#anyway feeling sorry for people who don’t speak italian they’ll never truly get the actual comedy of this sono un COLIONE sono un COLIONE

[evilscuderia]

no 😤 i did a SHIT💩 job i did a SHIT💩 job that's it 🤬 i did a FUCKING shit job❗️ [pointed silence in italian] calm down charles WHAT THE F—⁉️ it's a good result calm down. i CAN'T 😡 it's all good. i'm a moron i'm a moron i'm a moron i'm a MORON‼️it's not "all good" 😤 i'm a moron 🔈ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵃᵈᶦᵒ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢˡᵒʷ ᵇᵘᵗᵗᵒⁿ ᵒⁿ ˢˡᵒʷ ᵇᵘᵗᵗᵒⁿ ᵒⁿ 🔇 i am so sorry to the whole team 😖 i am FUCKING STUPID 😡 as much as in baku 😢 enough charles. enough. bring the car back to the box. yeah i'll bring the car back 🤨. obviously 🙄. or i'd be a DOUBLE MORON 🤬😤😩……………………………….. now that i’ve calmed down congratulations to seb 🥉❤️🏆🏎 he deserves it 🥰🥰🥰

[itsallavengers]

gee i don't want to bother you you can 100% ignore me but it's been a shitty week panic attacks are stronger than ever and some of my friends keep making fun of my anxiety (i downplay the whole thing so it's not really their fault) could you please give me some light hearted stevetony with italian!tony? ily so much youre a blessing for this world keep being yourself

Steve was going to be honest here: he didn’t like the sun.

 Bucky and Natasha would kill him for slandering the current Mediterranean summer weather like that, but it was true. He was an Irishman. His skin was pale and unused to anything above mild temperatures. Not to mention the fact that it was just damn uncomfortable to sit and sweat with no way to cool down all day. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come on this holiday with his two friends at all, actually. He didn’t like the sun, he didn’t really have the money for it, and he was currently acting as the third wheel to what could have just been Bucky & Natasha’s romantic getaway. But Bucky had asked, and said that Steve needed to take a bit of time off, so here he was. 

Sweating. 

It wasn’t so bad, though. While Nat was off looking around in a little local museum and Bucky was trying to sleep off the hangover from last night, Steve was sitting in a quiet cafe, reading his book and sipping on a latte. He was in the shade to prevent burning, and it was early enough in the morning that the heat wasn’t unbearable. It was actually quite nice.

There was also an incredibly beautiful young man sitting on a table a few feet to his right, nibbling a sandwich and working in a scruffy-looking notebook while he shot Steve occasional furtive glances. That was very nice too. 

He looked to be in his early twenties, and clearly native to the town. They hadn’t picked a touristy spot, which was good for the culture, but bad when it came to the language barrier. And the man didn’t sport any of the typical touristy items; instead lounging around in a breezy white cotton shirt with a few buttons undone, tucked into a pair of form-fitting navy slacks and then ending with some expensive-looking loafers. Atop the dark mess of curls were some aviators, and he wore a black ring on his forefinger that contrasted wonderfully against the olive of his skin. The way he held onto his pen made his fingers flex, and occasionally he would run it over his bottom lip in thought, suck it in, frown for a second before he wrote something else down. 

Yes, Steve may have been staring for a long time now. But in his defence, the man was stunning. Steve could admit he was more than a little enthralled. 

He checked his watch briefly, wondering at what point this was going to get weird and he would have to either approach the other man or leave. He could order another coffee, he supposed-- but too much caffeine gave him a headache. Maybe the man was a regular here. Steve might get to see him tomorrow, maybe smile at him or something.

“hai intenzione di stare lì a fissarmi tutto il giorno o vuoi venire qui?”

Steve blinked, watching the man as he pulled the pen from his mouth and then leaned his head backward, apparently speaking to no one in particular. But then his neck rolled, and he looked Steve right in the eye, his mouth curling into a gorgeously cheeky smile. “I take it you do not speak Italian then?”

Oh. Oh, he was talking to Steve. Fuck. Okay. He spluttered a little and then sat up, resisting the urge to push his hair back or smooth out his shirt. He was calm, he was suave. “I...no,” he stumbled, shaking his head, “was that... sorry, were you talking to me?”

The man nodded, slipping sideways on his chair and then leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees and his hands were clasped in front of him. He was slim, but muscular. Steve could see the way his shirt smoothed over strong arms as he hunched. And now he was face on, Steve could truly get a feel for what the man looked like. Sharp jaw. Hair that fell artistically over his perfectly-proportioned face. The most beautiful hazel eyes Steve had ever goddamn seen. 

“I said, are you going to sit there and stare all day or are you planning on coming over?”

Steve realised he was being spoken to only a second after he’d stopped watching the way the man’s mouth formed the words, his accent thick, but his English perfect. Steve should probably respond to that, shouldn’t he. “Well, if it’s all the same with you,” he began, before cracking a smile and then standing up. In a few strides, he was at the man’s table, slipping into the seat opposite. He was in the sun here, but he figured that he could make the sacrifice, just this once. 

There was a second of silence, and then the man turned to face him again. His eyes were alight, shining in the sunlight and mingled with intrigue. “Was that an Irish accent I heard just then?” He asked, and God, even his voice was beautiful. Steve had never thought voices could be beautiful until today. 

He nodded. “It was. Born and raised there ‘til my mam moved us over to America. We don’t fare quite as well in this sun as you though. Hence the shade I was in.”

“Oh. We can move?” The man waved his hand backward, but Steve was quick to shake his head, simply smiling in reassurance. 

“It’s fine. I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Ah. I’m Tony.” He smiled and leaned his head into his hands, looking across the table at Steve with that fiery smile of his. His fingers traced idly over his notepad as he eyed Steve, and the writings he’d done were absolutely foreign- not even because they were written in a different language, but because they were all just complex-looking equations and diagrams and things Steve couldn’t even name. He didn’t dwell on them though. There were much more interesting things to be looking at just then. 

Leaning back in his chair and throwing an arm casually across the backrest-- and no, not to flex his muscles like Bucky tried to say whenever he did that--  he let his eyes walk slowly up and down Tony’s body, before stopping for a second at his mouth. The pen was back again. A brief thought crossed his mind, and he swallowed it down hastily. That was most definitely not appropriate for the first conversation. 

But Tony looked like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking anyway, because the smile widened and he took the pen back out from between his teeth again, spinning it in those agile fingers of his. “So tell me- what is an Irishman who doesn’t like the sun doing in Italy right now?” He asked, one eyebrow rising curiously. 

Steve explained the situation easily, talking of Bucky and Nat, the vacation they’d all planned, Steve’s need for a little break. In turn, Tony explained how he’d ended up here, him having come from America too, but much longer ago, back when he was a child and his parents had divorced. He talked emphatically and used his hands when he spoke, and Steve found himself hanging on to every word, Tony managing to make everyday events seem like film-plots. Their conversation came easily, like one would with a long-time friend, and soon Steve realised that a whole hour had passed since he and Tony had begun talking. He blinked in surprise at his watch and then felt the back of his neck. “God, I’m gonna burn,” he muttered to himself, popping his collar up. 

Tony pulled a face, clearly unimpressed by the weakness of his pale skin, but then it turned into a smile as he jumped from his seat and grabbed for Steve’s hand, tugging him upward. “I know how to cool you down,” he said enthusiastically, and Steve found himself being pulled into standing and guided out of the cafe. “How much time do you have?”

Well, Natasha wanted him to join her in the museum about ten minutes ago, so-- “no plans for the day,” he said easily, letting Tony guide them through the winding streets, their bodies brushing and their hands linked together while they navigated the people and market-stalls. Tony greeted locals as he passed them by, the Italian words rolling off his tongue easily. Steve hung on to every word he said, not knowing what he meant, but willing to listen to Tony talking like that for the rest of the goddamn day if he wanted to. It was like music. 

Eventually, Steve realised Tony was leading them to the coastline, and he frowned. “I haven’t bought any swim-trunks with me,” he said warily, but Tony just laughed, turning around and walking backwards while he looked up at Steve. 

“Just wear your boxers, they’ll dry off quickly once you get out!”

“I... I don’t--” but Tony was already leading them down a rickety set of wooden steps, winding down the cliff edge. It was a secluded place, and when they reached the bottom, Steve looked around in awe at the beautiful cove he’d been brought to. There was a small outcrop which slid off straight into the sea, and a few feet onward, a dusting of sand covered by the shade of a tree.

Tony beamed at him. “I come here to do work sometimes. Come, come. The water is lovely.” Without a moment of hesitation, he toed off his loafers and then skidded over the outcrop, where he then started to untuck his shirt from his pants. Steve could only watch, somewhat shocked at the man’s lack of embarrassment, as Tony quickly stripped down into his underwear, finally ending with chucking his sunglasses on top of the messy pile of his clothes. His eyes shone with knowing amusement as he looked over his shoulder at Steve. “My eyes are up here,” he commented, and in mortification, Steve hurriedly dragged his gaze away from Tony’s ass. 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t--” but Tony had already turned back around, stepping off the outcrop and then splashing into the water, being submerged immediately. He came up a second later with a gasp, slicking his curls out of his face with one hand while the other clamped around the outcrop. He swam closer to Steve, who was still stood at the sidelines, a little bamboozled by the recent events. 

“You joining me?” Tony asked, his arms folding on the rocks as he cocked his head at Steve. “I might need-- ah, come se dice.... a water-guard?”

“Lifeguard,” Steve said with a small grin, remembering the conversation he’d had earlier about his part-time job as a pool lifeguard when he’d been a kid in order to afford his first ever car. “And you seem to be doing okay right now.”

Tony hummed, and then very dramatically began to flail around, head dipping under the water. “Oh no!” He declared, “my legs have suddenly stopped working! If only I had someone trained to handle a situation like this to come in and save me!” He sunk below the water again, and Steve rolled his eyes and just tried not to laugh as his hands went to his shirt. 

If Tony didn’t seem to think this was strange, then neither did Steve. 

Once he was down to his boxer briefs, he slid in a little more calmly than Tony had done, bracing himself against the rocks and looking at the other man. Water clung to his skin, making crystal trails, pooling at the dip in his collar-bones. His hair was slicked back, but a piece had fallen into his eyes, and he tucked it behind his ear as he tread the water a few feet away. 

He was right though. It really was lovely and cool. 

Steve smiled, sinking under the surface for a moment in order to wet his hair. He could just about touch the surface, but Tony was considerably smaller than him, so he would have to stick to treading the water. Steve came back up with a gasp and then found himself laughing. “This is not how I imagined my day to go,” he admitted, watching Tony’s face soften. 

Then, slowly, he swam forward, cutting through the water and then settling a hand on Steve’s shoulder softly. It slipped across the damp skin, and Tony watched his own fingers as they trailed across Steve’s pale shoulders. “Me neither,” Tony admitted softly, glancing up at Steve through his thick lashes, “but I’m not going to complain. I met a very hot man and got him out of his clothes in under two hours.”

That made Steve laugh. Never in a million years would he have done this back in America. Not like he even could, really. The Hudson hardly counted as a romantic spot for a swim with the person you’d only met once. But everyone said Europeans were very free-spirited. And from what Steve could see, and, uh, feel, that certainly seemed the case. Tony swam a little closer, his other hand finding Steve’s neck, winding around the side of it delicately and pulling himself in until they were chest to chest. Steve curled his own hand around the other man’s waist, taking a small breath. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite as affected by someone as he was with Tony. Not in his whole life. 

“I want to kiss you,” Tony said, his words lilted with the accent, his skin glittering in the sunlight, and it was so damn strange for Steve to think of the fact that Tony had almost grown up in New York as the heir to a huge business like he’d spoken of earlier, all slick and hard-lined and American. This just seemed like it was where Tony belonged, far more than that life ever would be. 

Steve smiled, their noses touching. His hand rose from the water, the sound tinkling melodically, and he gently took Tony’s chin in his hand, tilting it up a little more. “I want to kiss you too,” he admitted, “I want to do a lot of things, actually.”

“Hmm?” Tony’s voice was low, warm, suggestive. “You said you have no plans. I don’t either.” He dipped forward, giving Steve the barest brush of lips before pulling away a fraction again.”You can do whatever you want, tesoro.”

Wow. Those words went straight down south, and Steve swallowed, before dipping down and closing the gap between them hastily. The water swirled around them, Tony draping himself onto Steve as they embraced, and vaguely he realised that this wasn’t a private cove and anyone could walk by if they wanted, but it was still difficult to keep his actions even remotely clean when he had a pretty much naked and willing and wet Tony in his arms, sucking on his bottom lip while his hands worked over Steve’s arms. He tasted like coffee and smelled like apples, and his mouth was a devil, licking into him, nipping and sucking and making little noises when Steve touched him in the right places. It was slow, easy, relaxed. The sun shone through the clear blue sky, lighting up Tony’s face as he leaned back against the rock and shut his eyes happily. Steve wanted to work him over. Wanted to find out what his favourite colour was and how he looked spread out on a bed. Just seeing him like this was driving Steve a little mad. God only knew what would happen when they got home.

He was going to have to do a lot of apologising to Bucky and Nat tonight, because he didn’t think they were going to be seeing anything of him for the rest of the day. 

Or the vacation.

-

ao3 / donate to my kofi

[queennicoleinboots]

Day 8 of Xara's Curse:

I Went To A Meeting To Fuck Off (Xara POV)

Co-authored by Jack McGee

Jasper, my 69-year-old client with a love for cigars and hatred for humanity, and I were on the phone. It was the end of a long day of dealing with arguments about racism that started off as a simple argument for why every public pool needs a lifeguard. I also had to deal with the elongated process of paying my bills over the phone because some jackasses are trying to hack everyone. Fuck them. But anyway, Jasper and I like to talk on the way home as soon as Joebear and I speak for a few minutes. Jasper likes to make sure I'm home safe. Apparently, I'm the only human he likes.

"So... what pissed you off this time?" Jasper asked as he hit his head with the phone a few times out of frustration.

"Oh God where do I begin? Oh yeah. You're cool," I said.

"After the obligatory fist fight we had to relieve stress and anxiety, I hope so," he said as he whacked his head with the phone again. That shit was starting to crack me up.

"True, but seriously, I hate Mondays with a fucking passion. Hackers have made it SUCH A NIGHTMARE TO PAY BILLS OVER THE PHONE!" I yelled.

"I know. Some cyber jackasses always have to do something," Jasper said with a sigh.

"And, I'm worried about Mickey Mouse showing up if the VA is around next Friday to do inspection. They could possibly call Adult Protective Services and the FBI. That idea scares the hell out of me. Mickey Mouse is the VA's sworn enemy. Not to mention he has been haunting your place for the last few weeks. What the fuck did I do?" I asked.

"Apparently, he is pissed that I'm not watching more Disney movies. I don't fucking know!" Jasper shouted.

"Mickey Mouse is a sick fuck. Speaking of sick, most everyone is getting sicker, and that stresses me out. Your back is more in pain. Jamie's pain is literally through the roof. His back brace is hanging out of the ceiling. Mr. Williamson is now making everything a racist joke against white people, especially Italians. And, Joebear is having muscle spasms in his back," I ranted.

"Jesus. What else?" Jasper asked.

"The state of Georgia itself is becoming a frustration. I'm not kidding when I say these people are driving me fucking crazy!" I exclaimed.

"Haha. It's true. I'm crazy because I've been in the South for too long," Jasper said with a crazy laugh.

"These early morning risers drive me to the brink of insanity. How the fuck are we supposed to sleep?!" I screamed as I drove furiously through my wooded route home at night.

"We don't!" Jasper said with a loud, jovial laugh.

"Truly. Some people just spam call you until you wake up. Hasn't anyone heard of sleep around here? I wondered why this place has zombies walking around, but then I discovered no one actually fucking sleeps around here. Plus, we live an hour and a half away from the Center of Disease Control," I said with a chuckle.

"Haha, yeah! It might help their brains if they slept, too," Jasper said with a laugh.

"My landlady should also be a target practice dummy. She doesn't want to use our rent money to hire a lifeguard. I hope someone sues the fuck out of her if God Forbid someone were to have a heart attack over the sheer amount of bullshit she puts every fucking resident through," Xara screamed.

"So glad I have my own house and own pool. Fuck that nonsense! Target practice, lol, I don't understand how the easiest job as a property manager can be fucked up. They fuck up everything. They looked at me like I was a stupid idiot for parking there. I lived there, too. 'Yeah well I'm a woman.' I don't care if you have a vagina," Jasper said as he laughed. Yes, he did say "lol."

"Did I mention I have a meeting tomorrow dealing with women?" I asked before commenting. "Fuck tomorrow's meeting. Fuck tomorrow's meeting. Fuck tomorrow's meeting. The last time I saw these people I was a zombie screaming, 'BRAINS! I need some. I'm starving. Fuck. I'm in Georgia. I won't be undead for very long, will I?!'"

Jasper was laughing and banging his fists on his TV tables. "Oh God. I'm sure that will be awkward! They'll be happy to see you."

"Why not? We're all going there to fuck off," I said.

"So, you will fuck off tomorrow?" Jasper asked.

"Yep. And I'm home. Thank you. See you when I am done fucking off," I said as I stopped the car and turned off the ignition.

___________________________________________

At the meeting:

I literally just walked into my Housekeeper's Association meeting to hear Shakira, the Human Resources lady going on a rant.

"Well, I'm going to fuck off from fucking off. It has already been a long day," she said.

I chuckled. I completely agreed with her. I had just woken up, and I already felt like the day was long.

I sat down next to some fellow housekeepers and started to help everyone fill out the necessary paperwork.

I wrote some smartass comments on mine just to show my disgust with this bureaucratic bullshit. I was okay with the Parkers (which I now had to write a weekly report on because they lived in a district that all homeowners and housekeeping want to see. What's so special about Logantown anyway?), Mr. Williamson, and Jasper. It was just all the bureaucratic rules of the Housekeeper's or should I say Housekeeping Association. Yes, they changed the name. More bureaucratic bullshit.

So, I learned that the name changed from Housekeeper's Association to Housekeeping Association, that I am required to write progress notes on the Parkers (I'll ask Godiva to write them for me. She's more normal.), and that I have to redo my fingerprints so that I can be stalked by the federal government.

There were mostly old ladies who were technologically-challenged at the meeting. There were only two males in the entire meeting, a 40-year-old black man who was a techno whiz and an ex-housekeeper and a 50-year-old white male who looked like a typical Georgia resident. The latter of the two was nothing to write home about.

The black 40-year-old techno whiz was named Ezekiel Daniels and the leader of the meeting. Yes, he was Jewish.

When we talked about the VA not paying any extra money for services, I loudly muttered, "JEWS!" Ezekiel laughed and went on with the meeting. He noted my disgruntled attitude toward the VA. Jasper has to forgive them for putting him in jail last year, but I don't. I can hate those murderous fuckers all I want. Because that is what the military is about: "legitimate" murdering. Jasper never killed anyone himself, but he sort-of maybe possibly thought about assisting many people in killing.

Mr. Williamson was a medic in the Gulf War, so he definitely never killed anyone. He had the only acceptable job in the military. So, I never brought up anything negative about the VA around him.

Shortly after I (accurately) called the VA a bunch of Jews, a black Millennial woman who was a CNA behind me kept commenting about how she used to work like an idiot until her kidneys blew out.

It was true. Most of us look like hell. Most of us were overweight. I sort of am because I'm 5'1 and 140 pounds. But there were some of us that were some serious fatties in that meeting. One was 5'2 and 200 pounds. That black bitch was a porker.

Anyhow, Ezekiel had mentioned that a housekeeper wasn't wearing a brassiere on that particular day and that we were required to wear "proper undergarments." My thought process was, "What? Were you looking at her breasts again? I'll give you proper undergarments. I'll put a bandaid on each of my nipples so that I could wear proper undergarments and you can fuck off. Most other countries don't wear bras or give a fuck, either. In fact, no other company gives two fucks about bras period. Obviously, these people are not concerned with their house being clean. Nor do they have hobbies to worry about their own shit.

In other news, women sometimes don't wear bras because they don't want to deal with breast sweat, and they are FUCKING UNCOMFORTABLE. She should have told him to wear a bra one day and see how the fuck he likes. Maybe she forgot because the Housekeeper-ing Association is so fucking stressful. Maybe she got titty-fucked rough, and her breasts were sore. Maybe she just didn't give a fuck anymore. Maybe we need something to talk about. In fact, why don't we for a change figure out how to make their houses shine even more. Seriously, I'm going to wear a bra anymore ever. And I am going to use my bras as cleaning rags. How the fuck would this piece of shit association like that?!"

I texted Jasper out of disbelief and frustration , "We changed the name of the Housekeeper's Association to Housekeeping Association. And I'm not wearing a bra anymore ever again. If people don't like it, they can fuck off."

There was a literal walrus woman at the front of the meeting who weighed 500 pounds. She was talking about clocking in and out. Could a bra even fit her? Seriously? How many bras would you put together to make her boobs not sag? I bet it would be at least five.

Jasper texted back, "What the fuck? What's the difference? Are you kidding me? By the way, good idea. I am sick of hearing women bitch about bras. This text brought horrible memories of my late wife talking about how she was hungry, hot, tired, and needed to take her bra off. Excuse me. I'm going to throw a fucking temper tantrum."

I texted back, "I haven't the slightest fucking idea. P.S. Sorry. I forgot about that. That makes me to burn my bras."

Some of the ladies were underweight and looked like skeletor. They looked like they needed a few sandwiches.

In short, it was a fuck-off meeting. I almost said "Fuck it", left my shit on the table, and left. Was there slight sexual harrassment? I want to burn my bras and then leave the ashes on Ezekiel's fucking desk.

In fact, when I left that God-forsaken meeting, I went back to work after and before throwing a temper tantrum. Upon further editing and reading and re-reading the account of this God-Forsaken meeting, I feel my tantrums were justified.