#so you know. shut the fuck up and give me one thousand euros

[fabcreature]

you know what, since we've been talking about how annoying it is when people react like "what drugs were they on when they wrote this 🤪" when someone is creative, i just wanna say

everyone who says "HOW IS THIS A KIDS' MOVIE 😱😱", when a kids' movie is a little bit out of the box and features dark or deep imagery and meanings, owes me one thousand euros

[awanderingdeal]

hi! I hope you’re having a great day! I really like how you write the cubs dynamic and I wanted to ask if you could write some fluffy o’knutzy smut?

Hi! I had a lovely day. I hope you have too!

Thank you so much for your kind words :D

A rare turn of events, I was struggling to write the smut for this so its basically two thousand words of Leo simping for his boys (and food). I hope you enjoy it anyway!

CW: Food (oh so much food) and Sex.

Rating: M

Leo, Logan and Finn are original characters created by the lovely @lumosinlove. I love these boys and you should too. Go check out her writing to see more of them!

"Je vouidrais duex baguettes, sil vous plait," Finn asked, showing the vendor two fingers. The words were stilted and barely comprehensible, but even from a short distance away Leo could see the pride spilling off of him. The vendor gestured to the array of breads in front of her. Leo saw her mouth moving, but he couldn't quite make out what she was saying. Whatever it was made Finn's eyes widen in panic.

Leo watched Logan place a reassuring hand in the small of Finn's back. It was pleasant to not be so on guard all the time. They hadn't abandoned caution completely, but at least there was some element of anonymity here. Preoccupied with the small gesture, Leo missed whatever interaction had happened. It seemed any falter in communication had been repaired now, Finn handing over the required euros with a beaming smile.

"Merci! Bonne journée," Finn's grin stayed in place as he slipped the two baguettes in a cloth bag and he clutched his hard earned purchases to his chest.

The vendor shared a laugh with Logan. Leo noted that she looked younger than the other stall-holders, barely older than himself, and the smile appeared to slice another few years off. He couldn't help but imagine himself in her position. Not here, but in New Orleans. An array of freshly caught seafood on offer: crab and lobsters and oysters. Another life. Maybe better. Maybe worse. Definitely different.

He shook himself out of the thought, looking up to see Finn and Logan heading towards him. Logan threw his hand up in a wave, despite the fact, they had been apart for less than ten minutes. His skin had tanned, a few shades darker than normal, his hair grown out long enough that it was beginning to curl. Leo knew he would cut it soon; Logan hated the feel of it brushing the name of his neck, but he'd enjoy it while it lasted.

"Hey," Leo asked once they were nearer, "How'd it go?"

"Fish continues to bastardise the French language, but I'll forgive him because he's hot," Logan shrugged.

"No fucking baguettes for you," Finn huffed.

"I was joking, of course," Logan bumped his shoulder against Finn's. "We'll get you fluent yet."

"I want your French in France accent. It's sexier than your French in Canada accent."

"Excusez-moi! My accent is always sexy."

Leo let the two of them banter, listening on with an easy smile. He tugged the second of the traditional market baskets from Logan's hand, their acquisitions making it much weightier than when Leo had last had hold of it, and inclined his head in the direction of the Tremblay's townhouse.

"Yeah, let's go home," Logan agreed.

Leo led the way back, the route familiar after a week of being here. Finn and Logan occasionally drew him into their playful argument for his opinion, but mostly he just replayed the day in his head.

After a breakfast of fresh croissants and coffee, the three of them had ventured down to the beach. Leo didn't want to objectify his boyfriends, but a topless, sweaty Finn and Logan playing volleyball had definitely been a highlight of the morning. Having worked up an appetite, Logan showed them a tiny restaurant nestled into the houses on a side street. Mr. Ollivander, with his white hair and shaking hands, served them an absolutely sublime lunch of ratatouille and grilled tuna. Mopping up the last of his sauce with a hunk of bread, Leo had attempted to charm his way into getting the recipe but alas, the old man was immune. He had, however, recommended the market stall which sold the quiche currently weighing down Leo's basket, so he couldn't be too begrudging. Even though they hadn't made plans for evening yet, Leo was sure whatever happened it would be the icing on top of the metaphorical cake.

The walk back was short, no more than ten minutes. With the markets to the west, and the beach an equal distance away in the opposite direction, the house's location was ideal. However, it was built into the cliffs, and hauling groceries up the cascade of steps in the heat always left Leo hot and clammy. Finn didn't seem to mind; as soon as the door clicked shut behind them, he abandoned the baguettes to the sideboard and draped himself over Leo's back.

"I missed you."

Leo laughed, spinning around so they were face to face, Finn's arms wrapped around him. "I've been with you all day."

"Yeah, but he hasn't been able to do this." Logan drew up onto his tip-toes, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Leo's mouth. Logan seemed to give off a lighter air here in Nice, or perhaps it was the two bottles of wine they'd shared over lunch.

"Hey! Stealing my kisses," Finn protested, furrowing his brow into a mock frown and pressing his lips to the same spot as Logan.

"Alright, alright," Leo laughed. "No need to fight boys, there is plenty of me to go around." He rested his forehead against Finn's, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Finn smelt like the gingerbread syrup he used in his coffee, no matter what time of year it was, and Leo didn't want to let him go. The basket was beginning to feel heavy by his side though. "First I need you to let me put this thing down before my arm falls off."

Finn grumbled, but after another quick kiss he reluctantly let Leo pull away.

***

Leo was ushered from the small kitchen, Finn and Logan insistent on putting the shopping away for once.

Alone in the living room, Leo took the opportunity to look around again. It seemed that no matter how much he snooped he still found himself discovering new things. The bookcase, a grand antique, was an endless source of treasures. There were dog eared comics, a yellow sun hat that was probably small enough to fit Katie Dumais, and a wristband from the local aquarium, faded with age. They were just ordinary objects, left behind over years of vacations, but each one gave Leo an additional piece to the Tremblay family puzzle.

A mismatch of frames dominated the shelves. Leo browsed, his fingers settling on one that was slightly out of focus. A baby Logan was red faced, squirming in his sister Aubrey's arms, their mother reaching out to take him. Someone had penned the words 'The reality of it" underneath in an elegantly scripted hand.

Aubrey had her own child now, a daughter named Cordelia. She and baby Logan looked remarkably similar.

"Peanut!"

Leo jolted, almost knocking over the entire shelf.

"Sorry," Finn apologised, nudging Leo's shoulder gently. "I called you a few times. What's got you all up the stars, huh?"

Leo glanced at Finn, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "Just thinking of Lo in uncle mode." He swore Finn's eyes dilated as he splayed the back of his hand across his forehead, pretending to swoon.

"Yeah, okay. I'll give you that one," Finn laughed.

"Don't you know it's rude to talk about people behind their back."

Logan's voice took Leo by surprise again, but his reaction was somewhat more restrained this time. "Are you two trying to give me a heart attack today?"

"I can think of more fun ways to get your heart rate up," Logan said, his tone a little cheeky as he sidled up behind Leo, pushing his hands under the hem of his shirt. His thumbs massaged slow circles into Leo's skin and he pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. Leo gave a low moan, leaning back into the ministrations.

"Is this what you want to do with your evening?" Leo chuckled, although he wasn't doing much to dissuade Logan's actions.

Finn made a show of checking his watch. "Seems like a perfect time to go to bed."

"It's 4pm," Leo quipped.

"You wanted to rollerblade along the promenade tomorrow, right? I read that it was like 4 miles each way. We'll need all the rest we can get."

Rest. Leo rolled his eyes, his smile betraying his amusement. "You can just ask if you want to have sex."

"We were trying to be romantic," Logan said, his words muffled against Leo's back.

"Oh, my bad," Leo drawled, straightening up a little. Logan, ever the limpet, moved with him. "I'm ready to be romanced now."

"You're the worst," Finn laughed, the unrestrained joy was one of Leo's favourite sounds. "Leonardo Knuttius, if you would do us the honour of allowing us to rock your world, we would very much appreciate it."

Logan snorted, his grip loosening on Leo's hips. "What he said."

Leo blinked a few times, unable to think of words suitable enough to respond to the absurdity that had just left Finn's mouth. "I'll pretend you didn't say that," he pursed him lips, allowing himself to be tugged in the direction of the bedroom.

***

Leo whined, low in the back of throat as Finn sank into him. He tilted his head back, hands grasping at Finn to pull him into a kiss.

Logan panted, pushing back against Leo. "Fuck me."

"Always so impatient," Leo chuckled. He meant to tease Logan a little longer, but Finn fucked into him and Leo knew Logan could feel every bit of it.

The three of them were adventurous, they enjoyed experimenting with different positions. Sometimes the results were spectacular. Sometimes they ended up laughing too much to get anywhere. But, this, Finn fucking into him, whilst he fucked Logan. It would always hold a special place in Leo's heart. They were smoother now. Logan could hold off his orgasm better now - if he wanted to. But it would always be reminiscent of that first time together.

They rocked together, grasping at every spot of skin they could. A roll of Finn's hips. The squeeze of Logan's ass. Finn finished last as always, spilling down Leo's throat. Logan kissed him afterwards, his tongue seeking out Finn's taste. They lay together, chests heaving until one of their stomach rumbled. They all denied it, but each of them admitted to being able to eat something.

***

It felt a bit like of an injustice to the quiche to be eating it like this, all sweaty and riding the high of their orgasms. Or perhaps, this was exactly how the cook wanted it to be experienced; woven into love.

"Stop it, you're going to get crumbs on the bed," Leo reprimanded Finn who was leaning across him, a slice of the tart balancing precariously in his hand.

"I won't, it'll be cute," Finn argued. He smushed the quiche into Logan's mouth, less romantic, and more reminiscent of a cake smash. Inevitably, the pastry flaked all over the sheets. Finn glanced at the mess, then looked up at Leo, smiling impishly, "I'll clean that up, I promise."

Leo felt warmth. A different kind of warmth to that of the sun beating down on him. This one seemed to radiate from the inside outward. It was the kind that occurred when you knew that your boyfriends were idiots. And that still, you loved them very, very much.

[nothoughtsjustcalciatorifregni]

Fino all'ultima goccia (Coverciano boyfriends)

Pairing: Matteo Pessina × Manuel Locatelli

Characters: Matteo Pessina, Manuel Locatelli, Nicolò Barella, Salvatore Sirigu, Gigio Donnarumma, Ciro Immobile, Andrea Belotti, Giorgio Chiellini, Leonardo Bonucci, Leonardo Spinazzola, Alessandro Florenzi, Francesco Acerbi

Summary: an anonymous wrote me: "The Italian team should have done a drinking game after the euro." and I did it.

"Friends, we're here to celebrate the last day at Coverciano and, above all, our victory!" Leonardo said, trying to shush the Azzurri who were applauding enthusiastically, "Some of you are new to the traditional Fino all'ultima goccia, the exciting and spicy drinking game that the Italian national team plays to commemorate the last night together."

All the boys were sitting in a circle, in front of each there was an empty shot glass. Manuel was between Nicolò, who didn't stop talking for a moment, and Salvatore. He was excited to finally play this game, he had heard a lot about it, but at the same time he would have liked to spend his last evening in Coverciano in another way. Almost by reflex his gaze fell on Matteo.

Why is he so pretty and why am I so fucked up? he thought hopelessly and in that precise moment Matteo looked at him.

They smiled at each other. It was an almost imperceptible smile, a small thing between them, "Is everything okay?" Matteo asked just moving his lips, not a single sound coming from his mouth.

Manuel nodded. Another smile and another crack in the heart because tomorrow this will be over. Living a secret affair wasn't easy, above all if your teammates kept asking about when you'll get married, but at least at Coverciano they could spend all the time they wanted together without making anyone suspicious. They were friends, right? Well… Not exactly.

His stream of thoughts was distracted by Leonardo who placed himself in the middle of the circle, "Fino all'ultima goccia has rules. The first one is that the things that will be said here must remain here. And... That's it! Our priority is discretion, otherwise everything is fine. Giorgio and I will not participate because, unfortunately, the game requires two moderators and by seniority it's up to us, but don't worry youngsters, in this group there are brave over 30s who will surely give you a hard time," a chorus of applause exploded in room, "Let the party begin! I'll ask the first question. Have you ever won the European football championships?"

All the boys laughed. Manuel took the little shot glass, now full of some liqueur, and drank it in one gulp. So did all of his teammates, "Now that you've all had at least one glass, we can start the real game. Andrea starts and then let's go in order."

"Have you ever… let me think for just a second. I wasn’t prepared!" Andrea exclaimed looking at Giorgio, "Have you ever cheated on a test?"

"Maronn André! Leo called this game spicy and this is your question?" asked Ciro, "You can do better!"

"Okay, okay! Have you ever…" Andrea took the little glass in his hand and he lifted up in the air, "kissed a boy?"

"That's a good question!" Ciro exclaimed, taking his glass and toasting with Andrea, drinking the tequila in one go and then concluding with a quick kiss.

When Manuel heard the question frozen. So, this is how all his teammates will find out that he also likes boys. Well, one boy.

He was looking at his shaking hands, confused on what to do, when he felt his arm tagged. Manuel whirled around and saw Nicolò looking him straight in the eye.

"Kiss me!"

"Excuse me?"

"Kiss me! By the end of the evening I must be dead drunk, so if that's the way this game is going, I definitely need to kiss a guy right now. Kiss me!!" he repeated, showing his lips.

"No! There are a lot of guys here, kiss someone else!"

"Fine!" Nicolò replied, annoyed, then he began to size up the others, "No. No. Absolutely no. Yes!" and he launched himself at Spina who didn't mind kissing him.

Nicolò returned victorious to his seat and drank the shot.

"The choice of kissing Spina was so predictable. Was this 'I must be drunk dead, I need to kiss a guy' just an excuse to kiss him?" Manuel asked him, a mischievous smile on his face

"Don't you dare…"

Manuel turned, completely ignoring Nicolò and drank the liqueur. When his gaze stopped on Matteo, he saw him drinking and then showing Manuel proudly his empty glass.

"Okay guys! Let's move on to the next question. Giorgio, could you pour tequila into empty glasses?"

"Seriously?" Giorgio rolled his eyes, but got up anyway with the bottle in his hand.

At that moment Manuel realized how many glasses were empty. Ciro, Andrea, Matteo (of course, he thought while the butterflies in his stomach were doing somersaults), Salvatore, Nicolò, the poor Spina and even Gigio! That was a surprise.

"Ciro, it's your turn."

Ciro was already with the glass in his hand, "Have you ever kissed a teammate?"

"Yes!" yelled Nicolò, turning to Spina and making a heart sign with his hands.

Manuel could only give up and drink in the general confusion.

"Can we change the argument of the questions? I'd like to drink too."

"No! I want to win this game."

"Cirù, nobody wins at it!"

"You can always kiss a random teammate, with me it worked!" then Nicolò turned to Manuel, "Oh, let's hope the next question is 'have you ever kissed a guy older than you' or, this is cool huh, 'have you ever kissed a player from an opposing team' or…"

Manuel's first thought was that he could drink both questions, but then Nicolò's voice continued to ring in his head with his thousand phantom questions that could be asked. But after all, if Nicolò wanted to drink, who was he to stop him, especially if he had a question specifically dedicated to him, "Next question is mine," Manuel shouted.

"Well, actually it would be…"

"Have you ever had a wet dream about a teammate?"

When he turned to Nicolò, he was looking at him in shock, "Didn't you want to drink? Drink, come on! I know about your dream, you told me, remember?"

Perhaps asking that question had been a mistake and Manuel could tell from the murderous look with which Nicolò was watching him as he swallowed the tequila.

While he was thinking that he would most likely pay for it, he heard Matteo cough to get his attention, and as soon as Manuel looked at him he winked at him and drank it all in one gulp.

What did this mean? Did he dream about him? And why was Matteo looking at him with that lascivious smile? Manuel suddenly felt a wave of heat. The first rational thought was to give himself a re-dimensioning, but how could he do it if Matteo seemed to want to undress him with the mere force of his gaze?

"Shut your mouth Loca," whispered Nicolò, one of his fingers under Manuel's chin, "if you blush like this for a look from Matteo, what will you do when you listen to my question?"

Manuel hadn't the time to tell him that it wasn't his turn that Nicolò stood up, attracting the attention of all the boys, "Now that I have your attention, have you ever felt something for a teammate?"

Son of a bitch, he thought as he took the glass and drank for the umpteenth time.

"Are you satisfied now?"

"I don't give a shit about it, but look at Matteo. Uuuh, he looks very satisfied! What are you doing? Blushing? You're so cute, Loca."

And actually Matteo was looking at him. His gaze was no longer mischievous, but it had changed. The frown in the middle of his eyebrows meant that he was thinking of something serious. Without taking his eyes off Manuel, he drank and it was Manuel who looked down, not knowing if he was more incredulous that Matteo felt something for him or that he had to find out during a drink game.

When would this hell end? The more the game went on, the more the questions became personal, the fewer people drank and the more likely they would have discovered the relationship with Matteo. Or even worse, he and Matteo could discover things that they had not yet had the opportunity (or the courage) to confess.

"Giorgio, please, also pour the tequila into the glasses of Ciro, Andrea, Matteo, Manuel and Gigio because otherwise we won't go on here."

On hearing Gigio's name, Manuel turned to him and saw him calmly thanking Giorgio. Manuel took a mental note that as soon as all this mess was over, he would take Gianluigi aside and they would have a good chat. He demanded details. Juicy details.

But he hadn't the time to think properly about Gigio's situation because a new question came up.

"Have you ever kissed a teammate during this Euro Championship?" asked an unsuspected Alessandro who, up to that moment, had not stopped whispering to Francesco for a moment.

After four shots, Manuel began to feel slightly tipsy and suddenly he relaxed about everything. Why did Gigio have to be so calm as he exposed himself to the team while he was overthinking too much, as usual? After all he hadn't killed anyone. He had just happened to have certain feelings towards a friend and which unexpectedly were also reciprocated. Yes, they were cheating on their girlfriends. Their girlfriends who were waiting for them, supporting them, cheering them up, but above all girlfriends who thought that between Manuel and Matteo there was just a strong friendship. Yes, their decision had been selfish, but it would all be over tomorrow. Their adventure was born and ended within the walls of Coverciano. No more breakfasts together, training together or ping pong games together, everything would be back to normal. Normality that included putting aside feelings for Matteo to start again as best friends.

Manuel shook his head, as if to chase away the sad thoughts that his mind kept thinking, and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Salvatore reach out and take the glass. Manuel quickly took his and turned to the goalkeeper, "A toast! More kisses between people who love each other and less paranoia!"

"Well said, Loca! I'm glad you understood," Salvatore said, smiling proudly at his friend, "Let's have a toast!" and their glasses clinked amid the shouting of the other boys.

Their enthusiasm was cut off by a new question, "Have you ever had sex during this Euro Championship?" Francesco asked.

Manual sighed in relief, finally a question he shouldn't have been drinking. Sure, Matteo and he had kisses, some rubbing and even something more, but unfortunately they hadn't done it yet and probably never would have done it since this game would last until Nicolò was scrambled to the ground.

While Ciro was claiming his winnings, as only he and Andrea had been drinking for this question, Manuel could not ignore the glances of Francesco and Alessandro as they passed from him to Matteo and then whispered to each other.

"Didn't you two do anything?" Alessandro asked, frantically pointing to Manuel and Matteo, "Nothing, nothing, nothing?"

"Nothing!" Matteo answered, his voice was firm and serious.

"Fuck, you were right," Francesco pulled 50 euros out of his pocket and gave it to Alessandro.

"Have you bet on us?"

"Well what's wrong with that? We all knew you're together. Of course you could have done more. I just lost 50 euros because of you."

Oh my God, Manuel couldn't believe his ears, "How could you bet on-"

"Have you ever had a threesome with a person present in this room?"

Manuel immediately recognized the voice and when he turned he saw Matteo, the expression of someone who had just launched the best gossip of the century.

Everything happened very quickly. Salvatore drank the tequila, Andrea whispered undeterred to Ciro who downed the liquor.

"Did I tell you not to? Why don't you ever listen to me?"

"But it happened a century ago, we were still playing together, who do you want me to give such an old anecdote, right Salvatore?"

A hush fell over the room, all the eyes were on Ciro and Andrea. Those few seconds of silence were broken by a thousand questions made together.

It was at that moment that Manuel felt a hand leaning on his shoulder which was gently squeezed.

Manuel turned and saw Matteo, smiling, "Let's go?" he proposed and Manuel couldn't not accept.

Matteo helped him get up and then he wrapped his shoulder with his arm, holding him tight. Manuel immediately felt at home between those arms that several times had embraced him without wanting anything in return.

"How did you know what happened between Ciro, Andrea and Salvatore?"

"Easy, pretend you're listening to music while people are next to you and if it's your lucky day, you might hear something useful to get your boyfriend out of trouble."

"More like your Coverciano boyfriend. I want to remind you that we are officially engaged and not between us..."

Matteo stopped in the middle of the aisle. He took Manuel's hand in his, holding it tight, a slight blush on his cheeks, "But things can change, don't you think?"

This question hit Manuel right in his heart, like a stab. He couldn't stop looking at Matteo's bright eyes, full of hope, but also scared. Manuel didn't know if he was scared about his answer or about his future, their future.

"Yeah.. Maybe.. I don't know." he answered in a whisper. Manuel would love having the right answer to comfort Matteo, however only half-hearted babbling phrases came out of his mouth. Because of his protective nature, Manuel would have liked to reassure Matteo that everything will be fine, that things between them, outside the walls of Coverciano, will go smoothly, that they will write to each other every day and maybe they would even be able to meet. But the truth was that he was literally terrified of everything, because he couldn't handle this thing between them as he would have liked, with serenity and out in the open, "I don't like thinking about the future."

"Okay, don't worry," Matteo said immediately, releasing Manuel's hand and avoiding his gaze. "Changing topic, what would you say if now we go to the room and we conclude this last evening in Coverciano? Maybe later we will be able to make up for the last shot that we both haven't drunk ," he said, showing a bottle, "I borrowed because I was hoping that we could, you know..."

Manuel took his chin with his hand and approached his face. He kissed him, there in the middle of the corridor, without any fear that someone could see them, "Of course, we can."

"Without thinking about the future?" Matteo handed him the little finger, the sweetest smile upon his face.

"Without thinking about the future." Manuel intertwined his little finger with Matteo's one.

Matteo wrapped him in his arms and Manuel couldn't help but think he had the best Coverciano boyfriend. With a whisper, he confided it in his ear, as if it were their most precious secret, making Matteo giggle.

They had arrived in front of Matteo's room, when Manuel whirled around, his back to the door, "What about the wet dream about me?" he asked, low voice and a smirk on his lips.

Matteo slowly slipped his arms around Manuel's waist and pulled him to himself, hands gently squeezing his ass, "I'll tell you when we get to the room, in fact I'll show you. Down to the smallest details." whispered, kissing just under Manuel's lobe.

For one last night they could live the moment, leaving the future outside Matteo's room.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 12

happy Chronicles update! I know I waited a while to post this one, but I feel like I’m in a good place to share it now. so, I hope you like it! it’s... an interesting one.

from: itsdjbubbles 29 July, 19:30. La Tortue. you and your group got a setlist?

to: itsdjbubbles i… could have a setlist. and we’re more of a band than a group.

from: itsdjbubbles hell yeah, dude. you’re in.

–––

just saw adrien agreste in person. In Person. i don’t think i can even afford his aura. or, like. the CO2 he’s breathing out?

no, i’m not going to say where. i’m not a total dickwad. just sometimes. mostly because my sister would come for me if i didn’t say so.

also, fellow parisians, who hopefully are not or have not been as much of a dumbass as me: watch this space for an announcement, maybe.

Adrien Agreste is right. There. In all his swoopy-blond-hair, thousand-euro-smile, million-euro-clothing glory. Hanging by the doorway, and seeing him standing at the register like an actual human being, and laughing like an actual human being, and paying with a debit card like an actual human being, is like looking into the goddamn sun. Or like standing in the weird static, plasma dimension that exists between the TV screen and real life. Or both.

Okay. Luka will admit that, for a time that now feels both distant and delirious, he… probably entertained a celebrity crush on Adrien Agreste. But it was short-lived, and it felt more like a warm fuzz in his stomach whenever he passed by those radiant advertisements for perfume, men’s clothing, even underwear. Really, the more he thought about it, the more he was just admitting that Adrien Agreste had a certain charm and attraction because he, like many people in Paris, had a functional pair of eyes.

It was… fantasy, really. Self-indulgent. The way most infatuation tends to be. Observation with a cause; he heard it once in a song.

Adrien Agreste is still standing right. There. At the register. And Luka hasn’t moved from the entrance. Not even when the door hits him unceremoniously in the back and the bell above it mocks him as it announces his arrival.

And then Adrien Agreste turns on his heel, slipping his wallet into his back pocket with one seemingly perfect hand and gripping a pastry box with the other, and Luka’s body reminds him to step aside. He does, still dumbstruck despite how Adrien Agreste literally smiles at him and says good morning, and the door closes behind him again, and not for the first time in his life, Luka forgets what words are or how to string them together.

When he comes to his senses and makes peace with the fact that he just shared the same breathing air as a real-live supermodel, he notices—even from this far away—that Marinette is wearing that expression again. The one from the park. The one he wishes never existed—because even if this is another observation with a cause, he at least has the good sense to know that Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not deserve to look so sad, no matter how many smiles she layers on top of it.

Until now, it seems like Marinette’s only been looking past him, but when her eyes finally settle on him, she perks up a bit from her place at the register. “You dyed your hair,” she says by way of greeting, and he swears her face starts to glow. Or maybe it always was glowing. Maybe it wasn’t because of him.

“Uh,” he replies, because when has he ever been smooth when she’ s looking at him like that? or at all? “Technically, Jules did.” He says it hurriedly, so neither of them has to worry about it or talk about it, but then she has to go and tell him that it looks good on him, and his words have to get stuck on his tongue again when he says, “Thanks, I grew it myself.”

Kill him. Now. He’s ready. Juleka can have his guitar.

“So,” he goes on, a little perkier than he means to, but it’s probably for the best. “That was, uh… that Adrien Agreste guy, huh? You know him or something?”

Marinette’s expression is almost unreadable. It is hard to tell if she regrets knowing Adrien, or if she thinks Luka must be living under a rock because everyone knows who Adrien Agreste is. She snaps back to herself soon enough, and she’s browsing the pastry cases as though it’s her responsibility to find something good for him. “We used to go to middle school together,” she explains. “Just for a while. I even used to have this mondo crush on him. Can you imagine?”

“Yeah,” Luka says, because he can’t count how many times he’s imagined her in love, much less how many times he’s imagined other people in love with her. “Huh. I pegged him as the type to get homeschooled or something.” He tosses a glance behind him, just to see if the limo is still there, but it’s long since peeled away. “What… happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“You…” He pauses. “You said, ‘used to?’”

“Oh,” she says, half-flippant, with a sheepish laugh to match. “Y’know.”

Luka narrows his eyes. “No, I don’t,” he says. “That’s… why I asked?” Even though he maybe, definitely shouldn’t have because it maybe, definitely isn’t his business.

Marinette shrugs, busies herself with boxing up a selection. He doesn’t even have to ask. (Is it good that he doesn’t have to ask?) “I switched schools. That’s all. Turns out absence doesn’t really make the heart grow fonder after all.”

It doesn’t sound like that’s all, especially if the bittersweet look on her face has anything to say about it, but who is he to push? Who is he to do anything but peek into her life and feel grateful, privileged, for what she’s allowed him?

“Anyway,” she goes on; it’s mesmerizing, watching her multitask. The grace with which she can open herself up, so clipped, while taping a box shut. “Our friend is making this music video for a summer class he’s taking. He’s really into film, you know? And we’re playing opposite each other in it. I guess he wanted to come by and chat about it, but I think he had something else in mind.”

Luka’s brow furrows.

When Marinette turns, box in hand, her lips scrunch up awkwardly. Like she’s the one who doesn’t know what to say this time. “Now he’s the one who…”

Oh. Well. Fuck.

“I turned him down,” she adds with a shrug. “In high school. And we’re still… sort of friends. We text and stuff, have a couple of mutual friends. I just get the sense those feelings—his, I mean—never really went away. There’s just… something I can’t shake. Do you know what I mean?”

Does he know what she means? Does he feel? He nods, dumbly, and maybe this moment separated by a counter and a cash register isn’t supposed to be as deep and twisted and thorny as it is. But it is, and it feels that way because he feels, and he wonders if she feels it, too. If there are parts of her that never went away, either.

“Sorry,” Marinette blurts out once the moment ends—too soon, as far as he’s concerned. “You didn’t ask to hear all that.”

“I don’t mind.” Luka offers her a smile because it’s the best thing he has on him. “Life stories, remember?”

She smiles back. It’s slow, and knowing, and it makes him melt in his shoes. “Are you gonna make a song about it, Music Man?”

Okay. Okay. Wow.

Maybe it was worth staying alive for literally this one moment.

“I could write a song about it,” he says; it’s a miracle he doesn’t stammer. “Would you come and listen to it?”

“In the park?”

“At a gig.”

Marinette looks surprised, and then impressed, and damn if he doesn’t want to keep doing things that make her make that face. “Maybe I will,” she says, almost demure, like he asked her on a date or something. (Did he? Ask her on a date?) She looks just past him, and when he follows her gaze it lands on a bulletin board by the door. “Maybe you should swing by with a flyer or something.”

“Maybe I will.” Wow, two for two. He takes the box, reaches for his wallet. “I’ll watch that video, too, we’ll call it even—”

Her hand is on his before he can even pull out his card. And it isn’t until after she’s pushed his wallet back toward him that it finally registers that she’s touched him. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It’s on the house. Just bring the flyer, and then we’ll call it even.”

Luka looks between her and the box a number of times, too many questions on his tongue to get any of them out. Why is she being so nice to him? why does she insist on giving him things he hasn’t worked for, or finding loopholes to prove that he did work for it? Is she flirting with him? Or does she pity him? Or is she just being nice because he’s one of her parents’ regulars? Or does she… does she, maybe…

He holds his breath, and searches her eyes, and gets lost in the music he’s still sort of trying to place. He slips his wallet into his back pocket all the same, and he takes the box from her, and it’s ridiculous how fiercely he wishes he could feel her fingers brush the back of his hand again. “You got a deal,” he murmurs—mentally kicks himself for sounding so out of touch. He backs out of the store like it’s illegal to tear his eyes away; it feels like it is, when she’s smiling at him like that. The Not For Customers smile.

Admittedly, he wonders if she ever gave Adrien Agreste that smile, once upon a time.

Maybe he shouldn’t have wondered, because his back bumps right into the door, and the bell above it jingles as though it’s annoyed. But Marinette isn’t; in fact, she giggles behind a hand, and she gives him a little wave like she’s going to keep the memory safe in the pocket of her apron. He manages a weak laugh, and a wave of his own, and then he’s stumbling out the door and walking his bike to the first open bench he can find. He needs to sit down. Put his head in his hands for a while.

Because he thinks she just flirted with him. And he thinks he flirted right back. And he knows she just touched him, in spite of everything she told him about Adrien, in spite of him being right. There. And it’s all finally, finally sinking in, and the world is spinning in a way he’s not really used to, and…

Maybe he just needs a sugar boost.

Shaking his head and sighing, he pops the seal on the pastry box, fully prepared to find a half dozen napoleons inside. There aren’t—only two pastries.

One napoleon.

And one pear tart.

His heart stutters. Makes up for how he didn’t before.

That’s how it gets him.

hey mom? mr. president? deity of indeterminate gender?

how do i go about legally changing my name to Music Man?

you know. hypothetically.

[bbaronpiper]

Excess baggage

Hi guys! I dunno if it’s fluff or not but it’s supposed to be fluff. lol. 

2, 14, 19, 32, 43, 44, 92 (they don’t have to be all in one like you could divide them see which work together and write like more than 1 stories with any of theseee pls and thank you💞💞)

this is for 44. Twirling a strand of their hair - but I changed it to twirl a strand of his hair and 92. “Where’s your adventurous spirit?!”

 gif not mine. credits to the owner. :)

Arón x reader

You’re staring at your newly bought thong with tears streaming down your face contemplating whether to throw it away or not like what you’ve done with some of your clothes too.  You’re currently sitting on the floor of Italy’s airport due to excess baggage. You’ve tried plenty of times and threw away what felt like most of your things but still cannot get through. Until you’ve heard footsteps approaching. You looked up and saw a tall man wearing a hoodie with sunglasses on. He seemed familiar but you just didn’t know where you saw him. He took off his glasses once he reached you and spoke.

“Hola, I have an excess space on my baggage for your coat” he simply said. He looked so calm and reserved. “also, I’m not a thief nor a perv who’s trying to get in your pants. Just wanna help” he half smiled.

You wiped away your tears and thought about it for a minute before looking back down on your coat and throwing it on the trash bin beside you. You have trust issues, yes, but after all, you’re in a different country away from home, alone with a stranger hovering over you.

“Arón” he simply said again and extended his hand for you to shake. “C’mon your coat looks expensive” You had doubts but took it anyways. “Y/N… Bought it on a thrift shop for half the price though” you said and smiled a little. You then handed him some of your clothes including the thong you threw away earlier. You don’t often hand your underwear to random people but you’re just tired and desperate to go back home to Spain. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind when he grabbed it from you and put it inside his luggage with a straight face on.

Finally, you both got through and proceed to the boarding gate, you looked at each other while walking and smiled.

“Gracias”                  

“De nada” he returned a smile before looking away from you. This man is simply a man of few words you thought to yourself.

The flight back to Spain was quiet. You shared a simple conversation like where you’re from, what you do, names of your siblings and so on. Then you discovered why he looked so familiar. He was an actor but you didn’t treat him any different since he seems like a down to earth person. At some point you fell asleep on his shoulder and he just let you. He was awake the whole time though. After a few hours, he woke you up saying to get ready as you guys just landed on Spain.

While waiting for your baggage you asked him if he wanted to get some merienda (snack) with you as a thank you gesture in return for what he did for you in which he gladly said yes. You both ended up in a nearby restaurant which served beers as well. Being the alcoholic he is and the broken- hearted that you are, you both up ended up getting a bit drunk. He loosened up a bit now, He’s more talkative than when you met him few hours ago and he smiled more now showing the little gap on his front teeth which you find cute to be honest.

“I really liked your tattoo, says a lot about you” he said referring to the tattoos on each of your wrists. It was the creation of Adam tattoo. You really loved it too, being an art graduate, you looked at it as a masterpiece.

“How about you? do you have more besides the ones on your arms?”

“Yeah, here” he pointed on his collar bone.

“Can I see?” you innocently asked. You didn’t realized what you asked him to do until he smirked and lifted his shirt up until his neck revealing his sun and moon tattoo on his collar bone. Damn this boy, he should’ve moved his shirt on the side but no, he had to remove his shirt but you ain’t complaining though. You stared at it absent mindedly more than you should have, not to mention the stare you gave down his abs. You were snapped out of your eye fucking moment when he pulled down his shirt.

He cleared his throat and put a finger on his lips to stop himself from laughing at the sight of you.

“yep. It’s nice” tearing your gaze away from him embarrassed that he caught you staring.

“My abs orrr….?” He trailed off, teasing you completely laughing now.

“Damn you! the tattoo of course!” you said your face turning hot red now.  “My ex has better abs than you!” you mocked. Your asshole of an ex, yes. You never told Arón what happened nor why were you in Italy. He doesn’t care. you were strangers after all. But damn this alcohol, made you vulnerable and emotional. You ended up telling him every detail as to what happened and he just sat there with his straight face on and a blush on his cheeks from the alcohol he just drunk.

You went to Italy to go surprise your boyfriend of 8 years. You were so excited you even bought new lingerie. He moved there from Spain for work and you haven’t seen him in almost a year. When he broke the news to you saying his boss wanted him to extend 2 more years, that’s when you decided to go and visit him. Fuck. You even thought of moving in Italy for good. But the jokes on you, ‘cos he has a better surprise. You found out that he’s been with someone else already. He was cheating on you.

“I don’t love you anymore, you may go. that’s what he told me” You sniffed. “We’ve been together for eight years but he just ended us with eight fucking words too!” you were crying now while he just continued to stare and listen to you with a little to no emotion at all. “Don’t you think I deserve a second chance with him? ” you grabbed your glass of beer and chugged it all at once.

“He doesn’t love you anymore” he repeated to you. “what else is there to explain?” he shrugged.

“Yeah. But eight years? Just like that? don’t I deserve at least an explanation?” You fought back.

“If he did explain, would it change anything?” he questioned you looking a bit sad.  “Bottom line is, He. Doesn’t. love. You. Anymore.” He repeated and emphasized each word.

You looked at him, still crying. “Gilipollas! Are we close? Are we even friends?! Joder! You’re rude!” he was right but you can’t deny the fact that it went straight to your heart.

He burst out laughing and you laughed along with him. Damn this alcohol you are now both into a roller coaster ride of emotions. His concerned eyes were replaced with a happy one. He just got an idea to go to the beach. He told you that people trying to move on often go somewhere far away from home where nothing could remind them of their ex. You being a dumbass and drunk. You said yes ignoring the fact that you just met him. But somehow, being with him was a relief. Yeah, he made unsolicited comments about your life and looks at you with no emotion most of the time and probably thinks you’re stupid for crying over this goddamn ex of yours this whole time but he makes a good company. He’s a listener, a gentleman and hasn’t taken advantage of you despite your current state.

----

You woke up with the sun almost blinding you from the bus window. You closed the curtains and looked on your left side and saw Arón’s head on your shoulder. His curls are now growing back and it looked so soft you suddenly felt the urge to twirl a strand of his hair with your index finger. It is indeed soft. You kept on twirling it until he moved a little. He then completely lifted his head up from your shoulders and looked at you.

“Where are we, bonita?” he asked while rubbing his eye. You blushed a little hearing him say bonita

“Italy”

“Fuck, No!” he straighten up on his seat and looked around.

You laughed at him and hit him softly on his perfectly toned stomach you’ve been eyeing all night. “Can’t believe you fell for that, dumbass. We’re on our way to Marbella. This is your idea, remember?”

“Oh, si!” scratching the back of his head. “well, I may not look like it but I’m a bit gullible” he laughed playing along with you.

You turned your head in front of you and saw a movie playing, you watched it for a few seconds before your face fell. Arón noticed this of course.

“Ahora, que?” he asked.

“The movie playing reminded me of him. We watched it on our first date.” you weren’t going to cry. You were tired of that but the sadness was evident in your face.

“Everything really remind you of him, huh?” Arón stated. There it is again, his damn comments.

“I have an idea! Every time I’m gonna mention him, I’ll give you one euro!” you stated excitedly but he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. “what? It worked for my best friend!”

“Yeah okay, but one euro? What are we? 10 year olds? Make it one thousand euro.” He smirked.

“Cabron! One thousand euro your face!” you spat back

“fine, five hundred?” he fought back

“10 euro!” you laughed

“Wooww! Ten?! four hundred?” he laughed while mocking you.

“fifty euro!! Take it or leave it!” you stick your tongue out at him

“one hundred euro! C’mon! with this, you wouldn’t even dare to say his name!”

“fine! Deal! One hundred!” you then shook his hand. He smiled brightly at you knowing he won.

“So what are you gonna do with the millions of money you’ll save from this? Why don’t you just buy yourself a man” Arón joked

“Ijo de puta!” you spat at him.

“Damn, you really cursed a lot for a girl!” he laughed again.

“Shut up! I’m not like that!” you knew he was joking so you just laughed along. “I’ll just donate it to a charity. You know, the one where they support women, who were hurt and abused by their fucking exes, like my fucking ex! specially my fucking ex! Fuck my ex I hope he get what he deserved. That fucking assho—” you cut yourself as you saw Arón’s smile appearing on his lips and giving you the look. You both smiled and he then held his palm at you. you slapped it away.

“Arón! We’re not on yet!” you said laughing your ass off

“No, we had a deal already!” he smiled happily at you when he heard you mumble a curse and get your wallet and hand him the money. “Yes, I’ll be rich!” he mumbled.

---

After an eternity, you finally arrived in Marbella. You stretched your arms and body as soon as you got off the bus. Arón did the same while walking around the bus to get your baggage.

“Arón, thank you for this” you looked up at him and noticed how his hair is a bit shuffled, his plump lips and his brown colored eyes that shines through the sunlight.

“What do you mean by thanks for this? It’s not for free you know?” he looked back at you and hand you your baggage. You smiled at how you two became closer with just almost a day together. You’re just happy to be with him you start to feel like you knew him your whole life. The awkwardness was now gone.

“Sure! But just not my body! It’s expensive, you can’t afford it!” you played along.

“Damn! Too bad” he mumbled. Obviously, that was a joke right? But just to be sure so you looked at him with raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “god, I’m just kidding Y/N!” he winked and raise his hands up in defense.

The path from the parking lot to the hotel was a challenge, the wheels of your suitcases kept on sinking onto the sand. Take note, you have 2 suitcases and 1 shoulder bag. Arón, being the gentleman he is, offered some help but you insist that you can manage on your own. Damn this boy who decided to tease you again.  He walked up in front of you and lifted his baggage with one hand.

“it’s heavy, no?” he was smiling like an idiot.

“yeah, it is but I can manage” you lifted both of your baggage with each arm as Arón walks further away from you.

“you can, but you’re slooooow” Arón teased more.

“but I can” you spat back. He then walked further away until he disappeared on your sight. After 10 mins of struggling, you finally reached the hotel’s entrance. you then rolled your suitcases until the front desk, wiping away the sweat on your forehead and took a deep breath. Arón was on the side with his right foot over his left and his elbow leaning on the handle of his suitcase. Of course, he still has that goofy smile on his face watching your every action. He hands you a bottle of water. You smiled and blush on how thoughtful he is.

“oh, you made it!” he said while looking on the watch in his wrist.

“I managed! slowly but surely” you winked at him. At some point you thought that you both aren’t talking about the suitcases at all. You know that the whole interaction has a hidden meaning to it. you were both referring to your process of moving on. It’s too heavy for your heart but you can manage as time goes on. Slowly but surely.

You are now settled on your room. You trust Arón enough to stay in a room with him but of course you got the room with two beds. Not that you didn’t want to sleep beside him but it’s the right choice. You sat on your bed while cracking your neck and massaging your shoulders. You heard Arón laugh from across the room.

“you brat! That’s what you get for being so stubborn!” this man loves to make fun of you didn’t he. “let’s go get a massage!” he walked towards you in one swift and grabbed your hand. It happened all so fast you didn’t get the chance to protest. Not that you will. You mean, the feeling of his hand on yours is magical. You felt butterflies on your stomach as well. The feeling you haven’t felt in a while. You walked towards the spa with him in front of you absent mindedly. All you did was to look at your fingers intertwined with his.

“two full body massage please” Arón said to the woman on the front desk.

“couple’s room, sir?” the girl asked staring at Arón. She definitely recognized him, she was biting her lips and eye fucking the man in front of her.

“nahh. We’re not a couple” you smiled at her. “I don’t want him to peek at me naked!” you nugged Arón on the side.

“Wow, Y/N! me?” he pointed on his chest. “you were the one staring at my abs, remember when I showed you my tattoo?!” he nugged you back.

“You wish! I was looking at your collar bone!” you said suppressing a laugh

“my tattoo is here!” he pointed on his collar bone. “you were looking down here!” he then pointed on his abs. winking at you.

“First of all, asshole, you don’t have abs! you’re stomach is bloated!” you laughed loudly. The lady on the front desk started to laugh too. “C’mon, Arón, show her your non-existing abs” you said referring to the lady in front of you.

Arón then smile shyly, he refused to show it but you urged him. “Do it!” laughing more than ever. He protested but lifted up his shirt so fast and pulled it down right away. Showing just a glimpse of his stomach. “There! Happy?!” he was blushing and smiling happily. He looked so cute, his dimples are showing.

---

You must’ve fallen asleep through out the whole massage session as you felt someone poke on your cheeks. You opened you eyes to see Arón’s face close to yours.

“Morning bonita, get up! I have something to show you”

You put on your clothes and got out of the room. Only for Arón to take your hands on his again and drag you out to the beach. When you said drag, you meant like literally drag. He was walking so fast you almost stumble.

“Y/N! take huge steps! C’mon the sun is setting!” he said excitedly. The fuck is wrong with this man? “This is the best I can do, bruh!” he laughed and looked back at you. you were surprised when he stopped walking and bent down a little only to scoop you up on his arms. “Aróoonnn! Put me down!!” you giggled but wrapped your arms around him afraid you’ll physically fall. Not that you aren’t falling for him emotionally though.  He almost ran across the beach with you on his arms, he stopped when he reached a huge rock. He put you down, the smile you had on your lips slowly faded away as soon as the feeling of his skin against yours disappeared.

To cut the story short, he wanted to climb that huge rock. You just looked at him in disbelief.

“You’re fucking crazy, dude!”

“Where’s your adventurous spirit, Y/N!” he challenged you.

After multiple exchange of curses and a lot of convincing, you both decided to do it. you mean, how can you say no to this gorgeous man. If you’re gonna fall and hit your head on the rock and bleed to death then at least you got to do it with Arón. You would thank him even. besides, he promised not to let that happen. And he sure did, as you were now on the top of the huge rock.

The view of the sun setting across the horizon and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock made it all worth it. you closed your eyes as you felt the wind blow softly against your skin, enjoying the moment. You felt Arón hugged you from behind. He placed a kiss on your shoulder before placing his chin on it.  you held his arms and smiled

“Let it all out, bonita” he said softly close to your ears. That’s when it starts to hit you. The heaviness on your chest starts to resurface. You felt your tears form on your eyes again. You tried to stop it by keeping your eyes tightly closed but somehow it still escaped from your eyes. “It’s okay Y/N, scream, cry, let it out, it’ll make you feel better” his voice was so soothing. You did what you were told. You screamed it all out. You screamed all the pain you had inside you, all the disappointment, all the crushed plans you had with your ex, everything. You felt your body trembles from all the screaming and crying but Arón held you tightly keeping you from collapsing.

You were breathing heavily now, you turned around to face Arón and hugged him tightly as you cried on his chest. He returned the hug and rubbed your back to soothe you while whispering things like “sshh it’s okay Y’N” “You’ll get through this” “I’m here Y/N” and it did calm you. You pulled your head back and looked in his eyes as he stared back down at you.

“Gracias, this means a lot to me Arón.” You half smiled at him. He wiped away the tears streaming down your cheeks with both of his hands and holding it after. “No lo menciones, it’s my pleasure” he reassured you. He held you close, nudging you a little. You’re still crying but you managed to give him a small laugh. Letting him know it really helped you emotionally. You felt your emotional baggage became lighter. You knew it was too soon, but the butterflies on your stomach doesn’t wanna leave you alone. You felt yourself falling for this man, you mean, who wouldn’t. right?  

You pulled away from each other but decided to stay a while longer. You sat beside each other closely as the sun completely set right in front of your eyes.

“How do you forget someone?” you asked breaking the silence still looking at the sky

“Que?” he cleared his throat. “Umm, I don’t know. For me, I just woke up and she’s gone. I forgot all about her.” Arón said his eyes focused straight ahead.

“How long did it take you?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, A long time. I guess”

“6 months? 1 year? 2 years..3…4…5 ..?” you trailed off

“Does it matter? What’s important is that I forgot” he simply said “in your case, it might take 10 years” he bit his lips trying not to laugh

“Noooo!! Take it back, Arón!” you laughed nudging him with your shoulders. “I don’t think soo..” you added

“I dunno. All I know is that it all depends on you” he pursed his lips into a thin line before speaking again. “you can drink every night to forget. You can cry your heart out, you can go on dates with random people. It’s really up to you.” he paused “orrr you can find a new love” he smiled.

You snapped your head towards him and he did too. “you know as my man, F. Scott Fitzgerald once said” he smiled, his eyes glistening as the moonlight shines across it. 

“There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice”

You both stared at each other for a while before you snapped and put your head on his shoulder, he then wrapped his arms around you. It was silent, no one dared to say a single word but it was good kind of silence. The one you wouldn’t trade for anything else.

----

That’s it guys, sorry it’s a bit longer than I usually write. also, it’s inspired (changed some parts and dialogue) by a Filipino movie called “that thing called tadhana” tadhana means fate in english. lol. it’s on netflix. you should watch it! it’s so much better than what I wrote. 

[oopsiedoopsie23]

Make them pay | Guzmán x reader part 2

A/N: Feeling the love from all of y’all for my last 2 posts so thank you so much! And there should be another 1 or 2 parts of this mini series btw, so happy reading :)

Prompt: Guzmán broke up with the Reader after she tells him about Polo and she had known for a while. But once Polo and Carla discover that she told Guzmán she gets seriously injured. (during season 2)

Warnings: mentions of sex, suggestion of sex

It’s been a few weeks since you spotted Carla and Polo hooking up in the changeroom and at first you didn’t think much of it, too busy with school and  Guzmán to think about anything else. 

But it wasn’t until today when you had walked into the lunch room with Guzmán that you had remembered about the incident. 

“What do you think is going on there?” you look up at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice and see him glaring at Samuel and...Carla? The two seemed to be shamelessly flirting, with Carla leaning seductively over the table eating some of Samuel’s pasta. “That’s...odd” 

“Tell me about it, makes me want to gag, Carla better be careful with him, murdering teenage girls might run in that family.” you roll your eyes but keep your mouth shut. “Hey did Polo ever tell you if he and Carla got back together? I thought that they were getting better.” You look back at Guzmán and see that he had set his fork down and was now super tense. “Is everything good with you two?” 

“Yes...and no, I don’t fucking know anymore, him and Ander have been really weird lately, always whispering and keeping each other’s secrets.” he sighs. 

You look at your boyfriend with wary eyes. This was the last thing Guzmán needed, between Marina’s death, always having to see his sister’s murderer’s brother everyday and whatever drugs he was taking with Valerio, you could tell that he was already feeling like shit, when his best friends weren’t being assholes.

“If it makes you feel better, Carla’s being a bitch, but then again what else is new?” Guzmán chuckles, “You shouldn’t say that stuff, she is your friend, you know.”

You roll your eyes jokingly before sighing, “Believe it or not it seems like even Lu is more of a friend than Carla right now, she didn’t even tell me about her and Polo!” you swing your arms into the air in exasperation, to prove your point.

“Wait, Carla and Polo? What the hell?” you looked at Guzmán with wide eyes, “Polo didn’t tell you?” “Tell me what, Y/N?” You quickly dropped your fork and grabbed your boyfriend’s hand, dragging him out of the room and to the stairs.

“Polo seriously didn’t tell you?” “Y/N I think I’ve made it pretty clear that he didn’t tell me!” “Shhh! Stop being so loud, asshole, we can’t let people hear us!” you whisper yelled. “You better explain what the hell is going on!”

You sighed, “Do you remember that day that I had chased after Samuel to work on our French project?” “The one that you nearly failed because you forgot about it?” “Yeah, but you didn’t need to bring that up, jackass.” you both laughed before he cleared his throat, signalling you to continue with your story. “Well...I forgot about it for a reason.” You quickly took out your phone and showed Guzmán the photo.

“Is that?” “Yep, it’s our so called best friends having a quickie in the changeroom. And the best part is that Carla got super weird about it later, when we talked about it, that bitch was basically trying to threaten me.” you rolled your eyes.

“Wait, what? What the hell did she say?” you sighed before intertwining your hands, “Meh, I don’t really remember or care, at this point the only thing I’ve got to lose is, you.”

Guzmán chuckles, you smile, you don’t remember the last time that you saw him smile like this. “You do realize that was super cheesy right?” You peck his lips, “Only for you, my love.” That line seemed to do it for Guzmán as the next thing you knew, he had closed the gap between the two of you once again, and you were making out. 

This definitely wasn’t the first time that the two of you had made out, but it was the first time that the two of you had ever gotten close to being intimidate since all the shit with Marina’s death began. It was as if the two of you couldn’t get enough of each other, as if the more you kissed, the more you could go back in time when the only things that the both of you would argue about was whether pineapple should be on pizza, or how he would get jealous of some lame lowerclassmen trying to flirt with you not to mention, a time where your friends weren’t dropping like flies. 

After a few minutes, the make out session had deepened and you could tell that if you didn’t stop soon, the two of you would be naked on the steps of your school’s atrium. 

You sucked in a breath, trying to stifle a moan as Guzmán began kissing your neck, remembering all of your sweet spots. “Guzmán...Guzmán we should stop here...before we turn into Carla and Polo.”

“Mm but don’t you want to recreate that photo, my love?” he chuckled as you jokingly swatted his arm. You pulled away from him slightly as you tried fixing your hair that was definitely a bit frizzier from Guzmán’s grasp. “I mean I wouldn’t mind it but maybe we can do it at my house later...in my shower.” you whisper seductively into his ear. 

You see Guzmán bite his lip and smile. But, before he can respond (or get you to do it sooner rather than later), you stand up, smoothing out your skirt and kiss him on the cheek. “Time for class my love, don’t think about me too much.” you smirk. You turn around, feeling his eyes graze over your body as you sway your hips and hear your heels clicking on the tiled floor.

“You’re such a fucking tease Y/N!” you giggle as you stick your middle finger to the air.

You had around 10 minutes left before your next class, but you wanted to stop by Mrs. Muñoz’s office to give her an envelope from your parents that included all of next semester’s tuition (in all cash baby). But as you rounded the corner, you couldn’t help but notice Polo and Ander talking, but it seemed like they were more like arguing at this point. 

You move a little closer, hiding behind a wall of lockers, trying to listen in on their conversation. 

“Polo, you need to turn yourself in before this gets worse!” “I can’t do it Ander! I just can’t!” your eyes widen as you realize how important their argument probably was. You quickly and silently dig into your purse, finding your phone and start recording to show Guzmán later. 

“You need to turn yourself in before I tell Guzmán that you killed Marina myself!”

You drop your envelope, thousands of euros falling to the ground.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

[dweetwise]

day 8: abandoned

prompt from: whumptober pairing: felix x ace notes: just pure angst. i’m sorry ;w; warnings: alcoholism, implied depression, implied child neglect word count: 1180

Escaping the Entity should have meant they’d finally be happy.

And they were, at the start. Felix remembers the relief of being free from the oppressive fog, the smile on Ace’s face when they saw the sun for the first time in years, and the happiness in his chest when Ace agreed to come with him to Germany.

It didn’t take long for things to go wrong.

Felix tried his best to go back to living a normal life, but it proved too much for him. The deathmatches of the realm had been easy to understand, one-dimensional choices where the wrong one meant near-instant death.

After that, how was he supposed to navigate the intricacies of human society? He’d promised himself he would start his life anew, dropping his fake persona to pursue his genuine passions in life, but it was so much more convenient to slip right back into a familiar suit and mingle with old connections.

He did his best to ignore the pangs of guilt when meetings and formal dinners ran long, especially when his daughter was visiting. Ace brought it up, saying the girl was more familiar with her nanny than her own father, and Felix assured him it was “just until this project is over”.

He was lying, and they both knew it.

To his credit, Ace withstood his lies and bullshit excuses for an entire year.

Felix wasn’t surprised when he eventually exploded. Harsh words were freely flowing out, claiming he never wanted this life, being stuck in a country he barely knew the language of and withering away in an empty mansion. That he never wanted to have kids but was willing to give it a shot because he loved Felix, but he wasn’t about to put in effort where there was none to be had in return.

“We didn’t survive years of torture for this!” Ace insisted, and looking at his distressed face Felix realized he couldn’t remember when he’d last seen him smile. “This isn’t me, and I know it’s not you, either.”

Felix wanted to believe him, and in a moment of clarity, dropped his expensive suitcase with its expensive contents to the marble floor and pulled Ace into his arms, promising he’d find a way to make it better.

And then he did the worst thing he could have possibly done.

After a week of absolutely nothing changing, he’d chosen the lazy way out and bought a ten thousand euro watch to hopefully calm his partner down and maybe even get him to smile.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Ace look as offended as when he presented the gift to him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” his boyfriend spat.

“It’s the newest—”

“I don’t care!” Ace yelled, animatedly gesturing with his hands as if trying to explain to a complete idiot. “I want you, not the shit you can give me!”

And then, Felix said the worst thing he could have possibly responded with.

“Don’t pretend like my background isn’t why you chose to come with me.”

The look of pure hurt flashing across Ace’s features let him know just how much he’d fucked up.

“After all this time, that’s how you see me,” his lover said quietly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. When Felix didn’t respond, not knowing how to respond, Ace walked away.

And when Felix woke up the next day, all traces of Ace were gone, only the cold emptiness of the family estate to keep him company.

That’s when he hit the bottle.

He doesn’t remember how many days he spent locked up in his study, drinking his father’s collection of rare whiskeys like it was cheap wine, bottle upon bottle to dull out the pain of losing one of the few things that were real in his miserable life of lies.

The maids and nannies came by, and he remembers his daughter’s laughter gradually turning to a worried whimper as the nanny carried her away and told her to “let daddy work”, closing the study door and leaving Felix to wallow in his misery.

And then there was the lawsuit, his ex wanting to get full custody after his daughter told her “papa just drinks juice and acts like a zombie”. Felix hired the best lawyer money could buy and used the opportunity of his daughter not being around for the duration of the case to get even more drunk than before.

He didn’t show up to court and was appalled when his butler informed him that he’d lost the case, because his lawyer had just called for the fourteenth time and “sir, you should really answer your phone and mail”.

He’d had his phone turned off for at least a month at this point, and his email hadn’t been opened in weeks. Felix managed to sit down and glance at his overflowing inbox for a whole minute before feeling like he was going to throw up, angry red exclamation marks and even angrier clients demanding his attention.

He’d slammed the laptop shut and went to sleep off his hangover.

It wasn’t long until Lauren, his business partner, showed up on his doorstep and announced she was buying him out of the company. She was looking even more stressed than usual, dark circles under her eyes from no doubt having to cover for Felix’s work after he dropped off the radar.

She never did spare anyone’s feelings and he always admired that about her, calling him out as the useless piece of shit he knew that he was. But when her expression softened and she urged him to seek help, Felix wished her a good day before slamming the door in her face.

Now left with nothing but the empty mansion that has never felt like a home and a family name that meant nothing, Felix couldn’t help the feeling of rightness spreading through him. He’d always known he was a fraud, a failure of a human being that didn’t deserve any of his success or popularity, and now it was finally proven to him.

He’d been a shitty boyfriend, a lousy father, and a failure of an architect. No wonder everyone had abandoned him.

In a moment of weakness, he sat himself on his daughter’s untouched bed and held his phone in his hand, staring at Ace’s contact. Maybe he could still make it right; now he didn’t have anything to distract him, and wasn’t that was Ace had wanted?

He hovered over the call button, but hesitated. Maybe Ace had changed his number, going back to his old ways of scamming and committing petty crimes, living a meaningless life—

Felix dropped the phone on the floor and buried his face into his hands in disgust, pulling on his own hair in frustration. Even after losing everything he ever cared about to his selfish decisions, his ego still insisted that he was better than everyone else.

And that’s when he decided the best thing he could do for his loved ones was to never contact them again.

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 14 // Final

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, love, love languages

WC: 8k

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

He really, really should’ve had a plan.

But, in all fairness, Shawn’s never done the whole “jump on a 12 hour flight on a whim to chase after the love of his life” thing before, so how could he have been expected to make such a plan?

But still, he thinks, standing against a wall under a baseball cap outside Naples International Airport, he could’ve done some more thinking before all this. Or at least could’ve made a pseudo-plan on the plane.

The most Silver could give him in terms of guidance was the address of the house and that Naples is the closest airport. She’s never been to the “Vineyard” before. When Shawn asked if the “Vineyard” was a nickname or if it meant the house is on an actual vineyard, she didn’t know that either. Not extremely helpful, but he’ll figure it out. He has to.

From what he gathers on Google Maps, sucking up international roaming data charges like nobody’s business, Ravello is about an hour and a half southeast of Naples. Not ideal. But the Amalfi Coast is a pretty big attraction, so he figures there’s probably a train. He just has to find a train station.

On the way out the door with his backpack, the only luggage he bothered to pack, he Googles a train route. 

Walk half an hour to the Calata di… something something and take the N5 to… somewhere and walk 3 minutes to somewhere else to catch a bus to somewhere…

.... no fucking way.

He bites into his lip and squints around. Should he rent a car? He winces. Driving in Italy sounds terrifying. What if he gets into a crash? Who is he supposed to call?

No. He needs to hire a car to take him to Ravello. That’s the plan.

More Googling. More squinting. He’s vaguely grateful that he’s been able to stay under the radar so far. He’s not sure he could handle this and dozens of screaming Italian girls begging for selfies without snapping.

He ducks behind a large leafy fig tree when he sees what looks like a group of middle school-aged girls on a field trip scramble past, squealing and laughing. Close call.

He leans against a column and sighs. Silver also gave him Mia’s personal cell number. He could just call her and tell her he’s here and hope she wants to see him and come pick him up. 

Shawn sighs heavily, pouting. He’s not going to do that. This is his only shot at being a romantic hero, like, ever. He’s not going to pansy out and call her for a ride. He’s going to show the fuck up because that’s what Mia deserves.

Whether she wants to see him is another matter and he’d rather not worry about that until about halfway up her driveway.

He sets off toward the transportation center at a quick stride, curls fluttering between the brim of his cap and his forehead. He swerves suddenly to avoid another throng of young women that look ready for a beach vacation.

He parks in front of a driving service and a tall, unnaturally beautiful blonde man who doesn’t look up at him.

“Uh, ciao?” Shawn tries.

He glances up. Shawn holds his breath for the pop star response. It doesn’t come. He exhales.

“Do you speak English?” Shawn asks, wincing at how ignorant he sounds. The man nods boredly.

“Cool. Uh. Ok. I need to go to Ravello.”

“Si, Ravello. There is a train,” the man drawls, the slowest talking Italian Shawn’s ever met.

Shawn nods, uncertain. “Yeah. Right, yeah. But… can I get a car to drive me?”

The man even blinks slowly. “There is also a bus.”

Does this guy just not want business? Shawn sighs.

“Do you not take people to Ravello?” he tries, looking to bridge whatever gap this is as quickly as possible.

Finally, the man seems to give in. “Ravello is a long drive. 125 euro. We take--”

Shawn slaps his Visa down so fast the man stops abruptly and stares at him. He sees a tinge of crazy in Shawn’s travel-weary eyes. He fights the urge to roll his own and books the trip.

+

Shawn had hoped he’d start to relax in the car since at least then he’d know he was heading somewhere. There was no relaxing to be done.

His driver Giorgio seems to have gotten his start in Formula One. Shawn figures he should be grateful, given that the speed they’re driving at will probably cut the travel time in half. But he can’t help but wonder about the headlines if he dies in a fiery crash against the side of an Italian coastal mountain.

Pop Superstar Shawn Mendes Dies In Search Of Love, Giorgio to Blame

Shawn Mendes Perishes At The Height Of His Career, Unrecognizably Mangled

Shawn Mendes Is An Idiot, Fatally

He’s so sure there’s no way they’ll make it between the two trucks Giorgio decides to squeeze them through, but they do. Shawn slams his eyes shut and focuses on the Cez-approved meditation breathing exercises that, by the way, do not save you from your crazy Italian driver who almost plows into the back of a Peugeot going god knows how fast on the E45.

But at least he points out Mount Vesuvius. And doesn’t crash them into it.

They lose sight of the ocean for a while, which makes Shawn panic. The guy isn’t using a GPS, claims he knows every corner of every town on the Amalfi Coast. That sounded a lot better to Shawn before he got in the car, before they were winding through something called the “Riserva Statale Valle delle Ferriere,” which seems as good a place as any to ditch a body.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

It’s a chant in his head until, by some miracle, he catches sight of the water again and it’s exactly like every Instagram travel post he’s ever seen of the Amalfi Coast. He thanks whatever god there is, and thanks Giorgio, too, who grunts.

Ravello, Shawn’s not surprised to report, is fucking beautiful. Cliffs appear out of nowhere and spill off down bleached white coastline to crystalline turquoise water. It’s a goddamn postcard. The town, from what he can see of it from above, is a scattered board of colorful post-its clinging to the side of a mountain. His hungry brain tells him he can smell fresh pasta and seafood, but he knows it’s just an illusion of a man who ate half an airplane meal and a couple stale biscotti several hours ago.

Rather than descend toward the coast, Giorgio winds him around the hills past farms of lemon trees. The sun hangs low. Shawn thanks his lucky stars that he’s not having to deal with locating this place in the dark.

Giorgio stops at the base of a dirt road sporting a sign with Mia’s address. Shawn practically flings himself out of the car, almost forgetting his backpack. He shoves his Tom Ford sunglasses on against the harsh snap of the late afternoon sun. He looks around. Along the dirt path, hardly even a road, are rows upon rows of grape vines. It seems the house name is literal after all. He’ll be sure to tell Silver if he makes it out of this alive.

He starts walking.

It’s a trudge, really, up a reasonably steep hill. He slips once or twice and puts a knee into the dust, kicking up a froth of it around him that clings to his sweaty skin and white t-shirt. By the time he finds Mia, he’s going to look like he swam and crawled all the way to her. 

Good.

He crests the hill to find… more hills. There are a series of large buildings that don’t look anything like homes, more like warehouses or farmhouses. Given that it’s not yet harvest season, only a few hands are out tending the vines. He descends towards them, probably looking as ridiculous as he ever has in his life.

They seem to want to ignore him. It’s a habit of Italian men, maybe. He has to wave and walk straight up to the closest figure, an older, shorter man with only a few teeth to speak of.

“Ciao. Uh… Mia Bianchi?”

Shawn hopes if she’s the lady of the house, they’ll know to take him to her. The man stares back blankly.

“Uh… dove… Mia Bianchi?” he tries again. The man looks over his shoulder at his coworkers, who’ve stopped to stare at the tall, sunburnt Canadian idiot. Shawn sighs.

He doesn’t even have a picture to show them. She’s the love of his stupid life and he doesn’t even have a picture of her.

Except that he does. He has a lot of them. Black and white and sparkling. And completely inappropriate to be sharing with a bunch of strange farmhands. He grunts and reaches for his phone anyway, nearly dead, just like his chances of making this stupid romantic gesture work.

Shawn zooms in carefully to just her face and shows it to the smaller man. He squints and attempts to touch the screen, but Shawn nearly slaps his hand away.

“Dove Mia Bianchi?” he almost whines.

One of the younger hands strides up and glances at the picture. He exchanges a few words with the others and looks Shawn over. He sighs and nods at a golf cart a few yards away, then walks towards it.

Shawn blinks, then follows.

If nothing else, it’s a faster way to get over the hills. Plus, if he’s on the vineyard, she can’t be far, right?

“Mia?” Shawn asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

The guy shrugs. It’s not very comforting. But Shawn’s out of options, so he gets in the cart.

The hills just keep going. After about ten minutes of cruising along and over them with nothing but vines in sight, he’s suddenly incredibly grateful for the ride. He glances over at his driver, seemingly much more sane than Giorgio.

“Shawn,” Shawn says, pointing to himself with a flat smile and a little wave.

The man nods. “Maurizio.”

“Grazie, Maurizio,” Shawn grunts, sitting back as they ascend another, steeper hill. He worries for a moment about the possibilities of this golf cart skidding back down from whence it came. It becomes unimportant when they reach the peak and he sees a house.

Well, it’s not just a house. It’s practically a palace. From behind it, he can see the way it sprawls over tens of thousands of square feet. There’s a pool, he thinks, and a few different gardens, and it looks like a grove of trees, maybe olive or citrus, he’s not sure. At some point, the path turns from dirt to pebbles and the ride gets louder. It almost drowns out Shawn’s heartbeat in his ears.

Maurizio slows under the shade of two old stone pine trees and turns up a narrow path lined by lush, well-tended gardens replete with color. He takes the curve around the fountain in the center of the path slow enough for Shawn to notice the detailing. The basin of the fountain is held up by a sculpture of a renaissance-style naked woman. Curled against her, with his arm around her hips, is a man helping her hold it up. His face is tucked tenderly into her neck.

The cart stops. Maurizio clears his throat. Shawn stands and steps off.

“Uh, grazie!” he calls as Maurizio starts to gun it back down the path. Maurizio looks back at him and laughs in a way Shawn doesn’t need translated.

You’re a fucking idiot.

Shawn sighs for the millionth time that afternoon. He knows.

It’s golden hour on the coast. Behind the red tiled roof, the sun spills marigold light everywhere it touches, including the belltower on the chapel beside the main house. Green shudders flap gently in the evening breeze. The front door is wide open. The smell of fresh bread has Shawn’s mouth filling with saliva. He starts to head toward the door when he hears something.

Off to the left, down a grassy footpath, he follows it. It’s as familiar to him now as her perfume, as the feeling of her hair in his fingers, as the smile she gives him when he’s very good for her.

He’d know Ol’ Blue Eyes anywhere now.

It’s one of his Italian tracks, playing off a turntable parked in another open door on the side of the house. He drops his bag beside it, smiling when he hears pruning shears and quiet steps. The record sleeve reads “Come Back to Sorrento.”

He takes a deep breath and follows the sound of the shuffling steps. Sinatra’s voice fades as Shawn nears a small grove of olive trees. The grass below his feet is dappled with shade and the streaming sunset light. A breeze rustles a wave of red fabric out behind the trunk of a tree toward the back of the grove. 

Shawn holds his breath, watching a long bronzed leg follow it, stepping backward, then another. She’s on her tiptoes, barefoot in a deeply red mid-length sundress, the cap sleeves fluttering around her arms that follow her focused eyes to the branches above her head. She hasn’t spotted him yet. He could still run. He doesn’t have to stand here until she throws her pruning shears at his head for showing up at her family home unannounced in fucking Italy.

Mia turns her head to check on another branch and he lands in her periphery. Her lips part. Her eyes blow wide like saucers. The shears fall by her feet. She lowers off her toes to face him. The wrap dress hugs her everywhere he’d like to.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, lifting a hand into her hair just as another breeze picks up around them, lifting her dress around her knees to wave at him.

“So… uh… ciao,” Shawn nearly chokes.

+

Mia just stares for a minute. It feels like forever since she’s seen him, even if it’s only been a couple weeks.

He’s fucking glorious even covered in dirt. His hair is a little matted and sweaty, like he was wearing a hat. His white shirt clings to him. His black jeans have patches of dirt on the knees that give her flashbacks to the day she took him to Malibu in her Aston Martin. She shivers.

“What-- I mean, how… I don’t…”

“Silver told me you quit,” he blurts.

Mia’s eyes seem to swell again, then shut as she groans. “She gave you the address.”

“Yeah. I think… I think maybe she wanted you to want to see me.”

Mia chews on the inside of her lip. Another breeze tickles through the olive branches, surrounding them with a light earthy scent. Shawn shifts anxiously on his feet.

“So you just… showed up,” Mia murmurs. It’s a statement of fact, expressionless. She doesn’t sound annoyed or surprised or, to Shawn’s slight disappointment, pleased. But he knew better than to expect that. Or he thinks he should have.

Shawn shrugs. “I think after everything you’ve done for me, you deserve the effort.”

Mia’s lips tuck in slightly at the corners. She nods down at her feet. “Effort, huh?”

Shawn fights the urge to reach for her, even though it feels right. He wants to do this delicately.

Patience. That’s what Silver told him. If there’s anyone besides Mia he should be listening to right now, it’s Silver.

“I came because I want to talk to you. About everything.” His voice sounds impressively calm to his own ears, even as he feels his hands shake.

Mia looks up and immediately past him into the kitchen. She cards a fluttering strand of hair behind her ear and clears her throat.

“I have extra towels. You can clean up in the guest bath.”

She swerves around him and into the house. He stands there in the grove for a moment or two, blinking after her.

+

He’s not knocked out, he’s just… regrouping. That’s what Shawn decides in the shower as he scrubs the salty sweat from his hair and watches reddish dust swirl down the drain.

He was struck dumb when she led him up the stairs to one of what looks like many guest rooms. She got him a fluffy towel and showed him how to work the faucet because it’s a bit tricky. She turned and left without another word.

Shawn didn’t have a speech prepared or anything, he didn’t write a sonnet on the long trudge up to the house, but he didn’t expect her to shut down as soon as he started getting into it, whatever it was going to be. That took the wind out of his sails.

He’s not giving up. Not yet. If after a real conversation she says she does not love him and wants him out of her house, he’ll go. He’ll hold his head high and leave, knowing he put his heart on the line. And he’ll be ok.

Shawn’s breath shakes. He blinks quickly under the spew of warm water above his head. He plants a hand against the wall for stability. It’s the first time he’s let himself think about it, really consider the idea. What if he really actually made all this up in his head? What if she’s really as good as what he pays for and feels nothing for him beyond a professional sort of fondness? Or perhaps worse, what if she’s had feelings, but they’re not enough?

He closes his eyes and slowly scrubs his face with his pruny hands. He’s conspicuously been in the shower a long time. He bets she doesn’t mind -- gives her time to strategize.

Shawn lifts his head and turns off the faucet. He doesn’t want her strategies or her carefully delivered lines. He wants her.

He wants Mia as much as he wants Penny.

+

For once, Mia does something that would make the former owner of this home, her great grandmother, very proud. She sets aside her panic, confusion, irritation and angst and prepares for a guest.

She sets the table. She decants a bottle of Castello di Ama chianti. She hauls the record player back inside and switches over to Dean Martin’s Italian Love Songs and decides not to overthink the choice. She sets to work on a quick spaghetti alla vongole with the clams she bought at the market this morning. Her homemade loaf of ciabatta rests warm in a checkered cloth on the table.

Anything to distract herself.

But then she almost lops off a finger slicing the bread. She nicks the pad of her thumb and gasps, instinctively squeezing her fingers around the wound to staunch the bleeding.

“Hold on, I’ll get a napkin.”

She turns from the counter to see Shawn in a t-shirt and sweats at the bottom of the stairs, his hair shining wet against his neck. He swipes a paper napkin off a credenza and meets her at the counter. She watches him as he checks the cut, dabs it with the paper, wraps his hand around it to apply pressure and holds it over her head.

He looks down at her. “Does it hurt?”

“No, not really,” she murmurs, sounding sheepish.

He’s closer now to her than he was before. Holding her arm over her head seems an oddly intimate gesture between two people who’ve seen and done a lot more. It’s heightened by the way he caresses her palm with his fingers. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it.

“God, I missed you so much,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

Mia aches with the returning words and lets them rattle through her bones. She’s not going to say them back.

“I really don’t know what you were thinking coming here. Did you cancel work stuff? What about the album? And the tour?”

Shawn seems unfazed. “I’m on a break before we start working on tour promo. I actually went to your house. Got worried when I didn’t see Pammy’s leash outside.”

Mia’s eyes flash with affection. “She’s… staying with Gus for a while.”

Shawn nods slowly. “I bet you miss her.”

Mia’s eyes drop. Her other hand, gripping the counter behind her to keep from grabbing at him, squeezes tighter.

“Of course. All the time.”

After another few seconds of Shawn’s intense staring and Mia’s equally intense avoidance, he lowers her hand. The small cut has stopped bleeding. He cups her palm, kissing it gently. Mia turns away.

Shawn’s head drops. He sighs.

“So. You quit.”

Mia continues slicing bread. “Yes.”

“I’m surprised. I know how happy it made you.”

Mia’s stomach swoops. The ease with which he talks about her profession still strikes her sometimes when she least expects it. He talks about it like it’s any other job, like he never for a second thought to judge her for it.

“It got too complicated. I have other things I wanted to focus on.”

She takes the freshly sliced bread to the table. He follows with the bowls of salad and pasta.

“Like what?” he chirps.

Mia grunts, irritated. “A project. It’s a charitable thing.”

He seems to decide not to push for the moment. She tucks into her bowl of pasta, eager for something to shut him up.

He hums, bobbing his head as he slurps up a bite. “This is fucking great. I didn’t know you can cook.”

She shrugs. “I’m an Italian woman, Shawn. If I can’t cook, I shame my ancestors.”

He smiles as he swallows and reaches for his wine. He looks oddly relaxed, comfortable in her favorite surroundings. It strikes her as odd, suddenly, that he’s here. She’s never brought any non-family member here before. Not even Silver. Definitely not a client.

But Shawn brought himself. He flew 12 hours and, Mia knowing the journey well, probably took trains, buses, ferries and god knows what else to arrive on her doorstep.

She has yet to truly reckon with it. She sips at her own glass and watches him look around.

“This house is incredible. It’s a family place?” he asks.

Mia swallows and nods carefully. “For a long time. My great grandmother was the last one who lived here full time. We sold the vineyard in the 90s. The rest of the estate is still ours.”

Shawn looks around at the vaulted ceilings and the rustic stucco walls and stone floors. A glass door looks out onto a vast back patio strung with twinkle lights that overlooks the acres of vineyard land that used to belong to her family. The farmhands have packed it in for the evening. There’s no one in sight all the way to the horizon, where the sun has burst into flames of pink and gold. Shawn hasn’t felt this far away in a long time.

When he looks back, Mia doesn’t bother to look away. She knows the games are over. Glancing away from his pretty face so he doesn’t catch her staring won’t work anymore. He’s not here for a game. She swallows and feels her heart in her throat.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long,” Shawn murmurs. He sits forward across the smooth oak table. The sunset light catches him through the window. It makes his intense gaze even more entrancing. Mia’s fingers twitch around her wineglass.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t think I’m ready to hear whatever it is you’re about to say.”

She watches something flicker in his eyes uncertainly. He wets his lips and seems determined to soldier on.

“Mia, I know this wasn’t the plan. For either of us. It was never supposed to become… this. But I think it’s been something real since at least Vegas. Maybe before. And I think it’s as real to me as it is to you.”

Mia’s heart sprints. She knew what he was going to say. She’s known since he showed up in her little olive grove. She’s not sure why being so close to hearing the words has her pulsating in her own skin. She shifts in her seat.

“Shawn, please…” she begins, shaking her head, “I don’t want to put you through this. I know you’re already here and… god, I still can’t believe you’re here. But I don’t want to make you say it.”

“Why?” he presses, “Why can’t I say it?”

Mia closes her big brown eyes. He misses them immediately.

“Because it’s not going to make a difference. It can’t.”

She opens her eyes when she hears his wooden chair creak. He’s sitting back, his jaw tight, his eyes still on hers. He swirls the wine in his glass absently.

“Tell me I’m crazy. Not for coming out here, not for wanting this with you, tell me I’m crazy and I imagined all of it. Tell me it was all for show, all for money. Tell me Rio wasn’t real, or your house, or my house. Fuck, tell me Vegas wasn’t real. Mia, tell me you don’t love me. Please. If it’s true, please tell me.”

It’s silent. They’re far enough up the mountain from the town of Ravello that there’s no sound but the breeze in the trees and Mia’s heartbeat in her ears. She feels her face going scarlet with every word. Her hand shakes in her lap where he can’t see it.

She sits up tall, channeling Silver, and thumbs at the base of her glass.

“Like I said, it doesn’t make a difference.”

“How could it not?” Shawn hisses. He sits forward again, his gaze imploring, “Mia, it’s the only thing that matters.”

Mia scoffs. It’s patronizing and ugly. Shawn flinches.

“We both know better than that. We’re not teenagers, Shawn. Actually, even if we were, we’d be in the same position. You’ve been very famous for a very long time. I was never an option for you the same way you’ve never been an option for me,” Mia explains, her voice quivering under her false calm.

“Jesus Christ, Mia, you’re not an option,” Shawn spits. His eyes seem to darken, or maybe it’s a trick of the fading sun, “You’re the one. You’re the fucking one.”

Mia’s eyes drift shut as they well up. She lifts her hands into her silky hair and releases a rocky sigh.

“You’re not thinking. You have to think, Shawn, not just feel. This is your whole life we’re talking about. You know I can’t just fit into it. I would be catastrophic for you. Anyone could tell you that. Andrew would be first in line, I bet.”

Shawn stands. He walks to the door and stares at the rolling hills strung with vines like Christmas lights, neat strands growing darker with the night. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“If I let Andrew tell me who I can and can’t be with, my life isn’t mine. I’ve experienced something close enough to that this summer. I know I agreed to it, I know I was complicit in the whole thing, but I’m not interested in that anymore. If that’s where I really am in my life and my career, none of this is worth it. And that’s not even about you, Mia, that’s about me. I won’t put up with that. I’d sooner fucking quit and never play a show again if it meant I couldn’t be with someone I love because of however it looks to some people.”

Mia’s chest shudders. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I can’t live with that, please.”

He whirls on his heel and stares at her, eyes hot. “Don’t say what? That I’d give it up for you if I had to? Fuck, Mia, of course I would. What kind of fucking human being would I be if I picked being famous over the person that I love?”

“Stop, please,” Mia begs, shaking her head, pressing her face into her hands.

She hears him shuffle over the stone to her. His fingers are gentle as they pry her hands off her face. He cups her wrists, massaging them slowly.

“Hey,” he whispers, the aggression in his voice gone as quickly as it came, “It doesn’t matter. That’s not our reality, it doesn’t have to be. I don’t have to make that choice, so neither do you.”

Mia’s lower lip quivers. “Shawn, I don’t think you realize what would really happen if you stood up in front of the whole world and told them you love a whore.”

Shawn releases her hands. The corners of his lips turn down. His eyes are hard and somehow cracked.

“Don’t do that. Don’t say that. I know you don’t even believe that. You’ve never thought of yourself like that, I know you haven’t. You know you’re so much more than that.” His voice grows louder as he continues until he’s shouting.

Her brow furrows. “You don’t know! You don’t know anything! The things I’ve done, the things I’ve said, the things I’ve had done to me. Shawn, if you had an inkling of the depraved… fuck. If you had any idea at all, you wouldn’t be saying this. You probably wouldn’t come near me ever again.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” he barks back, his eyebrows lifting, “Really? Fine. I’ll call that bluff. I’ll sit here with you all night if you want. Tell me everything. Every filthy detail. Sorry, Mia, it’s not that fucking easy. I won’t love you any less.”

“You can say that now! You don’t know, Shawn! You don’t even know me. What do you know? You know my dog, you know my music taste, sure, you know my name. What if everything Penny did was a lie? What if you love a ghost?”

Shawn goes cold. He stiffens all over. She watches it from his eyes down. She freezes in place.

“Don’t try to tell me I love something that isn’t real,” he breathes. There isn’t even a hint of uncertainty in his face or voice. Mia looks down at her feet.

Shawn steps forward again. Slowly, gently, he cups his hands around her neck, his thumbs working softly into her jaw.

“We can talk about image and PR and logistics. We can talk about Andrew and the headlines and the future. But don’t insult me, honey. I know what’s in front of me. I know what I love. I love you. I love you, I love you. We can talk about the rest, but we can’t talk about that. That’s real and it’s not up for discussion.”

Mia’s eyes close, pressing the building tears down her cheeks. Her head lowers in defeat. Shawn’s hands skim down her shoulders to her upper arms. He plants his lips on top of her head and breathes. Two deep inhales, two deep exhales. Then he steps away and heads back up the stairs.

+

Neither of them sleeps that night. He’s in the guest room down the hall from her master suite. At around 3am, she gives up altogether and sits out on her balcony under the crescent moon wrapped in a chenille blanket. She’s convinced that inside she can hear him breathe. 

Meanwhile he sits at the end of his bed, sheets half torn off from his tossing and turning, begging for words. He’s never had to beg before. His artistic, lyrical brain has handed them to him his whole life. Those aren’t the words he needs now. He needs the ones that will convince her.

+

When she wakes up, he’s downstairs in a t-shirt and boxers. His hair is sticking up everywhere. He’s staring hopelessly at her espresso machine. She knows he hears her come down the stairs, but he doesn’t turn around.

Silently, Mia arrives by his side. She presses a few buttons until the machine starts to whir. She reaches up to the cabinet above her and pulls down two tiny espresso cups. When she hands him one, their fingers touch. They both nearly jolt apart.

She spends the morning outside. She gets her white sundress filthy picking citrus off the trees. She hauls baskets and baskets full up to the porch. Each time she brings one up, it disappears and ends up on the counter, but she never sees Shawn move them.

At lunch, he smells more seafood. She glistens with sweat over a deep dutch oven full of hot oil, frying calamari. He slices lemons and opens the bottle of white she has on the counter, pouring them glasses. They eat silently, picking at their salads, letting Rosemary Clooney’s voice do their talking. When he finishes, Shawn looks at Mia. Mia looks up at Shawn. He takes her hand and guides it to his lips, a silent thank you. She lets him touch her for five seconds before she pulls away and heads back out to the lavender garden. When she comes back for dinner, the kitchen is clean and the fruit is stored in the butler’s pantry.

She roasts a chicken with rosemary and thyme, along with some potatoes and carrots and lets him rest his hand on her knee while they finish a bottle of wine.

“I found a guitar upstairs,” he confesses, chewing his wine-stained lower lip.

She glances over at him. “My grandfather’s. It’s old and shitty but yours to use if you want it.”

He nods appreciatively, rubbing his thumb into her warm skin. She aches to rest her fingers on his pulse, just to prove he’s really there.

That night, they clean up together. He walks her to her room and kisses her cheek. She doesn’t hear his footsteps walk away from her door for a long minute after she closes it.

His gentle plucking of the guitar from down the hall puts her to sleep.

+

She’s gone when Shawn wakes up. He lets himself panic for only a minute or two. All her stuff is still here, and this is her house, after all. She returns around lunch in an old pickup truck with bags from the market. Eggs, cream, cocoa, fresh mascarpone. She announces she’s making tiramisu for after their branzino dinner. She smiles a little, tentatively, and it nearly makes him fall at her feet.

Neither of them seems interested in disappearing today the way they did the day before. They hover near each other, rotating positions, swirling like opposing magnets. Shawn keeps the guitar close. Once he gets it in tune, it doesn’t sound too bad. He works on a melody. He thinks it must be good because she’s humming along in the kitchen while she prepares a batch of limoncello and rosemary gelato. 

(He doesn’t know what army she’s cooking for, but he just hopes he gets to be a part of it.)

He finishes the song that afternoon, pacing around the lavender garden with a sprig of it tucked behind his ear. When he’s satisfied and turns to head inside around sunset, he clocks her on a balcony above looking very settled, like she’s been there a while. She’s far enough up that she didn’t hear it, so she must’ve just been watching him.

They eat in silence -- branzino with lemon, citrus salad, arugula with balsamic, then tiramisu for dessert. They nearly finish two bottles of wine, like they’re both preparing to get mouthy. Shawn goes first.

“I think I knew when I bought the necklace. Like, I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. I knew what it would mean to you to have that. I wanted so badly to give you something as meaningful as what you’ve given me.”

Mia stiffens at the sudden conversation after a long drought. She recovers quickly, thanks to the wine.

“What I gave you was sex, Shawn. A lot of it. Really good sex that required you to make no decisions, gave you no responsibility. I took care of you in a way you’ve never been taken care of before.”

His eyes flash and Mia regrets her words immediately.

“If you really think I don’t know the difference between sex and love by now, you must think I’m a fucking moron.”

Mia’s chest deflates as she sighs. “I don’t think you’re a moron.”

“Are you sure? Because you’re treating me like one,” he jabs, draining his wine. She misses his heavy, warm hand on her knee when he stands and starts pacing back and forth in front of the table.

Mia stares at him, tensed with every word she won’t let herself say, every feeling she’s been beating back for months. Her spine aches. Her brain swims. Her mouth is dry.

Shawn stops suddenly so that his boot skids a little on the stone floor. Mia blinks quickly.

He stands in front of her, staring. Slowly, without moving his eyes from hers, he lowers to his knees, turning her in her seat to face him. Having his hands on her again makes her want to scream. She waits, holding her breath.

“I just need you to say it. Please. I know you don’t think it’s enough, so it can’t hurt, right? Because there’s a part of me, the piece I hate, the piece I’ve always hated and that’s always hated me that still wants to convince me it’s not true. So please, please, just once, just say it. Say it if it’s true.”

Mia’s knuckles are white as she grips her chair. They feel oddly detached and wiry when she pries them up, flexes them, and sieves them into his hair. His eyes shut. He lowers his head to rest in her lap. She takes a deep breath.

“I love you, Shawn Mendes.”

+

Mia’s on the counter in an oversized t-shirt, swinging her feet, eating limoncello and rosemary gelato out of the freezer bowl. Shawn stops at the bottom of the stairs and smiles at her. His love for her gets so big it feels ready to explode out of his ears.

He shuffles up to lean beside her at the counter with the extra spoon she offers. They eat quietly, smacking their lips.

“So what’s the charity project?”

He catches her off guard while she puts away the rest of the ice cream. She stands upright, a little too straight, then catches herself and forces herself to relax.

“Uhm… it’s an idea I had a long time ago. A non-profit sort of thing for La Splendeur. A way to look out for the girls that are working jobs like mine but on the street. It’s always seemed so arbitrary to me, you know? The women that wind up as courtesans making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year flying all around the world doing the same thing that women standing on street corners do, constantly putting their lives in danger. Sex work is so odd that way.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. “How can you help them?”

He watches her brighten a little, scooping hair behind her ears as she explains.

“Resources make all the difference. Women like that end up there because they don’t have resources. We can provide shelter, safety, rehabilitation if necessary. We can start a scholarship fund. We can offer career counseling and interview practice and resume building. Or we can help them organize and stay safe so they don’t end up with pimps. They just need help, and money can provide a lot of that.”

He bobs his head, clearly interested. “So where does the money come from?”

“Philanthropists and investments. Between Silver and I, our network is pretty vast. A lot of the donors will likely prefer to remain anonymous because of the nature of it, but we only need a couple powerful people that would speak up and draw attention. If they say it’s ok to care, it’s ok to care. Julia Granger and Christian Becker could be those people.”

Shawn cracks a smile. “So where are you in all this?”

Mia smiles back, infected by the pride written all over his face. “Silver and I are finalizing the paperwork for the creation of the non-profit. We’ll start approaching investors formally when I get home.”

Shawn ducks his head, turning his enormous, goofy smile down at his feet. “That’s incredible, Mia.”

His voice is gentle, touched. She tingles all over. She wants to run into his arms just to feel them around her again. She locks her own around her chest instead.

“Th-thank you. It’s been a long time coming.”

They lock eyes again. The air sizzles.

Mia smiles sadly. The silence is pregnant with potential headlines written about the Canadian golden boy loving the whore who wants to help the whores. Shawn scrabbles for words to fight them off but comes up choked and huffing breath.

He watches her disappear outside, heading for the vineyard.

+

The bottoms of Mia’s feet are nearly black. She takes a sick sort of pleasure in it. It makes her feel like a kid again, she guesses. Reminds her of chasing Peter around the gazebo, skinning knees, playing “scuba divers” in the pool while their family ate and drank and sang, happier in Ravello than they ever were in New Jersey.

She sits on the swing beneath the pergola, listening to him sing now. The house is so much quieter than it used to be, but no less filled with love. It’s a different kind of love. And despite their desperation to beat it away, it gets stronger every second. Shawn is the strong one, the brave one, she thinks, letting it into his heart before she could. 

Because it’s not like he’s not scared. She knows he is. She can hear it in his voice and see it in the way he holds himself around her. He can’t know what would happen if they made it real -- could they last? Could they manage to see past all the bullshit the papers would surely print and hold on? If they did, would their love be worth anything after all the bulletholes and sharp words?

She hugs her knees to her chest and closes her eyes, leaning into his melody. She has the song memorized now. He keeps playing it the same way like he’s planning on changing something but never does. She already knows it’s perfect.

It’s a love song about tortured yearning, a hidden love, a love that’s bursting, searching for the sunlight. Mia thinks it’s his best ever. She considers herself biased.

After the sun sets, she heads inside. He’s not really playing anymore, just kind of plucking away. She needs to think about getting dinner ready. He’s sweet, offering to cook, since she does so much of it, but she really loves cooking Italian food with Italian ingredients in Italy and won’t think of wasting an opportunity. Plus, she still loves taking care of him.

The stairs to the wine cellar are cool, worn stone. The cellar is built into the foundation of the house, which was once part of a fortress that stood on their property in the 11th century. Now lined with shelves of hundreds of bottles of every variety of Italian wine, it’s one of Mia’s favorite spots.

His footsteps are quiet, too. He’s adopted her barefoot lifestyle. He stops at the bottom of the stairs.

Facing the wall of dolcettos from the 80s, Mia twirls a finger around a protruding bottle, covered in dust, with a foil cap.

“I used to hide down here when Peter and I played hide and seek. For some reason he never thought to look down here. I always thought it was so obvious.”

Shawn steps closer, hands in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slightly hunched.

“Maybe he wanted to let you win.”

Mia smirks, looking over her shoulder at him. “Maybe.”

She turns, her arms crossed behind her back, leaning against a shelf. He fixes his eyes on hers, biting the inside of his lip.

“I’m not… I mean, I’m not saying it would be easy,” Shawn murmurs, rubbing at the back of his sunburnt neck, “I know better than anyone how it all works. I don’t want you to think I’m just ready to throw us both to the wolves. I wouldn’t do that to you or to us. I just want to talk about it, for real. I… I know we’re worth it, honey.”

Mia’s chest inflates. She tilts her eyes up at the low ceiling. Her tears start hot and fast.

“I could be the thing that ruins everything you worked so hard for. I don’t want that for either of us. I’m not sorry about who I am or what I’ve done, despite what I’ve said. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to be ripped apart publicly for it. That kind of attention puts more pressure on a relationship than either of us is really prepared for. You have to know that.”

Shawn nods slowly. “I do. I know. I don’t want that for you or for me. But I don’t think that’s the only outcome possible. I think this would take a lot of thought and discussion about what we’re both comfortable with. And it’s going to take some of both of us… letting go a little. Which I know isn’t your favorite thing.” He looks at her pointedly, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Mia chuckles for the first time in days. “Point taken.”

Shawn senses cracks in the veneer with the way she’s looking at him now, like she actually might be considering it, all of it. For him. With him.

He takes a chance, and takes her hand.

“And the most important thing is we go at our own pace. We… I mean, obviously, we’ve done and seen a lot already. And I know I have so much left to learn about you. We can focus on that first, just getting to know each other more. I know how to make a relationship really loud, but I know how to keep it quiet, too. If that’s what you want.”

She looks down at their entwined fingers. She blinks quickly and feels her heart rate pick up, like her body knows something her mind hasn’t decided yet. She swallows and looks back up at him.

“I’ve never been both Penny and Mia with one person before. Because I know I am both. Penny’s as much a part of me as Mia is. I got good at letting them share my body because they never inhabited it at the same time. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. How I’m going to be caretaker and businesswoman, domme and girlfriend. I don’t know how to be someone who wants to be honest and upfront about my history and also wants a big white wedding and a couple kids. So if I don’t know how to do that, be that, how can you know and love that about me?”

Shawn’s smile is cautious but warm. He scoops up her other hand and cradles them close to his chest. He’s not afraid of showing her how his heart is clanging around in his chest. She’s had a piece of it in her body for a while now.

“Because it’s you, Mi. Whether or not you’ve meant to, you’ve let me know both. I’ve loved both this whole time. I just want the chance to be there with you as you figure it out.”

Mia looks up at him. She thinks about the night they met -- watching him come completely undone, taking a sip from his glass, waking up to see him slam his eyes shut to pretend he wasn’t watching her. She sees the same look of wonder in his eyes now as he looks down at her, all of her. Mia always knew she was worth loving. Having someone else figure that out was always the part she wasn’t sure of. But she’s sure now. He is, too.

Mia pulls her hands from his, sliding them up his chest. She plucks at the curls at the back of his neck, tugging him closer as she presses back against the shelf. Shawn’s breath hitches in his chest. His hands fall to her hips.

Mia nods, no words of protest left. His lips are gentle against hers, confident and calm. She lets him take the lead this time.

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

Grazie mille 💜

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @mendesficsxbombay @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch @graysonmendes @shawnsababe @ineffsi @ultradreamologistblog @bluerose711 @sauveteen @valedictorian65 @cleocc @ly--canthrope

[astrangetypeofchemistry]

A Blush Is Worth A Thousand Secretly Harbored Crushes

For @chatchevalier because Lauren I love you and all your dabs. 

Prompt for @miraculousfluffmonth 

Day 1: Blush

The thing is, anyone with siblings laughs that they can take a little ribbing. They’re “used to it” or whatever. Chloe doesn’t usually care for the things her classmates say: they’re a lower tier than she is. 

After all, they don’t spend their weekends kissing up to snotty brats so that their fathers will sponsor Andre Bourgeois. That honor belongs solely to Chloe. 

But then on her limo is stuck behind some weird moron who decided to block the streets of mother flipping Paris for some idiotic display of romance. She wonders when idiots will understand that Valentine’s Day is reserved for showing off romances that won’t last long. 

While her limo is unable to pick her up and get her away from the greasy, germy students that go to her school, Chloe is forced to sit near them, trying hard not to vomit. Her classmates sit close to her, laughing loudly about some nonsensical game where they have to make each other blush. 

“Do you mean chicken?” a person who Chloe is positive was not in the courtyard slides in to next to Alya, and twin tails bobbing. 

“No no, this is different,” Alya says, shaking her head, and Chloe makes an active effort to turn her head away, to stop staring. “In chicken, you can say or do anything. We’re just talking about making someone blush, like, majorly.”

“My money’s on Alya losing,” Alix chimes, and Chloe’s sat there, wondering why the heck she’s eavesdropping when she couldn’t care less. 

“Not a chance,” Alya responds smoothly, head tossing back in victory. Which, is stupid, because showing your cards too early is an amateur mistake, Chloe remarks. “I have siblings, you forget.”

“Little siblings,” Kim speaks, and Chloe works actively to keep the disgust off her face. “Little siblings don’t do as much damage as older siblings.” Alix begins to smirk before Kim continues. “Unfortunately, Alix is at a disadvantage because her brother Jalil is too much of a wuss or whatever.”

Alix frowns, and Chloe leans her body closer to their table, solely interested in the fight that was about to take place. If there was one thing she knew, it was that Kim was ridiculous enough to anger most people, and Alix had a short temper. 

“Because you’re so tough, huh?” Alix says, her volume louder than it was seconds ago. “You know what, five euros says I beat you.”

“You’re on, Timebreaker,” Kim shoots back, and Alix jumps back in shock, eyes blown with shock. Chloe discreetly pulls out her phone, swiping to the camera without even looking as she begins recording. 

“Hey hey.” 

Chloe’s eyes jump back to Marinette, who has since donned an awkward smile as she stares at the heated pair.

“This is between all of us, remember? You need to beat everyone.”

“Oh, shut it,” Alix snaps, standing at the table. “All we have to do is bring up Adrien and you’ll blush like he just offered to strip for you.”

Marinette, to her credit, does not blush at that. Instead, she stares at Alix unamused, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think  you need to go cool down.” 

Alix begrudgingly stands up, stomping out of the courtyard. 

“You too,” Marinette directs at Kim, who’d just begun celebrating. “It was insensitive of you to insult Jalil or bring up her akuma form. Once she calms down, you need to apologize.” The table is silent for a minute before Marinette adds, “Genuinely.”

Kim nods at that, his head bowed in shame. Chloe puts her phone away, bored by Marinette’s mediating. She’d been so close to entertainment. 

They sit in silence for about five minutes before Alya’s phone begins to ring, and Kim uses the distraction to get away. 

“I should take this,” Alya says apologetically, running away before Marinette even has the chance to nod. 

Watching Marinette sit alone inspires Chloe, and she looks around, making sure no one is paying attention to her before she sneaks up behind Marinette. 

“Hi honey,” she finds herself whispering into Marinette’s ear, and Chloe isn’t half sure what she’s really doing, but she also knows that she wants to beat Marinette at that stupid blushing game. 

Marinette jumps in shock, spinning to face Chloe. Chloe takes it as her signal to sit down. “It’s so good to see you. You’re practically glowing today.”

Marinette shoots her a deadpan look, the humor sucked dry out of her. “Really, Chloe? What are you still doing here?”

“Well, babe, I’m just here to enjoy lunch with the most beautiful girl in Paris.”

Marinette stares for barely a second before rolling her eyes. “We both know that you give that title to Ladybug.”

“Honey,” Chloe responds, her arms wrapping around Marinette’s shoulders. “Don’t get down on yourself like that. Plus, Ladybug has to be second in something. Why not to you?”

“Are you drunk? Did you finally go off the deep end or something? Are you,” Marinette leans in, whispering and blowing hot breath in Chloe’s face. “Are you high?”

“N-” Chloe starts, only to be interrupted by Marinette. 

“You moron. This is a school. Are you absolutely batshit insane or something?”

“No!” Chloe whispers back, leaning even closer. “I’m not brain-dead like your dear friend Kim over there-”

“Seriously, do you have to insult Kim-”

“Of course, I forget that good Samaritan Marinette Dupain-Cheng doesn’t tolerate hostility of any kind-”

“I’m just saying you could be a little nicer-”

“Because being nice in politics will get me so far-”

“This isn’t politics, this is fucking school-”

“Oh, there’s a difference?”

“Anyone who isn’t as immature as you knows there’s a difference between politics and school so-”

“Um,” they hear a voice, and both of them turn in unison to find Alya staring at them, eyes blown wide behind her glasses. “Are you guys...?”

Chloe stares at Marinette, unable to understand what a moron classmate could possibly decipher from this entire scene-

Chloe’s hand is holding Marinette’s tightly from when she’d begun wagging it in her face. In turn, Marinette’s other arm is resting on Chloe’s shoulder, their knees pressed together under the table.

“Alya?” Marinette cutely tilts her head, not connecting the dots that Chloe connected Alya connecting. 

“I should’ve known all that arguing was sexual tension,” Alya says, a small smile crossing her face. “It makes sense.”

Marinette finally responds, her body shooting off the bench. “No no no, this isn’t what it looks like, Alya-”

“Whoa,” Kim’s voices, stopping right next to Alya. “Looks like you win the blushing game over Marinette and Chloe, Alya.”

Neither loser refuses the acknowledge the matching bright red blush donning their skin. 

They also refuse to acknowledge the glances they steal of each other for the rest of the day. 

[insanitysscribblings]

Reyna Writes: Partners Under Covers - An Alyadrien Week Prompt

IT IS THE 18TH HERE, WHICH MEANS IT’S OFFICIALLY DAY #7 OF ALYADRIEN WEEK HERE, SO NOW I CAN POST THIS AND N O O N E C A N S T O P M E.

For Alyadrien Week #7: AU

Waiting to post this was fucking t o r t u r e, since I had it finished about a week ago, but oh well.

Normally @siderealsandman is my enabler in stuff like this, but this time around, it’s more @bullysquadess‘s fault. :P

Enjoy! <3

~Reyna

When prompted, the neighbors of one Adrien Agreste would have a lot to say about him, all good things:

“M. Agreste? Oh, he’s so kind, I just love him.”

“Adrien? Yes, he’s such a joy to have in the neighborhood! Always volunteers at the neighborhood barbecues, and he never has a bad thing to say about anyone!”

“Oh yes, Adrien Agreste. Just between you and me, if I didn’t have a partner, I’d certainly like a shot at him…hell, I think Jean would probably agree!”

Former part-time model Adrien Agreste made his living by teaching piano lessons for kids, teens, adults—basically anyone who wanted to learn—at the local rec center, where all the townsfolk gathered to learn a variety of skills, be it the piano, cooking, dancing, or even quilting. And he was never without business—when he wasn’t teaching at the rec center, people were practically lining up for private lessons outside his two-story home, which was grander than a few of the houses, but modest enough, considering his gigantic inheritance when his father passed. He was always ready with a helping hand and a smile, which would make him an easy target when it came to shady individuals, but he was just so pure that anyone who tried to scam him seemed to end up giving up with a thousand apologies, which he always accepted. Adrien Agreste was simply too pure for anyone to mean him harm.

That…and his lawyer was not someone to be trifled with.

“Oh, Adrien, hello!” Called Mme. Dumont as she spotted Adrien exiting his house; she hurried to meet him at his gate, and Adrien stumbled to an abrupt stop to avoid running into her, which meant his briefcase went flying, its contents spilling out.

“Oops,” Adrien chuckled, stooping down to hurriedly gather up his fallen possessions. “Hello, Mme. Dumont. How’s Noah doing?”

“Oh, his fever has dropped significantly, thank goodness. By the way, thank you so much for that soup recipe!” Mme. Dumont gushed, leaning over to help Adrien. “It was just as you said—just a bowl-ful, and his cough cleared right up! You’re amazing!”

“I actually got the recipe from the guy who teaches cooking classes at the rec center, but I’m happy I was able to help…ah,” Adrien cut himself off as his neighbor’s hand closed around his last item before he did. He inwardly sighed as Mme. Dumont held the lighter up to her face, shock crossing her expression.

“Adrien! I didn’t know you smoked!” She cried predictably, and Adrien had to work not to roll his eyes. Of course, of course—picture-perfect Adrien Agreste couldn’t have such a filthy habit as smoking. For shame!

“I don’t,” he admitted, gently plucking the lighter from his neighbor’s hand and stuffing it into his pocket as he straightened up. “It’s just a memento, really. It was my father’s.”

Ah-ha—as soon as he played the ‘orphan’ card, it was suddenly all tragic expressions and sympathetic pats. Worked every time.

“Where are you off to today?” Mme. Dumont inquired as Adrien unlocked his car with the press of a button, following him as he tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat. “You don’t normally leave your home around this time of day…”

Mme. Dumont was inconveniently nosy. However, she also happened to sleep early, so Adrien didn’t mind it as much during the day, so long as he remained unobserved during the night…

“I have to see my lawyer today,” Adrien informed her, privately amused at the scandalized look on his neighbor’s face.

“Is that no good cousin of yours still giving you trouble over your father’s estate? Why, if I were still practicing, I’d have a good mind to—”

“I appreciate your concern, Mme. Dumont, truly, I do,” Adrien assured her with a pat to her shoulder, “but I really should go. If I’m late, my attorney will have my head.”

“Oh, of course! You drive safe now, dear! If you need a pick-me-up of some hot chocolate and cookies, you know where to find me!”

“Of course, Mme. Dumont,” Adrien replied courteously, instead of reminding her that he was twenty-five years old, not one of her young children. He knew she meant well, really, but sometimes the doting from her—from everyone—got to be too much.

As he got into and started his car, Adrien let himself breathe. At least he had an excuse to meet the one person who never took any of his shit today. Honestly, bless his cousin for being so stubborn—whether he knew it or not, Adrien really owed him for contesting his father’s will and tying them up in litigations that would take months to solve, if he insisted upon being so adamant. Really, Adrien wasn’t about to complain—even if the proceedings could be considered tedious at best, he did have one hell of a lawyer.

“You’re late.”

“Nice to see you too, Alya,” Adrien replied, raising an eyebrow as he entered the boardroom, ruffling his hair in that casual way that didn’t fool Alya for a second. “Did I miss anything important?”

Alya adjusted her glasses, eyeing him shrewdly.

“Of course not—we can’t very well accomplish anything without you here, now can we?”

“Please note,” said the unpleasant woman that Felix Agreste had hired to be his lawyer—the leggy blonde with the big mouth and a tongue as sharp as her nails, “that both my client and myself are present on time.”

“Punctuality won’t make up for a shoddy defense, sweetheart,” Alya shot back, examining her nails in a bored fashion as Adrien took his seat beside her. The opposing lawyer—Bourgeois, was it?—made a disgusted noise, muttering under her breath as Adrien’s cousin sat still, gazing dispassionately at the pair of them. Really, Alya was convinced the man was a robot—they had already met several times to go over every fine point in this goddamn will, but he still had yet to make any sort of facial expression that resembled a human’s. More and more, Alya began to wonder if he was even really invested in trying to weasel Adrien’s inheritance out from under him…or if this was just an elaborate ruse of some sort.

Alya glanced over at her client; he caught her eye, a corner of his mouth lifting up, a familiar glint in his gaze.

Oh, right—the only people that were doing the japing was them.

“Well,” Alya began, flipping her notepad open to a heavily graffitied page, most of it concerning the case before them…but a few of the written comments were slights against the other lawyer and Adrien’s cousin when Alya got bored of arguing the same point over and over again without getting anywhere. “Shall we start from the top?”

Despite how utterly pointless these meetings were, Adrien had to admit, he loved watching Alya work. There was something about watching a woman in slacks, a vest, and a button-up shirt argue fiercely but concisely, fire simmering in the hazel eyes behind her glasses as she shut down every point Mlle. Bourgeois tried to make with cold facts that she must have memorized at this point, for she barely glanced at her notepad the whole time. Not that this was surprising—not only was Alya excellent at her job, but the argument was so redundant at this point that Adrien himself could probably recite his father’s entire will from memory, including the finer details, like what kind of suit his father had wanted to be buried in (an Armani double-breasted charcoal black suit, with a red ascot and pocket handkerchief to match).

“Look, you can try and press your point until you’re blue in the face, but the fact still remains that Felix Agreste is not entitled to a single euro more than what Gabriel Agreste had already bequeathed to him and his family,” Alya stated, getting up from her chair now, her palms flat against the table as she scowled darkly at Mlle. Bourgeois, who looked ready to tear Alya’s eyes out…hmm, maybe that was why her nails were so sharp.

“And it is still our stance that, since M. Agreste’s death was so sudden, that there could be foul play to consider!” Mlle. Bourgeois insisted, punching the table with a surprising amount of force. Adrien glanced over, watching Alya roll her eyes.

“Oh please, not this again,” she huffed, falling back into her chair and crossing her arms. “The police launched a full investigation—the man died of a heart attack. Besides, everything was already in Adrien’s name when his father passed—if you’re honestly going to push the ‘foul play’ angle, then that makes your client just as suspicious, if not more so.”

“How dare you!”

“Hey, I’m just using your own logic against you. Don’t like it? Find another offense.” The ‘I dare you’ was implied in Alya’s tone, and Adrien absolutely loved it.

There was a sudden knock on the door, and the bailiff poked his head into the meeting room.

“Time’s up,” he chimed, and Adrien glanced at his watch in some surprise. Wow…amazing how two hours flew by, just like that. “Has a settlement been reached?”

Mlle. Bourgeois growled under her breath, swiping her belongings off the table and cramming them into her designer briefcase. Adrien watched Alya throw the bailiff a smirk.

“That answer your question, Claude?”

The bailiff shook his head, stepping into the room.

“Well…regardless, you’ll have to break for today,” Claude insisted. Mlle. Bourgeois gave another growl of discontent, but Alya merely shrugged, jerking her head for Adrien to follow her.

“Same time next month?” He joked, shooting a grin at the blondes across the table from him as he stood up. Neither of them looked amused, but it didn’t much matter to Adrien, who let the door fall shut behind him with a click.

He followed Alya outside the law office, to the alley. There, Alya fished out a cigarette pack from an inner pocket of her vest, sticking one between her lips while holding out her free hand. Obligingly, Adrien drew out his lighter and handed it over.

“You know smoking’s bad for you,” he said, smirking as Alya lit her cigarette and exhaled smoke, rolling her eyes at him at the same time.

“I started smoking because of you and your bullshit family drama,” she accused, dropping her professional manner as she pointed the cigarette at him before taking another drag. “And anyway, what the fuck? Every time I see your goddamn cousin, he looks more and more like he just doesn’t give a shit. If he doesn’t care about the money, then what the fuck is he wasting all our time for?”

“You got me,” Adrien replied with a shrug, unable to help the way he watched Alya’s lips curve around the cigarette as she smoked. “At this point, his lawyer cares more than we do.”

“Oh, she doesn’t care, either” Alya contradicted him with a slight shake of her head. “She just likes to argue with me. It’s the only way she knows how to relieve her sexual tension with me.”

Adrien slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Is there something I should know about?” He drawled, resting his forearm against the wall above Alya’s head, leaning over her as she glanced up at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Are you literally sleeping with the enemy?”

She lowered her glasses enough so her eyes were without a barricade as she shot him a deadpan look.

“Oh please. I’m a fuckin’ professional, I’ll have you know.” She paused to take another drag, her expression turning thoughtful. “…I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, though…”

“Oh?”

Alya shrugged casually, exhaling smoke away from Adrien as she pushed herself off the wall.

“Guess I just have a thing for blondes.”

Adrien felt himself warm at this, sternly ordering himself to keep the stupid grin he could feel forming off his face as Alya turned her back to him, snuffing out her cigarette with the heel of her dress shoe. She turned to him, folding her arms.

“You free tonight?”

“Lonely?” Adrien teased, snickering as Alya’s head titled to the side.

“Focus,” she insisted, glancing around surreptitiously as she lowered her voice. “We might have a potential job tonight.”

Okay, now Adrien’s interest was piqued.

“I’m listening…”

“Not here,” Alya said, quirking her eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he was mentally sane. “Later.”

Before Adrien could press for more details, Alya was moving past him. A tremor went through him at the briefest touch of her hand on his waist before she was behind him now, shoes snapping smartly against the concrete as she made her way back to the front of the building, her smoke break apparently over. Adrien watched her go, the flash of red that was her ponytail disappearing too soon for his liking, yet he knew it was necessary. It was important to keep up appearances, after all…

Turning back around, Adrien slipped his hand into his pocket, where he felt his lighter drop when Alya touched him. Along with his lighter was a folded slip of paper, curt words in Alya’s handwriting written across it. Adrien took in the message quickly, smirking at the reminder to burn the scrap of paper when he was done reading. He snorted and clicked his lighter to life, setting the scrap ablaze, watching it burn in between his thumb and forefinger for as long as he dared to before letting it go, leaving the ashes to scatter in the breeze.

As if he had to be reminded of how to do his actual job.

“You’re late.”

“Hmm…déjà vu,” the agent known as Chat Noir purred as he slunk up behind his partner where she was lying on the roof, shamelessly admiring the way that black spy suit clung to her curves. “I’m beginning to think that maybe you just set your watch five minutes too early for everything.”

Vixen only paused in her watch to shoot him a dry look over her shoulder, eyes framed by the black domino mask she wore instead of her usual glasses, before she refocused on her task, her binoculars aimed at the CACEIS bank across the street.

“Just watch my back, Chat. I can still trust you to do that much, yeah?”

“Of course,” said Chat, adjusting his own mask as he continued to ogle. “I’ve been watching your back since I got here.”

Vixen didn’t seem to catch his meaning for a minute; once she did, her head tilted to the side, and she turned to scowl at him…or she tried, in any case. Her smirk kind of ruined it.

“Would you focus? We actually have an objective tonight.” She turned back around to resume her watch. “And though I know my ass is phenomenal, it ain’t the objective.”

“Says you.”

Vixen scoffed.

“If you don’t focus, Tiger, you’ll only get to look tonight,” she warned him, the threat effective enough to get Chat concentrating on the goal at hand.

“Right…so our target is CACEIS tonight?”

“Yep,” Vixen answered, and Chat watched as she changed the focus on her night vision binoculars. “Apparently, they recently gained a very wealthy patron, who just opened an account worth no less than five-hundred and twenty-thousand euros”

Chat let out a low whistle.

“Damn…and we’re stealing from this patron because…?”

“Because he’s an asshole who embezzled all that money from a charity and quickly moved it before it could be traced back to him. I think we should do our damnedest to give it back,” Vixen informed him, tensing after a second. “Ah-ha.”

“Did Monarch just give you the signal?”

“Yep—cameras are down. We have about five minutes to get in, make the transfer, and get out without anyone noticing.” Vixen got up, tucking her binoculars back into the pouch at her side, turning to grin at Chat. “You ready to fly?”

Chat Noir let out a snort as Vixen dug something out from the small duffel bag hanging at her side.

“Remind me again why we’re the ones doing the B&E this time?”

“Because Ladybug and Paon were the ones that gathered intel this time around,” Vixen reminded him, yanking something familiar out of her duffel bag and turning to take careful aim at the building. “While they’re good with snatching physical things, my particular skilled touch with computers is necessary tonight.”

“Believe me, I know how skilled your touch is,” Chat remarked, smirking as Vixen gave an obligatory eye roll. “I’m just saying it’s strange, since they usually do the flying…”

Vixen ignored him, closing one eye as she breathed slowly…

She took the shot. The grappling hook flew through the air, clamping onto the top of the building.

“Come on,” she beckoned him, securing the other end of the rope to the antenna next to them before she stepped onto the ledge of the roof, clipping her harness to the rope to zip-line across the street. Chat sighed as he approached.

“You know this part makes me nervous…”

Vixen gazed up at him, looking amused for some mysterious reason.

“Wha—” Chat began to ask, intrigued by the mischief in her gaze…but he soon got his answer when Vixen yanked him forward by his collar, the tip of her tongue tracing up his neck before she gave his ear a light nip. Promptly, Chat forgot about anything that wasn’t the tingling of his earlobe, and the blood that was rapidly rushing south…

Vixen snapped her fingers in front of his face, her smile all fox as she tugged him closer, wrapping his arms around her.

“Just focus on that for a few seconds while we fly,” she teased him, patting his thigh. “Come on, climb up.”

Chat obeyed automatically, and for the next few seconds, he amused himself with memories of the last time he and Vixen had had the privilege of being alone…hands dragging across skin, lips pressing against each other, tongues tangling, hips thrusting…god, it had been too long…

“Chat? You can let go now.”

Chat Noir blinked; he hadn’t realized they were already on the roof of the bank until just then. Reluctantly, he made himself climb down from Vixen’s back, though he still stood very close to her as she unhooked herself from the rope above them. She turned slightly, pressing a hand to his chest to make him step back a step.

“Down, boy,” she urged him, though amusement still glinted in her gaze. “We still have a job to do, remember?”

Chat let himself pout.

“You started it,” he pointed out, a frustrated growl trailing the end of his sentence. Vixen gave him an apologetic smile before she stepped away.

“I’ll make it up to you later, Tiger.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Vixen put a finger to her lips and waved him forward. They stealthily made their way across the roof, to the skylight glittering in the starlight, in the center of the roof. Chat grinned, tugging his glass cutting glove over his normal work glove…which was essentially a clawed glove with a strong suction cup sewn into the palm, used for breaking and entering. A simple glass cutter would’ve done the job just as well…but aesthetic.

Chat Noir cut a hole into the glass big enough for him and Vixen to wiggle through, using the suction section of his glove to cling to the glass and very, very carefully pull it out. As he was working, Vixen was busy securing another length of rope so they could rappel inside. Just as she began to feed the rope through the hole, however, Chat had to catch her arm, going utterly still…for a guard had chosen that exact moment to appear.

He seemed to be on his normal rounds, sweeping the dark hallway with his industrial flashlight, suspecting nothing…or he didn’t, at least, until a smaller flashlight suddenly clonked him on the head. Chat’s eyes went to Vixen, who was looking down at the open pouch over her chest, mouthing silent swears as the guard rubbed his head and cursed himself, crouching down to get a good look at what had nailed him. He picked up the flashlight, staring curiously…and then his head began to lift…

There was nothing for it; it had to be now or never. Chat chose now.

Swiftly sticking his legs into the hole, he let himself drop. The guard only managed a yelp that hopefully hadn’t carried too far before Chat landed on him. He didn’t struggle as Chat crouched over him, wondering if he needed to put the guard in a chokehold. A quick check told him that the guard was still alive, but unconscious, and he breathed a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet—

Pain lanced through his ankle, and Chat hissed. Fuck, he had managed to fuck up his ankle. That was just his luck.

Doing his best not to put too much weight on it without making it obvious that he was hurt, Chat grabbed the knocked out guard, jerking his head for Vixen to join him as he dragged the guard to a nearby nook, where he hid him behind a large potted plant.

“Are you crazy?!” Vixen hissed behind him, and Chat jumped; he hadn’t heard her come down. “You could’ve seriously hurt yourself!”

“I’m fine,” Chat lied, hiding his grimace behind a confident grin. “Let’s go—we only have a couple more minutes before the cameras cut back on, right?”

Vixen huffed. It was clear she wanted to stand here for another minute to chew him out, but they had a mission to accomplish, and so she just swiped the flashlight that had fallen earlier, briefly checking the mini-map of the bank she had on her, swiftly glancing around.

“Stay on my tail,” she ordered him, tucking both items away and waiting until Chat had his night vision goggles in place before she pulled on her own, speed-creeping down the hall to their right. Chat followed her as swiftly as he could, cringing as his ankle throbbed. He was going to need some ice later…

Vixen abruptly stopped and pushed him back into the wall beside her; a guard appeared, but he was turning right, and once he was a decent way down the hall, she pulled Chat after her as she went left, leading him to a door down the hall. It appeared to be an office of some kind; there was a name stamped on the window—Marcel Dubois. The name was registered, but then ruled as inconsequential, because their goal was the computer that sat upon the desk within.

Lifting his goggles, Chat Noir gestured for the flashlight as he pulled out his tool bag of lock picks. As he worked, tongue clenched between his teeth, Vixen angled the light, watching him work; her presence was a physical touch upon his back, making him shiver—

The lock clicked, and Chat grinned triumphantly.

“Give me sixty seconds,” Vixen muttered to him as she passed, darting into the office and carefully sliding her skilled hands over the computer. It whirred to life under her touch, and for forty-five seconds, Chat watched Vixen’s eyes fly across the screen, processing information incredibly fast as she hacked into the system and made the necessary transfers—

Suddenly, all the lights in the building seemed to flash on, and an alarm sounded, as obnoxious and unappreciated as the sudden bright light that stung Chat’s eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Vixen swore, her gaze cutting to her stop watch. “Monarch promised me at least another minute before the cameras cut back on!”

“It could be that they just found the unconscious guard, or the hole we left in the skylight…” The nearby rumbling of footsteps and voices had Chat edging the door shut, locking it for good measure. “Yeah, it was probably definitely one of those two things.”

“Fuck.” Vixen glared at the computer screen in front of her, fingers digging into her hair, dislodging red locks from her ponytail. “The transfer isn’t finished yet!”

“We don’t need to panic just yet. It’s not like they know we’re in here—”

“Hey! Who’s in there?!”

There was a thump against the door, a grunt, and the unmistakable jangle of keys.

“Check that,” Chat mumbled, hastily making his way over to the desk. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have been leaning against the door in the first place—his dark clothes against the window kind of made it obvious that there was someone in there. “Time to go.”

“Just a few more seconds!”

“We don’t have a few more seconds!” Chat reminded Vixen, as if the rattling of the handle wasn’t ominous enough.

“Almost…yes!” Vixen cheered as a message appeared on the computer screen, signaling that the transfer to an untraceable account was complete. She slammed her hand on the power button of the computer just as Chat yanked her from behind the desk, shoving the window open. Mercifully, the fire escape was right where it was meant to be, and Chat helped Vixen out onto it, climbing out just as someone burst into the office behind them.

“HEY!” A furious voice called, but Vixen and Chat Noir didn’t even stop to catch their breath—Vixen slid down the ladder, jumping back as Chat followed suit—

“Urgh!” Chat groaned, his right leg giving out from under him as his ankle quit on him, in too much pain to properly support him. Beside him, Vixen gasped.

“You are hurt!” She accused him, and Chat winced at her tone. He was going to pay for this later…

“I’m—ow, fuck—I’m fine!” He insisted anyway, even though his right leg began to violently shake underneath him, refusing to support his weight at all. But he couldn’t focus on it—there was crashing behind them; they were being pursued. “Just go, I’ll catch up! Go!”

“Like hell!”

Ignoring his protests, Vixen ducked down in front of him, pulling his arms over her once again, lifting him with a huge grunt. Chat took a moment to be impressed by her raw strength before another shout behind them alarmed him—

“STOP! GET BACK HERE!”

Vixen did not obey—even with Chat’s full weight, she full-on sprinted from the alley, darting across the street, apparently oblivious to the loud honking as she darted out in front of traffic. Chat chanced a glance back, and he nearly wept with relief at the sight of the bank guards being impeded by a large bus that got in their way, blocking them from view.

Oh thank god. That was way too close.

“Vixen—Vix, you can put me down, we lost them,” he said, but Vixen ignored him, despite the fact that her breath was heavy as she raced to the other side of the street; she refused to put him down until they reached the discreet, dark car parked on the corner two blocks away. Vixen threw open the door, pushing Chat inside before she climbed in behind him. The slam of the door was the cue to the driver, who quietly started the engine and sped down the street, effortlessly blending into downtown traffic.

“Wow,” said the woman in the passenger seat, blinking startled blue eyes as she gaped at the two of them. “What happened to you two?”

Chat met gold eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Rough night?” Asked the driver, and Chat let out a sigh. Maybe not ‘rough’…but it definitely could have gone better…

“Just….drive…” Vixen huffed, panting through her exhaustion. Chat noticed Ladybug and Paon exchange a glance, but neither of them said another word.

Chat’s ankle was throbbing, his boot way too uncomfortable now. He undid the laces and eased it off, hissing in pain. Without the pressure of his boot, he felt a little better, but his ankle still pulsed unpleasantly. Oh god, he dearly hoped it wasn’t broken…

Chat Noir glanced over at Vixen, who was staring at his ankle as she worked to catch her breath. She glanced up to meet his gaze, her eyes tight, and they stared at each other, as if to mutually register just how close they had cut things tonight.

After a moment, Chat offered a small smile.

“So…your place or mine?” He joked in an undertone, hoping to lighten the mood. Vixen just stared at him, and Chat cringed inwardly, certain she was about to shut him down—

“…Mine,” Vixen answered, looking away after a moment to stare out the window. Chat let out a breath of relief, tugging off his mask. In front of them, Paon chuckled.

“You guys just can’t get enough of each other, huh?”

“Shut up, Bird Boy.”

“You should’ve told me you were hurt.”

“It wasn’t a big deal—”

“We literally risk our lives to pull off these heists, Agreste,” Alya cut through his bullshit reply, her eyes sharp as she glared at him, looking sheepish as he sat on her bed while she knelt in front of him to take care of his ankle. “You have to tell me when you’re compromised. That’s the only way this works.”

“Okay,” Adrien replied, wincing as she shifted the ice pack on his ankle. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

Alya huffed, accepting the apology, but still thoroughly irritated with him as she wrapped his poor, abused ankle. What the hell had he been thinking, dropping on that guard like that? If they had been armed guards, he would have been in serious trouble!

She secured the end of the gauze, inspecting her handiwork grimly.

“You’re gonna have to stay off it for a few days,” she said, folding her arms as her elbows rested on his knees, frowning up at him. “You’ll be seriously lucky if it isn’t broken. Jesus, Adrien, of all the stupid things to do—”

“Alya,” Adrien cut her off, and Alya felt her expression soften despite herself as he slid a hand over her cheek, “I’m all right. We accomplished the mission—Monarch will get to work on moving the money as soon as possible—and we made it out of there without getting caught. Everything’s fine.”

Alya sighed from her core, still frowning, but it probably had lost its fierceness at this point. It wasn’t fair for Adrien to comfort her like this when she wanted to be mad at him for being so reckless; he somehow always knew just what to say to ease her concerns and help her breathe again. The bastard.

She only allowed his touch to placate her for a moment longer before she took his hand away from her face, lacing her fingers with his as she worked to make her expression severe again.

“Be more careful,” she ordered him. Adrien smiled a little at her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “So…”

Alya lifted a brow.

“So?”

“We accomplished our mission…”

“Yeah?”

“And you did say you’d make up for a certain, very distracting thing you did to me earlier…”

Alya’s lips curved into a devious smirk.

“Really? In all the excitement, I seem to have forgotten…”

“Well I remember,” Adrien insisted, raising his eyebrows. “Vividly.”

That brought a laugh out of Alya. God, he had such a one-track mind sometimes…

“You seriously want to have sex while you’re in pain?” She asked him, leaning forward so that their noses almost touched, giving him an exaggerated wide-eyed look. “I didn’t think you were such a masochist, Agreste.”

“It’s less that I’m a masochist…” Adrien began, carefully scooting forward so that Alya’s torso was practically in his lap, his head tilting to the side as he leaned over her. “…and more that you drive me crazy just by being near me, Césaire.”

“Is that right?” Alya teased, nudging him back so she could climb up, settling herself properly into his lap as she smirked down at him. “Well, I guess I do owe you for distracting you earlier…”

“Yes you do,” Adrien was quick to press, his cheeks flushing red as Alya traced those perfect cheekbones of his with her thumbs. “I expect to be repaid in full.”

“Well…what kind of lawyer would I be if I didn’t cater to my client’s wishes?” Alya asked with a grin before she swooped down and captured Adrien’s lips with her own.

After all, picture-perfect Adrien Agreste had a reputation for having the fiercest lawyer in Paris. And, heist society notwithstanding, Alya had a reputation to uphold.

...

I am weak for espionage stories and have descended into Alyadrien Hell and nothing can pull me back.

I even have a WIP called Alyadrien Hell. The next prompt involves them having sex in a closet because of misplaced underwear.

...You’ll see. ;)

Hope you enjoyed! <3

~Reyna

[unqueenlybiscuits]

Ain't no pie like mah mather's chicken parm.

(DANCE MUSIC PLAYING)  (IN GERMAN ACCENT) What's up? I'm Brüno.  (LAUGHING)  I live in Austria's coolest city, Vienna.No big deal. Whatever.  I am the host of Funkyzeit,  the most important TV fashion showin any German-speaking country,  apart from Germany.  Funkyzeit is über influential.  In fact, Austrian fashionistas live their livesaccording to my "In or Out" list.  In! Autism.  Aus. Chlamydia.  Why is autism so cool at the moment?  - Because it's funny.- Great.  BRÜNO: Through Funkyzeit,ich have done interviews  mit everyone in the Euro-fashion world.  Can you look into this camera and just say,  "You're watching Funkyzeit mit Brüno"?  You are watching Funkyzeit programmewith Brüno, and it's really a great show.  Yeah, that's cool. Can you do it, like,even more like a kind of black guy?  You know, like an afrikanischer...  - Like this?- Yeah, yeah, yeah.  You are watchingFunkyzeit programme with Brüno.  Yo, man. Fuck, man. Welcome to the jungle.  Something maybe a bit more crazy.  Maybe show a bit of skinor something like that.  - No, I don't think so.- Or what about just like one Kugelsack?  One of the balls?  No.  And the most excitingand amazing thing in the town,  from the fashion streets of Milan,only for the German girls, my great hairs.  Yo, man.  Modelling, a lot of people think it's easy.  But it's the hardest job in the world, isn't it?  It's very hard. Standing in heels all day,and everyone's watching you,  so you have to make sure your walk is good.And, yeah.  Yeah, it's really hard,'cause you've gotta remember, like,  to put your right leg forwardand then put your left leg forward  and then, like, which one now?  Right leg again, and then, like, the left one.And then sometimes you even have to turn.  Yeah. And especially the turn. It's so scary.  BRÜNO: Being the host from Funkyzeit  means Brüno's alwaysseated on the front row.  Hi. How are you?  You have to lose some weight.  - The kettle is calling the pot black.- Oh, yeah?  Put your shoulders back.This is a fashion show, not a slave auction.  BRÜNO: Mein personal assistant,Kookus, is my rock.  He's also mein stylist.  - Do you think the glasses are too much?- Yeah, I'd lose them.  They're too much like, "Look at me.  "Hey, everybody, look at me.Look at my glasses."  - Yeah.- "Everybody, like, stare at my glasses."  BRÜNO: He's also my nutritionist.  (RETCHING)  Yeah, that is good.  BRÜNO: I have a second assistant,but ich can't remember its name.  Brüno has known true love twice in his life.  Once, for seven minutes with Millifrom Milli und Vanilli. No big deal. Whatever.  But for the last nine years,ich have been head über heels in love  mit a pygmy flight attendant called Diesel.  We're just like an ordinary couple,you know, boring, stay-at-home types.  (GROANS)  (DANCE MUSIC PLAYING)  - Oh, my God. I feel it. You're getting so big.- (MOANING) Ja.  (LAUGHING)  DIESEL: Ooh!  - How much do you want?- Just half a glass. Otherwise I get too giggly.  BRÜNO: In September 2008,I left for Milan Fashion Week  to shoot a new season of Funkyzeit.  Brüno had backstage access forthe hottest show of the week, de la Prada.  So I wore the jewel of mein wardrobe,a suit made entirely out of Velcro.  (PEOPLE CHATTERING)  I'm wearing this.  This is a prototype.It's a Velcro suit made by Frederic Worms.  - Wow.- Pretty cool, right?  It is. I was looking at it, and can I have one?  - Well, it's a prototype. It's a one-off.- Okay.  - Thank you.- Yeah. Okay...  - Also... Yeah.- Can you go out, please?  We'll get out, but don't push me.  Yeah. Okay, no listen.We haven't finished the thing.  - You go out now.- Yeah.  Yeah, wait a second.  Take... Get this off...  Stop!  (PEOPLE CLAMOURING)  - Thank you.- Can someone help this guy?  Can you take...  (CROWD MURMURING)  BRÜNO: Wait. Get me out of this.Get me out of this.  (CROWD BOOING)  BRÜNO: Brüno was aus.  For the second time in a century,  the world had turnedon Austria's greatest man  just because he was brave enoughto try something new.  - No.- Okay.  BRÜNO: Brüno was schwarz-listed.  - I'm on the front row.- I don't think so.  (MALE GUARD SPEAKING)  I'm sorry.  BRÜNO: Und worst of all...  Hello?  (MAN CHATTERS ON PHONE)  ...ich was fired from Funkyzeit.  Ich realised that night that the fashion worldwas superficial und vacuous.  So, I decided instead to go to Los Angelesto become a celebrity.  Ich was going to bethe biggest Austrian superstar since Hitler.  What? I'm not coming.  - Why not?- Because you out. You humiliate me.  - I'm so sorry I humiliate you.- Okay. Gotta go.  Bye, baby, I love you.  Diesel, I love you. Diesel.  (BLOWING NOSE)  (LUTZ SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (DANCE MUSIC PLAYING)  BRÜNO: Ich arrived in LA  und cunningly avoidedbeing snapped by the waiting paparazzi.  BRÜNO: No photos, please.Do you want another Diana on your hands?  BRÜNO: Mein Plan was to become  the biggest gay movie starsince Schwarzenegger.  Maximum Santzgaut!  Also, ich headed to my first meetingmit a Hollywood über agent.  So my name's Brüno.I was born in Klagenfurt.  I'm 19 years old. And, of course,you'll know me as the host of Funkyzeit.  Okay. Well, I understandthat you took a look at a side  that I wanted you to think aboutfrom the Jerry Maguire show.  And I wouldn't mindhearing you try that out.  Okay, great.  - "Jerry enters."- No.  - "Dorothy seated."- Just start with the word "hello."  "Hello. Hello.  "I'm looking for my wife!  - "Shut up, women." That was improvisation.- Fine.  "I couldn't hear your voiceor laugh about it with you."  (LAUGHING)  - All right, let me stop... Wait.- No, wait, wait. I...  Let me stop for two minutes.Let me stop you right there.  Nowhere in the script does it say  he pauses for an inordinate period of time.  You're here becauseyou are looking to do feature films.  I wanna be a star.  - In?- In a huge Hollywood movie.  - Can you make that happen?- No.  - What?- I definitely cannot.  BRÜNO: But he did get me a starring rolein a top TVshow as an extra.  DIRECTOR 1: All right, picture's next.Last looks, please.  (SIGHS)  CREW MEMBER: Set.  DIRECTOR 1: Background.DIRECTOR 2: Action.  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,  it gives me no pleasure at allto speak to you this afternoon.  (BRÜNO CLICKING TONGUE)  The defendant, as you know,  has served our municipalityfor more than 12 years as city controller.  So I was pained to learn that his debts  compelled him to accepthundreds of thousands of dollars in bribes.  - DIRECTOR 1: Cut!- (WHISPERING) Just do a little bit less.  - More or less?- Less.  - Less. Okay.- Yeah.  (WHISPERING) Sure. Thank you.  (CLEARS THROAT)  CREW MEMBER: Set.DIRECTOR 2: Action.  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,  I'm afraid it gives me no pleasure at allto speak to you this afternoon.  As you know, the defendant hasserved our municipality as city controller  for more than 12 years,  and I have known him personallyfor most of that time.  So I was very pained to learn that  his personal debtscompelled him to accept bribes.  - DIRECTOR 1: Cut!- Here, I'll take that.  - Okay.- Thank you.  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  BRÜNO: Sorry.  DIRECTOR 1: Should we just go again?DIRECTOR 2: Okay.  (SIGHS)  As you know, the defendant  has served this municipalityas city controller for more than 12 years,  and I have personally known himfor most of that time.  That is why I was very pained to learn...  Cut. Sorry, I'm not feeling this one.Could we go again?  This way.  (LUTZ SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  You were actually my second choice.  I was going to go to the salon that maintainsSalma Hayek's inner thighs,  but the team that do it were booked upfor the next four days  because she's got the Elle Style Awards.  And they said they're, like, really,really exhausted after they do her.  They're exhaustedafter they wax Salma Hayek?  She must have a lot of hair.  They say that after a waxing,there's enough to stuff a mattress.  Well. Speaking of rectums,let's get you clean.  - Okay. There we go.- There's not much.  Yeah, sure.  (RIPS)  There you go. Now there's wax in there.  (CELL PHONE RINGING)  Telephone.  - Hello?- Hey, how you doing, man?  Lloyd, hi. How are you?  I just got off the phone with the network.They've agreed to do a screening.  Great! Das is all maximum Santzgaut!  In two days. I got them to payfor a focus group for the show.  I think you just scraped my anus.  WAXER: I did. I got you clean.  BRÜNO: My stinker is slightly burning.Is that normal?  What?  No, that was to the lady who is...I'm in the salon, yes.  She's just washing my Arschwitz.  LLO YD: Is there any way we can getsomething together enough to put it on?  - Okay, sure.- All right. I'm gonna call them right now.  Are you using Vaseline?  WAXER: No, lotion.  BRÜNO: Could you take your fingerout of my Arschenholer?  All right. I think, guys, we're finished.  Once again, "Can you take my finger,your finger out of my ass,"  is what the guy just said on the phone.  No, Lloyd, I was not speaking to you.I was just talking to the woman here.  Who's got the audio?  I want to hear the audio back.I want you to hear...  I want you to hear what this fool is saying.  Play it back. Talking about what?His asshole.  (LUTZ SPEAKING GERMAN)  (BRÜNO SPEAKING)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (HUSHING IN GERMAN)  Can you be quiet?  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  Hello, hello. Hey, can you come in?  Do any of you guyswant to make some more money?  (WHISTLES)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  - Hi. How are you?- Hi.  - I'm Brüno. Great to have you here.- It's nice to meet you.  Come and sit on our great furniture.  These are our Mexican chair people.  Demi Moore has two of them in her house.  Yeah, if you sit here.  If you sit on that one.  Also, so tell me aboutyour humanitarian work.  How important is it for youto help other people?  It's like the air that I breatheand the water that I drink.  - Please, have some water.- It is extremely, extremely important for me.  You give love to other peopleand you get love back in spades.  And I just feel like that's been my life.  Great. You must be hungry.Let's bring in some food.  Oh, my God.  BRÜNO: Have some.ABDUL: Yeah, this is really bad for me.  I'm sorry. This is really not good.  We're leaving.  BRÜNO: Come back, please.Can you please come back?  LUTZ: Yes, yes, I understand.But I was thinking...  Okay, but... Okay. Okay. Okay.  Yes. Thank you.  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SIGHS) Minimum Santzgaut.  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  Puffy Vater?  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  Reese Witterspinzel?  Stevie Wunderbar?  Wilhelm Schmidt?  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  Bradolf Pittler?  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  I think this focus group is really gonna be  a very interesting exampleof how it's gonna play out.  I actually got an interview mit Harrison Ford.  - Very good. Very good.- Yes.  So, you probably already know, todaywe're going to be looking at a new TV show,  A-List Celebrity Max Out mit Brüno.  - Howdy, I'm Lloyd Robinson.- Lloyd, Denny Bond.  Hi. Hi. Great.  Me und Lloyd, we haven't actually spokesince the other day  when I was getting my anus bleached.  (ALL LAUGHING)  We won't go there, please.  - We won't go there. Yeah.- That was a very  difficult issue on the phone.  And it's very importantwhat scores you give it,  because if the show scores over an 85º%,  the network's obviouslygonna be very interested. So take a look.  - Absolutely.- Congratulations.  BRÜNO ON TV: Who's ready to max outwith loads of celebrities? I am.  Because das ist A-List Celebrity Max Out.  (TECHNO MUSIC PLAYING ON TV)  - BRÜNO ON TV: How are you?- Great. Thank you for having me.  Okay, so this is the part of the show,  it's called Future Kinder.People who are pregnant,  we've managed to get the ultrasound photos.  - It's totally great.- Okay.  - What's her name?- Jamie Lynn.  Jamie Lynn Spears.I mean, is she a celebrity?  No.  (LAUGHING)  Okay, let's seewhat she's got in her stomach.  All right. What do you think there?Is that a white-trash foetus?  Yeah. Totally.  She's got her arms up like she's a A-lister.  Newsflash, you're in a C-lister's womb.Am I right?  Worse. I think, like, D.  Do you think this kid is retarded?  Definitely the hands look way too big,  and the ears, like,have not been developed yet.  - Yeah, so keep it or abort it?- Abort it.  (SIGHS)  Und now, my exclusive interviewmit Harrison Ford  is only moments away.But first, some more dancing mit Brüno.  (TECHNO MUSIC PLAYING)  That's right.It's the time you've all been waiting for.  It's my one-on-one,exclusive interview mit Harrison Ford.  - Also, here I am mit Harrison Ford.- Fuck off!  (LAUGHING)  What's that?  (TECHNO MUSIC PLAYING)  That's actually mine.  - More champagne?- No, I'm fine, thanks.  Brüno!  The end bit was Lloyd's idea.  The last bit was? Lloyd's?  So if you coulddescribe this show in one sentence...  Can anybody give me one sentence?  - Go ahead.- The worst piece of crap I have ever seen.  There's always one who's against it. Those...  In any group, there's always one.  What sick human being came upwith something like this?  Well, there's always two.There's always two.  I wanted to poke my eyes outwith hot needles.  You'd have to borrow the needles from me.  Lloyd, we need to distract him  - from listening to this.- You can't. You can't.  - We need to distract him.- You can't.  - Kiss me.- No.  No logical personwould consider a show like this  unless they hadsome sort of a mental or moral defect.  WOMAN: Everything.  Oh, my God.  BRÜNO: Let me have a look at those.  "The host is a talentless idiot."  Is this the dancing of a talentless idiot?  - I would say that it is.- MAN: Yeah, yeah.  Please, where you going?  Please, this is my career.I put all my money into this.  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (BRÜNO SPEAKING GERMAN)  I'm here with Congressman Ron Paul,  who was the 2008 presidential candidate.  So tell me, who are you wearing?  Well, I don't even knowbecause it's pretty conventional.  And I'm pretty, in that sense, pretty ordinary.  But the message is not ordinary.  (LUTZ SPEAKING GERMAN)  Sure.  - Do you want some champagne?- I don't care for any. No.  There's no ice bucket,but I know a good place to put it.  (LAUGHS)  Yeah, you were great in there.Have you done a lot of television before?  Well, off and on throughout the years.This last year, a tremendous amount.  - Sure.- I do a lot of them.  Do you want some strawberries  - or maybe some oysters?- No, I'm okay.  I'm gonna light some candles if it's okay.  Really loosens you up.  Has anyone ever told youyou look like Enrique Iglesias?  Of course not. You're much cuter.  (LAUGHS)  I love music.  (DANCE MUSIC PLAYINGON STEREO)  And dancing. I used to be a dancer.  (CLEARS THROAT)  Whoops.  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  - All right! Get out of here!- What?  - All right, this has ended.- BRÜNO: What's going on?  PAUL: That guy is queerer than the blazes.He took his clothes off. Let's get going.  - WOMAN: What happened?- He's queer. He's crazy.  He put a hit on me. He took his clothes off.  BRÜNO: I couldn't even schtupp RuPaul.  How would I become weltfamous?  Ich decided to seek advicefrom the wisest guy I'd ever known.  I wanna speak to Milli  from the pop dance group Milli und Vanilli.  Is he in heaven?And if so, is he in the VIP section there?  He says he's in a placewith green trees and flowers.  Can I ask him if he has any advice for me?  (EXHALES)  He says there's some sort of thing that youwill set up, like a foundation or something,  where there will be other people involvedthat will benefit.  Okay, that's a great idea, 'cause if I do that,then I'll definitely become world famous.  Absolutely.  There's something that he could dothat could make me incredibly happy.  - Can I kiss him now?- Of course.  (SPITS)  (MUMBLING)  (SNORTS)  (GAGGING)  (GROANING)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (PANTS)  Well, good luck with your life.  BRÜNO: Thanks to Milli,ich could now see clearly  despite having an eyeful of Schpunken.  Charity was a great way to become famous.  Also, Brüno just needed to findthe hottest world tragedy to fix.  I want a charity that doesn't involvetoo much effort,  but is gonna really make a difference,you know, really put me into the A-list.  Is there something that you, like,that you believe in?  Well, I'm really into issues.  Yeah. Global warming's only getting worse.  - So...- Great.  Now, I think that would be...That's something to get involved now,  so, we can just help ease the...  Like, after us, in order to help for our future.  In order for everyone... It's justa beneficial thing to be involved with now.  I'm really into doing somethingmaybe for Africa.  - Okay.- Is that still cool or...  Saving some kind of extinct animal.What's going extinct right now?  - I don't know, like elephants or something.- And then make bracelets?  That's so bad. Never mind.I was gonna say make bracelets out of a...  Make bracelets out of the extinct animal?  That's not gonna really work though,because you need the...  You can't take from the extinct animal.  What's the coolest type of charityto get into at the moment?  Save Dafar?  - Save what?- Save Dafar.  - Save Dafar, yeah.- Angelina Jolie.  Is that in, like, Iraqi or something like that?  Yeah, that's in the... It's in... Yeah.  Yeah.  Is there anywhere in the worldthat no celebrity has tried to fix?  Darfur is the big one now.  - Yeah, no, it is.- What's the new one? What's Dar-five?  - Yeah.- Yeah.  BRÜNO: Ich was going to become famousby solving a world problem.  But which one?  Clooney's got Darfur.  Sting's got the Amazon,and Bono's got AIDS.  Luckily, there was still one shitholeleft to fix,  the Middle-earth.  Mein Plan was to get both sides to signa peace deal in front of the world's press,  making Brüno über famous.  Hi, I love your hat. It's great.  (BRÜNO SPEAKING SPANISH)  Hey, great. Is that Marc Jacobs?  (MAN YELLING)  BRÜNO: Lutz! Lutz! Start the car!  Lutz!  Why are you so anti-hummus?  I mean, isn't pita bread the real enemy?  You're confusing Hamaswith hummus, I believe.  - Hummus has nothing to do with Hamas.- Do you think  there is a relationbetween Hamas and hummus?  So was the founder of Hamas a chef?  He had created the foodand then got lots of followers.  Hummus has nothing to do with Hamas.It's a food. Okay? We eat it. They eat it.  It's vegetarian. It's healthy. It's beans.  Well, do you both agree on that?  We both agree that hummus is very healthy.  So we're making progress.  Let's try and get a solution, right?  'Cause I'm not gonna be here forever.Will you, the Palestinians,  agree to give the pyramids backto the Israelis?  This is in Egypt. Not in Palestine.  I don't care where you put them.Give them back.  This is about gaining somethingfor your own people  whether you believe it,whether you were convinced to do that.  - But in any case...- All right, okay. Take it easy, girlfriend.  - All right.- SELA: Civil rights...  BRÜNO: If I did not get these queens to signa peace deal soon,  I would not become famous.  So I decided to think outsidethe Geschwindigkeitsbegrenzung.  I've written a song that I thinkis gonna help us make peace.  In fact, I know it will.  (SLOW MUSIC PLAYING)  (SINGING) I've written a song  that I hope is gonna bring you two together  It's time for this war to end  Jews and Hindus, you be friends  This is the Middle East  Creating love is my mission  Don't kill each other  Shoot a Christian  Ich bin Brüno, dove of peace  Ich bin Brüno, dove of peace  Ich bin Brüno, dove of peace  Yeah, a bit more than that.  BRÜNO: Ich was out of options.  My song hadn't worked, und I didn't haveenough ecstasy for everyone.  Ich was ready to give upwhen I suddenly remembered something  that the Jude had said.  SELA: In the last few years,people were kidnapped,  and then they wouldbroadcast it to the whole world.  - To the whole world?- Yeah.  So what, the whole world gets to see  - these hostage videos?- Of course. Of course.  BRÜNO: Ich would become famousby getting kidnapped.  I am going to say somethingthat is gonna get you so angry  that if you've got a gun on you,you're gonna pull it out  - and shoot me in the head. Are you ready?- Yeah.  Your hair is sun damaged.  (MALE TRANSLATORSPEAKING ARABIC)  I'll be honest with you. I want to be famous.  And I want the best guys in the businessto kidnap me. Al-Qaeda is so 2001.  I don't like.  Can I give you guys a word of advice?  Lose the beards, because your King Osama  looks like a kind of dirty wizardor a homeless Santa.  (SPEAKING ARABIC)  (TRANSLATOR SPEAKING ARABIC)  (SPEAKING ARABIC)  TRANSLATOR: Get out. Get out now.  BRÜNO: Ich was encouragedto leave the Middle East.  But Brüno had a new plan.  It involved stopping off in Africa  on the way home for a little bit of shopping.  (BRÜNO SPEAKING GERMAN)  (LUTZ SPEAKING GERMAN)  BRÜNO: Mein little afrikanischerFreund was going to get me  on the cover of every magazine.  Also, ich hired a top photographer  und held a casting forthe hottest baby photo shoot ever.  (CAMERA CLICKING)  We're gonna do like this religious theme  where my baby is gonna beon a crucifix playing Jesus  even though my baby's black.So it's pretty cool, no?  That's cool.It's kind of like that Madonna video.  Yeah, it's really edgy.You know, we're turning it on its head.  Why not? Come on. Whatever.  So. We're looking for two thievesto be on the crucifixes next to my baby.  Would you be ready for your babyto be strung up on a crucifix next to mine?  Fine. Yeah, I don't mind herbeing up on a crucifix.  Sure.  Is your baby comfortable with bees,wasps and hornets?  George is comfortable with everything.He's fine.  Is he comfortable with deador dying animals?  Yes.  Great.  Amateur science?  What do you mean by that?  You know, some untrained peopleconducting scientific experiments.  - Should be fine.- You know,  her mixing the pots of acid and that type...  - Okay.- And so it's a yes.  - Yes.- Great.  Is she okay withextremely rapid acceleration?  (LAUGHING) Yes.  - Okay.- Yes.  Does she always have to be in a car seat,or can she just, like, freestyle it?  Yeah. You can freestyle it,put her in a car seat. Whatever.  If it looks better without the car seat...  Of course. Of course.  So what? You're travelling fast.You're not gonna kill it.  Of course. Of course.  Is your baby finewith antiquated heavy machinery?  Yeah, she's fine. She's been around that.  Would she be fine to operate them?  - Yes.- Great.  Is your baby fine with lit phosphorus?  Yes.  Excellent. Does he like it?  - Loves it.- Good.  A little sensitive subject here.How much does she weigh?  She's about 30 pounds.  - Thirty pounds.- Yes. Approximately.  Can Olivia lose 10 pounds in the next week?  In the next week, seven days.  Yeah. I'd have to do whatever I could.  If there's a problem losing the weight,  would you be ready to have Oliviaundergo liposuction?  If that was a last resortand she didn't lose the few pounds,  then, yeah, we'd have to do that.  Great. Fantastisch news.  We have chosen your babyto be dressed as a Nazi officer  pushing a wheelbarrow with another babyas a Jew in it into an oven.  Into an oven?  Congratulations. How do you feel?  - Great, if she got the job. That's great.- Yeah.  (SINGING LULLABY IN GERMAN)  (BOTH SINGING IN GERMAN)  (LUTZ SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  O.J., you're going to be on television.  (RAP MUSIC PLAYINGON HEADPHONES)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (EXCLAIMS)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (HONKS)  Welcome back to Today with Richard Bey.  Now, our next guest is a single parent.Please welcome Brüno.  (AUDIENCE CHEERING)  Where are you from?  I'm from Austria.  Austria. And what are your impressionsof the American people?  You see a lot of them out here.  I gotta say, I love American people,and I love African-American people.  You're the best. You guys are the best.  All right, all right.Now, you are a single parent.  - Yeah.- Most people think that a child  should have two parents.  It is, like, really difficult, you know,  bringing up a child without another parent.Am I right?  - Right.- Right.  I'm hoping that I don't grow old alone.Am I right?  WOMAN 1: True that. True that.  I'm hoping that I find Mr Right. Am I right?  - No!- No!  WOMAN 2: No, no, no, no, no.  Well, honey, you need to get it together.Sugar, you're lost and confused.  - BEY: All right, now...- Listen, you're just jealous  'cause you know I can get any guy here.  WOMAN 3: Go get them!  (AUDIENCE CLAMOURING)  BEY: You brought your son here today?  - BRÜNO: That's right.- Can we see your son?  Yeah, sure.  MAN: No. No.  BEY: All right, this is...  (AUDIENCE CLAMOURING)  - What?- Where did they allow you  to get your baby from?Is your baby from Australia?  I was in the Middle East, like,solving the crisis there.  No big deal. Whatever.  And I flew back here to America,  und I stopped over in this countrycalled Africa, right?  Africa is a continent, not a country, baby.Get it right.  Well, it is full of African-Americans.  It's full of Africans.It's full of people of African descent.  No. That's a racist thing to call them.African-Americans is the right word.  No. African-Americans are here.  (AUDIENCE DISAGREEING)  No, they're calledAfrican-Americans, girlfriend.  No, fool.  BEY: All right. So how did you find your son?  I swapped him.  WOMAN 1: You swapped him?WOMAN 2: What?  (AUDIENCE CHATTERING)  Swapped the baby for what?  - For an iPod.- What?  (AUDIENCE EXCLAIMING)  Not just any iPod.  One that was, like, limited edition, red.A U2 iPod. Heard of it?  BEY: All right, but wait a second.You are the baby's father now.  And you chose to dress that baby upin a T-shirt that says what?  Gayby.  That's not the baby's name, is it?  No. I gave him, like,a traditional African name.  So what's the baby's name?  O.J.  (AUDIENCE CLAMOURING)  BEY: Stand up, please.  I think you're using him as an accessory.  I think maybe because he's a black babythat might be your cue,  like how some people walk in the parkwith dogs to pick up girls,  that might be your cueto get maybe a down-low brother.  I don't know. What do you think?  I gotta be honest. He's a real dick magnet.  (AUDIENCE CLAMOURING)  You brought some photographsthat you took with the child because...  I guess to demonstratehow much you love the child.  We're going to put them up on this screen.  That's the first shot.  (AUDIENCE EXCLAIMING)  Let's see the next picture.  You're gonna burn in hell for that one.  That's some mess.  All right. Do we have another photo,or is that the last one?  There we go.  What is going on here?  If I'm having fun,I want little O.J. to come with me.  I want him to have fun with me.  BEY: Hold on. Hold on. What's that?  - What is that?- BRÜNO: Someone's scared.  - BEY: You're making the audience leave.- They are scared of the truth.  Yes, ma'am? Stand up, please. Go ahead.  Listen, I don't see how you can even walkout of here with that baby in your hands  without someone stopping youand taking that baby out of your possession.  All right, well, you know,there is a finale to this talk show.  Please welcome Shatonya Migginsfrom the State Child Services Department.  Take the baby.  What would be the opinion,the legal opinion of the state,  which is empowered to look after childrenand their welfare?  This child is here illegally.  No, it's not. I made a deal with the mother.  And at this time, we're taking the childinto protective custody.  - You are not doing that. You're not taking...- MIGGINS: The child is going...  Get off me. That is my baby.  Give him back! Give me my baby back!  Give me my baby! Give him back!  Come on! Back!  Give me my baby back!  O. J! Give me my baby! Give me my...  Give me my baby! O. J!  O. J!  O. J! Give me my baby back!  You want some pie today?  Yeah. I haven't had any carbs for 15 years,  since I was, you know, four years old.  - Since you was four?- Yeah.  Is that your boy? He's pretty.  BRÜNO: That was my boy.He got taken away today.  I'm so sorry. Gosh. What is he, about two?  I think he was about, I don't know, six or...  - Was he? Was he about that age?- I don't know.  He could've been a midget.So he could have been 10.  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (LUTZ LAUGHS)  (BRÜNO SPEAKING GERMAN)  (LUTZ SPEAKING GERMAN)  (BRÜNO SPEAKING GERMAN)  (ALARM CLOCK RINGING)  Good morning, cowboy. What's your name?  (MUFFLED) Lutz.  (SCREAMING)  (SHOUTING IN GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (MUMBLES)  (BRÜNO YELLING)  BRÜNO: Get that out of my face.  Move that out of my... No, Lutz.  Hello? Engineering.  Hello, I apologise for the state of the room.  But can I assure you,the toilet is absolutely spotless.  Can you look?The key, I think, is over there, just...  No, I can't do this.  Yeah, Brian, I need you up hereon 20 immediately.  Well, no, it's two guyshandcuffed together on a bed.  And there's some contraptionwith a dildo on the end of it.  And they're asking...They've been staying at the hotel for a while  and wanted to know if I can get the keyfor them because they can't get out of bed.  I'm pretty freaking flipping right now.  (KNOCKING ON DOOR)  BRÜNO: Come in.MANAGER: Can you tell me what's going on?  You were not meant to see this.You find the key, I can get out of this.  Now, can you just look under that shelf...  No. This is not what wassupposed to be going on in here.  You're telling me, honey.  I should be chained to a 6'4" Norwegianwith a PhD in sucking dick.  That's not my concern.  Okay, well, listen, one other thing.  Can you switch off the television?Because I made a fart,  and I am on the verge of buyingMr Magorium's Wunderbar Emporium.  That's unfortunate.  No, but I refuse to payfor Mr Magorium's Wunderbar Emporium.  I did not press it.  No, I'm afraid we are notgonna be doing that.  Hey, listen, you. What's your name?Hi. What's your name?  - No, don't even talk to me.- You're cute.  You're like a Latino Paul Giamatti.  - Hey, don't talk to me. I'm not talking to you.- Hey, girlfriend.  (POP MUSIC PLAYING)  Also, great. Maybe they can let us out.  Excuse me, can you unlock us? Please.Hello? Can you unlock us?  Please, can you unlock us?  Please. My assistant's about to shiton my balls.  (SIREN WAILING)  What's going on here?  BRÜNO: What does it look like, Paul Blart?  Brüno.  (EXCLAIMS)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (EXHALES)  Brüno.  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (SPEAKING GERMAN)  (THUNDER RUMBLING)  BRÜNO: Ich was at a low point.Brüno had hit rock Arsch.  Lutz had gone, und ich had onlynine Freunds left on MeinSpace.  Lutz! Lutz!  (WHIMPERING)  (YELLS)  BRÜNO: I was about to give upon my dream of celebrity,  when suddenly it hit me.  All the most famous stars in the world,  Tom Cruise, John Travolta, Kevin Spacey,they all had one thing in common.  They were all straight.  To become famous,I would have to quit guys.  Ich just needed to finda cock-aholics anonymous.  Things have got to change.I want to become straight.  - Awesome.- Once I'm straight,  can I still play the clarinet?  If it doesn't remind youabout some of the behaviour  that you engaged inwhen you put your lips around it.  If it doesn't remind you of that,then I say go for it  and play the clarinetwith everything inside of you.  If it does remind you of that,then I say put it down,  give it away, let a friend hold ituntil you know in your mind  you're ready to pick it up againand it wouldn't remind you of that.  Und what about ifI put a flute up my stinker?  That... I wouldn't do that either because itwould remind you of the former lifestyle.  So you don't put any woodwindinstruments up your Arschwitz.  - Absolutely not. You know why?- Why?  Because that would harm my body.That would hurt...  - Only if you lose the reed.- Okay.  Well, that would... That would be bad.  Is there any music that I shouldn't listen to?Any bands?  Sinead O'Connor. The Indigo Girls.  Of course, the Village People.  When I become straight,you know, a Kuntmeister,  are there any new hobbiesthat I should take up?  - Do you enjoy hiking? Lifting weights?- Sure.  Man, there's nothing like just working out  and lifting weightsand building your muscles  around some other men who are not gay.  I'm totally irresistible to gay guys.They see me und they want to schtupp me.  - Right.- So how do I protect against those guys?  If they get close to you,hit them and leave the situation.  How do you spot the homosexual?  Very hard to do.  Because some of them don't even dressno different than myself or you.  - Amazing.- You know?  It's kind of like terrorists.  If a terrorist has infiltrateda police department  and he dresses like the policemen,how would you know that's him?  What are obvious thingsthat we can look for?  Obvious is a person that's beingextremely nice to them to start with.  So if someone approaches you in the streetund is being very, very nice to you,  you know that they are a homosexual?  Most likely.  How should I protect myselffrom being attacked by homosexuals?  They probably would attack from behind.  So, again, if I am a homosexual,  and I'm just trying to run in und kiss you...  - Boom! You done moved in the wrong range.- Right.  Let's say the homosexualhas got you on the ground.  Okay.  Und the homosexual, you know,has got you down here.  - Right.- I go to pull this down.  - I want to lock this, lock this leg here.- Touching.  - Yeah.- Hit with the elbow.  Boom. As I roll across.  How do you protect yourself from a dildo?  So let's say I'm trying...  Here, you know.  Like that. You know?  Und disarm the dildo?  Yes.  Is it harder to defend against a black dildo?  - No.- Great.  One is just as easy as the otherto defend against.  - So, I'm attacking.- Boom.  - Like that.- Let's say I go down and I...  Trap it, work the knees. Work the elbows.  How do you defend yourselfagainst the man with two dildos?  Coming in. Here. Boom.  Depending on his range. Boom.Then to his face. Boom.  Okay? Kick around, boom.  (PANTING)  He can't do nothing from there.  And if he's just runningwith his pants down?  Here. Boom. And then to the eyes.  - Homosexual attacking your bum.- Leg here.  And then come in and break his arm.Take it here, take him out.  Break his arms. Boom, break his ribs.Break his arms.  Okay. Thank you very much. Fantastisch.  - Okay.- It's very useful.  That's just totally different thanwhat I've ever tried to, you know, work with.  So you were never gay?  It's ironic that you should haveamazing blow job lips.  Well, these lips were made to praise Jesus.  No, they were made for something else,but you're just not using it for them.  Well...  Are there any activities you suggest  where I'll be surroundedjust by straight guys?  (DISCO MUSIC PLAYING)  (DISCO MUSIC PLAYING)  LEADER: Let's go! Let's go!ALL: Let's go! Let's go!  (ALL EXCLAIMING)  - Push ups! Sit ups!- Push ups! Sit ups!  - Hurry up. Get in here.- Was?  Make this bed. Hurry up. Make the bed.  But do you have something,maybe a double...  Make the bed!  Could you hold the sheet over there?  I'm not holding anything.  - Get down. Get down.- Was?  I said, get down! Do push ups.  This line right here isa line that you don't cross.  This is TAC Alley. TAC Officer's...  You're in it again. This is my alley.  I don't want to be in your alley.  Yeah, well, get out of it.Your finger's in my alley.  Not yet.  By the way, where's your uniform?Go get your uniform on.  Do it!  Oh, my gosh.  What's up with the scarf?  That is, like, it's my own thing.  Let me introduce you to somebody.Captain Miles.  Candidate, what are you doing?  Stand at the position of attention, candidate.  - Do it! Do it!- Head and eyes straight forward, candidate.  Head and eyes straight forward.Stand still, candidate.  That is not part of the uniform, candidate.You need to take that off.  This outfit is too matchy-matchy as it is,  and so I was just trying to break it upwith some simple horizontal lines.  Do you have an attitude, candidate?Do we detect an attitude?  - Sir, she's got an attitude.- MILES: What?  Sir Officer Candidate,did you just call me "she"?  - Get down, candidate! Now!- Do it!  What type belt is that, candidate?  What is that?  - D&G.- What is D&G?  Dolce und Gabbana. Hello?  - "Hello"?- "Hello"?  - Front in the rest position.- Get down, you!  Sir Officer Candidate,you deserve a medal for exceptional skin.  What are you talking...What are you trying to say, candidate?  Sir Officer Candidate, you could be a generalin the Bitch Army the way you're going.  - Did you use profanity again?- Did you use profanity?  But you're being really nasty.  The OC guide states that I will notuse profanity while I'm at OCS.  Yes, mein Führer. Yes, Officer Candidate.  OFFICER: Hurry up!MAN 1: Hurry up! Let's go!  MAN 2: Yeah, this is mine.MILES: You better help your buddy.  (ALL SHOUTING)  Get out of my TAC Alley.  Get out of my TAC Alley.  - Hurry up! Hurry up!- OFFICER: Move over there!  (ALL YELLING)  (HIGH-PITCHED YELLING)  - Salute!- Salute with your right hand.  OFFICER: Salute with your right hand.  - That's not a salute.- That's not a salute.  OFFICER: That's not a salute.  Can I tell you about the personthat changed my life?  Was it Karl Lagerfeld?  No, actually, his name is Jesus.Jesus is in this room right now.  He never leaves us. He never forsakes us.He's here.  (WHISPERS) Amazing.  That's exactly right. He's amazing.  You want to be famous.You'll be one that's so famous, Brüno,  you will prepare the wayfor other young men all over the world  who want to come out of the homosexuallifestyle and make a change in their lives.  And they'll say, "If Brüno can do it,then I can do it.  "How did he change?How did you change, Brüno?"  And they'll say, "It's Jesus. He changed me."  But he wants to come intoyour heart right now.  Are you ready to make that change?  Are you hitting on me?  No, I'm not.  Okay, good, 'cause I just...That was, like, really hot, that whole speech.  Are there any outdoor activities  that I should doif I want to become straight?  Absolutely.  - Hi.- Hello.  - Mike. Brüno.- Brüno.  Hey. Great.  - I'm Donny.- Brüno.  Robert.  - You ever been hunting?- BRÜNO: I've never killed an animal.  Although, I did oncesuffocate a hamster in Mykonos.  The women, eh? Do you prefer the vaginaor the mammary glands?  - I prefer the vagina.- BRÜNO: Me, too.  I love a woman with a vagina.  Yeah.  My favourite.  Didn't see anything.  We were just talking about vaginas.  About what?  Vaginas. The woman's vagina.  Sharing storiesand saying how much we enjoy them.  Yes.  Really fantastisch.  Really wonderful things.  It's my favourite.  (BRÜNO SCREAMS)  This is wonderful.  This is what rabbit look like.  Look at the four of us.We are so like the Sex and the City girls.  No, we aren't, either.  Which one are you, Donny?  I ain't any one of them. I'm Donny.  That is such a Samantha thing to say.  BRÜNO: I've never beenout of the city before.  You haven't? How's it feel?  I feel a bit vulnerable.  You know, I'm 19 years old,I've got a perfect body.  You know, I really don't want to wake uptomorrow morning und find  that I'm torn in my Arschenholer.  You probably ain't the only one.  Me, either, definitely.  Wow, there's so many stars in the sky.  Full of them.  Makes you think ofall the hot guys in the world.  Do we all share one tentor what's more sensible?  I hope not.  (BRÜNO WHISPERING)  (MIKE SPEAKING)  (MIKE SPEAKING)  (BRÜNO SPEAKING)  (MIKE SPEAKING)  (BRÜNO WHISPERING)  (BRÜNO WHISPERING)  (MIKE SPEAKING)  (BRÜNO SPEAKING)  All right, God damn it.  BRÜNO: Reverend BJ found metoo much of a handful  and put me in touch with one of his chums.  You look decent in that.  Look like a straight guy, how's that?  (LAUGHS)  Women are good for us.  They're good even though  they appear to usto be terribly conventional.  And we find that somewhat irritating  that they complain so much.  - Right.- But we need that.  We need many of the things  that, at first glance,are annoying and irritating.  And women often don't stick to the point.  They're often talking about one thingand then another and then another,  and they never get back to the first pointmaybe ever.  I am repulsed by the ideaof making the sex with a woman.  The important thing is to be around women,  somewhat, that you find tolerableor interesting  and give them a chance to seduce you.  (DOORBELL RINGS)  How did you get into it?  We, actually, our first time was on our...  (ALL LAUGHING)  - Our honeymoon.- Yeah.  Of all nights for us to swing,the first time was for our honeymoon.  Und what is your favourite position?  That would be missionary or reverse cowgirl.  What's reverse cowgirl?  Show me. I'll pretend to be the woman.  Like, I'm sitting here, and...  Yeah, and so, if I'm the woman...Don't worry. Yeah, so what?  You'd be sitting like that,  - and that's called reverse cowgirl.- Right. Right.  And then when you're facing me,that's called cowgirl.  This one here is cowgirl or reverse cowgirl?  This is cowgirl.  And then when you're turnedthe opposite way, it's reverse cowgirl.  Und what other positions are there?  - Power driver.- Right.  Sixty-nine.  But this is the girl's position.  (INHALES DEEPLY)  You don't want to be like thisif you're a guy.  There's missionary, doggy style.  So what's doggy style like?  You'd be bent over, like a dog does it.  Yeah. Like that?  All right,and then what would you be doing?  If you was a woman,I would be humping you.  - No, show me.- (LAUGHING) I'm not gonna show you.  - You're a man.- Don't be a faggot.  (CHUCKLING) Come on. What's the big deal?It's just a couple of guys.  I'd be humping you like that.  Wow, I can't wait to do this to a woman.  (LAUGHS)  (WOMAN MOANING)  Anybody want a sandwich or something?  (MOANING)  Yeah. Great.  Very good. You've got great hair actually.  - Thank you.- Yeah.  (EXHALES) That was great.  - Oh, yeah.- Good boy.  (WOMAN MOANING)  Fuck, yeah.  You're doing a great job.  Thank you.  Come on, Jack, look me in the eyes.  Look me in the eye. You can do this.  (LAUGHS)  Dude.  (MAN LAUGHING)  Why would he look you in the eyeswhen he's looking at a pussy?  - Why would he look you in the eyes?- No, no. Just for concentration.  - He does not look in a guy's...- I don't need you for concentration, okay?  - Look her in the eye.- This is a fucking swingers party. Okay?  If you don't want pussy,if you don't want fucking...  - No, I want...- Then quit fucking touching me  and quit telling meto look at you in the eye. Okay?  I didn't come herefor no fucking queer shit. Okay?  - Me, neither.- Okay.  - Let's keep it at that then.- Cool.  This is a fucking swingers party.Right, guys?  JACK: I see what the fuck you're doing, dude.  - Hi.- JACK: Did he not try to pull  - that queer shit on you out there?- Hi. How you doing?  JACK: I don't need this motherfuckertouching me on the back,  telling me to look himin the fucking eye. Right?  - I was just going to the kitchen.- I know, yeah. Come on.  What's this shit? Let's take this off.  Let's maybe we getto know each other a little.  - I think you broke that, actually.- I don't give a fuck.  Yeah, there is...Let's get to know each other a little bit first.  (EXCLAIMS)  Know each other? What?  You must produce a lot of milk.  I don't want you to do somethingthat you'll regret.  You wake up tomorrow, you've lostyour virginity, and you feel ashamed.  You know, let's take this a little slower.  - We should reschedule.- Sit the fuck down.  Sit the fuck down. Don't fuck around!  No, let's do this the right way.  (BOTH EXHALE)  I go, and I sit down with your father,we talk about this.  - lf he gives his permission...- What?  Would you quit being a little bitch here  and take your little briefs offbefore I fucking rip them?  Wait. Yes.  - Yeah.- Fine.  - Thanks.- Okay. Great.  I don't like this little shit.  Yes, well, I want to really makethis heterosexual sex.  It's going to be fantastisch!  Do as I say. Take that fucking shit off now!  (WHOOPS)  - Don't... You fold them.- (EXCLAIMS) Fuck.  You gotta fold that neatly.You don't treat suede like that. It stains.  Sit the fuck down. Take it off!  I've got an idea.Let's play a little bit of dress-up here.  It will be erotisch.  What is this?You gonna dress me like a man?  No, it's just a beard.  - Am I supposed to wear a beard?- It's just a...  Come on, it will be fun.  I don't need a beard.  Take it off! Now!  Once you put the...  (EXCLAIMING)  - Fuck! Take it off.- Okay. I'm...  - Okay, I'm going to do this.- Right now!  Get on your fucking kneesand suck my spike here, bitch.  Okay. Help!  Don't fuck around!  BRÜNO: Don't call me gay!  I'm gonna become straight.I'm gonna become über straight.  I'm gonna be the straightest manwho's ever lived.  Und then I'll be famous.You'll see. You'll see.  (DISTANT CHEERING)  (HEAVY METAL MUSIC PLAYING)  (AUDIENCE CHEERING)  What's up, Arkansas?How's everybody doing?  You guys ready to seea little ass kicking tonight?  (AUDIENCE CHEERING LOUDLY)  Make some noise, everybody.Put your hands together. Make some noise  for the host of the brand-new TVshow,Straight Dave's Man Slammin' Maxout.  Give it up for Straight Dave!  (ROCK MUSIC PLAYING)  Straight Dave. Straight Dave.  (CHEERING)  (SHOUTING)  Are you ready forsome man-slamming action?  Who's ready foran old-fashioned heterofest?  Are you 100% hetero like me?  Who out there is proud to be straight?  Let me hear you say straight pride.  - Straight pride.- Straight pride.  Straight pride.  - Straight pride.- Straight pride.  I am so straightthat when I bought my house,  the first thing I didwas brick up the back door.  (AUDIENCE LAUGHING)  You know why?Because my asshole's just for shitting.  Let me hear you say that.  - My asshole's just for shitting.- My asshole's just for shitting.  It's great to have an eveningwith straight people.  It's great not to have any fags here.  MAN: You're a faggot!  Who called me a faggot?  Whoever called me a faggot come up here,and I'll beat your Arsch.  Who called Straight Dave a faggot?Come up here.  Let him in.  (AUDIENCE CHEERING LOUDLY)  Who wants to see me beat this fag's ass?  Who wants me to beat this...  Fuck him up!  Get him, motherfucker!  (BOTH GRUNTING)  Beat his fucking ass!  Kick his ass!  (SLOW ROMANTIC SONG PLAYING)  (INAUDIBLE)  (AUDIENCE EXCLAIMING)  Fucking fag!  - Homo! Queer fags!- Motherfuckers!  (EXCLAIMING)  Stop! Stop!  Get out of my town. You all are sick.  Tell him we don't have no faggots herein Arkansas. Take that shit somewhere else.  You pussy-ass faggot motherfucker!  (SHOUTING)  - Fuck that shit! Fuck that shit!- Fuck that shit! Fuck that shit!  - Fuck that shit! Fuck that shit!- Fuck that shit! Fuck that shit!  (SPEAKING MANDARIN)  BRÜNO: The footage went everywhere,und Brüno became über famous.  (CHATTERING)  As for Lutz,we decided to get married in California.  But because of the law,we had to be a bit inventive.  I feel this is the biggest stepyou'll ever make in your lifetime.  - It's a very big moment.- That's right.  Am I going to be able to meet herbefore we actually start?  Sure.  I... I don't marry two men or two women.  If she's a man,then how did it give birth to our son?  You gave birth to a little black child?  (IN FALSETTO) Yes.  When did you have the baby?  I don't even know whyI'm asking that question.  BRÜNO: But even thoughmarriage was a nicht-nicht,  we weren't gonna let it get us down.  We were happy. We had each other.  And we had O.J. back,  although he did cost us a MacBook Pro.  Plus, ich was now so famous  that I was able to recordmein very own charity video.  (SLOW MUSIC PLAYING)  I've written a song  that I hope is gonnabring the world together  Put down your guns and bombs  and just make love forever  Okay, then.  He's come to heal the world  and make all nations calmer  I am the Austrian Jesus  He is the white Obama  He's the white Obama  War's just based on hate and fear  Stop fighting, North and South Korea  You're both basically Chinese  And he's Brüno, dove of peace  Hey, yo, Brüno, where the bitches at?  BO TH: You are Brüno, dove of peace  SNOOP DOGG: You do it, fashion modelYou got the cute hos  ALL: You are Brüno, dove of peace  (SNIFFS)  You know, I love black guys.I'm a chocoholic.  ALL: Du bist Brüno, dove of peace  Brüno wants peace.  Either we gonna have peace,or we gonna have motherfucking war.  I have a dream for the Third World  Clean water, food and teaching  In every village and every town  a place for anal bleaching  We need to rid the world of hunger  I'm like Bono, except much younger  He's only  Ich bin Brüno, dove of peace  Hey, hey, he gay, he gay  Okay.  (DANCE MUSIC PLAYING)

dont mess with the zohan

Special thanks to

SergeiK

.

[tatemarkhams]

sleepovers in my bed

on AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/10089998

by tatemarkhams for @shethecat (an actual angel)

This was the worst.

Having to do the walk of shame, knowing you had just screwed up a perfectly good professional relationship with your fox superhero partner, and having none other than Alya Fucking Césaire be there to witness it. 

“Fuck.” Chloé cursed as she tripped over her heels for the third time that morning. Great, she thought, the throbbing in her head hadn’t subsided yet and the last thing she needed was to have to deal with a sprained ankle.

Diamond encrusted shoes in hand, she trudged along the hallway barefoot, trying in vain to swallow the bitter taste of regret that last night left in her mouth.

No, that wasn’t right. There was nothing she regretted about it.

Not a single thing she regretted about Volpina’s hands mapping every inch of her body and the way her hot kisses felt like she was marking her territory. There was nothing to regret about seeing her splayed on the bed with her fire red hair all around her like a halo, and the way her eyes clouded underneath her mask when she gasped her name – her superhero name.

But every time she thought about it, she wanted to grab the nearest thousand-euro vase in the hallway and throw it against the wall.

(And when she remembered how she woke up in the morning to find Volpina gone, she wanted to find her and kick her for leaving or maybe kiss her senseless.)

It was bad enough doing the walk of shame. Even worse, was doing it knowing that last night’s lover couldn’t be rid of you fast enough that she left without even saying goodbye.

No note, no nothing .

She was having one of the most disastrous days of her life and it wasn’t even 7 am. And because neither Queen Bee nor Chloé Bourgeois had the power of luck, it was only about to turn even more rotten.

As she spotted a familiar far-from-friendly face on the elevator lobby, Chloé wondered just exactly what she done in her life to deserve this.

Because this was the worst. Having to do the walk of shame, knowing you had just screwed up a perfectly good professional relationship, and having none other than Alya Fucking Césaire be there to witness it.

She’d be damned if she led her nosey classmate get the upper hand in this situation.

“Didn’t think I’d find someone like you here.” Chloé said, not even bothering with a proper greeting. “This place is too classy for someone like you. You stick out like a sore thumb.”

Alya, looked up from her phone long enough to see Chloé as she approached. She looked surprised to see her there for a moment, which was stupid because this was Chloé’s hotel, but then again Alya had never been very bright in her opinion. The shock on her face was quickly replaced by amusement as she took in Chloé’s distraught look, the smudged make-up, and rumpled clothes.

“Classy, huh? I didn’t know Le Grand Paris offered that kind of room service.” Alya said snidely, the implication of her words not lost on Chloé.

“You’re telling me.” Chloé said in a honeyed voice, giving Alya a once over. “You missed a button on your shirt, by the way.”

Alya’s jaw dropped as she looked down, blushing as she quickly tried to fix her shirt.  

“Shut up. It’s not like that.” She said, stubbornly looking Chloé in the eye while her cheeks were still furiously red.

“I really don’t care.” Chloé said flippantly, examining the fading polish on her nails as they waited for the elevator.

“Maybe this is normal for you. But I don’t go around sleeping with people all the time.” Alya defended weakly, her eyes downcast. “I don’t do that. This….this wasn’t like that.”

“I didn’t realize you cared so much about what I think.” Chloé commented just as a ding announced the arrival of the elevator. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t thinking of that anyway. I can’t imagine anyone desperate enough to sleep with a low-life like you.” She added before stepping in.

Chloé hadn’t bothered looking checking how she looked before she left the hotel room that morning. And it wasn’t until she saw her face reflected on every surface around her that she realized she looked just as terrible as she felt.

Alya fumed as she followed her inside. “God, here I thought you were actually going to be nice about this. How could anyone stand your bitchy whining long enough to spend a night with you?”

“You expect me to be nice when the first thing you did upon seeing me was slut-shame me?” Chloé snorted. “Do you think I’m some kind of angel or are you really that dumb?”

“Wha-- okay, fine. That was wrong of me. Especially considering that I pretty much did the same thing.” Alya conceded. “How about we just forget this and not tell anyone we saw each other here today, okay?”

Chloé couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “You must think you’re interesting enough that I’d bother telling people about you.”

Alya heaved a sigh. “All you had to say was “okay” but no, you just feel the need to insult me at every opportunity, don’t you?”

“What can I say? You make it so easy.” Chloé smiled to herself, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Suddenly, Alya caught her hand as she stared at her with mild horror written across her face. “What now?”

Taking a deep breath, Alya pointed at her neck. “Where the hell you get that?”

Chloé’s eyes followed Alya’s finger to a find a spot of deep purple shade on the side of her neck. “It’s a hickey. I assume you’re at least familiar with how one gets it?”

“That’s not what I asked, you brat.” Alya hissed, taking Chloé’s arm and turning it over to find another love bite. “ Shit .”

“Hey! Have you never heard of personal space?” Chloé asked, as Alya moved behind her to brush her hair aside, revealing several scratches and nail marks across her shoulders.

She heard Alya gasp loudly. “Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. ”

“Jeez, will you stop groping me? What is wrong with you?” Chloé turned around to find Alya looking at her like she wasn’t quite convinced she was there.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” Alya breathed.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Chloé snapped, looking at Alya, really looking at her for the first time since she ran into her. Her eyes were instantly drawn to a hickey on her collarbone peeking out of her shirt – a very familiar looking hickey .

And then she saw Alya’s hair, how similar it was to the red hair her hands had gripped as she lost sight of every little bit of control she had and surrendered to pleasure.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Chloé felt her throat go dry. “Are you telling me that you’re Volp—“

“Shut up. For once in your life, shut up.” Alya said, before placing both hands on her face and capturing Chloé’s lips with hers.

It only took Chloé a few seconds to respond, her shoes tossed somewhere on the floor as all her previous annoyance at her class suddenly dissipated because again, she’d be damned if she ever let Alya Césaire get the upperhand in a situation like this.

Even if it was her all long, that goddammed little fox who made her see stars and drove her crazy all night.

Chloé’s hands found her hair and tugged on it, the way she’d been dying to do again since the last time she’d let go of it.. The action made Alya moan against her, which Chloé took advantage of by deepening the kiss, her tongue finding its way inside her mouth, tasting every last drop of her until Chloé felt dizzy.

This is the best kind of oxygen deprivation there is, Chloé thought.

Until Alya broke away from her and Chloé whined at the loss of contact. Alya chuckled and Chloé  have never thought much of it before but now she found the sound to be the most hypnotic thing she’s ever heard.

“Sssh, just breathe, honey.” Alya whispered against her neck, her lips trailing lower and lower until she tugged down Chloé’s skin tight dress, and her mouth found the top of her breasts.

“God,” Chloé panted, unable to keep the unintelligible noises that were spilling out of her with every touch. She didn’t even care that they were technically in a public place and her father would berate her for days for such misbehavior. She just wanted Alya to keep going and going and never stop whatever it was she was doing to her.

Lord knows she did that plenty last night.

Not to be outdone, Chloé pulled Alya back up to kiss her once more, pressing her back against the corner. Her hands roamed slowly, almost teasingly, tracing the curve of Alya’s breasts, to dip of her waists, going around her hips and finally resting on her ass to give them a light squeeze.

Chloé thought that the look on Alya’s face as she bit her lip and looked up at her in anticipation of her next move should be illegal.

Before they could go further, the elevator doors opened, making them both jump away from each other. An old woman entered, who was either clueless as to what they were up to a few seconds ago or just completely unconcerned. Considering the fact that both of them were still breathing hard, and the state of Chloé’s dress remained highly inappropriate, she was guessing it was the latter.

Sharing a sneaky glance with Alya, Chloé tugged on her hand and dragged them both out of the elevator. As the doors closed behind them, the two of them broke down into fits of laughter in the middle of the hallway.

“So, where do we go now?” Alya asked when they’d calmed down, absently noting that Chloé’s hand was intertwined with hers.

“It’s my family’s hotel, Alya.” Chloé said, already running through her mental list of places they could fool around in. “We could go anywhere we want.”

[airoasis]

"The Mainland" | Father Ted | Series 3 Episode 4 | Dead Parrot

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/the-mainland-father-ted-series-3-episode-4-dead-parrot/

"The Mainland" | Father Ted | Series 3 Episode 4 | Dead Parrot

Come on Dougal flip off the video okay that’s a quality exhibit though is not it he’s mad at me i do not believe it he mentioned which one were you gazing however we get a form of 1 foot within the grave where you are looking at huh so that you simply completed looking at it don’t recall anything from us i do not suppose it that is what he said hurry up we’re off to the mainland ray why it’s go to the betting shop to collect my winnings 200 pounds and father title writes within the limbo competition cause they don’t know is there anything flawed along with his again and he normally walks like that i do not suppose it whats up JB unnecessary Oh Dougal you higher get that mended there’s a whole factor to Tokyo tank-prime particularly dead i do not think it haha notable yeah can we go to the caves in after we go to the betting store will we go will we please say 5050 we go to the king outstanding go to the cave i do not feel i don’t consider it quality now not now father we’re going to the opticians and rounds kid don’t forget you get you a fine pair of glasses we should all be very cautious on the mainland there may be numerous crime round i’m sanna some muggers in every single place my friend mrs.O’Dwyer was once robbed last week oh no did they get a lot no truth i do not believe you have an understanding of she used to be robbed they stole her horrible factor when an historic individual are not able to even stroll down the avenue for worry of being stolen come on Google I don’t want in the actor me father that you can drop me off right here correct so hi there father evidently howdy mrs. Danube we shot mrs. Janine we will have a bit of a chat there correct so i do know God Google would imagine spending any more time with up Oh 200 significant ones Dougal what Oh God Ted i’m so completely happy the sun’s out and we’re in an optician I don’t know any better than this acquired it I just bear in mind something it is got to have any breakfast we get from it later don’t worry oh god i’m so hungry there’s no development i couldn’t die might I from The hunger i don’t believe so not for a few hours anyway i’m completed now father well I ought to say i’m pressured these eyesight seems to be higher than ever before he learn right all the way down to the very last line and even I are not able to see that one I consider i know what happened you see father Jack has a great fondness for saying that unique word oh I failed to understand endorse unit that I cost definitely I bought a three with a promotional crater Carlsberg hiya you Randy like a plate of chips or a burger a couple of chops i am out of my head with the starvation no i’m going to just get the other chart so what was the great last period answers no suggestion he used to be long past out of the apartment for a few minutes when he got here again they have been long past he cannot appear to maintain on to a pair yo lady you have got got your scar I farted that is going to make the effort very well we are going to head off so come on Google we go to the top pray now father this chart was given to me by savatya most effective lens producers throughout industry you remember this expertise fast she used to be on her method to the shop the other day and a man came over to her and killed her and retailer her pen this is where they believe so they’re maintaining her in for assessments good you understand what occurred instructed mr.Candy some younger fellas broke into his apartment and began messing with him and for the reason that of rock on him Oh God negative mr. Sweeney he wasn’t like this at all I heard the world over 200 cases of forced transvestitism worried in the city last year what’s the world coming to something proper now a further be taught this used to be its director ooh kiddo yes your man from one foot within the grave dee I do think it man oh good that’s effective looks from there you understand he’d be aware of what recognize so he came as much as me and stated his catchphrase oh yeah he is your fuck you must without doubt do that though oh yeah I said no person ever does that who you believe you’re hilarious you already know this is this sort of times once I certainly a hundred million percent certain that you just’d be doing the right factor i will be able to say should you say you without doubt obviously won’t remorse doing that i’m going to do it jail we’re like yeah go on holy hey good what did he say did ya no snow no nothing i am going to sit down now oh god no I could by no means be a kind of have a gauzy euros I didn’t be aware of my historic straight I heard it on snap after which it was once just a case of mendacity on high of them except the hills too proper we higher be off mrs.Doyle I get it oh no mrs. Chickenfoot by the way I get it no nods don’t be silly I think you will not put that away now do not be stupid mrs. Doyle no no no no now just put your money away you’re mad no no no no I reckon that stage I was once consuming over a pint of vodka a day sure yes all I would feel about was once where the next drink was coming from drink I failed to give a damn about my wife our youngsters yeah no with your whole support i’m coming through it i’m simply taking it at some point at a time thanks Ronald now I notice that we’ve a brand new member of the workforce with us in these days Heather would you love to tell us your story satisfactory proper unusual to let all of it out great it’s so actual so proper and this right right here is surely granite how lengthy would that be there Oh many thousands of years relatively as long as that some judges fascination how come all the rocks are one of a kind sizes that we all know what stated on the whole one-of-a-kind size good how discovering there are all kinds of things I in no way knew about rock of path at the time most of this whole field would have been submerged underwater how did everyone breed a couple of reason all right Wow look at that rock over there well this is absolutely the oldest part of us or at this specified table shaped greater than fifteen million years in the past oh wow i’m going to open it up a little early to say so that is okay that’s okay so long as i don’t must hear that bloody catchphrase again oh i will certainly got here on this right k i am so hungry i’m starting to hallucinate and do adult exaggeration and discontinue worrying we get a human let’s slide this way will you do the fandango about the lightning very very horrifying me gallileo gallileo figaro Magnifico oh i am only a bad boy no one loves me but from a negative household say from his existence from this monstrosity effortless come easy go will you let me go fast no let me go – Mila with just a little procedure oh no no no no no no no no no individuals on the desk to make a decision for me for me for me as I was once saying I feel the object to do is to try and in finding an exit before the caves closed for the night good proposal Charla how long have you ever been in right here two days now father I consider it’s two days we have now been having a fine laugh Maya I just think that is it truely everybody would like to get out of here and get some instances get residence okay screech the loudest let’s have a screeching competitors as Albert JP is your purpose I received ample father oh go on aah easy I particularly believe we must believe about looking to get editor Oh God possibly you’re right we do not get out we write up the convenient each and every other there’s no place like that cinema live with an enthalpy in money after which the bees all their neighbors seem amazing Tony don’t when you go oh no get off me i am now not useless yet hello pickle boy but i am hungry Tony i am gonna tackle oh no go we go together with your he would not you Tony ha ha sure Tony’s dance good my feet Tony why did you return it concept it used to be our only Son today i guess the funeral cannot be going some hoops is healthier to not my shut up shut up shut up shut up what good I’ve in no way I’ve under no circumstances Tony i am putting you on my list of enemies there you are in entrance now Tony ah Holies k so am i able to learn you miss me come on let the feminist with a screeching competition to intend I do see Glover go go on is handy ah I quite wouldn’t try this no ah it wasn’t me and harbor token and but consider would not you that anybody like criticism used to be extra enjoying round with the likes of honor and you’d be proper he did not wish to hand your hours of the intention good day i go mad yes sorry no rather not worried about being trapped under that massive pile of rocks discontinue it is all she want you here to keep me company and the most up-to-date group might be back which ends with any moment they say they were just going to seek out the tour advisor 10 mi was once buried beneath a gigantic pile of rocks and are available correct again that’s four tickets to Paraguay however I favored English nation’s very complicated and a long way fetched and very very boring that is my style of movie I just like the piano as good did you see Harvey Keitel walking around within the meat one can find that shit hate leaving those we’re doing a no just right sitting around taking note of him screech please please be trustworthy onto that huge pile of rock let’s let’s get ourselves that we are able to worry about no then God where is that this anger tank of eternity can reduce a woman’s bra it’s after unraveling oh my god dougela we are able to to find our approach backwards you have undoubtedly snagged on something if we use this we will give you the chance out appear like God circles with me out no time should you be willing to get off like that or should we not be following it what well what use will or not it’s when you’re finished winding it all achieved don’t feel us correct French thanks thanks the indoor father I will not mean you can do it I know it hurts but believe me you’re going to thank oh thanks excuse me there is any person buried point out he’s alright however I fairly suppose you should get somebody in there rapidly thanks please hurry come on do ladies wish to get away before the rescue come on to the relaxer or food to be right here in a minute hey hiya is that father trillion yes this is him we’ve got been seeking to contact you all night time are you aware a mrs.Dyle first identify mrs. Choi do i do know a mrs. Joy sure yes sir she’s our housekeeper well i would like you to return all the way down to the police station she’s been in a spot of drawback listening if there’s a pleasant or something i know come on Dewey Huckabee eita father Jack out of jail i am very very sorry you should not have a lasagna or a fowl courier no ok good might be I simply have a bag of chips and i might have a fan tour injured wealthy did you know the place you might be there is a police station correct and if that’s the case i will just have the bird satay and Pinot I just hope you don’t think this sort of factor goes on always we’re now not all criminals and troublemakers in the church you already know i’m hoping this is not going to put you off going to mass i am a Protestant surely father rather the straight option father he does they pay a 200-pound plane or they spend the night in the cells well I shouldn’t have that sort of money on me she’s probably in the situations and great in the cells perhaps the simpler alternative off to go hiya it will be quieter I was once simply all proper all proper right here here here is your blood cash but just let me say this there used to be a time when the police on this nation have been acquaintances of the church do not driving bills cost parking tickets or no longer even a blind eye to the odd murder but now almost convinced I gave them the money why don’t you do what presupposed to one of the crucial pleasant good I did they’re pleased once again you could have made me appear like the whole extra frontal real people thank you so much correct to be sincere head I forgot I had the money I was once going to claim your fly’s open god – what did I say there’s at all times challenge for me go to the mainland I have got to make a ordinary under no circumstances ever going again there once more on that is totally unavoidable which it isn’t sadly you and bassam’s ladies they make the Rockies

[batterymonster2021]

"The Mainland" | Father Ted | Series 3 Episode 4 | Dead Parrot

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/the-mainland-father-ted-series-3-episode-4-dead-parrot/

"The Mainland" | Father Ted | Series 3 Episode 4 | Dead Parrot

Come on Dougal flip off the video okay that’s a quality exhibit though is not it he’s mad at me i do not believe it he mentioned which one were you gazing however we get a form of 1 foot within the grave where you are looking at huh so that you simply completed looking at it don’t recall anything from us i do not suppose it that is what he said hurry up we’re off to the mainland ray why it’s go to the betting shop to collect my winnings 200 pounds and father title writes within the limbo competition cause they don’t know is there anything flawed along with his again and he normally walks like that i do not suppose it whats up JB unnecessary Oh Dougal you higher get that mended there’s a whole factor to Tokyo tank-prime particularly dead i do not think it haha notable yeah can we go to the caves in after we go to the betting store will we go will we please say 5050 we go to the king outstanding go to the cave i do not feel i don’t consider it quality now not now father we’re going to the opticians and rounds kid don’t forget you get you a fine pair of glasses we should all be very cautious on the mainland there may be numerous crime round i’m sanna some muggers in every single place my friend mrs.O’Dwyer was once robbed last week oh no did they get a lot no truth i do not believe you have an understanding of she used to be robbed they stole her horrible factor when an historic individual are not able to even stroll down the avenue for worry of being stolen come on Google I don’t want in the actor me father that you can drop me off right here correct so hi there father evidently howdy mrs. Danube we shot mrs. Janine we will have a bit of a chat there correct so i do know God Google would imagine spending any more time with up Oh 200 significant ones Dougal what Oh God Ted i’m so completely happy the sun’s out and we’re in an optician I don’t know any better than this acquired it I just bear in mind something it is got to have any breakfast we get from it later don’t worry oh god i’m so hungry there’s no development i couldn’t die might I from The hunger i don’t believe so not for a few hours anyway i’m completed now father well I ought to say i’m pressured these eyesight seems to be higher than ever before he learn right all the way down to the very last line and even I are not able to see that one I consider i know what happened you see father Jack has a great fondness for saying that unique word oh I failed to understand endorse unit that I cost definitely I bought a three with a promotional crater Carlsberg hiya you Randy like a plate of chips or a burger a couple of chops i am out of my head with the starvation no i’m going to just get the other chart so what was the great last period answers no suggestion he used to be long past out of the apartment for a few minutes when he got here again they have been long past he cannot appear to maintain on to a pair yo lady you have got got your scar I farted that is going to make the effort very well we are going to head off so come on Google we go to the top pray now father this chart was given to me by savatya most effective lens producers throughout industry you remember this expertise fast she used to be on her method to the shop the other day and a man came over to her and killed her and retailer her pen this is where they believe so they’re maintaining her in for assessments good you understand what occurred instructed mr.Candy some younger fellas broke into his apartment and began messing with him and for the reason that of rock on him Oh God negative mr. Sweeney he wasn’t like this at all I heard the world over 200 cases of forced transvestitism worried in the city last year what’s the world coming to something proper now a further be taught this used to be its director ooh kiddo yes your man from one foot within the grave dee I do think it man oh good that’s effective looks from there you understand he’d be aware of what recognize so he came as much as me and stated his catchphrase oh yeah he is your fuck you must without doubt do that though oh yeah I said no person ever does that who you believe you’re hilarious you already know this is this sort of times once I certainly a hundred million percent certain that you just’d be doing the right factor i will be able to say should you say you without doubt obviously won’t remorse doing that i’m going to do it jail we’re like yeah go on holy hey good what did he say did ya no snow no nothing i am going to sit down now oh god no I could by no means be a kind of have a gauzy euros I didn’t be aware of my historic straight I heard it on snap after which it was once just a case of mendacity on high of them except the hills too proper we higher be off mrs.Doyle I get it oh no mrs. Chickenfoot by the way I get it no nods don’t be silly I think you will not put that away now do not be stupid mrs. Doyle no no no no now just put your money away you’re mad no no no no I reckon that stage I was once consuming over a pint of vodka a day sure yes all I would feel about was once where the next drink was coming from drink I failed to give a damn about my wife our youngsters yeah no with your whole support i’m coming through it i’m simply taking it at some point at a time thanks Ronald now I notice that we’ve a brand new member of the workforce with us in these days Heather would you love to tell us your story satisfactory proper unusual to let all of it out great it’s so actual so proper and this right right here is surely granite how lengthy would that be there Oh many thousands of years relatively as long as that some judges fascination how come all the rocks are one of a kind sizes that we all know what stated on the whole one-of-a-kind size good how discovering there are all kinds of things I in no way knew about rock of path at the time most of this whole field would have been submerged underwater how did everyone breed a couple of reason all right Wow look at that rock over there well this is absolutely the oldest part of us or at this specified table shaped greater than fifteen million years in the past oh wow i’m going to open it up a little early to say so that is okay that’s okay so long as i don’t must hear that bloody catchphrase again oh i will certainly got here on this right k i am so hungry i’m starting to hallucinate and do adult exaggeration and discontinue worrying we get a human let’s slide this way will you do the fandango about the lightning very very horrifying me gallileo gallileo figaro Magnifico oh i am only a bad boy no one loves me but from a negative household say from his existence from this monstrosity effortless come easy go will you let me go fast no let me go – Mila with just a little procedure oh no no no no no no no no no individuals on the desk to make a decision for me for me for me as I was once saying I feel the object to do is to try and in finding an exit before the caves closed for the night good proposal Charla how long have you ever been in right here two days now father I consider it’s two days we have now been having a fine laugh Maya I just think that is it truely everybody would like to get out of here and get some instances get residence okay screech the loudest let’s have a screeching competitors as Albert JP is your purpose I received ample father oh go on aah easy I particularly believe we must believe about looking to get editor Oh God possibly you’re right we do not get out we write up the convenient each and every other there’s no place like that cinema live with an enthalpy in money after which the bees all their neighbors seem amazing Tony don’t when you go oh no get off me i am now not useless yet hello pickle boy but i am hungry Tony i am gonna tackle oh no go we go together with your he would not you Tony ha ha sure Tony’s dance good my feet Tony why did you return it concept it used to be our only Son today i guess the funeral cannot be going some hoops is healthier to not my shut up shut up shut up shut up what good I’ve in no way I’ve under no circumstances Tony i am putting you on my list of enemies there you are in entrance now Tony ah Holies k so am i able to learn you miss me come on let the feminist with a screeching competition to intend I do see Glover go go on is handy ah I quite wouldn’t try this no ah it wasn’t me and harbor token and but consider would not you that anybody like criticism used to be extra enjoying round with the likes of honor and you’d be proper he did not wish to hand your hours of the intention good day i go mad yes sorry no rather not worried about being trapped under that massive pile of rocks discontinue it is all she want you here to keep me company and the most up-to-date group might be back which ends with any moment they say they were just going to seek out the tour advisor 10 mi was once buried beneath a gigantic pile of rocks and are available correct again that’s four tickets to Paraguay however I favored English nation’s very complicated and a long way fetched and very very boring that is my style of movie I just like the piano as good did you see Harvey Keitel walking around within the meat one can find that shit hate leaving those we’re doing a no just right sitting around taking note of him screech please please be trustworthy onto that huge pile of rock let’s let’s get ourselves that we are able to worry about no then God where is that this anger tank of eternity can reduce a woman’s bra it’s after unraveling oh my god dougela we are able to to find our approach backwards you have undoubtedly snagged on something if we use this we will give you the chance out appear like God circles with me out no time should you be willing to get off like that or should we not be following it what well what use will or not it’s when you’re finished winding it all achieved don’t feel us correct French thanks thanks the indoor father I will not mean you can do it I know it hurts but believe me you’re going to thank oh thanks excuse me there is any person buried point out he’s alright however I fairly suppose you should get somebody in there rapidly thanks please hurry come on do ladies wish to get away before the rescue come on to the relaxer or food to be right here in a minute hey hiya is that father trillion yes this is him we’ve got been seeking to contact you all night time are you aware a mrs.Dyle first identify mrs. Choi do i do know a mrs. Joy sure yes sir she’s our housekeeper well i would like you to return all the way down to the police station she’s been in a spot of drawback listening if there’s a pleasant or something i know come on Dewey Huckabee eita father Jack out of jail i am very very sorry you should not have a lasagna or a fowl courier no ok good might be I simply have a bag of chips and i might have a fan tour injured wealthy did you know the place you might be there is a police station correct and if that’s the case i will just have the bird satay and Pinot I just hope you don’t think this sort of factor goes on always we’re now not all criminals and troublemakers in the church you already know i’m hoping this is not going to put you off going to mass i am a Protestant surely father rather the straight option father he does they pay a 200-pound plane or they spend the night in the cells well I shouldn’t have that sort of money on me she’s probably in the situations and great in the cells perhaps the simpler alternative off to go hiya it will be quieter I was once simply all proper all proper right here here here is your blood cash but just let me say this there used to be a time when the police on this nation have been acquaintances of the church do not driving bills cost parking tickets or no longer even a blind eye to the odd murder but now almost convinced I gave them the money why don’t you do what presupposed to one of the crucial pleasant good I did they’re pleased once again you could have made me appear like the whole extra frontal real people thank you so much correct to be sincere head I forgot I had the money I was once going to claim your fly’s open god – what did I say there’s at all times challenge for me go to the mainland I have got to make a ordinary under no circumstances ever going again there once more on that is totally unavoidable which it isn’t sadly you and bassam’s ladies they make the Rockies

[adambstingus]

5 Things You Learn Professionally Squatting In AWarehouse

When you hear someone talk about “squatters,” you probably think of hobos/borderline hobos stinking up a crumbling old house or abandoned grocery store in the middle of some broken chunk of urban sprawl. Usually their ambitions don’t extend beyond “keep dry” and “have a nice place to do heroin.” But all over the world you’ll find a different kind of squatter community, involving hundreds of people — often artists — who live their lives outside the direct control of the law. Some of these communities have existed right in the middle of major cities for decades.

Why do they do it? How can they get away with it? We went and visited a couple to find out …

#5. You’ve Got To Fight For Your Right To Squat

Let’s say you and a bunch of friends want to take over a patch of land that isn’t yours and set up your own little community. How would you go about keeping the cops from just arresting everyone and sending in the bulldozers? Set up barricades? Armed guards?

Actually, the answer is art. Allow us to explain.

Just don’t ask us to explain the art.

Squatter communities usually involve a bunch of weirdos who spend most of their time making art living rent-free outside the confines of society’s laws. There’s one in Copenhagen, Denmark, that’s been there for almost 45 years, containing about a thousand squatters/artists. There are independent squatter communities in the United States, too — we visited Slab City, California, last year — but they tend to exist well off the beaten path. That’s because, well, what they’re doing is usually illegal as hell. “Squatting” by definition means they didn’t pay for the land they’re sitting on, and in almost every case lots of people are unhappy about it.

The two anarchist-ish squatter compounds we visited were both in Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. The first, Metelkova, has been around for more than 20 years and hosts a shitload of art from renowned painters, sculptors, etc., from around the world:

This used to be a Yugoslavian army guard tower.

And this used to be a literal nightmare.

The second, Social Center Rog, also contains a shitload of art and — bonus! — a giant skate park.

No one built it. It just sort of appeared.

Why doesn’t the government just come and tear it down? They totally tried.

Metelkova was built over the rotten corpse of an old Yugoslavian military base. As the military pulled out, the area was promised to local artists as a work space by the government. But the government almost immediately decided “fuck that” in lieu of bulldozing the whole thing and selling the land to developers. One of our sources for the article, Natasha, was there when the demolition started. “They brought all these machines, wrecking balls as well … but by coincidence, someone passed by, saw what was happening, and informed all the other members. People gathered and decided to attack to protect the buildings.”

This “attack” took the form of dozens of artists rushing the demolition site and setting up in buildings as they were being torn down. The basic logic was, the government probably won’t kill us all for this land. The squatters erected barricades to keep the government out (which obviously wouldn’t hold them off for long) and started covering everything with art. “Artists just gathered and started gluing ceramic tiles on the wall. The purpose was to protect the building with art … then maybe they won’t demolish it.”

“After all, you never see them bulldoze a spraypainted building, right? Right?!”

OK, so that sounds like about the hippie-dippiest bullshit imaginable. “If we cover the walls with enough art we can melt the government’s hard hearts!” It’s the kind of plan that could have been dreamed up only by people too high to remember that the government has access to things like tear gas and truncheons.

But it worked.

Like the old saying goes: “The Illuminati-baby humping a soccer ball sculpture is mightier than the sword.”

Next, local artists started donating paintings and sculptures, and the squatters began hosting as many concerts and art shows as possible. “In two months, like 200 different events happened.” Natasha’s job during all this was to take clippings from newspaper articles about the squat and different events it held. Several Slovenian intellectuals teamed up with an American architect named Kevin Kaufman and produced the Metelkova Development Plan, a detailed blueprint for the future expansion of the squat.

All of this was meant to establish the squat as a legitimate piece of cultural heritage, rather than just a place where young hippie kids got fucked up. And it worked: The government relented, declared Metelkova a cultural heritage site, and pulled back the wrecking balls and the cops.

Having a spider-tank on their side didn’t hurt.

After more than a decade in operation, Metelkova inspired another squat — Social Center Rog — which began when a bunch of artists started occupying an abandoned communist bike factory. But the Rog had to fight for its existence against a different foe: junkies.

#4. Squatting Means Kicking Out Previous Squatters

“Wait,” you’re probably thinking, “aren’t all of these people junkies?” Shockingly, no. On our second night in the city we attended a “wild” party thrown by the Rog as a fundraiser. The publicly available drugs were beer and wine … that was about it. Nobody got shitfaced, nobody started fights, and, on the whole, it was considerably tamer than Cracked’s annual company Christmas party.

They only had one beer in that fridge, and it belonged to Ganesha.

So folks at the Rog aren’t teetotalers, but it’s not a drug-soaked den of inequity, either, partly because the residents are dirt poor, but mainly because the first big stumbling block in the Rog’s existence was kicking out the dangerous junkies who squatted in the abandoned factory before the artists arrived. One long-time resident told us, “At first it was half artists, half junkies. Some on drugs, some just alcoholics. We kicked out the worst of them until eventually just one old alcoholic was left.”

The squatters managed to force out most of them via a concerted campaign of passive-aggression: making them feel unwelcome and ostracized until they packed up their shit and left for another abandoned building. But that one old alcoholic didn’t respond to social pressure. “Then he got some woman drunk, and we found her outside in the middle of winter — she had turned blue.”

“They can’t attack me if I turn my skin into art!”

The woman nearly died, but the squatters were able to get her medical attention. That near-death gave them the motivation they needed to physically force the last of the former tenants out of the factory. That’s the sort of thing you have to do yourself when …

#3. The Police Stay Out Of It … For Better Or Worse

Metelkova’s international reputation as an art gallery gained squatters a lot of affection within Ljubljana. When the Rog started up, they took advantage of that goodwill. “The police know it would look bad to come in here … so they don’t.”

During that giant party we attended, the cops did show up because of a noise complaint, but they were content to stay outside and give the DJ a 40 euro ticket for being too noisy. The Slovenian cops were actually super polite about the whole “loud squatter party” thing. As they wrote out the ticket, a group of around 40 people formed around the three officers, chanting slogans we assume were not positive about The Man and generally getting rowdy. At no point did the cops call for back-up or draw their weapons. But don’t misconstrue us: This isn’t because Slovenian cops are pacifists. They have riot police who fire tear gas at protesters, just like any country:

The tears just fuel more art.

From our vantage point, it seemed almost like the police were afraid of the squatters. Not that they might get violent, because nobody had any weapons in hand (this being Slovenia, none of them owned guns). The cops clearly did not want to actually enter the Rog and shut down the party because it would’ve been bad PR.

The negative flipside of this is that the police also aren’t willing to enter the squat to arrest people committing actual violent crime. One man we talked to in the Rog was assaulted by a crazed violent teenager and beaten badly with an iron bar. His jaw was broken and his skull was cracked to fuck and back. When he reported this to the police, their response was basically, “He’s your problem.” Hey, you want to live outside the law, you get your wish.

“Live by the squat, die by the squat.”

So, the squatters of the Rog decided to handle the perp themselves. “We dressed up in masks and gloves and showed up in his room in the middle of the night and threw him out. We gathered up all his stuff and tossed it out too.” Oh, hey, it’s starting to look like there might be an ugly side to the squatter artist life …

#2. You’re Only “Off The Grid” Until You Can Steal Your Way Back Onto It

When the first generation of squatters started squatting in Metelkova, they were living in half-demolished buildings with no water and power in the midst of a European winter. “The circumstances were rather hard. Many … just left because they could not bear the conditions. There was no electricity. Winter was coming. It was rather hard, and these people were … adults in the midst of careers. And then other squatters came … punks and people who wanted to party.”

The young punks were spry enough to last a bitter winter. They managed to acquire an old generator to power their concerts and started stealing water from the city. The Rog did the same thing, hijacking a fire hydrant for their own use.

Which isn’t to say things are super fancy there, even so.

Once they had the water, the government couldn’t take it away from them because then someone might die and it’d technically be their fault. As someone in the Rog told us, “The city installed a meter, and now they foot the bill for our water. At least … I hope they are paying the bill. I haven’t gotten a bill!”

OK, so this entry might make these people sound like the lazy suckers-of-government-teat your Trump-voting uncle assumes every liberal arts major aspires to be. But this is the hard reality of living off the grid. You can reject the evils of governments, corporations, and modern society, but you are still an organism that needs water to not die, as well as heat to stave off the winter and electricity to power your guitar. So there is always a point at which someone in the squat comes up with a brilliant idea to make some cash — you know, just enough to keep everyone alive. That’s when you find out …

#1. Going Legit Can Kill The Squat

Metelkova has existed — and grown — for 20 straight years. They’re an official NGO now. Today they’re hooked up to the city water and power grid legally … but that means they have bills. They pay them with profit from concerts and several bars (some of which are operating illegally), which have grown into a sizable revenue stream for Metelkova. “They finance everything; maintaining the building, paying the artists … not much, but something.” Metelkova has actually become successful enough that many folks make significant amounts of money running galleries and holding concerts there. It’s gained international recognition at the cost of, ironically, becoming too expensive for the kind of poor punk artists who founded it. Today it’s a popular place for rich student hipsters to party and feel cool.

The much-grungier Rog still stays true to its roots: Anyone can show up and make art or play music. But since Metelkova has bills, they can’t afford to let just anyone play or set up art: “If a band won’t bring in a lot of people, they won’t sell enough tickets and the bars won’t sell enough beer … so maybe they don’t get to play.” And that seems to be the life-cycle of these squats: They start with a bunch of furious, motivated young artists who want to create a place for themselves and their work. Then they get popular, start making money, and turn into boring ol’ art galleries just as snooty as their more traditional predecessors. That was clearly a major worry of several of the Rog’s “founding” residents. When we first visited, they were willing to give us a brief tour of their facilities …

Including the fake Dracula castle they were building for an independent horror movie.

But they didn’t want to sit down for an interview, and they pointed out several times that “no one is allowed to make money from the art they make here.” They warmed up to us eventually and even offered to sit down with us over coffee and explain their viewpoint.

Their coffee table was an old TV.

They all respected what Metelkova, the older squat, had done for squatter’s rights in the city. But they didn’t like what it had become (“It is in every tourist guide to Europe.”) and they all worried that the Rog would get too popular and become another hip concert venue for rich kids from London and Berlin to use as a backdrop for selfies. One resident pointed out that international companies have already started eyeing the Rog as a location to shoot ads. “Garnier Fructis wanted to pay us to film a commercial here.”

As you can tell from their non-table TV, they aren’t big fans of commercials.

Despite the fact that Garnier put thousands of dollars on the table, and despite the fact that most Rog residents are literal starving artists, they said no. Partly because Garnier tests on animals, they said, and partly because they’re straight-up terrified of getting too popular.

But that’s just how it goes. Over the years idealism melts away, money starts flowing in, and pretty soon what was once an enclave of the counter-culture becomes a commoditized chunk of the regular culture. In the beginning, Metelkova was host to dozens of squatters: Now just one person lives there full-time. The Rog is currently host to anywhere from eight to a few dozen residents, depending on the time of year. But every year they get a little more established, a little more money trickles in, and, eventually, the Rog will likely find its way into tourist guidebooks and become just another place where rich kids pay to party.

“115 of your friends have checked in here!”

And when that happens, a new generation of young artists who can’t afford to pay $50 to see a concert or drink $4 beers at a gallery show will find another abandoned building, fill it with art, thumb their noses at the cops, and the whole cycle will continue on.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-learn-professionally-squatting-in-awarehouse/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/177107993387

[allofbeercom]

5 Things You Learn Professionally Squatting In AWarehouse

When you hear someone talk about “squatters,” you probably think of hobos/borderline hobos stinking up a crumbling old house or abandoned grocery store in the middle of some broken chunk of urban sprawl. Usually their ambitions don’t extend beyond “keep dry” and “have a nice place to do heroin.” But all over the world you’ll find a different kind of squatter community, involving hundreds of people — often artists — who live their lives outside the direct control of the law. Some of these communities have existed right in the middle of major cities for decades.

Why do they do it? How can they get away with it? We went and visited a couple to find out …

#5. You’ve Got To Fight For Your Right To Squat

Let’s say you and a bunch of friends want to take over a patch of land that isn’t yours and set up your own little community. How would you go about keeping the cops from just arresting everyone and sending in the bulldozers? Set up barricades? Armed guards?

Actually, the answer is art. Allow us to explain.

Just don’t ask us to explain the art.

Squatter communities usually involve a bunch of weirdos who spend most of their time making art living rent-free outside the confines of society’s laws. There’s one in Copenhagen, Denmark, that’s been there for almost 45 years, containing about a thousand squatters/artists. There are independent squatter communities in the United States, too — we visited Slab City, California, last year — but they tend to exist well off the beaten path. That’s because, well, what they’re doing is usually illegal as hell. “Squatting” by definition means they didn’t pay for the land they’re sitting on, and in almost every case lots of people are unhappy about it.

The two anarchist-ish squatter compounds we visited were both in Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. The first, Metelkova, has been around for more than 20 years and hosts a shitload of art from renowned painters, sculptors, etc., from around the world:

This used to be a Yugoslavian army guard tower.

And this used to be a literal nightmare.

The second, Social Center Rog, also contains a shitload of art and — bonus! — a giant skate park.

No one built it. It just sort of appeared.

Why doesn’t the government just come and tear it down? They totally tried.

Metelkova was built over the rotten corpse of an old Yugoslavian military base. As the military pulled out, the area was promised to local artists as a work space by the government. But the government almost immediately decided “fuck that” in lieu of bulldozing the whole thing and selling the land to developers. One of our sources for the article, Natasha, was there when the demolition started. “They brought all these machines, wrecking balls as well … but by coincidence, someone passed by, saw what was happening, and informed all the other members. People gathered and decided to attack to protect the buildings.”

This “attack” took the form of dozens of artists rushing the demolition site and setting up in buildings as they were being torn down. The basic logic was, the government probably won’t kill us all for this land. The squatters erected barricades to keep the government out (which obviously wouldn’t hold them off for long) and started covering everything with art. “Artists just gathered and started gluing ceramic tiles on the wall. The purpose was to protect the building with art … then maybe they won’t demolish it.”

“After all, you never see them bulldoze a spraypainted building, right? Right?!”

OK, so that sounds like about the hippie-dippiest bullshit imaginable. “If we cover the walls with enough art we can melt the government’s hard hearts!” It’s the kind of plan that could have been dreamed up only by people too high to remember that the government has access to things like tear gas and truncheons.

But it worked.

Like the old saying goes: “The Illuminati-baby humping a soccer ball sculpture is mightier than the sword.”

Next, local artists started donating paintings and sculptures, and the squatters began hosting as many concerts and art shows as possible. “In two months, like 200 different events happened.” Natasha’s job during all this was to take clippings from newspaper articles about the squat and different events it held. Several Slovenian intellectuals teamed up with an American architect named Kevin Kaufman and produced the Metelkova Development Plan, a detailed blueprint for the future expansion of the squat.

All of this was meant to establish the squat as a legitimate piece of cultural heritage, rather than just a place where young hippie kids got fucked up. And it worked: The government relented, declared Metelkova a cultural heritage site, and pulled back the wrecking balls and the cops.

Having a spider-tank on their side didn’t hurt.

After more than a decade in operation, Metelkova inspired another squat — Social Center Rog — which began when a bunch of artists started occupying an abandoned communist bike factory. But the Rog had to fight for its existence against a different foe: junkies.

#4. Squatting Means Kicking Out Previous Squatters

“Wait,” you’re probably thinking, “aren’t all of these people junkies?” Shockingly, no. On our second night in the city we attended a “wild” party thrown by the Rog as a fundraiser. The publicly available drugs were beer and wine … that was about it. Nobody got shitfaced, nobody started fights, and, on the whole, it was considerably tamer than Cracked’s annual company Christmas party.

They only had one beer in that fridge, and it belonged to Ganesha.

So folks at the Rog aren’t teetotalers, but it’s not a drug-soaked den of inequity, either, partly because the residents are dirt poor, but mainly because the first big stumbling block in the Rog’s existence was kicking out the dangerous junkies who squatted in the abandoned factory before the artists arrived. One long-time resident told us, “At first it was half artists, half junkies. Some on drugs, some just alcoholics. We kicked out the worst of them until eventually just one old alcoholic was left.”

The squatters managed to force out most of them via a concerted campaign of passive-aggression: making them feel unwelcome and ostracized until they packed up their shit and left for another abandoned building. But that one old alcoholic didn’t respond to social pressure. “Then he got some woman drunk, and we found her outside in the middle of winter — she had turned blue.”

“They can’t attack me if I turn my skin into art!”

The woman nearly died, but the squatters were able to get her medical attention. That near-death gave them the motivation they needed to physically force the last of the former tenants out of the factory. That’s the sort of thing you have to do yourself when …

#3. The Police Stay Out Of It … For Better Or Worse

Metelkova’s international reputation as an art gallery gained squatters a lot of affection within Ljubljana. When the Rog started up, they took advantage of that goodwill. “The police know it would look bad to come in here … so they don’t.”

During that giant party we attended, the cops did show up because of a noise complaint, but they were content to stay outside and give the DJ a 40 euro ticket for being too noisy. The Slovenian cops were actually super polite about the whole “loud squatter party” thing. As they wrote out the ticket, a group of around 40 people formed around the three officers, chanting slogans we assume were not positive about The Man and generally getting rowdy. At no point did the cops call for back-up or draw their weapons. But don’t misconstrue us: This isn’t because Slovenian cops are pacifists. They have riot police who fire tear gas at protesters, just like any country:

The tears just fuel more art.

From our vantage point, it seemed almost like the police were afraid of the squatters. Not that they might get violent, because nobody had any weapons in hand (this being Slovenia, none of them owned guns). The cops clearly did not want to actually enter the Rog and shut down the party because it would’ve been bad PR.

The negative flipside of this is that the police also aren’t willing to enter the squat to arrest people committing actual violent crime. One man we talked to in the Rog was assaulted by a crazed violent teenager and beaten badly with an iron bar. His jaw was broken and his skull was cracked to fuck and back. When he reported this to the police, their response was basically, “He’s your problem.” Hey, you want to live outside the law, you get your wish.

“Live by the squat, die by the squat.”

So, the squatters of the Rog decided to handle the perp themselves. “We dressed up in masks and gloves and showed up in his room in the middle of the night and threw him out. We gathered up all his stuff and tossed it out too.” Oh, hey, it’s starting to look like there might be an ugly side to the squatter artist life …

#2. You’re Only “Off The Grid” Until You Can Steal Your Way Back Onto It

When the first generation of squatters started squatting in Metelkova, they were living in half-demolished buildings with no water and power in the midst of a European winter. “The circumstances were rather hard. Many … just left because they could not bear the conditions. There was no electricity. Winter was coming. It was rather hard, and these people were … adults in the midst of careers. And then other squatters came … punks and people who wanted to party.”

The young punks were spry enough to last a bitter winter. They managed to acquire an old generator to power their concerts and started stealing water from the city. The Rog did the same thing, hijacking a fire hydrant for their own use.

Which isn’t to say things are super fancy there, even so.

Once they had the water, the government couldn’t take it away from them because then someone might die and it’d technically be their fault. As someone in the Rog told us, “The city installed a meter, and now they foot the bill for our water. At least … I hope they are paying the bill. I haven’t gotten a bill!”

OK, so this entry might make these people sound like the lazy suckers-of-government-teat your Trump-voting uncle assumes every liberal arts major aspires to be. But this is the hard reality of living off the grid. You can reject the evils of governments, corporations, and modern society, but you are still an organism that needs water to not die, as well as heat to stave off the winter and electricity to power your guitar. So there is always a point at which someone in the squat comes up with a brilliant idea to make some cash — you know, just enough to keep everyone alive. That’s when you find out …

#1. Going Legit Can Kill The Squat

Metelkova has existed — and grown — for 20 straight years. They’re an official NGO now. Today they’re hooked up to the city water and power grid legally … but that means they have bills. They pay them with profit from concerts and several bars (some of which are operating illegally), which have grown into a sizable revenue stream for Metelkova. “They finance everything; maintaining the building, paying the artists … not much, but something.” Metelkova has actually become successful enough that many folks make significant amounts of money running galleries and holding concerts there. It’s gained international recognition at the cost of, ironically, becoming too expensive for the kind of poor punk artists who founded it. Today it’s a popular place for rich student hipsters to party and feel cool.

The much-grungier Rog still stays true to its roots: Anyone can show up and make art or play music. But since Metelkova has bills, they can’t afford to let just anyone play or set up art: “If a band won’t bring in a lot of people, they won’t sell enough tickets and the bars won’t sell enough beer … so maybe they don’t get to play.” And that seems to be the life-cycle of these squats: They start with a bunch of furious, motivated young artists who want to create a place for themselves and their work. Then they get popular, start making money, and turn into boring ol’ art galleries just as snooty as their more traditional predecessors. That was clearly a major worry of several of the Rog’s “founding” residents. When we first visited, they were willing to give us a brief tour of their facilities …

Including the fake Dracula castle they were building for an independent horror movie.

But they didn’t want to sit down for an interview, and they pointed out several times that “no one is allowed to make money from the art they make here.” They warmed up to us eventually and even offered to sit down with us over coffee and explain their viewpoint.

Their coffee table was an old TV.

They all respected what Metelkova, the older squat, had done for squatter’s rights in the city. But they didn’t like what it had become (“It is in every tourist guide to Europe.”) and they all worried that the Rog would get too popular and become another hip concert venue for rich kids from London and Berlin to use as a backdrop for selfies. One resident pointed out that international companies have already started eyeing the Rog as a location to shoot ads. “Garnier Fructis wanted to pay us to film a commercial here.”

As you can tell from their non-table TV, they aren’t big fans of commercials.

Despite the fact that Garnier put thousands of dollars on the table, and despite the fact that most Rog residents are literal starving artists, they said no. Partly because Garnier tests on animals, they said, and partly because they’re straight-up terrified of getting too popular.

But that’s just how it goes. Over the years idealism melts away, money starts flowing in, and pretty soon what was once an enclave of the counter-culture becomes a commoditized chunk of the regular culture. In the beginning, Metelkova was host to dozens of squatters: Now just one person lives there full-time. The Rog is currently host to anywhere from eight to a few dozen residents, depending on the time of year. But every year they get a little more established, a little more money trickles in, and, eventually, the Rog will likely find its way into tourist guidebooks and become just another place where rich kids pay to party.

“115 of your friends have checked in here!”

And when that happens, a new generation of young artists who can’t afford to pay $50 to see a concert or drink $4 beers at a gallery show will find another abandoned building, fill it with art, thumb their noses at the cops, and the whole cycle will continue on.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-learn-professionally-squatting-in-awarehouse/