#Eliot says he locked himself in there for a couple nights

[morganbritton132]

My Leverage Headcanon based on nothing is that when Eliot says that he cured his claustrophobia by locking himself in the wood shed behind his house that he’s mostly telling the truth.

The part he leaves out is that he wasn’t his decision.

He didn’t always know how to defend himself and maybe he was a little too naive to think that the older kids in the neighborhood were his friends, but they locked him in there and no one could find him.

His parents got the whole neighborhood out looking for him before he was found.

[be-gay-do-heists]

sleepless (in portland)

Eliot couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the pain keeping him up, although his wrapped ribs, sore knee, and bruises all over ached constantly. If he thought the pain was the problem, he’d take some painkillers and get to sleep; he wasn’t so pigheaded as to tough it out. It wasn’t that he was sleeping in an unfamiliar place, either. He had slept in rougher, more dangerous places than Hardison and Parker’s guest room. Annoyed as he was that the two hadn’t let him go home by himself after the beating he had taken that day, it wasn’t keeping him from his 90 minutes. No, if he had to put a finger on it, he was preoccupied with the restless need to check on them.

It hadn’t even been too dangerous of a job, Eliot thought grumpily. A hiccup here and there, but no one had been hurt (except him, but then again, that’s what he did). What’s more, they were only in the next room over. If a threat did arise, he would be able to take care of it easily; they wouldn’t even have to wake up. Combine that with Hardison’s rock solid security system and Parker’s escape contingencies, there was really no reason to be worrying.

Dammit, he grumbled to himself as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The hitter let his body adjust for a moment, breathing through the sharp pain that sparked along his side. As he stood and started limping towards the door, he counted his steps. Nine to cross the room. Twenty to get down the hall to the front door, check the lock. Some fifty more to walk the perimeter of the living room and check all the windows. Fifteen to go back down the hallway to Parker and Hardison’s room.

Their door was slightly ajar and Eliot pushed it open quietly. In the darkness he could make out the two sleeping forms. He could see why they needed what he considered a ridiculous-sized bed. The hacker was sprawled out like a starfish, long limbs all over the place. The thief on the other hand had contorted into a twist that Eliot hadn’t even thought possible to sleep in, with her arms locked tightly around Hardison’s waist. The only sound was their quiet breathing, which Eliot matched his own to as he stood watching them. He hadn’t meant to stay for long, but there was something about knowing they were safe, guarding them, that put him at ease for the first time that night.

“Eliot,” Parker murmured, disturbing the silence. Her open eyes, fixed on him, were two points of light in the darkness. Eliot shifted his weight awkwardly, hiding a wince as his bad knee threatened to buckle.

The thief didn’t question why he was there, or wake up Hardison. She simply shifted a little in the bed, moved her head minutely. “Come here.”

Eliot was fully aware he could say no, leave without a word and consign himself to a sleepless night in the other room. He felt like enough of an intruder in their space as it was. But Parker was offering him a chance to keep watch over them through the night. He had a feeling she knew what it meant to him.

He limped over to the bed, and sat gingerly down. The thief had thoughtfully freed up the side closest to the door, and she pushed a couple pillows his way so he could sit up against the headboard. He growled softly without any real anger behind it as she poked his injured ribs once, for good measure, and then rearranged herself again around Hardison.

“Good night, Eliot,” she whispered.

Hardison shifted in his sleep and mumbled something that was probably also meant to be a “good night, Eliot.”

“Good night,” he said back, settling as the sound of their quiet, even breathing once more filled the room. Eliot still didn’t sleep that night, but he did rest easy, watching over Parker and Hardison until morning.

[leverage-commentary]

Leverage Season 2, Episode 2, The Tap-Out Job, Audio Commentary Transcript

Marc: Hi, I’m Marc Roskin, Director and Producer on Leverage.

John: Hi, I’m John Rodgers, Executive Producer and Writer on Leverage. Hold on, let me open my beer. Albert.

Albert: I’m Albert Kim, I'm the writer of this episode of Leverage.

John: I'm gonna jump straight to Marc Roskin, because we are jumping straight into the action here. Marc, this is a gym, or looks like a gym, starts with a fight scene. How hard was it to find this space, and what did you do to make it shootable?

Marc: We had a handful of gyms to choose from, but what we liked about this was the elevated ring. We were able to center it in the middle of the ring and it had a good work space and of course, as you know, Dave Connell likes a lot of windows.

John: Yeah. So you're bouncing light in through those outside windows, then.

Marc: Yes. Even when we’re playing these scenes at night, we were still streaming lights in through the blinds. And as you can see, we have vertical blinds all over. We put those up as well. It just had a- also a good, central location for us to shoot in other areas as well.

John: Cool. Now this is the most involved fight shooting we did the entire year. How did you prep for it?

Marc: Well, the gentleman- the bald gentleman on the right, is Matt Lindland, who is a high school champion wrestler, college wrestler, Olympic silver medalist, and a real mixed martial arts fighter who fought in the UFC. So when we were looking to cast someone, we wanted to cast someone who knew the sport, who knew the ability, and because later on as you see our Eliot character in the ring, we wanted someone who could be safe with Christian. Because, since Christian does all his fights, we wanted someone who wasn't gonna try and show off for the camera and end up hurting one of our stars.

John: Not that Christian doesn't get hurt on a fairly regular basis anyway, but yeah, it was a nice try. And this was a really fast start. This is- you know, we bang right into the villain, we bang right into the victim. Our- this, however, was not our usual episode. Why don’t you tell us how this got started?

Albert: Well this was our- this was essentially our fight episode, our boxing episode, and except we wanted to update it, so we set it in the world of mixed martial arts.

John: To explain to people who don't know con shows, there are certain prototype con shows and movies-

Albert: That’s right.

John: The boxing con is a big one. And so we’re constantly looking at these older cons to update them and so we landed on alternate fighting. So what sort of research did you do?

Albert: That's the first thing I did. My background is in sports journalism, and so my first instinct was to start doing a lot of research. So I read a couple of books, I interviewed fighters, I interviewed promoters and managers, I spent some days in the gym.

John: You went to a gym here in LA, right?

Albert: Yeah I went to the Legends gym here in LA and spent a couple afternoons there, and talked to a lot of the fighters there. And one of the first things I learned was that, if people know the sport at all, they know the UFC and Las Vegas and things you see in pay per view, which is kind of the upper tier of the sport, but I learned that there's also this huge grassroots level of the sport, where they’re fighting in small towns all through the Midwest and everyone is out there trying it to make it to the big time. I knew right then that that's where we had to set the story somewhere, because it’s a wilder and wollier world with less regulation and more people are being taken advantage of.

John: What sort of money they fighting for at that level?

Albert: They're fighting for- if they're lucky, they're fighting for maybe two or three thousand dollars; more like 500 dollars a gig sometimes. Sometimes they work as bouncers at a club and then after they're done with their shift, they're allowed to come in and fight. It's literally a step above amateur night.

John: And this is a really nice sequence, by the way, the spin around to reveal Nate. Was it really raining? Did you get lucky or-?

Marc: No this was- I wanted to have at least one night scene in the episode.

[Laughter]

Marc: Dean gets lots of those.

John: Dean gets the- Dean cake; we've explained the Dean cake.

Marc: This was my night episode and I thought, ‘well maybe we'll have it rain, just to have some sort of effects.’ The previous shot was a stock shot and then that one I just thought it would give a nice night look to the scene.

John: And this also takes us out of our comfort zone. Albert why- what was- yeah, we’re in- where are we, Nebraska?

Albert: Nebraska.

John: We originally didn't set it in Nebraska.

Albert: It was originally set in Iowa, except Portland doesn't look a lot like corn fields and stuff, so we moved it to a slightly- we moved it to Nebraska. It's not a huge difference.

John: It's a little more mild, a little more hilly.

Albert: A little more, yeah. It's also realistic because a lot of- both Iowa and Nebraska and a lot of the midwestern states, they're really big into the wrestling tradition and that's where a lot of the MMA fighters are coming from today. And we make a point of in the episode, that the- that's where the grassroots talent is. So- and the other thing about this episode is, you know, knowing that it was gonna be set in the world of fighting, we knew it was gonna be very Eliot centric.

John: Yeah.

Albert: So this is definitely gonna be an Eliot character episode, and I remember one of the first things I talked to you about when I started working on this was, we talked about the Eliot character, and one thing I remember you saying was that Eliot is really good at the violence, but he doesn't necessarily like it.

John: No, no, the violence- Eliot Spencer is a- considers himself a negotiator, and occasionally negotiations need to be resolved with short, sharp bursts of violence. He's not a hitter- he's not a hitter by nature; he's a hitter by choice, by job.

Albert: And that immediately suggested to me this whole theme of, sort of, self control and this had to do with episode, has to do with him being able to control the violent impulses he has, as well as, you know, externally in this story, and the bad guy is someone who sort of exerts control over all these guys.

John: I would like to say, by the way, this is the perfect locked off comedy frame. The whole idea of Nate sitting there quietly; he's not even going to dignify what the kids are doing behind him at this moment, he's busy thinking. Also a lot of interesting fan mail about being trapped in Beth’s thigh grip; really, don't ever email us about that again. But this was a ton of fun. What was it like shooting this?

Marc: It was a lot of fun, but it was also helpful to explain some of the fight scenes. And, you know, to have Matt Lindland teach Beth Riesgraf how to put Christian Kane- or to put Hardison in a triangle choke hold, was very fun. And Albert and I had the experience of having Matt put us in that hold as well.

Albert: Oh man.

Marc: And I swear to god, he must have just given me five percent of the pressure in a fight; I had a headache the rest of the day.

Albert: Oh my gosh, it was unbelievable. But Beth picked it up really fast; that was scary.

John: She's got good physical- she's got good physical memory, actually, she picked up the pickpocketing really fast. 

Albert: I love this shot.

John: This is a great shot now; this is the classic golf con; this is very Rockford. This is the classic Rockford, is that Jim Garner would show up as Jimmy Joe Meeker or somebody else at your celebrity play- like your bad guys place, piss him off, and then ingratiate himself and force him to seek him out for vengeance. It's a great roping technique, actually, rather than looking like your seeking him out - force him to seek you out. Now where is this?

Marc: This is at one of the golf courses outside of Portland, the Oregon Country Club. And they just opened the doors to us and we had a really good time shooting this. And fortunately for us, Brian Goodman is, I would say, almost like a scratch golfer.

Albert: Yeah, he's single handicap.

Marc: He had a really good time doing this.

John: And Brian is the main villain.

Marc: He's our main villain.

John: He’s Jed Rucker. And now, is he from LA or from Portland?

Albert: Yeah, LA.

Marc: No he- he came from LA, but he's a Boston guy; he had a really real, rough Boston upbringing.

Albert: Oh yeah, Boston.

John: Oh that's right, yeah, he came up in like the- he came up in the less than lawful element, if I remember it correctly.

Marc: Yes he did, and he's put that energy into acting and I think he handles it very well.

Albert: But he also brought a lot of grittiness to the role which was really nice.

John: Well he's one of the few physically menacing bad guys we have. Usually the bad guy has what we call the Busey, which is your sidekick meant to inflict pain or do your dirty work. While he really looks like he would be the dude driving you to the crossroads of a shallow grave.

Albert: Definitely.

John: Now it- was it raining? I mean were shooting in Portland, so...

Marc: Not at this sequence; when we get to later parts of the con, we did have some rain.

Albert: But pretty soon after we shot this it started pouring, and because- it was cold there. It was really cold out in the morning, I remember that.

John: I love the fact that Hardison, in theory, has a way to put nanites in a golf ball, just in his luggage. Or he knows hackers in Nebraska that he can get that from. You know the Omaha hacking scene, it's really, really vibrant. Good lift. Beth, as always, doing her own lifts, and this is- this is one of our few big montage sequences.

Marc: Yes.

John: Usually they are very self contained; one, two, three beats. 

Marc: No, we actually went out and shot a round of golf and were able to- and Tim, who has never really played before, picked it up really quickly and developed a really good swing, and we were actually using a lot of his shots in the actual montage.

John: Now that’s cool.

Albert: Well what's funny is that he’s you can tell he's an actor, because all of his best shots came when the camera was on. Turn the camera off and he couldn't hit the ball for his- to save his life, but then once the camera was rolling, right down the middle; he would strike it.

Marc: And Brian was nervous that we were gonna ruin his swing cause we kept telling him to shank things, cause the ball was supposed to go off.

John: Yeah once you learn, you're done. And this is where- yeah this is the beginning of the montage. Now I’m gonna jump ahead cause the montage will give us enough time to do so. When you were talking about- when you were breaking this episode as a director, you knew you were gonna do that gym. Did you reference look at any specific reference materials? Did you look at any fights? Did you look at mostly MMA footage? Or what'd you- what was your homework there?

Marc: I looked at MMA footage and I also looked at some of those fights that Albert was talking about - the grassroots fights. I- you know, I'm a fan of this sport so I have been following it, and I was looking up footage, and looking up rings, and looking at the magazines as well, and just trying to study up on it as best as I could.

Albert: And you had also done all that research previously for a feature project, right? So you had all that information as well, which helped.

Marc: Yeah, so I'd been to the UFC matches; I've been, you know, to the gyms; I've been to some of the smaller venues as well. 

John: I love the choice Beth always does in these scenes, is to put on a very sort of frowning concentration? Like Parker finds human tradition fascinating. Tim sank this right?

Marc: Yes he did. 

Albert: Yeah.

Marc: We kept telling him to- ‘don't worry, we'll put it in CG.’ He said, ‘no I'm gonna get it, I’m gonna get it’ and he did.

John: And that is the- I don't know what number hat that is for this season; that is a really obnoxious hat, that's nicely done. Tim- I forget where it started, probably last year Bank Shot? Where we put the cowboy hat on? It just started, the shorthand for Tim’s character, which is now which hat he's wearing. Because in it- really in this one, he really is in that tradition - that Rockford tradition that we hit again in the Lost Heir Job, and that sort of big city/city slicker, just kind of weasel, that just gets under this dude’s skin. 

Albert: Well this is one of the episodes where we actually take the action out of the Boston area, or wherever our team’s headquarters is, and we went- we traveled to the midwest. So part of the idea is to take our team out of their comfort zone, so they don't exactly- so they're a little uncomfortable being out of their element, and then it actually comes to play in this story. They don't exactly- they are eventually subverted because they can't really figure out the relationships in this community.

John: Well they're- well they can't cover everything, you know. And that's a big- that was a big challenge in season two, is the fact that by the end of season one, these guys had done a lot of really amazing stuff. And how do you continue to throw obstacles in their way? And so a lot of the first half of season two was: ‘okay, let's take them out of Boston; okay, let’s constrain them in time and space; alright, let's give one of them an emotional interest that derails them’. And this is really a perfect example. This episode’s one of my favorite examples from making one season to making five. Is figuring out how to take the characters out of their comfort zone in an interesting way that's still- that still tells a character story, a really good Eliot story. 

Albert: Now what’s interesting in this is also that a lot of the fighters were real MMA guys that Matt actually- Lindland has a gym in Portland.

John: Oh cool.

Albert: So he brought a lot of these guys from his gym and they were background, later on they'll be in some of the fight scenes. So that was really helpful for the reality of the of the look as well.

John: Yeah, that’s Chris showing off the fact that- I forget when we told him, but we were like, ‘you got an MMA episode.’ He was like, ‘oh I gotta go train.’ He couldn't- we couldn't find him for two months.

Marc: And he thought it was gonna be in episode six or- no it’s now episode three; he's like ‘oh no!’

John: Yeah and this now- this sort of- What'd you call this? It’s kind of a gauntlet.

Marc: Yeah this is what he calls it, and this is what something I wanted to just try and do with one shot and keep everything pushing in on him, pushing in on Christian. The cars converging, everybody just converging. Just to show how outnumbered he is.

John: And it's a good cliffhanger. And yeah, Eliot's about to fight. And now the promised fight.

Marc: Exactly.

John: You know, we have made a bargain with the audience and now we're delivering unto them.

Albert: So all these guys were real fighters. 

John: No stunties? Or most of them fighters?

Albert: No, they were local fighters; all local guys.

Marc: These were all local fighters.

John: That's tough, because getting fighters to throw stunt punches is tough.

Marc: Yes. And the last guy you see him fight was someone from the ultimate fighters, this guy Ed Herman. Who unfortunately lost his last fight at the UFC cause his knee went out, but he was really great to work with and train with.

John: Yeah. There's a nice cornered- cornered dog moment here where you are fairly sure Eliot will choke this dude out if he needs to. Now why don't you explain- I just said that fairly cryptically as if everyone would know. Why is it difficult to get real fighters to look good on camera?

Marc: They did- a lot of times- they just don’t- they don’t how to sell it for television, or for film. It's just- it's really about camera trickery, and where it should be, and sometimes some of these guys, they punch too fast, or too quick, and they think it's real, but it doesn't register enough; so you're always trying to tell them- I mean, I'm even telling Christian this a lot of times, dude, take 10% off so I can really see it.

John: Yeah. That’s a lot of the thing is, you know, since he does all his own stunts, it becomes a sort of a matter of pride between him and the stunt man to move as quick and fast and hard as they can. And, you know, we do have to photograph this stuff.

Marc: Well I mean, the beauty of having Christian do his own stunts is you never have to hide a stunt person when it’s Christian and-

John: You just move the camera how you want.

Marc: And he's a very fast learner. He really learns a routine quickly; he helps choreograph them, and you never- you can always tag Christians face and that's what this is about, so it's great to have the ability to keep Christian in. This is one of my favorite shots - we craned through the actual ring all the way to Rucker and Eliot.

John: You got a crane? 

Marc: We had- yeah.

John: Wow, that's really nice. Now I'm gonna ask the- the controversial chicken fried steak scene was just up. We were really trying- it's interesting, we were really trying to show that Sophie was out of place, and a lot of people took it as we were making fun of food in that part of the country. And it's just interesting that as writers, you forget that the protagonist is assumed to be speaking the truth at all times in the audience members mind. When, a lot of times, for us, they're characters that we move around the chessboard; we have no problem making the characters be jerks, or selfish, or small minded.

Albert: It was in no way meant to put down the quality of cuisine in Nebraska, in Omaha, in Lincoln.

[Laughter]

John: Really, stop your angry angry tweets and emails.

Albert: Please stop the emails.

John: The chicken fried steak in the FedEx box, stop it.

Albert: I'd like it, for the record, I've actually been to Nebraska many times for my past jobs, and I’ve had wonderful meals there, including some very good chicken fried steak.

John: There you go. This- it's interesting here, Eliot, when we were writing Eliot playing the cons, he tends to- and this is a lot of Christian’s acting choice, he tends to play the character very power negative. You know, it’s a subtle thing, but he's actually the second best- Eliot is the second best after Sophie on the cons. Parker isn't comfortable enough with people, Hardison always goes over the top, and Nate is too distracted, and to a great degree, particularly in this season, really is working through his addiction to vengeance and control. And it's interesting, you know, we write these things, and the actors always put a little spin on it, but that's the spin Chris tends to put in it. Sort of hard done by jamoke.

Marc: Well what I loved about this sequence, is we just saw him kick some serious ass on a bunch of guys in a parking lot. Now he's in the lion's den, he's showing this vulnerability; it really just felt so honest and sincere. 

John: He's in over his head.

Marc: Yeah.

John: He's just a guy who’s really good at fighting. And you had that great line later in the script ‘you fight like something’s trying to get out of you’. You know, that's really the dynamic of the- this episode is ‘what is Eliot's relation to violence’? You know, where you can’t be a totally sane human being to be able to inflict that amount of pain on a regular basis. But he's someone who’s very controlled. 

Albert: Yeah. It was great trying to dive into Eliot's character ‘cause it's something I haven't done before on this show, and plus the person that he ends up- who plays his foil, really, is Sophie. Because she ends up becoming the natural, I don't want to say mother hen figure, but she's the one who has the serious concern for what he's going through. So they end up having some very nice moments later on.

John: Because of her discomfort with violence.

Albert: Yes. She’s- that’s the diametric opposite of how she works. She's very physically disengaged whenever she runs her cons; it's all about the artifice and the person, the personality that she's putting on. And his job for the most part is physical. And it's sort of the cross between those two worlds which makes the interaction interesting.

John: It's also a nice speech about exploitation for the guys just running these guys out on cash.

Albert: That evil speech of evil.

John: It's our evil speech of evil for this episode. Do you know that phrase?

Marc: No.

John: The evil speech of evil is- we finally came up with a name for it in the writers room. It is the speech, every episode, the villain gives to justify his world view. Wherein this world view, he's not the bad guy, cause nobody is the bad guy in their own mind. He's just gonna explain why he does what he does. And, you know, but however, as normal sane humans, we look at that and go ‘oh my god that's evil’! And it really came about because we were researching all the Madoff variations early in the season and we were reading all these justifications by these guys who ripped off 50 million to 100 million dollars and in their heads, they weren't the bad guys. 

Marc: Right.

John: You know? This is also great; Parker, while Sophie cannot get into the whole Omaha scene, Parker loves it. The -

Albert: She’s got the Nebraska cap on, got the cuisine.

John: Did that start as a wardrobe thing or-? Cause I was on the set for this one.

Albert: No, I put that in the script, and we had to clear various Nebraska logos and caps and stuff like that. But that was a fun little thing just to put in the background, sort of a grace note, with Parker’s character. This is the first Eliot/Sophie interaction where we start to see what Eliot is thinking and what Sophie’s concerns are and they were great in this scene.

Marc: Really great.

John: Yeah. This is- I remember watching the dailies on this, and even the dailies, the untreated dailies, you know, we kept flipping back and forth looking at the performances. Cause these are not characters that really rubbed up against each other in the first season a lot, and they really wound up being, kind of, the anchor pair for the first half of the season.

Albert: That's right.

John: And then, sort of, you know, there was a really interesting evolution on the Eliot/Parker relationship in the second half of the season; the sort of big brother thing really kicked in there. And the brother/sister teasing really said a lot.

Albert: The other thing Gina does great here in this scene in particular, you know, I wrote the character as a sort of LA agent, very type A personality without any real specifics in terms of how to approach it as a character. And she just nailed this accent. I think it's one of the best accents she's ever done, and it sounded so natural. Like, I swear I’ve met this person before. 

John: It's so hard with Gina's accents because she studies them so meticulously. We always get one of two reactions. The people who aren't from there going, ‘That feels a little over the top’. And the people that are from there going, ‘Oh my God, that's perfect’. You know, because she- what was the name of our accent person? Our dialect coach - Mary...

Albert: Mary Mack.

John: Mary Mack. Up in Portland. So we have- we have found someone in Portland, Mary Mack, was actually the voice of Wonder Woman on Super Friends.

Albert: That's right.

Marc: That's right.

John: And she does a lot of dialect work, and she happens to live in Portland, so we had a full time Portland person out there who really made life a lot easier. And Gina insists on meticulous. 

Albert: Yes.

John: It was also, now we’re getting into the nuts and bolts of how you actually make money in here with the cable bill, so I know you researched the hell out of this so-

Albert: Yeah, you know, the big money in any of these martial combat sports comes from the television contracts. And the UFC, in particular, has taken advantage of the pay per view deals they have. And it's- when they started looking at numbers, it's gigantic; they make so much money off the pay per view deals, they really don't need steady cable contracts or television contracts. So that suggested to me to build a con out of that, because in any of these cons, what you're trying to do is prey upon the greed of the bad guy.

John: The bad guy- the rule we always have is, the bad guy’s undone by his own sin.

Albert: Exactly. You can't con an honest person, that's how the saying goes. So what- the basic idea of the con is to dangle the promise of huge money in front of the bad guy and let him go after it, which is basically what we're doing here.

John: Sorry we’re totally distracted by the tracksuit here.

Albert: By the Velour tracksuit.

John: I love also- I never caught the first time around when Hardison ‘white people doing white people things’ the events they've got on the-

Marc: Drunken tractor pulls. 

John: Which, by the way, there was a lot of that stuff when I worked the midwest. But it's interesting about the name Triana for the teen bopper act that we wind up hijacking the concert- we steal a concert. We tried eight names.

Albert: At least.

John: We tried the most ridiculous- maybe we tried a dozen of the most ridiculous one word names we could come up with for teen acts - they were all taken; every single ridiculous name was being used by some Disney girl. So we wound up using the first name of a character in the cartoon the Venture Brothers assuming there's no possible way anyone could be using this. And now this includes- this was great. How- do we start with we’re gonna steal the truck or we look at how they were shot and then steal the truck?

Marc: Steal the concert.

Albert: Steal a concert. And again, for this I did a fair amount of research I went to one of these production trucks here in LA at Staple Center and spent an evening watching them as they produced a Lakers game, and then just picked up the way the things moved there, the dialogue, and what was going on. And I learned- and this is all true to life, that the director and the producer of these telecasts often fly in from out of town and never meet the crew, the crews are all local. So as we do in this story, you can easily bring in two people that the crew has never met and they would just listen to every word, which is how we-

John: And it's another great thing where the research just gives us- a lot of times we have these giant mountains of crime in front of us, and the research gives us this much easier version. That, you know, any- it's amazing what you can get away with in America with a clipboard and a nametag.

Albert: Yes.

John: Yes. This is another thing, by the way, whenever we burn someone who is not central to the con, we have to take at least 30 seconds to establish they're an asshole. We, a lot of times, run into trouble when writing episodes where like, we need to con this person, but they're kind of an innocent bystander, so there's always a dial of how mean we can be, but this guy’s from LA and America hates people from LA, so...

Marc: Yes, and he's yelling at the limo driver.

John: We actually at one point had him- to really scunge him up, have him asking for the local prostitutes, but luckily we didn't really need that. Corn dog. My god, does she actually eat that?

Albert: She did, and this was probably like seven in the morning; it was the first thing she was eating in the morning. 

Marc: But notice how she tosses it. That was a choice Beth made.

John: Yeah.

Marc: There it goes.

John: Just, yeah, again, this is the sort of thing that I really notice during the commentaries. Beth really dials in when Parker knows she has to act like a human being and not act like a human being when nobody's looking at her. And we actually had a Parker flashback - her first concert - which we wound up cutting where-

Albert: We didn't use.

John: Which we didn't use, but it ties into another episode. But we can tell you really quickly, everyone was talking about a first concert, and everyone had a really different band they’d gone to. And Parker- the flashback was 12 year old Parker, everyone raised their hands up with the lighters and she picked the pockets as they went through. We didn't use the sequence, but the actress wound up in the Top Hat Job, and that's the little girl we buried alive.

Marc: Yes.

John: And by buried alive, I mean we just pretended we buried her alive.

Marc: Yeah I felt like I broke her little heart, she was all ready and we decided to cut it, but she got to come back.

Albert: Yeah. This is a real truck, we rented a real production truck and those guys-

John: Was it easy to rent and build?

Albert: Yeah.

Marc: Oh yeah.

Albert: And those guys in the background are- actually work in the truck, so they were familiar with all the equipment and they were in the middle of, I think this was around the NBA playoffs time, they were on their way from here to go cover a real game.

Marc: Yeah, not a lot of room to work in these trucks, for filming.

John: What was the shoot- now that’s the great thing about the RED, though. We couldn't have shot this with the genesis that things like an engine block

Marc: We were able to just put on shorter lenses; some of the pieces do move. But you can tell just some of the blocking I had to do was a little static - besides doing steadicam to bring them in and out - but I think we got plenty of coverage that really tells the story. And it was great to just have all those monitors just come to life to keep it busy.

John: Well it's real depth- it’s real depth on the set; it makes it feel real. There's actually- the first director I ever worked with told me the most important thing to do is to make sure something's going on behind the actors. That's where everyone fails - if you're making your first little indie, be aware of that. That's where everyone fails, is you forget to put action behind your actors. And where were we on this? We were outside-

Marc: We- this is one of the other reasons we chose the gym that we worked in. This was just a few walking blocks from the gym. This was a high school that had shut down and we are using their parking lot.

John: Well that's good. The children of Portland don’t need an education - we have important filming to be doing. We just actually also, that's where Gina gives a parallel version of the evil speech of evil. About how the cable companies, or the sort of teen singer industry, is exactly like fighting; it's the girl version.

Albert: Her character views the singers as products, they're not people, just the way that our bad guy sees the fighters as products.

Marc: And there's the ladder cross; you have to have the ladder cross. 

John: Is there a ladder cross?

Marc: Yeah there's a ladder cross.

John: Nicely done. Did you- you had werewolves in one, didn’t you?

Marc: Yes we did.

John: You always got interesting stuff going on in the background. Where are we here? Oh, this is where they find out they can’t hack a hick. I'm trying to remember how we wound up with that being the problem.

Albert: Now this is the complication. This is before- this is when, basically, you realize, yeah, you can't hack a hick. It's nothing that they- that our team could plan for; there's nothing on the computer networks that could do, nothing they could cut off, because it's basically the bad guys henchmen calling his cousin Jimmy and finding out these people are not who they say they are.

John: They tried to get into a network that's not- that- the data is not maintained by computers, it's maintained by people. That's actually a big challenge on the show, is that when you have a complication on a show, a lot of tv shows just have it be the characters have screwed up in some way, or just some random bad thing happens. The rule we try to maintain is either they succeed too well, or there's something specific about the setting that screws them up. You know, it drives me crazy when some sort of blind anvil falls out of the sky in the middle of a show. Or in particular the characters have been dumb and failed in that way. There's an expression in television called the idiot ball, where a character will carry the idiot ball and will act- just act stupidly in order to advance the plot. 

Marc: Right.

John: You know the thing here is, we have five very smart characters. This is a creepy threatening moment particularly because Gina's pregnant here. That's if you actually know that, the look of Matt about to beat the hell out of Gina is very nasty. And also you get a really scary vibe off of Goodman there.

Albert: He's a very menacing character. Going back to the other thing here you're saying, is thematically the other thing at work in the story is the idea of family, so the twisted version of family, which is where our bad guy calls his cousin Jimmy and that's what undoes their team. On the flip side, you have the father and son who are fighting for their livelihood who are the victims. And in the end what brings- what actually allows our team to complete the con is the fact that they call on one of the members of the family.

John: Yeah.

Albert: So it's all about good family/bad family and how those relationships wind through the story and this particular community.

John: You're making it sound like we do a lot of work in the writers room.

Albert: Sometimes we actually do some work on these things.

John: Not often. A lot of times it just starts with a setting. And yeah, this is where they decide to do the bluff. And this is interesting - this is another thing we decided to address this year, which is our guys swan in, they change people’s lives, they jet off. And this is one of the times we really wanted to talk about the fact that in this situation, once they’re blown, there are repercussions.

Marc: There could be repercussions. Yeah.

John: You know they're- they live ruthless lives, and a lot of this year, is about them learning the limitations of their lives. Of how the world view it’s given them. How they relate to people. They don't always understand how other people behave.

Marc: Right.

John: For example, Eliot in Order 23, Eliot just wants to beat the hell out of this abusive dad in that episode, and he just realizes it's not gonna work

Albert: Once he leaves there- he's back to his old tricks.

John: Yeah exactly, and the same thing here once they leave- you can’t stay there forever.

Albert: Right. Well Rucker, the villain here, is actually very smart. When he finds out the truth, he doesn't threaten their team; he knows that he'll never get away with that. He threatens the victims. And he knows that that's what he has control over; that they live in his world.

John: He's one of the best villains.

Albert: He was a fun one.

John: Particularly just because you really felt there’s this series of escalating moves and counter moves. The Jury Job last year was good for that - the idea that our team makes a move, the other person makes a move not always knowing, but it's a logical counter move to whatever occured. He's actually, probably one of the smarter bad guys we've had. And this is the- our traditional roundy round.

Marc: This is our roundy round.

Albert: This is the converse shot right.

Marc: Yes, towards the end of the walkaway, but this is where the plot’s taken a turn for our team. 

John: Now actually, why don’t you just describe the visual? Because if you watch the episodes on a regular basis, you'll see certain techniques used at certain times.

Marc: This is one of our moves where the tables have turned and we now have to change our plan. And at that point, I changed direction because Eliot brought up the point ‘no, I’m gonna fight,’ and it changed again. So then I changed direction and, you know, it's a timing thing, and it looks like you're doing it all in one, but there are many pieces and you just have to keep score of who gets what line and when. So you really have to trust your script supervisor.

John: And also in the writers room, we try to make a point of figuring out, like, now we've done it enough times, we know how many lines each person can have, and you’ll actually see dialogue in a lot of the episodes skip one to one one to one to one cause we know we’re gonna hang the director otherwise. That's also the last time we use the overhead shot in the season. That was our family overhead shot and it's the only time that one person has walked away from it and you used it for that to isolate him.

Marc: Yes. Yes.

Albert: This is my favorite scene of the whole episode. It's the emotional climax, really, because it's the traditional- in any of these fight scenes or movies fight stories, you have the night before the fight, which is when our champion-

John: Henry the 5th. You have the night before the fight.

Albert: Rocky. All of them have the night before the fight. So this is Eliot's night before the fight where he's girding himself for battle, and everything he and Sophie have been through up to this point comes to a head here. Plus the way Mark framed this was so gorgeous. You knew it was gonna be a beautiful shot because right before the camera started rolling, you saw all these members of the crew bringing out their cell phones and just taking pictures.

John: You know it's a good looking shot when it's like, ‘I wanna remember this one’. And there is- you know, a lot of people look at this one, and Order 23, to think that maybe Eliot had been abused or something as a child, and it’s- that’s facile. This is just a guy with a relationship with violence. He's beaten up, he's been tortured, he’s a guy who has learned bad things can happen to you and this is how he internalizes it. That's a great shot.

Marc: My lockoff transition.

John: Nice. Eliot transitioning into a girl with a bikini, that’s- was that placement intentional?

Marc: The placement- no, it just worked out. It just- we just wanted- Dave Connell wanted to come up with a cool transition, and we just locked off an XD camera and just left it there for the whole shoot.

John: Now did you have a little extra prep time on this or was this the normal?

Marc: This was the normal prep time.

John: Normal crazy Leverage-

Marc: Seven days of Leverage prep time.

John: Yeah. The- now the ring collapsed at one point, right?

Marc: Yes, the ring collapsed during Eliot's fight. And- you know, we had a lot of bodies up there. You have two camera men with big long lenses, a lot of moving around, and at one point it gave out and god bless, fortunately nobody got hurt.

Albert: That was scary. It was this huge bang right in the middle of the scene. One of our cameras was right there, and it avoided him and then it was this big crease in the middle of the ring.

Marc: And fortunately our grip department was able to just pull out some speed rail and get it ready.

Albert: Yeah.

John: Yeah, cause there's no- there's not a lot of time to waste on a Leverage shoot. Now you've got a lot of, just, wild grabbing stuff-. Oh, they were re-establishing the water. And this is another nice thing, by the way. It's a nice touch, Albert, that they're not dumb enough to fall for it again.

Albert: No.

John: You know, the tough thing with writing a con and heist show, audiences have seen a lot of con and heist shows, so they're playing by a different set of rules. And they're constantly trying to outguess you, and with a lot of stuff we do is we play with the metastructure of television, what you think a show like this would do. Yeah.

Albert: Especially with a fight con, because it is a familiar story. I mean, I think anyone who's watched any of the movies or tv shows in this genre has probably seen some variation of this, so you have to assume that people know the various tropes that go into a fight con. And then what- who’s gonna be drugged, who’s gonna be knocked out, what's gonna go on. You just have to make sure you don’t over use any of those.

John: You on the crane there?

Marc: Just for a little bit. We had a crane constantly moving. We had two handheld cameras. There was a lot of dailies on this episode. There was a lot of dalies. And we also wanted to just make sure we had all of the fight covered. We needed to get the perspective-

John: And the audience members.

Marc: -from the audience members. From our victim who we saw in the opening.

John: How long did it take to shoot this sequence?

Marc: We shot this in an evening.

Albert: It was this and the opening fight all in the same day. 

Marc: Yeah, we did it all in the same day.

Albert: That was a bear of a day.

John: One 12 hour day?

Albert: Yeah.

John: Holy smokes.

Albert: It was a long day.

John: Thank God I wasn't on the set for this one - it sounded brutal. It sounded unspeakable. 

Marc: You know, Matt and Christian had a routine worked out, and we were able to just pick our moments of when we needed to move the camera, and really trust our operators to make sure that they got it.

John: How many operators did you have in the ring?

Marc: Two operators. At times they were both in the ring, and sometimes one was just on the sideline getting to have some foreground ropes in it.

Albert: Yeah and all those flips that you see, Christian really took those. I mean, by the end of this scene his knees and legs were just totally banged up; he could barely stand.

Marc: And Matt, of course, who, you know, did this fight numerous times and also the opening fight numerous times.

John: Yeah.

Marc: Let’s just say there was the real odor of sweat in that gym.

John: I love the hulking out moment here. 

Marc: Yes.

John: Just where he just snaps. I wish we could have done the green overlay on the eyes at that point. And what's great going back and watching this again, when you watch the episode, to see how they are putting the places in the con. How this behavior has to be read both ways. We’re not usually a closed mystery. There's two types of mystery shows - closed and open. One- like Columbo was open; we knew who the killer was and how he did it - the fun was watching Columbo finding the problem you had. And closed is, you don't know who did it. Which is most television shows. We usually show the audience how the con’s gonna run, and the fun of the audience is knowing what's supposed to happen, and it going wrong - it's one of the few times this sequence could play either way. This whole act- this whole two acts, could play either open or closed. 

Albert: Yeah. That's actually the trickiest part of figuring out the- making sure that if someone goes back and watches it all again, it still makes sense knowing what you know at the end, as well as what you think you know the first time through.

John: We don't do it a lot.

Albert: Yeah, it's hard; that’s why.

John: Yeah, it’s really hard cause it’s usually only have to do one or the other. You know, entire movies have made millions and millions of dollars based around doing that well once. And we can't do it all that often. And also, to a great degree, I think a lot of the fun for the audience is watching our characters do what they do. That's really cool; a skillset they don't have. And so you want to get them invested in success, you know. And this is where it all starts to go to hell in a handbasket and the alert audience. Notice that the characters are recurring from the audience. I don't know anyone who figured it out; a couple people I know figured it out because of the metastructure. They figured Eliot couldn't have killed somebody, but haven't really figured out the con at this point.

Albert: Well the traditional fight con, the way it works is- and in con terminology they call it the Cackle Bladder. That's when someone dies - or supposedly dies - to scare off the bad guy. And this is a plan that- because normally in the fight con, the way it would work, the Eliot character would be the one who would die, but we did a little flip here and they staged the death of the bad guy, which- and the only way to do that is to get the help of the cousin.

Marc: And it's something I really wanted the actors to hold on to, is that one shot of Eliot; he really feels bad for killing this guy. And there’s a shot coming up after Rucker leaves that I really wanted to get across. And I just told ‘em there's a moment where we’re gonna release the valve, and I really want to see it on all of you. And it- and fortunately it really works.

John: Now the- it’s interesting with Eliot, because once you sort of know the character, you know he wouldn't actually feel bad about killing this guy. Eliot Spencer killed people. I mean, that's something that's kinda easy to go away, because Chris Kane is a very charming actor, and he plays the character in a very charming way. But especially in the second half of the season, you really get back to the idea that Eliot Spencer is a dude with a price on his head.

Marc: Here's the moment I was talking about, as soon as Nate gives the cue.

John: And you're lining them all up for that shot. And Albert you shot that, you were up on the roof of the building.

Albert: Yeah. It was raining, it was wet, it was cold. We were up on that roof, very slippery ladder.

John: And there's sending him across the state line with various bad stuff in his truck. Who came up with the saxophone?

Albert: Saxophone was something that actually came up in the room. I wrote the flashback of her going to the pawn shop, and in the room we were just sorta tossing around what are the funny things she might buy in the pawn shop?

John: Cause Parker just wouldn't buy the guns.

Marc: No, of course not.

John: This actually really holds together, too, because the original amount he wins in the golf game winds up being the money they use to buy the guns for the frame up later. This is- if you're gonna write a Leverage spec, this is kinda the one to look at. I mean this - I'll tell ya, this one really holds together in ways that a lot of the ones- not because we don't care, but because we're 42 minutes, that you're like ‘alright we’re just gonna assume people know that this is what's going on,’ cause you know. Or even stuff we shoot that we wind up cutting.

Albert: Well I will say this, if you are gonna write a Leverage spec, you know, we say this is the room all the time - research is your friend, because it starts from there. Because once you find that world you're gonna live in and you research the hell out of it, then a lot of the details become a lot clearer.

Marc: That was the actual pawn shop owner.

Albert: Yes.

John: Was it?

Marc: Yeah, and he donated his fee to a local charity.

John: Oh that’s great; that's really nice; that's really cool. Yeah, a lot of people were like, ‘c'mon he's not in that much trouble’. You know, you cross state lines with a bunch of cash and guns, I assure you, you're not coming back for a while. Yeah, and then we establish the whole problem Hardison seemed unprepared was because the guy was crooked, which we then used for this setup. This one came together nicely. It's also- its interesting - the pairings again. Parker and Hardison - Parker is next to Hardison in a lot of shots, and there's little bits where Beth gives- has Parker give Hardison just a little reassuring look like, you know, ‘I agree with you. Everyone else thinks you're crazy; I'm here.’ It’s a way of advancing the relationship without us having to do it textually.

Marc: Right.

John: You know, and there's a great moment- there's a great moment in the finale, which- are we actually releasing these separately? Did we decide? I don't know. If you're gonna watch the finale, there's a moment where Hardison- something happens with Hardison's van and I didn't notice it the day we shot it, but Parker kisses the van goodbye. And it was- no one asked her to do it, but it was just that little thing of Parker acknowledging this was important to Hardison, and so she was gonna, you know, she was gonna make that choice. Wow it’s- I like our actors. We’re lucky.

Marc: Yeah, we had some really good local talent here as well.

John: Yeah, cause the dad was local, the son was local. 

Marc: Yeah.

John: And he did all his own fighting, too, right?

Marc: Yeah I- we were gonna- I even had in the budget a stunt person to do it, and we had a stunt person there, but it he just felt that he could do it and he actually did a really great job.

John: It's pretty hard when you’ve got one of your leads doing one of the fights to wimp out and take the stuntie; it’s a lot of pressure. And this is- a lot of people ask - we’re just handing over a business. We assure you Hardison has set up a DBA, he's taking care of all the paperwork. Don't worry - these guys aren't gonna get hit by the IRS five years from now. And it's really about them trying to- again, like you said, family- family owned business trying to rebuild the local community.

Marc: Right.

John: And, you know, one family saying goodbye to the other. The key toss. I think we should make a collection of Tim’s key tosses, cause that's a little signature bit, ‘Here you go.’ Here are the bad guy’s assets to use as your own. Good makeup on Christian, too.

Marc: Yeah, we gave him a nice shiner there.

Albert: We got a lot out of this gym. We spent a lot of time in this gym; we got a lot out of it.

John: Well that's another big thing when we’re shooting in seven days is - trying to find combination locations. The combo burrito we call it.

Marc: The combo burrito, cause once you start base camp - it’s expensive.

John: Ends on a hug. That's a great episode.

Albert: That’s the Tap Out Job.

John: Thank you very much guys. That was one of my favorites of the year; that was really great.

Marc: Thank you very much. It was a pleasure shooting .

John: Anything you wanna add?

Marc: No, I really enjoyed it. Albert and I- was the second episode that I've done with Albert. In the first season I did the Stork Job, and I really enjoy having Albert there by my side. He helps me out so much, he helps the actors out so much.

John: It's a relief to have him out of the writers room.

[Laughter]

Marc: It's really a team effort.

Albert: Thanks.

John: Thank you for watching.

[sweetbitterpdf]

compte à rebours II (2.3k words)

chapter two (of two): ‘bonne année, eliott’

( chapter one here )

new year’s fic / determined eliott / a new year’s kiss

---

As Christmas comes and goes, Eliott spends time with family and friends. He exchanges presents, works on an assignment— criminal as it may be to assign work over break— and works on new art. It is, all things considered, time off from school that is well-spent.

So, naturally, he feels as if something is missing the entire time.

And, naturally, he knows that the something in question is Lucas.

He hasn’t been able to take his mind off of their almost-kiss since it had happened. He had been drunk enough while they watched the movie that the memory is a bit fuzzy around the edges. But he remembers Lucas�� warmth, as he leaned into him. He remembers Lucas’ little smile, when he asked if it was alright for him to curl up against him. He remembers falling asleep, and waking up considerably more sober.

He remembers needing to give Lucas a proper goodbye.

And Imane directing their attention toward the mistletoe.

And then—

Cowardice.

He could have kissed him, then. 

He can hear his therapist chiding him for worrying about what ifs and could haves, but there are times when he can’t help it. He had wanted to— he had wanted to so badly— and it seemed as if Lucas had wanted to, as well.

But he wants his first kiss with Lucas, if such a thing is in the cards for them, to be perfect. He doesn’t want an ‘under the mistletoe on the way out of a party’ sort of first kiss. He wants something that’s thought out, something that’s timed perfectly.

Something like a New Year’s kiss.

The idea dawns on him suddenly, and upon checking the date— remembering what day it is is nearly impossible on break, the days all blend together, for him— he realizes he only has a couple of days to set this plan into motion.

---

Vendredi 13:15 Message à: Imane Bakhellal

Hey, Imane, it’s Eliott. Are there any plans going on for New Year’s?

Vendredi 13:17 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

You’re asking me and not my brother because…?

Vendredi 13:17 Message à: Imane Bakhellal

Idriss isn’t responding

Vendredi 13:17 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

Typical

Vendredi 13:18

We’re getting together at Emma’s place again, yeah. Should be pretty similar to Christmas

Vendredi 13:18 Message à: Imane Bakhellal

Oh, cool!

Vendredi 13:18 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

You and the guys are welcome, she says.

And yes, Lucas will be there

Eliott’s breath catches as he reads Imane’s message. We wasn’t going to ask— since he was under the assumption that wherever she ended up for New Year’s, Lucas would, too— but to have Imane know his motives leaves him feeling vulnerable and exposed. He tries to type out a response, Oh, that’s cool— then I was assuming he would be, you’re best friends after all— then I’m glad— but he erases every single one.

Vendredi 13:21 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

Listen, I know you try your hardest to make your, frankly, enormous crush on him on the down-low, but you’re not good at it

Vendredi 13:23

And I have reason to believe that he feels similarly

Vendredi 13:23

I’m not typically one to give unsolicited advice, but seeing you both pine after each other has gotten old

Vendredi 13:24

I convinced him to talk to you about it last time, but you were kind of wasted

Vendredi 13:25 Message à: Imane Bakhellal

You did?

Vendredi 13:25 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

I did

Vendredi 13:25

And even if that wasn’t a success, I’m sure having you lay against him for that disgrace of a movie was good consolation

-

The information is hitting him like a whirlwind. It nearly knocks him back with its force, and all he can do to brave it is clutch his phone to his chest, take deep breaths, and process the information that Imane has just given him. To vow to tell Lucas how he feels regardless of reciprocation was one thing— but to hear that Lucas could feel the same gives him a whole new sense of courage. Because even if Lucas doesn’t feel the same— which is less of a possibility than he thought, surprisingly enough— he needs to know, where it is that they stand. He needs to know if he’s been pining away senselessly or not.

---

When he arrives at Emma’s on the 31st, he has something resembling a plan, in his head. This time, he vows to not drink nearly as much as he had the last time, to keep his mind at least mostly clear. He tells Idriss and Sofiance his plan. All teasing from them aside, they promise that they’ll keep an eye on him, in the event that he starts to get a little carried away. He arrives, and he knows what he wants to do, what he wants to say.

But then he sees Lucas, and all of his planning goes out the window.

He watches him for a few moments, and then flees instinctively to another room.

Idriss scoffs when he comes into the room to find Eliott alone. “You’re useless.”

“I’m not,” He whines, “I’m just… nervous. And I don’t want to intrude on him, at least right away.”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t mind.” He rolls his eyes at the way Idriss smirks at him. It only makes Idriss laugh at him, though.

“Hush. I just… Need to think.”

“Need to stall, more like. Eliott, listen— “ Idriss takes him by the shoulder, his face serious. “You’re going to go and talk to him, or I’m going to make you.” Normally with something like this, he would think Idriss was fucking with him— but this time, he’s not so sure.

“I’m going to, I swear.” And he is, he swears. If he doesn’t tell Lucas tonight, he doesn’t know what he’ll do— and he also doesn’t know when they’ll see each other next.

“You’re getting a New Year’s kiss this year, dude. I’m sure of it. You have until…” Idriss stops, to think for a moment. “11:50— if you haven’t talked to him by then, I will drag you two together myself, so help me.” 

“Okay, okay! You have my permission to do so.”

“I’m glad, but I wasn’t asking.”

He leaves them and roams around for the remainder of the party, chats with people here and there. Most of them bring up similar things as Idriss did— but Idriss is the only one he really believes.

Speak of the devil, he thinks, when he locks eyes with Idriss from across the room. He lifts up his arm, tapping his wrist— you’re running out of time— and Eliott checks his phone.

23:46, it reads.

He shoots Idriss a thumbs-up, and then sets off to find Lucas. He does without much trouble— Lucas is in the living room, chatting with his friends. When Lucas tosses his head back with laughter, Eliott’s reminded of the very first time he saw him— the way they bumped into each other on his very first day after transferring, the way Lucas hadn’t even noticed.

This time, though, Lucas notices.

“Eliott..” He says as he approaches, in a puff of air.

Arthur claps him on the shoulder in greeting. “Hey, dude!” Yann and Basile react similarly, and he greets them all, before returning his attention to Lucas.

“Can we talk?” This is a shot in the dark, a leap of faith. He expects an about what, or an in a minute, but instead, without missing a beat, Lucas simply says “Yeah.”

“On the balcony?” Eliott asks, gesturing to the door outside.

“Sure.” And so Eliott turns, and Lucas follows him out. It hits him, quite quickly, that he hadn’t thought this through— the winter air makes a chill run down his spine. “It’s cold.” He says, simply.

“Yeah.” Eliott agrees. “This shouldn’t take long, though.” Because he wants to keep things as short and straightforward as possible— despite the feelings that this involves, which are very much not. 

“It’s alright.” Lucas responds. Eliott takes a deep breath, to steady himself.

“I wanted to apologize. For last time.”

“Eliott, I told you, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I know, but I still feel a bit bad about it. I wasn’t planning on getting that drunk.”

“Happens to the best of us.” Lucas’ smile is gentle, when he looks over. It makes Eliot go warm all over, despite the cold.

“That’s not the only thing I wanted to talk about, though.”

“Oh?” Lucas turns where they’re sat, facing him. Eliott pauses for a long moment, unsure of what to say, of where to start.

“I talked to Imane, the other day.” Or rather, Imane talked to him. He hadn’t contributed very much to their text conversation, really. “She told me about how she convinced you to come and talk to me.”

“‘Convinced,’ okay, Imane.” Lucas scoffs, air quotes accompanying the convinced.

“She also told me what she convinced you to talk to me about.” Eliott’s quiet, when he says it. Lucas’ expression falls.

“Oh.”

“I’ve heard it from her, and from Idriss—”

“Wait, Idriss?”

“Consequence of them being siblings, I guess.” He shrugs. “But I want to hear it from you.”

“Hear what?”

“I want to know how you feel, about me, from you. Not from anyone else.” They’re both quiet, now that it’s out in the open. “And I want to be able to tell you how I feel about you.” Eliott steals glances at Lucas, looks down, than at him again. 

“How do you feel about me?” Lucas asks, after a long time. Eliott’s hesitant, but there’s something in Lucas’ eyes, even in the dark of night, that makes him want to be honest.

“I loved you from the very first moment I saw you.” It feels as if he’s stopped breathing, as if they’ve suddenly teleported to the vacuum of space. There’s no sound, between them— there’s no anything, until Lucas speaks again.

“When was it? That party?”

“No,” He remembers the one that Lucas is referring to, though. The first time he had seen Lucas drunk— clumsy and free as he danced around with his friends. “I saw you on my very first day, in January.”

“You did? I didn’t see you.”

“I know.” But I saw you, he nearly says. He remembers that moment, too— them bumping into each other, and the way that he was completely unable to look away from him, as he continued down the hall with his friends.

“Wow.” When he looks over again, Lucas is smiling. It’s a small thing, a smile for himself. His heart swells. Then— “Imane was right, you know”— and now Eliott’s smiling, too?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” They’re looking at each other, now. It feels like he’s seeing Lucas anew, for the very first time. It’s beautiful. “What now?” Lucas asks, and he looks away for a brief moment, contemplating.

“Hmm,” He reaches over, taking Lucas’ hand gently in his own. “Now, we go on a date or two, live happily ever after, you know. The usual.” In reaction, Lucas laughs. It’s a soft sound, but it’s one he would give anything to keep hearing.

“Not a bad plan, if you ask me.” He leans in, without any hesitation this time, intent on far more than a quick kiss on the cheek— but Lucas pulls away, just as fast.

“Ah ah,” He tuts. “What kind of New Year's kiss would it be, if we didn’t wait for the countdown?”

“Lucas,” He whines, and Lucas laughs at him. He can’t help but smile, at the sound of it. “I just bared my soul to you.”

“Patience, Eliott.” Because he can’t resist, Eliott presses a kiss to the back of Lucas’ hand, as consolation. He loves the way Lucas’ breath catches, the way his eyes widen. Lucas blinks a few times, before moving to get up, pulling Eliott along with him. “You want another drink?”

“Just some water. I’m trying to make it through tonight hangover-free.” They go back inside, hand-in-hand, and their friends notice almost immediately. When Lucas’ friends do, he hides his face in Eliott’s chest. Eliott holds him there, keeps him close. Idriss notices, and Eliott shoots him another thumbs-up. 

Cheering erupts from the other side of the room, and Eliott quickly realizes that the countdown to the New Year has begun. 

Ten, he pushes Lucas away, just enough so that he can look at him. His breath catches, when he sees the way Lucas is looking at him, his eyes full of light.

Nine, as he looks around, he can see people coupling up, finding their partners. He can’t hide his grin, when he see that one of the pairs in question is Imane and Sofiane. 

Eight, he returns his focus to Lucas. When he looks at Eliott now, it’s through his long eyelashes, and it’s as if some sort of physical force is pulling him in.

Seven, he reaches up with his free hand to cup Lucas’ cheek. He lets himself run his fingers along Lucas’ jawline, reveling in the warmth of his flushed skin.

Six, he thinks about where he was, this time last year. About how he had just finished fighting with Lucile, how she had just stormed out. Now, though, he’s here, holding Lucas. Holding the boy that he’s been in love with for nearly a year.

Five, and Lucas is looking at him like he’s worth something, like he wants to kiss him just as badly as he wants to kiss Lucas.

Four, he feels Lucas’ hands come to rest at the small of his back, and he pulls them back in close again.

Three, they’re so close that their noses brush, that their foreheads touch.

Two, Lucas’ eyes are hooded, and Eliott watches as they close fully.

One, he leans in that last little bit, and—

As the crowd hits zero, they kiss. 

Kissing Lucas is like a dream, it’s so gentle and soft, but it makes his knees go weak with how badly he’s wanted this, how long he’s wanted it. They pull away, and all Eliott can do is to breathe out a wow. Lucas smiles up at him, and he’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful, that as the first moments of the new year pass them by, he can’t help kissing him again, and again, and again.

[all-things-skam]

i love your fics so much! 54, 41, 66 for Elu please!!

Please continue to sent requests from this list of prompt!

54. “You can leave. They all do.”

41. “Don’t break my heart.”

66. “Talk to me.”

Title: The big confession

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

Eliott’s hair were the softest, according to Lucas, and he loved running his hands trough it. After getting a text from Eliott asking- begging Lucas to come over, Lucas had asked Mrs. Savari if he could use the bathroom…and never came back. Leaving school ground without getting caught by the guard had been tricky but, Lucas succeeded and took the first bus to Eliott’s place.

When Lucas made it to Eliott’s building, he was was met by a dead-looking Eliott. His skin was gray and he had dark circles under his tired looking eyes. He explained to Lucas that he was feeling off and might have caught some virus. Lucas had offered to make him some soup - he was such a sweetheart - but, Eliott wasn’t hungry. So, they sat on the couch, Eliott’s head on Lucas’s lap and he carded his slim fingers through the wispy light brown locks.

Beside looking deadly, Eliott wasn’t sick. He had no coughing nor nose blowing…and definitely no fever.

“Eliott?”

He hummed ever so softly.

“You didn’t catch any virus, did you?” Lucas asked carefully, causing Eliott to tense. “I know something is up. You don’t have to tell me but…know that you can talk to me. I-I’m here.”

They stayed like that for a while, with Lucas just playing with Eliott’s hair and Eliott trying to feel a little better. He didn’t dare say a word to Lucas, knowing that as soon as he opened his mouth, his eyes would fill with tears.

When he got like this, there was something about his state of mind that was absolutely inexplicable. The sadness that he felt could not be explained, there was no reason behind it and most of the time it would take him days to be able to even get out of bed. This was the first time that he had a depressive episode since he got together with Lucas, and now, he felt like he was living a lie by not telling Lucas what was really going on.

Eliott opened his mouth, about to spill everything when Lucas’s phone buzzed, disturbing the couple’s quiet ambiance. Lucas awkwardly reached for his phone, trying to not disturb Eliott from his position. “Do you need to go?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s Arthur. He picked up my stuff from class.”

“You left class for me? I don’t want you to miss class for me…”

“It’s 2pm on a Wednesday, where did you think I was?”

This is exactly the kind of thing that worried Eliott. If Lucas knew about his mental Illness he would constantly have to give up so much of himself just for Eliott. He would have to take care of him and Eliott was sick and tired of being treated like a child. Yes, he was fragile during these episodes but, all he needed was his boyfriend cuddling him, not being overprotective all the time.

He sighed and sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and keep his eyes down. He didn’t know how Lucas would react, he didn’t know if he would want to break up or if he would be upset that Eliott kept this from him. All Eliott knew was that he had to get this huge secret off his chest. His hands trembled, he has had this conversation with many people but, no one mattered as much as Lucas.

He took a deep breath, gathering all his courage. “Lucas… There’s something about me I haven’t told you and I’m terrified that you’re going to leave me when I tell you.”

The way Eliott was behaving had Lucas worried. “Eliott… Talk to me.”

“I’m bipolar, Lucas.” Eliott looked down, apprehending Lucas’s reaction. « Lucille had a reason for always being so tough on me.. she just worried that I would get worst or have an episode. W-when I was 15, I got diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I went through a period of not going to school. I would stay in bed and not leave for days. Then I would wake up one day and it was like everything was absolutely okay. Everything felt like it was going up and down, it confused me and messed me up. When I finally got diagnosed, Lucille was there for me. She helped work through it. I’m just broken I guess, that’s all it is,“ he said, choking up. ’‘Now that I told you, you can leave. They all do. I won’t hold you back.”

The big confession shocked Lucas.

He had noticed signs of stress and anxiety in Eliott before, he would’ve never guessed that he was bipolar. The news made Lucas want to take a few steps back, having had bad experience with mental illness in the past. It was tough on the brain and on the heart. Lucas had suffered so much because of his mom and her mental illness. He had shed so many tears because of her, he had spent so many nights trying to resonate with her when she was being delusional. She had sucked so much of his energy that Lucas had made himself a promise: staying away with anyone with mental illness.

Alas, it was impossible. He loved Eliott…and he loved his mom too. And, bipolar disorder wasn’t like schizophrenia. Eliott wasn’t going to tell him God sent him on Earth to save the world. Lucas had heard of bipolar disorder before but he didn’t know much about it beside the infamous mood swings.

He was afraid and he was lost, not knowing what to say to the love of his life. He didn’t know what this meant for their relationship but he knew that he couldn’t let his boy down.

With one glance at Eliott, Lucas sensed his fear. The fear Lucas was going to leave him because of his mental illness. So many people had left because of it, he wouldn’t blame Lucas if it was too much for him.

“I’m not going to leave,” he reassured. “I-I’m here and I love you and- Eliott?”

Tears were falling down Eliott’s face. After Lucas had told him he wanted to stay away from mentally ill people, Eliott had stepped back and drilled into his head that his disorder would get in the way of their love.

“I thought you would leave me,” Eliott said through his tears. “You said that you didn’t need mentally ill people in your life, Lucas. You said-”

Lucas winced, remembering that afternoon outside the classroom. “I’m deeply sorry I ever said that. I didn’t mean it, I-”

Eliott shook his head. “You don’t have to lie to me… I know I come with a lot of baggage. I’m just gonna make trouble for you and I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me. I could never do that you.”

Lucas leaned forward gently tilting Eliott’s chin so that he could look him in the eyes. “What you and I have, I wouldn’t give it up for the world. I fell in love with you, Eliott, and this disorder isn’t going to change that. Maybe we’ll have to work around it. And, yes, maybe I’m a little scared, but you’ll teach me what to do, won’t you?”

Eliott shrugged wiping his eyes. “I still don’t know what to do with myself when I get like this. I can’t really teach you much. Sometimes it gets to a point where I’m so sad that I start to just feel numb…I don’t want you to see me like that. And today, it was starting to feel a little bit like that. It made me panic because it’s the first time that she isn’t here and I didn’t want to call her. She would just give me another lecture about not being with you. She manipulated me so easily, sometimes it felt like she made all my decisions for me.”

Lucas pulled Eliott into his arms, his soft hair tickling his neck. It was rare that the roles were reversed but, this was nice. “I could never do that because, who am I to tell you what to do and how to live your life if I haven’t figured myself out, Eliott? I’m not here to dictate your life, I’m here to love you and support you and be there for you when you need me…just like you’re doing to me.”

“But, you promise to tell me if something is not ok with us right? If I do or say something wrong…I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lucas nodded. “I promise. And, in return, do you promise to tell me if you’re feeling sad or if I do anything that upsets you?”

It was Eliott’s turn to nod. “Don’t break my heart, Lucas.” His hold on Lucas tightened and Lucas kissed his face.

“I’ll try not to.”

They stayed there for a moment until Lucas got an idea. When he was a kid, he sometimes would get really anxious and, to make him relax, his mom would run him a warm bath. Maybe he could do that? It won’t cure his sadness but, it’ll help him relax.

Lucas shared his idea with Eliott and he seemed up to it. On one condition.

“Will you come in with me?” Eliott asked, a part of him still unsure and thinking Lucas will leave while he’s bathing. And, he wanted to be close to Lucas. He needed to be close to him, to feel him.

Lucas nodded. “I’ll even wash your hair.”

[poetloveses]

I Would Have Been There For You

     The Bridgeport Brew Pub was quiet. The pub was closed for the rest of the day and the staff had gone home. Eliot Spencer was at the bar filling out paperwork and expecting deliveries throughout the day. Eliot liked when he was alone in the pub. No one to bother him. He could actually get his work done faster when he was alone.

    Alec Hardison and Parker were working on their own projects in the backroom. Hardison was probably working on something technical that Eliot wouldn’t understand. Parker could be doing anything. Eliot learn to stop asking a long time ago what was in that girl’s mind. 

    At that moment a delivery man walked into the brewpub. Eliot stood to greet him. “How are you today,” Eliot asked the delivery man.

    “Good,” replied the delivery man, “I have a delivery for Alec Hardison.”

    “Of course, you do. I’ll take it to him,” Eliot replied rolling his eyes.

    The delivery man nodded. He liked dealing with Eliot more than Hardison. Eliot tipped better and never gave him attitude about it. He handed Eliot the package. Then thanked Eliot, after Eliot tipped him, and walked out the door.

    Eliot looked at the package as he locked the door. What did Hardison order now, thought Eliot, as he heading into the backroom.

    “Hardison,” Eliot called out, “You got a package…” Eliot stopped as he walked into the room. The room was a total disaster.

    Hardison hopped out of his chair from a room from the side. “Yah, my package is here,” he exclaimed, as he made his way to Eliot.

    “Hey, watch it,” Parker exclaimed.

    “Sorry, babe,” Hardison said, as he got to Eliot’s side.

    “What is all this,” asked Eliot, as Hardison took the package from his hands.

    Hardison shook his head as he opened his package and says, “I have no clue. She just brought all these in and started separating them into piles.”

    Eliot started walking around the piles, he stopped at one and picked up something from the top. “Parker, what is this,” Eliot asked.

    “I don’t know. I just think old newspapers are interesting,” replied Parker.

    “What are you doing with them,” he asked.

    “I am just separating each section. Over here is comics, there is some funny stuff in there. Then we have editorials, local news, personals, obituaries, wedding and birth announcements, and sports. They are from all over the state, too,” Parker replied.

    “It’s a mess, Parker,” Eliot said looking down at the paper in his hand, “They are taking up the room. There is no where to walk and…” Eliot suddenly stopped talking.

    It was so sudden, it made Parker and Hardison take notice. Hardison, who had already gone back into the side room, came out to the door of the room. He looked at Eliot who was staring, silently at the paper in his hand. Hardison looked at Parker and he could see that she saw the same thing as he did. “Eliot,” Hardison said, “Are you okay?”

    Eliot didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the paper in his hand. He couldn’t comprehend what he was reading.

    Parker and Hardison exchanged looks again. Something was bothering Eliot and they weren’t sure what though. Parker looked back at Eliot and called his name. It was like he couldn’t hear them. It was like he was in a trance.

    “Eliot,” Hardison said again.

    Eliot put the paper down and said, “I got to go.”

    Parker and Hardison exchanged looks again. Then Hardison asked Eliot, “Where are you going? Do you want us to come with you?”

    “What? Uh, no,” Eliot said. It was like he was coming out of a trance. “I just got to go, alone.” 

    “What is going on, Eliot,” asked Hardison.

    “Nothing,” said Eliot, “I just got to go.” Then Eliot walked out of the door without saying another word.

    Parker walked to the pile to find the paper Eliot was looking at. She wanted to see what could have made Eliot react the way he did. Parker picked up the paper looking it over. 

    Hardison went over to Parker’s side. “What does it say,” Hardison asked.

    Parker handed the paper to Hardison. She pointed at an article and said, “I think he saw this.”

    Hardison read what she pointed at and gasped. After a few moments, he said, “We should go be with Eliot.”

    Parker nodded and said, “I’m going to call Nate and Sophie and tell them what happened.”

    Hardison agreed. Parker called Nate and Sophie as they headed out to the car.

    Eliot pulled into the driveway. He turned off his car and stared out of the window. He didn’t know what he was going to say when he got to her. He hadn’t seen her in a long time.

    Eliot thought back to when he first met Amara Redding. She came into the brewpub a little less than two years ago. She had come in with a few friends. It was a day that changed his life.

    Eliot was working in the kitchen that day. He always loved being in the kitchen. His other job didn’t allow much time for him to be in the kitchen. He just finished up an order, when Amy Palavi came into the kitchen and said someone wanted to speak to the chef.

    “Just tell them I can’t come out right now,” Eliot said. He didn’t much like going out to see the customers.

     “They’re insist on talking with you. They’re at the bar waiting for you,” replied Amy as she took her order out to the dining area.

    Eliot wiped his hands on his apron and then removed it. Only two kinds of people always wanted to speak to the chef. First is that they wanted to complain about something. Usually trying to scam free food or drinks. Once they see Eliot, though, they usually change their mind. The other person is to tell him how much they liked the food. Eliot can’t count how many times that was the case. Sometimes they’d ask for the recipe. He’d always laugh and tell them he’d have to kill them if he told them. They always laugh with him, though sometimes it was a nervous laughter. Eliot had that way with people.

    Eliot headed out to the dining area. Time to see what kind of person he was dealing with. He went out to find out who wanted to speak with him. As soon as he walked out, he saw Amara. She was beautiful. Eliot couldn’t take his eyes off her.

    Eliot walked over to her. He was so mesmerized by her. It took him a second to realize she was talking to him. She was asking him something. He had to find the right way to see what she was asking without letting her know he hadn’t heard her. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that,” Eliot said.

    “Are you the chef,” she asked again.

    “Oh, yes, I am the chef,” replied Eliot.

    “Okay, I just wanted to thank you for the wonderful meal,” she said and smiled at him.

    He smiled back and said, “Thank you.”

    “I don’t suppose you could give me the recipe,” she said sweetly.

    “Well, if I told you, I’d have to kill ya,” he replied light heartedly.

    She laughed. It was the most beautiful laugh he ever heard. He never wanted her to stop, but then she did and they stood there in silence for a moment.

    “By the way,” he said, “My name is Eliot, Eliot Spencer.”

    “Nice to meet you, Eliot Spencer,” she replied, “My name is Amara Redding.”

    “Nice to meet you,” he replied.

    “I know you have to get back to the kitchen, but I just wanted to thank you,” Amara told him, “But I already said thank you, didn’t I?” Eliot nodded with a smile.

    At that moment, Amy came up to them. “Oh, I think they can spare him in the kitchen for awhile,” she said giving Eliot a wink.

    Amara laughed as Eliot said, “Well, that was not subtle.” Then he asked her, “Would you like to talk with me more?”

    “I would like that,” she replied, “Maybe you could get us a drinks while I let my friends know.”

    “Sure thing,” he replied. He went to grab their drinks as he watched her walk over to her friends.

    They ended up talking the rest of the night. Neither of them wanted to say goodbye. She told him she was from Mount Hood, OR. and was visiting friends in Portland. It is about two hours east of Portland. When they finally had to say goodbye, she gave him her number and told him to call her. He promised he would and she left.

    Eliot couldn’t stop thinking about Amara. He didn’t want to seem too eager when he woke the next morning. Everything he knew was telling him, he shouldn’t call her. But an hour later he couldn’t stop himself, nor did he want to, from calling her. She answered on the second ring. He found out she was still in town and they made plans to meet up for lunch.

    They had a great lunch. They share so much of their lives with each other. Eliot doesn’t share much of his personal life with people. He was much more of a private person. It took him a long time to open up to his closest friends, but here he was telling her almost everything about himself. There were a few things he wasn’t ready to share with her. Especially, his other main job that he did with Parker and Hardison. It took a long time to tell his first love, Aimee Martin, about his work. But that was after he helped her and her father on a job. There were parts of his past even Hardison and Parker didn’t know.

    After their lunch, they made plans to see each other again. Amara lives a few hours away from Portland and would be heading home later that day. She said she would come back in a couple weeks to see him. Eliot also told her, he would travel out to see her.

    Eliot thought things were going well. They were able to get together multiple times a month. Eliot introduced Amara to Hardison and Parker. It went really well and they really liked her. Right around a year into their relationship, things started going wrong. There were a couple times he couldn’t make it out to see her. Sometimes it was because of how injured he got on the job and he didn’t want to worry her.

    Then one day, Eliot got a call from Amara as he was waiting for her in the Brew Pub. He smiled when he saw her name come up on his phone. “Hello,” he answered, “Are you close?”

    “I can’t make it out today,” replied Amara.

    He frowned and said, “Oh, are you having car trouble? I can come out to see you. I don’t mind.”

    “No,” she replied, “I just can’t get away.”

    Eliot could hear something wrong in her voice. “Is everything alright,” he asked her.

    There were a few moments of silence before she spoke. “Listen, Eliot, you’re a great guy and things will work out for you. I just don’t think we should see each other anymore,” she said.

    “What are you saying? Did I do something? Whatever it is I can fix it,” he replied.

    “It is nothing you did. I just don’t think this is working,” she replied.

    “Can you tell me why? I don’t want to lose you,” Eliot replied.

    “Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be. Let this just be goodbye,” Amara replied. Eliot could hear her start to cry as she hung up.

    Eliot tried calling her back, but she didn’t answer. Every time he tried, it went straight to voicemail. She wouldn’t answer his calls or texts. He made a plan to go see her. He sent her one last text. He told her was coming to see her.

    Eliot was in his car. He had the car in drive when a new text message popped up. Eliot put the car in park and read, “Eliot, don’t come here. I don’t want to see you. It’s over. Don’t contact me anymore. Please, stop making this hard. It time you move on and forget about us.”

   Eliot turn the engine off. He put his head down on the steering wheel. The last time he hurt this bad, he turned to fighting. He helped liberate Croatia. That was the last time he heard from Amara.

    Eliot sat is his car unmoving for a moment. Why didn’t she tell him what was happening? He still didn’t know what he was going to say as he got out of the car with a single red rose in his hand. Looking around, it didn’t feel like it was enough. He was trying his best to keep his emotions inside. 

    Eliot walked silently across the grass. He didn’t care if anyone saw him, he wanted answers. He didn’t stop until he was standing in front of her.

    Eliot took a breath before he started asking questions. He started by asking, “Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Is this why you broke up with me?”

    Eliot could feel the tears start forming in his eyes. “I would have been there for you,” he whispered to her headstone. Cancer, that’s what the paper said.

    Suddenly, Eliot felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Hardison, Parker, Nate, and Sophie standing there. 

    “I know you said you wanted to be alone, but…” Hardison said.

    “I’m glad you all came,” Eliot interrupted.

    Parker stepped up to Eliot and gave him a hug. As she did, Eliot let the tears fall.

    They all stood next to Eliot as he turned around. He bent down and placed the rose on Amara’s headstone. He said one last goodbye before he left with his family.

[themagiciansreccenter]

Five @ Five @thursdayeuclid

As a part of our author spotlight, we’ve asked each writer to highlight 5 fics and tell us a little about their experience writing (or reading) them.

Modified Aspect Ratio by @sabrinachill

Quentin flinches when party hats suddenly appear on all three of their heads - the pointy, cardboard kind, with elastic straps that bite into the soft underside of their chins. Crepe paper streamers float in the air and balloons drop from where a ceiling should be, drifting down to scatter across the white expanse that serves as a floor. Tiny multicolored fireworks explode into shapes like smiley-faces and stars, and a three-tiered cake coated in yellow and red icing pops into existence in a puff of flour, hovering to the monster’s right.

But the biggest decoration - and weirdest, by far - is the enormous blue neon sign with the words “Welcome to Hollywood!” strobing insistently against the white blankness.

The monster is now wearing a wizard costume, for some unknown reason, and bouncing up and down while clapping its hands and performing a horribly off-key rendition of “Party in the USA.”

“This is officially the worst party I’ve ever attended, including the one where we murdered a couple of gods,” Eliot mutters.

Quentin’s answering sigh is epic and professional-grade, containing all the exasperated resignation in the galaxy. “Why is it that everything that happens to us is always equal parts absurd and terrifying? I mean, I could accept regular old fear and tragedy, sure, whatever, everybody gets those. But it’s like the universe gets off on dicking us around.”

He wants to slump, all dramatic and defeated, but he’s still pinned in place by the monster’s powerful will, like a butterfly in a display case.

This has to be my favorite Queliot AU. It's patently ridiculous but just believable enough to really touch your heart. Which, honestly, is most of the show too. I laughed and cried reading this. It's amazing and unpredictable and goes places I would never have imagined.

to be unbroken or be brave again by @milominderbindered

After the fourth time it happens, Josh decides to go for it, and as they’re bathing in the sweaty afterglow, he asks Margo if she wants to go on a date.

Margo looks at him, up and down, and says, “No offence, Hoberman, but no.”

“Oh.”  Josh’s stomach sinks a bit.  He pulls up his pants and takes a joint out of his pocket.  “Okay, that’s chill too. Wanna smoke?”

“Oh, don’t look all sorry for yourself,” Margo says, rolling her eyes as she picks herself up from the bathroom floor and inspects her hair in the mirror.  “It’s nothing personal. You’re nice, the sex is good, whatever. But, listen. Eliot is my best friend, and he’s going through this incredibly shitty time right now.  Specifically to do with love.  It’s been a couple months since that Mike shit went down, but he’s still seriously messed up, and he’s my first priority, capiche?  I’m not gonna start dating someone and just leave him by himself half the time, or shove a bunch of lovey-dovey crap in his face.  No way. I’m not gonna date anyone until Eliot’s dating again, too.”

“Right,” says Josh, slowly, as he lights his joint and thinks about it.  “Not until he’s dating someone too. Got it.”

He thinks about the party raging downstairs, and about what he knows about Eliot.  Eliot’s had no problem hooking with guys recently, everyone knows that, but he’s not kept anyone around for more than a night.  He’s heard Margo calling it Eliot’s attachment freak-outs when he drops the guys as soon as they suggest sucking his dick more than once , which makes sense.  Except. Well, there’s that one first year, with the floppy hair and the Lord of the Rings t-shirt.  Eliot and the first year with the weird name haven’t hooked up, according to Josh’s well-informed rumour mill, but he certainly seems to be the only person other than Margo who Eliot’s remotely interested in spending time with when he’s not drunk.

There aren’t a lot of things in life Josh Hoberman has an excess of.  But he’s not hard up for money. He’s got a trust fund and a drug hustle.  And he’d spotted Eliot’s first year at the school noticeboard taking the number for a three-headed-dog walking ad, the other day.

So, just like that.  The threads tangle together.

So this is a 10 Things I Hate About You AU (which was itself a reimagining of Taming of the Shrew), and I'm living for it, just right off the bat. I love Hoberman wanting Margo so badly he goes to all this trouble. I love Quentin being morally compromised but just wanting to spend all his time with Eliot... I love it. This story deserved more attention. It made me laugh and 'aww' and have feelings, plus it's on the shorter side so you have no excuse not to read it.

we can kiss like real people do by VeryImportantDemon

“No offense,” Quentin began, squinting at the stranger, “but I don’t know you, um… Janet.”

“None taken,” the man said. “And my name’s not Janet, it’s Eliot. None of the names on these things are right, we just grab a nametag.”

“Oh,” Quentin said. He supposed that made sense. “But I still don’t know you.”

Eliot shrugged again, taking a sip of his coffee and licking his lips afterwards. Q tried to pretend like he wasn’t staring, but he and Eliot both knew that he was. “In that case, it can’t hurt to tell me, then,” he added.

“Why are you even here?” Quentin asked, stalling for time. Maybe the ridiculously attractive barista was on break and if Quentin talked long enough, that break would be up and he wouldn’t have to confess his embarrassing predicament.

“You’re sad and cute and I was bored,” Eliot said. “Now, spill.”

He was not to be deterred so Quentin didn’t have very long to dwell on the fact that he’d just been called cute. “I, um… I kind of lied to my dad,” he said.

“Ooo,” Eliot said, leaning forward. “Exciting. About what?”

“It’s not that exciting,” Quentin said. “I just… He’s worried I’m lonely and he keeps asking if I’ve met someone. I just told him I had a boyfriend once to get him to stop asking and now he wants to see a picture of us.”

“Mmhm,” Eliot said. “I think I’m following. Why didn’t you get that snack that was here earlier to take a pic with you?”

“I can’t,” Quentin said, wondering how his life had gotten to the point that he was having an impromptu therapy session with a barista. “That’s Penny. He’s my… Sort of friend? And he’s kind of an asshole.”

“Pity,” Eliot said. “This your phone?” he added, gesturing to the phone on the table.

“Yeah,” Quentin said. Before he said anything further, Eliot scooped it up, unlocked it with Quentin’s face, and then set about doing something Quentin couldn’t see. “Hey!” he protested. “That’s my phone!”

“I know,” Eliot said. He rose from his chair, crouched down beside Quentin, and flashed a mesmerizing smile. Quentin was sure he looked a little startled and confused in the selfie because he really was confused. Eliot moved fast. He tapped on Quentin’s phone for a few more seconds as he crossed the table and sat down in the chair he had previously occupied before tapping a few more times and sliding the phone back to Quentin. “There,” he said. “Problem solved.”

I am a complete sucker for fake dating, and this story has a delightful array of truly ridiculous fake dating tropes. Also, it has transgender Penny dating Margo, and as a trans man, I can only aspire to such absolute game. Well done, trans Penny. Godspeed you, good man. There's a scene where I was freaking out and very upset and the author had to reassure me in comments it would be okay, so I kept reading, and everything was lovely in the end.

The Honor of Your Presence by Page161of180

One of the first years-- Elliott (oh no, that is too confusing, even in his own internal monologue), ah, Todd doesn’t remember her name, not because he doesn’t care, but because there are two Emilies and an Emilia in the new class and he hasn’t quite sorted them out yet. Maybe he should ask them about their middle names?-- makes it halfway down the stairs, before coming to a dead stop at the sight of the PKC’s friendly neighborhood post-grad locked in a silent stare-off with a six-foot-something R-rated Disney prince in head-to-toe-- Todd’s pretty sure it’s brocade? It’s very shiny and kind of between mint and seafoam. Definitely a nice color, against pale skin and dark hair. Which Todd knows from dressing himself , not because he spends that much of his time thinking about-- Not that there’s anything wrong with--

Ha. Ha ha. What? Not the point.

Todd shakes his head frantically at Emily, Emily, or Emilia, and she gets the message, turning back up the stairs and retreating to the safety of her room. Todd wishes he could go with her. Not, like, with her , specifically; he’s more into Emily (other Emily? Or maybe she’s Emilia?), honestly. But, you know, away . Would be good. 

Neither Eliot nor Quentin seem to notice she was ever there.

Eliot has been staring at Quentin for one minute and forty-five seconds, Todd’s face going more ashen with each moment that slips away, when the former (still?) king finally says, “I’m sorry. What ?”

And if it were Todd facing down Eliot like that (not that it would be; why would he be dating Eliot? Crazy.), he would have basically just, become one with the carpet, because that only sounds like a question. It is very clearly, obviously a trap. But Quentin-- man . Quentin has always been, just, super brave. Way braver than you would probably expect from someone who’s all, sort of, pocket-sized and, um, no judgment but, not really all that good? At magic? Like, not bad-- definitely not bad! Just. Kind of normal and-- soft? If that makes sense? He just sort of always looks like he needs a hug. Which is maybe why Eliot basically always has at least one arm wrapped around him.

Not now, though. Now, Eliot has both arms down at his sides, hands dangerously still, while Quentin crosses his own over his chest and sets his jaw.

This is just one of the greatest fics I've ever read in any fandom, for any pairing, and it's hilarious and feelsy and I had to keep pausing when I was reading it just to sit with my emotions for a minute. I recommend it to absolutely anyone who likes Queliot at all.

Ask Me, I Won't Say No by @veganshailseitan

None of them linger too long in their booth after they collect the gift certificate that will almost cover their drinks for next week-

Wednesday Night Trivia Rule 2: Only Penny and Alice are allowed to handle the gift certificates because they are the only ones who won’t lose them.

-exchanging hugs and kisses on cheeks. He’s walking out of the bar while texting —a grave mistake he should have learned from by now, but he just has to let the sitter know he’s going to be late real quick— when he suddenly smacks into something solid, sending his phone clattering to the floor.

Something solid which oh, fuck happens to be a person.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the stranger says, despite the fact that Quentin should clearly be taking the blame here. 

He’s ducking to pick up his hopefully-not-shattered phone before he can even spare a glance at the person, “You’re fine, I wasn’t paying attention to-” he loses the sentence as he stands back up, looking up to a face he’s only seen from across the room “-you?”

His brief interaction with the enemy-

”I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Eliot. Waugh.”

“Um, yeah, I’ve seen you here before, hi. Quentin Coldwater.”

“Quentin Coldwater?” -sticks in Quentin’s mind for the next week. He’s excited for trivia. More excited than the usual eagerness for his night out of the house with grown-ups, and nervous for the first time since he could remember. Which is so dumb and shows Quentin how painfully out of practice he is at interacting with other human beings.

He and the guy —Eliot— had barely exchanged two sentences and he’s pretty sure one of them had just been Eliot making fun of his name. But then again, his type has always been the ones that pulled his pigtails on the playground —which, yeah super healthy there Quentin, way to go— except for Arielle.

And there it was: the surefire way to kill whatever ill-advised excitement he’d been holding onto for the night.

He’s early this week, for reasons he’s already overthinking, so he goes ahead and grabs their usual table. It’s his week to pick-

Wednesday Night Trivia Rule 1: The person in charge of choosing the team name will rotate on a weekly basis in alphabetical order. That week’s decider can only be overruled by a unanimous vote from the rest of the team (per the March 2018 addendum).

-so he lets the group chat know he’s there, checks them in with the Quizmaster as To Be Perfectly Queer, (because he’s at least self-aware at this point in his life) and heads to the bar, trying to focus on whether or not he wants to try the new local craft brew they were pushing this month-

And immediately runs into Eliot.

Thankfully not literally this time.

“Well, hello, Quentin.” Eliot looks as surprised to run into him as Q is, which is stupid on both their parts.

“Uh, Eliot. Hello. How are you?” just talk like a normal human, Quentin, Jesus.

Eliot smiles, sultry and so over the top that Quentin almost laughs, “Fraternizing with the enemy, are we? I’m sworn to hold our knowledge in secrecy, so don’t you dare try to seduce it out of me.”

Quentin does laugh at that, somehow put at ease by Eliot’s carefree flirtation, “I’ll try to restrain my charms. Scout’s honor.”

I actually -just- got around to reading this one and I liked it so much it made me squee out loud on a couple of occasions. It's hot, it's kidfic, it's sweet, and there's feelings and fluff and smut. Basically a ridiculous AU where Eliot and Quentin are on opposing pub trivia teams. However, that premise accounts for only a fraction of this story's considerable charms. I didn't expect to love it like I did--I did, in fact, expect to love it in a totally different way--and then it hooked me and dragged me panting and squirming through a smorgasbord of emotion. 

[anotherererifanshippingcorner]

#1 Fade - for Eren/Levi Angst Weekend

Hello there! So, I spotted this new ereri event by @ererievents and thought to give it a shot. The first prompt kept whispering into my ear, and since my heart can’t really stand reading angst, but writing it seems to be okay, here is a little thing that came out in the night almost on its own.

As a said a couple of times before, sorry if there are any errors! English is not my native language, and writing in it gives me plenty of time to exercise -so any pointers you’d like to give me is very welcomed!

Rating: General Audience Prompt: Fade for #ereriangstweekend by @ererievents​ Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin Pairing: Eren Jaeger/Levi Ackerman Word count: 1.3k Additional tags: Canon Universe, Manga spoilers (ch.105), Angst (yeah, of course)  Summary: There was once a military boy, with a mask on his face for everyone to see. He had pretty turquoise eyes, sun-kissed skin, chiseled features growing out of puberty, the body of a soldier, the temper of a child and the soul of a rioter.

Read on tumblr under the cut or on ao3

***

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams

   In death's dream kingdom

   These do not appear:

   There, the eyes are

   Sunlight on a broken column

   There, is a tree swinging

   And voices are

   In the wind's singing

   More distant and more solemn

   Than a fading star. 

   – The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot

There was once a military boy, with a mask on his face for everyone to see.

He had pretty turquoise eyes, sun-kissed skin, chiseled features growing out of puberty, the body of a soldier, the temper of a child and the soul of a rioter. No parents, but a big family just around the corner, hands to hold when loneliness was to much, sounds that kept him company when the world seemed too dark.

His home was made of the prayers and hope and dreams of those who smiled at him; his heart of the determination those smiles gave him and the despair of the menacing hopelessness clouding his judgment.

Sometimes it wasn’t enough, others it was too much.

He always thought he was somehow the hero of all those fairy tales his mother used to tell him about when he was little and his imagination too wild. The one who came up in the story and saved everyone, and the screams of joy people sung at him echoed in the happily ever after that always put a smile on his mother’s lips.

Eren wasn’t sure about happiness and good endings, but the adventurous tone and the defeat of the bad guys always got him. It sounded right.

Good and evil are usually an easy task in a ten-years-old’s head.

*

In the Survey Corps, he was more of a helper than a hero, and he found out he didn’t mind much as long as the hero he’d have been assisting was Captain Levi. He didn’t need to be the main character to feel happy or fulfilled.

«Eren, come to my office» Captain Levi had said once, in a crispy, rainy day. It wasn’t unusual for his superior to call him like that, and Eren’s heart was clear and unhurried, graced by years of service and experience on the man’s side.

Later, he had knocked on the door, waited to be granted access and opened it with a serene expression, raising his pretty eyes to meet steal gray.

«Close the door» the Captain had said, gaze unwavering, body casually leaning on the desk’s border.

He did.

«Lock it» he added sternly.

He did.

«Come closer» he murmured, tone hypnotic, magnetic, drawing Eren in.

He did.

Would have been helpless doing so, too, were it the first time.

But it wasn’t.

The taste of his Captain’s mouth, skin, breath, the forbidden pleasure of taking him again the wall, his desk, on his bed. The boy had always considered himself lucky for being so close to the hero of his story, for being accepted and adored a little bit in return. His love for the Captain was very different from the one his mother depicted in her fairy tales, far from shiny and honest and hopeful.

It was desperate, full of longing and words unsaid.

That’s why I can’t be the hero, he had often thought in his head, laying beside the sleeping body of the one he held dear in his heart. If I have nothing pure and right to offer, of course there has never been a chance for me to be the hero.

And he didn’t care, as long as he could protect. No matter if, in the long run, he had to say some lie here and there.

That night, whispering into the dark, he said goodbye.

*

It was unclear to him when his will to stand for the ones he cared about and to fight against the enemy had morphed into a means to satisfy his own needs.

«Jaegers are like that, it seems» had once said Zeke, regarding his younger half-brother with that impassive, curious look he wore behind his glasses.

He reminds me so much of dad, Eren often found himself thinking, diverting his gaze elsewhere.

Regardless, maybe there was some truth in what he had shared with him. His blood was already tainted with a centuries-old curse, embellished with memories he still struggled to reach and powers that were cutting his life short. Also, he wasn’t a saint. Blood was on his hands, too.

Being a titan could make him appear so fearful and big, but in the end, he was who he was -a boy, with a pretty mask and a title he was unworthy of.

Humanity’s Hope.

He was working for them -for the prayers and hope and dreams that for long had been his only home, for the smiles of the people who lost their lives protecting him, for that lonely island that was the place in which he was. Free and loved, like in his mother’s tales.

But he was no hero or helper anymore.

 *

He wasn’t a stranger to bad endings, either. Had seen many of them. So he knew that bad endings were sometimes caused by bad people.

«How did you become so filthy…»

And that eventually, he would become that bad guy.

«It’s as if you fell into a vat of shit,» the superior officer added, looking at him with that expression devoid of emotions of his. «Eren»

But Eren could see it, from his laying position in front of him, the lingering sadness that even Captain Levi couldn’t get rid of when looking at what remained of his past lover.

«…Captain»

The kick didn’t really take anyone by surprise -not even Mikasa, who reached out with an angry expression by reflex.

Ah, there you are, Levi, he thought, suppressing a bitter laugh.

«How nostalgic, Eren. You are just as easy to kick as ever»

It was hard to defend yourself when the one inflicting you pain was not the one you wanted to hurt. That was probably the reason why the blow didn’t hurt that much -or maybe, it simply was because of his titan power, numbing everything that remained in him.

But it did. It hurt.

Captain Levi was still looking at Eren. The was no hesitation in his actions or words, but his eyes had always had the ability to scream what he didn’t want or know how to say.

«You are being detained. Until after our discussion»

«It doesn’t matter. Everything was written down in the letters» he replied, his fingers brushing against his nose, his eyes glancing distantly at his bloody hand. Then, he raised them on the short figure on his feet in front of him.

«So you should have been able to understand this, right?»

The sour look in Levi’s irises became one of pity.

Oh, he knew. He knew what he was and what he had become in Captain’s mind -he already knew it would have been like that on that last night they spent together before the mission, when he breathed his goodbye in Levi’s silent quarters.

«That face… you’re nothing but a filthy looking bastard from the underground streets that we happened to see»

Eren’s heart stung. His eyes widened a little bit at that feeling.

Ah. Is this regret?

«…I never thought that it’d turn out to be… you»

His gaze didn’t divert from the Captain’s one.

Me neither, said the voice of a young boy in the titan shifter’s head, fists tight around his chocolate hair, eyelids closed shut on turquoise irises, tears staining his cheeks.

Eren had nothing to say, not to the man he loved and even less to that younger version of himself.

He thought of how he used to be -shining and careless and bold and free.

«…You have faith in us, but we have lost faith in you»

He thought of the people he had sworn to protect with his own body, volunteering himself to shield them from every hit.

«Sasha is… dead»

He thought of what he had become in the name of the fight he needed to carry on and of all those choices he took so to not regret anything.

He thought of little the time he had left.

He thought of how he had burned bright -and now, he was fading.

[andthentheresanne]

Fic: raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone

Title: raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone Fandoms: Overwatch & Leverage Characters/Pairings: Jesse McCree, The Leverage OT3 (Parker/Eliot/Hardison) Summary: Jesse grew up on fairy tales where the bad guys are good guys and all justice needs is a little leverage. He hasn't believed in fairy tales for a long time.

They hadn’t meant to leave their children a war, the three of them, but that's the way the world crumbled.

--

Aka the Leverage/Overwatch crossover that no one actually asked for.  

Blame a re-watch of Leverage, McCree starring in my other current WIP, and a certain line about a huckleberry.

(I'm aware the timeline doesn't quite work out (as far as I can tell), but I'm not one to let a plot weasel go to waste.)

--

The stories that his folks told him and his sisters, growing up, Jesse knew that they were nothing more than bedtime stories. Fairy tales to try and convince a couple of kids that the world was not always as bad as it had once been. Or rather, that it had, but that there had been heroes once. That someone had cared enough to do something. That before the world had fallen apart, there had been heroes, and champions, and people willing to do what was right.

His mother and fathers had thought the world of the three of them, their kids. They never told the kids which one of them was whose--it didn't matter, they were family. Sophia had gotten their mother’s blonde hair, curling out in a frizz. Maggie never freckled, saw systems with her startlingly blue eyes like a game she could beat. All three of them got their mother’s light fingers, their fathers’ quick minds, their own unique talents. All with that big heart lying under everything that would’ve buried it deep beneath the simple business of trying to survive in a world gone mad.

They hadn’t meant to leave their children a war. Jesse once remembered a whispered argument, or so it had sounded, between his folks, late at night when the kids were all in bed, supposedly. His mother, insisting they could have done more. Papa reassuring her in hushed tones, Dad gripping the back of the chair like it could give answers if he squeezed hard enough.

His mother’s final foray into blaming herself in some way was met with Dad thumping the palm of his hand onto the back of the chair. “Gonna check on the kids,” Dad muttered to the other two as he walked toward where Jesse had been hiding on the stairs.

Dad hadn’t been fooled for a second at Jesse’s curled-up form under the blankets, feigning sleep. He’d heard the thumping of little feet trying to not thump. Unlike his sisters he hadn’t quite learned that skill yet. Dad sat down on his bed, ruffling his hair with a fond hand. “Hey, kiddo. What’re you doing up at this hour?”

Jesse had given up the play-acting immediately, sitting up in bed, giving a shrug. “Dunno. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t even think of denying it. “Mom says it’s how you learn things sometimes.”

Dad laughed, but it didn’t sound like the kind of laugh you gave when you were happy. “There is that.”

Jesse twisted up his mouth in a frown, not understanding most of what he’d heard. “What’d mom mean? When she, when she was talking about stopping the robots?”

His father’s calloused hand stroked through Jesse’s hair as he thought, soothing. “There are a lotta woulda, coulda, shouldas in this world. Your mom’s just thinking about one of those. That’s all.”

Jesse didn’t understand it, but couldn’t figure out how to get around that not-understanding in his head, so he let it go. Years later, when he was older, there were so many questions he regretted not asking, but back then he was a child, and if Dad said it was so, then it was so.

Jesse once remembered a time when he thought his parents had stolen the stars to hang in the sky, believed his mother when she said the moon was the greatest heist she just hadn’t pulled yet, thought his fathers could protect him and his sisters from the rest of the world.

That had been a long time ago.

He always knew his parents were criminals of some kind, but then, who wasn’t, in this new world? There were the criminals and the dead, eventually. Even if some of those crimes were small, petty things, things that a court, if things still worked the way they once had, wouldn’t even bother with. Neglect and little cruelties that leaked through into his sheltered world on occasion. He was the youngest, the baby, but he had a good eye. Jesse never missed much, growing up.

Jesse feels like his world should have been shattered in a single moment or maybe night of high drama, fleeing and blood and darkness. Something suitably dramatic, like something out of one of his parents’ stories. But instead their safety had seeped away, drips and drabs and long nights sleeping in the back of Papa’s van as his folks drove.

He remembers his folks arguing long and low with Sophia, that night she left. That she felt she could make a difference in this fight, and wasn’t that what they had always taught her? And Dad’s eyes seemed so far away and Mom seemed like she was gonna cry and Pops circled back to the arguments he’d pulled out forty minutes before.

In the end, she had left with one of Dad’s friends, Mom whispering advice into her hair and Pops reassuring her that if she changed her mind, at any moment, they’d be there, all she had to do was say the word, and…

“You’re really going?”

Sophia crouched, ruffling his hair. Jesse swiped it back into place. “I got to, baby bro.”

Jesse crossed his arms, half-self-consciously trying to mimic one of Dad’s poses. She just laughed, gathering him into a hug. “Don’t give me that look. I’ll keep in touch. And I’ll be back.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Jesse learned later not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He never blamed her for that one, but it had still hurt. Never officially declared, of course. Things had been too chaotic, by then. But Pops had looked and looked, and every time Dad would come back without Sophia and it seemed like something in Mom went behind a locked door, after that. A door he didn’t know how to open, even with all his parents had taught him.

Maggie hadn’t even been a victim of the war, not really. First responders went into dangerous and deadly situations all the time, Jesse knew that. That building could have collapsed on anyone. Jesse knew, but it didn’t make it any better.

Not for his folks, either. They clung to him tighter, but got more distant, Jesse the one thing they hadn’t lost yet, besides each other. They whispered in secrets to each other more often, Dad going hard-eyed and tight-lipped whenever Jesse was around. No more easily-forgiven eavesdropping in those days. The other problem was that the tighter they held onto Jesse, the more his budding teenage rebellion grew. He stopped trying to listen in, stopped trying to get behind those doors and walls all three of his parents had hidden themselves behind, and so he drifted away.

He remembers the last time he saw them, though maybe not exactly as it happened. He isn’t sure how much of a teenage asshole he was. A fair bit of one, he knows, from the way Pops had rolled his eyes, from Mom’s pained smile. He remembers Dad was serious, drilling Jesse on where the emergency cash was, how to get out, what to do, when, how, Jesse playing along in pre-teen irony.

Dad caught the irony, of course. Did that thing where he looked like four different things tried to come out of his mouth at once, and finally gave up, grabbing Jesse in a crushing hug. “Dad!”

Despite protest, Dad hadn’t let him go for a good long moment. “Hold down the fort for us.” Abruptly he released Jesse, bracing him, then turned and grabbed up his duffel in one swift motion.

Pops watched him go, then pulled Jesse into a hug too, far less over-bearing than Dad’s had been. “What your dad said.”

Jesse was a little unnerved now, the weirdness of the situation seeping through his ironic detachment. “Y-yeah, of course, Pops.”

Then it was mom’s turn for a brisk squeeze of a hug and she was leaving too. House to himself for a weekend, that’s what they had told him. He had believed them.

“We’ll be back,” Mom nodded firmly, then shut the door behind her.

At least she hadn’t promised, Jesse thought later. After.

Jesse was never sure what happened to them, still isn’t. Heard rumors, of course. He could have found out, he was sure, sifted through everything and found the truth hidden among the lies. But he chose to believe the stories he’d heard, the ones that sounded like a fairytale, full of justice and honor and a little bit of payback. He’d been worried, then scared, then everything his folks had taught him had kicked in. Before he knew it he was going down the only path open to him, the one to survival.

Later on, after the blood on his hands and a second chance, Jesse still chose to believe in something. Maybe it wasn’t your traditional fairy story, but a man had to have something to cling to. And what Jesse knew was that maybe there was justice to be found in the world, and maybe there wasn’t, but you couldn’t do a damn thing without leverage

[sadlittlenerdking]

Wake Me Up

Word Count: 4K

Summary: Eliots pretty sure Quentin keeps dying. 

Eliots eyes flutter open, and for a moment, he's startled by the TADA sign blaring bright and beautiful in the peripheral of his gaze. His right hand comes up to block it, and he groans as he attempts to push himself upright. But a soft, calm warmth holds him steady and he looks down. 

Oh. 

He smiles softly, sleep riddled and stares down at him for a moment. His head is on Eliots lap, while his legs are dangling off the couch, and his arms are wrapped tight around Eliot's waist. Eliot reaches down and lets a hand cart through Quentins hair softly, careful to not wake him up, as he tries to remember how they got here. Right. Alice broke up with Quentin, Quentin wanted to drown his sorrows, and Eliot wanted to get drunk. Margo had been there as well. And at some point she’d disappeared upstairs with -- Oh, he was going to give her hell for leaving them for Todd. Honestly. If she wanted a quick dick she could've just gone to the courtyard and found literally anyone more suitable than Todd. Fuck Todd. He can't even say that anymore because Margo's gone and taken the sentence literally. Dammit. 

When had they gotten to the point of drunkenness that they'd decided the couch was a good place to sleep, though? Especially Quentin who, if Eliot makes any wrong move, is in serious danger of falling off the couch and dragging Eliot with him. If he shifts his hips even slightly, down they'll go. Eliot contemplates reaching down and adjusting Quentin, but that's when he sees it. Or, rather, notices the lack of something. The lack of Quentin's chest moving with soft, sleepy breathing. As in, Quentin is not fucking breathing. What the fuck? What. The. Fuck. He jerks so quickly he barely has the chance to realize they're both falling to the ground. And he's just about to freak out, scared out of his mind that he'd gotten Quentin so drunk he'd fucking killed him. The panicked breath is barely building up in his chest when Quentin lets out a disgruntled groan, and soft, sad, sleep dusted eyes peer up at him in utter confusion. “Wha . . .” Quentin adjusts, looks up at him through narrowed eyes, still puffy with sleep. He unravels the pretzel of limbs they’ve become and sits up against the couch, hand coming up to rub at his eyes. “Oh god,” He groans, “How much did we drink?” Eliot just blinks at him. Either he’s still drunk or Quentin just came back from the dead. Because he wasn’t breathing. And Eliot is a lot of things, but he is not crazy. So it’s not like he’d just imagined Quentin’s chest being as still as it was. Then again, with as much as he drinks, the likelihood of him going crazy? Fuck. “Too much,” He replies, quiet, when Quentin turns his gaze back on him. “Why are we on the floor?” He shrugs, shaking his head to clear out the clearly alcohol and sleep induced image of Quentin lying dead in his lap. “Because you were dangling off the couch, I moved a smidge, and in true Quentin fashion, you had to drag me down with you.” Quentin sighs, leaning his head on Eliots left shoulder. His eyes flutter shut and he takes a healthy deep breath. "You're warm," he murmurs, nuzzling in closer. Hesitating for a moment, Eliot swallows, looking down at him. He inhales with a soft shake of his head and reaches up with his right hand to pat the front of Quentins hair. He leaves his hand there and smiles as his head falls back to rest on the couch cushion behind him. "We should probably get up." "'M too comfy." "That's because you're still half asleep." "I don't mind waking up with a sore neck." Eliot chuckles. "You say that now." "I'll stand by it when I wake up." "Liar." ** The next time it happens, they're both in the study nook. Eliot'd been lying down, practicing a simple illusion spell in the air above him when Quentin crawled in and curled up next to him, sighing dramatically. Next thing he knew a bottle of whiskey appeared, and they got so drunk they couldn't even begin to figure out how to crawl out through the small entrance. So when Eliot wakes up with an aching bladder and a stinging headache, he wholeheartedly believes for once it's not his fault. And that Quentin is the worst. He looks down at the menace, unable to will the smile away as he reaches over to brush the locks of hair out of Quentins face. That's when he stops, hand stilling in front of Quentins lips, where the hair dangling in front of his nose and open mouth is laying still across his face. Which seems fairly usual, but Quentins breath should be making that hair sway as if it were a soft breeze. If he were breathing. Eliots breath stutters to a halt in his own chest as he leans in closer. His hand moves down to poke at Quentins chest roughly once, twice, three times. And then Quentin's inhaling as if nothing's wrong and opening his eyes with this soft, half drunk smile. "Mm.... Eliot?" And his gaze is soft and sleep muddled. He's fine and breathing and alive. Eliot exhales shakily and nods, "Yeah?" "Why are you poking me?" "Because," he swallows and shifts until he can rest his head on Quentins chest. He presses his ear up close and brings his arms around to wrap around Quentins waist. "You were hogging the nook and I am a tall man, Q." Quentin chuckles sleepily, and reaches up to carefully run his fingers through Eliot's hair. "Fair enough. Back to sleep?" Eliot nods, swallowing thickly. "Back to sleep." Even though there's no way in hell he can fall back asleep now. It may have been his imagination, but he's not taking any chances. He's not moving until he's sure Quentin's breathing steadily the rest of the night. ** He's walking into Quentin's room, a cocktail in each hand and a smile on his lips. "Q!" He exclaims as he edges the door open with his hip, "You have officially been single for two months and it's time to celebrate!" When he turns around, the cocktails high in the air, Quentins lying still as a board on his bed. And Eliot hasn't had a single fucking drink yet. He is as sober as he can possibly be. But Quentins chest isn't rising or falling or moving at all. And the hair strewn across his face is as still as the air in the room. The cocktails crash to the ground with a screaming clatter as alcohol goes everywhere and Eliot clambers over the glass to the bed, just as Quentin inhales and rolls over with a confused, half asleep, and somewhat startled frown. Eliots hands go straight for Quentins face, cupping it carefully as he climbs onto the bed. "You're okay," he whispers, a little breathless, as his heart pangs angrily in his chest. Quentin blinks sleepily up at him, until his eyes fall shut and he leans into the touch. "Of course I am," he murmurs, voice hoarse, "Are you?" His eyes flutter open, and his hands come up to wrap over the top of Eliots wrists as he perks an eyebrow. Laughing awkwardly, Eliot nods and pulls Quentin in, cradling him against his chest. "I'm fine." But he's not so sure he is, because he might actually be going insane. ** After three more near misses where Eliot's pretty sure he's going to have a fucking heart attack, he finally goes to Margo. He creaks open her bedroom door and peeks his head in. "Bambi," he starts, as he slides in through the door and she looks up at him from her nail file, "I think I'm going insane." She sets the file on the top of her knee and pats the space on the bed next to her. “How much have you smoked today?” She asks, as he climbs onto the bed and curls up with his head in her lap, the nail file falling silently to the side as her legs extend in front of her. “Cigarettes or —“ “Not cigarettes, babes.” “Then nothing,” He mutters as he grabs her hand and places it atop his head so she can rake her fingers through his hair in the comforting way only she and Quentin seem competent enough to do. She hums as her nails dig into his hair with just enough pressure. “Then why do you feel like you’re going insane?” “Quentin keeps dying.” Her fingers stall for a moment, before he hears her swallow and they start moving again. “Nightmares?” She asks quietly. He shakes his head, pulling his knees up as close to his chest as he can in his current position. “Every time we go to sleep, I wake up, and I swear,” He twists his head around to look up at her, “I swear for a minute it looks like he’s not breathing. And then he wakes up and he’s fine.” “Maybe you’re just scared of losing him,” She murmurs, running her thumb over the top of his forehead softly. “And your alcohol muddled brain is telling you to make a move before it’s too late.” She raises an eyebrow, “Because he’s single, ready to mingle, and jesus, El,” She rolls her eyes with a smirk, “He needs to get laid. Who better to do that than you?” Eliot sighs, turning his head to her lap again. “It’s not that. And he’s not ready.” “So, you’re saying,” She tugs on a string of his hair, “you really think Quentin dies for a couple minutes every day, and you wake up just in time to witness his miraculous resurrection? Because, El, I love you, but that sounds insane.” He huffs, sitting up and glaring at her — though it holds no malice. “I did start with, ‘Bambi I think I’m going insane,’ so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He sighs, shuffling around until he can sit next to her. “It seems so real, though.” One of her hands come up and grab his to pull it into her lap. “I wake up, and I look down at him --”

“Because you love him.”

He glares at her again. “Did I say that? I don’t remember saying that.” He sighs again, bumping his head back against the headboard, “I look down at him and he’s so still. And he’s not breathing. It’s just -- it’s like he’s dead.”

“And you’re sure you’re not imagining it?”

“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” He murmurs, turning to look at her, “Every time I wake up, I’m so scared this’ll be the time it sticks. And then he’ll be gone. And . . . I don’t think I’m ready for life without Quentin. Before, it was good.” He swallows, furrowing his brow as she laces her fingers through his. “We were good. But now that we have him . . .”

“I know,” She says, squeezing his hand, “I don’t know what I’d do without him now, either.” She sits up straighter, “But. I think this is all some weird ass manifestation of your feelings for him, trying to force themselves out.” Bumping her shoulder against his, she smiles, “Because your subconscious wants to kick your ass into gear.”

He looks up at the ceiling. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

**

He thinks it’s finally over, now that he’s spoken about it. Because it’s been two weeks, and Quentin’s curled up in Eliot’s bed every night, and not once has Eliot woken up to find Quentin dead. Or not breathing. Or whatever it is that’s been happening to him. All he knows is he wakes up to a breathing, lively Quentin, who’s giving him his best attempt at a smile, and who, by all accounts, seems relatively at ease.

Eliot’s finally able to sleep through the night again.

But they get drunk. There’s a party, and Eliot’s obviously the only one who can make a decent cocktail, and when he’s on cocktail duty, Quentin’s on drinking duty.

Getting drunk is deliriously awful and wonderful all at once. Because Quentin is so much more lively and giggly, and he doesn’t leave Eliot’s side. And despite making cocktails for a cottage full of drunk, horny college magicians, Eliot can’t make himself leave Quentin’s either. And for once it’s not because he’s scared he’ll come back to find him dead.

They’re camped out on the couch in the living room, laughing over something neither of them can remember anymore because they’re both so far beyond drunk, they can barely comprehend that they’re real anymore. Eliot leans forward, laughing loud and boisterous, and more free than he’s felt in months, and Quentin does as well until they’re bumping foreheads, laughter dying on their lips, a slow cautious death. And then they’re just staring at each other as the music dies down around them, and the writhing bodies on either side of them just become a quiet warmth.

And somehow, before either of them know what’s happening, they both tip their jaws up until their lips brush against one another, and Eliot feels his lungs fill with Quentin’s warm, lively air. He inhales quick and greedy, and then they’re moving in synchronization. Lips pressed to lips, warm and desperate and hungry. His hands find themselves at the back of Quentin’s neck, tips of his fingernails digging into the skin there, while Quentin’s come up to Eliot’s hair, weaving into the locks of wavy, messy curls, digging in and scraping against his scalp in just the right way.

A soft sound works it’s way up and out of his throat until Quentin’s pulling away, breathing deep and staring at Quentin with a look Eliot’s never expected to see on his face. Until now. He swallows thickly, unravels himself from Eliot and stands up. Eliot’s heart falls for a moment, until Quentin’s hand comes out for him.

And then they’re making their way up the stairs to Eliot’s room, stopping every couple of steps as Eliot pushes Quentin against the nearest available surface to kiss him again. Quentin’s lips are soft, pliable, beneath Eliot’s, and it’s the kind of cool warmth that fills up that empty space deep in his bones that Eliot hadn’t realized needed feeling. Quentin laughs giddily when they nearly fall down the stairs, almost tripping over Todd -- who Eliot’s too busy to even find the time to currently hate -- and Eliot laughs with him, holding tight onto Quentin’s hips so they don’t lose balance.

They make it to Eliot’s room, crashing through the door, glued to one another. Stuck in this one moment, unafraid. Then Quentin’s pulling away, and his shirt goes flying across the room. His eyes dart up to Eliot, shocked, and it’s only then that Eliot realizes his telekinesis is what did it. He shrugs, and pulls his own shirt off before grabbing at Quentin to kiss him again.

And suddenly Eliot’s waking up to a blinding light from his window -- which he mutes with a wave of his hand -- and a burning warmth on his stomach and chest. He frowns, looking down, and his breath hitches at the sight of a very naked Quentin lying overtop his own similarly naked body. The warmth moves up to his heart, swelling and dancing through his veins as he tries to remember the night before -- or, at least, what got them in this position.

He pushes at Quentin’s hair, tucking it behind his ear with a small smile as he breathes in. It takes him a moment to think the thought, to even wonder, but when he does, the panic settles quick and angry as the soft warmth around his heart gets trapped behind a cage of fear as he shoves Quentin off of him, rolling him over onto his back. Because Quentin is absolutely not breathing again. This can’t be his imagination. Because if Quentin had been breathing, he would have felt the rise and fall of his chest, would have felt the pressure up against his own chest as it relented and repeated.

If Quentin were --

“What the hell was that for?” Eliot gapes as Quentin looks up at him with defiant hurt. He rubs at his ribs, where Eliot shoved him, and his jaw clenches as he scoots further and further away the longer Eliot stares. Something flickers behind his eyes, and then he's nodding to himself and pushing off the bed, carefully and quickly gathering his clothes from the floor.

Eliot's too confused to stop him when he looks back before disappearing through the door.

**

Quentin manages to avoid him for two weeks until Eliot convinces Margo to trap him in the Brakebills Library under the clever ruse of studying. He's genuinely surprised when Quentin doesn't even question it, he just gleefully drags Margo - glowering and ready to murder Eliot -- to the library.

And when she sneaks away for the bathroom, pointing a finger at Eliot with a warning glare, she says, “Don't fuck this up, or I swear to god, El. He's so mopey. I will kill you if I have to comfort him alone again.” She leans in, whispering dangerously, “I can't do this comforting shit alone. Fix it!”

He nods, moving past her and turning and walking around the bookshelves until he comes to a stop. Quentins sitting at a table studying like the good little student he is, face buried in some stupid text book. Eliot takes a deep breath and walks across the room and only stops again once he's in front of the table, staring down at Quentin.

He clears his throats and Quentin freezes before sighing and looking up at him. “I should have known,” he murmurs, before carefully closing the book. “I'm an idiot.” His head wobbles for a moment as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, “Times two.”

Eliot frowns. “What -- what does that mean?”

Quentin stares at him for a long moment, and Eliot makes extra sure to use the moment to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. “If you,” Quentin pauses to swallow as Eliots eyes dart up to his face, “If you didn't want to -- with-- with me. That's all you had to say, Eliot. What happened that night . . . You didn't have to push me off you and,” his jaw trembles as he pauses and looks down at the book. His eyes are watering when they break away from Eliots. “Look at me like you'd made the worst decision of your life.”

“What? No.”

Jesus Christ how fucking insecure is Quentin? What the fuck had Eliot done?

Quentin looks back up at him. “What?”

“That's not what that was,” Eliot says, heated as he rushes around the table and kneels next to him. “I thought you were dead. And then you ran off and --”

“Rewind!”

Eliot frowns, “What?”

“You thought I was dead? What the fuck, Eliot?”

“You weren't breathing! I woke up and --,” he stops, falling back on his haunches and staring up at Quentin with wide eyes. “And you were just -- you weren't breathing. And every time. I thought I was going crazy. But having you there, after what we did . . . I thought I'd killed you.”

Quentin blinks down at him. “I . . . wasn't breathing.” Eliot nods, helpless, because he swears he's not insane. He's not. But then a slow, cautious smile forms on Quentins lips, as he reaches down and grabs at Eliots hands, “So you didn't regret --”

“God, no. No. I love you -- I wouldn't--” He stops, eyes going wide. “I didn't mean to say that. I mean. I meant it -- but I didn't mean to say it.” He pauses again frowning, “Why aren't you freaking out about the fact that you weren't breathing?”

Quentin shrugs sheepishly, pulling at Eliots hands until Eliot’s kneeling right in front of him again. He brushes a hand over Eliots hair, seemingly unafraid of messing it up. “It happens a lot,” he murmurs, as he pushes his chair out from under himself and kneels on the ground in front of him, “I have sleep apnea. Sometimes my body forgets to breathe, but I’ll wake up quick enough to breathe and fall right back to sleep. I'm not dying. Or dead.”

“Sleep apnea,” Eliot deadpans. “You have sleep apnea?” Quentin nods. Eliot stares at him for a long moment before a relieved, broken laugh bubbles out of his chest and he pulls Quentin into his chest, hugging him as tight as he can. “Jesus Christ, Q. I thought I was going crazy or that I was killing you!” He pulls away and glares down at him -- though it holds no heat. “You're a dick. I was so fucking worried.”

“You were?”

“I kept trying to figure out how to wake you up without you thinking I was crazy.”

He tilts his head, “What about --”

“Q,” Eliot murmurs, slow, “I'd just rocked your world a few hours earlier. How the fuck was I supposed to react when I woke up and you were lying atop me, lifeless?”

“Throwing me off you like a wild horse and it's rider --”

“An analogy not too far off--”

Quentin pulls away and smacks his arm playfully. “Shut up!” His cheeks burn red, and a warmth dances in Eliots stomach as he continues. “Throwing me off you isn't exactly what i'd have suggested. You know. If I were actually suffocating to death.”

“I was going to attempt CPR!” Eliot exclaims, reaching up and grabbing Quentins hands so he can lace his fingers through them. He looks down at them, as he watches the way their hands seem to fit seamlessly together. He lifts their hands in the air between them, bringing Quentins knuckles up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to his middle knuckle.

Quentin shakes his head with a soft smile. “Yeah, no offense, but you're the last person I'd want to give me CPR.” He leans forward, pulling their hands back towards himself, and Eliot can't help but watch the way the light sneaking through the shelves catches on the edges of their skin, silhouetting their hands in an almost dance in the air between their bodies, “Though, mouth to mouth isn't off the table.”

“Oh?” Eliot asks, eyes darting up to Quentins face. “No CPR, but I can give you mouth to mouth.”

“Mhm,” Quentin leans in closer, lifting up on his knees so they're at eye level with each other, a breath away from each other's face, “Any time you want, even. I don't even have to be suffocating. How's that sound?”

Eliot nods. “Not too awful, I suppose.”

“Though if you wake up and find that I'm not breathing,” He shrugs and shoulder and bumps his nose against Eliot’s before touching their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “Don't panic because I'm not dead or dying.”

Eliot inhales slowly, intoxicated by Quentin’s scent as it wraps around his every sense. He gives an imperceptible nod as his own eyes flutter closed, “Don't panic. Got it.”

He feels Quentins smile widen, as his cheeks brush against Eliots, and then he's pulling away. Eliot opens his eyes with a confused frown, but Quentins moving to stand up, looking around the library. “Do you think anyone's ever had sex in the library?” He asks.

Blinking, Eliot allows himself to pulled up with him. “Probably,” he smirks, “But there's no shame in being late to the party.”

Quentin grins, wide and open and oh god he’s fucking beautiful, Eliot feels like he's been knocked off his feet. “Better late than never?”

Eliot nods, yanking Quentins arms until he crashes into his chest with a soft ‘oof’. “Better late than never,” He agrees as he leans down and presses his lips against Quentins.

[networkingdefinition]

Mug Quotes

Official Website: Mug Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

• Ale, not beer, in a pewter mug was comme il faut, the only thing for a gentleman of letters, worthy of the name, to drink. – Guy de Maupassant • Alex took a silent step closer to the kitchen door and watched unseen as willow spooned instant coffee into a pair of mugs.With another yawn, she scraped her hair off her face and stretched. She looked so entirely human, so drowsy and sleep-rumpled.For a moment, Alex just gazed at her, taking in her long tumble of hair, her wide green eyes and pixieish chin. Fleetingly, he imagined her eyes meeting his, wondering what she’d look like if she smiled – L.A. Weatherly • Animals look at people the way people look at people that might mug them. – Dov Davidoff • As long as the “woman’s work” that some men do is socially devalued, as long as it is defined as woman’s work, as long as it’s tacked onto a “regular” work day, men who share it are likely to develop the same jagged mouth and frazzled hair as the coffee-mug mom. The image of the new man is like the image of the supermom: it obscures the strain. – Arlie Russell Hochschild • As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug’s game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing. – T. S. Eliot

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Mug', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blustery cold days should be spend propped up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a pile of comic books. – Bill Watterson • Caffeine gives me hope. Sometimes, when I brew my wicked strong Irish black tea just perfect, about halfway through the mug I feel a clear and overwhelming feeling of optimism. It didn’t surprise me when a study a few years ago implied that suicide was much less likely among coffee and tea drinkers. – John Vanderslice • Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, asking please, for God’s sake, stop sending him signals that they were right for each other. He’d read that book, seen the movie, bought the soundtrack, the DVD, the T-shirt, the mug, the bobble-head, and the insider’s guide. He knew every reason they could have been lock and key. But just as he was aware of all that aligned them, he was even clearer on how they were damned to be ever apart. – J.R. Ward • Effectively, it makes the greasepaint permanent, blurring the lines not only between public and private but also between the authentic and contrived self. If all the world was once a stage, it has now become a reality TV show: we mere players are not just aware of the camera; we mug for it. – Peggy Orenstein • Have faith, Ed, all right?’ I search the coffee mug, but there’s none in there. – Markus Zusak • How could he convey to someone who’d never even met her the way she always smelled like rain, or how his stomach knotted up every time he saw her shake loose her hair from its braid? How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turnec the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods of Maine, bus as long as Em was with him, he was at home? – Jodi Picoult • I aint such a mug as to put up my children to all I know myself. – George Bernard Shaw • I confess, right at the start, to the doubts – and sometimes outright dreads – that go with me as I climb the stairs to my study in the morning, coffee mug in hand: I have to admit to the habitual apprehension mixed with a sort of reverence, as I light the incense . . . and wonder: what is going to happen today? Will anything happen? Will the angel come today? – Gail Godwin • I gave my mother a matching set [of mugs] for Christmas, and she accepted them as graciously as possible, announcing that they would make the perfect pet bowls. The mugs were set on the kitchen floor and remained there until the cat chipped a tooth and went on a hunger strike. – David Sedaris • I have mugs of hot water every morning because the studio is cold, and also because it makes my throat sound clearer. – Mika Brzezinski • I hight don Quixote, I live on peyote, marijuana, morphine and cocaine. I never know sadness, but only a madness that burns at the heart and the brain. I see each charwoman, ecstatic, inhuman, angelic, demonic, divine. Each wagon a dragon, each beer mug a flagon that brims with ambrosial wine. – Jack Parsons • I like light green, sometimes red is fun to look at, not a fan of yellow, unless it’s in a rainbow or on a coffee mug or on a happy face. – Chris Kattan • I like my mug shot. I think I have a really great mug shot. It looks like a magazine shoot. – Paris Hilton • I wasn’t a great improviser when I started there; I’m not really up on current events. I would always just mug, just try to get my laughs from making faces. So I decided to do a character who should never have become a comic – somebody you would see at the Comedy Store and go, “This person is never going to make it.” – Paul Reubens • Ice is most welcome in a cold drink on a hot day. But in the heart of winter, you want a warm hot mug with your favorite soothing brew to keep the chill away. When you don’t have anything warm at hand, even a memory can be a small substitute. Remember a searing look of intimate eyes. Receive the inner fire. – Vera Nazarian • If you and I took a walk down a shopping street in Jo’burg or Cape Town or London, we see two guys looking in a shop window, we think, “Oh, they’re wondering what they’re going to buy.” A cop looks at them and thinks, “Why are they standing there? Are they doing a drug deal? Are they going to mug someone? Are they going to rob the shop?” – Peter James • I’m a huge Wonder Woman fan – I have about 12 coffee mugs at home! – Kari Wahlgren • I’m pretty sure lurking in a dark alley to mug me with your apology isn’t the usual way to go about saying you’re sorry. But I didn’t read that Mars-Venus book, so who knows. – Jim Butcher • I’m really conscious of the amount of food I eat, but I don’t deny myself anything. For example, I have a really big sweet tooth. At the end of the night, if I’m craving ice cream, I might not have the bowl that I would have when I was a kid, but I’ll put a couple of scoops in a coffee mug, and I’ll eat it slowly, and I enjoy every moment of it. – Summer Sanders • Individually the poor are not too tempting to thieves, for obvious reasons. Mug a banker and you might score a wallet containing a month’s rent. Mug a janitor and you will be lucky to get away with bus fare to flee the crime scene. – Barbara Ehrenreich • Isaac Newton was born at Woolsthorpe, near Grantham, in Lincolnshire, on Christmas Day, 1642: a weakly and diminutive infant, of whom it is related that, at his birth, he might have found room in a quart mug. He died on March the 20th, 1727, after more than eighty-four years of more than average bodily health and vigour; it is a proper pendant to the story of the quart mug to state that he never lost more than one of his second teeth. – Augustus De Morgan • It was one of those mornings when a man could face the day only after warming himself with a mug of thick coffee beaded with steam, a good thick crust of bread, and a bowl of bean soup. – Richard Gehman • It’s a no win situation. It’s a mug’s game. The religions have contrived to make it impossible to disagree with them critically without being rude. They play the hurt feelings card at every opportunity. – Daniel Dennett • It’s the nicest thing on earth if someone comes up to me and says, ‘Every day I drink out of a mug you designed.’ – Jonathan Adler • I’ve always been accused by my detractors of some sort of moral failure, cowardice, or even lack of humanity by not portraying the human form. I respond that I do better by portraying traces of character and intentions of human volition that no mug or body shot can ever exude. – Robert Polidori • I’ve been very lucky. All I wanted was to pay the rent. Then these characters took off and suddenly there were Hulk coffee mugs and Iron Man lunchboxes and The Avengers sweatshirts everywhere. Money’s okay, but what I really like is working. – Stan Lee • I’ve gone through a lot of the same things like Britney Spears. I just don’t have a mug shot. – Fergie • I’ve never been able to write for myself. I was doing a lot. I produced The Green, I wrote it – I didn’t see myself in the world of this film. I’m sure there are elements of dark corners of my psyche that found their ways on screen; you didn’t need my mug up there. There was enough of my essence in the story as it plays out without me acting in it. – Paul Marcarelli • Karl Marx himself preferred a glass of claret to the mug of tea affected by some of his recent converts. – Denis Healey • Listen, boy, just ask the chef to make me a proper Full English Breakfast. You know, bacon, fried eggs, sausages, liver, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, black pudding, kidneys, baked beans, fried bread, toast and served with strong English mustard, mind – none of this effete French muck – and a large mug of hot, strong Indian tea. – Bryan Talbot • Martha Stewart showed up at Manhattan FBI Headquarters to have her finger prints taken and pose for a mug shot. Then Martha explained how to get ink off your fingers using seltzer water and lemon juice. – Conan O’Brien • Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe – the only lady private detective in Botswana – brewed redbush tea. And three mugs – one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in abundance. No inventory would ever include those, of course. – Alexander McCall Smith • My daughter got me a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug. So we know she’s sarcastic. – Bob Odenkirk • Nanny Ogg could see the future in the froth on a beer mug. It invariably showed that she was going to enjoy a refreshing drink which she almost certainly was not going to pay for. – Terry Pratchett • Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don’t, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It’s the same thing. – Graham Greene • Not like I need an excuse to enjoy a Moscow mule, but this tray and six-mug set, handmade in Mexico with hammered recycled copper, makes cocktail hour extra special. – Oprah Winfrey • O lovely O most charming pug Thy gracefull air and heavenly mug … His noses cast is of the roman He is a very pretty weoman I could not get a rhyme for roman And was obliged to call it weoman. – Marjorie Fleming • Oh, God above, if heaven has a taste it must be an egg with butter and salt, and after the egg is there anything in the world lovelier than fresh warm bread and a mug of sweet golden tea? – Frank McCourt • On my first day in New York a guy asked me if I knew where Central Park was. When I told him I didn’t, he said: Do you mind if I mug you here? – Paul Merton • Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE. – Lauren Oliver • One day as a young man, I was walking down the streets. And a group of Zulu guys was walking behind me closing in on me. And I could hear them talking to one another about how they were going to mug me. (Speaking Zulu). Let’s get this white guy. You go to his left, and I’ll come up behind him. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run.So I just spun around real quick and said (speaking Zulu). Yo, guys, why don’t we just mug someone together? I’m ready. – Trevor Noah • One must be able to say at all times–instead of points, straight lines, and planes–tables, chairs, and beer mugs – David Hilbert • Out of nowhere, Valek appeared before me, yelling in my ear, shaking my shoulders. Stupidly, belatedly, I realized he was the drunk. Who else but Valek could win a fight against four large men when armed only with a beer mug? – Maria V. Snyder • Outside the youth center, between the liquor store and the police station, a little dogwood tree is losing its mind; overflowing with blossomfoam, like a sudsy mug of beer; like a bride ripping off her clothes, dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds, so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene. It’s been doing that all week: making beauty, and throwing it away, and making more. – Tony Hoagland • People’s arrest tapes, mug shots, everything is online. – Jane Krakowski • Poetry is a mug’s game. – T. S. Eliot • Revolution? Unscrew the flag-staff, wrap the bunting in the oil covers, and put the thing in the clothes-chest. Let the old lady bring you your house-slippers and untie your fiery red necktie. You always make revolutions with your mugs, your republic–nothing but an industrial accident. – Alfred Doblin • Saiman picked up a coffee mug, stared at it, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. We looked at him. “Your date appears to be hysterical,” Rene told me. “You think I should slap some man into him? – Ilona Andrews • She sits in her usual ample armchair, with piles of books and unopened magazines around her. She sips cautiously from the mug of weak herb tea which is now her substitute for coffee. At one time she thought that she could not live without coffee, but it turned out that it is really the warm large mug she wants in her hands, that is the aid to thought or whatever it is she practices through the procession of hours, or of days. – Alice Munro • Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream. Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks. There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers. There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart. There is mystery unfolding. – Vera Nazarian • So violent. You want to mug and tase everybody these days.” “I do,” Zuzana agreed. “I swear I hate more poeple every day. Everyone annoys me. If I’m like this now, what am I going to be like when I’m old?” “You’ll be the mean old biddy who fires a BB gun at kids from her balcony.” “Nah. BBs just rile ’em up. More like a crossbow. Or a bazooka. – Laini Taylor • Something smashed to the ground. Jack looked at me, all the mugs forgotten. “I’m not going to let anyone kill you.” He grinned. “If I don’t get to, no one should. – Kiersten White • Studs Lonigan, on the verge of fifteen, and wearing his first suit of long trousers, stood in the bathroom with a Sweet Caporal pasted on his mug. – James T. Farrell • Suppose there were groups of secularists at hospitals who went round the terminally ill and urged them to adopt atheism: ‘Don’t be a mug all your life. Make your last days the best ones. People might suppose this was in poor taste. – Christopher Hitchens • That was close,”he said, helping himself to coffee. Yeah, you almost opened the door to Morelli.” I wasn’t talking about Morelli. I was talking about us.” That too,” I said. Ranger sliced a bagel and looked for the toaster. It’s broken,”I told him. He truned the boiler on and slid the bagel into the oven. That’s surprisingly domestic for a man of mystery,” I said to him. He looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. “I like things hot. – Janet Evanovich • The mug from the washstand was used as Becky’s tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. – Frances Hodgson Burnett • The mug is a tool. My ace in the hole. To have looks is the bonus on top of what motivates me to be an actor. Not to realize they’re an asset would be counterproductive to the cause; they serve the common good. – Billy Zane • The toughest thing for a homeschooler is the same as for a school teacher – shifting from a weak tea vision of math being grinding calculations to a rich frothy mug of math as an active way of thinking. – John Golden • The world won’t get more or less terrible if we’re indoors somewhere with a mug of hot chocolate,’ Kim said. ‘Though it’s possible it will seem slightly less terrible if there are marshmallows in the hot chocolate. – Kamila Shamsie • There are many differences between a baby and an I-Pod. And one of the biggest is, no ones going to mug you for your baby. – Nick Hornby • There are popular celebrities, there are unpopular celebrities and then there are the walking dead. You know the walking dead when you see them: they look like Mel Gibson, still striving for drunken charm in an L.A. County mug shot, after getting picked up on a DWI charge that included anti-semitic slurs directed at the police. – Jeffrey Kluger • There is more similarity in the marketing challenge of selling a precious painting by Degas and a frosted mug of root beer than you ever thought possible. – A. Alfred Taubman • They were the reason that he kept faith with his stars, that reinforced him in his belief that the universe had more in store for him than the mug’s game of working for a modest salary until he retired or died. – J. K. Rowling • This is ideal, you’ll see. We do everything backward. It’s just how we are. We began with an elopement. After that, we made love. Next, we’ll progress to courting. When we’re old and silver-haired, perhaps we’ll finally get around to flirtation. We’ll make fond eyes at each other over our mugs of gruel. We’ll be the envy of couples half our age. – Tessa Dare • This is no time for drinking a mug of water – which you would do nowhere else in the world. A mug of water! You just don’t drink water from mugs, do ya? Except on the telly. Water out of a mug! Should be a hot drink… mug of water. – Russell Brand • Three years ago, the white hope of the theatre. Today, a mug. That’s New York for you. Puts you on a Christmas tree, and then – the alley. – Ben Hecht • To espresso or to latte, that is the question…whether ’tis tastier on the palate to choose white mocha over plain…or to take a cup to go. Or a mug to stay, or extra cream, or have nothing, and by opposing the endless choice, end one’s heartache. – Jasper Fforde • Tonight, I propose a 21st Century Crime Bill to deploy the latest technologies and tactics to make our communities even safer. Our balanced budget will help put up to 50,000 more police on the street in the areas hardest hit by crime, and then to equip them with new tools from crime-mapping computers to digital mug shots. We must break the deadly cycle of drugs and crime. – William J. Clinton • We have such a long, familiar history with Peter Falk. The minute his mug is on that screen people smile. – Paul Reiser • We need to get past the point where being black and a male means that I am likely to mug you for your wallet, likely to have a minus 15 on my IQ, likely to not go to college and likely to wear my pants below my arse. – John Amaechi • We were talking of DRAGONS, Tolkien and I In a Berkshire bar. The big workman Who had sat silent and sucked his pipe All the evening, from his empty mug With gleaming eye glanced towards us: “I seen ’em myself!” he said fiercely. – C. S. Lewis • What are they teaching these thugs? -Why are there so many of them? -What is the Institute for Higher Aeronautics? -How many of the are there? There are only six of us! Why? -Why is DC public transportation so weird? -Why don’t we mug those Eraser goons for money more often? -Fang’s Blog – James Patterson • What brings you onto my property?” Rhev said, cradling his mug with both hands trying to absorb its warmth. Got a problem” I can’t fix your personality, sorry – J.R. Ward • What I really want is to sit next to someone under an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don’t want some rusty ’73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when it’s rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos? – Augusten Burroughs • With a face like this, there aren’t a lot of lawyers or priest roles coming my way. I’ve gotta face that was meant for a mug shot and that’s what I’ve been doing for the past thirty years. If I play a cop, it’s always a racist cop, or a trigger-happy cop or a crooked cop – but by and large I play cowboys, bikers, and convicts. – M. C. Gainey • Yes Headwoman Azaze. But I never lie to Rosethorn. She, um, discourages it.” “Evvy and I have an understanding.” She grabbed the teakettle and poured hot water into the mug. “She tells me the truth, and I don’t hang her in the first well we come to. It’s a solution that works tolerably well for both of us. – Tamora Pierce • You can never prepare yourself enough to see your mug shot and DUI. – Tracey Gold • You can tell the future?’ ‘More like the future mugs me from time to time.’ Rachel said ‘I speak prophecies. The oracle spirit kind of hijacks me once in a while, and speaks important stuff that doesn’t make any sense to anybody. But yeah, the prophecies tell the future.- Rick Riordan • You had a package. It was torn, so I looked in.” She lifted one of a stack of firefighter calendars, with his own mug and half-naked body on the cover. “Nice,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Mr. 2008.” He bit back a sigh. “It’s for charity.” “And you definitely contributed. – Jill Shalvis • You know I’ll never say no, and Nate’s so dedicated, I think he loves our alpha more than me.” “I resent that,” Nate grumbled. “I might love football more than you, but definitely not Lucas’s ugly mug. – Nalini Singh • You should take more pride in your appearance,” I tell him. “You’ll never attract girls with an ugly mug like that. – Darren Shan • You should think about nobody and go your own way, not on a course marked out for you by people holding mugs of water and bottles of iodine in case you fall and cut yourself so that they can pick you up – even if you want to stay where you are – and get you moving again. – Alan Sillitoe • You were safe on a troll. Anyone wanting to mug a troll would have to use a building on a stick. – Terry Pratchett

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[equitiesstocks]

Mug Quotes

Official Website: Mug Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

• Ale, not beer, in a pewter mug was comme il faut, the only thing for a gentleman of letters, worthy of the name, to drink. – Guy de Maupassant • Alex took a silent step closer to the kitchen door and watched unseen as willow spooned instant coffee into a pair of mugs.With another yawn, she scraped her hair off her face and stretched. She looked so entirely human, so drowsy and sleep-rumpled.For a moment, Alex just gazed at her, taking in her long tumble of hair, her wide green eyes and pixieish chin. Fleetingly, he imagined her eyes meeting his, wondering what she’d look like if she smiled – L.A. Weatherly • Animals look at people the way people look at people that might mug them. – Dov Davidoff • As long as the “woman’s work” that some men do is socially devalued, as long as it is defined as woman’s work, as long as it’s tacked onto a “regular” work day, men who share it are likely to develop the same jagged mouth and frazzled hair as the coffee-mug mom. The image of the new man is like the image of the supermom: it obscures the strain. – Arlie Russell Hochschild • As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug’s game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing. – T. S. Eliot

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Mug', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blustery cold days should be spend propped up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a pile of comic books. – Bill Watterson • Caffeine gives me hope. Sometimes, when I brew my wicked strong Irish black tea just perfect, about halfway through the mug I feel a clear and overwhelming feeling of optimism. It didn’t surprise me when a study a few years ago implied that suicide was much less likely among coffee and tea drinkers. – John Vanderslice • Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, asking please, for God’s sake, stop sending him signals that they were right for each other. He’d read that book, seen the movie, bought the soundtrack, the DVD, the T-shirt, the mug, the bobble-head, and the insider’s guide. He knew every reason they could have been lock and key. But just as he was aware of all that aligned them, he was even clearer on how they were damned to be ever apart. – J.R. Ward • Effectively, it makes the greasepaint permanent, blurring the lines not only between public and private but also between the authentic and contrived self. If all the world was once a stage, it has now become a reality TV show: we mere players are not just aware of the camera; we mug for it. – Peggy Orenstein • Have faith, Ed, all right?’ I search the coffee mug, but there’s none in there. – Markus Zusak • How could he convey to someone who’d never even met her the way she always smelled like rain, or how his stomach knotted up every time he saw her shake loose her hair from its braid? How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turnec the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods of Maine, bus as long as Em was with him, he was at home? – Jodi Picoult • I aint such a mug as to put up my children to all I know myself. – George Bernard Shaw • I confess, right at the start, to the doubts – and sometimes outright dreads – that go with me as I climb the stairs to my study in the morning, coffee mug in hand: I have to admit to the habitual apprehension mixed with a sort of reverence, as I light the incense . . . and wonder: what is going to happen today? Will anything happen? Will the angel come today? – Gail Godwin • I gave my mother a matching set [of mugs] for Christmas, and she accepted them as graciously as possible, announcing that they would make the perfect pet bowls. The mugs were set on the kitchen floor and remained there until the cat chipped a tooth and went on a hunger strike. – David Sedaris • I have mugs of hot water every morning because the studio is cold, and also because it makes my throat sound clearer. – Mika Brzezinski • I hight don Quixote, I live on peyote, marijuana, morphine and cocaine. I never know sadness, but only a madness that burns at the heart and the brain. I see each charwoman, ecstatic, inhuman, angelic, demonic, divine. Each wagon a dragon, each beer mug a flagon that brims with ambrosial wine. – Jack Parsons • I like light green, sometimes red is fun to look at, not a fan of yellow, unless it’s in a rainbow or on a coffee mug or on a happy face. – Chris Kattan • I like my mug shot. I think I have a really great mug shot. It looks like a magazine shoot. – Paris Hilton • I wasn’t a great improviser when I started there; I’m not really up on current events. I would always just mug, just try to get my laughs from making faces. So I decided to do a character who should never have become a comic – somebody you would see at the Comedy Store and go, “This person is never going to make it.” – Paul Reubens • Ice is most welcome in a cold drink on a hot day. But in the heart of winter, you want a warm hot mug with your favorite soothing brew to keep the chill away. When you don’t have anything warm at hand, even a memory can be a small substitute. Remember a searing look of intimate eyes. Receive the inner fire. – Vera Nazarian • If you and I took a walk down a shopping street in Jo’burg or Cape Town or London, we see two guys looking in a shop window, we think, “Oh, they’re wondering what they’re going to buy.” A cop looks at them and thinks, “Why are they standing there? Are they doing a drug deal? Are they going to mug someone? Are they going to rob the shop?” – Peter James • I’m a huge Wonder Woman fan – I have about 12 coffee mugs at home! – Kari Wahlgren • I’m pretty sure lurking in a dark alley to mug me with your apology isn’t the usual way to go about saying you’re sorry. But I didn’t read that Mars-Venus book, so who knows. – Jim Butcher • I’m really conscious of the amount of food I eat, but I don’t deny myself anything. For example, I have a really big sweet tooth. At the end of the night, if I’m craving ice cream, I might not have the bowl that I would have when I was a kid, but I’ll put a couple of scoops in a coffee mug, and I’ll eat it slowly, and I enjoy every moment of it. – Summer Sanders • Individually the poor are not too tempting to thieves, for obvious reasons. Mug a banker and you might score a wallet containing a month’s rent. Mug a janitor and you will be lucky to get away with bus fare to flee the crime scene. – Barbara Ehrenreich • Isaac Newton was born at Woolsthorpe, near Grantham, in Lincolnshire, on Christmas Day, 1642: a weakly and diminutive infant, of whom it is related that, at his birth, he might have found room in a quart mug. He died on March the 20th, 1727, after more than eighty-four years of more than average bodily health and vigour; it is a proper pendant to the story of the quart mug to state that he never lost more than one of his second teeth. – Augustus De Morgan • It was one of those mornings when a man could face the day only after warming himself with a mug of thick coffee beaded with steam, a good thick crust of bread, and a bowl of bean soup. – Richard Gehman • It’s a no win situation. It’s a mug’s game. The religions have contrived to make it impossible to disagree with them critically without being rude. They play the hurt feelings card at every opportunity. – Daniel Dennett • It’s the nicest thing on earth if someone comes up to me and says, ‘Every day I drink out of a mug you designed.’ – Jonathan Adler • I’ve always been accused by my detractors of some sort of moral failure, cowardice, or even lack of humanity by not portraying the human form. I respond that I do better by portraying traces of character and intentions of human volition that no mug or body shot can ever exude. – Robert Polidori • I’ve been very lucky. All I wanted was to pay the rent. Then these characters took off and suddenly there were Hulk coffee mugs and Iron Man lunchboxes and The Avengers sweatshirts everywhere. Money’s okay, but what I really like is working. – Stan Lee • I’ve gone through a lot of the same things like Britney Spears. I just don’t have a mug shot. – Fergie • I’ve never been able to write for myself. I was doing a lot. I produced The Green, I wrote it – I didn’t see myself in the world of this film. I’m sure there are elements of dark corners of my psyche that found their ways on screen; you didn’t need my mug up there. There was enough of my essence in the story as it plays out without me acting in it. – Paul Marcarelli • Karl Marx himself preferred a glass of claret to the mug of tea affected by some of his recent converts. – Denis Healey • Listen, boy, just ask the chef to make me a proper Full English Breakfast. You know, bacon, fried eggs, sausages, liver, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, black pudding, kidneys, baked beans, fried bread, toast and served with strong English mustard, mind – none of this effete French muck – and a large mug of hot, strong Indian tea. – Bryan Talbot • Martha Stewart showed up at Manhattan FBI Headquarters to have her finger prints taken and pose for a mug shot. Then Martha explained how to get ink off your fingers using seltzer water and lemon juice. – Conan O’Brien • Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe – the only lady private detective in Botswana – brewed redbush tea. And three mugs – one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in abundance. No inventory would ever include those, of course. – Alexander McCall Smith • My daughter got me a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug. So we know she’s sarcastic. – Bob Odenkirk • Nanny Ogg could see the future in the froth on a beer mug. It invariably showed that she was going to enjoy a refreshing drink which she almost certainly was not going to pay for. – Terry Pratchett • Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don’t, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It’s the same thing. – Graham Greene • Not like I need an excuse to enjoy a Moscow mule, but this tray and six-mug set, handmade in Mexico with hammered recycled copper, makes cocktail hour extra special. – Oprah Winfrey • O lovely O most charming pug Thy gracefull air and heavenly mug … His noses cast is of the roman He is a very pretty weoman I could not get a rhyme for roman And was obliged to call it weoman. – Marjorie Fleming • Oh, God above, if heaven has a taste it must be an egg with butter and salt, and after the egg is there anything in the world lovelier than fresh warm bread and a mug of sweet golden tea? – Frank McCourt • On my first day in New York a guy asked me if I knew where Central Park was. When I told him I didn’t, he said: Do you mind if I mug you here? – Paul Merton • Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE. – Lauren Oliver • One day as a young man, I was walking down the streets. And a group of Zulu guys was walking behind me closing in on me. And I could hear them talking to one another about how they were going to mug me. (Speaking Zulu). Let’s get this white guy. You go to his left, and I’ll come up behind him. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run.So I just spun around real quick and said (speaking Zulu). Yo, guys, why don’t we just mug someone together? I’m ready. – Trevor Noah • One must be able to say at all times–instead of points, straight lines, and planes–tables, chairs, and beer mugs – David Hilbert • Out of nowhere, Valek appeared before me, yelling in my ear, shaking my shoulders. Stupidly, belatedly, I realized he was the drunk. Who else but Valek could win a fight against four large men when armed only with a beer mug? – Maria V. Snyder • Outside the youth center, between the liquor store and the police station, a little dogwood tree is losing its mind; overflowing with blossomfoam, like a sudsy mug of beer; like a bride ripping off her clothes, dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds, so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene. It’s been doing that all week: making beauty, and throwing it away, and making more. – Tony Hoagland • People’s arrest tapes, mug shots, everything is online. – Jane Krakowski • Poetry is a mug’s game. – T. S. Eliot • Revolution? Unscrew the flag-staff, wrap the bunting in the oil covers, and put the thing in the clothes-chest. Let the old lady bring you your house-slippers and untie your fiery red necktie. You always make revolutions with your mugs, your republic–nothing but an industrial accident. – Alfred Doblin • Saiman picked up a coffee mug, stared at it, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. We looked at him. “Your date appears to be hysterical,” Rene told me. “You think I should slap some man into him? – Ilona Andrews • She sits in her usual ample armchair, with piles of books and unopened magazines around her. She sips cautiously from the mug of weak herb tea which is now her substitute for coffee. At one time she thought that she could not live without coffee, but it turned out that it is really the warm large mug she wants in her hands, that is the aid to thought or whatever it is she practices through the procession of hours, or of days. – Alice Munro • Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream. Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks. There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers. There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart. There is mystery unfolding. – Vera Nazarian • So violent. You want to mug and tase everybody these days.” “I do,” Zuzana agreed. “I swear I hate more poeple every day. Everyone annoys me. If I’m like this now, what am I going to be like when I’m old?” “You’ll be the mean old biddy who fires a BB gun at kids from her balcony.” “Nah. BBs just rile ’em up. More like a crossbow. Or a bazooka. – Laini Taylor • Something smashed to the ground. Jack looked at me, all the mugs forgotten. “I’m not going to let anyone kill you.” He grinned. “If I don’t get to, no one should. – Kiersten White • Studs Lonigan, on the verge of fifteen, and wearing his first suit of long trousers, stood in the bathroom with a Sweet Caporal pasted on his mug. – James T. Farrell • Suppose there were groups of secularists at hospitals who went round the terminally ill and urged them to adopt atheism: ‘Don’t be a mug all your life. Make your last days the best ones. People might suppose this was in poor taste. – Christopher Hitchens • That was close,”he said, helping himself to coffee. Yeah, you almost opened the door to Morelli.” I wasn’t talking about Morelli. I was talking about us.” That too,” I said. Ranger sliced a bagel and looked for the toaster. It’s broken,”I told him. He truned the boiler on and slid the bagel into the oven. That’s surprisingly domestic for a man of mystery,” I said to him. He looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. “I like things hot. – Janet Evanovich • The mug from the washstand was used as Becky’s tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. – Frances Hodgson Burnett • The mug is a tool. My ace in the hole. To have looks is the bonus on top of what motivates me to be an actor. Not to realize they’re an asset would be counterproductive to the cause; they serve the common good. – Billy Zane • The toughest thing for a homeschooler is the same as for a school teacher – shifting from a weak tea vision of math being grinding calculations to a rich frothy mug of math as an active way of thinking. – John Golden • The world won’t get more or less terrible if we’re indoors somewhere with a mug of hot chocolate,’ Kim said. ‘Though it’s possible it will seem slightly less terrible if there are marshmallows in the hot chocolate. – Kamila Shamsie • There are many differences between a baby and an I-Pod. And one of the biggest is, no ones going to mug you for your baby. – Nick Hornby • There are popular celebrities, there are unpopular celebrities and then there are the walking dead. You know the walking dead when you see them: they look like Mel Gibson, still striving for drunken charm in an L.A. County mug shot, after getting picked up on a DWI charge that included anti-semitic slurs directed at the police. – Jeffrey Kluger • There is more similarity in the marketing challenge of selling a precious painting by Degas and a frosted mug of root beer than you ever thought possible. – A. Alfred Taubman • They were the reason that he kept faith with his stars, that reinforced him in his belief that the universe had more in store for him than the mug’s game of working for a modest salary until he retired or died. – J. K. Rowling • This is ideal, you’ll see. We do everything backward. It’s just how we are. We began with an elopement. After that, we made love. Next, we’ll progress to courting. When we’re old and silver-haired, perhaps we’ll finally get around to flirtation. We’ll make fond eyes at each other over our mugs of gruel. We’ll be the envy of couples half our age. – Tessa Dare • This is no time for drinking a mug of water – which you would do nowhere else in the world. A mug of water! You just don’t drink water from mugs, do ya? Except on the telly. Water out of a mug! Should be a hot drink… mug of water. – Russell Brand • Three years ago, the white hope of the theatre. Today, a mug. That’s New York for you. Puts you on a Christmas tree, and then – the alley. – Ben Hecht • To espresso or to latte, that is the question…whether ’tis tastier on the palate to choose white mocha over plain…or to take a cup to go. Or a mug to stay, or extra cream, or have nothing, and by opposing the endless choice, end one’s heartache. – Jasper Fforde • Tonight, I propose a 21st Century Crime Bill to deploy the latest technologies and tactics to make our communities even safer. Our balanced budget will help put up to 50,000 more police on the street in the areas hardest hit by crime, and then to equip them with new tools from crime-mapping computers to digital mug shots. We must break the deadly cycle of drugs and crime. – William J. Clinton • We have such a long, familiar history with Peter Falk. The minute his mug is on that screen people smile. – Paul Reiser • We need to get past the point where being black and a male means that I am likely to mug you for your wallet, likely to have a minus 15 on my IQ, likely to not go to college and likely to wear my pants below my arse. – John Amaechi • We were talking of DRAGONS, Tolkien and I In a Berkshire bar. The big workman Who had sat silent and sucked his pipe All the evening, from his empty mug With gleaming eye glanced towards us: “I seen ’em myself!” he said fiercely. – C. S. Lewis • What are they teaching these thugs? -Why are there so many of them? -What is the Institute for Higher Aeronautics? -How many of the are there? There are only six of us! Why? -Why is DC public transportation so weird? -Why don’t we mug those Eraser goons for money more often? -Fang’s Blog – James Patterson • What brings you onto my property?” Rhev said, cradling his mug with both hands trying to absorb its warmth. Got a problem” I can’t fix your personality, sorry – J.R. Ward • What I really want is to sit next to someone under an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don’t want some rusty ’73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when it’s rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos? – Augusten Burroughs • With a face like this, there aren’t a lot of lawyers or priest roles coming my way. I’ve gotta face that was meant for a mug shot and that’s what I’ve been doing for the past thirty years. If I play a cop, it’s always a racist cop, or a trigger-happy cop or a crooked cop – but by and large I play cowboys, bikers, and convicts. – M. C. Gainey • Yes Headwoman Azaze. But I never lie to Rosethorn. She, um, discourages it.” “Evvy and I have an understanding.” She grabbed the teakettle and poured hot water into the mug. “She tells me the truth, and I don’t hang her in the first well we come to. It’s a solution that works tolerably well for both of us. – Tamora Pierce • You can never prepare yourself enough to see your mug shot and DUI. – Tracey Gold • You can tell the future?’ ‘More like the future mugs me from time to time.’ Rachel said ‘I speak prophecies. The oracle spirit kind of hijacks me once in a while, and speaks important stuff that doesn’t make any sense to anybody. But yeah, the prophecies tell the future.- Rick Riordan • You had a package. It was torn, so I looked in.” She lifted one of a stack of firefighter calendars, with his own mug and half-naked body on the cover. “Nice,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Mr. 2008.” He bit back a sigh. “It’s for charity.” “And you definitely contributed. – Jill Shalvis • You know I’ll never say no, and Nate’s so dedicated, I think he loves our alpha more than me.” “I resent that,” Nate grumbled. “I might love football more than you, but definitely not Lucas’s ugly mug. – Nalini Singh • You should take more pride in your appearance,” I tell him. “You’ll never attract girls with an ugly mug like that. – Darren Shan • You should think about nobody and go your own way, not on a course marked out for you by people holding mugs of water and bottles of iodine in case you fall and cut yourself so that they can pick you up – even if you want to stay where you are – and get you moving again. – Alan Sillitoe • You were safe on a troll. Anyone wanting to mug a troll would have to use a building on a stick. – Terry Pratchett

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[all-things-skam]

39, 57, 109 For Elu please 💖💖Love your writing by the way 😊

Please continue to sent requests from this list of prompt!

39. “I like you in my clothes.”

57. “I’m falling madly in love with you.”

109. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?”

Title: Goodnight kiss

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

The walk back to Eliott’s apartment was in complete, yet comfortable, silence. They walk through the empty streets of Eliott’s neighborhood, content smiles on their face despite their clothes being drenched from the rain. As they walked, Lucas tried to keep his shivering to a minimum but Eliott noticed and brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing them with a bright smile and sparkling eyes. He wanted to wrap Lucas in his arms to share body warmth but, he was just as wet as him.

They had stayed at la Petite Ceinture for a couple more minutes, enjoying their time alone, kissing and hugging, dreading to return home, knowing Lucile and Chloé would be pissed.

While they were walking on the rails, Lucas had seen several messages coming in from Chloé but didn’t open any - and, his phone had died anyway. Eliott must’ve gotten a couple from Lucile too but, he didn’t seem to have brought his phone.

The door was unlocked when they returned.

Eliott let go of Lucas’s hand, immediately feeling empty, like a part of him was missing. “Let me check if they have left.” If Lucile has left, he meant. Eliott didn’t want her to lash out at Lucas or tell him personal things he wasn’t ready to reveal.

Lucas stood behind shyly and looked around too. There was this nervousness in the pit of his stomach, as if he was in the apartment for the first time. “Are they still here?” he whispered quietly, teeth chattering as he poked his head in Eliott’s apartment, fearing to see Chloé. She must be raging…

Eliott smiled and shook his head. “Seems like it’s just the two of us now,” he said, searching for Lucas’s eyes. “Just like we initially planned.” Eliott snaked his arm around Lucas’s waist, gently tugging him close to give him another kiss.

The gentle touch brought a smile to Lucas’s lips, beaming. He hadn’t been genuinely this happy in a long, long time. Life hadn’t been on his side for the past year. With his parents’s divorce, his mom being ill and everything in between, Lucas had almost given up on being happy again.

But right now, shielded by Eliott’s arms wrapped around him, a feeling of calm and peace lingered in Lucas and he could let his guard down and be completely himself. Lucas could’ve stayed there, in Eliott’s doorway, in Eliott’s embrace, for hours.

Except, he couldn’t. He was quickly brought back to earth when droplets of water slipped down his back, sending a chill through his whole body. Getting rained down in February was not smart.

Eliott noticed. “Let’s get you some warm clothes,” he said, tugging Lucas further inside, closing the door and locking it.

Lucas toed off his shoes and waited by the couch while Eliott went to get a change of clothes for them both. A towel was thrown over his head, Eliott rubbing his wet hair dry, deposing a kiss on his cheek when he was done. He gave the towel to Lucas, in case he needed it and handed him several clothing, including the black hoodie Lucas always sees him wearing. Lucas was surprised and excited when Eliott handed it to him. It must smell divine.

“You can change there,” Eliott instructed, pointing to the bathroom. “I’ll go make us something to warm up.”

Cradling the lump of clothes in his arms, Lucas went to the bathroom and peeled off his wet clothes, leaving them on the sink, replacing them with Eliott’s dry - and oversized -  ones. A smile bloomed on his face when he caught his reflection in the mirror, seeing how Eliott’s hoodie swallowed him.

And, just like he predicted, it smelled really good.

With one last glance at himself, Lucas left the bathroom and went to the kitchen.

“I like you in my clothes.”

Lucas jumped at Eliott’s voice. “Fuck, you scared me.” He chuckled, crossing the kitchen to join Eliott by the over, brewing some herbal tea.

Eliott opened his arms and Lucas, as if they were magnets, huddling against him. He had changed out of his clothes while preparing tea, now wearing a soft, blue tee shirt and sweatpants. « Stay the night with me?“ Eliott whispered quietly. ’‘I promise I don’t snore,” he said with a grin, making Lucas laugh.

Of course he was staying. Lucas didn’t want to go anywhere. “What if I snore?” Eliott lifted an eyebrow. “I’m kidding.”

After drinking their tea, they went to bed because Lucas was still cold and Eliott hated to see his boy being a shivering mess. What if he caught a cold because of him? Eliott would feel so guilty.

They slipped under the covers, Lucas’s body gravitating instinctively toward Eliott’s, seeking for proximity and body warmth. Eliott pulled him closer, their legs mixing together.

Lucas curled up putting his head on Eliott’s chest, just listening to his heartbeat for what felt like hours. Eliott knew that Lucas needed the comfort and didn’t say anything, he gently played with Lucas’ hair, just being content that he was finally in his arms.

After a little while, he grew worried considering that Lucas hadn’t said anything. He gently kissed Lucas’ foreheadé “Still cold?” Eliott whispered.

Lucas shook his head, “I’m good. This is the calmest I’ve felt in the past few weeks. Being around Chloé has me on edge all the time. I had to keep up this terrible act and it was driving me crazy. I mean, I talked to her last week right before you brought my scarf back. I poured my feelings out to her, feelings that I felt towards you and wanted to tell you. I told her that she was on my mind 24/7 but, that was about you. I mean, I think about how you’re feeling or what you’re doing or what it feels like to be kissed by you.She isn’t the one who I’m having feelings so deep about that I don’t know how to handle them. And most importantly…” he said, taking a deep breath, “she isn’t the one I’m falling in love with, it’s you Eliott. I’m falling in love with you and how your eyes sparkle whenever we’re together, how you’re such a hopeless romantic and how kind your heart is.”

Eliott was stunned, his eyes glossy from Lucas’s confession. He didn’t think that he had a chance to feel something so real. He gently wiped his tears, his emotions still on edge and fragile, and smiled at Lucas. “I’m falling hard and fast for you too. I fell for you since the first day of school that I saw you.”  

They spent the rest of the night switching between kissing and talking. It had become so effortless now, they were able to enter each other’s worlds.

Around midnight, Lucas’s eyes were starting to feel heavy, he felt himself being consumed by sleep slowly. He hummed softly, nuzzling his face in the crook of Eliott’s neck as his hand ghosted over the skin of his back underneath the layers of clothes.

“I’m gonna knock out soon. Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?” Lucas asked, looking up, blue eyes big and hopeful. “I’ve been waiting for this kiss for seven days.”

Eliott chuckled, lips twitching. “Seven days, uh?”

Lucas nodded, pouting and Eliott obliged, kissing him sweetly yet, intensely. Grasping at Eliott’s shirt, Lucas pulled Eliott impossibly closer, his other hand lost in his feather-y soft hair. Eliott pressed Lucas closer by the hip, tongue slipping past his lips.

Grinning, the brunet pulled away, a little out of breath. “Well…goodnight.”

Eliott chuckled, kissing the tip of Lucas’s nose. “Goodnight.”

[all-things-skam]

Elu, 51 and 55 💓

Please continue to sent requests from this list of prompt!

51. “Is that a hickey?”

55. “We can’t do that here!”

Title: I can’t keep my hands off you…and neither can you

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

As if the last party didn’t teach her anything, Emma decided to host again. She told her mom it would be a small get together for Daphné’s birthday - which she intended to - but, the word slipped and soon enough, the whole house was filled with teenagers. Emma had asked Daphné if she told anyone about tonight and she quickly denied.

Just like at the first party, the boys stood in the kitchen and passed a joint around. Only, this time, Eliott was there. Not Chloé.

Basile passed the joint to Lucas, he took a deep drag, filling his lungs and exhaling the dark smoke by his nose. He knew this method caused more damage to his body but he didn’t care. We’re all going to die at some point. His brain started feeling a little fuzzy, head buzzing from the weed.

“No smooth flirting tonight, Lucas?” Arthur teased as Lucas handed the joint to his boyfriend.

The boys snickered and Eliott frowned in confusion. “What?”

Eliott gave Lucas a look, waiting for an explanation but the boy rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to be reminded of Chloé, not after all the trouble she caused. Lucas will agree that leading her one wasn’t cool but, outing him was totally out of line.

“Your boy, shotgunned with some girl while her friend was throwing up in the sink,” the blond filled in, much to Lucas’s annoyance.

Back then, Lucas was fighting some interior homophobia. He was so focussed on keeping his homosexuality double locked in a box that he felt like he had to try extra hard to prove everyone he was not gay. Like his messy makeout sessions with Sara at school… Thinking about it makes him cringe.

“Need I remind you idiots that I was the only one who hooked up that night?” he reminded them. It must bruise their ego a little knowing a gay boy had more game with girls than them.

“I have game!” Yann defended. “I hooked up with two girls last Friday.”

“I was talking about these two,” Lucas clarified, nodding at Arthur and Basile who flicked him off.

“Well, here’s to tradition,” Eliott said, taking a long drag of the joint. He kept the smoke in and cupping Lucas’s jaw with his fingers to tilt his face up. Getting the message, Lucas breathed in the smoke as it escaped out of Eliott’s mouth.

The boys let out a collective groan, seeing the two lovebirds sucking air. They act like it bothered them but, deep inside, they are just happy for their friend. Lucas has had a rough year with his family - and overall life - and they hadn’t seen him genuinely smiling like this in a long time.

“Get a fucking room,” Yann commented.

Just to taunt them, Eliott closed the gap between them and kissed Lucas, tongue and all.

“You guys are worse than rabbits in mating season,” Arthur said with disgust, making the couple pull apart, laughing in amusement.

Lucas pressed his face in Eliott’s clothed chest, feeling all mushy from the weed. Eliott brought a hand on his back, rubbing circles over his white tee shirt. While Lucas didn’t like acting all soft and cuddly in front of his friends, Eliott found it adorable. He kissed the top of Lucas’s head and the younger boy looked up, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

Yann took the joint from Eliott, reviving it with his lighter as Basile scrutted the couple like a complete sociopath. That boy really needs to get laid… “Oh my god, is that a hickey?” he asked, gasping in shock, catching sight of a lips shaped bruise at the base of Lucas’s neck.

Lucas turned in his direction, smiling smugly. “You jealous?”

“I thought it was a girl thing. I didn’t think gays did it too.”

Arthur groaned, getting secondhand embarassement. “Are you serious?!”

“Say all you want, you’re alone in your club now.” Eliott pulled his eyebrows, missing some information. “The closest Basile has been to a vagina is when he was born,” Lucas explained.

Everyone laughed at Lucas’s joke and Basile shoved him. “Fuck off!”

.

Minutes passed and the boy squad dispersed throughout Emma's house. Yann found some brunette to dance with and Basile followed Arthur outside for more weed after Emma yelled at them for smoking in the kitchen.

As for the two lovebirds, they found a nice spot to makeout in a hallway. What else did you expect?

Back against the wall, Eliott towered over Lucas, kissing him deeply. Lucas moaned, arms crossed behind Eliott's neck as he hoisted himself on tiptoe to be a few inches taller, hungry for moremoremore.

They have been dating for about four months and still, they couldn't get enough of each other. The honeymoon phase should be long over by then but, much to everyone's dismay, they constantly craving the other's touch whether being by holding hands or shamelessly making out in a public space.

Eliott trailed his lips to the corner of Lucas's mouth and jaw and neck, making the boy's eyes roll all the way back. He loved neck kisses. The brunet smirked against Lucas's skin, pulling the younger boy flushed against him by the hips, knowing exactly what he was doing. That little devil...

Lucas moaned again, unlocking his arms to bury his hands in Eliott's hair, messing up his hairdo, hips bucking into Eliott's, creating friction between their lower halves.

Caught up in the moment, Eliott forgot where they were and slipped his hands under the waistband of Lucas's jeans - and boxer -, making the young boy freeze, blue eyes going round like saucers. He grabbed Eliott's wrists, stopping him.

''We can't do that here!'' Lucas hissed. He looked around, making sure no one saw Eliott groping his ass in the middle of the hallway.

''Well, find a solution because I really wanna fuck you,'' Eliott said, clearly drunk - and horny.

Eliott's words went straight to Lucas's dick, making his pants feel a lot tighter. He held back a moan as he blindly searched for his phone in his jeans pocket and texted the groupchat, telling the boys he was leaving because 'Mika didn't have his key' - which was clearly a lie.

As they left Emma's house, Lucas got a text from Arthur.

Arthur: Like I said, fucking RABBITS!!

[all-things-skam]

31 please

Please continue to sent requests from this list of prompt!

 31. “We have to be quiet.”  

Title: 

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

[7:25] Basile: You didn't answer. Will she be there or not?

[7:26] Basile: Because I'll shower if she is

[7:26] Yann: You're disgusting

[7:26] Arthur: ⬆⬆⬆

[7:30] Arthur: Eliott can you get us beer?

[7:31] Lucas: We can't come. Sorry.

[7:31] Basile: WE?

[7:32] Arthur: Don't be so surprise. They're ALWAYS together

[7:32] Eliott: What Lucas  meant is: we about to have sex. Goodnight.

Lucas gaped behind his phone, seeing his boyfriend's message in the WhatsApp chat. ''Eliott!''

A chuckle was heard from the other end of the couch where Eliott was seated, amusement on his lips, filling the quiet room.

Instead of following their friends and going to Alex's party, the couple decided to stay in and have a cosy night at Eliott's. His parents were out of the town for the weekend which was perfect considering Mika had a Grindr date coming and Lucas rather not be there. He still hadn't recovered from that time he walked in on his roommate with a dick in both orifices. It's an image he'll never forget. A truly scarring experience.

Lucas narrowed his eyes and Eliott shrugged, unbothered. ''Well, it's the truth.''

''Is it?'' Lucas asked, lifting an eyebrows, pausing whatever he was typing on his phone.

Eliott locked his eyes with Lucas's and hummed, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth. A grin formed on Lucas's lips, feeling his stomach tighten. Holding Lucas's gaze, Eliott crawled over to him and closed the gap between their lips, cupping his face gently. Lucas's phone fell from his hands, switching to grab at the older boy's tee shirt, fingers curling in the fabric, pulling Eliott closer.

On the floor, where Lucas's phone had fallen, messages from the boy squad continued to pop up but remained unread, its owner being occupied elsewhere.

As they kissed, Eliott used his free hand to hoist himself up, hovering over Lucas with one hand steady on the arm of the couch. Lucas thought he would get used to kissing Eliott but, truth be told, he could still feel the fire in his stomach after six months of dating.

Eliott let go of the arm of the couch and pulled Lucas on top of him, legs falling on either sides of Eliott's waist. Lucas let go of Eliott's shirt, burying his fingers in Eliott's hair, tugging at the roots as the older boy pushed his tongue past Lucas's lips.  

The air around them felt heavier as hands slipped under shirts and kisses started to get messy and sloppy. Lucas let out a soft moan when Eliott shifted below him, very aware his erection.

''Isn't this better than getting high and drunk with the boys?'' Eliott asked with a smirk, breaking free from the kiss. Lucas raised on his knees, fingers scratching at Eliott's skin underneath his shirt, and pressed his forehead against his, panting, trying to catch his breath.

Before the brunet could make out a response, Eliott groped Lucas's butt through his jeans, catching the younger boy off guard. At first glance, it looked very flat but, it was only an illusion. Under his tight jeans, it was actually rounder and firm despite the absence of gym time. Squats who? Lucas didn't know her. He was simply born with it.

''Shall we take this over to my room?''

''Yes, please,'' Lucas breathed, barely audible. He brought his arms up to Eliott's neck, hooking his legs securely around his boyfriend's middle, waiting to be lifted and brought to the bedroom.

Once in Eliott's bedroom, door shut, both boys undressed to their boxers. Eliott guided Lucas down, making him lay on the soft mattress.

''Eli,'' Lucas said, reaching for him.

All his life, Lucas always put up a facade, afraid to show his vulnerability but, when he was with Eliott, his guard was fully down - for the first time. Something about this boy made him feel at ease, secure and fully accepted. Lucas knew that whatever he would say - or do -, Eliott would never make fun of him or ridiculise his thoughts.

''Shh, I'm here, mom amour.''  

Eliott smiled softly at him before dipping down and kissing Lucas's chest and stomach, going lower and lower. He arched his back, twisting his fingers in the sheets, at the feel of warm lips on his skin, getting closer and closer to his crotch. His dick twitched under his boxers, asking for freedom. Pushing his luck, Eliott kissed right over the bulge, earning a loud moan from Lucas.

''Stop teasing.''

Eliott laughed. Never.

Sex was always playful with them - as it should be. They were forced to be serious in so many aspects of their lives; a little humor and teasing in bed never hurt anybody.

Eliott hooked his fingers under the elastic band of Lucas's boxers, easing them down his legs, revealing his hard dick, begging to be touched. In his true fashion, instead of giving Lucas what he wanted, Eliott instructed Lucas to open his legs and found home between them. His large hands caressed Lucas's skin, goosebumps raising at the touch of his lover.

Just as Lucas thought Eliott would take him into his mouth, he dipped lower and began sucking lovebites Lucas's inner thighs, only for them to know.

When they were changing in gym class, Lucas was always shy to change now, worried his boxers would rid up his legs and expose their intimate marks. It wasn't a secret that the couple was sexualy active - with the looks they gave each other 24/7, it was impossible they hadn't crossed the bar - but, Lucas loved walking around with a reminded of his lover's lips.  

And, if anyone saw, they didn't say anything.

Once he was satisfied with his work on Lucas's thighs, Eliott moved up and licked at Lucas's tip, making him shudder before taking him whole into his mouth, catching the brunet off guard.  Lucas threw his head back against the pillow, back arched off the bed, moaning Eliott's name.

There was movements outside Eliott's bedroom and the latter pulled off Lucas's dick, cursing under his breath. Lucas whined at the loss or warmth around his dick, bucking his hips.

Sensing the quizzical look on Eliott's face, Lucas sat up, raising an eyebrow. ''What is it?'' he asked.

Eliott's blue-gray eyes locked with his. ''We have to be quiet. I think my mom is home.''

Lucas's eyes widen. ''Wha-? Your mom is- I thought you said-''

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, followed by a woman's voice. ''Eliott? I brought dinner. Is Lucas with you?''