end holidays with him at his hometown, the memory of that look in his eyes came back to her. She wondered if visiting the place where he grew up would bring her the answers she secretly desired. 

And now, as they pulled up to his childhood home amidst the merciless rain, she watched as the same melancholy bloomed in his eyes, more vivid, more forlorn than ever before. 

“Make yourself at home,” Argenti pushes open the door, stepping aside to allow y/n into the guest bedroom. “I hope you can forgive that we’ll be staying in different rooms.”

The room exudes a humble elegance: a high, queen-sized mattress with patterned bedsheets sat upon a frame of lacquered rosewood, complemented on either side by a wardrobe and bedside table of similar makes. Cream-coloured drapes hung before each of the windows, and, on an adjacent wall, a door leading into the attached bathroom, pristine, bright and replete with toiletries. 

y/n accepts the handle of her suitcase from Argenti and pulls it into the room. “It’s no problem at all,” she replies. “It’s your parents’ place after all. I totally understand, mine are the same way.”

She walks over to the wardrobe, setting down the last of her luggage in front of it, and turns to face him. He’s leaning against the door frame, smiling at her. He extends his arm, and takes her hand in his. “Want to see my room?” he asks.

She squeezes his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a smile. “Of course.”

He grins, leading her down the hallway. The door just by the bannister of the staircase is painted the same cream white as others like it in the household, leave for the fact that its two panels were coloured in with wide, dry strokes of paint, a larger red panel atop a smaller one in gold. On the doorknob hung a wooden door hanger carved and painted to resemble a wilting rose, the letters of his name affixed to its faded silver stalk. 

He unlatches the door to his bedroom. Turning to face her, he takes both her hands in his as he walks backwards, pulling her into the space with him. 

Argenti’s bedroom is a museum of memory; the material of his very soul made manifest. The ivory-hued walls that surround them are adorned with posters of movies y/n recognized as his favourites, prints of famous paintings, a triangular flag bearing the colours and acronym of their university, as well as polaroids of himself with individuals around his age whom she did not recognize. Behind her, a hand-painted mural of roses blooming amidst vines bordered his room door on the inside.

Facing the doorway, an expansive stretch of windows occupied the widest wall in the room, framed by red curtains. Before the windows stood a vintage study desk, its surface faintly scratched and stained, with rows of drawers built into both sides of it and a swivel chair neatly tucked into the space between. On either side of his desk stood a wardrobe and a bookcase, while his bed sat in a corner away from the windows, neatly made: two pillows had been stacked at its head, while a row of worn, well-loved plush toys stood lined against the adjacent wall, while a quilt of exuberant hues lay folded at its foot.

Argenti steps towards his bed, unfolding the quilt into a larger rectangle. He sits down upon it, meeting y/n’s gaze and patting the space next to him. 

No sooner had she settled down next to him did the older, feminine voice of his mother rise from downstairs. “Argenti!” she calls. He sighs, casting an apologetic glance at y/n.

“I'm sorry,” he explains, rising from the bed. “We arrived earlier than anticipated, and my mom— Well, she was really excited to meet you. She doesn't want to keep you waiting for dinner.” 

y/n shakes her head. “It’s alright,” she replies, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He shakes his head. “My mom wants to keep it a surprise.”

“Argenti!” yells his mother again. He rushes toward the staircase.  

“Leave the door open,” he calls after her. “Just look around at whatever you’d like! I’ll be right back up!”

As he descends the stairs to heed his mother’s call, y/n wanders the room on her lonesome, looking around at the myriad trinkets and items scattered about the room. Her eyes fall on his bookcase.

In the otherwise well-kept room, Argenti’s bookcase posed a region of chaos: books of varying subjects and genres lay upon its shelves in haphazard arrangements, employing no apparent system of organisation leave for that exclusive to the mind of its owner. Her eyes scan past rows of tattered exam guides with frayed spines, yellowed literary classics, thick biographies, glossy-covered fantasy and romance novels, before eventually arriving at the top shelf: the most organised level, chock full of yearbooks and photo albums, each labelled with their respective years.

Her face lights up with an impish curiosity. She perches on her tiptoes, stretching her utmost as she reaches towards the yearbook labelled ‘Roselied High School: Class of 2021’. As her fingertips graze the top of the yearbook, she trips over herself, losing her balance and tugging the yearbook down to the floor with her in a storm of dust and grime. 

The resounding thud sends Argenti into a panic. “y/n!” he cries, racing up the stairs from the kitchen, his hand still clad in an oven mitt. 

He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her unscathed, seated on his room floor. Yet, instead of turning to him or scrambling to help tidy the disarray surrounding her, she continued to face away from him, her interest piqued by an unknown object. 

He steps closer to see what she had found.

She holds a stack of photographs in her hands. She takes her time examining each of them, placing one behind the other one at a time. He notices the rest of the paraphernalia in front of her: a bundle of handwritten letters, bound with twine; a dried rose, each of its once white petals tinted with different hues of the rainbow; a spiral-bound notebook full to bursting newspaper clippings and post-it notes; a compact disc, its iridescent surface visible through its yellowed plastic casing; and two sheets of yellowed paper held together by a rusted staple, all neatly placed into the open wooden box he’d hidden at the very top of his bookcase, resting above all his photo albums and yearbooks.

“Argenti.” She senses his presence behind her, but does not turn to face him.

“Who is Idrila?”

[houseofbrat]

Well, isn't that convenient?

[archive link]

Princess Kate is eyeing up her next public appearance, as she’s keen to head to Paris to watch some of the 2024 Olympic Games. The Princess of Wales has made two major appearances since her shock cancer diagnosis at the start of the year, stepping out at Trooping the Colour in June and the Men’s Singles Final at Wimbledon a month later. Kensington Palace has not set a date for her to return to royal duties, as Kate revealed in June that while she continues to undergo chemotherapy she has “good days and bad days”. But she wants to make the most of feeling well and endeavours to attend events over the coming months if she feels able to. One such event is attending the Paris 2024 Olympic Games, as a source close to the princess reveals she is keen to travel across the Channel to watch some of the action. “The Princess would love to go to the Olympics," they said. "She has such fond memories of London 2012 and is keen to go to another Games while it's so close to home.” The newly-wed couple were regular faces at the home Games, as they were jubilant when Chris Hoy secured his sixth Olympic gold at the velodrome and also enjoyed watching the tennis, hockey, swimming, athletics, gymnastics and football. But the insider was keen to stress that no decision has yet been made as Kate’s attendance is conditional on her health and whether her doctors give her the go-ahead. This mirrors the approach taken when the Princess attended the Wimbledon men’s final last month, as aides only confirmed her appearance the day before. Prince William is expected to travel to France to watch some of the Games next week, and as his children are currently enjoying their summer holidays its likely that their two eldest, Prince George, 11, and Princess Charlotte, nine, will join him.

Yes, it's not confirmed at this point (02 August 2024) that Kate will attend the Olympics, and, yes, this is published by a UK tabloid. However, the effects are just the same.

It doesn't matter if it doesn't pan out, and she doesn't attend. The perception of her right now is that she would do something like this, even though she is allegedly being treated for cancer.

Did you know that there is a subreddit called "KateMiddletonMissing"? It has 7,400 members currently, which is undoubtedly a larger number than the surviving Wales "fandom" on tumblr. Numbers that will likely increase over the coming weeks and months while Kate hides from the public. There is a thread discussing this rumor of Kate attending the Paris Olympics, and people aren't buying what Kensington Palace and Kate are selling, even if she has no actual plans to attend.

And what is the top comment in this thread?

"I don’t believe she ever had cancer"

That's the top comment. That's the perception of Kate among people who follow British royals enough to join a subreddit but are not blind followers of the drivel coming out of the Kensington Palace comms team.

And take photos of all the family frolicking on the beach jumping 8 foot over spiky plants. But too ill to partake in any cancer charity work. Hmm 🤔

I'm kind of hoping the French play Gojira's song about Marie Antoinette on the big screen while Kate and/or William is at the Olympics. They're really shameless to claim abdominal surgery in January to skip work until Easter, but then changed it to cancer when things got heated. Now they're playing the cancer card, cherry-picking glamour events, and putting it down as 'work'. Instead of helping cancer patients and creating awareness about testing and getting symptoms checked, Kate has only showed up at the Trooping, the Wimbledon men's final, and now possibly another men's tennis match featuring Andy Murray. These are not decent people.

She's crap like the rest of them. You'll never convince me she ever had cancer.

This is absolutely bonkers. No one cares about the optics of this, which is wild to me. Is the, "They're Diana's boys, such a tragedy," well of sympathy and sycophants ever going to run dry??? Kate being adjacent to this and a direct recipient of it.

Watching tennis on the royal box, sunbathing in mustique and not giving a ficking damn about not working for anything is a well known treatment for cancer.

My opinion only. Kate is totally complicit in all of this. I don't see how she's under duress or in any way being forced to tell the world she has/had cancer. She shows up at two major events looking fully healthy and smiling. Quite a contrast from the "bench video" where she looked pale and spoke in a somber tone. I believe that was also the one and only time that she has said anything about others having cancer. It just doesn't look good at all and seems disrespectful to those struggling with cancer.

Even in the much larger RoyalsGossip subreddit, which forbids any speculation on Kate's "health condition," has comments in disbelief about Kate's "cancer diagnosis."

Impressive that her medical team is okay with her attending crowded sporting events during treatment but recording a short Zoom video for a patronage is too much to handle

And especially now that there’s a spike in Covid cases. I know sick people who are not allowed to go to crowded places.

Interesting that's she is well enough to travel to Paris but not to do zoom calls eith her patronages? Or support her charitable endeavors? What about the First Five Years?

They don't call her "Duchess Do Little" for nothing

So she still can’t do any real work but can attend men’s sporting events. We see you Kate

It's really only the Wales fandom who buys the "health condition" excuse about Kate coming out of Kensington Palace.

Oh, yes Charles and Camilla "are wearing down the monarchy." LOL!

Charles and Camilla are doing their actual jobs while William is on vacation all the time.

Just more proof that the Wales fandom lives in their own Disney-esque Puritan bubble where Charles & Camilla are terrible because their first marriages didn't work out. Except even Camilla has done more work than William ever has as a working royal.

Except actual Brits (instead of fawning twenty-somethings in Latin America) believe William is the one "wearing down the monarchy."

Because more and more people are not buying the story Will & Kate have been telling people about themselves.

Most people with functioning brains outside the Wales fandom can see through Will & Kate's problematic behavior.

Looks like the shit is going to hit the fan regarding Will & Kate's reputations later this month.

Can't wait.

[amymbona]

I love the thought of Tashi with someone younger, but her with someone older 🫠

Tashi's parents had ordered her a private coach to help her improve over summer break during college.

It was so hard to focus on her coach though, not when his hot, older wife sat by the pool in her tiny bikini.

The words of her coach went in one ear and out the other, all that was running through her mind was how plush your thighs were and how she wanted your legs on her shoulders while she buried her face in your cunt.

FUCK YEAH :33333333333 This is so Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

I'm absolutely imagining reader like a 1950s mob wife in her cute little dresses with ruffled sleeves that her insanely rich and hot husband bought her damnnnn.

You're a stay at home wife, but you enjoy it. Probably a major in marketing or economics, you answer to two or three emails per day, and your schedule is really loose during the holiday. Wanting to break the stereotype, you decide to accompany your husband to his summer house which is a part of the rich man residence somewhere in the country. He tells you that some neighbour offered him a ton of money for teaching his daughter tennis, stating that she's a prodigy and such a young age. And the greedy bitch your husband is, he, of course, accepts.

So there you are, in your black and white polka dost bikini, sun bathing and watching your husband teach Tashi. She's young, around 20, you'd say, but has the passion of a lioness. She plays like a machine and you're wondering if she's getting sunburnt under the tortuous caress of the July sun. You being her a milkshake or a bowl of freshly washed grapes every so often, insisting she should be taking care of himself while kissing your husband on the lips. His hands roam down your bare back, only bringing Tashi's eyes to the wonderful curves you choose to display. Fuck. She's never really felt attracted to females before but you're making her feel things she hasn't felt for a single man before.

You are so kind to her, perhaps kinder than her own mother (not that she ever isn't - and perhaps that is concerning, how kind can a person be), offering her soft smiles and clapping from where you're lounging by the swimming pool when you see her score. When your husband allows Tashi a break and talks her ears off, rambling some bullshit about strategy that he has already made her mind about, her eyes stay focused on the water dripping down the length of your body as you rise from the water, the fabric of your swimsuit stuck between the round cheeks of your ass. Fuck.

One day, when your husband gets an emergency call from a friend and has to call the training off, you really don't know and real don't care, you still invite Tashi to spend the afternoon with you. A girls' day, you say, that you need a female presence every so often. She's more than eager to accept.

Now Tashi's sitting between your legs with your feet in her lap, carefully applying a layer of red polish to your nails, while your hands work on neatly braiding her hair.

"Tell me if I tug too tightly," your soft voice breaks the peaceful silence and she almost completely misses one of your toenails and paints a knuckle instead. Luckily, no mess is made.

"It's okay, you can pull more," she responds, gaze focused on the soft skin of your feet, disguising her wish to really have her hair pulled onto by your hands as not wanting the braids to fall loose.

You smile, fingers threading through her dark curls, "Your hair is so soft, Tashi."

Fuck. Her heart is probably gonna burst out of her chest if you don't stop right now. "Um, thanks. I washed it yesterday."

After you're done with the braids, the fresh polish on your nails needing some time to dry, the two of you rest on the loungers, relishing the moments of tranquility. You close your eyes for a while, completely unaware of Tashi's hand that has sneakers under the elastane of hit bikini bottom, already feeling the wetness caused purely by your heavenly presence. Fuck. Being here next to you, in your absolutely adorable two piece swim suit, the soft skin of your body having touched here, the feeling of you thighs around her hips still deeply burning into her skin, it's driving her crazy.

"I'm gonna dip down."

Tashi announces, disappearing in the pool. She needs to her arousal, her sweating body somehow. And the cold, chlorine water seems to do the perfect job.

Just when she thought everything was going to be alright, that she won't have any other issues containing herself around you, you choose to cool yourself off as well. She watches, almost in awe, as you slowly walk down the steps to the pool. The water caresses your calves, knees, then thighs, pooling around your butt as you take one more step and then swallow you up to the shoulders when you fully dip in. You look like a mermaid, like a goddess in her eyes, completely oblivious to her own beauty and seductiveness. And she wonders whether your husband appreciates the beauty you offer, whether he goes out of his way to kiss and caress every square inch of your body, whether he worhips you like you deserve it and whether he fucks and eats your pussy like she would.

You're in front of her, your full breasts on display, the fabric of your swimsuit doing very little to barely cover your nipples and the pink circles of your areolas. At that point, Tashi has to contain yourself from reaching out and tearing your top off.

"This is nice," you comment with a smile, so sweet that Tashi wishes she could taste it.

Tashi never thought it would happen, really, that somebody would have such an effect on her that would completely shut her up. She doesn't know what to say, no snarky remarks, no flirting attempts. And how she wishes she could magically gain her confidence back and convince you that she's ten times better than your husband, that you should leave him for her.

"You good, Tash? You zoned out for a bit," she's broken out of her trance by a gentle splash of the water on her face and your almost childish laugh. God, you're such an angel.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," she responds you with a small smile, even through she if far from alright. In reality her whole body is, even enveloped by the cold water, on fire just from the close proximity of your almost bare body to hers. If only she could touch you, just a little, softly, without anyone else knowing.

[lifeofpriya]

plsss can you do another autumnal Jack one where reader is obsessed with Halloween / autumn and he loves making her happy so plans a horror movie marathon and he’s just annoying the entire time saying stuff like “that just wouldn’t happen” dndjnf but it’s also v cuddly and cute ☺️🍂

you got it, anon! 🤭🫡🫶🏼 requests for jack week are now closed, so i am going through the requests i've received prior to the deadline

The Horror of Love

wc: 2.8k

You, a young soul with a penchant for the chilly embrace of fall, find yourself nestled in the comfort of your boyfriend's apartment. Your heart swells with anticipation as the aroma of pumpkin spice wafts through the air, a delightful scent that seems to whisper tales of the macabre holiday approaching. Halloween isn't merely a single night for you; it's a season that saturates your very essence with warmth and excitement. The rustle of dried leaves outside, the soft glow of the setting sun, and the crispness of the autumnal air are your symphony, setting the stage for a festival of fear that you cherish with every fiber of your being.

Jack, the love of your life, knows this all too well. He's the yang to your yin, the light to your dark, and today, he's decided to indulge your passion with an unexpected gesture. As you both sit on the plush velvet sofa, the room dims and the TV flickers to life, revealing a playlist titled "Jack's Horror Fest." Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the artwork for your favorite spooky classics.

He glances over at you with a mischievous grin, dimming the lights further to reveal the flicker of candles scattered across the coffee table. "I know how much you love this time of year, so I figured we'd kick off the season with a bang," he says, popping a handful of caramel corn into his mouth. The room is a cocoon of coziness, with the only sound being the crackling of the fireplace and the distant echo of children's laughter from the street below.

You watch as Jack, in his usual casual attire of a well-worn sweatshirt and joggers, moves with purposeful grace. His athletic frame, a testament to countless hours on the tennis court, is silhouetted by the dancing flames. He's always been thoughtful, but this…this is next level.

The first film starts, and it's a classic—one that you've seen so many times you can recite the lines. Yet, with Jack by your side, it feels fresh and new. His playful elbow nudges and mock screams punctuate the suspenseful moments, making you laugh despite the horror on the screen. Each time a jump scare looms, he leans closer, feigned terror in his eyes, only to tickle you right as the monster jumps out. You squirm and giggle, both irritated and delighted by his antics.

"Jack, seriously," you protest through your laughter, trying to sound stern. "I'm trying to watch this."

"Oh, come on," he says with a cheeky smile, noticing your playful glower. "Where's your spirit of Halloween?"

Jack, ever the charmer, knows precisely how to push your buttons. As the night deepens, the horror flicks become more intense, the shadows stretching menacingly across the walls. Yet, with each shiver down your spine, his warmth beside you becomes more comforting. He's a beacon in the storm of screams and suspense.

The second film rolls on, a tale of vengeful spirits that you've seen a hundred times, but it's Jack's commentary that keeps you on edge. He whispers fictional backstories for the characters, making you feel as though you're part of the narrative. His deep, British accent lends a certain flair to his storytelling, making even the most predictable plot twists seem like revelations.

As the witching hour approaches, Jack surprises you with a tray of steaming mulled cider, the scent of cloves and oranges mingling with the pumpkin spice. He hands you a cup with a flourish, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "A little something to keep you warm," he says, his voice dropping an octave, attempting a spooky tone.

You roll your eyes, but a smile plays on your lips as you take a sip, the warmth spreading through your chest like a comforting embrace. The flickering candlelight casts shadows on his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the glint in his eyes. You can't help but find his efforts endearing, even as he pretends to be the monster hiding in the shadows.

The evening unfolds in a delightful dance of horror and humor. As each film reaches its climax, Jack's teasing intensifies, his hands creeping closer to give you a good scare. Yet, every time you flinch, he pulls back, his laughter the sweetest sound in the room. It's a playful game of cat and mouse that somehow makes the horror more palatable, the suspense less daunting.

The third film, a modern twist on an old campfire ghost story, starts with a jolting opening scene. You clutch the cushion tighter, anticipating the dread that's about to unfold. Jack notices your tension and decides it's the perfect moment to up the ante. He drapes a blanket over you, tucking you in like a child, but not before placing a cold, plastic spider on your neck. You scream, throwing the blanket off, only to find him doubled over with laughter.

"Jack, that's not funny!" you exclaim, trying to sound upset, but the corners of your eyes crinkle with amusement.

"Oh, come on, you've got to admit that was a good one," he says, wiping a tear from his eye.

You can't help but chuckle, the tension in your shoulders dissipating like mist in the morning sun. "Fine," you concede, "but I'm watching you now."

Jack just winks, his hazel eyes gleaming with challenge. "Bring it on," he says, his voice a playful taunt that sends a thrill down your spine. You settle back into the cocoon of blankets, the warmth of the cider spreading through your body. The candles cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, creating an ambiance that's both eerie and inviting.

As the night progresses, the movies grow more intense, their plots weaving a tapestry of fear and suspense. Yet, amidst the horror, you find comfort in the familiar rhythm of Jack's laughter, his gentle teasing a stark contrast to the screams echoing from the TV. You're aware of the way he watches you, not just the screen, his eyes flickering with concern when you jump at a particularly gruesome scene.

The fourth film is a psychological thriller, one that you've been eager to see but too nervous to watch alone. As the tension builds, Jack's hand finds its way to your knee, squeezing reassuringly. His thumb traces small circles, grounding you in reality, a gentle reminder that the terror is confined to the screen.

"You okay?" he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod, sipping the cider that's now gone lukewarm. "Yeah, just… intense."

Jack squeezes your knee again, a silent promise that he's there. The film reaches its climax, and just as the main character makes the most bone-chilling discovery, the lights flicker. You gasp, but Jack laughs it off, getting up to check the fuse box.

While he's gone, you can't shake the feeling that the horror has bled into reality. The shadows seem to shift and breathe, and the distant sound of a breeze rustling through the trees outside feels eerily close. The TV's glow is the only light source, casting a pallor over everything.

You're about to call out for Jack when you hear a creak. You freeze, your heart racing, expecting a monster to leap out from the darkness. But instead, Jack emerges from the hallway, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Got it," he says, flipping the switch. The lights flood the room, and the shadows retreat to their corners like shy ghosts at dawn. You let out a sigh of relief, your heart thumping wildly.

Jack chuckles, saunters over to you, and says, "You're so easy to scare." His grin is infectious, and you can't help but laugh at yourself.

"You love this, don't you?" you accuse playfully, poking his ribs.

Jack feigns innocence, his eyes wide. "What? I just want to make sure you're enjoying your Halloween marathon."

You roll your eyes but can't hide the smile spreading across your face. "You're terrible," you say, but the warmth in your voice betrays the affection behind your words.

Jack just grins wider, his dimples deepening. "But you love me for it," he teases, and you know he's right. There's something about the way he's able to balance the line between horror and humor that makes the night feel magical.

The fifth film is a cult classic, one you've been dying to introduce him to. You snuggle closer, eager to see his reaction to the twisted plot. His arm drapes around your shoulders, and you lean into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own. The film begins, and as the tension builds, you notice Jack's grip tighten slightly, a silent admission of his own nerves.

You whisper the storyline to him, filling in the blanks of the film's lore, and his eyes widen in shock and horror at the twists and turns. His laughter turns genuine, punctuating the film's quieter moments, and you find yourself enjoying his reactions almost as much as the film itself.

As the night wears on, the movies begin to blend together into a delightful montage of fear and fun. The candles burn lower, casting long, dramatic shadows that Jack uses to his advantage, contorting his fingers into monstrous shapes that make you giggle even as you shiver. The bowl of candy slowly empties, leaving a sticky ring of sugar on the table as evidence of your indulgence.

The sixth film is a campy B-horror, the kind that's so bad it's good. You've picked this one specifically because you know it won't keep Jack on edge. You need a breather from the intensity of the earlier films, and you suspect he does too. He groans theatrically as the film starts, but the twinkle in his eye gives away his secret delight.

As the film progresses, you both start to quote the cheesy lines and mimic the over-the-top acting. You laugh so hard your stomach aches, and Jack throws popcorn at the screen every time the heroine makes a dumb decision. The horror is replaced with light-hearted fun, and you find yourself more engaged with him than the film.

In the quiet moments, when the laughter subsides, you steal glances at Jack. His eyes are glued to the screen, his expression a mix of amusement and concentration. You realize that this—the simple act of sharing a Halloween tradition—is what love looks like. It's not grand gestures or expensive gifts; it's the effort to understand what makes someone's heart sing and the joy in being a part of that.

Jack senses your gaze and turns to you, a question in his eyes. "What?" he asks, a shy smile playing on his lips.

"Nothing," you reply, your voice soft. "Just… I'm happy."

Jack's smile widens, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Me too," he murmurs, his hand finding yours under the blanket. His thumb traces lazy circles on the back of your hand, sending warmth spiraling up your arm.

The final film of the marathon begins, a silent horror masterpiece accompanied by the haunting melody of a vintage film score. The flickering candles cast an eerie glow on the screen, and even Jack seems to be in awe of the film's timeless terror. You're snuggled into the crook of his arm, your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. His warmth is a comforting counterbalance to the chilling scenes that unfold before you.

As the film reaches its climax, the tension in the room is palpable. You feel Jack's muscles tense, and his hand grips yours tighter. The screen is filled with the frantic chase of a terrified protagonist, and you can't help but lean in, your heart racing. Just when you think you can't take the suspense anymore, Jack jumps up with a roar, fists in the air. You scream, your heart in your throat, only to find him doubled over with laughter, the movie's villain caught in a humorous gaffe.

"Jack, you absolute…!" you exclaim, your voice a mix of fear and mirth.

"What? Didn't see that coming?" he asks, his laughter subsiding into a grin as he sits back down, pulling you closer. "I couldn't resist. You looked so into it."

You swat at him, but your own laughter bubbles up, the tension broken. "You're terrible," you repeat, but the warmth in your voice is unmistakable.

As the final credits roll on the last film, the room is bathed in the soft glow of the dying embers in the fireplace and the flickering candles, casting a warm, cozy light over the two of you. The horror marathon has turned into a night of bonding, laughter, and a little bit of fear, all wrapped up in the blanket of your shared love for the macabre.

Jack stretches his long legs out in front of him and yawns, the tension of the evening's scares giving way to the comfort of the moment. "So," he says, his voice a little hoarse from his earlier shenanigans, "what did you think of the lineup?"

You lean your head on his shoulder, the weight of your body feeling like a contented cat. "It was perfect," you reply, your voice a lazy purr. "Even the terrible ones."

Jack's eyes crinkle in amusement. "I'm starting to think you enjoy the terrible ones more than the good ones."

"Maybe," you admit, a smirk playing on your lips. "They're just so…bad they're good."

Jack nods in agreement. "Like the kind of candy you love to hate."

You laugh, the sound muffled against his shoulder. "Exactly."

As the night wears on, the candles burn down to stubs, leaving only the fireplace to cast its warm embers across the room. The TV screensaver kicks in, a digital fireplace that seems to mock the real one's dwindling flames. The silence is filled with the quiet pops of the fire and the distant sounds of the city winding down for the night.

Jack stretches, his arms reaching out in a yawn that makes his sweatshirt ride up, revealing a sliver of his toned stomach. He looks over at you, his eyes drooping slightly with the weight of the late hour. "Ready for bed?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble.

You nod, feeling the warmth of his body beside you as you stand. The chill of the room is a stark contrast to the heat of the blankets, and you shiver slightly. He notices and pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "Let's get you warmed up," he murmurs, his breath tickling the nape of your neck.

Together, you navigate the darkened apartment, the glow from the embers painting the walls with an otherworldly hue. As you enter the bedroom, the smell of pumpkin spice lingers, a soft reminder of the festive evening you've shared. You climb into bed, the sheets cool against your skin, and Jack follows, pulling the duvet over both of you like a protective cocoon.

He wraps his arms around you, his warmth seeping into your bones, and whispers, "I'm sorry if I was too much tonight."

You laugh sleepily, turning to face him. "Jack, you know I love it when you're 'too much'." His eyes, those pools of hazel, stare into yours, a silent promise that no matter how much you pretend to be annoyed, his playful antics are a part of what makes you fall for him all over again every single day.

He kisses the tip of your nose, his grin fading into a tender smile. "Good," he whispers, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Because I can't help but want to make every moment with you unforgettable."

You lean in, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips meet his. It's a soft kiss, filled with the sweetness of your favorite candy and the warmth of mulled cider, a promise of comfort and companionship in the face of the darkest nights.

"You do," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. "Every moment with you is… it's just perfect."

Jack's smile widens, his eyes shining with affection as he pulls you closer. "And you make every moment worth living," he responds, his voice low and earnest.

The room is now a sanctuary of warmth and love, the horrors of the night confined to the glowing screen in the living room. His arms around you feel like home, and you know that no matter what the world throws at you, you'll always find refuge in the strength of his embrace.

"Jack," you whisper, your voice a soft caress against the quiet of the night. "Thank you for this."

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "It's nothing, really. Just wanted to make your favorite season even more special."

You snuggle closer, feeling his heartbeat against your back. The room is a cocoon of warmth and comfort, a stark contrast to the horror that had played out on the TV. "It's not nothing," you reply, your voice muffled by the pillow. "It's everything."

Jack's grip tightens around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "Everything, huh?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble in the darkness.

You nod, feeling the warmth of his chest against your back. "Every single bit of it."

Jack's chuckle rumbles through his chest, his breath tickling your neck as he says, "Well, I'm just getting started."

[gildedworld]

Francesca Moreno

Overview

Name: Francesca Moreno

Current Alias : Gloria

Nickname (s):

Birthday:

Gender : Female

Sexuality : Heterosexual

Citizenship: Nationality

Species : Homo Mutatis

Affiliation: X-Men

Base of Operations: Leopold Estate

APPEARANCE & PHYSICALITY

Ethnicity: Italian

Accent : Long Island

Hair : shinny chocolate brown hair with subtle warm-toned gold highlights. Her hair is naturally straight and runs down her back, ending right above her waist. She does hate her hair though and desperately wishes that it was the "good wavy" - the effortless 'beach girly' waves.

Eyes : chocolate brown eyes

Body : Francssca is average in terms of height and is slim. Body-wise, she is athletic and lean, something she's extremely proud of and has well defined abs that she attributes to pilates and yoga.

Style : Francesca lives in Lululemon. Her style is basically athleisure - specifically matching legging and sports bra sets, with "belt bags" (they're fanny packs, let's be real), ponytail running hats, and Addidas sneakers. She has seemingly endless color coordinated sets with matching Yeti travel mugs - literally every single color combination under the sun. Occasionally, she'll switch it up for a tennis dress or a skot instead of leggings.

Unusual features: none

Faceclaim : Maddison Beer

PERSONALITY

Francesca is an airhead. She's vain, self-obsessed, and conceited. She's the kind of person who truly does believe that everyone in the room is looking, talking, and thinking about her at all times. Then again, why wouldn't they- she's Francesca after all. She truly believes that the sun revolves around her and suffers heavily from Main Character Syndrome. She can't stand having others in the spotlight as opposed to her and focuses her attention and energy in maintaining her spotlight through building her "brand" across social media platforms. After all, she is an influencer and influences must influence!

Despite this, Francesca is actually quite intelligent believe it or not, when her mind is not occupied with getting the latest athleisure wear and yeti tumbler drops, she actually does have moments of insights that tend to baffle the people around her. A fairly good judge of character, she knows how to read people and, of course, manupilate them to further her agendas.

Although it doesn't seem like it, Francesca does have a strong sense of morality and justice and isn't afraid to speak her mind and stand up for those who can't. That's why she's an X-Men, duh.

POWERS & ABILITIES

Francesca is a telepath and can read and influence the minds of those around her. In terms of power, she's probably your average telepath - with the ability to read and influence the minds of those closest to her.

RELATIONSHIPS

Family

Faith Moreno - mother

David Moreno - father

Francesca is very close to her parents, as italian-American kids usually are. She's the light of their lives, the apple of their eyes.

Extended Family

Francesca has a large extended family, most of whom live in Long Island in towns close to her own. Although large, they are very close-knit and meet up often. Francesca's father being the oldest son, is the family patriarch - that means that dinners and holiday celebrations usually take place Francesca's house with her mom cooking (it's usually lasagna or some sort of pasta)

Friends

Significant Others

Alex Mastronadi

Alex really was Francesca's longest and most significant relationship. She'd always had a crush on Alex. But prior to Rosaria's disappearance, she'd never seriously considered Alex at all because it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they were seriously dating. But after moving to Canada, Francesca started getting closer to Alex. It started out with Alex overhearing a call with her mom and remarking that Francesca's mother reminded him of his own in terms of temperament. They eventually got closer and started dating. But even when they were dating, there always was a distance with Alex - she could never get close enough to him. And it really didn't help that everyone around them knew Rosaria and knew that if she were to be here, Alex would still be with her without a question.

Rosaria Huntington

Francesca always hated Rosaria - she was everything Francesca was not. Her parents were rich and always showered Rosaria and her friends (Francesca included) with lavish gifts and presents that Francesca would have never dreamed of. And everyone seemed to like Rosaria too. She was naturally charismatic, and like Francesca, Rosaria too was a telepath - only significantly stronger. The worst part was that she genuinely was nice to everyone, including Francesca.

After the invasion and Rosaria's disappearance, things seemed to get worse - people either treated her as a diety and grieved her loss or villified her and blamed her for the invasion. The worst was that even though she was gone, everyone was still constantly talking about her. Francesca always felt that with time, things would change. And for most people, it did. But that did not include Alex . His obsessed with finding her soon transformed into years of deep-seated grief, resentment, and anger.

Francesca always knew that Alex loved Rosaria. But she had hoped that he'd get over her one day, too. Even though she wasn't physically present and was possibly dead, Francesca always felt as if she was an outsider - that Alex was in a relationship with Rosaria and Francesca was the one looking in. And that just makes Francesca resent Rosaria even more. Normally, girls would have to compete with ex-girlfriends or ex-wives. Francesca, however, was competing with a ghost.

HISTORY

Francesca grew up in Long Island in a large blue-collar Italian-American family. Her father owned a construction company, and her mother was a teacher at a local middle school. Francesca was their only child, and as a result of this, she was the apple of their eye - the child who could do nothing wrong.

Up till the age of 15, she lived in Long Island - she attended school , was a cheerleader, and actively worked towards building up her social media platform among her peers and community. She was known for her practical makeup tips and would go around offering free makeovers to those in need - the less fortune who had unfortunately not been blessed with style, unlike her.

At the age of 15, her telepathy began to manifest - she noticed it first when she seemingly was able to read her teacher and peers' minds during a test and got the highest test scores. Naturally, it made the teachers suspicious who attempted to find evidence of cheating but never could. When they asked her, she quite openly told them that she heard her peers think.

Her guidance counselor recommended Francesca as a candidate to the Xavier Academy - the next day, Francesca was tested, and it was identified that she was a telepath, having the X-Gene mutation present.

Francesca was quite upset to leave her friends and family at first but ultimately recognized that it was the right thing to do. Her true motivations, of course, were quite simple - cute boys.

At first, Francesca hated the Academy - not only did she actually have to study for once, but she also had to do stuff like training, which she hated. On top of that, all the cute boys she expected were either in a relationship or just plain boring.

The good news, though, was that she had the perfect settings to take beautiful pictures and videos for her platforms . Also, mutant teens with cool powers made for great content.

This soon changed with the invasion, of course. Several of her peers were either killed, disappeared , or were captured by the government. And to make matters worse, the Academy was destroyed, half her clothes were ruined, she was missing an entire case of limited edition Yeti tumblers, and she seemingly had to pack whatever she had left and move to rural Canada. Plus she had to sleep on the ground with bugs.

And the worst thing was that she was not allowed internet in the new estate in Canada and constantly had to find work arounds to get access to internet, which Francesca was sure was some sort of violation of a basic human right. But thankfully, Starbucks existed - she could get her Frappuccinos and internet too!

OTHER

Francesca LOVES lululemon and athleisure

She loves mocha Frappuccinos and loves cake pop

She hates vanilla as it's a basic flavor - chocolate all the way

Francesca loves salads and you won't find her without her Yeti - hydration, hydration, hydration

She has over a million followers across her platforms and is a lifestyle influencer known for her clean-girl aesthetic and healthy lifestyle

She is vegan and can not survive without oatmilk.

She has a secret internet extender through which she is able to connect to the internet and post across her platforms, buy her lululemon and yeti tumblers, and livestream her yoga and pilates classes

Her favorite holiday is Christmas, apart from her birthday, of course.